Embracing my inner bitchcakes.

You know what? Fuck it. Apparently, I'm like the meanest person who has ever lived, or so I've heard on about three occasions this month. So I might as well go along with it and stop saying bullshit cover-up things like, "no really, if I tease you, it means I like you" or doing small nice things for people that show any semblance of affection or friendship. I mean, it's obviously a ruse, and people can see clear down to the shallow depths of my nefarious, hateful, bitter soul. Those cookies? They are cookies of pure spite.

I am so tired of second-guessing whether or not I should completely neuter my personality to avoid accidentally mussing the insecure, neurotic, "I'm so delicate, please treat me specially with kid gloves" types or intimidating even the wee tiniest mouse with *gasp* self-confidence or assertiveness. I apparently missed the memo about sugar-coated avoidances or platitudes being preferable to clear, concise (and occasionally uncomfortable) truth. If I don't say exactly what I mean, I get accused of being mistrustful, and if I do, I'm labeled mean. It's really a no-win situation.

I need to embrace my inner bitch and start blindly stomping on feelings. Apparently, it's what I'm best at.

You pansy-ass wimps. If you were dogs, you'd be fucking Pomeranians.