People in Suburban Castles...

Shouldn't chuck Swarovski stones. At me. Or anyone else.

Well, stupidity abounds. I'm sitting on the fence with yet another one-sided friendship to really ask myself, "What the hell am I really getting out of this?" I am constantly at the mercy of this person's schedule, whims, moods, and unrelenting materialism. Materialism, if ya didn't know, has always made me SICK.

Nothing disgusts me more than having to see, feel, and smell all the money, jewelry, cars, Gucci sunglasses and Big 10 schools I didn't go to and of which my parents couldn't afford. I am in the worst financial straits of my life, my rent is three months late and I have to worry about this person's trips to Paris and their dropping two thousand dollars on clothes? Meanwhile, squealing, tortured, hellish cries of poorhouse keep finding their way to my ears as this person is going to mint a fucking fortune when the divorce goes through. Did I ask this person to marry a narcissistic, verbally abusive, womanizing nightmare? Oh, wait. He makes one million dollars per year. Suddenly, I'm thinking this wasn't exactly about love. This is also the reason why I haven't been to a wedding in five years. I'm sick of the lying, politicizing, and bullshit "romance" that covers mortgages, two-car garages, diamonds, pearls, shoe closets and Neiman Marcus credit cards. If you call that true love or romance or a balanced relationship? I'M CALLING YOU A FUCKING LIAR.

So, as I sat in the middle of a welfare office today begging for help with my rent, my phone rang to hear the clueless, dulcet tones of, "Well, are you going to visit me anytime soon?" Does the gravity of my situation even ring a bell? What the fuck is it with people that choose to hear only what they want? Am I the asshole here? Oh, yes. But of course! I didn't dumb myself down. I give a shit about things other than well, THINGS. I don't give a shit what people think, show off my intelligence at every turn, I actually eat food (no shitting it out or puking it up), read the paper, volunteer for abused animals and poor people (some very much like myself--female and struggling with their own sanity at any given time) and care about the wellbeing and betterment of my own class. The New Yorkers, the working poor, the huddled masses shaking their heads at the dearth of condos, Duane Reades and Starbucks that are quickly enveloping all the areas of my beloved city for yuppie scumbag Midwestern HOMOGENIZED TRASH that have the balls to call themselves "city folk."

FUCK YOU AND FUCK YOU.

With the exception of Meg, Kjou, and Roxlander there are very few people that have even dialed my number to check if I'm still alive let alone reach into their pockets and give portions of their hard-earned cash to someone like me that truly needs it. My mother told me her mother (dead since 1951) used to say that you can count your best friends--the ones that will go down in flames for you without question--on one hand. And that one hand may have less than five fingers. So, to my little "gloves", I say thank you. But to those Swarovski Chuckers?

I'm done. For good. Now go.

This concludes my vicious rant for the day. We now return to our regularly scheduled programming.