Oy vey.
Time for some good, old-fashioned, First World kvetching about unfairness (also, epitome of tl;dr).
Let's go back to October, the day that I was to see Paolo Nutini. Kelsey and I had planned this since July and since July I had been given "strikes." One strike for everytime I was rude, or pleasant, or was thinking something mean basically. At five strikes, there was no Paolo. I got four in four months, which is pretty fucking spectacular if you've met me. I had never spoken less to my mom and my sister, nor had I ever ground my teeth that much, nor had I ever punched inanimate objects more. I was going to see Paolo Fucking Nutini and no outburst was going to ruin that. The day we are going to leave, my mom tells me that I am obnoxious and have done nothing to deserve to be driven the two hours to St. Louis so she can sit in the car for four or five hours and then drive two more hours home. Needless to say, I had a breakdown. However, we ended up going.
Now, yesterday Clare got in huge trouble. She fucked up, big time. Her best friend, Brooke, who she's been friends with since preschool or whatever stole some pills from God knows who and knew she would get in trouble so her and Clare concocted this stupid story about how Clare was at her friend's and felt sick, so the friend gave her some allergy medicine which just so happened to be in the bottle ("oh, I guess there were some prescription pills in it") that was found in Brooke's bag. It fell out of Clare's bag and Brooke picked it up. No. Clare was "being a good friend." She and my mom screamed back and forth at each other for an hour. Ten minutes later, Clare had her cell phone, wasn't grounded, and was going to see Death Cab For Cutie downtown tonight as long as she picks up trash for River Relief next weekend.
Are you fucking kidding me? No, you're not. Also, yeah, I like Death Cab, too. Thanks mom, for buying three tickets, for you, Clare and Dave. That was nice of you.
Let's go back to October, the day that I was to see Paolo Nutini. Kelsey and I had planned this since July and since July I had been given "strikes." One strike for everytime I was rude, or pleasant, or was thinking something mean basically. At five strikes, there was no Paolo. I got four in four months, which is pretty fucking spectacular if you've met me. I had never spoken less to my mom and my sister, nor had I ever ground my teeth that much, nor had I ever punched inanimate objects more. I was going to see Paolo Fucking Nutini and no outburst was going to ruin that. The day we are going to leave, my mom tells me that I am obnoxious and have done nothing to deserve to be driven the two hours to St. Louis so she can sit in the car for four or five hours and then drive two more hours home. Needless to say, I had a breakdown. However, we ended up going.
Now, yesterday Clare got in huge trouble. She fucked up, big time. Her best friend, Brooke, who she's been friends with since preschool or whatever stole some pills from God knows who and knew she would get in trouble so her and Clare concocted this stupid story about how Clare was at her friend's and felt sick, so the friend gave her some allergy medicine which just so happened to be in the bottle ("oh, I guess there were some prescription pills in it") that was found in Brooke's bag. It fell out of Clare's bag and Brooke picked it up. No. Clare was "being a good friend." She and my mom screamed back and forth at each other for an hour. Ten minutes later, Clare had her cell phone, wasn't grounded, and was going to see Death Cab For Cutie downtown tonight as long as she picks up trash for River Relief next weekend.
Are you fucking kidding me? No, you're not. Also, yeah, I like Death Cab, too. Thanks mom, for buying three tickets, for you, Clare and Dave. That was nice of you.