Nirvana

You Do Not Hijack My Parking Spot!

“God, seriously Tanya, turn that junk down!’’ I yelled down the stairs to my younger sister who, by the way has horrible taste in music. You see I’m not into that bubble gum pop, life is just-fucking-dandy crap, I’m more alternative, rock and roll, more grunge. Most of you have probably already guessed my social status: nada. Which isn’t wrong, I have two best friends though, so I like to think i’m doing alright. 

“How about you get a social life and stop obsessing over everything I do! Geesh get off my back!” She screamed back, it’s usually like this in my house. If we’re not yelling about something, we’re ignoring each other, which doesn’t bother me any more. It’s normal, familiar. I have a sister, well, you know Tanya, but I also have a brother, though Derek doesn’t live with us anymore. Out of them all i get along with Derek the most, and Tanya the least, but you’ve probably already guessed that too.

“Nirvana and Tanya get your hideous fucking asses out the door right now and into the car, we’re going to be late!” Now that was my beloved mother who is never to modest to mention our “hideous fucking asses.” You may have realized by now that I am called Nirvana, but that’s not my name. My name is the worst name in the world and I will not accept my mother’s ridiculous assumption that my name “suits” my personality. My name is Mildred, so now you can see why I go by Nirvana, not only is it original, but it’s also my favorite band. 

As I’m walking down the stairs to I see Kathy (I don’t really like calling my mother, mom, so i stick to her first name) taking more pills. Kathy has a drug addiction, she pops pills like they’re oxygen, like she needs them to live. She also has a very short temper, if you hadn’t noticed. To save my self the traditional discomfort that I get when I see her take one after another, I just keep on walking and get into the car. You see, I don’t hate my mother, I dislike her decisions and how she treats us, but I don’t hate her. I get into the driver seat, start the car, and wait for Tanya to get out here. Five minutes later she walks out the door in what can only be described as an prostitutes outfit. 

I however, do not dress as if I need cash fast and if you hand it over, I’ll also roll over, no, I dress like, well… Like me. My style is grunge, thats one word to really explain my life, the only exception is my minimal (by minimal, I mean nonexistent) drug use. Anyway, Tanya slides into my newly bought car, jabbing on about this hot guy who is new to our school. Honestly, I’m not the type to get hung up on a guy, no I rather ‘Hit It And Quit It,’ because if I have learned one thing in my 16 years is that no matter what goes on in your life, there is also pain. I get that, I do, but I could do with a little less of it, I think everyone could.

I’m driving into the school parking lot when out of nowhere this fucking guy in a Lincoln, (Great car, but not the point) drives in front of me, literally causing me to jump forward and hit my nose on the steering wheel. The worst part was he just kept driving, until he pulled up into my spot, MY SPOT! Seriously, for those of you who don’t know, (Mr. Lincoln in particular) that is considered rude. So I did what any rational person would do, I parked my car, and headed toward the Lincoln. Now most would go talk to him until he apologies, I however wasn’t feeling forgiving at the moment (It’s that time of the month) so I took my swiss army knife out of my boot, don’t ask, and sliced his front tires. I would have done the back too, but I was stopped mid-slash by someone, most-likely the driver, he turned me around, quite forcefully I might add.

 He wasn’t bad looking though he would look a lot better if I didn’t have this burning sensation to slap him, he didn’t look to happy either, but in my offense, he started it. “Now, why don’t you tell me why you felt the urging desire to cut my tires up?” He had an accent, It was noticeable, but not overwhelming. He must be British, which got me thinking about how one direction could just die in a hole, I must’ve said the last part out loud though because Mr. Lincoln was staring at me like I just slapped his mother (I wish I could for giving birth to this idiot). My suspicions were right because he asked, “ What has One Direction got to do with anything?!” He looked like he was debating on whether or not to send me to a mental facility at the second. 

I contemplated if now was the time I should answer his first question, but then decided against it and slashed both of his back tires, only to be pulled back for the second time right after.“Seriously! What the hell is wrong with you? Do you know how much tires cost, like 400.00 a piece! Didn’t you know that? Of corse you didn’t , you’re a girl and you know what girls don’t know about, tires…” He paused for a moment than added, “Can’t you talk?” He finally finished rambling on and on and asks me if I can talk. Seriously? And by the way I do know how much tires cost. “Yes, I can fucking talk, but it’s kinda fucking hard to, when you don’t breathe, let alone, let me argue back. And by the way I do know how much fucking tires cost. So suck my mother-fucking dick!” With that I walked off with only one thing on my mind: I should’ve bitch slapped the shit out of that dude.