So, it seems as though I only want to blog when I’m pissed off/ hurt.  But I suppose that is what a blog is for.  Because if I said the things I really want to say, well, then I would be that psychotic chick who can’t control a single emotion in her body.  I mean, I suppose that would be OK too, but I’ll try it this way first and if my frustrations aren’t vented in this manner, then I will use further force.  OK, well, I gave you a nice little intro.  Here, is my frustration today:

Brett and I are expecting my family to come in today, and for that, I am very excited!!! BUT, I knew I had a lot to get done before they get here so that the apartment is, family friendly, ie. clean.  So, I decided I would head down with Brett to Starbucks in the morning before he goes to work so I can wake up early and get all the stuff done I needed to get done and not accidentally fall back asleep and rush in the end.  We go to his usual starbucks (on Bush and Kearny (in SF, obviously)) for the first time since I have been here (1 week!) and I’m waiting in line (in front of him) and they totally skip me and get his drink first.  OK, no big deal, I get it, he’s a regular and I’m just some chick in front of him wearing sweats and my cleaning shirt, with my hair a HOT MESS.  Fine.  So they start taking my order, and I’m telling them “Grande non-fat white chocolate mocha, no whip cream” and I notice two female baristas talking to Brett saying something I could not quite catch because, well, I’m trying to order.  But then I hear Brett say, “No, that’s her.”  Umm, Excuse me?!?!? 

Well, come to find out, from my boyfriend nonetheless, “one of the gal’s has a big crush on me and she asks me every day if we have broken up yet.  So I told her, ‘no, that’s her.’ and pointed to you.” GRREEAAAT!  So, not only is our frail long distance relationship already hard enough to deal with, but now I have to worry about some chick asking you every effing day whether we have broken up yet or not?!? WTF!?!? And, you, have the audacity to just point to me and say “that’s her.”  Like, that’s the girl who is keeping you from me.  “That’s her” the other girl.  Fuck that! And, you, pixie headed barista girl, you don’t even have the balls to come over and say “hi, good morning?!?!” You’d rather run to the other side of the counter and start yelling “bone dry cappuccino?!?” Nice.  I love class. 

Fuck that shit!!!  What happened to “no, we haven’t broken up, she’s here visiting me for her whole summer before she starts school.  This is her.  Crystal, meet the bitch who puts doubts in my head.”  Anything.  But no, you keep me as some vague orb of mass, so when she does ask again, there isn’t a name and a face to put the question to.  So you can keep pretending like it’s a victimless “crime.”  Like it’s completely harmless.  NICE. 

But please, let me do everything I can to please you and make our relationship easier.  Sorry, for being just “her” something not to boast of, but secretly point to behind my back.  Thanks, I feel stellar.  So, I’ll stay “her” and finish cleaning the rest of your apartment, and I’ll stay “her” back in LA.  So, as soon as you’re ready for a different “her” let me know.  Because, I am sure there are plenty of men who would love to say, “This is Crystal, she is mine.” Anyways, I am going to go scrub your toilet now.