I Hate Nice People. In A Nice Way.

I know this is old, old, OLD news, but I'm a bitch. I have this vague feeling somewhere (emo line coming up) in this stone called a heart that that statement used to sting. Or it may just be my freak of an imagination.

But yeah. I have the bitchy qualities other bitches may envy. Sometimes I scare people; again, I have this vague feeling that I'm supposed to be guilty about it. But I'm not. I think it's because only one person has the guts to tell me off---the other one I fired, or so I believe. Now there's a replacement. This person says it doesn't hurt to be nice. I roll my eyes and resume my 'attitude', this person twitches an eyebrow as I turn away. Big deal.

It doesn't hurt to be nice? It does. People walk all over you. They take you for granted, they bully you to your hair roots. What kind of life is that? I'd rather fancy I scare people than people fancy scaring me. Being overly nice is being sick. Stupidly sick. Before you know it you're caught in a loop and can't do shit to save yourself from users.

I understand that symbiotic relationships must of necessity exist---use and be used. That's why I 'hate' nice people in a nice way. They delectably ruin the balance.


A side note:

gayrunnerness: once upon a time there was this bald frog with a bad wiggayrunnerness: no one could really figure out why a frog would need a wig in the first place, since frogs really dont have hair
gayrunnerness: --not in places we can see, anyway
gayrunnerness: this frog was so self conscious about being bald that one day the wind blew his wig off the tippity top of his head and when he saw his reflection in the pond he choked on the leg he bit off this toot guy named toot and died.
gayrunnerness: the flies lived happily ever after--which lasted about 24 hours. the end.
gayrunnerness: oh, and liz lived happily ever after too