oh, bush on the big screen

in case you don't know me or have never read any of my blog or are an idiot, i should inform you that i loathe our president. but unlike several millions of americans, i didn't wait until his 6th or 7th year in the white house to start harboring this disgust for him.

i can't wait for this movie to come out, and i hope it's an honest view of what a completely dissapointing leader W is/was.

in related movie news, michael moore is working on a sequel to farenheit 9/11. can't wait to see that shit either!

randomness

the day was pretty normal...ya know...work sucks, god i wish it was friday, oh, tomorrow is friday (yay). then i left work and was surrounded by randomness.

on my way home traffic was backed up. people kept moving over to the 2 left-hand lanes. when i got up on what should have been a dead child, i saw that it was actually 30 pairs of shoes lying in the road. i guess someone lost a trash bag on the way to goodwill. i wanted to take a picture but didn't want to be one of those people that i hate. but why the fuck can't we run over a few sneakers? if my car can't handle that then maybe it's only designed to drive on clouds.

i stopped at a gas station to get some smokes. there was a long line. when there's a long line i think certain idiots should be forced to remove themselves from the line. like the guy in front of me who got TWO DOLLARS WORTH OF GAS. okay, gas is $3.79 a gallon. so this guy just wasted our time counting out nickels and dimes for .52 gallons. hopefully he wasn't driving anywhere further than the parking lot. douche.

i was almost home, stopped in traffic, when this short ass mexican decided to jaywalk...in the direction of my car...staring at me...and screaming repeatedly, "BEAUTIFUL, BEAUTIFUL." i thought he was about to climb into my window. i am not a greencard...get the fuck away.

this has always gotten me: what's the deal with the fear of rain? it's barely trickling outside and people are walking around protecting themselves with oversized golf umbrellas. you could walk a mile outside right now and possibly be hit with 2 drops. what the fuck?

other than that i have an extremely overwhelming desire to get fucked up. but if i do that i won't go to the gym tonight or in the morning. bleh.

just kill me

this, folks, is when i would seriously have to amputate my own leg. not because i was hiking through the woods and stepped on a bear trap. not because i lost a bet on a potato sack race. not because one of my legs could save a million amputees. no. it would be this.

where the fuck are we again? oh...that place where freedom is all the rave. fucking forcing someone sober????

okay, for all you member of m.a.d.d...calm the fuck down. i don't drive drunk (anymore). and it is unfortunate when someone's life is taken by a drunk driver. i had a friend in high school who was. but it's also unfortunate when children are molested, yet you don't wrap a device around creepy old man's dick to alert you anytime he is aroused and has an increased pulse rate.

why not put the interlock in this guy's car? that seems to work for plenty. he didn't kill anyone. just because you are a terrible drunk driver doesn't mean you should never have the luxury of enjoying a brew. but then again, this argument is coming from the angle of a raging alcoholic...so go figure.

young, female and republican (stupid)

as mentioned in a previous post, i like to keep up with dear prudence, a section of slate that provides occasional entertainment because, often times, idiots write in about the dumbest shit and, almost as often, prudence responds with a smart ass reaction.

one of her newest letters is from a woman seeking advice about the fact that she is a republican who is dating a republican, in a family of republican bashers. so, i am on the side of the family (coming from a family of one-liners and blunt honesty, i think that she should just get over it). i must admit that i might be slightly biased since this chick is a republican. but initially, i did feel slightly empathetic, seeing as how my dad and i bump heads when it comes to politics.

but then i kept reading. let's take a look....

Dear Prudence,
My family members are staunch Democrats and love to bad-mouth Republicans every time the conversation turns to politics. This is heartbreaking, because I myself am a secret Republican. My mom already knows that I'm in love with a Republican, and she won't stop condemning him behind his back for his beliefs, calling him names like "right-wing whack job" and "little lord Republiroy" (also making fun of his height). My brothers all say stuff like, "Republicans suck" and, "Those Republicans are dumb-***es." I am afraid to come out to them about my beliefs because of potential verbal abuse being heaped on me. Also, being a teenager, I do not have the advantage of moving out of the house and escaping said abuse. What should I do?

