Anger Management - No Joke!

Just after lunch last Friday, I thought for sure I was going to kill someone with my bare hands. I'm so not kidding, people. My mother I had been on my a** all week because she had a bunch of stuff that she needed to do, and when she wants something done it has to be right away, or she will just keep harping about it until it's done. She's got no damn patience that woman. I also had to help my sister deal with some issues from a past relationship (she volunteered me for the job... gee, thanks so much... not!), and she was extra bitter, so imagine how much fun that was for me. Then, I had some business related stuff to settle (I'll save that maddening story for another day), and there was just no pleasing anybody.

God, help me!! I'd been going & going like the freakin' Energizer Bunny all day, and I seriously needed a moment alone -- ASAP. So, I decided to go check my e-mail. When I opened up my inbox, the subject line "Anger Management" was staring back at me. Is this some kind of a joke, I thought to myself. Then, I clicked to read the message.

Anger Management

When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take it out on someone, don't take it out on someone you know, take it out on someone you don't know. I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone call I'd forgotten to make. I found the number and dialed it.

A man answered, saying "Hello." I politely said, "This is Chris. Could I please speak with Robyn Carter?" Suddenly, a manic voice yelled out in my ear, "Get the right f***ing number!" and the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn't believe that anyone could be so rude.

When I tracked down Robyn's correct number to call her, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two digits. After hanging up with her, I decided to call the 'wrong' number again. When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled, "You're an a**hole!" and hung up.

I wrote his number down with the word 'a**hole' next to it, and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I'd call him up and yell, "You're an a**hole!" It always cheered me up.

When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my therapeutic 'a**hole' calling would have to stop. So, I called his number and said, "Hi, this is John Smith from the telephone company. I'm calling to see if you're familiar with our Caller ID Program?" He yelled, "NO!" and slammed down the phone. I quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're an a**hole!" and hung up.

One day, I was at the store getting ready to pull into a parking spot. Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I'd been waiting for that spot, but the idiot ignored me. I noticed a "For Sale" sign in his back window, so I wrote down his number. A couple of days later, right after calling the first a**hole (I had is number on speed dial) I thought that I'd better call the BMW a**hole, too. I said, "Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?" He said, "Yes, it is." I asked, "Can you tell me where I can see it?" He said, "Yes, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd, in Fairfax. It's a yellow ranch, and the car's parked right out in front." I asked, "What's your name?" He said, "My name is Don Hansen." I asked, "When's a good time to catch you, Don?" He said, "I'm home every evening after five." I said, "Listen, Don, can I tell you something?" He said, "Yes?" I said, "Don, you're an a**hole!" Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too.

Now, when I had a problem, I had two a**holes to call. Then, I came up with an idea. I called a**hole #1. He said, "Hello." I said, "You're an a**hole!" but I didn't hang up. He asked, "Are you still there?" I said, "Yeah." He screamed, "Stop calling me." I said, "Make me." He asked, "Who are you?" I said, "My name is Don Hansen." He said, "Yeah? Where do you live?" I said, "A**hole, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd, in Fairfax, a yellow ranch. I have a black Beamer parked in front." He said, "I'm coming over right now, Don. And you had better start saying your prayers." I said, "Yeah, like I'm really scared, a**hole," and hung up.

Then, I called A**hole #2. He said, "Hello?" I said, "Hello, a**hole." He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..." I said, "You'll what?" He exclaimed, "I'll kick your a**!" I answered, "Well, a**hole, here's your chance. I'm coming over right now."

I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at 34 Oaktree Blvd, in Fairfax, and that I was on my way over there to kill my gay lover. Next, I called Channel 9 News about the gang war going down in Oaktree Blvd, in Fairfax. Then, I quickly got into my car and headed over to Fairfax. I got there just in time to watch the two a**holes beating the crap out of each other in front of six cop cars, an overhead news helicopter, and surrounded by a news crew.

NOW I feel much better. Anger management really does work.

To the person who sent me this story (you know who you are), I can't thank you enough. I needed to read it more than you can ever know. It's been so long since I laughed that freakin' hard. Priceless, just priceless!

Now, if you'll all excuse me, I need to find a couple of a**holes I don't know & get their phone numbers.

JB

My Blanket of Sadness

It’s 1 o'clock in the morning and, as usual, I can’t sleep. Only, this time is different than most sleepless nights because tonight I dug out my blanket, the one that I have been hiding for the last few weeks. My blanket of sadness... the one that consists of the last three years of my life woven into one tangled & messy weave, otherwise known as the life of a depressed person trying to hide from all the hurt and pain that she's experienced because of a failed relationship with the one person who she thought would never fail her... the one person who she thought would love her forever.

Tonight, my blanket of sadness has a strangle hold on me, and it won’t let go. Sitting at the edge of my bed crying like my kitten just died, I realize that the hurt is still there no matter what, and my blanket is the only thing that gives me comfort. The agonizing thought that two people who played a cruel & unthinkable game with me could be sharing a bed together makes me want to move to another country, just so I never have to witness the mockery of this affair. Someone tell me how you can live a truth that was based on lies to start off with?

On the floor by my feet, there's a puddle of tears surrounded by Kleenex. It's a familiar scene that I thought was finally over, but I guess my blanket of sadness is wrapped around me tighter than I thought. I have been trying to store it away permanently, and hope I will soon. For now, I need to cover my face because my tears feel like acid, and my eyes are burning. I need to say this: I hate them both with an undeniable passion, and wish them pain & suffering for the rest of their lives. This may sound mean, but it's what I feel... it's the hurt talking. Some people would probably say worse. All I know is that I need to release it. The sadness is only a temporary thing that will fade as my wounds heal.

