As I’ve said, I’m a pretty laid back person. If you know me, even if you’ve just casually talked to me, I’m sure you’ll have picked up on this. Aside from the fact that my OCD comes out once in awhile, I’m not anal about things and I tend to just not give a shit about a lot. The one thing that really chaps my ass, however, is when someone is rude, isn’t courteous to other people, and doesn’t respect other people. Now, I’m Italian and I come from a family that was in the mafia, so my idea of respect might differ slightly from everyone else’s. The point is, I take a lot of pride in the fact that I consider other people’s feelings, etc. when making a decision. Why? Because that’s how I grew up. You don’t want to do something that would come off as disrespectful. That’s just how it work’s in my family.
I grew up with six people in my house. It’s safe to say that as soon as you would buy something, such as cereal or snacks, it would quickly disappear. I’m used to cereal disappearing. When I got a job, I was able to buy my own food and my own cereal. My sisters, even my parents, were pretty respectful of me in this regard. If they wanted some, they’d ask me, or if I wasn’t around, they’d make sure to tell me later. Sometimes, I’d even find a new box of cereal waiting for me because they had eaten most of it.
When I moved out of my parents place and gained some strangers as roommates, I made my feelings on such issues very clear, and they were pretty respectful too. I never had a problem. Well, I take that back. I did have one problem after a party. I woke up and some asshole was eating my cereal. It had my name on it. He didn’t make that mistake again. In fact, I don’t think he ever came around after that.
Fast forward to now. Ness and I went to the store, and I got some milk because I had a super craving for one of my favorite cereals in the whole entire world; Cocoa Krispies. I had only gotten to eat one bowl from the giant box because that’s all the milk we had had at the time. Cereal is pretty fucking expensive shit. I don’t buy it often, I don’t ask for it often, because why spend $5 on a box of cereal when it’s going to last me a few hours? (Usually a few hours, if I have enough milk.)
Ness and I walk in the door, I open up the cabinet, grab the box of Cocoa Krispies, and I pause. I shake the box over and over…it’s virtually empty. There’s maybe enough left for a spoonful. A fucking spoonful. Seriously? You eat my cereal and only leave me a damn spoonful? That’s not fucking cool. At. All.
I have a sneaking suspicion of who stole my cereal. I know it wasn’t her brother because he doesn’t eat that “shit.” I know it wasn’t her dad because he doesn’t like it. And I know it wasn’t Ness because I’m usually with her when she eats, and because she would have told me if she had eaten all of it. That leaves one other person that it could possibly be. That’s right, my favorite person in the whole fucking universe.
The point isn’t the fact that she ate all my damn cereal. The point is, she didn’t ask, she didn’t leave a note, she didn’t say sorry I ate all your cereal. That’s fucking rude. If I were in the mafia, she’d be in Lake Erie right now. No, I’m not shitting you.
But what else would I expect from a 20 year old, ghetto, alcoholic? Maybe I wouldn’t be so pissed if she could form a coherent, grammatically correct sentence instead of her ghetto slurred shit. Too bad because she had been gaining some points with me lately.
On a better, happier note, Ness and I are about to celebrate our anniversary in about 30 minutes. 
