I am aware that I...

I'm a very nice person. I don't pride myself with it, neither do i pretend i'm not. I am very nice. I am forgetfull and shameless and rude but overall i am just simply, nice. 

I am a nice gal from a small town near a big city and I am fucking annoyed with people. In particular, i am fucking annoyed with waiting for people. i wait all day long. For all kinds of people. Whereas i'm the person who's always there. Who's always on time. I wish i wasn't but years of abusive behaviour because i walked into the door 10 minutes after curfew have made me this way. And just like they say "Well Hitler was bad and all - he did built the Autobahn." i do believe some traits worthy of acknowledging have surfaced inside me by surviving what i survived.

Like i am on time. Like i am trustworthy. Like i do what i'm supposed to do. Like I wait for fucking ever for you to show up. For anyone to show up.

There are several online message boards, concert go-ers and house-parties happening in the Westchester area on Saturday nights where a monstrous amount of both male and female attendees/participants will tell you or anyone willing to listen/read that i'm a total utter cunt. And i am. To you. Because you make me wait. Because you don't call. Because you pretend it's okay to go off and say those things about me because you simply can. Because i've let you in at one point and what I presented you didn't like. So you turned away again or I pushed you away again.

But I can't change what you saw, what you dested so badly to do silly things like take me off your facebook or stop talking to me or not to invite me to BBQ's and tell your "friends" ( who won't take you in when you're piss drunk on a thursday night and have no keys to your house and those same people who will drop you the second you show them a glimpse of how ugly you really are - how you're not invincible ) that i'm nothing but a slut.

I am a nice person. Just because I am not nice to you doesn't make me a person who is not nice. I know you would love it to work that way but it doesn't. Your own discrepancy, your own lack of whatever doesn't make me less or more of something. 

It's like when you said you hated the way I make you uncomfortable when you talk about not going into the city this weekend ( no really!this time you'll come! ) . You don't feel bad because I call you out on never wanting to hang out with us on the weekend but because you know it's true. You hate that you spend every single fucking weekend of your life with your boyfriend instead of us. You hate that i'm right. 

That's what you really hate. But it feels good to yell at me for it because it reminds you that i'm full of shit, too. That it makes me feel better to call other people out in front of their friends evens out the fact that your a co-dependent dip shit that can't be without a boyfriend.

It comes down to me being sick of waiting for other people. Really. But i need them. Not having my family around made me ( made you too ) try out all these people. All these people you wouldn't have looked at were you going to school together. You'd have instantely known that those people are so fucking different from who you are at the bottom of your heart you wouldn't bother talking to them in the first place.

But as we grow older we don't have those safe sound surroundings anymore. We stumble from night and day shifts to classes and back and we drink and date and jump when a cute boy smiles. Safety is gone, here's comes the real world. Or something like that. 

Which brings us back to Saturday night Imagine a lake and hungarian goulash and the smell of cake and weed and wonderous stories to be told. Ounces and ounces of people, piled up, chitter chatter and seriously though! Look there was a Chinchilla, too! 

I think there was one guy there who hasn't been scarred by me yet. One. Out of a dozen random guys. Guy one i called out for trying to fuck me while dating one of my best friends. The other is pissed cause i told him I was a lesbian after making out with me to see if he would spread the rumor ( ...he did.) . There is door number three where we have the guy who scarred me. There is also the guy with the guitar who wants to fuck my current best friend and talks to me about it even though he knows ( and has met ) her boyfriend-of-a-year ( there is also a chubby blonde right next to him for the past hour which he has been ignoring because we've been singing songs to me and Valorie seem to be the only girls who know the lyrics to. She's pathetic and he knows it and she knows it but he ignores it and she is drunk.As the night proceeds i'll have her brush past me yell "well that was a fucking call-off!" ..i couldn't help but snicker.) . There's also the third kid with a guitar who seems to be clinging to every word i said tonight. And he looks so sad when i leave and just pat him on the shoulder. What i'm trying to say is that all of these guys hate and want to fuck me for the same exact reason : I don't take their shit.

It is so common for women and girls these days to be afraid of being a bitch, a cunt. Because we're afraid we'll be unfuckable, unmarriable at the end of the day. But if i had to point one girl out at that party that all the boys circled, never touched and if they did, buzzed onto and regretted trying in the first place ( but left thinking how they'll do a better job next time ) it must have been me. Fuckable, asshole me. You hate that you hate me but you'd hate to miss out on it.

I can't explain it any better.