Fault

It's sort of dividing between people I don't know and people I wish I didn't know.

And I hate when people use threats, because a threat to me isn't motivation. It's a contest. If you threaten me with something, it's like a switch in my mind goes off and tells me to stand my ground just to see if they have the balls to go through with it.

I guess it's only with him, though, because in any other situation, I'm not a confrontational person. Fight or flight and all that; I've always been one to fly.

But that's probably because I know he's filled with shit and doesn't have the balls to do anything.

Maybe I should just hole myself up in my room and lock the door and never open it and then maybe he'll just leave me the fuck alone and stop yelling and maybe I won't have to have panic attacks because a man is yelling at me, and I'll stop being upset when I get left behind because maybe then I won't want to go in the first place.

I guess it's my fault for caring, you know.

...

I hate admitting it, but I'm scared. Some things have come to light, and...it just can't lead to anything good.

You ever get the feeling someone is watching you?

Heh. Us, too.

Maybe I'm just bitch today.

There are few times that I will ever rage at someone in real life unless it's at my mother's boyfriend.

For one, he still won't stop whistling to get her attention.

I still grate my teeth at that just thinking about it.

It sort of kills me, too.

It's sort of hard to eat dinner when you're caught between wanting to hurl a knife at the person sitting across from you (Which is why I'm not allowed to sit across from him anymore, particularly in public.) and wanting to just be a total snot when he says something stupid.

"I couldn't cook before I lived here,"

You still can't cook. You can mash the potatoes when we ask you. But you still ask my mother to make your Ramen every fucking time, because apparently she makes it better...?

"Now I can make a salad, and before I couldn't do that!"

This reaffirms the fact that you are retarded. A salad is something a six year old can make with her eyes closed. Or at least, I could. It's pretty brainless. Lettuce. Rip it up, throw it in a bowl, add tomatoes and other veggies, add dressing. mix. Serve. It's pretty hard to fuck up, unless you add too much dressing.

"I'm great on a grill."

Fucking bullshit. I'm better on a grill than you are, and I've only used a grill a few times. All of your steaks taste the same as any other piece of red meat, because you don't bother seasoning it. In the beginning, if we heard you were grilling, we sulked at the waste of meat and prepared ourselves to chew on something with the texture of a shoe sole.

Admittedly, you have gotten better, but the fact remains that either you do this to bug me, or you're fucking retarded. It doesn't take rocket science to make a rare steak. It's easier than well done. Just drop the steak on the grill. Three minutes. Flip. Three minutes. Serve.

Also, could you save my steak for fucking last instead of doing it first every time? I'm pretty certain you do this on purpose, because I've suggested it before. To most people it's common sense that the steak that takes the least amount of time to prepare is made last.

And every time my steak is fucking cold by the time dinner is served. And every time you make sure to tell me, "I cooked it rare this time!"

Rare is RED. Not barely pink. To you, Mr. "I piss myself if my steak has any blood in it", I'm sure that might be rare, but to me rare means it's RED.

And honestly, I wish I could just stop bitching and cook it myself, but every time I cook you seem to take it as a sign of me undermining your authority, or trying to suck up to my mother.

I like to cook, fuckface.

I don't need to suck up to my mother. She's already my friend. You, on the other hand, seem to constantly need to prove that you aren't as useless as you turn out to be. In contrast to how you appear, I was shocked to find how little amount of time it took for you to become like any other useless slob.

The things nightmares are made of.

My little brother is visiting. He's not a little terror like he was before, but right now, there are few things more horrifying than sharing a bathroom with him.

I don't give a fuck if you leave the seat up. That's fine. Really. I can handle that.

BUT PLEASE MAKE THE EFFORT TO LIFT THE SEAT IN THE FUCKING FIRST PLACE.

The seat being up is not half as bad as the seat being down, covered in piss. Do not enter my house, piss all over the toilet seat, and then leave it like that.

HOW HARD IS IT TO FLUSH THE FUCKING TOILET?

Just reach, and pull. And in the same motion, would it kill you to pull the lid down? Just a suggestion.

PLEASE STOP PISSING IN MY SHOWER.

.....just....don't. Please. Why is there a yellow tinge on the bottom of my bath tub?

WHAT IS THAT BROWN STUFF ON THE FLOOR?!

...

WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!?!

I am this close to just locking the bathroom door and telling you to just use the one downstairs. I am not your fucking maid. You are a guest in my house, and you are using my bathroom. While I might not be the cleanest of people, you are a fucking slob.

I'm not asking you to clean the bathroom, I'm just asking you to not make it worse. If you could just be like everyone else and lift the toilet seat, put it back down and flush, maybe then we could be proud of you enough to take you out in public.

I don't care if you don't have enough self-respect to at least keep your area clean, but it's not just about you. IT'S MY FUCKING BATHROOM.

I reserve the right to kick you out.

Not that that'll stop you. I know you aren't an idiot and you can pick a house lock like any other fucktard.

STILL.

SELF-RESPECT. GET SOME.