the sorrowful midwest
i hate Christmas. i'm not big on family get togethers. i hate them so much. fake smiles over revolting food that my grandma claims she slaved over... not my idea of a good time.
the only thing that sounds good today is suicide. or at least attempted suicide. i was thinking "hmmm, how could i tell my grandma that she sucks without actually saying it to her (so she can't bitch, piss and moan about it for the rest of my life)? suicide! boy, that'd really piss her off." ah, but i digress. if i jumped off of my balcony, i would land right on my feet and not be hurt at all. god hates people who want to commit suicide but have no means of it. and i'm sure she'd be (and i hate to be mad niggerish here, but it's appropriate) ackin' a goddamn fool at my funeral. she wouldn't even let my funeral be about me. it would be about her and her 'sorrow'. at my brother's funeral, she was in competition with my mother to see who could cry the loudest and longest. i mean, my mom wasn't aware, her baby was laying in a box that looked like a toasted marshmallow. she invited all of her relatives, far and wide, to come and see the spectacle that was the death of Brian Alexander. she invited her friends to see her emote. to hear her beg God to bring him back. to hold her while she made her body shake, as if anything could ever shake her to her core that way. she saw the opportunity for attention and took it. i think she's excited to die, i really do. she wore pink to my grandfather's funeral. pink. hot ass pink. in a sea of black, Kathleen wears a hot pink shirt. why? because she has to be the center of attention. she wants everyone to know that she's there and she wants everyone to acknowledge her every move. and people ask me how i can not like my grandma. are you fucking serious? she made the worst day of my life the biggest show of her life. my grandfather is dead. i'm stuttering through a poem at the altar with my knees buckled and i can see the glint of pink. i keep my head down and whisper my poem into the microphone, keeping my eyes averted from his body. i hurried back to my seat between her and my aunt. she leaned over and said "you weren't loud enough, nobody heard you. good job." that was the moment. that was it. from that sentence on, i have hated my grandmother. now you understand.
god, i miss my grandpa. Jayda looks just like him. the amazing thing about that is that they're not related by blood.
i'm sorry. i just wanted to clear that up. i'm sick of people saying "you shouldn't hate your grandma! she does so much for you! how could you hate such a nice woman?" you've been fooled. she's a great actress though, isn't she?
the only thing that sounds good today is suicide. or at least attempted suicide. i was thinking "hmmm, how could i tell my grandma that she sucks without actually saying it to her (so she can't bitch, piss and moan about it for the rest of my life)? suicide! boy, that'd really piss her off." ah, but i digress. if i jumped off of my balcony, i would land right on my feet and not be hurt at all. god hates people who want to commit suicide but have no means of it. and i'm sure she'd be (and i hate to be mad niggerish here, but it's appropriate) ackin' a goddamn fool at my funeral. she wouldn't even let my funeral be about me. it would be about her and her 'sorrow'. at my brother's funeral, she was in competition with my mother to see who could cry the loudest and longest. i mean, my mom wasn't aware, her baby was laying in a box that looked like a toasted marshmallow. she invited all of her relatives, far and wide, to come and see the spectacle that was the death of Brian Alexander. she invited her friends to see her emote. to hear her beg God to bring him back. to hold her while she made her body shake, as if anything could ever shake her to her core that way. she saw the opportunity for attention and took it. i think she's excited to die, i really do. she wore pink to my grandfather's funeral. pink. hot ass pink. in a sea of black, Kathleen wears a hot pink shirt. why? because she has to be the center of attention. she wants everyone to know that she's there and she wants everyone to acknowledge her every move. and people ask me how i can not like my grandma. are you fucking serious? she made the worst day of my life the biggest show of her life. my grandfather is dead. i'm stuttering through a poem at the altar with my knees buckled and i can see the glint of pink. i keep my head down and whisper my poem into the microphone, keeping my eyes averted from his body. i hurried back to my seat between her and my aunt. she leaned over and said "you weren't loud enough, nobody heard you. good job." that was the moment. that was it. from that sentence on, i have hated my grandmother. now you understand.
god, i miss my grandpa. Jayda looks just like him. the amazing thing about that is that they're not related by blood.
i'm sorry. i just wanted to clear that up. i'm sick of people saying "you shouldn't hate your grandma! she does so much for you! how could you hate such a nice woman?" you've been fooled. she's a great actress though, isn't she?