My wonderful life.

So I get up early and drag my sorry fucking ass out of bed so I can look good for college. I park my car into the parking lot...exactly where the persians usually park. Unfortunately I didn't see the letters "PERSIAN" stenciled in white at the end of the parking spot; I was tired. So when I come out after 5th period to go home, of course one would expect nothing less than to have his convertible top slashed multiple times. You know it was only $700 to buy the top and have it installed. Wait no. It was around $750. Maybe even $800. But everything was okay when I got the half-hearted compassion from the school principal who told me, in my own words, that the school district fucked her up her ass so now she can't implement a security system for the student parking lot. That's probably because Taft was making more money charging each kid $15 dollars per semester than Taft makes from our poor middle aged parents' taxes. And the L.A.U.S.D can't have that. One reason: they're fucks. So you pretty much park your car at your own fucking risk. Too bad for you if someone sets your car on fire. Not our problem. So Thomas lets me go see the school cop. Great. I walk in and he's sitting with his feet up and on the phone in the fucking dark. "Turn on the light," he says. And as I sit down I realize that his uniform isn't on, and he's probably been sitting on his ass for a majority of the day. Really...what the fuck? You're a god damned police officer, hired to serve and protect or whatever that bullshit badge reads and all you can fucking do is sit in your office. Oh, I'm sorry. Were you on your fucking break? I doubt it. Your phone call had nothing to do with police work, and neither do you. If you're going to be a cop, why don't you fucking do something: shoot some fucking teenagers who deserve it, or put a gun to Superintendent Brewer's head and tell him I want my $700 because the fucking piece of shit Los Angeles District can't even put a couple of fucking cameras in the parking lot. I really don't care what the fuck you do as long as you actually make a difference. But you don't do shit. So fuck off, so we can use the money that we spent to hire you on something worthwhile.

Anyways, I tell him what happened. And he gives me another bullshit shot at sympathy and continues with his secretarial duties as a police officer: the wonderful filing process when you realize that nothing can really be done about what just happened to you; you're just asked questions about what your address is and shit, and by the time he asks you for your driver's license you both realize all the god damned info he wanted was on that piece of shit card, you went through years of bullshit training to get. So we have the worthless cop and the worthless principal. Honestly good fucking job at trying. So I go home and call the district. I leave one message: I probably said "fuck" about 8 times and "god damn it" about twice followed up by another slew of healthy vocabulary, which pretty much concluded to the secretary who listens to it tomorrow at 8am, while getting fucked by Marlene Canter or Brewer (depends on sexual preference of course. Brewer is probably gay), that she's a worthless piece of shit along with all the other pieces of shit who are either "in a meeting" or "just not fucking here today." Hey douche bags. Blow me. I have way more important shit than bullshit like your "staff development" shit. I eventually calmed down, called 6 or 7 more numbers. They were in meetings. Whaddya know. Then finally I get this calm, white woman...trust me I know. And I'm not trying to be racist, but the other people like those asian chicks who ask the same question three times are just retarded. This middle aged white woman had sympathy for me. She really said I'm sorry to me about three or four times. I heard it in her voice, that she actually cared. Even though it had nothing to do with her, she cared for me. That's something else. Those are people I just want to go up to and hug and tell them that they deserve the best in this world. She was almost as nice to me as Trisha Rahimzadeh was to me when she heard. Really someone should give her a raise. But I left a couple messages...I hear that I will be gotten back to tomorrow. HA! Honestly, how does anyone get anything done in this fucking world. We've been told all our lives to get shit done on time. My dad tells me I gotta "take care of things." Ya know that spiel. But honestly, I'll shit a brick if someone calls me tomorrow with some care, compassion, and patience. They probably won't call, so I won't have to worry about being pissed at talking to another cold-hearted nobody.

You know what the worst part is?

I wasn't even surprised. Really, I think if I was in front of a lot of people, I would have screamed "fuck" as loud as I could, and I would have said a bunch of worthless bullshit apostrophizing the world, proclaiming it a meaningless pile of shit we all happen to be placed on at some random point in time. I'm sure whoever slashed the top would have been there, and they would have been pretty happy to see that. Masochist fucks. But having gone through so much bullshit in my life, yeah, I've been mugged in front of fucking Baja Fresh, I really wasn't too surprised. Oh, my top was slashed. Oh well. Just a little more hopelessness and a little more rage. What can I expect?

Fuck.