You know how sometimes, something might be around forever (Cher...haha) but it is not until it is pertinent in your life does it take on meaning, and then at that point it is "old" in the coolsville world we would like to live and be a permanent resident of, so we do not admit that we want to incorporate this into our lives.
IF THAT LONG ASS SENTENCE DID NOT EXPLAIN, I'll let the newer and more assertive me take over.
In Rehab I kept on hearing the phrase, "If it don't apply, let it fly". Now, if there is one place that bests Springer or Sally Jesse (is she still on?) for using tired ole phrases it is Rehab. If you don't get the gist of this phrase, it simply means; if it does not concern you, let it go. Don't let the stupid shit eat you up inside.
I usually let a lot of shit eat me up inside. I allow a lot of people to "rent space" (another beaten to death Rehab cliche) in my head, and it's just not healthy.
I have to say that I have been great at not doing this these days, so it sort of stuck out recently when this guy in the house just BUGGED the FUCKING living SHIT out of me.
He is this gross, dated QUEEN who wears acid washed jeans that look like they came from KMart to showcase his expansive buttocks wherein his top body is lean...sort of like a Bartlett Pear. He looks like he may be a Petri dish of diseases and he is very non chalant about having long dirty fingernails, then not abiding by the rules to wear rubber gloves when you are touching or nearing the community food in the house.
I was living on salads recently until I saw those filthy talons dig into the center of a head of iceberg and I basically wanted to have my insides steam cleaned.
I hope most of you reading this know that his being a nancy boy has nothing to do with my complete disdain for this character.
He is this nosy fuck who pops up all over the house in the weirdest places as he just stares and needs to know what is going on. He shuffles through the mail before the head counselor looks at it and he Viciously talks about people behind their backs.
They say (another one!) that when you get sober, you are the age mentally of the person you were before you started. I'm basically according to that rule, a teenager. I do not want to do this High School BULLSHIT all over again.
I'm thinking devious thoughts lately about telling someone about this guys antics so I could get him kicked out, but that seems evil. Evil, yet true.
So, as I rolled out of my room today, to start this great day off, there he was, sitting by the front door, watching all the comings and goings of everyone like that pain in the ass woman we all had on the block when we were growing up who knew everyone's business.