How Did I Get Here, And Where Is The Next Turn?

Greetings and salutations to all who deem this worthy of your time...

Brought up Feb 8, 2012

The Beat Goes On...

It's been one of those days, and once again I find myself here. Between a minor disagreement with a friend, spending hours sitting in a court room for my kid to deal with a ticket, and trying to help another friend figure out crap on Facebook, my brain is feeling a bit mushy tonight.

You know, it's funny how some people just don't get some things. Okay, how men don't get some things. Women can be vicious, nasty, sadistic, vengful creatures. Why don't men realize that? Why is it that they try to just shrug off our anger? or worse, laugh at it? Or just minimize our pain when some two faced bitch hurts us?

This friend of mine, let's call him, uhm, well, Punk. He just doesn't seem to understand that if a person hurts your friend's feelings, is deliberately nasty to said friend, you just don't have anything to do with that other person. It's just the law according to the estrogen dominant section of the species. The nasty one thinks she has made herself look all big and bad upsetting someone. The thing is, I never did anything to the nasty one. Never. She just singled me out for her petty childishness... and triggered some of my own. I know to still be angry is childish, but as I told a friend tonight, I am in my second childhood. So thththththththth!!! Remaining friends with the nasty one, even though you claim to not like her, is just wrong. Men never get that. The Punk doesn't realize that just the sight of Ms Nasty's name makes me break out the file with plans for squashing her like a bug.

Ok, so the Punk is Mr. Nice guy, has never unfriended anyone, thinks one should turn the other cheek. Sure, that will work. If she ever turns her other cheek my way, I'll put my size 10 sneaker right there. Problem solved. One day, I will deal with Ms Nasty. Or, maybe just finally get past my anger at being treated like worthless crap by some nitwit who couldn't find her ass with both hands and a map. Until that day comes, however, I will enjoy my visions of roasting her slowly on a spit,and toasting marshmellows as she writhes in agony. Maybe I'll write and publish a story one day with a particularly nasty character, with her name, that dies a horrible death. Maybe I'll just find out where she lives and borrow my kid's paintball gun... that sounds like fun.

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