Dear Internet: I hate the human race
I'm feeling sad and blue, so I'm just going to rant to my journal. I feel it should be given a name. My journal, not the rant. Although I could name that too. Like a natural disaster.
The winter olympics are upon us. I don't have a particular interest in them. Not a big sports girl. But I thought I should at least get down town to witness the houplah. Canada's finest moment and "greatest achievement" is in my back yard, for Christ's sake. I know I'll regret not going. So a friend at my work expressed a similar motivation, and for some reason I suggested we go together, knowing that this froggy little bitch has a tendency towards BAILING OUT OF PLANS EVERY. SINGLE. FUCKING. TIME.
So I'm out with a friend last night and I get a text from Froggy (Yes. I'm calling her this. She looks like an amphibian. I am petty and mean) saying "Are we still going it's supposed to be pissing rain all day."
...
YOU LIVE ON THE WEST COAST. OF COURSE IT'S GOING TO BE RAINING ALL DAY. For twenty-some-odd years you have been honed and shaped by the terrible weather that is BC! World events are taking place in our home. Literally. Fuck the back yard, the Olympics are in our LIVING ROOM. And because, SOMEBODY DIAL 911, it's CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? RAINING OUT, you're going to not only fuck up my plans of going there, but miss out on the chance of a life time because LO... AND BEHOLD! THIS STRANGE WET SUBSTANCE HATH COMETH FROM THE VANCOUVER SKIES. And you're doing it the NIGHT before we're supposed to go, when I could have been arranging plans with someone less stupid and more reliable than your dumb ass.
And THEN, she sends another text interlaced with yet another subtle message: "I haven't finished my packing yet, but if you really want to we can still go."
Conan, your least favourite quality in a person is cynicism. I'm working on it. But right now my least favourite quality are MANIPULATIVE BITCHES. Okay, Frog. You lined up the shot perfectly. Allow me to just step right in front of the target.
Why are people so fucking retarded? Why? I ask myself this daily. What is SO hard about saying you're going to do something, and then following through? How is it that I'm suddenly the most disposable person in the world? Despite the copious amounts of capslock rage going on here, I'm a nice fucking person. And now I have to go into work on Thursday and pretend everything is whoopty la so that she doesn't think she has any power over me. It will be my greatest challenge to pretend I don't what to stuff her stupid head in a drawer and slam it shut repeatedly.
The key, my friends, is dissembling. I MUST DISSEMBLE. I refuse to let her know how much her dumb-assery has bothered me. I will carry on, and slowly ween her out of my life, because I will not be friends with someone who dismisses me with as little fanfare as spitting a wad of gum onto the street.
The winter olympics are upon us. I don't have a particular interest in them. Not a big sports girl. But I thought I should at least get down town to witness the houplah. Canada's finest moment and "greatest achievement" is in my back yard, for Christ's sake. I know I'll regret not going. So a friend at my work expressed a similar motivation, and for some reason I suggested we go together, knowing that this froggy little bitch has a tendency towards BAILING OUT OF PLANS EVERY. SINGLE. FUCKING. TIME.
So I'm out with a friend last night and I get a text from Froggy (Yes. I'm calling her this. She looks like an amphibian. I am petty and mean) saying "Are we still going it's supposed to be pissing rain all day."
...
YOU LIVE ON THE WEST COAST. OF COURSE IT'S GOING TO BE RAINING ALL DAY. For twenty-some-odd years you have been honed and shaped by the terrible weather that is BC! World events are taking place in our home. Literally. Fuck the back yard, the Olympics are in our LIVING ROOM. And because, SOMEBODY DIAL 911, it's CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? RAINING OUT, you're going to not only fuck up my plans of going there, but miss out on the chance of a life time because LO... AND BEHOLD! THIS STRANGE WET SUBSTANCE HATH COMETH FROM THE VANCOUVER SKIES. And you're doing it the NIGHT before we're supposed to go, when I could have been arranging plans with someone less stupid and more reliable than your dumb ass.
And THEN, she sends another text interlaced with yet another subtle message: "I haven't finished my packing yet, but if you really want to we can still go."
Conan, your least favourite quality in a person is cynicism. I'm working on it. But right now my least favourite quality are MANIPULATIVE BITCHES. Okay, Frog. You lined up the shot perfectly. Allow me to just step right in front of the target.
Why are people so fucking retarded? Why? I ask myself this daily. What is SO hard about saying you're going to do something, and then following through? How is it that I'm suddenly the most disposable person in the world? Despite the copious amounts of capslock rage going on here, I'm a nice fucking person. And now I have to go into work on Thursday and pretend everything is whoopty la so that she doesn't think she has any power over me. It will be my greatest challenge to pretend I don't what to stuff her stupid head in a drawer and slam it shut repeatedly.
The key, my friends, is dissembling. I MUST DISSEMBLE. I refuse to let her know how much her dumb-assery has bothered me. I will carry on, and slowly ween her out of my life, because I will not be friends with someone who dismisses me with as little fanfare as spitting a wad of gum onto the street.