Unfit for human consumption

I don't like opening lines. They carry WAY too much expectation, a sickening amount of potential, and in my case they are usually contrived. I would prefer to start in the middle. By then, we've all settled in, and we're just enjoying ourselves...

Tonight, the very fact that this blog exists pisses me off. It feels like an endless diatribe of "Am I good enough?" Ugh. What a pain in the ass. 

Why did I think that being a whiny bitch would be cleansing? Why would spilling my metaphorical beans ever make me feel better? It pisses some relatives off, embarrasses others past the point of recognition. Oh yeah, there are those who would rather smash the punch bowl in the middle of Nana's table and floss their teeth with the remnants than talk to me. I'm that annoying brat who TALKS ABOUT THINGS.  

ANYway, the fact that I am an entitled and self-righteous bitch was recently brought to my attention via the interwebs by a real special person, if you interpret the word "special" to mean total effing piece of shit. But, when some pieces of shit have lots of money and prestige, you start to believe them. Isn't that sad? Pathetic, actually. 

Well, here's some knowledge I would like to throw the interweb's way: I eat Moose Tracks ice cream on a regular basis. I read Game of Thrones fanfiction online when there are perfectly good books on my end table. I listen to the "Twilight" soundtrack on repeat. I love people of all kinds, and I'm getting pretty fucking sick of folks telling me who I should and should not hang around. I've been honest and it's blown up in my face time and time again. I am good to people. I am brutally giving and honest. I will lie down in traffic for you if that's what you need.  Don't call me two-faced because you're not "the only one".

I can't have children, ever. I cry about it sometimes, and mothers tell me "Oh but if it's meant to be, it's meant to be." Say that again, bitch. Say it again and listen to how ridiculous you sound. 

I like to read fiction that comforts me; Edwardian romance usually does the trick. It's not what a "feminist" should read, but a good ol happy ending in long pretty dresses makes me happy for a little while, and sometimes soothes my brain for a bit when I get my period AGAIN, and three more friends announce their pregnancies on Facebook.  

The conclusion that I have ultimately come to is that I'm NOT necessarily interesting, I'm probably self-righteous, and I am using this base and BORING means of communication because I'm just entitled.

I'll let you know when I'm ready to stop.....'cause that time sure as hell ain't come yet.