by Claire the Lovely Intern
I used to be a nice person, but I’m not so sure about that anymore. Lately I’ve had to sharpen my fangs in order to get things done. It doesn’t help that I’m forced to deal with three people that are currently fueling my descent into madness.
I’ve finally said that aloud, and I feel better already. Perhaps you know these people, or you may have digital copies of these people in your life. Perhaps Assholes Out to Destroy Your Happiness is a solid franchise now.
When I’m not reading blogs or running the Tweet Chat, I’m in college, working part-time at a big-box store, and/or shaking down my slutty roommate for her half of the rent and utilities. For the record, I’m not slut-shaming, I’m broke-bashing. Sluts shouldn’t be broke; that’s just stupid.
All day, every day, the entitled are biting at my heels; the lazy are smiling in my face, and the spineless are just waiting for me to throw down the white flag and find the nearest exit. These are three people I really hate right now.
I had one personal pan pizza and I ate it. I was in disbelief when my roommate came home from her date HUNGRY. I held my tongue when this 35-year-old woman had a tantrum, as if the world owed her something just for being here. No one can appease her, because she can’t even appease herself. Thus she grows bitter and envious, foul-mouthed and slack-jawed at the sight of an empty pizza box.
It never occurs to her to bring something to the table if you’re hungry. Plant your own seeds of opportunity. Farm your fields of dreams and feed thyself woman. Feed thyself.
And while you’re at it, never come home from a date hungry. And our rent is due in ten days.
A redheaded manager was flying high until a divorce sent her world into a tailspin.
Abusive, dismissive, arrogant and obnoxious she was, and she used to make me cry on my lunch break, tears of rage, because I could not gain control of the situation.
On Monday I saw her crying in her car. I felt bad for her until she came in from the parking lot and wrote me up for not having my shirt tucked in. Oh. Wow.
The redheaded manager faced an empty nest because her kid was away at college and her husband was living elsewhere, so she came to work to beat me up, work on my nerves, tell me I don’t know the proper way to fold a sweater or stock shelves or work the register. If I were a lesser woman I would have believed her.
Honey, please. At least I know where I am; one foot in college, another foot in a part-time job, a world of pain behind me but also a world of opportunity in front of me.
Your own hands are tied, how can you manage me anyway?
This ass clown thinks that he’s whipping it on me, doing me so well that I can’t smell he’s full of shit.
Romeo, um, you left your cell on the bed, and I read her texts. And I read YOUR texts. Wow. You’re proposing to do to her the exact same thing you used to do to me--before you put on all that weight.
Thank goodness for Trojans; your seed is exactly where it belongs.
In the trash, with your cell phone.
That is all, y’all.
--Claire, the Lovely Intern, 23, "prefers to read the musings of others and only blogs to vent."
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Filed under: Breakups, Expectations, Girl Power, Girl Talk, Girl, He Tricked My Ass!, Girlfriends, grief, Relationships, Self Help, Self worth, self-improvement, Sex, Why Some Folks Are Single!, Women, Work