this bitch is a TEENAGER. i would be willing to bet my left tit that she is a republican because her BOYFRIEND is a republican. he is also short (as she mentions) and apparently she has to hear about that too.

so i wonder, how did it come about that this girl is a republican, if not for her boyfriend? in my life i have known a ridiculous number of females who have chosen football teams to support, colleges, jobs, locations, you name it, based around a man who would never do the same for them. if she comes from a family of democrats, and she is at the age where she is still going to school every day-definitely not working her way up the corporate ladder, then why, WHY is she so dead-set right wing? if this bitch gets knocked up she will be at the abortion clinic before the doctor shows up...i mean, she clearly couldn't tell her parents THAT if she has to hide her political views from them.

furthermore, did she just fall from pluto and land on this family's doorstep? she should know how they are and how to handle them. and if she had any valid reason for being a dead-set republican, chances are she would have some good arguments to back it up, rather than having to write into prudie.

these are the kinds of things that annoy the shit out of me. i can't help but think she's a stupid bitch because i don't have much else to work with. but even if she's not and she has valid reasoning behind her political views, then why can't she just stand up to her family? she is already hearing enough bullshit from them, why cower behind your views? oh, maybe because she has nothing to back them up with, other than her short-ass boyfriend.

prudie's response (she's a lot more forgiving than i am)

this just in

john edwards is backing obama!! woo hoo! maybe that will speak to some good ol' southerners and make them realize that it's okay to be a white man backing a black man. either way, they all still think women are worthless, but i can deal with that as long as mccain doesn't creep into the white house. most bitches are pretty stupid anyways.

on that note...has hilary already hit menopause? if not, and she was elected, we should prepare ourselves for irrational decision-making and staggered speeches from a sweaty browed broad. god...i hate my own gender.

meadows vs bodegas

since deciding to move to nyc, friends and family members have questioned this decision. they just don't get it. and that's fine. i don't really get it either. i know i love it there. i know i (sometimes) hate it here. but with me it's somewhat of a catch 22 because i love the hustle and bustle, the millions of strangers, the ability to get everywhere you need to go by foot or through the use of public transportation. but, at the same time, i LOVE a big front porch, a lawn to lie in, camping, hiking, staring at the stars while having a somewhat philosophical discussion with anyone who will join in. so WHY move to the cluster fuck that is nyc?

i came across this article of why the author chooses to stay in the country. so, to clear up the confusion for those of you who wonder why the fuck i would want to move to a place like nyc, i will respond to each of his reason's for keeping it rural. maybe that will get you off my back.

Elbow Room

Living in a fishbowl is comforting to some, claustrophobic to others. Ask urbanites why they flee the city for the country and most will cite the reason folks like me have never left: open space. Ironically, open space is disappearing at an astonishing rate as people rush to grab their share of it. Despite that, there's still enough elbow room to easily walk in the woods with the dog, cross-country ski or sled with the kids, or run to the clothes line bare-assed before work—all, and more, because out here you can.

i don't really care about elbow room, unless we are talking about in my bed. most places that i like to hang out bring about a crowd, so i have just gotten used to it. if elbow room was that big of an issue i would never again attend a football game or concert, or go to a bar. not to mention, the adirondacks are not far at all. i can hop on a train and meet up with friends any time i feel overwhelmed by the shoulder to shoulder.

Slower Pace

You can tell someone's from the city by the way they drive. If they're on your bumper, bearing down, it's a dead giveaway that they're “not from around here,” or at least are carrying metro-baggage. On the old roads that rarely see traffic, you really can slow it down, take it all in. What, after all, is the rush?

i can't fucking stand the slower pace. the slower pace is for people who need walkers. it's not always that you are in a rush, just that there are thousands of things you could be doing other than driving your car behind someone in their old-ass ford truck who is winding down the 2 lane road slow enough to pass on bicycle.

