I'm a terrible person to be around right now.
I'll admit that.
For now, I have a very short fuse... and I end up doing/saying things that kill the mood.
Scenario One: El Clásico taken up a notch to the UCL stage.
I'm an animal when watching soccer.
I am.
I will cuss my heart out, I'll scream, I'll jump... I'm HORRIBLY annoying.
That's me on a good day.
When I'm upset for some other reason? I'm worse.
Now, not only do I get to fight in person with people watching the match with me, but I also have Twitter to have my nice little arguments.
Guess who wanted to fight with me today... via tweets.
__(your answer here)__
Answer: Euro Birthday Boy.
Fucking again. As if I don't hear enough shit from him.
I'm convinced he has a serious case of ageism... and misogyny.
Whatever I say, there he goes berating me.
He treats me like I'm a huge moron just because I'm 1. a girl, and 2. younger than him.
I'm immediately a dumbass because of those two factors. Regardless of what I do or what I achieve, I'll always be a nimrod to him because I was a girl born in 1985, not a boy born in 1979.
This time, I tweeted ONCE about the Barça game:
A team once sponsored by a BLOODY DICTATOR is NO team of mine #fuckRealMadrid
He responded (not directly at me, but within minutes):
Crime pays.
Bitch say WHAT?!
Fucking passive aggressive dick.
I sat there and thought about going off on him... but instead I sat there and kept quiet, pouting... angry. Totally killing the mood for everyone around me.
I don't find the Real Madrid- Barcelona history a laughing matter. It's tragic... fucked up... and it pisses me off to see so many people hailing a team with such a crooked background as Real Madrid.
I often wonder if people know of the bullshit that went down for Real to have the dough to BUY all those amazing players that have played for the team (I'm sorry Hugo Sanchez, I love you, but it doesn't make up for the shit). Look into that. It's a nice little story of a wonderful little dictator responsible for inoffensive shit like the bombing of Guernica. Mr. Franco. That gem.
Maybe I'm more affected by this than a normal person... because I love the city of Barcelona as well as its people. I've said it plenty of times: My heart is THERE. I also hate injustices, which is what happened to the people of Barcelona and the Basque country (my "home" in Spain) during the Spanish Civil War. What Franco did to those people was despicable... I couldn't like anything he stood for.
SO, Real Madrid can go suck a dick... and laughing about how "crime pays" ain't cool in my book. It's like people who laugh about the Holocaust. How is human suffering EVER funny? Prick.
There's that rant and how it played into my shitty mood. I didn't even celebrate much even after the 2-0 win from Barça. I was still in cunt mode.
Scenario Two: Compliments + Me = Not right now.
The aunt who upset me last week when she started prying into my personal life... I love her, even if she has a very peculiar way of... "complimenting" me.
This time, our little parlay went a little like this.
Aunt: Oh my God, AnoMALIE! Look at your face!
Me: ... what?
Aunt: Where are your cute chubby cheeks?! I can't... pinch them anymore!
She tries pinching my cheeks.
Me: Apparently gone.
Aunt: So thin!Your head is so long now!
(see! There it is! That special little compliment dropping by to say hello)
Aunt: What's his name?
Me: Ummm?
I laugh nervously... 'cause here she goes again.
Aunt: The times girls lose weight drastically like that is when they're in love...
Me: Or have lost the will to live...
Room is silent.
Me: Why do you look at me like that? It's true! Girls do that!
See, in this case, everyone was happy-ish. Then I knocked down the mood by mentioning suicidal tendencies.
Well, it's not that I have suicidal tendencies... I'd never actually go through with the act because it's a terrible thing... but I often don't get the point of being alive. That's just a fact. At least once a week, I find myself thinking "What's the point?" but it doesn't mean I'll quit going through the motions. I'm too curious for what the day will bring to go off and end my life. Ok, got that settled.
Now, ever since the rejections, the last one, to be exact, something inside me cracked. I've never felt anything like that. It was me... breaking.
My body, my heart, my mind, they all simultaneously said "ENOUGH."
Having nothing to live for, I found myself not giving a fuck about me.
Uh oh. Drugs? No.
I went ahead and stopped eating... well, not entirely. I do eat, but about... 500 calories a day.
Dangerous? I don't give a fuck. I quit caring about life, remember?
No sugar, no dairy... shit, I'm not even eating salt.
And I'm only ingesting water for my liquid.
Anyway, this has all caught up with me. It's obvious on my body: my head is long (like my aunt so kindly pointed out), and my thighs can no longer feed a pride of hungry lions (maybe just a solitary jaguar now). Stuff like that.
People think I'm doing it for a guy... but honestly, it happened because-- like I said-- I no longer have a reason to... give a fuck. No, I'm not starving myself, I'm just doing something risky (that isn't drug-related) because I no longer care if I die.
Jesus Christ... I'm not making sense.
It's the lack of oxygen to my brain (RELAX! It's not even like that. I eat plenty of protein and veggies. I'm not reverting to my old anorexic ways. I'm eventually bumping up the calories in order to go back to some heavy deadlifting, squatting, bench pressing, and clean and presses. I got plans. I just have to clean up my act and start from zero. That's the God honest truth right there, not all my other sarcastic/moody shit).
Point is: I'm sad, I no longer give a shit about food, and I'm a moody little cunt that loves killing the moment for everybody else.
Oh, and I have a long head, in case I didn't stress that enough.
