Day 298 Mean Girl

The Baby's told me that I'm a mean girl, that I say several things that shouldn't be said in public and that hurt people's feelings.


I would never deny it; I have the social filter of a hula hoop of an obese, Polynesian hot-dog-eating-contest winner. But as far as I'm fucking concerned, at least I'm not saying it behind your fucking back.


Yes, I've made people cry by insinuating [drunkenly proclaiming] that their parents don't give a fuck about them because their older siblings have actually accomplished something in their lives and those younger siblings are essentially the black sheep that no one cares to shear and hopes they sweat themselves to death anyway... but hey, they're only crying because it's true. 


I've accepted this fact and embraced it like a plush teddy bear. Why? Because I'm never spiteful about it. If I'm saying something that hurts your tender, vaginal feelings it's because you have the emotional capacity of a tender vagina. I will never bring up that dark night in the alleyway you spent a year trying to forget nor will I broach the time you lost a loved one unless you bring it up, but I will ream the shit out of your mental ass if you think you're going to spend the rest of your life moaning and groaning about it. (The Baby tells me I'm a bitch for doing this when she does it to me on any given day when I especially need a hug).


I have never once belittled another person for their emotional scars nor have been so thoughtless and feckless to rub bitchy-ass salt into anyone's wounds if I knew those memories were open... and despite the claims that I'm a mean person I have never willingly initiated any level of antagonistic feelings against anyone because, as much as I believe a fair amount of people I know deserve it, I'm not 11 anymore and that shit can stay in grade school where it fucking belongs. 


I don't think I'm a mean girl; not because I think I'm a better person than anyone else on the planet, but because I'm not going to lie to your face when you ask me a question that actually fucking matters... and I'm going to tell you what you need to hear even if you don't fucking believe it. 


If being honest to a fault, at the expense of my relationships with people who don't understand that the words I say aren't meant to hurt or to injure but to spell the fucking truth when they've clearly got emotional dyslexia, then those are relationships I can afford to let go. Why? Because I'm not going to sugarcoat a ball of needles to make you feel better; you know you have a ball of needles, I know you have a ball of needles, accept it fucker. I hated it when it was done to me and I'll be fucked eight ways to Sunday before I do it to anyone I care enough to tell the truth to.