Neighborliness

With so many stores, public transportation, and hired help nearby, urbanites have nearly everything they need to live "independently." And even in the country, as technology creeps into our lives, more than ever people can drive right by their neighbors without ever knowing them. But when the chips are down, when the car is in the ditch, when you run out of firewood, when the power's out and you need a shower, it's your neighbor helping you out. You know them out here, probably because you've had to be there for each other numerous times, and will be many times again.

neighbors are what you make of them. i live in an apartment building uptown, reminiscent of a college dorm. i like to keep a distance, but when i am locked out, no one ever spits on my face because we live in an urban environment. and i like to keep neighbors at a distance anyway...if you let them get to close they will be at your door with every excuse in the book (um, i need a bobby pin) just because their nosey asses want a glimpse into your life. next thing you know (in this rural area with one church and one bar) the fact that you answered the door on a tuesday night with a glass of whiskey on the rocks will be turned into soap opera drama. it will be accompanied by hushed whispers and dirty looks each time you walk into the fucking grocery store. my grandmother used to tell us shit about people we had never seen before...ugh.

Air Quality

Sure, if you have pollen allergies and/or the smell of cow manure offends, maybe country life is not all deep breaths. But medical studies show that asthmatics fair much better withdrawn from urban environs, where vehicle pollution contributes to respiratory difficulty and a host of other problems. Breathe enough of our clean air—agricultural or natural smells aside—and you're bound to get used to it, especially when you open your windows to welcome a morning or evening breeze.

i will die tomorrow of an asthma attack before i will ever live somewhere that a cow-shit farm is in my nose's reach. and i have my window open right now...the breeze is wonderful.

Setting

Norman Rockwell has left the building, but his ideal of country life didn't expire with him. So long as rolling fields speckled with livestock or laid over with waving wheat remain, so too does the simple lifestyle built around them—or at least the illusion of that lifestyle. Enough so that aside from the cell phone in their pockets anchoring them to modern reality, country people can still fake being backwater. While texting the grocery list from home, of course.

when i think of the country setting i think of simple (minded) people. i know this is not always the case...but i like to walk outside and be on a sidewalk and mosey around uptown and have my choice of everything to do. driving 20 miles to the nearest grocery store, bar, or friend's house would drive me nutty-not to mention probably result in a dui. plus, people, no matter how fucking ignorant or brilliant, intrigue me. too much alone time (and i strictly mean time by myself, not time without a partner or friend) makes me crazy.

Star Gazing

Having trouble picking out Orion from Soldier Field? Where I live, the houselights across the valley sometimes blend right in with the stars, and most clear nights we can see the full band of the Milky Way.

this is his best argument as far as i am concerned. but it's just like the beach. when i lived there i walked to the ocean every single day, but it wasn't as fascinating as it had been my whole life. now, going to the beach to see friends is fun and more exciting than going to see land-locked friends because i don't get to enjoy the beach every day.

Crime

It's a problem everywhere, and meth and other drug-related violence is on the rise in rural America. Still you're more likely to get hit by lightning than be mugged while taking a nightly stroll down a moonlit dirt road. And even if you were to get hit, you'd spend a lot less time worrying about it beforehand.

if i was worried about crime i would live my life in a cinder block home with no windows and no doors, and then i would die within a week or so. and the really nutty fucks live in rural areas too...i would rather be mugged than throw into a cellar and forced to live off my toenails and dog urine while some psycho raped me thursday.

Roots

Roots are the real reason I'm here. My daughters are the eighth generation to live on our defunct farm. For some reason, it seems, roots penetrate better in warm earth than in concrete. The same goes for newcomers to the country. After all these millennia, it's somehow more permanent to make a stand in the dirt than in a 12th-story townhouse. But that's just my take.

i guess i should move to brooklyn or italy if it's a case of where your roots are. well, my dad grew up in the south but his parents are dead and they totally lived that extreme rural life on a farm that i can't stand.

fuck the man

not that i needed another piece of evidence that loudly screamed, "BROOKE, YOU ARE NOT MEANT FOR THE CORPORATE WORLD", but i was provided with one today anyway.

you know that interview i had the other day...the one for the position that i REALLY wanted because i am starting to loathe my job more and more each day? well i had a follow-up meeting with the interviewer today and it went something like this:

him: your experience is very impressive. you have a great worth ethic, great production, great quality. the interview went very well. you seemed very confident and provided me with ample reasons that you would be a great candidate for this position. however, the person that we went with has been here for 8 years.

me: oh, well that makes sense.

him: don't let this discourage you. there will be more opportunities available soon.

