There are some days my mother gets in one of her special moods and just decides to yell at me about everything and/or the most inane, trivial shit. Today was one of those days. Here's what I heard about:

• Got yelled at to turn the ceiling fan off. Because I guess Miss Special Snowflake couldn't be arsed to get out of her chair and turn the fan off herself (the fan, by the way, is less than three feet from her chair),. she called me from all the way downstairs to turn it off for her. Never mind that I can hardly breathe and I'm coughing so hard that I vomit. Sure, no problem...want me to take your socks off for you too since that'd be too much of a hassle as well?
• Got yelled at to clean the cat litter. This one covers several other things. First of all, I can't smell a goddamn thing right now due to being sick, so if I can't tell the cat's litter (which just got changed last night) smells, then sorry. Clean it yourself, bitch.
• Also, it will not make me care more about the odor when you say ignorant shit like, "them cats get blocked up by peeing in old pee, you know!"  Yeah, that makes no sense; you're a retard.
• Moreover, we have no disinfectant to spray down here and it wouldn't eliminate the smell anyway.

Here's a list of things I have been yelled at in the last 48 hours:

- Alleged sleeping until 2 in the afternoon (was actually awake much sooner, but I'm currently sick and wanted to stay under my blanket. Mom knows I'm sick)

- "Wadding up" her moron's shirts. After laundry was done, she said not to hang up Idiot's shirts because she intended to iron them, so why it made a difference whether or not I "wadded" them up is beyond me.

- Accused of only wearing one pair of underwear the whole week. I did toss out one pair of my undies because they're old and ripped all to hell. My best guess is the handful of other pairs I had in my hamper were stolen at the laundromat when the laundry was ever so nicely abandoned by my mother when she fetched change. She includes my laundry because she feels I'm too dumb to do it myself.

- Taking the wrong flannel sheets. I head back to my room with mint-green flannel sheets and Mom has a shitfit that they're the wrong sheets and that I need the green ones. When I point out I HAVE the green ones, she acts like I'm an idiot and goes, "NOOO! THEEEEEEESE green ones!" and hands me flannel sheets that are olive green. Since I was totally supposed to be a mind reader and know that. I also learned that flannel can fall out of sheets after a while.

Also, I realize my journal is a little hard to read with the black background, so I'm going to maybe change the color scheme for easier viewing.

Yup, still on the forced diet. I got bitched at recently for eating grapes and was told that if I don't quit eating, I'll never lose any weight. Since, you know, grapes are so bad for you being fruit. Totally unhealthy and will obviously undo any progress I've made in this retarded diet.

The peanut butter jar was examined as well and I was informed I can't use "too much" peanut butter because it's too fattening. Never mind that peanut butter contains the good kind of fat.

Never mind McDonald's and high fructose corn syrup, folks - fucking peanut butter and grapes are the primary causes of obesity in America.

As a little recap of some relatively recent posts, Sped Boy showed up in my mother's yard and was eventually hauled off by the police and shipped the hell back to Florida. The moron is still not living here (yay!), but I guess Spedley has been calling the idiot and saying he wants to come back.

Must be one of his other personalities was present when he was sent home and it was made abundantly clear his retarded ass is not wanted here. Well guess what? If he comes back, he'll get arrested since he and his worthless shit bag of a mother have been told he cannot come here.

I say let him get arrested. He'll get belligerent with the police and start throwing fists and he'll rack up enough charges to hopefully put him away fro a few months or years. I can only hope.

It seems no matter how slow I eat anything, my mother will say to me, "You gonna come up for air?" as if I'm shoveling food into my face like an Ethiopian at a buffet. No, you see, I'm a human, and I can breathe through my nose while I eat. So there's no need to come up for air because I'm not holding my breath at any point, nor am I under anything.

This is why I gorge when she's not home or she's asleep - I won't have every crumb that tumbles down my throat criticized.

