||[Jan. 15th, 2006|09:19 pm]
Excuse me, but are you out of your fucking mind? Did you really think I would go for your 'perfect' solution, where 'everyone' (ie, you) gets what they want?
Let's go through this again, shall we? And we can see where all your problems are.
On the one hand, I have this dream computer desk. Unfortunately, I'm pretty damn sure I'll not be able to find it in a catalogue since I'd really like something that isn't made of chipboard. To that end, I talked with you about me buying the materials I wanted it made from and you making it. We even sat down together and got some real, hard measurements out of my airy nothings it was built with.
Now, you selflessly want to save me money by generously giving me your old computer desk (which you had got secondhand) and, since that will leave you without a computer desk, well, you're just going to have to make yourself one, right? A nice one, because it'll be yours. And the best part is? I won't have to spend money!
I mean, what. The. Fuck. How the hell is this going to give me the desk I want? If I'd wanted your fucking desk, I would have asked for it. Or, at the very least, spent a lot of time in your office measuring out what I fucking wanted in a desk. No, instead I modelled it mostly off of my old desk, getting the measurements to ensure it would fit in my room.
I am this close to saying "Fuck this" and throwing your stupid little portfolder (to better help me with the pricing of the materials) right at your head. If you don't want to make the desk, fine. Fucking fine. Just don't try to tell me I want your old desk just so you can build yourself a new one.
And, hey! How were you going to pay for the materials for your desk? At least I'd've been buying what I needed.
Thanks a lot, Dad. Thanks a fucking peach. I love knowing this, really, I do.
Your too-stupid-to-see-through-this daughter
Mom - Don't talk to me about how a parent's love is unconditional, 'mkay? Myabe I'm the only one who remembers you withdrawing your love from my sister and me to get your way in the matter of a certain cat in our own, separate apartment, but as long as I do, just . . . don't talk to me about this, okay?
Also no love,
Your I-can't-believe-she's-honestly-asking-me-about-this daughter