My Anger

I'm skipping Strest's homecoming tomorrow night. Why? Many reasons, because I hate that place. Because I could care less about some useless tradition and a twinkle-lit commons room. Most importantly, because tomorrow night is the night of the Black Chandelier Art Walk Studio Party. Dobbl and I [we patched things up] were informed of this party at the Road Rally, receiving two Jared Gold Golden Tickets each. And we were stoked, because we love His Majersty the Goldmeister and His Majersty the Goldmeister loves us back, we were going to go to this party dressed in garbage bag and whatever Dobbl had on hand. There's only one setback: Frankie's coming along.

In the beginning, there were two forces, Andi of the Light and Frankie, of the Dark. These forces mingled carelessly, and soon, Andi's Light was tainted by the muddy waters of Frankie's doing. A mediator was needed to stop the colliding of these forces. The Great Mediator was called Doible. Doible was yea, a Great Mediator, who allowed for the right amount of Light and Dark to co-exist. That is, until the Dark attempted to swallow up the Light once and for all. For weeks, the Light and Dark fought tirelessly, the Great Mediator herself confused and angry at the Dark. The Light finally administered a final shove. The Light released herself from all things pertaining to the Dark, retaining a seperate personality for the rest of eternity, and a strong grandling for the Dark forevermore. The Great Mediator, however, retained a friendship with the Dark. And yea, they were good friends.

I relay to you this story to better explain why I and Frankie are fucking mortal enemies. Because I say snotty things about her and she says even snottier things about me. Because I used to apologize every day, and she still attacked me with tooth and tail and numbing nail, and because I had gotten tired of trying to appease her. I'm still tired of trying to appease her. I wish I could say that I've reached the point of apathy on whether she lives or dies or has a bad day or not, but I'm not, not yet. I'm at the point where every word she says makes my brain seethe with anger and my blood boil like acid. I hate that cunt.

And I sigh, because she said these things concerning Dobbl's and my little mini-fight a few nights ago, these things which are hideously and sickeningly UN-true:
[Just to clarify, I'm the "BEST FRIEND," and Dobbl is the "you" in these quotations.]

"i was sort of pleased that you and your BEST FRIEND are fighting when i found out, but i don't really hope that you lose eachother and for your sake (and hers i guess but she fucking pisses me off) i hope nothing happens, because she literally doesn't know how much she needs you."

"oh yeah,and you need someone to be serious around, because i am absolutely incapable of having a non-hilarious and honest pseudo-intellectual song lyric comprised drippy fucking dreary outlook on everything ever."

Excuse me? EXCUSE ME? HOLD THE FUCK UP. Okay, Frankie, there, you got your wish. I'm mad. I'm "pissy" about this. Do you know why? Because you are a tremendous sod, because you are a bleeding cunt-wound on the face of society. I don't know how much I need Diantha? Wow. You know, that's saying a lot, considering the sheer innumerable times I have been there to tell her just how needed and wonderful she is. You go on to call me pseudo-intellectual, and state that my outlook on "everything ever" is song-lyric comprised and dreary. When was the last time I told you my fucking outlook on anything, you one-faceted backstabber? When was the last time I even opened my mouth around you? Not since seventh grade, that's when, so I'm guessing you're basing all your opinions of me on hearsay, photographs, and what Dobbl gossips to you.

Pseudo-intellectual? Don't get me started on just how smart I am, you bitch, don't even get me started. I am currently being crushed under the weight of expectations just because of how fucking smart I am. And you know what? I am smart. I'm a goddamn genius compared to you, who ruins all social situations with a snap of "I'm a boy!" or "I'm anorexic!" I'm a goddamn genius compared to you, who ruins little kids' minds all for fun. I am a goddamn genius. And I am smart enough to know that when I say something, I mean it, no matter what song lyric is used or what sort of look on life I'm providing. I don't need song lyrics to make a point. I don't need you to tell me what I am and am not. I am smart, I am optimistic and pessimistic, I am realistic, and I don't try to prove people wrong just for their reaction.

As for the "non-hilarious" remark, I can't tell whether you're calling me a tres seriuese ass or a laughing stock. Either way, I can tell you that I've had many a laugh at your expense, for instance, the fact that you simply will not stop whining about how nobody "believes" you're a boy. I think if you are genuinely transgendered, it should be enough for you to be able to dress like a boy. Your parents support you in this. You're incredibly spoiled if you can't see the virtue in that, do you know how many transgendered men and women have committed suicide all because what they were doing was "wrong" in their parents' eyes?

I am very, very reluctant to accompany Frankie and Dobbl to this Jared Gold party. I feel like I was the real one invited, and I'm being kicked out in favor of a whining bitch with a disgusting smile. Maybe I just won't go at all. Maybe this whole "fame" thing just isn't for me.