me: not discouraged...i obviously can't compete with 8 years of experience (eight years ago i was going to one class a week, using a fake id to get into bars after having already downed a 12 pack, thinking that $5 in my bank account meant that i wasn't poor, snorting ritalin like it was the new cocaine, and working 3 hours a week in order to put gas in my car-oh wait, i still had my parents' gas card then so scratch that).

him: if i could give you one piece of advice it would be that next time you interview, send the person an email afterwards thanking him/her for their time.

me: oh...that seems a little like brown-nosing to me

him: haha...well it kinda is, but that's not necessarily a bad thing

me: haha, well, yeah...i am not a brown-noser

him: when in rome....

so with that i wandered back to my cube thinking about how this is the second time an employer of mine has told me to kiss ass. and this is a second time i made it clear that i would not do so. i mean, is there no such thing as getting somewhere because you FUCKING DESERVE TO? if kissing ass is part of my job description then by all means point me to the fine print and i will either oblige or be on my way. but, if you want to give someone feedback don't let it be about the fact that they didn't put whip cream and a cherry on the tip of your dick before they sucked it.

during my last year-end review, i received similar feedback. i was once again told that i was a great employee, great performer, blah blah blah (i mean, they can't argue with the numbers), but i was told in this little session that i need to smile more. and beyond that, they said, "well, some of the people you have mentored are intimidated by you. you don't come off as a very approachable person". i responded saying, "well, i am here to work and get my job done in the most efficient and effective way possible...i am not really sure how stopping to plan coworkers' baby showers really fits into that".

oh, how naive of me to think that they would actually want someone who makes sure to be an asset to the company. that place is like walking around at a sorority party where everyone is supposed to indulge in small talk about how tan people are and celebrity gossip. one day when i was diligently at work, i am interrupted by a girl yelling, "HEATH LEDGER JUST DIED". so i say, "who the fuck is that"? you would have thought that i stabbed someone in the face and sucked their eyeballs right out of their skull.

god that place fucking sucks. but i have a feeling it's like that in most cube farms.

in related news...god doesn't exist.

watch it

by no means am i trying to get in a political debate...i think the one i had saturday night was enough for the remainder of the year. but i do think that, despite your beliefs, you should watch this. it's interesting, very, very interesting. oh, and i am surprised that FOX (aka, the network of biased opinions and misinformation) has this available for viewing.

this guy needs his own blog

what a strange dynamic the two that share an office behind me have. every day, every SINGLE FUCKING DAY, when i get here at 8 am, the first hour (at least) of my day is filled with me trying to work over the babbling from these two. they are both men, they are both married with children, they are both on the IT team, they both apparently complete each other's day. there's chatty cathy-the one who does most of the talking- and his com padre who sits there and listens diligently. i wouldn't give a shit, i mean, people visit with one another all the time in this place, but the guy is loud. there is no reason why i should be able to hear every word that comes out of his mouth. i know little details about his son's each and every baseball game. i know about his dad's battle with cancer. i know that last friday he was grilling out with his neighbor and that on saturday he mowed his father's lawn. i know what time he goes to bed at night and what time he plans to rise the next morning. i also know that when his son lost a game recently the kid started crying and all about the life lesson he expected his son to gain from tee-ball. i think that he should have told his son to get over it because you can't win every fucking game and crying about it is going to give you a whole other set of reasons to cry...like the fact that no one wants you on their team because you are a pussy.

now for the listener. he can't possibly enjoy having all this information shelled out to him each day, like fucking clockwork. he doesn't ever add to the conversation or ask questions or laugh (because nothing is fucking funny), so why entertain the guy? he has a wife at home who SHOULD be his friend and companion, so why come unload everything on you each morning? quiet guy has been sick and coughing up all kinds of shit...i am sure that he could enjoy some peace and quiet once in a while. so why doesn't he just stop entertaining chatty cathy?

so...i have been in this location for over a month now and i have just wondered. but just now when i was coming back from the bathroom the quiet guy was trying to walk away and chatty cathy was at the door like a fucking puppy dog talking about what he has to do in the morning so he might be late and so he doesn't know when he will see him and blah blah blah, and i am like, go fuck each other already. and you don't want to do that, then how about help me get some of this work done since it's obviously not evenly distributed around this place.

