#dibble.txt

First things first, my dad (Chuck) and my step mom (Candace/Canned Ice/Assdace) married in May of 2006, only a few weeks after Chuck broke up with my mom, apparently. 

The first time I met Canned Ice, we had chicken for dinner. According to my brother (a trusted source, as he also hates Assdace), I (a 7 year old at the time) cried because I wanted pancakes. Canned Ice was angry that I cried, and begrudgingly made pancakes, probably bitching about me under her breath. Reminder, I WAS 7.

Now, here’s something- we had chicken, mashed potatoes and broccoli for dinner for pretty much the next 5-6  years, almost every night, to the point where I now refuse to eat any broccoli because I’m so fucking sick if it.

Canned Ice would like me to tell all y’all about the good things she’s done for us. Sure, she provides a roof over my head. Sure, we do something fun once every blue moon. Sure, she provides bare nessecities. BUT IF YOU EXPECT ME TO LOVE YOU, YOU GOTTA STEP UP YOUR GAME AND TREAT ME LIKE A HUMAN BEING, NOT A RESPONSIBILITY.

Anyways, the rules here are ridiculous (most of which they break anyway)

No food or drink in your rooms, or above carpet (broken there are coffee stains everywhere)

Ask before you eat anything that isnt cereal or frozen burritos/microwave soup (???????????????????/???)

Ask before going to a friend’s house (Canned Ice’s son Robby just tells her where hes going and does it AND SHES OK WITH IT)

Ask before going outside (???!?!??!?????!?!?!??)

ASK FOR PRETTY MUCH ANYTHING YOU NEED, AND IF ITS NOT A NESSECITY (AS IVE LEARNED) ITS PROBABLY NOT WORTH ASKING.

Ok, ok, but here’s the main reason I’ve been triggered so much today ok.

Today is my friend Camaren’s birthday, right? She’s having us come to Skateworld, then over to her place for a sleepover. This plan was all fine and dandy until Canned Ice comes into my room this morning and tells me this: