|On the cover of Time Magazine...?|
If my life was in actual, real chapters, because I thought I was famous enough for more than 10 people to read about my whole life and decided I needed to get super rich... I'd call this next one "Fucking Bitch Who Stole My Leather Jacket". Just kidding.. I have no idea what I'd call it probably other than you're not going to believe this bullshit. I was reminded of said chapter of bullshit, consisting of about a year or so of my life, by some innocuous thing like buying a certain kind of pasta side dish at the store. Yeah, really, pasta.
It's not as if I ever actually forgot about it but I may as well have being as disconnected with it as I am. When I was 13, a situation conspired where my family basically sheltered a 15 year old runaway girl until she turned 16 and therefore somehow not wanted by the police. She ended up staying longer than she was welcome. We'll call her Tiffany for the purposes of my story. My name is still Ann-Marie by the way.. in case you thought this was some kind of skit I was doing.
Anyhow, the specifics don't matter unless you'd just like me to give you a good hour of reading about why I should have never escaped therapy, but while I essentially lived with this person she had decided we were going to be best friends. 24/7. That wouldn't have been terrible if she wasn't a complete freak who, unlike a real best friend or sister, tried to make things like showering with me to save time or dating a family member of mine seem like "totally normal" shit .. which nobody else seemed to be present enough to notice WAS NOT NORMAL SHIT. You know, like that episode of Twilight Zone where everyone is a pig face and is horrified to look at a normal face. Well Tiffany, the giant gap toothed 'pig face' who did end up stealing my leather jacket when she left, liked to make this one Butter and Herb side dish from a package for dinner basically every day and I accidentally made it for dinner a couple nights ago. I couldn't eat very much. I am 28 and I am not ready to eat that pasta. I may never be ready to eat that pasta. It's shitty pasta anyway so I don't even want to buy it, it was on sale, so she can go fuck herself.
Did I just scare you all? Anyone? Bueller? It was only a summary chapter, everyone, if I actually wrote the whole thing.. I would have surely swore about 800 more times, at nobody. Ahh, I know the perfect way to end this post the way it deserves. Cunt.. balls..