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Yes, I moved out of my mother's house for a reason and Yes daddy, anything you say.

October 23, 2003, 8:21 PM

Ok, so get this.

I am bottle feeding 4 more 5-day-old kittens and KleptoBoo stole all the bottles and one kitten hates the syringes that I'm using. For a 5 day old kitten he sure is bossy.

I've named him Troy Aiken, because he looks like a football player.

So yeah. Where was I? Yeah I'm mad as hell and upset too.

The other day I gave my friend a bottle for her sick kittens and basically asked for it back. Because I'm an American Indian Giver. Or something. And I go over there. And I sat down expecting to get out of there in a few minutes and she invited me over for dinner and that's cool. I was cool with that. So cool. Yah know, because she does cook well.

So then her husband, the Mr. Police Officer gets home. He has a police dog. Talon. Apparently Mr. Police officer is pretty ...how shall I say it, UNHINGED when it comes to Talon.

So, during dinner, I was allegedly throwing a crouton at Mr. Police Officer and it hits the floor. Mr. Police Officer automatically assumes I'm guilty of trying to feed his police buddy dog, and he fucking BERATES ME, like a fucking 7 year old. Like, in front of his 7 year old and everyone, even the dog. I was smiling funny because I couldn't tell if Mr. Police Officer was serious. And then he said "I'm serious" YET AGAIN berating me as if I'm 7.

Screw you guys. I'm going home.

It was awful. Like after dinner, I went into the bathroom and cried. Because I haven't had anyone treat me disrespectful and shit like that in a very long time. I wonder if he would've done that had fed one of his kids something wierd. I wonder.

So what's up with that??? What happened to due process and all that shit? Where's the fairness here? Arrrest me for christsakes and let me be taken away, but do not fucking berate me. Jesus. H. Christ. And. His. Dog.

He berated me in front of the dog even. So there's a reason not to feed scraps to the dog. Fine. But don't talk to me as if I'm 7. I am not 7 fucking years old. Get this, I'm a 32 year old woman with three kids and 11 foster kittens and one cat and one foster cat and a rabbit and a dead chicken. I'm not a fucking idiot. I'm not mentally handicapped. Maybe I seem mentally handicapped. And true, I did throw food at the Mr. Police Officer, but that's just juvenile, really.

Ok, so then I go home, and Spousal is telling me a story and I was adding something to that and he does what he always does...interuppts me and takes off with his long thoughts without so much as letting me finish my thought.

I'm so not into men right now. Rude. Rude, Rude men.

Who wants to be lesbian with me?

Raise your hands.

PS. SmokingKillsYouaAnti-SmokingActiBoo broke everyone of my smokes and now I'm sending spousal to the store so I can cry and eat ice cream because she broke everyone of my smokes and that was a sign (like coughing fits and breathing funny weren't?) and so I need Ben & Jerry's so that I may eat it all and cry. I hate men. Except for Mr. Stewart.

The End

So I lie a lot. Addendum to my pissed off rant there.

A. The Mr. Officer said his dog was overweight at one point. So no table scraps. So I get it. If your tracking dog is overwieght, then he won't do his job. Then The Mr. Officer can't do his job. Then it reflects poorly on The Mr. Officer. And I understand why he talked to me the way he did. Because if you're an officer, you have to talk to people a certain way to get them to listen. Because people that are doing bad things don't always listen to police officers. So you get used to talking to people that way. And it has to carry over outside work. Who doesn't bring work home with them? So if Mr. Police Officers' wife was feeding the dog table scraps for a long time and wasn't listening to him when he said not to ...well. Then shit happens. I'm better now. I've had chocolate ice cream and a bath.


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