This will be a complaining post. I'm warning you now, it may be hilarious, it may be the funniest fucking thing you've ever read in your entire life, but it will be stuffed thanksgiving-style full of self-pity and angry ranting. It probably won't even be funny, but it will complain a lot.
So.
That's my disclaimer. May or may not tag that onto every post from now until forever slash whenever I decide that I want to be an astronaut and just stop blogging.
Which probably won't happen, the astronaut thing I mean. I may stop blogging, but I probably won't ever be an astronaut. I don't like heights and the whole idea of an infinite Space freaks the fuck out of me.
Can "fuck" be freaked out of you? That sounds weird. Philosophical question of the day.
Note to Self:
Dear Miss Guided,
No one actually reads this besides the people you know in real life who you bully into reading this. You should probably just drop off the face of the planet because you're so not-special. You could always join a circus and try to be successful that way. And/or act like a general idiot, so I guess maybe psychologists could try to figure out the inner workings of your brain.
Probably not though, because you're not special enough to even be considered brain-study material.
HA.
Love,
World.
Anyways, back to your regularly scheduled bitch-fest.
I hate people who can't keep up a conversation.
Really and truly, these people are the scum in between Larry the Jailbird's toes after he lost his shower privileges for a month. Actually...they're that scum's scum. Yeah. They're that scummy.
Would you like to know why I hate these dick-munchers? Of course you do, you've read this far, haven't you!?
HAVEN'T YOU?
Please.
Ok, I hate them because they make me feel like I've done something wrong. If you text me, call me or start a conversation, I feel special because someone is seeking me out to communicate. For a second, I was on someone's mind and they've decided to roll with it and give me a shout.
Which is awesome.
Then it gets ugly.
Because I'll respond all happy-eager-stupid like, and then get a half-assed response in return. If you initiate a conversation, and I respond in kind, you had better have a good goddamn fucking reason for basically BAILING OUT mid-sentence and leaving me feeling like a pathetic loser.
Honestly, its just simple manners; you ask someone how they've been if--and really only IF--you are genuinely interested in how they've really been. If you don't care, don't send the fucking text. Most phones have the "do you really want to send this text?" option for those nights where you probably shouldn't be mass-texting your entire phone book because you're awake, it's 5 in the morning, and you were woken up by Fuzzy-the-Bear (aka, Mistake from Last Night) snoring like it's going out of style.
USE THAT OPTION ALL THE TIME.
Seriously, if you don't care, don't text. Simple as that.
Next step is the response; if it's a little delayed and it's maybe--for a completely and absolutely HYPOTHETICAL and NOT TRUE AT ALL NO SIR example--sometime around midnight on a Wednesday/Thursday night (crazy, what a coincidence that tonight is Wednesday/Thursday), maybe assume that the person you're texting is possibly in the SHOWER because she has a TEN O'CLOCK CLASS tomorrow while you're on spring break. Really. Easy assumption to make. Totally hypothetical though, obviously.
Don't get offended. If the response is eventually enthusiastic, you're good to go pick up the conversation like a functional human being. Unless you're a douche-bucket, and you decide that all of a sudden there are better things to do, and you decide to give one word responses.
Totally understandable, by the way, that there are better things to do than--oh, I don't know--talk to someone you haven't spoken to for real in about...4 months? And are trying to work a functional friendship out with? Maybe? Probably not to you, not to me either obviously.
Really, if you didn't want to work out this thing, you really shouldn't have said you did. Honesty is always the best policy, and you should probably be less of a tool; if you don't want to be friends with someone, either say so or just get out of his/her life. It's not fair to the person who's head you're fucking with.
Really.
But, if there's something better to do and you can't talk right then and that's really it, JUST SAY SO, YOU FUCKTARD.
Anyways, if this totally hypothetical situation has ever fallen- on your head, tell me about it. Really, tell me because I don't want to know that I'm the only idiot out there with a life like this.
Anyways, nothing really super special going on in life, but I'm doing an update anyways.
Did I really just do that?!
-Accidentally brushed this guy's hand, and he totally flipped out and was like, "why did you do that?!"
Cue funny looks from me and the rest of the group we were working in.
"Uhh...it was an accident."
"Oh."
Awkward. I have never felt more strange in my life and my hand-talking has come to an abrupt halt.
-Got a blister the size of a quarter on my heel. It's gross and you probably don't give a flying-squirrels balls about it, but it's a pretty impressive size.
- Got a care package. Yummmmm real coffee from Papa Nicholas!!!! I'm contemplating burning the Satan's Piss/Archer Farms stuff, just because it sort of smells like how it should taste (but doesn't since it tastes like...you guessed it. satan's piss.), just so it'll smell kinda nice.
-My mother also sent me two sleep masks. I asked for one, and I really don't know why she thinks I need two. It's not like I ever get any, so I really don't have people spending the night. And besides, even if I did, the last thing I would do would pull out the purple Panda-face sleep mask and the "Leave Me Alone" jewel encrusted sleep masks and be all, "LYKE, Which one do you want?!"
Really, mom? Really?!
She's still not reading this, by the way. I don't think she'd enjoy my language. I'm a little salty.
-Going to see my friends in like...15 hours? Something like that, I don't know. All I know is that I'm going out tomorrow night and I'm probably going to be making mistakes that I'll be proud to tell my kids about (after they turn a certain age where I'm like, "fuck it, they're screwed up enough already, this won't hurt.").
-I talked about video production club with someone today. Now, I don't know about any of you people, but I fucking loved VP club. It was sweet, you got to fuck around with cameras and "high tech" (not really) electronics and learn how to make the morning announcements. My friends and I would do "birthday shout outs," pretty much every time our team had the day, and we got called down to the office every single time to be yelled at by the vice principal. Nothing ever happened, but he was always threatening expulsion or suspension if we "ever did something like that again" since apparently it singled out kids who didn't get shout outs on their birthdays.
Boo-fucking-hoo, baby. Make friends in VP club, and you'll get the shout-out.
Anyways, we kept doing it regardless. Now they don't have VP club, and the vice principal runs around with a night-stick, beating junior high kids because they're wearing prostitution-ring-esque clothing and/or pants-on-da-floor.
Honestly, kids these days!
-SPRING BREAKKKKK
-----Not actually doing anything spectacular, I'm just going home. But that's why I'm so EXCITED.
Also, I get to see Zach on Sunday! How fucking awesome is that? Especially since he has a brohawk.
Anywhatsits, I'm going to bed now. I have nothing better to do, and Zach is well on his way to winning the Tour de France, so I gotta get this up before he's won the race.
Goodnight (nonexistent) Readers!!
Love (maybe, possibly misery or at least pseudo-misery depending on if this HYPOTHETICAL person get's off his HYPOTHETICAL ass and attempts friendship again),
Miss Guided
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