Egocentrism. Empirical Data. Worrisome.
Brief foreword: I feel kind of shitty turning Erica's accident into some self-centered rant. I hope it doesn't come off as selfish, but I suppose that wouldn't be too far off the mark would it? In any case, I apologize if it seems a bit self-involved. Not that it changes anything. I'm a bad friend. But I'm talking in circles now, so let the post resume.
After much zen-like contemplation, I have determined that I have some anger management issues. In the spirit of our great country, I'll let the evidence speak for itself. I suppose.
Thursday (might be an exception, given the enormity of the context):
1) Staring at that motherfucker who hit Erica, I really wanted to throw him onto the pavement and not stop kicking until I Erica was okay again.
2) Listening to the driver's dumb cunt of a passenger blabber to anyone and everyone who was around how they "weren't going that fast" (Which is why we found her shoe some thirty feet away, right bitch? Right? You fucking disgust me.), I wanted to deliver a firm, open-palmed slap across her filthy mouth. And then, start punching her for being such a tasteless waste of consciousness.
3) I sucker-punched a vending machine at the hospital after yet more bad news. And it felt damned fine.
Friday:
1) After waiting thirty damned minutes for two slices of cheese pizza at some shady pizzeria (replete with a confusing poster from the 80s which read, "GYROS!" and featured a scary girl with eyebrows halfway up her fucking forehead), I leaped over the counter and shoved both the lazy fuckers' heads into the oven until they begged for forgiveness. Just kidding, I sat there and bitched. Then ate my pizza. I guess that's not so much a failure of anger management as much as it is run-of-the-mill passive-aggressive LA douchebaggery.
Saturday:
1) Visited Erica at the BCU, and despite her being fully cognizant (And still a snippy bitch, might I add. I'll show YOU who's a Jesus Whore! She's lucky she was already in a hospital. Or I would have put her there with my fist. So relieved she's okay enough to get back to butt-raping my dignity. =P), I wanted more than ever to find out that asshole's name and take a hammer to various body parts.
2) Watched Mr. and Mrs. Smith with Diana, Kathy, and Mickey. In the theater, some dumb bitch answered her cell phone and carried on a rather loud conversation with her friend. I told her to shut her shit off. Ten minutes later, her friend gets a call as well. She also picks up. At which point I turn around and ask them what the fuck their problem is, and that they are being extremely rude. We can ignore, for the sake of me looking noble, that by yelling at them I was being just as loud and obnoxious. They make "pffft" sounds and the husband makes the "shoo" gesture to me. After the movie, I stand up and show them that there is indeed a "silent" function on a cell phone. The dumb bitch tells me in her Mexi-English that she was waiting for an important call. Yeah, right. Then don't come to a fucking movie then. Man gives me more shoo noises. I continue to curse at them, while the rest of White America pretends not to notice and walks by uncomfortably. Thanks a whole lot, you cowardly motherfuckers.
3) I sucker punch yet another inanimate object after we have left the theater. This time it is a tiled pillar. It felt pretty fucking fantastic, too.
I consider myself a pretty timid person. Which is why it concerns me that I tend to focus in on how pissed off I am by things. But it's not like I get angry at inappropriate or mundane things, right? I feel like the things that I've angrily latched onto lately have been shitty enough that I am justified in doing so.
But I'm a little worried at just how much I enjoy being that angry for that long. Maybe enjoy isn't the right word. Or maybe it is. All I know is that the burning feeling in my chest and sucker punching inanimate objects make things feel less awful.
I never want to hurt anyone or anything (I am a gigantic wussy), which would be a really scary sign. So that much is a plus. But I guess I'm prone to wearing my emotions on my face, because Alex kept telling me that he wanted to hit the driver too, but that we shouldn't because it wouldn't help anything. And Megan kept telling me to calm down.
I honestly didn't think I appeared that belligerent, regardless of what I was thinking.
I don't really know if that really was the case, but it's kind of worrisome.
After much zen-like contemplation, I have determined that I have some anger management issues. In the spirit of our great country, I'll let the evidence speak for itself. I suppose.
Thursday (might be an exception, given the enormity of the context):
1) Staring at that motherfucker who hit Erica, I really wanted to throw him onto the pavement and not stop kicking until I Erica was okay again.
2) Listening to the driver's dumb cunt of a passenger blabber to anyone and everyone who was around how they "weren't going that fast" (Which is why we found her shoe some thirty feet away, right bitch? Right? You fucking disgust me.), I wanted to deliver a firm, open-palmed slap across her filthy mouth. And then, start punching her for being such a tasteless waste of consciousness.
3) I sucker-punched a vending machine at the hospital after yet more bad news. And it felt damned fine.
Friday:
1) After waiting thirty damned minutes for two slices of cheese pizza at some shady pizzeria (replete with a confusing poster from the 80s which read, "GYROS!" and featured a scary girl with eyebrows halfway up her fucking forehead), I leaped over the counter and shoved both the lazy fuckers' heads into the oven until they begged for forgiveness. Just kidding, I sat there and bitched. Then ate my pizza. I guess that's not so much a failure of anger management as much as it is run-of-the-mill passive-aggressive LA douchebaggery.
Saturday:
1) Visited Erica at the BCU, and despite her being fully cognizant (And still a snippy bitch, might I add. I'll show YOU who's a Jesus Whore! She's lucky she was already in a hospital. Or I would have put her there with my fist. So relieved she's okay enough to get back to butt-raping my dignity. =P), I wanted more than ever to find out that asshole's name and take a hammer to various body parts.
2) Watched Mr. and Mrs. Smith with Diana, Kathy, and Mickey. In the theater, some dumb bitch answered her cell phone and carried on a rather loud conversation with her friend. I told her to shut her shit off. Ten minutes later, her friend gets a call as well. She also picks up. At which point I turn around and ask them what the fuck their problem is, and that they are being extremely rude. We can ignore, for the sake of me looking noble, that by yelling at them I was being just as loud and obnoxious. They make "pffft" sounds and the husband makes the "shoo" gesture to me. After the movie, I stand up and show them that there is indeed a "silent" function on a cell phone. The dumb bitch tells me in her Mexi-English that she was waiting for an important call. Yeah, right. Then don't come to a fucking movie then. Man gives me more shoo noises. I continue to curse at them, while the rest of White America pretends not to notice and walks by uncomfortably. Thanks a whole lot, you cowardly motherfuckers.
3) I sucker punch yet another inanimate object after we have left the theater. This time it is a tiled pillar. It felt pretty fucking fantastic, too.
I consider myself a pretty timid person. Which is why it concerns me that I tend to focus in on how pissed off I am by things. But it's not like I get angry at inappropriate or mundane things, right? I feel like the things that I've angrily latched onto lately have been shitty enough that I am justified in doing so.
But I'm a little worried at just how much I enjoy being that angry for that long. Maybe enjoy isn't the right word. Or maybe it is. All I know is that the burning feeling in my chest and sucker punching inanimate objects make things feel less awful.
I never want to hurt anyone or anything (I am a gigantic wussy), which would be a really scary sign. So that much is a plus. But I guess I'm prone to wearing my emotions on my face, because Alex kept telling me that he wanted to hit the driver too, but that we shouldn't because it wouldn't help anything. And Megan kept telling me to calm down.
I honestly didn't think I appeared that belligerent, regardless of what I was thinking.
I don't really know if that really was the case, but it's kind of worrisome.
posted by Unknown at 4:46 PM
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