I'll admit that.
For now, I have a very short fuse... and I end up doing/saying things that kill the mood.
Scenario One: El Clásico taken up a notch to the UCL stage.
I'm an animal when watching soccer.
I am.
I will cuss my heart out, I'll scream, I'll jump... I'm HORRIBLY annoying.
That's me on a good day.
When I'm upset for some other reason? I'm worse.
Now, not only do I get to fight in person with people watching the match with me, but I also have Twitter to have my nice little arguments.
Guess who wanted to fight with me today... via tweets.
__(your answer here)__
Answer: Euro Birthday Boy.
Fucking again. As if I don't hear enough shit from him.
I'm convinced he has a serious case of ageism... and misogyny.
Whatever I say, there he goes berating me.
He treats me like I'm a huge moron just because I'm 1. a girl, and 2. younger than him.
I'm immediately a dumbass because of those two factors. Regardless of what I do or what I achieve, I'll always be a nimrod to him because I was a girl born in 1985, not a boy born in 1979.
This time, I tweeted ONCE about the Barça game:
A team once sponsored by a BLOODY DICTATOR is NO team of mine #fuckRealMadrid
He responded (not directly at me, but within minutes):
Crime pays.
Bitch say WHAT?!
Fucking passive aggressive dick.
I sat there and thought about going off on him... but instead I sat there and kept quiet, pouting... angry. Totally killing the mood for everyone around me.
I don't find the Real Madrid- Barcelona history a laughing matter. It's tragic... fucked up... and it pisses me off to see so many people hailing a team with such a crooked background as Real Madrid.
I often wonder if people know of the bullshit that went down for Real to have the dough to BUY all those amazing players that have played for the team (I'm sorry Hugo Sanchez, I love you, but it doesn't make up for the shit). Look into that. It's a nice little story of a wonderful little dictator responsible for inoffensive shit like the bombing of Guernica. Mr. Franco. That gem.
Maybe I'm more affected by this than a normal person... because I love the city of Barcelona as well as its people. I've said it plenty of times: My heart is THERE. I also hate injustices, which is what happened to the people of Barcelona and the Basque country (my "home" in Spain) during the Spanish Civil War. What Franco did to those people was despicable... I couldn't like anything he stood for.
SO, Real Madrid can go suck a dick... and laughing about how "crime pays" ain't cool in my book. It's like people who laugh about the Holocaust. How is human suffering EVER funny? Prick.
There's that rant and how it played into my shitty mood. I didn't even celebrate much even after the 2-0 win from Barça. I was still in cunt mode.
Scenario Two: Compliments + Me = Not right now.
The aunt who upset me last week when she started prying into my personal life... I love her, even if she has a very peculiar way of... "complimenting" me.
This time, our little parlay went a little like this.
Aunt: Oh my God, AnoMALIE! Look at your face!
Me: ... what?
Aunt: Where are your cute chubby cheeks?! I can't... pinch them anymore!
She tries pinching my cheeks.
Me: Apparently gone.
Aunt: So thin!Your head is so long now!
(see! There it is! That special little compliment dropping by to say hello)
Aunt: What's his name?
Me: Ummm?
I laugh nervously... 'cause here she goes again.
Aunt: The times girls lose weight drastically like that is when they're in love...
Me: Or have lost the will to live...
Room is silent.
Me: Why do you look at me like that? It's true! Girls do that!
See, in this case, everyone was happy-ish. Then I knocked down the mood by mentioning suicidal tendencies.
Well, it's not that I have suicidal tendencies... I'd never actually go through with the act because it's a terrible thing... but I often don't get the point of being alive. That's just a fact. At least once a week, I find myself thinking "What's the point?" but it doesn't mean I'll quit going through the motions. I'm too curious for what the day will bring to go off and end my life. Ok, got that settled.
Now, ever since the rejections, the last one, to be exact, something inside me cracked. I've never felt anything like that. It was me... breaking.
My body, my heart, my mind, they all simultaneously said "ENOUGH."
Having nothing to live for, I found myself not giving a fuck about me.
Uh oh. Drugs? No.
I went ahead and stopped eating... well, not entirely. I do eat, but about... 500 calories a day.
Dangerous? I don't give a fuck. I quit caring about life, remember?
No sugar, no dairy... shit, I'm not even eating salt.
And I'm only ingesting water for my liquid.
Anyway, this has all caught up with me. It's obvious on my body: my head is long (like my aunt so kindly pointed out), and my thighs can no longer feed a pride of hungry lions (maybe just a solitary jaguar now). Stuff like that.
People think I'm doing it for a guy... but honestly, it happened because-- like I said-- I no longer have a reason to... give a fuck. No, I'm not starving myself, I'm just doing something risky (that isn't drug-related) because I no longer care if I die.
Jesus Christ... I'm not making sense.
It's the lack of oxygen to my brain (RELAX! It's not even like that. I eat plenty of protein and veggies. I'm not reverting to my old anorexic ways. I'm eventually bumping up the calories in order to go back to some heavy deadlifting, squatting, bench pressing, and clean and presses. I got plans. I just have to clean up my act and start from zero. That's the God honest truth right there, not all my other sarcastic/moody shit).
Point is: I'm sad, I no longer give a shit about food, and I'm a moody little cunt that loves killing the moment for everybody else.
Oh, and I have a long head, in case I didn't stress that enough.
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