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12.15.2004

some days, living with your parents is hard to choke down. others, its almost like dying, then being tortured, and then dying again. you see my point. but realistically, even on my worst days, the days that seem like it is unbearable to deal with the insufferable Queen of Darkness any longer, i remind myself that it could be worse. i could live with dad.

poor poor angie.

living with our father, is like this... imagine standing in a dark room, alone, with no exits. there is a mosquito, monica gellar, a drill sergeant, and voices in your head. pleasant isnt it. now kick the drill sergeant in the crotch and then spill coffee on the carpet. VOILA!

he can go on and on for hours and hours and hours about how the dishrags shouldnt go in the same load of laundry as the washcloths because they each require a specific amount of oxyclean and if you accidentally put one in with the washcloths then you will throw off whole balance of the clean world and then holy shit what we use to clean up the ring on the counter left by the heinous coffee mug and OH MY GOD...

you are a crazy little tiny man.

and you, angie, poor poor angie, get to live with him. but on a lighter note, on those worst days, when it seems unbearable, remind yourself, that it could be worse. he could play chilean flute music before dawn.

oh wait. HA HA HA. i know its so mean and nasty and i should pity you and not mock you but since im incapable of any emotion HA HA HA.

its not your birthday anymore so piss off.

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