wow. had to vent.

when i think about you i cut myself

thursday night in the bathroom at the bar (don't worry, it's not another tale of dumb bitches in the bathroom) i got slammed in the head with the door. the girl who was opening it was extremely apologetic, and all i could do was laugh, because it was completely my fault. i was in a trance...wait, hold on...i just saw a young couple walking down the street with matching outfits-the girl in a green tee w/ a brown skirt, and her man (whose hand she was holding) in a green tee and brown shorts...both in flip flops...and THE SAME EXACT SHADES OF GREEN AND BROWN-what the fuck is that about? do they go shopping together and limit their wardrobes to items that are identical? do they go to old navy, split up then meet in the middle with piles of clothing for them to sift through until they find a match? does the guy not have the balls to say, "look bitch, we aren't 3 year old twins, we are adults who happen to fuck each other and the fact that you make me walk down the street holding your fucking hand signifies this gay ass union that we have so how about letting me wear whatever the fuck i want". guess not. god that is so fucking queer.

wow. sorry...back to the trance i was in that resulted in me getting my face slammed by the bathroom door. i noticed this sign that was posted that said "cut-a-thon". then i noticed it was a benefit for missing and exploited children. my drunken mind went immediately into the world of self-mutilation and i was like, huh? are people going to gather and cut themselves to experience pain and relate to this missing and exploited children? are they going to save the blood and then use it as paint on the world's biggest canvas to say "bring them home"?

so, i was confused. it was actually a hair-cut-a-thon. but still, that's random, and i think they should have spelled it out. the next day at work, i came across this article about self-mutilation. i thought some of the things that the self-muties said were fucked up. but so is cutting yourself so go figure. and immediately i am reminded of frankie.

back in the days when i had cable (so 2004), there was real world san diego. i haven't watched the real world since pedro cried endlessly about being AIDS ridden and misunderstood, while puck picked his scabs and got on yet another soapbox about something that made absolutely no sense...so that was 1994 (i was 14, please forgive me). but god knows that if you have your television tuned to mtv you will catch 72 commercials for the upcoming real world episode.

there was one commercial (or preview i guess) that will forever stick out in my head...and it's that of the asian roommate having a private moment with the camera and saying, "frankie...is a cutter". she says it as though she is surprised, fearful, shocked, confused, concerned, embarrassed, all kinds of things rolled into one. it's almost like she was going to say it, then didn't want to say, then finally found the courage to say it, but then said it in a snobby and scared way, thinking that maybe she was going to be booed or that someone from out in tv land was going to throw tomatoes at her pretty little squished up face. it was hilarious. frankie...is a cutter??!.;?!

my ex and i would look at each other with the dead straight face and say those words at the worst times, like...at the desk of the ER when i about to have my kidney removed. then jarrett took over and he and i continued to wear out the phrase. i guess the only reason this was funny to us is because they seriously played that fucking commercial 80,000 times. it was ringing through our fucking heads.anyways, i just came across this article about whack job cutters which made me think of frankie...the cutttteeerrrrrrrrrrr. she is actually dead now, but that won't keep me from referencing her and her twisted little practice of slicing open her thighs. i mean, she's probably happy to be dead...i would be if i had to cut myself to feel alive.

footnote: i was telling jarrett about this friday at lunch because it's been so long since we said, "frankie...is a cutter", and he reminded me of the sign i saw the night before in the bathroom...which i had already forgotten about...because i was fucking shitfaced. but don't worry, the topic at hand is here for no other reason than because of these external triggers...i am not thinking about using the razor blade for anything other than cutting lines.

a new marijuana

i don't know what is in the shit that kids are smoking these days, but back when i was lighting up with a few friends we didn't have the energy to rewind the vhs to rewatch our favorite scene in half baked...much less go dig up a body to make a bong out of it's skull. weird.

the journey to rehydration

if i were a person who prayed, or knew what the fuck i was praying to, i would definitely be doing that right now. it would probably be one of those over-dramatic, 700 club- type prayers where i would get on my knees and close my eyes and talk into my hands. and i would pray for my body to be hydrated. so far this morning i have had a glass of milk, a propel, 2 glasses of water, and a grapefruit which i seriously wanted to just mash against my face and let all of my pores start sucking from.

