Angie

You know who you are - god you piss me off!  You called just two days ago to tell me you’ve gotten engaged - you tell me I’m the first one you called to tell the news to - I haven’t heard from you in over two months, and even then it was by email and only a couple of lines.  I didn’t know what to say, I had already figured our friendship was all by over at this point, yet you call and tell me you’re getting married and gee, I’m the very first one you thought of to call to tell the news to.  As if I’m suppose to feel honored - “Gee, whiz, I’ve been awful hard on you lately - maybe there’s something to salvage of this friendship.” So, feeling guilty for being a bitch, I called you back the next day, and what do you let slip?  Oh, yeah, he proposed to you at a party - AT A PARTY - where EVERYONE ELSE YOU KNOW was PARTYING, with the exception of your parents in Nashville!  Of course I was the first one you thought of - I was the ONLY one who wasn’t aware of the fact that you were throwing a fucking party, Asshole! 

How many fucking times do I have to endure this bullshit from you? 

Okay, I’ll attempt to leave out the dirty words, if only for the fact that an argument is better said and more productive if the proper words are used.  Words are power.  You should know all about that. 

In the past 14 years that we’ve known each other - and …lol… for all that time that we’ve been ‘friends,’ has it ever once occured to you, while you’re drinking beer and playing pong at some happening party, that I’m not standing next to you, or across from you spilling my beer while I attempt to hit a ping pong ball into a cup in front of you/

Perhaps, just once in these past 14 years, you’ve looked around a party and realized that I’m not there? 

In all the times you’ve had such great stories about parties you’ve attended (or thrown), has it ever once occured to you that you’re telling me about a party you went to without me, without including me, without so much as a quick email or text message or phone call or fucking smoke signal to tell me a party is going on?  Did you ever once think, “hey, maybe I’ll call Kel to see if she’d like to go to (this rocking party with me), (this movie with me), (shopping with me), (get drunk with me), etc., etc.” No - it has NEVER occured to you, you NEVER include me in ANY of the stuff you do, but you LOVE to tell me all about the great fucking time you had, don’t you?

Do you have any idea how much it hurts to not be included?  Do you know at all what it feels like - to be so lonely and desparate for friends you’d pray to a God you don’t even believe in just for relief from the lonliness?  I did that just a moment ago; I actually begged God for a friend, for someone who’d be interested in knowing how my day went, or to go shoe shopping with me, or a movie, or to just talk to “blah blah blah” for no reason.  A real friend.

You’d actually prefer to hang out with your ignorant, bigot friends than with me?  Including Kathy - who’s an idiot and nothing but white trash?  She’s one step away from the Jerry -fucking- Springer show, but she’s a better friend to you than I’ve ever been, right? 

I’ve said this all before to you, but nothing changes.  We’ve talked about this, you’ve assured me I’m wrong, that you’re my friend and you ‘love’ me.  You don’t know how to love, you twisted Bitch.  If you love me so fucking much, why the fuck don’t you ever call me?  Or write me?  Or include me in anything you fucking do?  If you’re such a great friend of mine, why the fuck wasn’t I at that party with you, watching him get down on his knee to ask you to marry him?  I was the fucking one you cried to for over a year about that guy; I was the fucking one who consoled you.  And I’m the one you forget about all the fucking time. 

You suck.  I hope he cheats on you.  I hope he breaks your fucking heart, that tiny, black stone in your chest.  I hope he stomps on it.  You deserve it.