(no subject)
I got so angry earlier this evening at my mom's apartment manager. Long story short, apparently there's some rule now about having your party meet you in the lobby before being allowed to take the elevator upstairs, which basically ended with me running into the woman a few hours later while she was lecturing my mom about the fact that I didn't sign in at the front desk when I came in. I screamed something along the lines of not being some punk teenager coming in off the street and that I"m almost 30 years old *26 in April, actually* and telling her to take her *fluffy froo froo* dog to the groomer, and stating the number of sex offenders that live in the building and the fact that I'm not one of them.
And my subsequent downing of vodka cranberries as we speak.
What's worse, is that I felt so stupid driving to Adrian's place afterward, because I was trying to assauge my anger by blasting White Stripes Icky Thump on the way, and realizied that hard rock protest songs about immigrant rights are hardly on par with my throwing a fit in front of my mom, grandma, and their landlord.
Well, you can't be a pimp and a prostitue, too.
And my subsequent downing of vodka cranberries as we speak.
What's worse, is that I felt so stupid driving to Adrian's place afterward, because I was trying to assauge my anger by blasting White Stripes Icky Thump on the way, and realizied that hard rock protest songs about immigrant rights are hardly on par with my throwing a fit in front of my mom, grandma, and their landlord.
Well, you can't be a pimp and a prostitue, too.