Well, here I am on this holiday� this celebration of freedom and liberty and nation-hood. Oh yeah, and the celebration of my siter�s birth. Whatever.

Yeah, you can tell how I feel about that, huh?

Heh.

She was over this afternoon so that we could have a little barbecue thing going on. Except, the plan was to eat around five or six or so and she showed up at one. She said that Brandace had a thing she had to do at four thirty so they were going to leave early.

*growls*

Now, I must say that I have some very negative feelings about my sister right now. All of you who have been reading me for a while know that she�s not really related to me at all anymore, but still, a refresher� she�s my adopted brother�s ex wife. He left her with the kids and us� abandoned the whole kit and caboodle as they say.

Anyway, I have some very negative feelings about her right now. Why? I�m not exactly sure. I think mostly because I�m really, really, really, REALLY tired of her bullshit. I went upstairs with the intention of being nice and sweet and all that good stuff, but once I got there, I just� dunno� I was overcome with negativity.

I�m pissed off right now. I�m pissed off and I want to eat. Not because I�m hungry, but because I�m pissed off. So I�m writing this and smoking cigarettes instead. Isn�t that just a joy?

You see, just as I was trying to explain the above situation, Mom called and asked for a head-shed about it. Good idea, but as we were talking about it, the other guests arrive and we start the whole dinner process. Things commence well, I start making the burgers and toasting the buns and all that. I get back upstairs and sit down, my back killing me slowly, and as I�m getting ready to doctor up the bun for my burger, the paternal parental unit does his thing and sticks the all ready used spoon into the mayo, smears mayo on his bun, sticks the SAME SPOON back into the container to repeat the process� but does he stop there? No. And what do I do? I call him on it. He ignores me and sticks THE EXACT SAME SPOON into the relish jar.

Gah, I am so fucking sickened by that. But, when I call him on it a second time, he bitches about how it�s HIS relish and HE bought it so he can do whatever the fuck he pleases with it.

Okay, so his words were more along the lines of �What? I bought it. You�re not going to put relish on your burger?�

Gah, fuck you very much paternal parental unit.

And what do I do? In my little passive-aggressive way (which I learned from him fuck you very much) I refuse to use the fucking relish which now has mayo smears in it. Was I going to use both mayo and relish on my burger? Yes. But I didn�t want to use HIS fucking relish and mayo and shit. Fuck me I am so pissed off.

But why am I really pissed off? Because I did it again. I fucking know better than to talk to him at all. I fucking know better than to mention food to him. EVER.

Fuck me� I felt so fucking guilty and pissed off and angry and attacked. And why? Because there wasn�t a fucking bit of food he didn�t pay for. And I KNOW he resents me when I consume anything he paid for. How do I know this? Because I�ve fucking lived with him for twentyfuckingninefuckingyearsthat�swhy!!!

*sighs*

Think I have a little anger problem here?

Naw, me neither.

I�m going to go have a cup of sherbet and watch some idiot box.

I�m out.