Indignation – Autumn Rouse

barÂ·raÂ·cuÂ·da

Autumn — Mon, 08 Jul 2013 20:32:23 +0000

[bar-uh-koo-duh]Â

noun

any of a genus (SphyraenaÂ of the family Sphyraenidae) of elongate predaceous often large bony fishes of warm seas that includes food and sport fishes as well as some forms frequently causing ciguatera poisoning
one that uses aggressive, selfish, and sometimes unethical methods to obtain a goal especially in business

If the real thing don’t do the trick, you better make up something quick

I am not a nice person. Ask anyone. Plenty of people will be happy to attest to the fact that I’m a heartless, selfish, cold-blooded bitch. People that don’tÂ likeÂ me, might even sayÂ nasty things about me…

I am a truthful person. I am a devoted, generous, compassionate person. I am even, at various turns, a tremendously thoughtful and sweet person. But still, I am not a nice person.

For I do not treat everyone with equal consideration. My love, kindness, and care are inconsistently applied. I subscribe wholly to the “small village” anthropological perspective and consciously spare all the good and worthy things I have to offer for a very elect few; those who have by whatever means, earned my affection.Â Upon these, I lavish all that I have to give.Â

Since I am not a nice person, I am deeply disinclined to false politesse. If you ask, or provoke me sufficiently, I will tell you what I think of you, whether it is flattering or no. Â If you presume to tell me what you think ofÂ me without explicit invitation, I will consider that more than sufficient provocation to tear you to tiny little shreds.Â

And I am very good at that, indeed.Â

My mother has, for as long as I can remember, called me her “little barracuda.” She meant it with utmost affection, but said fondness in no way belied her stance that I was capable of acts of verbal viciousness that would “leave a body breathless.” My family at large used to sic me on people they felt needed a good tongue lashing; if someone had to be put in their place, I was the one to carve them down close enough to the bone that they would fit in it properly – plus, tears make good lubricant.

I think about this, each and every rare occasion someone mistakes me for a person they can call “Sweetie” Â

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

Autumn — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 16:41:19 +0000

klaus and i have been violated. again.Â

got a phone call this morning from my landlady. one of the other residents at my complex called her to say my car was broken into. argh. no one else’s car was burgled. just mine. this is not the first time this has happened either. last march i had someone smash and grab when i was out at a show. they even broke the same goddamn window.

on the plus side: i usually tend to be totally moronic and not lock my doors and/or leave all manner of important stuff in my car. last night, for whatever reason i brought all my stuff inside, apart from a bag with my camera in it. which sucks, cause that camera was cute as hell. also, i was so caught up in running out to look at the car i failed to notice if my trek was still sitting on the patio. that’ll torment me til i get home… they busted my window, but did not get my wallet, ipod, or blackberry. so. there’s that.

renters insurance is a good thing. shopping for a new camera (and possibly bike) might be fun. small comfort overall.

i must have been a really evil bitch in a past life.

what is it lately

Autumn — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 22:10:37 +0000

with the surly people behind the counter at my local convenience stores? i’m accustomed to uppity waitstaff, i mean, i am from here. but this phenomenon is new. i am used to my clerk at the plaid being:

drunk, intoxicated, or suffering the long-term effects of previous drunkenness/intoxication
mentally challenged
toothless
persistently curious about my personal life/plans for the evening
some combination of the above

what i am NOT used to is the not-so-subtly snide mien the handful of cashiers i have encountered lately have adopted.

few weeks back friends lyza, emma, & i wandered over to plaid to obtain milk duds for our popcorn. we were enjoying the fine pre-summer evening with a few cocktails, and we had all confirmed via emma’s snazzy personal breathalyzer unit that none of us should attempt to captain a vehicle of any kind, but we were merely enjoying our time together and the prospect of salty carmely chocolatey popcorny goodness. as we approached the counter, the fellow behind it got this look on his face like he thought our behavior could be favorably compared to dental work sans anesthesia. then, when i attempted to engage him in a little friendly banter to reassure him we were harmless, well…

“can i have one of those scratch its? (aside to e&l) these are really fun. (back to cashier) a friend of mine showed me how to do them. we all take turns. (smile)”

“that’s a riveting story”

WTF?

like, i wasn’t really looking for approval from this guy, but why the snark? we weren’t being unduly rowdy, we were making a sizable purchase, and, if i do say so myself, we are a group of lookers. what the hell?

then today, i go into the 7-11 so i can grab something for lunch. i decide on a clif bar, some trail mix, and a rockstar. my digestions have been a little off kilter of late so i wanted something relatively low key, but cheap and fast. i bring my whatnot to the counter and this guy gives me this look and says

“you know, there’s no FOOD in your food.”

i’m a little taken aback here so i don’t reply immediately. Then:

“well it suits me.”

“why don’t you go get yourself some crackers, or an orange. a sandwich for chrissakes.”

(pause to think of retort, think of one, begin to walk away)

“i will if you promise to shove them up your ass.”

no one saw fit to critique my purchases at freddy’s.