Wednesday, November 19, 2008

In which I lose another ounce of my patience and move one step closer to committing mass murder from a neurotic breakdown. (11/18/08)

Once more it seems that my family is out to institutionalize me, because unless they really are clueless, then I am just crazy. I know that I have no patience for people, and teachers and my friends will tell you this straight out. I don’t like you. Why else would I spend my days writing in search for the deeper meaning of people’s idiocy?

Well this is beside the point…or actually right on point. Most teenagers go home after school relieved, seeking to relax from a stressful day of classes, nightmare-inducing teachers (or so they say. In my opinion, they should just suck it up and move along), and the drama of teenage life (O-M-G she said what!?). I on the other hand, dread coming back home. It is not that I have abusive parents or anything like that, its just that they literally drive me crazy. As literally crazy as one can get and still be able to write cohesively.

Now I will tell you what happened today: I come home from fashion merchandising class, hungry, tired, and hoping that for once, someone home had listened to me and cooked the leftover ground beef I had left in the kitchen on Sunday. Yes it has been two days…Goddess help me Mrs. West. Needless to say, my wish was not granted, and once I asked my mother if she was going to do it, she just answered, “Cook it then.”

Did I mention I was hungry and tired? So I, in my tired confusion, asked my grandmother, with all the subtlety one uses with a kindergartener, to roll up the ground beef into little pieces and cook it in a pan. Then I went to go take a nap. What does my grandmother do? Certainly not what I asked her to. She mixed in chunks of onion and tomatoes into the meat and then came to wake me up to tell me that there was something wrong with the meat.

Besides being two days old, what else could be wrong with it, I wonder? So I go to the kitchen, grouchy and still tired, and can you blame me? So I tried to salvage the mixture of ground meat and gigantic chunks of…whatever, essentially doing what I asked her to do for me. Can you believe she wanted to put baking soda, into it? The meat, however, was not in the mood to cooperate, sticking to the pan, crumbling away and leaving burnt pieces of onion, not even trying to retain any resemblance to a meatball.

By now, all forms of patience are dissolving, like the meatballs I’m trying to cook, and I notice that my grandmother, in all her apologetic glory, sits herself down and starts doing crossword puzzles. That was the straw that broke the camel…or in my case, penguin-rabbit hybrid’s back. “You know what? You do it!” I declared, throwing the spatula down, “You had the brilliant idea to add to my recipe. You know so much about cooking to defy my methods. You can finish this!” In Spanish, of course.

By now my grandmother is giving the whole, ‘I will do anything you want, I am just a poor old woman’ act, and that aggravates me all the more. But just because I have given up on cooking the disaster of a meal myself, doesn’t mean I will let her have free reign, otherwise, there wouldn’t be much of a meal left. Now I will say, my grandmother is not a bad cook. She really does know what she’s doing…with recipes she’s known forever. But give her something new, and it’s a recipe (pun intended) for disaster and another debilitating headache. She was going to use oil to cook the meatballs. Oil with ground beef!

Another cause for headaches? People who question the reasons for my racism against my own ethnic group, Latino Americans, and prejudice against the clans of stupid people at school just piss me off to no end. All the complaints about drama, so called teenage romance, and the unfairness from teachers is enough to make me sick. I’m not saying I’m above drama. I have had fights with fellow students, and did get punched in the face over petty anger on my part. But you know what? I let it go. *Audience gasps* Seriously, I know we were both in the wrong, and I was the one that lost…badly, I admit.

But the grudges, the smack-talking, the gossiping, the sheer beaner-ness of everything is to say the least, tiring. Have a horrible teacher? Ever tried to shut up and let the teacher actually teach? And if that’s not it, then suck it up, cuz they hold your grades in their hands and can tip the scale in your favor toward success or away into working night shifts at Wal-mart. Have drama? Take your head out of your posterior and look around at the pretty flowers, because I guarantee its not as bad as you think it is…unless you’re pregnant. Then you got to hit yourself upside the head for being stupid enough to have sex in the first place. And the much laughed at and most idiotic comeback: “But I love him!”… Just no. Shut. The. Heck. Up. Because you’re killing my much needed brain cells. You were raped you say? Day after pill, oh martyred one. Jeez.

Enough ranting… All I have to say in the end, is that I learned a new lesson today. Do not expect stupid people to understand the meaning of life. Do not expect stupid people to suddenly grow some brain cells. And most important: Do not let stupid people drag you down into insanity. In the wise words of Ron White, “You can’t fix stupid.”