Monday, April 10, 2006

because I have nothing else to whine about

Readerdroid has the pleasure of listening to me ramble a few times a year. Every time M. Biologique does something so fucking childish, it triggers a barrage of bile from me. I bounce back almost immediately, of course, knowing my life is pretty awesome and not at all worthy of complaint. Still, it's always nice to be able to vent to a girlfriend for a few hours. If it wasn't for Readerdroid's patience, I'd still be pouting. Screw taking the high road! I'm entitled to being a royal bitch. Why should I continue being cordial to someone who didn't give two shits about me? Hell yes, I'm doing the right thing by acting unreceptive and unresponsive. You don't give back a basket of rotting cow parts in place of a heart and call it compensation.

Why can't he play nice? Oh right, he's a passive-aggressive: "Watch out though if he thinks you have done something to him. He will dole out punishment that outweighs the crime and you will feel as if you have been hit in the heart by a 2 x 4. He will become excessive in his need to get back at you and can obsess on it until he feels that the person who has done him wrong has been dealt with properly."

That really put my worries to rest.


One misplaced glance, and I fall into a rut. After all these months, M. Biologique can't quite let go of his asshole persona. Even as I walk pass him, feigning innocence to his presence, and trying to renew my life again, he insists on conquering my ego because heaven forbid it's growing for a change.

It was the "getting in my way to kiss his girlfriend" schtick all over again, except this time, there was a courtesy wave, no girlfriend, and a lot of pandering to attractive women to appear more popular: "Don't throw away your brownie, give it to me. [*wink*]" And later, standing three feet from me so I'd be sure to get a good view of him as I worked. (I abruptly moved some distance away.) It's worse than high school! Here I am feeling bad for behaving too-cool towards him, and here he is reminding me why he deserves every ounce of my "Oh, it's just you" nonchalance. It's like he wants to give me a taste of my own medicine even though he instigated the fall-out. I get it. I don't matter and mean nothing to you. Really, you can stop now. I GET IT. Now let go and stop punishing me.


I hate waiting in line at the soup kitchen.

"Don't tell my friends you do that," my mom pleaded. "It so embarrassing."

"Actually," I reassured her, "there are a lot of Chinese people who go."

"Oh, no surprise," she clucked. "Chinese people so cheap."

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