a matter of taste

so let's talk real-cliche-like.


i hate my parents. firstly, they started to notice my little "habit". and by "habit" i mean use of medicine. now don't worry, i'm not an addict; i don't have issues, but i'll pop the advil (or 3) more often than say, the average 16 year old would. now this average 16 year old's parents would have noticed this "habit" or even started to monitor her intake by now (again, not saying it is an unhealthy intake, but rather unusual for her age group. i don't know why i've started talking in third person but we're going with it.) and because she lives with people who possess unusual if not terrible parenting skills they start to notice every little eensy weensy thing just because she pissed them off about one thing or another..

then there's the singular maternal unit. the woman's a skinny bitch (emphasis on skinny). she's like liz, but if liz had beared two children and had strong calf muscles. it's annoying. she's a forty-some year old adult. and i'm not just saying this as the cliche self conscious teenager: it's obvious. in pictures you can tell who's tipped the scale a bit more than the other. and it's not the one who's carried two fetuses. anyway, now she's upping the ante with a new diet and exercise regimen: last night for dinner we had unflavored salmon with white rice and broccoli. ew. then she brought home two work out dvds: one is literally called "jillian michaels intense work out: lose 20 pounds in 30 days". wtf. she has to be playing a really sick joke on me.

then there's the paternal unit. i don't know if i can even talk about him without sounding like a crazy mean bitch. trust me, i've done it before and gotten my share of looks. but you just have to be me and live with him and then you'd understand.



ahhh to be a cliché teenager...