I know that I may declare love for this woman in some of my posts, but there is a thin line between love and hate. You can’t draw the line properly because it’s blurred. We love as hard as we hate, and I am living proof of this. I have forgiven myself, but tonight I hate this overwhelming feeling of loosing control. Something has taken over my heart, and filled it with the hate that I am trying to unload.

Why are you here tonight, sadness and hate? Why are you strangling me? Are you reminding me that I am alive and need to feel all that is in me?

Wrapping the blanket tighter, I feel secure that I will finish this, and then get to sleep like a child. I miss that kind of sleep so much. Maybe, I will dream of the love that once cared for me, who held me in her gaze for hours and watched me sleep. I miss her as much as I hate her. My heart and soul ache for her touch, her lips, her love.

My blanket of sadness is holding the hurt, sad, betrayed, and somewhat depressed women deep within me... the woman who never once gave up on her love, yet whose love gave up on her in a heart beat because a half life was easier to settle for than a full life. It's sad what people will do to fit into the structures dictated by others.

JB

Breakfast With Bitter

I figured that breakfast with my sister (aka Bitter) this morning would, as per usual, be a frolicking trip down 'I hate the world and everyone can go f**k themselves' lane, and so it was. She never disappoints.

Me: (sitting down at the table) So, how are you today?

Bitter: What are you stupid? I just saw you last night at work. How the f**k do you think I am?

Me: Are you drunk? You don't seem like yourself.

Bitter: Actually, no, I'm stoned. I have been popping pills (Percocet for her lower back pain) all morning. Don't give me a lecture. Don't want to know and don't care.

Clearly, this was going to be a full force, in your face, bitterness hate festival of a breakfast. She started with HWSNBN, and then her ex (the guy left her to get married to a pure woman because he's Muslim and she isn't). Then, she went on a tirade about God ("Who the f**k does God think he is?") and my going to church.

Holy crap, I thought. She is going to explode like a nuclear missile. Time for a distraction.

Me: Do you think things happen for a reason?

Bitter: (nothing, just looking at me like I'm an idiot)

Me: Am I going to find love like Ellen?

Bitter: (clearing her throat) Can I tell you something, Bubbles (she calls me that sometimes)? Stop reading all those books about fixing your life and, please, for the love of God, pull your head out of your Ex's a** and get over it. She is the lowest form of human that I have ever encountered. She has dumped you, of all the people in the world, a kind soul like you, for a 24 year old, low life, pot smoking, paint balling, drinking fool who pisses more then a girl (he's got bladder problems), hanging out with his high school boyfriends (she says 'boyfriends' because she thinks he's gay), who have never been laid by real women, and him f**king your Ex doesn't count. She isn't a woman at all because she couldn't even leave her house to get laid and decide what her sexuality really is. Please, she is the most stupid idiot on this earth, and they both deserve each other. She settled for this. So, let her suck it up until there is nothing left, and when she comes back, slam the door in her face because you deserve so much better. Please, I beg of you, Bubbles, stop the insanity. Now, finish your breakfast and let me go back to my hole, and pop my pills, and contemplate how much I hate these people who have screwed you and me over, while I drink my strawberry daiquiris.

Me: (holy crap!) Umm, you really shouldn't mix booze and pills.

Bitter: Please, are you 12-teen, now? Butt out, Bubbles, and go hang out with your new girlfriends.

After all that, I wondered why she wanted to have breakfast to begin with, but I didn't ask. When we were done, I dropped her off in front of her place.

Bitter: (getting out of my car) Don't feel bad for me. You make your bed and you lay in it.

With the slam of my car door, she was gone. I took off for my mom's place feeling totally exhausted, and praying my mom wouldn't ask too many questions when I got there.

Me: (making my way through my mom's front door) Morning, ma.

Mother: Where is your sister?

Me: (uh oh, here we go) She isn't feeling well.

Mother: (a knowing look on her face) What, she drunk today?

Me: No.

Mother: You lie to me, eh?

Me: (sh*t) Ma...

Mother: She talk nonsense today?

Oh, how well we know each other.

JB

*67 This, Biatch!

It's 3 o'clock in the morning, and it's my fourth night of no sleep. I'm feeling a little mad and jittery. I got a real hate-on for the Ex-girlfriend and the ex-friend. Ex-girlfriend lives with ex-friend. Yeah, she fell on his penis by accident & they both forgot to tell me about it until a year and half later.

Anyway.... I took it upon myself to*67 their asses six times. That's right, *67. If I can't sleep, why should they get to be deep in slumberland while I contemplate how freakin' tried I am of their bullsh*t? Sleep deprivation does crazy things to the mind. I was dialing the number wondering what I would say if she or he answered, but then it dawned on me that he's a freaking stoner & couldn't wake up if you dropped a bong on him, especially at that hour. Meanwhile, she wouldn't go down a flight of stairs to answer a phone if there wasn't a gift waiting for her at the end of them. So, I dialed and redialed.... No one answered, but I felt really good because there was still the hope that I at least woke her up.

I never would have thought of myself as *67 kinda girl, but I liked it a lot. I thought, why not? It's there to use, right? Someone must have come up with *67 when they had a hate-on for their ex, so why not use it for the purpose that it was invented for? Thank-you, *67, for finally helping me get some sleep.

JB