After Events of the Previous or this Past Week, Whatever

Hello, readers. I got an email or two from some guy with the ID Hotel Kid 9. Sadly, those emails have some lists of accusations in them. For one, I’m being called a hypocrite. I do have a problem with bullying, but most of all, I have a problem with expired food in my fridge. My dear friend Elizabeth, a law school student at the University of Denver, was here, and she goes to my church. We’ve been best buds for, like, ever. But the guy who wrote emails like this is none other than the man responsible for the mass vandalism of my apartment. I’m not kidding. He did this, and I can’t say it was an accident. If it were an accident, he’d say, “Oh, let me pick this up.” Trust me. I watched Elizabeth in my apartment and she almost shattered a bottle of expired somethings on the floor. She, unlike the other guy, said, “Oops.” She picked it up, and it was me who said, “oooh, careful.” That “accident” was indeed attempted vandalism, and it was wrong. I’m not accusing anyone or writing names here, but the Hotel Kid who emailed me used to be a friend, and if he hadn’t thought about what my health has been like for like the last few months, maybe he would’ve asked someone, common sense tells me, to look at all the dates on the brownies and cookies he attempted to put in my fridge. While the brownies were ok, and the cookies were cool, they still had expiration dates beyond what the date had been at the time.
I do want to take a few minutes to say:
1. When going into my apartment, do not bring expired food into it. After the digestive throwing up and barfing and bad tastes I’ve had so many times over, I can’t take chances. That’s the thing.
2. When coming into my apartment, do not purposefully dump things on the floor. I don’t take chances with my floor because I’m not one to mop it. Just because I’m a graduate of CCB, that doesn’t mean you do things like this to me.
3. If you are the men I can’t see anymore, you are not simply going to have soda. You won’t have sodas as of late. You will never see me again, for one, but the other I’m going to give a chance to talk to a priest about this. He has the regrets I’m sure, but A.Y. will need to say to his priest, “I gossiped, possibly broke HIPA laws with care and stuff, had a part in vandalism, etc.” That all did occur. I’m no bully. I don’t appreciate being called names and being made fun of. I am declaring that I am no bully, and any accusations otherwise are false. I don’t bully people, so the emails I got and the removal from Facebook on top of this are obvious signs of insecurity, meanness on the guy’s part, and so on. And there’s another weird twist in the story:
Well, here’s the weirdness. Jason, one reader I wasn’t expecting to be on my side, has said some stuff, but I know him better than this. Blake and I were sitting there reading a hundred message chat. I had said it fully, texts only. Elizabeth was here, literally throwing out half my fridge because it was expired stuff. I let Elizabeth have a chocolate cherry, and I’m tempted to give other cherries to Bethany and other ladies in the church. For A. and M., those guys, well, A. has to realize that M. may have even weirder tendencies that could hurt his marriage to his dear love, one lady I know. Those tendencies are too intimate to discuss here. I cannot talk about the kinds of stuff that M. may have planned to do, things like eroding friendships, stealing others, etc. You think M.P.R. is bad, look at the other guy. Hotel Kid 9 is not only accusatory in his emails, he doesn’t need to write them. He’s absolutely weird. The weirdness is all there. Weirdness that isn’t funny or good.
IF it weren’t for this thing that panned out in my apartment, I swear it’s something I would never talk about. This whole thing is weird. Jason’s being supposedly on my side, well, it’s not true really. I don’t know if Jason realizes that he backslides, and because Blake has told me not to deal with it, I won’t. But I did tell Jason, “You’re a burning hot mess.” No kidding. He is a burning mess. I should’ve left the hot word out. Hot may mean that Jason is hot. No, he’s an ugly weird phantom in disguise as a good guy. OR he thinks he is. Well, he’s not hot. He’s just a burning hot mess. Well, a burning mess of bones and weirdness. Here is what happened after:
Blake and I had a good talk in the morning, and we put the thing we decided to do to practice. I’m not dealing with gossiping Gabby and drama again. Ever! This means anyone who has accused me of doing what have you in the past and has any inclination of bullying me or accusing me of doing so or writing one thing or another, you’re not coming back. Anyone who wants to cause drama or destroy Blake’s relationship with me? Go away. Let it go. Can’t hold it back any more. Let it go, let it go, turn away and slam the door. You won’t see what I really am, let the storm rage on. The cold seems to bother you anyway.

Author: denverqueen

My name is Beth. I'm blind from birth and enjoy the blogging atmosphere. I am a creative person, a musician, a writer, etc. This is me. Take it or leave it.

2 thoughts on “After Events of the Previous or this Past Week, Whatever”

  1. First and formost, you can’t take chances with anything expired Even I have no clue whether anything in my fridge is expired particularly milk products.
    If I go shopping now I try and get two bottles of milk with the same used by date I use an I ate quest talking barcode scanner which reads labels but not always the used by dates. I’m lucky I’ve got support from my parents for things like checking the date on the milk

    I once ate lollies from my local agricultural show and the next day I was as crook as a dog.

    Turns out the lollies had been in the showbag for several months and when dad tried to eat some he was crook too so I wasn’t the only one.

    Have never bought showbags since.


  2. What ou said about milk reminded me of something about milk I hate: it gets sour after so much time. I will never drink milk in my fridge, but when I have kids, I’ll have to do something else.


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