***I actually posted this yesterday, then removed it soon after because I worried I sounded too insensitive or politically incorrect or whatever else could be possibly taken from this post. Then I realized this is my blog and I do what I want, and this is a story that still disturbs me and bothers me to this day so I need to get it out there. Aaaand scene.***
When I was 16 I went to Disney World with my Mom, brother, sister, my Mom’s best friend and her 2 kids. This was the trip that caused me to realize I might have an attitude problem. Or maybe when my attitude problem started coming out. It’s also why I will never return to MGM Studios. It’s going to be hard telling this story while still appearing “sensitive” because that’s the last thing these maggot infested sores on the taint of humanity deserve from me.
So we’re in MGM Studios and I have to pee. I go into the restroom with my Mom and her friend. We’re in the stalls when I hear an unnecessarily loud, outspoken and incoherent woman charging in with her daughter, screaming at her because she peed her pants. I walked out of the stall and the woman literally throws her daughter into a stall. I hear her slap her face, hear her calling her daughter an idiot and a dumbass for pissing her pants at the age of 5, and I hear the little girl screaming to her Mom to stop hitting her. A few seconds later I see a woman who looks identical to the other woman walk in with a little girl who is identical to the one currently being beaten by her mother in the stall. I’m assuming the two women were twins, or at least sisters, who each had 5 year old daughters that also looked identical (same father? Who knows. Weird). The women were dressed identical and so were the little girls. It was a sight and all I’m going to say is that together, the 4 of them probably hovered around 800 pounds. Like I said, it was a sight.
So I’m at the sink, in shock because a woman is literally beating her daughter in the stall, and my Mom’s friend (who works with domestic violence victims) says we have to go find security immediately because HELLO, this woman is beating her kid. Her twin hears us talking and starts screaming at us because “she ain’t beatin’ her kid and if she do beat her it ain’t our business.” Or something. And then she tries to block the door and I have to duck under her arm and over her leg in order to get out of the door. Then I tell her to fuck off. Thank God for ballet and being 90 pounds soaking wet because it was pretty easy to get through her and immediately hidden beneath the solar eclipse she created behind her so she couldn’t grab me and throw me down.
Anylard, I find a group of security officers and tell them what’s going on. There are now 3 other women with me who heard/saw the whole thing and are freaking out because there is a woman in the bathroom beating her kid. Now, the two women and their daughters come charging out of the bathroom at full force screaming at us because we’re “up in their business” and need to get our white asses out of there. Of course she claims she wasn’t beating her kid even though her kid is bawling and shaking and everything else that demonstrates a helpless child who needs to be removed from her mother’s custody.
The security officers stand there baffled because they don’t know what to do. They end up saying there is nothing they can do because they didn’t actually witness it happen. The two women throw up their hands in victory, throw out a few “what, WHAT”’s at us and I think there may have been a few finger snaps as well. The one that didn’t abuse her child told my Mom I need to “beef up my language” after telling her to fuck off, and I told her to hand over some of the beef coating her ass because there was more than enough to go around. And trust me, there was. (Fist bump, sweet insults before I gained any wit whatsoever, clearly).
And then we all parted ways and thankfully/surprisingly they weren’t on the plane back to Detroit.
And that’s the story of when I discovered my anger problem. Sadly, I didn’t discover it sooner because had that happened NOW, MGM would have received a formal letter of complaint from me and I probably would have bit someone.
Oh, I think this is also the trip where I massively sunburned my bikini line and mons pubis thanks to my ridiculously small bikini and realized that SPF 50 is a load of crap.
So, anyone have a better story about “the happiest place on earth?”
I read today that the Oakland Press is looking to add more weblogs to their list of links on their website, and bloggers writing about a wide range of subjects are urged to submit their blog if they want it linked.
I’m not entering mine because, well, I don’t write anything of substance on here and it’s not worth going on the site of a county newspaper. Keep the space open for people who write about renovating the city of Detroit, local politics and why Kwame should go to jail.
Or not, because apparently that’s not what anyone thinks of when they think of a blogger. They don’t look at bloggers who write about current events, local organizations, or community living. They think of everyone else that writes about something THEY don’t particularly consider news. If only people realized what a ginormous impact a blogger can have, regardless of their topic. Look at Love Harder. Bloggers don’t mess around when it comes to getting things done. Want your business or site promoted? Contact a blogger. This isn’t the day of Live Journal and MySpace anymore. We’re not fucking around like this commenter on the Oakland Press site seems to think:
” Attention All Bloggers!!!
Get into your IMPORT, drive to the nearest Starbucks in your skinny jeans, buy a double non-fat frap, blog about amnesty international, and really tell this country how worthless you really are. “
FOR YOUR INFORMATION.
I would not be caught DEAD driving an import. I like Detroit. I work mainly at Panera Bread, they have more booths than Starbucks so my laptop and I can take up a table for 4 instead of a tiny table created for one person. If I do go to Starbucks, I get a plain soy latte (I’m willing to pay an extra 50 cents to avoid stomach shits). I don’t even own a pair of skinny jeans because I’M NOT SKINNY. I live in yoga pants. Right now I have partially blue hair because I let my sister talk me into it. I have a really big mouth so if I concern myself enough with anything regarding Amnesty International, you bet your trailer trash ass it’s going to get heard. Also, I am currently writing 30,000 words on squirting for a sex and relationships book, so I’d hardly consider myself “worthless.” “Wicked awesome” is more like it. If I want to write about garbage on my blog and someone wants to read it, you can gargle my taint sweat.
See? We don’t all fit the stereotype. I win.
