I had a long day.

I was going to go shopping with the high school friend who lives around here, and then at the last minute it turns out that my high school friend who lives around Morrocco came back a week ago and joined us.

Okay.... me and Morocco friend, we were really tight in high school. And I still like spending time alone with her. But spending time with both of them just sucks, because they both went to college together and have all these stupid memories they feel the need to reminisce over and make me feel like a fifth wheel. Also, Morocco is the type of person that everything's all about her, so I feel like I can't get a word in.

On top of this, Morocco dragged us to all these fancy-pants stores where the outfits were way expensive, and spent 8 hours at each trying on things and deliberating about them. So... I didn't even really want to look at the clothes because if I found something I really liked I wouldn't be able to buy it anyway. And then they act like I'm less sophisticated and cheap or something because I don't want to blow $100 dollars on a dress. And they treat me like a petulant child just because I don't want to sit through this. And being treated like a petulant child makes me start acting like one, as one does not really sound like a mature adult when yelling, "Stop treating me like a petulant child!" every time they giggle when you're like, "This is $78 bucks!"

Even more painful: the endless time spent on shoes. Shoes! Who the fuck gives a rat's ass about shoes? Okay, okay... plenty of people. But for me I might as well be looking at monkey wrenches or office supplies, or most accurately: little tiny torture devices for my feet. Because that's how I view shoes. I have messed up feet, and hence if it's not one of 3 types of shoes I couldn't give less of a damn. Looking at shoes for that long is like being forced to listen to Ben Stein's character from Ferris Bueller read the phone book 8,000,000,000,000 times. It makes me want to kill myself. There is nothing more horrible than that without involving actual physical torture. And I'm made to feel like a freak, less of a human being, because I'm a girl who doesn't just loooooove stupid friggin' shoes.

So anyway... I was pretty sad and angry at the end. I even bought a skirt at old navy, the ONE store we went to in our price range, to pretend I was girly, but I know I'll probably never wear it again.

And I admit Morocco annoys me because I want to BE her. She's everything a woman my age SHOULD be. She looks great, all the clothes we looked at looked great on her, guys throw themselves at her, she's going to have a great career, she has scads of friends... whereas I've been doing nothing I'll never amount to nothing, guys hate me, girls don't want to be my friends, and I am twice the size of her.