Inspired by True Events (and Oprah)
http://www.oprah.com/article/spirit/emotionalhealth/ss_lybl_control_10/2 (1,2,3, and 5, please!)
This definitely used to be me, but with the exception of one night of misdirected anger and uncalled-for spite (you know who you are......and if you don't, you're Natalie), this is no longer who I am. Sure, when goaded or backed into a corner I am still prone to vitriolic outbursts (I am the same person, after all), but I have come a very long way. I can handle lots and lots of jellyfish stings before I snap, and only three times in the past five-ish years have I actually gotten into what I would call 'fights.' Now I am in this third fight, I guess, with the same person as the other two, one Kristina Kimberly Grogan, and I am realizing that there is no way to recount this story without looking silly and dramatic, so just judge away. Anyways, here is a brief history:
1) She repeatedly introduced me as her fat friend and publicly made fun of my small boobs (and stretch marks, and the way I dress and wear my hair) but it wasn't until she tried to steal a guy I was dating that I flipped a shit. She was calling and messaging him behind my back, setting up times to go over to his house, making up stories about how he propositioned her and telling everybody about it, etc.
2) She screamed in front of 15 friends/internationals that I was 'trash' and a 'filthy slut' for making out with a guy, that I knew, in a club,
3) This is the one that gets me kicked out of her home, which is furnished completely with my furniture: She started yelling at me and called me a 'filthy, disgusting, animal' (Grogan, n pag.) because as of 11pm I had not yet cleaned the dishes from the dinner that I made that everyone else ate and was still eating.
Basically, I slept in my car on Friday night, which is actually pretty funny and already makes a good story. But I felt compelled to complain a bit because apparently I am still fighting back bad juju (sp?, Ted? Pretty sure that's the only time I'll ever utter that phrase) from 8th grade, and because I have this shithead psycho friend who devotes an insane amount of time and effort to making my life terrible. That is all, for now.
[An aside: You know, I really want to get this thought out, in a coherent way, but when you're no longer in the practice of carefully detailing your twice-daily Chick-fil-A habit or penning woeful tales about how you'll just DIE if Boy X doesn't want you back, it becomes much more difficult to communicate solidly! ]
So I have been scared to share this harrowing tale with anyone because it is most definitely a load of HSBSD, but for once I am the victim and not the perpetrator so I thought I would whine/rejoice/idk. And Leigh, I'm sorry, I know you called this from the beginning and it's a pretty blatant told-you-so. You are welcome to it whenever.