A Fat Kid On A Diet

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As you all well know, say just the right thing to provoke me and my hairs will stand on end and I will rip into you like a cobra who hasn't seen meat in seven weeks.

Use just the right word combinations, manipulate me just the right way, insult just the right person and I am ALL OVER YOU, like a fat kid on cake. Occasionally, people purposely do it, just to watch me fly into a amusing rage. I usually know when this is being done, but I have standards to uphold, pricinples to defend and a reputation of viciousness to protect, so I normally go along with it anyway. I don't mind being entertainment. Paticualrly when this is normally my family members on a bored Wednesday night. Plying me with insults the way you ply a dog with treats to make him roll over and play dead.

However. There are the rare instances when someone says just the right things and I decide not to bite. Why? Because they WANT me to. And heaven help us if we let someone beat us at our own mind games! Though, I'm not sure what is worse. Playing into their hands-or-suffering the internal scorching of my own rage, since I cannot let it out.

Yes. I am having one of those moments. I want to stomp, I want to scream, I want to verbally viscerate, I want to call up the forces of hell and order a good ass-kicking. I want to make their life, miserable.

But I'm not.

I'm biting my tongue. I'm ignoring. I'm wishing I had a hammer so I could smash every one of my fingers to distract myself.

All this righteousness sucks. I really wouldn't recommend it.

And I really don't know what the point of this post was. Perhaps a tiny alleviation of suffering? Perhaps a very conceited way to point out how "righteous" I am. Perhaps I am a spoiled little brat who needed to vent. But either way, it pisses me off. And this is my blog so I can talk about whatever the hell I want.

So there.

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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