OK, I’m sorry I called you a bitch
It was uncalled for, and worse, untrue. And the only reason that I did this incredibly stupid thing was that I was drunk at the time and obviously not thinking clearly. Otherwise, I would have called you a fucking drama queen with less emotional maturity than a humming bird.
When you showed up as the girlfriend of my once best friend (let’s call him “Bobby”) a year and a half ago, I though you were cool. For one whole, complete week – until you threw your first jealous fit about Bob’s ex-girlfriend. Get a fucking clue, bitch – shit, there I go again – it’s his EX-GIRLFRIEND for chrissake. Jealousy over someone competing for your man, sure, but over an ex? Yes, Bobby and ex lived together and worked together, but it’s fucking over. Bobby hates the ex. So quite freaking out about her.
Memo: Just because Bobby and ex went on business trips together overseas does not really mean that you have to scratch these countries off of the list of counties to visit.
Memo: Just because Bobby and ex worked together, does not mean that Bobby should change careers. He’s over 40, one does not change jobs, let alone fucking careers because of assine requests from crazy, jealous [del]bitches[/del] [del]drama queens[/del] girlfriends.
When we go out to dinner with his clients, (as in his customers who are paying the fucking bills) whatever else the fuck you do, don’t tear him down just to make you look good. Do that in front of your friends, if you want attention, but don’t make him out to be incompetent in front of customers just ‘cuz you want to look good.
OK, and when we’re all out together, I’ll remember to bring a fucking egg-timer along and set it for 3 minutes to make sure that if the conversation strays away from you, we can turn it back to you quickly so that you don’t have to pout and look like you’re about ready to cry. After talking about you, your family and your friends all night, I thought that we could discuss something else for a change, but when you’re a [del]bitch[/del] sorry [del]fucking drama queen[/del] sorry, so special, I guess three minutes is really too long for attention to wander from you.
Now, I am grateful that it was at Bobby’s birthday party at your house that I met my wife. And thank you for reminding me of that each and every time we get together. That’s just so [del]fucking typically drama queenish[/del] kind of you.
I had wondered when I was first going out with this wonderful woman who is now my wife, why you had told Bobby that you and her were best friends, but my wife didn’t say anything about you. In fact, when I asked my wife who her friends were, you didn’t even get a mention. So, can we conclude that you [del] are fucking crazy and should be put away for life in some institute which serves barely palatable mashed potatoes and unflavored gelatin as dessert[/del] have different ideas of friendship than others? Or could it possible mean that the group of friends have just gotten fucking sick and tired of all the drama in your pathetic little life, and tolerate you, but hope you will just stay away?
I’m happy that your family is so famous in your native country. Their accomplishments are outstanding, even though each time you [del]brag on and on and fucking on and on[/del]share with us, the accounts are conflicting and inconsistent, I’m sure it’s just because the accomplishments are so numerous that you get mixed up. Just keeping track of all of them must be a strain, that must be why you’ve never learned to talk about anything else, outside of you and your goddamn family, except when you’re calling my wife, crying hysterically because you’re not sure if Bobby really loves you or not because he brought home the wrong brand of soy sauce, or whatever the fuck the latest crisis of the day is.
Taking you along to Taiwan with our group of friends was a complete mistake. If it was that upsetting to be away from your “sweetie” for the three days we were there, then why didn’t you just fucking stay home? If you are going to miss him so goddamn much, and call him every 15 minutes, get a fucking calling card. It’s going to be cheaper than the $1,000 of phone bills you racked up at the hotel. That’s $500 more than the airfare.
We all know you are in love and how special your love is, because you’ve told and retold and retold everyone, except those fortunate enough to already be dead, how special your love is, and how much better it is than anyone else you know. Still, keeping the group waiting so you can talk to him for an hour, while we’re waiting in the lobby, is fucking RUDE, bitch. Sorry, there I go again. It’s fucking RUDE you fucking pissy little drama queen (FPLDQ).
So, now we come to why I called you a bitch. When we discovered that TokyoWife was pregnant, TW told her close friends first (psst, they’re not you, FPLDQ) and then started telling her other friends. We had a dinner with a group of friends who were going to help us at our reception, and that’s when we told most of her good friends. You had kindly agreed to be one of the MCs at the event, and everyone said that FPLDQs make great MCs.) Since you had an early event the next day, you couldn’t come to the dinner where we were going to plan our party.
OK, understood that you can’t come, but for the love of all the sheep in Hal’s world, there’s not need to get so fucking worked up about missing a dinner that you drive your “sweetie” to call me up and attack me for the audacity of planning a reception and bringing together the people who were going to help. Just decline for chrissake, it’s not the end of the goddamn world, it’s just a dinner and not being there will not cause permanent brain damage – mostly likely because there is no brain to be damaged, just a tape recorder repeating an endless loop, “me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me.”
Then, when a week later we’re out again with the group, and someone mentions our baby, this is where you threw the stupidest of all your pissy, stupid little tantrums. Sorry [del]bitch[/del] just because it was at your house that I met my wife, does not mean that we are going to fucking call you up first each and fucking every time we have news. Human adults with emotional intelligence greater than grasshoppers recognized this, or at least wait until later so mention any disappointment. Fucking Petty Little Drama Queens get all pissy and remind us of this fact, there at the restaurant, in front of everyone and throw a tantrum worthy of the finest two-year-old that FPLDQ wasn’t the first to know. Grew up bitch. We smile, embarrassed that you’re going on and on how you are responsible for us getting together, and so we should have told you first. Seriously, bitch, once the heliocentric system was wildly accepted, it grew out of favor to think that the sun revolved around the earth, let alone thing that the whole, fucking universe revolves around you.
After 20 minutes of this drivel, I snap and that’s when I tell you to just knock the shit off. Actually, I thought I was nice by just suggesting that you give it a rest, but when you attacked me, I slipped and said the first thing on my mind: “Shut up bitch!”
Now you won’t let my once best friend call me or talk to me again. In reality, that’s not too much of a loss – all his conversations were starting to revolve around you and it was getting to hard to fake an interest. As an added bonus, it looks like you’ve decided to drop out of the group. If I lose a friend to regain sanity, well, I’ll just have to go out and look for a new friend.
