workhorse

When I turned 11 my mom decided it was the appropriate age to make me start working. I went to school with a girl whose grandfather was from the middle east and owned a catering business. He was pretty sketch, especially since he let an 11 year-old work for him. We mostly catered private parties, or at embassies. At some point he acquired a restaurant, the food was disgusting, it was in downtown Silver Spring before downtown Silver Spring got nice and there was a back room which I'm pretty sure was used for hookers. So we go down there with my best friend from the neighborhood, Jennifer. She is three years older than me and was usually at my house and present for all the shit that went down. If her mother had known what we were doing that night she would have been pissed. Anyway, so we get there and my mom decides it's a good idea to tell Mouffa (that was the dude's name who owned the place) to give me the largest table there. Full of big black women. Not only did they scare the shit out of me, they were mean. When I tried to get them to pay for their drinks, they'd yell at me and tell me they already gave me the money. At first I was too much of a pussy to say anything about it. Then I got pissed. I'd had enough. I told one lady she needed to give me the five bucks for the Hennessy she'd just ordered. I was prepared, ready to stand firm...until she stood up. She towered over me, this little pre-pubescent white girl and screamed at me about how she'd already given me the money. I was defeated, I was afraid she was gonna slap the shit out of me, so I backed down. I know my place, sometimes I talk a big game, especially if I've been drinking, but I was only 11 or 12 at that point, and only drinking occasionally (which was okay, my mom knew about it).

We finally got out of there sometime in the middle of the night. It being a black lounge, I literally did not get one single tip. And don't be offended by my saying that, even Eddie Murphy agrees. Not all black people, but still. I mean, white people smell kinda like dogs when we get wet, my Asian coworker just told me "Asians, we smart, but we suck at driving." Every culture has its shortcomings. So we're going to leave and naturally, he's paying us under the table. Dude hands me a twenty dollar bill for my entire night of getting bitched at and bossed around. I cried. I was so angry. What a fucking dick. When we got to the car though it was revealed to me that Jennifer and my mom were keeping most of the money that they had been given for drinks and food. My mom made Jennifer give me some of what she had made.

The best part about how my mom started making me work at a young age is that she would take a portion of what I had made. She always said she was using it for things for me, but that was bullshit. A couple years ago she got really angry at me and had tallied up a list of what it had cost her to "raise" me and told me I owed her $121,000 dollars. Which is funny, because when I turned 18 she started taking credit cards out in my name and completely demolished my credit, I'm still in debt. But that's another story for another blog post.

i am a blogging noob

I've decided to start this blog as a release for the anger I have, which is finding its way into all facets of my life. And like Danny Vineyard said, "Hate is baggage, life is too short to be pissed off all the time."
My anger is directed at, and a direct result of my mother, Joanna Agatha Ossman. Whether it's road rage, a rude d-bag, or a fight with my boyfriend, I sometimes just get way too pissed off. I can feel my anger grow over almost nothing. It is not healthy. For example, I was trying to get out of a parking garage recently. A woman and I drive up to each other, one of us was going to have to back up so the other could get by. I clearly could not do so because there were cars behind me. I pointed that I needed to get past her. She impatiently threw her arms up and sort of shrugged her shoulders. She looked like one of the typical, annoying yuppies in my neighborhood, with glasses and curly, short red hair. She really infuriated me. Both of our windows were down, and before even thinking about it I was yelling at her to move. Which isn't so bad, but then she wouldn't move and I really had no where to go. And blindly the next thing I know, I'm calling her a retarded bitch and telling her to get the fuck out of my way. This seemed to work, as she begrudgingly backed up. I had won. And yet, I still gave her the finger as a parting gift. She didn't even give it back, just looked flabbergasted.

This story probably wasn't the best example, as I really don't feel regretful about what I did. I mean really, why did she have to be such a twat about it?

But! I assure you I have a lot of anger in my life and it's because of my mom. So in this blog I'm going to share the stories of the shitty things she's done and said since I was born. Anyway, i'll leave you with this little story, which doesn't make me mad but does illustrate how ridiculous my mom could be. It was Halloween and I was in third grade. As usual, if my grandmother wasn't there, I was late for school because my mom could never manage to wake up on time. So it's Halloween and we didn't have to wear our uniforms because we were allowed to dress up. We of course were unprepared and I had no costume. What was her brilliant idea? She made me wear her oversized brown leather jacket from the 80's that came to my knees. Somehow in her mind, this made me an environmental lawyer. This was not just lost on me, it also greatly confused my classmates and teachers. Everyone else has awesome costumes. I can't remember what my best friend Kelsey was, but I know it was cool. Way cooler than an environmental lawyer.