running late on my way to work today i encountered a stupid person, slowly ambling across the street, both jaywalking AND crossing in the middle of the block. (i think. i could just be exaggerating. you never know)
i am, in point of fact, running late. and it’s the end of the world tomorrow. so it’s not like anyone is going to be able to hunt me down and lock me up for manslaughter.
if you are so stupid as to walk casually in front of a crazy, red-headed, female driver who is late for work and hasn’t had enough caffeine…good luck to you!
i’m touchy today.
i’m highly sensitive and over stimulated. i haven’t been getting enough sleep, there are too many kids next door screaming bloody murder, and dogs barking incessantly reminding me that i have only so much patience in my being. i’m not perfect. i’m not a saint. some days i find these little things charming, sweet and adorable.
today is not one of those days. today the high pitched squealing of small children is about to give me a migraine. the barking dogs remind me of my time in mexico, when i thought i’d been kidnapped and might be sold as a child slave. the beautiful summer day doesn’t remind me fondly of my grandmother, like i would expect, but of smog, fear, tension and the overwhelming nervousness i became used to when i lived in LA.
all in all: it’s a great day to go back to bed, if i could.
Still, I’m a surly little cur on a fairly regular basis.
Why can’t happy annoying people pick this up and leave you alone when you are like this?
I’m not good with small talk. I like good conversations, about real stuff. I don’t want to hear about how you cooked your dinner last night or how many times your daughter spit up on you. Well, it’s not that I DON’T want to hear these things. I don’t actually mind what the topic of conversation is, but I hate little chit chat in the office. Let me do my fucking work. I mean, I don’t mind talking here and there, but non-stop girly chatter makes me crazy.
Now, if you were talking about comic books, or Spike TV, or action figures, maybe I wouldn’t mind as much. But no, there are just days when I don’t feel like being grossly social like most gabby chatty women are supposed to be. Why can’t women understand that I am not like them?
Ok, and even if they can’t figure out that I am not like them, because they didn’t happen to notice that I wear cat ears I bought at Hot Topic, or they didn’t notice that I dress like a tomboy half the time, or they didn’t notice that I never go to any of the social activities they arrange where everyone’s family can meet everyone else’s family, can’t they at least tell from my face that I am not sociable on certain days?
I’m fairly certain that my cross, grumpy, sour face today should have made it plain to anyone with eyeballs that you don’t want to talk to me today. What is the deal?
I think I’m going to have to create my own beauty pageant banner to wear, that says “Leave Her the Fuck Alone”. Maybe that will get the hint across.
(addendum: some people are ok to approach me. the people i really like. the rest of everybody should note the banner. approach with caution if you are not a lover or bestest friend)