Jess and I did not always agree. But we made things work. We did our very best. Did I feel jealous at times? Sure. I probably voiced it, too. But it happens. Mae wanted Jess. It was bound to happen.
Lyndsay was brilliant to work with, but she also took a sideline role most of the time. She helped me when I needed it, and otherwise stayed quiet. We didn't disagree on much. She was just good.
I hate working with Jen. This is miserable. I'm so sick of Jen. I have been all year. But it's just getting worse and worse every day. I get it, I'm annoying and overbearing and say stupid crap. I do. It's real. But holy crap, role your eyes at me again and watch me deck you. I'm livid and it's just because she's present. Because she complains about every damn thing and is always in some kind of pain or stress or Lord knows what. I hate being around her. Honestly. It makes me angry. It fills me with negativity. I do not like the way she handles things, ESPECIALLY as a Stage Mom. And I am not the end all be all in this position and I won't pretend I can do it all because I can't. But she infuriates me. And I have to tolerate her for three more months. I hate living with her. That's miserable enough. But the ONE THING that makes me happy and makes me feel like I have purpose has always been my job as a Stage Mom. And she CANNOT take that from me. I freaking refuse.
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
Thursday, February 11, 2016
That's Cute Try Again
Okay, he DOES NOT get to call me on that. Especially since he unfriended me on Facebook for like a year.
I made a choice after high school. It was a hard one and it took me a while to actually do it, but I made it and finally executed. After high school, I would stop being the one to always make the plans and always call and text and see how other people have been doing. I'd let them come to me once in a while. And if they did, of course I'd reciprocate. They could ask about me and ask to see me and it would be just fine. But they didn't. A lot of people, THE VAST MAJORITY OF PEOPLE, did not bother! So why the heck should I? If you miss me, you will contact me, is that not the case? Why does our friendship completely rely on me doing work? It freaking shouldn't. Apparently it did. So I am to blame. Well if that's the case, my bad. You're right. You are 100% correct. I stopped trying. Whoops. Too bad, so sad. Explains why none of my boys stuck around. The fact is I still see Jonathan. I still see Charlotte and Margie. Even SPENCER shoots me a message maybe twice a year. Kimberly and I can still talk, man. I see Evan at least once a year, and it's such a beautiful reunion. I STILL TALK TO MY TWO BEST FRIENDS IN CANADA. Me not being physically in front of you should not affect this friendship, and the people who CARED knew that. So whoops. My. Bad. Deuces.
I made a choice after high school. It was a hard one and it took me a while to actually do it, but I made it and finally executed. After high school, I would stop being the one to always make the plans and always call and text and see how other people have been doing. I'd let them come to me once in a while. And if they did, of course I'd reciprocate. They could ask about me and ask to see me and it would be just fine. But they didn't. A lot of people, THE VAST MAJORITY OF PEOPLE, did not bother! So why the heck should I? If you miss me, you will contact me, is that not the case? Why does our friendship completely rely on me doing work? It freaking shouldn't. Apparently it did. So I am to blame. Well if that's the case, my bad. You're right. You are 100% correct. I stopped trying. Whoops. Too bad, so sad. Explains why none of my boys stuck around. The fact is I still see Jonathan. I still see Charlotte and Margie. Even SPENCER shoots me a message maybe twice a year. Kimberly and I can still talk, man. I see Evan at least once a year, and it's such a beautiful reunion. I STILL TALK TO MY TWO BEST FRIENDS IN CANADA. Me not being physically in front of you should not affect this friendship, and the people who CARED knew that. So whoops. My. Bad. Deuces.
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