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2006-05-10 @ 10:23 a.m.
anger management part xxxviiixiii

”Dear yuppie neighbors:
Why do you feel the need to make our library into a Starbucks? Don’t we already have a Starbucks? If we’re going to tear out a corner of our library to build some fruity coffee shop into our library, why don’t we build, say, something related, to, I don’t know, the library. Like a comfy nook filled with classic books? Or a tutoring center for people who may not know HOW to read? Or even a small art gallery with an interactive computer where you can learn about art and culture, because Lord knows, our collection of art books is practically non-existant minimal. Instead we are getting yet another local stainless steel fru-fru coffee venue overlooking a parking lot where an occasional goose wanders through from a nearby pond.
Love, wittykitty.”

Yeah, I couldn’t believe that. Building a coffee shop in a library. Isn’t that weird? But its so totally Village.

So why am I talking “Village”? I think its because I’m wearing all the clothes and shoes I bought at that garage sale last week. I’m like dressed head to toe in yuppie garb and I’m starting to slip precariously close to Pilate-Speak and looking in my purse for the keys to the 2006 Cooper. Its really weird. Its a role I think I could actually play, although it would be tongue in cheek for sure, since I am 1) on disability and have no money 2) have a car built in the last century and 3) am able to derive a great deal of pleasure from making fun of yuppies. Although the yuppies I would be associating with (and making fun of, under my breathe) would be totally unaware of my facetiousness. Yeah. I’m just that good!

I actually had a lot of practice with Married Guy’s wifie. She was like the penultimate yupster and brought Married Guy over to the Dark Yuppie Side when they got married. Previously, he had just been a dressed down schmo from Jersey with a truck. But soon he was wearing Designer Things, fruity sandals and giving up his beloved camper shell truck for the more politically correct SUV (the Holy Grail for yupperdom). He was also soon saying yes to such ridiculousness as Ralph Lauren paint (at least $50/gallon. And she was kinda OCD about painting rooms and would frequently repaint a room 2-3 times in 6 month period). But then again who am I to say how they spent their money? Nobody. Go buy some $800/gallon Paris Hilton paint for all I care. I was just the woefully underemployed “friend of the family” soaking up excess ions of privilege, while I housesat and washed their windows.

Meh. I guess I’m just feeling the pinch of poverty at the moment, because I just made my once a month trip over to the food pantry yesterday. And as usual I was made to feel like Osama bin Laden at the WMD Depot. Yes, its true I do appreciate the help they give me each month. But the humiliation of having some yupster standing 3 inches inside my “comfortable” space as I’m picking up cans of corn was actually too much yesterday.

Of course, I had just come from my session with “A”. We had worked on anger, and usually after those I walk around with a chip on my shoulder about the size of Montana. And this woman at the pantry was standing closer than I allow even people I like to stand near me. The pantry was very empty and I had to kneel down to find some soups I even liked. I finally turned to her and said straight out, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to steal anything”. Normally I would have added the word “bitch” under my breath, but she was actually too close and would have heard that.

I guess I was a little ticked. Over the weekend, I had gone to cook some mac and cheese I had gotten there last month and when I threw the pasta into the boiling water, a bunch of tiny black bugs screamed their abrupt farewells just before they hit the water. I then looked at the box and its freshness had expired in 2002. And what is it now? 2006? Fuck!

Dear rich people who give food to food pantries: Wow, thank you for your generosity. No. Really. But can you maybe check the package to see which President was in the White House? Or how much Star Jones weighed? Because if it says more than 3 years past its freshness date, and the little buggies in the packages are on B.S.S. (Bug Social Security). That’s what garbage cans are for, my well healed friend. You don’t give them to the pantry for the po’ people, just because you think we’ll eat anything. You know kinda like Britney Spears. Because we won’t. Because there’s just something about eatin’ a critter with legs and a poop track that makes us a little queasy. Thanks.
Love, witty.”

So I did pretty well looking at the dates on things, but I did make one glaring mistake. A box of Hamburger Helper that had a big square hole cut in the top. Huh? How did I miss that? And it had expired in 2004 too. Bad witty. Now, they’ll never hire you in Quality Control at General Mills.

Okay, you don’t poke people when they’re angry, right? I’m also not really sure how I look to people. Apathetic? Shy? Sexy? (yeah right). But as I said I was carrying around a lot of anger yesterday. It was nobody’s fault. Its just part of my therapy. I’m trying to get RID of my anger. I haven’t done that in 48 years, so I have a lot of residual stuff hanging around just waiting to spew forth like Krakatoa. And for some reason, some random woman almost succeeded in unleashing it yesterday, and no, I’m not talking about my mother. It was just some big tub of lard I saw at a craft store. I had seen her walk in. She was in her sixties, extremely overweight wearing bright yellow shorts and a bright green tank top, with like size triple M boobs and both of her bra straps hanging off her shoulders. Ok, lets just say she was Britney Spears, year 2040. (Sorry Britney. Not sure why I’m picking on you today. Oh. Just because I can, I guess).

Anyways, she was very mean and sarcastic to the cashier at the Rag Shop. I was standing behind her and she was shredding the poor woman to bits for practically existing. And the woman hadn’t even done anything. I just looked at the floor as she was doing it. Nothing I could really do. I was grumpy too. She then left. And I left.

I then drove over across this mall to another art supply shop to purchase a single sheet of textured colored paper for my final portrait drawing class last night, and who do I get behind again at their cash register? Lard Ass Extraordinaire. This time she was far worse though. She was buying three plastic bunches of flowers and she literally bellowed at the cashier “These are from the Dollar Bin, so they BETTER BE A DOLLAR!!!!!!!!!”

Naturally one of them was $3.99. When the woman heard this she ripped it out of the clerk’s hand, and slammed it down so hard on the counter it fell apart and then started screaming it her what an idiot she was and what a rip off this place was. Of course the clerk got flustered. Who wouldn’t with Attila the Fugly screaming at you? She finally stopped screaming and threw a $20 bill at her which, of course landed on the floor. The clerk had to bend over to pick it up and then managed to not give her enough change...because she was flustered, which brought on another rampage from Raging Rumsfeldia. She told her she’d have to wait to open the cash draw until I paid for my stuff. So the clerk then rang me up, and since I was holding a large sheet of art paper with both hands, it took me a second to get my money during with Bitch-Witch remarked, “Oh, I guess some people have to rummage through their purses for money. (laughs sarcastically) what.did.I.say about poking an angry person, bitch? Because at that precise moment, I think the malevolent energy of about 25,000 atomic weapons, manufactured at the Anger bin Laden labs, engaged. Kinda like....what did you just say you vile, fucking mountain of useless human waste? Because she must have really wanted to take EVERYONE down with that remark, the fucking bitch. I mean fast forward to a courtroom six months later: wittykitty, on the count of murder in the second degree...NOT GUILTY and the courtroom explodes into cheers, ya know. But I held it in. Like I always do. I’m not sure if it was right. I had just had a session with my shrink where he was trying to engage my anger. I was afraid, though, that once I started yelling, I might not have stopped.

So I got the fucking $1.61 out of my purse, and Bitchzilla got her $10 bill, which she again reamed the clerk out for. And then she had the balls to look over me, like I was going to give her support, but fuck man, if I had looked at her, I think an alien would have popped out of my abdomen and killed her right on the spot.

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty