Frustration

So, I quit smoking. I don't know if I really was that addicted, or if fate hates me and waits till I try to kick the habit to dump random life shit on me, but all I know is that I am having a terrible time today. I kind of quit thursday night (I say kind of because Saturday night, I smoked three, which is an improvement over my usual, with Ashley) and I've done okay, but I really am struggling today.

Reasons I Want to Chain Smoke Filterless Camels Today:

1) I just lost a friend and a boy that I actually really like. Apparently, girls, it's okay for your friend to invite a guy you just started dating to her house for a party even though she knows you can't go and won't be there. And it's okay for him to accept this invitation. Oh, no, wait, I got that all backwards, you're right, it's not okay! I don't know if I am the only person on the face of the planet who would be uncomfortable and slightly pissed about this situation, but that's how the two of them (yes, they are behaving similiarly now...I wonder...) are acting, like I have no right to be mad. I'm sorry....but what reason in the world would someone have to invite a complete stranger who just happens to be dating one of their friends to their house knowing that they will be all sloppy drunk and making sexual overtures at random people? They don't even know each other...argh! It was bad enough that she ran her mouth about stuff she had no business talking about in the first place, but I just found out today that she gave him explicit directions to her house (and probably her panties...skank) and he followed those explicit directions and made an appearance (fuckwad). I don't care if all they did was talk about foriegn policy, that is never acceptable!

2) The people I work with are unfriendly and rude. Someone at another bank I was training at actually told me before I started at this bank that the people here were some of the most unfriendly she had ever worked with, but I dismissed that because I understand that everyone has different social needs and preferances and everyone has their own opinion. I came to this job hoping to make some new friends and get to know everyone here. Apparently, I did something wrong the first day I set foot in the door because ever since then, I have been getting the cold shoulder. I'm talking about people who won't even speak to me unless forced by professional protocol (and, at our bank, they stretch that pretty far). I used to come in every day and say hello to everyone and try to be helpful and cheerful, but their foul moods have rubbed off on me like old charcoal. I am sick of kissing ass and doing the please-like-me dance. These people have no reason not to like me! I have done nothing to deserve this silent treatment and honestly, they all just make themselves out to be little immature bitches when they stick their noses up and talk to everyone but me. I am a perfectly nice, normal person and I try very hard to mind my own business and just do my job and be respectful, I do not deserve this. And, the funny thing is, when I don't talk to them, that's when people actually start to notice anything about me at all. Um, so are we rewarding negative behavior now? Honestly, where is professionalism anymore? I have never worked anywhere like this. You would think that a bank would be more professional than the kitchen at a nursing home, but at least at the nursing home, we all tried to figure out ways to work with each other and put our differences aside. We were at least fucking polite. I can't stand this anymore. Everyone is all stuck up each others asses and I'm sick of it. I'm standing on the outside and I'm starting to realize that they are all just miserable people who would rather make someone else feel bad or left out than take some time to get over themselves and get to know someone else. (And just so you know, no, I don't mean everyone at the bank. There are a few down to earth, sweet girls who treat me like everyone else. A few means three--Meghan, Carmen and Ashley.)

3) I am about to start my period. Now, don't think that makes the first two complaints insignificant. I might be hormonal, but I am still sensible and I know when something hurts and when something is wrong. My reaction might be slightly different than it would have been two weeks ago, but the sentiments are the same. I really think I need to start taking some hormone pills or try some new birth control, because I cannot stand the way I feel right before I start. I am edgy and irritable and snappy as hell. I cry about nothing and I develop all these weird paranoias. (No, this does NOT apply to the first reason. I am not paranoid. It doesn't matter to me if they fucked on her front porch or not, it wasn't acceptable. I don't think that knowing the nature of bad human beings makes me paranoid. Chances are, if the president of the United States will get his dick sucked by a fat bitch in the Oval Office, your twenty one year old drunkard, hornball friend will fuck the guy you really like at a party. Common sense, right?) The last time I was about to start, I read this story in a magazine about this little boy named Aidan who died when he was two of some rare disease. When I got to the part about his family packing up his toys and taking down his crib, I burst into boiling tears and I literally cried for about three hours. I cried myself out of tears. My mom felt bad at first and then she just got annoyed because I wouldn't stop. And the funny thing is, once I actually start, I'm an angel. I feel all relieved and calm and demure and I flit around blowing kisses and sprinkling money dust on everyone (not really). I think I have PMPS--Premenstraul psychotic syndrome.

4) I need, I want, I HAVE to have sex! Okay, so maybe this is a little bit TMI (I actually don't know what that means anymore as far as my blogs are concerned), but I am insanely frisky (my nice alternative for that oogly h-word). I want a boy...and you know where. I was supposed to have a little date tonight and tomorrow night, but thanks to my loud mouth, inappropriate alcoholic ex-friend, I can scratch that (and it's a sad, sad shame, too, because I have a feeling that boy knows how to throw down...I hate her even more now). It did just occur to me though that if I were to get fucked really good, I would probably want a cigarette. AUGH! Now I miss AJ. WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?! Seriously, though, there's nothing I love more than falling back on the pillow, sweaty and satisfied, and letting the man responsible for my screaming and moaning light each one of us a cigarette. Then, we smoke and smile and wrap our legs around each other and bask in the afterglow of one outrageously good lay. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. But, I guess since there's no indication that I will be getting laid any time soon, or that if I do, that it will be any good, I don't have to worry about succumbing to the craving for that postcoital cigarette.

Anyway, this is my blog and I will do with it what I please. And what I have done is a beautiful explosion of hatred and anger. Kisses