xtoolfreakx's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- �.what.a.bitch.� Thursday, while I was at the grocery store, I saw this little girl, she could have been around 7 or so. And she was sitting in this buggy, and her mother was pushing it around. The little girl had a half-inflated ballon in her hands, and she kept dropping it, insisting that it bounced like a ball. Her mother kept saying, "Damn it! Stop that! It doesn't bouce!" But the little girl just kept dropping, and her mother kept picking it up and handing it back to her. I felt sorry for both of them. The mother because she had this little brat that kept screaming "It bounces!" and the little girl because she had this bitch of a mother that was cussing at her, and telling her the ballon didn't bounce, when technically it did. Geez, just let the little girl have some fun. Monday, I got the car taken away from me for awhile. Because "You aren't responsible, and you didn't do what you were told." What? I most certainly did. I went straight to band practice, and came straight home. Well... it depends on what you mean by 'straight home'. I took a small detour, but nothing more. I guess she (my mother) believes that I left practice, went over to friend's house, and snorted a few lines of coke or something. She's insane. Mom: "Heather, could hand me that stack over there?" Me: "What stack?" Mom: "You know, that stack of stuff on top of that other stack of stuff?" Me: "Huh? That's impossible to know what you mean. What stack exactly are you talking about?" Mom: "Why do you have to make everything so damned difficult?" Me?! I make things difficult? I don't know which one is more insane. Her or the thought that she has of me being able to read her friggin' mind. I hate going to the mall. You see all those retired people there. Walking around or sitting on the benches. Talking to other retired people. It depresses the hell out of me. I hope I never do that. I wouldn't like the fact that my weekends would be filled with nothing but sitting on a bench at a local mall talking to other old farts like me. I can be so immature sometimes. I can't say hi to someone because I'm too much of a chicken shit. See, I used to be friend's with this one girl, until I somehow screwed it up, I don't even remember it's been so long ago. Her and I are in band together, and this summer, the band was having this cook-out thing, so a few friends and I thought it would be fun to go buy a sack, smoke up, then go to the cook-out. I thought "Yea, then my inhabitions will fall, and I can finally say something to Alison with turning into mush." So, we smoke up, and make our way to the cook-out, which was at a church, might I add. We go in, laughing and shit, cause... well, that's just happens. Anyhow, I look at Alison, grinned and said "Hiiii." (I'm such an idiot.) She just looked at me, and said hi back. I felt like crawling under a rock, but that didn't stop me from acting like a fool for the rest of the get-together. I'm a dweeb, but I'm a cute dweeb. So, next time I see her, I'm going to suck it up and say hello. That's final. I need a job. I need a car. I need a life. Want, want, want.... ::sigh:: "Life is based on a short story written by a bitch named Vern..." 4:24 p.m. - 2001-10-13 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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