Remy wasn't an it Well, in a sense he was, he was fixed, but she doesn't mean it in a sexless way. She means it in Remy wasn't a real "being" he was "just a cat."
I don't tell her when her child is sick, "Hey, it's just a kid, right? Not like he's made any useful contribution to society, right?"
I'm glad Todd was awake, cause I almost choked her. Not that choking her would be a bad thing, but I don't want to go to jail.
And I don't think going shopping for an Easter outfit for her kid and herself is a goddamned emergency that takes priority over my feelings tonight. I. Do. Not. Want. To. Go. To. The. Store.
I cleaned out the bathroom, which has been "Remy's private room" for the last couple weeks, so if he wasn't feeling good, I could give him a quiet place. I've tossed out the bed I made for him with pillow cases and blankets, I've cleaned up and put away his litterbox, washed his dishes and stuff.... that took everything I had today.
I. Don't. Want. To. Take. That. Bitch. To. The. Store.
I want to slap her until those two brain cells she has go rolling out her ear. Then I want to farking stomp all over them. Then, when I'm done with that, I want to glue her to the drive way and run my car over her a billion times and laugh my butt off the entire time. "How do you like me now, bitch! You keep telling me I have a good sense of humor, isn't this a farking laugh?"
And I know, no one on my friends list deserves this rant in their face, but if I don't vent this off now, I'm going to march out into the living room where she's talking to my other friend and kick her ass bloody
Dumb bitch. Why can't she just go freaking home?