i need a body of water. i just want all the water from every source to be splashing up against me. oh god a tidal wave would be the answer to my prayers. you could tie a cinder block to my ankle, throw me in lake superior and i could drink my way out. so what's the point of this useless post? there's not one, i am just fucking thirsty.

it's now 5 hours later. still on water. where did this unwritten rule of putting a fucking lemon on the water come from? i really would like to stab whoever came up with this shit. if you want a lemon, you should have to ask for one. it should not be assumed that you want a lemon with your water. i ordered water, not lemonade. so then, there is always a disgusting ass lemon that 18 people have touched resting on the edge of your glass, half submerged in your beverage. ew. jarrett and i just went to lunch at jock's and jill's. the water came with lemon which i immediately removed and slapped on the table. and damn if it wasn't the most perfect lemon i have ever seen. it looked like one of those fruit erasers...remember those? no? you suck. my camera phone doesn't do it justice...and i can only blame myself for no longer having my real camera around.

now it's 11 pm. i am watching the basketball game online, thanks to sexy einstein, and sucking the hell out of a popsicle as though it contains a life-saving serum. oh god...i need an IV.

show me your clit ring

this is stupid. Australia's most populous state will ban young teenagers from having intimate body piercings, with authorities saying on Thursday that the health risks from the fashion trend were too great. but what's even more stupid is this guy, New South Wales Community Services Minister Kevin Greene, who says, "Personally, I can't see why any child under the age of 16 would want to expose their genitalia to a stranger just to fulfil the needs of a fashion or a trend." can someone in sydney alert this man that the majority of these people are getting these piercings for purposes of sexual pleasure? if it was for the sake of fashion i think it would be somewhere that people could actually see it. oh, not to mention that it's their fucking right to do whatever the fuck they want with thier own bodies.

fuck your insanity

i am so fucking sick of the insanity plea. and now the twisted fuck in austria (you know, the one who raped his daughter and fathered her children...yeah, that prize winner) is jumping on the crazy bandwagon.

“I constantly knew, during the entire 24 years, that what I did was not right, that I must have been crazy to do something like this,” the magazine quoted Mr. Fritzl as saying to his lawyer, Rudolf Mayer. “With each week that I held my daughter captive,” he said, “my situation got crazier.”

not that i think any of you are retarded, but let's take a look at the definitions of the word insane:

in·sane –adjective

1. not sane; not of sound mind; mentally deranged.

2. of, pertaining to, or characteristic of a person who is mentally deranged: insane actions; an insane asylum.

3. utterly senseless: an insane plan.

this is why i don't get the insanity plea: if you murdered your husband because you caught him cheating, you are insane (mentally deranged). if you raped someone, you are insane (not of sound mind). if you father children with your daughter you are insane (utterly senseless). so you get the idea. the insanity plea is a contradiction in itself. oh, wait, he should go into a psych ward instead of prison...after all, he was INSANE when he chopped his wife's breasts off and made her eat them. well no fucking shit he was insane. you HAVE to be insane to be able to murder anyone...but that means that we should spare your sorry fucking soul? that's just ridiculous. people make fucking excuses for anything. blame it on the brain...your brain, yeah, that one that you have complete control over. god you're a winner.

10 facts of life

1. it's after 1 am
2. i am fucking wasted
3. there is no reason for this post
4. i sang two songs tonight
5. i feel like tomorrow should be saturday
6. you are awesome
7. work is going to suck tomorrow
8. i don't know when to say no
9. i wish this chair was my bed
10. my friend fifi is going to act like she knows the lead singer of radiohead at the show tomorrow...or i guess it's today
11. i am exceeding what the title of this post would have you believe
12. bums outside my window are fucking retarded
13. I am fucking retarded
14. holy fuck i am trashed
15. the earth is round
16. water is a necessity
17. jeff is pissing me off
18. wheels are round
19. thinking globally would solve so many problems
20. i am going to stop with number twenty

can i borrow your phone to call my lawnmower?