But please, click on my ads. I am still waiting to get paid for my self-entitled compensation.
Right now it’s about 4:47 am, I’m sitting here wide awake eating dorito’s and wondering why in the world I’m awake now yet grogged around all day with zero motivation. Also with no desire to eat dorito’s.
Maybe I’m PMS’ing and getting overly hormonal and thought-provoking or maybe dorito’s mixed with acid reflux and the fact that I really have to pee right now but have no desire to get up give me some wicked inspiration, but I can’t stop feeling this wave of confidence as I take a look at the projects I’m currently working on and thinking “wow, maybe I am going somewhere.”
For awhile now I’ve been all over the phrase “leap before you look.” I want to get it tattooed on my arm really bad (hey Detroit tattooer’s – WILL PROMOTE THE SHIT OUT OF YOU FOR FREE INK) (ok maybe tattoos are a bad thing to ask for free) (however I’ll do it anyway) but I’m poor.
It’s a good phrase, no? I mean, some people might think leaping before looking is a horrible idea. Like if you’re about to dive into a giant tank to go swimming or snorkeling, you might want to look first to make sure it’s not full of sharks. If it is full of sharks and you insist on diving in anyway, you might want to look and make sure there is an easy escape plan before a shark decides to chew your bicep, calf and face off. In that order.
Also, if you’re going to eat an entire plate of spaghetti and follow it with doritos and then ice cream, you might want to look ahead at the potential consequences before drinking a cup of coffee and maybe add some Pepcid to that little diet you’ve created.
Also, if you’re going to wear a shirt that says “Victoria’s Secret Bombshell,” you might want to consider whether or not you look like a sexy, metaphoric “bombshell” by VS standards, as in a size 00 model, or a “bombshell” as in one that is going to explode out of that shirt. I’m just saying, when you’re wearing a shirt that was originally designed for a model on the “toothbrush down the throat” diet you might want to consider the mockery that will ensue when anyone (aka 90 percent of the US female population) decides to wear it.
Other than that I think it’s pretty beneficial. Thoughts? What am I thinking. It’s Friday. Of course you have no thoughts.
If you don’t want to think about that, answer me this: Is it pretentious and snotty to have a FAQ page? I kind of want one even if it’s just loaded with questions that have been asked one time by people who have already been reading me for the past year and already know the answers.
If you can think of something you want to ask me or think would be beneficial to have on my FAQ page, ask me. I may or may not answer it, I may or may not include it on the page, and I may or may not give you a legitimate answer that doesn’t involve sharks, dinosaurs or John Travolta. No promises.
Sometimes I am accused of being too bitchy.
I get it. Really, I do… I have an attitude and I’m aware. There are plenty of people out there ‘coppin ‘tudes that toss around phrases like “I’m a bitch and PROUD OF IT mmm-hmm!”. I am certainly not one of those people, and all I ask is that God strike me dead if I ever do adapt that behavior.
There are more times than I care to admit when I see my attitude as a fault rather than a blessing. I can appear negative, cynical, or crabby. In many instances, I am. It’s the morning… what do you expect people? I’d say 90 percent of the time I toss in a dash of sarcasm when I get fiesty. I’ll do it in an attempt to lighten the mood or show that much of what I say is tongue-in-cheek and slightly less stabby than it may come across. Most people understand this, they understand me, and they understand my “snarkastic” way of speaking. They know I am incredibly opinionated and will throw it out there even when it’s probably not necessary, but they know that many times I’m doing it for the sake of being entertaining… or for the sake of being bitchy because why is that girl grinding on her barstool next to that guy like that? And why is she wearing a trucker hat and grabbing her boobs? Jesus, what a skunt.
There are people who don’t understand this and who see me as an over opinionated, self-centered, obnoxious ass crabby bitch. I could say “fuck you people, I don’t care what you think,” and I do feel that way to a point, but I also want to make it clear that 90 percent of the time I am not trying to come across this way. I want to be liked by the majority of the population. I don’t want people to see me as a negative brat who has something stabby to say about everything and sees the glass as half empty. It should be obvious that I see the glass with some water in it, and then I wonder why anyone is questioning how much water is in there. Is anyone going to drink it? If it’s not full enough for you then fill it up, damn it.
Anyramble, I’ve also come to realize that many of these people are boring. They fail to catch subtleties in conversation that are meant to be funny or sarcastic, and they take it all serious. Then they look at you weird and everything suddenly becomes awkward and you’re all staring at each other like “who farted?” but if you actually come out and say “who farted?” to try and lighten the mood, they’ll immediately say “NOT ME, I DON’T EVEN SMELL ANYTHING.” as if someone really farted. Because they didn’t get it amidst all of their non-joke-getting glory.
Basically all I want to do is make a few things clear. Having an fiesty attitude is part of who I am. I’ve tried to fight it and tried to tone it down, and it isn’t going to happen. I’ve learned when and where to draw the line, so what else do I need? I’ve heard things like “well if you act like that and always voice your opinion, no one’s going to like you.” I’ve heard I’ll never land a man with that attitude. I’ve even heard no one will want to be my friend. And that’s alright. You can’t make everyone happy and you can’t be loved by everyone. I have friends who are just like me and completely understand me and adore me, and I have friends who don’t understand me in the slightest way but manage to love me anyway. It’s all gravy. I’m not trying to be Mother frickin’ Theresa here, so I don’t have to go out of my way to kiss ass and come across as a “good person” just in case they don’t appreciate the way I am. Unless you want to pay me to write. In that case, did you lose weight? You look fabulous. No, really. You look amazing. Here, put your feet up. Get cozy. Now what kind of deal are we negotiating?
