8:17 p.m. | 2002-06-24


I am pretty pissed off right now, which is really unfortunate because I had every intention of talking about what a great time I had at the Trey show on Friday night.

I came home in this sweltering heat to find that f***ing elevator is broken and that I'd have to walk up 9 flights of stairs with my groceries because the eleveator in our building is broken. Again.

It was broken this time last month for 6 days.

Our building doesn't have central air, so I have to climb 9 flights of stairs with my work bag, my groceries and a stack of mail, and my period, with no air supply. Around the 6th flr. I started choking and was convinced I was suffocating.

For a moment, I willed sun stroke to hit me so I could go to the hospital and sue my management company for a boatload of money. Bastards.

After I came in and called down, I got a call from my brother telling me that the daughter of my godparents called HIM to ask if I am coming to their surprise anniversary party this weekend in Pennsylvania since I didn't RSVP.

Let me just tell you. This girl is a queen bizatch. Her BROTHER told me about the party over a month ago and said I would be getting an invitation.

AFTER my parents and my brother (who is not their godson) received their invitations in the mail, she e-mailed me and asked me for my address to send an invitation. I e-mailed her back with my contact information, that was 3 weeks ago and I received nothing.

She told my brother that she "ran out" of invitations but that she e-mailed me twice with the party information and that I didn't respond.

That is a load of BULLSHIT.

Basically, this girl never liked me. I was the baby of the group. I kid that came 15 years later, the accident, and was just a baby. She's the only one in the whole group who still calls me by my baby nickname, which I have addressed to her face and told her that no one calls me that anymore. Honestly, I wouldn't even care if anyone DID call me that but with her, it's a power struggle.

I am telling you, she does it on purpose. And since I'm the "baby" of the group, I'm clearly not a priority to get an invitation.

She couldn't even CALL ME DIRECTLY about it, she called my brother.

And let me tell you why she called my brother. BECAUSE SHE KNOWS that she did not send me two e-mails about the party. She's LYING. And she fucked up and now she is working a quick turn around.

I will not be manipulated. I am 28 years old. I am not the baby anymore. I'm not the tag-along kid. I am established. I have an exciting CAREER. I've lived abroad. I have my own identity. I live in NEW YORK FUCKING CITY with no help from my parents.

I made it on my own. Not by living off my parents, a husband or even a boyfriend.

I have friends. A lot of friends. More friends than I know what to do with. I'm booked almost every night of the week. I book up months in advance.

To date, I have been very cordial. I replied politely and promptly to her.

I was the bigger person. But this...this...is too much. THIS is now a personal affront. This is an INSULT.

I will not be treated like a B List guest.

Nobody puts Baby in the corner.

I told my brother that as far as I'm concerned, I am not invited because I have not received an invitation. And frankly, if I were to be invited, it would take some shifting of my schedule because I am booked. And he can relay that information and also mention that I am listed in information if she would like to call me directly.

I then called my Father and gave him an earful of this shite and told HIM that as far as I'm concerned, I wasn't invited and wouldn't be attending and I would be appreciative if he would relay that information.

He's pretty pissed too.

I mean, this is bullshit. She doesn't even have a job, so tell me she couldn't make 1 more invitation. I mean really. Tell me. Or that she couldn't call me. I know her brother has my number, we spoke last month.

I'm a Taurus, but not a raging Taurus. I firmly believe you have to selectively pick your fights and overlook everything else.

But this fight, this one I'm picking.

You better recognize, biatch!

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