You are the most two faced person I’ve ever met in my entire life. And this isn’t one of those moments of embellishment. You are, literally, out of EVERY SINGLE PERSON I HAVE EVER MET EVER, the fakest. Not to mention the serious histrionic personality traits that so blatantly seep out of your disgusting skin (seriously, shower more, gross) are enough to mention your hypocrisy regarding things I told you in confidence.
I wish you absolutely nothing in life. And I honestly wonder how the people you talked so much shit on really are since you are a psychotic fucking bitch and don’t even realize it. If you have a problem with me, don’t be all buddy buddy when I come over to your place. Tell me to my fucking face, BRITTANY.
It’s easy to be a hypocrite with mommy paying for your rent and weed and food and every last thing you need to survive. You don’t know struggle, you privileged fucking cunt. Keep claiming the only food you can eat for your thyroid disorder (lol) is bacon wrapped hot dogs. Either love your body and stop making excuses or go on a real diet and grow a pair.
Hooooold up, lady. Did I just see you make fun of me for having a thyroid disorder? Oh, you know, something I was born with? Unlike something you think you have. Right, okay. Want my blood work? I can gladly send it your way. But I really doubt your intelligent enough to figure out what any of it means.
YOU are the most two faced person I’ve ever met in my entire life. You, LITERALLY, are the fakest. In more ways than one. Ehem. Let’s see.
“Oh hey Brittany, I hope you don’t mind that we cleaned out your fridge, oh and by the way, don’t tell anyone, but I ate all of your carne asada and fish sticks. They were so good!”
Yeah, super vegan. Lemme tell you.
Oh and both of you making fun of me when you thought I left the house. While in MY shower, under MY roof, when you weren’t even fully paid on your rent? Oh, and while MY FRIEND was over? Really classy.
I let you rent out a room in my house because I was fucking nice. I bought y’all cigarettes and food occasionally because I was nice. I let you pay rent over the span of a month rather than a normal landlord and make you pay all at one because I was nice. I discounted the rate of the room from $750 to $500, and never asked for money for utilities, even though you’d leave the lights on all of the time, because I was fucking NICE.
I’m loaded? Okay. Not that I didn’t work all of the fucking time when I was in SoCal to try to get to where I am now. But you’re not even worth the explanation.
From what you tell everyone, you went to Vanderbilt and completed with a Bachelors. Even though you’re nineteen. Right.
So, if that’s true, how do you even have a right to get on my ass about money when I can’t even AFFORD to attend a full four year university. I’m stuck just getting an associates and working so I can afford to go back to school later on.
Also, I actually don’t even like bacon wrapped hotdogs? I’m not even really sure where you got that one.
Try getting a psychology degree before you decide to diagnose me, and maybe actually LISTEN to a psychologist to the seven you’ve claimed to have been to, and maybe I might one day actually take you seriously. But, still, I highly doubt that I will.
Go back to your shitty life. I don’t need you in mine, in fact I never did. You’re really just a waste of space at the end of the day.