I blog gluten-free

Friday, August 7, 2015

Holy Toxic Green Sewer Sludge, Batman!

I get scared when people congratulate me or say I did well. That if you show some people, they're going to ask who did it FOR me. I did really well on this thing for class... A stupid little thing that apparently, almost no one puts effort into. I'm embarrassed... It wasn't that much work. So I threw it away. When people ask my opinion or for help for things and call me a nice young lady, it's scary. "Please don't look at me. I'm not here." Like, father buying flowers for his daughter... Picks me out PROBABLY because I was the only person NEAR the bloody flowers and saw that I was interested and comparing things. I was also surprised to find that 1) Mums aren't always a ghastly dark brown/ orange color. They have light colored ones. My family seems fond of dark colors and I find them really overwhelming. I liked the white, pink, and purple ones a lot. The toxic sludge green ones, though... I was surprised to see how many decor ideas involved them; they look like boogers on a stick. (The other name of my imaginary heavy metal band, if Demonic Splurge is taken.) 2)That being asked to help, offering help, and even suggesting: "does your daughter like all sorts of flowers? There's really cool cacti outside that doesn't cost very much" is bad, and somehow I sinned. Is "there's cacti outside" some sort of sexual slang I don't know about? All I did was try to help some poor dude who knows nothing about girly things buy a stupid present for his daughter (I was the only person there, until my mother showed up from somewhere else in the store. I am never letting her make me go shopping after our weekly dinner out EVER AGAIN. Dinner, appointment, home. She will never "help" me again.) I didn't know that I was being bad and proud. I thought I was helping. Then I had to explain what "cacti" is to my mother (I know she's smarter than that! That horrible creepy woman who appeared one day like a Mexican night induced fart in the night and refuses to dissipate, really gets into every crevice of her mind and she won't show the person that actually tries and thinks!) and wonder what she THOUGHT I meant. I had to actually draw her a damn diagram! She is insisting that I never say that I want to speak for myself again. I intend to keep filling her head, because now, it's personal.

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