Due to the overwhelming amount of Russian spam comments I've been getting in my journal, I have changed my settings so only those who are registered LJ users can comment. If the spammers get wise, I will change it so only those on my friend list can comment. That is all.

Dear mother,

Thank you for finding entertainment in rummaging through the bathroom trash can in search of my used tampons. No, I am not pregnant just because you have not seen tampons in the trash at all in July. I know you tend to think I'm knocked up like some dumb bimbo when someone you know shits a loaf and my periods don't occur when you want them to, but believe it or not, I am smarter than that.

I think I know my body better than you know it, and I know by now that my times of the month do not come like clockwork. They show up each month, but only around the same general time. So for me to be a week late or a week early now and then is actually no cause for concern. I don't know why it happens...it just does. Please shut the fuck up and get a hobby and stop dumpster diving in the house for my soiled sanitary products.

It's been a while, yeah? Nothing new - the moron is still alive and still moved out (but his shit's still here).

Anyway, my mother has unilaterally decided I am too fat for her liking, so she's on this whole eating healthy kick. Basically, I cannot put anything in my mouth without her bitching at me about how many calories it has. Shit, today I made myself a fruit shake with berries, real and unsweetened juice, lowfat yogurt and a little lemon juice. She screamed at me that it had too many calories and that I'll never lose weight if I don't stop eating.

Meanwhile, she screamed yesterday about how she spent four dollars on strawberries and how I need to eat them right now before they go bad. So, which is? Eat or don't eat? In any case, I try my best to get all my eating done before she comes home for work so I don't need to hear about how I'm going to get diabetes and lose all my limbs because I put sugar in my coffee.

I think this might be the beginning of a new section in my journal, so be on the lookout for the "diet" tag. I'm sure I'll be doing this dumbass weight loss shit for quite a while...or until my mom's moron dies and she's too busy bawling to pay attention to my eating habits.

I was wondering if Sped Boy would ever make good on his threats to come back here. While I was thankfully out of town, he did live up to his word and showed up in the driveway. Despite being told on countless occasions that he is neither welcome nor allowed in this house ever again, that sure didn't stop special little him.

So my mother called the police to deal with him, and Spedley must have been medicated because he was shockingly cooperative with the officer. Mom let the officer know who the tard is and how she absolutely does not want him here, and when asked why he came here, Spedley said he came here to see his stupid dying father, me, the dog and the cats. But not my mother, even though it's her house and her land.

Tardo needed a place to stay for the night so he could be flown home the following day, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be staying here. He asked to stay at his uncle's house, but Uncle refused. Why? Well, because this uncle hunts and has many guns in his house. Basically, he didn't trust Spedley around his firearms, so Uncle paid $80 to put the fucker up for the night at a local hotel and then $45 more for a cab ride from the hotel to the airport. From what we know, his idiot mother got him on a one-way flight back to Florida.

According to the police, since he has been told by them that he is not allowed here, if he comes back yet again, he will be arrested. And hey, that's fine by me - I could only hope maybe he would get killed in prison.

I tell ya, having cancer has its benefits - you can be a fucking asshole and people will excuse your behavior because you're sick. Tardface came home last night and basically yelled from the time he got in the door up until he left again. His complaints this time were:

• Being in this house makes him itchy. Meanwhile, he hadn't itched even once in the time he was here.
• He can't stand it here because no one talks to him. Gee, I wonder why that is....couldn't be because you've been treating both my mom and I like shit for the last six or seven years, you're not home ever, and never try to start a conversation yourself.
• Horseradish. Apparently the horseradish in the refrigerator bothered him and he decided to throw it away.
• That I have to be told to talk to him. Mom told me while I was trying to shower that I have to speak to him. You know, so he won't leave. He overheard her saying this and got mad. Boo fuckin' hoo.

So yeah, the usual - looking for excuses to bitch and upset my mother. I wonder if he has to rehearse being an asshole or if it just comes to him naturally.