I really do have a list of people that I am legitimately jealous of. I never used to get jealous, but now I do. This isn’t like a psycho, jealous girlfriend, though, who gets all crazy and shit when her man even looks the opposite way. It’s much different than that; in fact, I wish it were that simple.
I’m super duper jealous of the arrogant, pompous assholes who thinks their shit smells like roses
Sorry, that was not the most eloquent way to put it, but I had to get my point across. Today on Facebook I saw some post of some arrogant prick I only know in passing. He was rambling on and on about how he realized that the reason he has such wonderful people in his life is because he is a wonderful person. After vomiting out the rage this welled up into my throat, I realized that I am super duper jealous of this guy. I wish I could be as arrogant and self-important as him. I wish I could say “oh, I have such wonderful people in my life because clearly I am a wonderful person!!” Maybe then I wouldn’t question myself so much when every other god-forsaken person in my life does.
… on that note, I wish I wasn’t hated by so many people. I’m jealous of people that are well-liked.
The other half of this guy’s pompous little rant was that people who are always miserable and think nothing but assholes and idiots surround them can be sure that what is around them is merely a reflection of who they are. Well, I may be a bitch, but I try really hard to not be an asshole and I know that a complete moron I am not. I believe that I am surrounded by a lot of them, though (as many of us are) because I know how to deal with them.
This begs the next jealousy I have though: I’m jealous of people that are well-liked.
Despite the fact that I have this bitchy, bitch-all-the-time, “tell it like it is”-attitude on my blog, I spend a considerable amount of time trying to be a really good person in my personal life. I go way out of my way for the people that I love. I hate cooking and I prepare great meals for my husband almost every night. Birthdays are always a huge ordeal in our house – because of no one but me. I have let myself get railroaded as well by a lot of people when being so nice; and I just let it happen because I just don’t want people to hate me (which they end up doing anyway). I used to go to writers groups and have given a lot of thought and detail to my critiques when none of the people even looked at my work. I gave up 10 years of graduate school and my career for my husband to have some more time in film. And I have done almost all of this with a smile.
I consider myself to work towards doing what is in the moral right all the time as well. I believe that lying under almost every circumstance is wrong. I believe that using people for my own advantage is horrible. In a cut-throat, dog-eat-dog world, I truly would get eaten alive.
This is why I am jealous of people that are well-liked, though. I don’t get it at all because I try really hard to be a good person and to be good to other people, and yet I am hated vehemently by a lot of people.
I’m jealous of Snookie because she is so goddamned stupid.
Stupid people don’t think. Not thinking means less anxiety about life in general. Not thinking also means never having to take responsibility for your actions. I’m super jealous of people that have no sense of responsibility.
Responsibility to some means being an adult. That is true to me, but more than anything responsibility is just a huge, dead weight hanging along my shoulders, making my neck and head pound, and weighing me down into the ground. Snookie doesn’t have any of that shit. The only thing weighing her down are her belly rolls and her big ass, leopard printed hair bows.
I’m jealous of people that have happy marriages…
…because my marriage is a shit hole most of the time. I’m sure that my marriage is the more realistic – mine will be the one that lasts forever, whereas the “pie in the sky right now” ones will fall apart as soon as something goes wrong.
But goddamn am I jealous of those people.
I just wish I felt like a wife sometimes, instead of what I feel like (which is a roommate, an acquaintance, someone less important, someone that is of no matter, someone that it is okay to lie to, to sneak around behind the back of, and to treat like a slave while giving not even an ‘I love you, thank you, you look nice today, have some more wine.’ in return). I would even settle for just being told I am pretty at this point, which I don’t even know has ever happened.
I am hella-jealous of Gold Diggers and Bridezillas
Those bitches get shit done. I know for sure now that had I been on Bridezillas I would have had more from my wedding than I did. I wouldn’t have had to make all the fucking food myself. I wouldn’t have come away with only one photograph of my husband and I actually standing together – ONE.
Gold Diggers get shit done too. Those bitches have got nice purses, nice hair, and look awesome in their skinny jeans. I have the Target special purse with a hole in it that change falls through, a shitty hairdo, tons of clothes that have fallen apart, and my husband has never actually taken me out on a real date.
Let me repeat that for you, faithful blog followers: never taken me out on a real date.
I am jealous of those gold-digging bitches and Bridezilla witches something fierce.
I am jealous of people that can lie and use people easily.
Just because I think it is horrible to lie and use people doesn’t mean shit. I wish I could lie to people and use them for what I want and not feel like total ass about it. I lie about something looking nice when it doesn’t – just to spare someone’s feelings – and I even feel bad. If I were a filthy liar and a fucktard user, I’m sure my life would be so much easier.
I really really wish I could be one of those writers that has a huge platform and follows a formula for some canned bullshit and makes lots of money for it.
I have a few friends that are writers and have done so well for themselves. I am super jealous of them. Not that I think they are better than me or I want what they have. Just that I am jealous that they have a platform and a support system of friends and family that I just don’t have. I have family and I have friends, but so few of them read or are interested in what I write, or so far away from me that they don’t know how to share my writing with others. (Of course I have you faithful blog followers, and every other writer in the world should be jealous of me for that …)
But I write for myself mostly anyway, so it shouldn’t matter; except that if I am just doing this for myself, why not just do it in my head and stop belaboring over it all the time? Because I am really doing it for myself ONLY because I have no real platform. Because I believe that I actually do have something to say; although, it seems like everyone wants you to cram it into some formula and I just have to ask – “is it literature if there is nothing literary about it?”
The one I am the most jealous of, though, is myself a few years ago.
A few years ago – just a few years – I had my shit together. I was in grad school. I had a plan. I was happy. I was confident in myself. I felt good about myself. I knew what I wanted and how I was going to get it.
Now I’m a pile of rubble and dust of what that person was. I am no longer in grad school, and I have no career. I have no plan for what will make me happy and feed the intellectual part of my soul that is so so so important to who I am. I have lost all interest in everything. I lack all confidence in myself as a result of my Trailer Trash Mom, my in-laws, and my husband telling me every chance they could why I am such a bad person. I no longer know what I want, except to get the hell away from California, get the hell back to my sweet, home Chicago, and to have a normal life again. And I have no idea how to do any of that.
Blah. I have had a real shit-house of a day and wish I hadn’t. It seems like every day is a shit-house, though; really nothing more than a consequence of how unhappy I am with my life right now, and how stuck I feel between a rock and a hard place. This is the B(itch)Log, though, so anyone that doesn’t like my rants can kindly show themselves to another blog. Perhaps the “My life is wonderful and unrealistic and I shit rainbows”Log would be more appropriate.
Or, maybe that guy was right on my Facebook. Maybe I’m surrounded by bull shit, assholes, and idiots because that is what I really am. Whatever the case may be, my day exposed all these jealousies – every single one of them, really.
I think I’m going to go find myself a big, leopard-printed hair bow to start emulating Snookie. Maybe that’ll ease a little of the green with which I feel.