three in the morning productions

culture this

If I was the perfect daughter, I would be out there in a smile holding polite, interesting conversations, instead of sitting here in front of the computer finding creative ways to rant and rave about these PEOPLE in MY house. I would be helping my mother serve refreshments and look to the ease of invited guests, instead of giving anything that moved the DEATH stare. Yes, if I was the perfect daughter, I would sing hymns whilst playing the violin in my hands and the piano with my toes.

I regret to say, however, that perfect daughter was beaten with a sledgehammer, kicked down a flight of stairs and back up and sadly was in no condition to make an appearance.

Because that's just the kind of person I am. And this insight into me is too important not to know: I used to chase my little brother's friends out of MY house with a broomstick, and if they ran out of melee range, I threw shoes.
I'm not a raging Virgo for nothing. This house is mine-- Mine, MINE! Nooo. They don't have the calluses to show from scrubbing at the years' waxy build up of fat on the kitchen fan. It was not their sweat, their tears and their blood that washed (literally, and not so) the walls until they reflected better than mirrors. They didn't clean out the refrigerator and organized the foodstuffs by name, use, size, weight, color, smell and pH level. They didn't think to put those French blinds with the French curtains, or balance the pinkness of the kitchen with wood veneers, or homogenized the bathroom's sea motif. They're not the ones with The Vision.

A paradox in flesh, I am a Chaotic Perfectionist. At work, I had to be taken aside and told to stop organizing the candies to the rainbow because it was disturbing them from their work.

Some people suffer from anorexia nervosa, some from blatant stupidity. Then there are simply people like me. But I mean, if I can't even keep MY house clean and in order, then what is left in my control? Where is the attainment--how will I ever succeed in life? Huh? huh?--someboday tell me that, dammit!

Well I don't care if it makes me into not the nicest girl in the world. lagoot nga manga tao! Go ahead, poke fun at me, call me names, heck, you can even call my friends names (feel free)--but when you mess with MY house, you're messing with trouble.

09.21.02 - 10:20 p.m.

	culture this If I was the perfect daughter, I would be out there in a smile holding polite, interesting conversations, instead of sitting here in front of the computer finding creative ways to rant and rave about these PEOPLE in MY house. I would be helping my mother serve refreshments and look to the ease of invited guests, instead of giving anything that moved the DEATH stare. Yes, if I was the perfect daughter, I would sing hymns whilst playing the violin in my hands and the piano with my toes. I regret to say, however, that perfect daughter was beaten with a sledgehammer, kicked down a flight of stairs and back up and sadly was in no condition to make an appearance. Because that's just the kind of person I am. And this insight into me is too important not to know: I used to chase my little brother's friends out of MY house with a broomstick, and if they ran out of melee range, I threw shoes. I'm not a raging Virgo for nothing. This house is mine-- Mine, MINE! Nooo. They don't have the calluses to show from scrubbing at the years' waxy build up of fat on the kitchen fan. It was not their sweat, their tears and their blood that washed (literally, and not so) the walls until they reflected better than mirrors. They didn't clean out the refrigerator and organized the foodstuffs by name, use, size, weight, color, smell and pH level. They didn't think to put those French blinds with the French curtains, or balance the pinkness of the kitchen with wood veneers, or homogenized the bathroom's sea motif. They're not the ones with The Vision. A paradox in flesh, I am a Chaotic Perfectionist. At work, I had to be taken aside and told to stop organizing the candies to the rainbow because it was disturbing them from their work. Some people suffer from anorexia nervosa, some from blatant stupidity. Then there are simply people like me. But I mean, if I can't even keep MY house clean and in order, then what is left in my control? Where is the attainment--how will I ever succeed in life? Huh? huh?--someboday tell me that, dammit! Well I don't care if it makes me into not the nicest girl in the world. lagoot nga manga tao! Go ahead, poke fun at me, call me names, heck, you can even call my friends names (feel free)--but when you mess with MY house, you're messing with trouble. 09.21.02 - 10:20 p.m.