noun wan·na·be \ˈwä-nə-ˌbē\
: a person who tries to look or act like someone else (such as a famous person) : a person who wants to be a particular person or type of person
1: a person who wants or aspires to be someone or something else or who tries to look or act like someone else
2: something (as a company, city, or product) intended to rival another of its kind that has been successful; especially : one for which hopes have failed or are likely to fail
For example, someone who thinks that rolling around on her couch naked while her sister snaps pictures to plaster on Facebook makes her a model.
Or that throwing other people’s books on Createspace’s free account without editing or formatting them makes her a publisher. In fact, all it makes her is a scam artist, keeping people’s money for doing absolutely nothing. Hell, an author could do that for themselves and keep whatever royalties they get.
You know the type. Somebody who thinks that following a real goth around like a puppy dog and dumping a gallon of blood over her head actually makes her one. Just because she sees that the genuine article is glamoroized and admired, and she wants that kind of attention for herself. She’ll never get it, of course. Some people actually walk the walk. Others just wannabe.
Or, for the sake of conversation, someone who thinks that spewing hatred toward someone makes her a witch, dancing a jerky jig under a full moon and blabbering out some fake mumbo-jumbo over a “gift” that she sends to somebody to bury in their yard to “bless” them gives her the power to curse them if they “wrong” her. Or to make anybody she doesn’t like sick, or worse. To kill their relatives.
You guys remember that, don’t you? When I was away for a couple of days attending the funeral of a loved one, a certain wannabe jumped all over my blog claiming that it happened because of my “karma” and saying that she had sicced her voodoo priestess on me. She practically danced on the grave.
I let it slide when she so gleefully claimed responsibility for the internal bleeding that hospitalized me a couple weeks ago, because of how ridiculous that is. I’ve laughed it off for the longest that she thinks that she’s the one that makes my neighbor’s dogs bark so much, to torment me, claiming responsibility for my loved one’s passing. She’s a mental case and intellectual fucktard, so it’s not surprising. It is sick and sad, though.
And then today, after I posted on FB that I was in tears because I just can’t live like this, with those mutts barking day and night, not letting me get more than a couple hours of sleep a night, it started getting back to me that she’s not only celebrating my misery, she’s claiming responsibility for it, practically giddy that her curses are working on me so well.
What a moron.
What’s even worse is that I think she actually believes it. She really thinks that because she has such a Jones for me, that her hatred for me actually affects my life in some tangible way, making me sick or killing off my relatives. That’s what makes it that much more of a farce. That she really believes it. There’s got to be a word for that. For that matter, there’s got to be a pill for it. Not the wide variety or pretty ones that go down with a full-bottle chaser late at night, to make her miserable, unbearable life go away for awhile. No. I mean real, helpful medication that might actually help her get a grip on reality.
Oh, who am I kidding? First, she’d have to admit that there’s anything wrong with her, and in her sick, twisted little pea brain, she doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with her. There’s no changing a sociopathic narcissist, remember. There’s only escaping one.
My cursed ass didn’t sit here all day boo-hooing because I had a bad start. I pulled my big girl panties up and got some work done on my store. I didn’t get the editing or painting done today that I wanted, but I will, sooner than later. I got some good work done today, and I’ll do even more tomorrow. Productive things that will potentially improve upon my life, and the lives of those that I love. Something positive that makes me happy and maybe, hopefully, somebody else, too. Something healthy. Or at least reasonably sane. Do you think the wide-mouthed frog that stalks my FB, stalks my business and THINKS she’s some kind of witch casting spells on me can pull her head out of my ass long enough to say the same?