InsaneJournal

Current mood:	anxious
Current music:	Gym Class Heroes - Clothes Off!

You probably don't want to read this.
Yesterday, Sam turned six. I can't believe it and it really makes me feel old. I'm starting to like this kid less and less everyday. We had a little party for him. Just June, myself, June's ex husband and her new beau which was deliciously awkward and uncomfortable. I loved it. Also present was Josh, who flew in to LAX yesterday because he's going to help June move all her shit back to Georgia. I personally think it's stupid for him to be up here a week before she's moving just to visit when they're both going back to Georgia so they can visit any fucking time they want. I'm sure she really just invited him up here so they can gang up on me and give me shit about my life and then try to stuff me in a suitcase or trashbag and drag me down to hell Atlanta with them. Well, it ain't gonna happen. No way. No how. There isn't a thing in this world that would make me want to move back Georgia. Of course, if I don't get settled somewhere before the lease on the apartment is up and the whole hobo thing doesn't work out, well, then, I might have to go back. I'm not going to think about that. I’m just going to think about how the ghost in our apartment is probably definitely going to rape my brother while he’s sleeping on the couch this week.

Also, can I just take a second out of this pointless entry to mention what a bunch of douchebags my Mom and Dad are for giving all their children name's that start with the letter 'J'. There's John, Josh, June and me. Wtf were they thinking? All those names suck. They're all so common and stupid. It's not like my parents have names that start with J, or grandparents with J names. No, we just got stuck with the fucking letter J like we're some kind of segment on Sesame Street. God, I hate them.

Anyway, the main purpose of this entry was to discuss something I've come to realize after much contemplation and Jack Daniels spiked fruit punch. I am a bitch. A total, unrelenting, pissy-ass bitch. I guess I sort of knew this before I was left to my own devices last night with my fruit punch and reruns of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, but I really started thinking about it after I got really depressed when Will got shot at the ATM in one of those episodes that was supposed to have a “message” about the world. I've come up with three possible causes of my bitchedness.


1. I was born this way. When I popped out my Mom’s vag it was predetermined that I was going to be a huge bitch. There was no stopping it. It’s who I am. It’s who I’m going to be for the rest of my life and I’m destined to end up alone and starving with fifteen cats who will eventually eat my body after I die because everyone will be too afraid to call me and check up on me because they think I’m going to bitch at them.

2. It’s learned behavior. My Mom has always been something of a whore bitch slut face, so it is possible that I’ve learned my bitchy ways from her. I was with her a lot as a child since she didn’t work much, and I did like to imitate her from time to time. So, basically, what I’m saying is that if I ever was or ever am a bitch to you, blame my Mom.

3. It’s a defense mechanism. I use being a bitch to keep people at arms length to avoid getting close or getting hurt (I know, it’s some deep shit, right?). If people think I’m a bitch, then they don’t like me so they don’t care if I do something shitty to them, which I am bound to do at some point. Also, since they don’t like me, I don’t have to worry about getting hurt.. I can just hurt them first and avoid any pain myself. It’s win-win really. I do it with my sister, my parents, a majority of my friends... and I guess it’s working out pretty well?


I think the explanation for my bitchiness is probably a combination of all three of those, but maybe like 10% of the first one, 20% of the second one and 70% of the third one. That’s just my guess. I should probably see a psychiatrist or something if I want the real figures. Now that I put this out there for the whole world to see, I really only care that one person sees it and maybe forgives me for being such a bitch to him all the time. I can’t help it. It’s genetics, and like I said, blame my fucking Mom. For now, though, I’m going to go draw some obscene pictures on my jet-lagged brother and then probably wake him up with a blow horn. He’s going to love staying here for a week!