what is this about? a lawnmower that you can message using your phone??? oh yeah, it's about the fact that people are lazy as hell, and have stretching lawns that they don't step foot on but feel they need as a claim of their own little american dream. why use a push mower when you can just sit your ass on a riding one? and why do either when you can just call your little yard robot and have him do it? you would be much better off paying the neighborhood lawn boy $20 bucks a week to cut the yard. or getting off your own ass and doing it. what? that's crazy talk!!! i know. silly me. now enjoy another real world marathon and don't move a muscle.




and while i am on the subject of robots doing human jobs, check out this bad boy. apparently a spray from his water cannon is enough to scare off the loitering. but what i don't get is this: the man who invented this robot is a mere bar owner who has a remote control that directs this big hunk of metal through downtown atlanta. what the hell gives that asshole the right to shoo away anyone? if they aren't in his bar or on his property, then should he have anything to say about it? not to mention the fact that this mobilized eye sore is all over everyone's turf, and if my driveway was there i don't think i would really go for that. but it would definitely be funny to sit perched in a window and take pictures of the interactions. i could have a series and have a gallery opening called crackhead vs. bum bot-the beginning of atlanta's underground militia.

gas or botox? it's just such a hard decision

all i can say is hallelujah. in case you don't know how i feel about plastic surgery here ya go...i fucking hate it. we are a shallow society that is teaching next generations all the wrong values.

hi, i'm a dumb fucking cunt who is with you for your money and talks to your best friends about how small your penis is. i also don't plan on ever working a day in my life because i have you to do that for me. i am going to divorce you in two years and take you for all you're worth, so enjoy this estate while you can. oh, and i need another 40,000 for my butt implants that i will be getting tomorrow. what? you want me to suck your cock? oh my god! i just sucked the pool boy's, isn't that enough for one day?

anyways, i am happy to know that there has been a decline in surgeries because of our current economic issues. but then, you still have bitches who "...would rather have Botox than go out to dinner".

amazing.

i'm stupid

rule # 1 of being prepared for an interview with the director- get some fucking sleep...which i did not.

but i guess that's what happens when you meet someone who stimulates your mind to the point of not being able to end a conversation at a reasonable time for you to both pass out. yep, i said it. he stimulates my MIND. not sure if that has ever happened before.

anyways...just apparently in the mood to share mundane details of my thursday morning. it's times like these that i wish the smell and taste of coffee didn't make me want to fucking stab myself in the face.

in good news: it's almost friday bitches. THANK FUCKING __________ (insert your favorite god).

am i the mailman's child?

in case you didn't know, it's an election year. and if you didn't know that then you probably don't know what an election is, so just stop here and go read my hate mail (they are short and easy reads). but seriously. i am stoked about the fact that we might have a female or black president. it really is almost amazing to me, because it's something that i never thought would happen in my lifetime. that may seem odd to some of you, but had you been born and raised in the south, you might understand where i am coming from. that being said, you can imagine how excited i was when obama won the NC primary.

you see, in the south it's not really about who has the most experience or who is more trustworthy, or who cares more about this and that. it's more like this; would the close-minded rather have a WOMAN or a BLACK MAN??? of course, there are thousands of people like me who reside in the south who don't feel this way, so i am stereotyping. but seriously, there are people who are beside themselves because of their choices (or lack their of).

take my father for example (because that's really what this is about). he started sending me emails about 5 months ago that were full of retarded information about obama. things like:

HIS FATHER DESERTED HIS MOTHER AND HIM WHEN HE WAS VERY YOUNG AND WENT BACK TO HIS FAMILY IN KENYA
my response- so um, just because his dad left then he would make a shitty president? i guess that rules out at least 50% of society

HE "WORKED" AS A CIVIL RIGHTS ACTIVIST IN CHICAGO- HAS NEVER HELD A PRODUCTIVE JOB. THE PRESIDENCY IS NOT A CIVIL RIGHTS POST NOR IS IT SUBJECT TO AFFIRMATIVE ACTION SET ASIDES
my response-well, i am not going to list the book that i wrote in response to this one. it really doesn't merit a response because this statement is just completely false, but i can never bite my tongue.

so you get the idea. it's propoganda. it's shit that some redneck who actually knows how to type conjured up and sent around and then it spread like herpes throughout the brains of old-fashioned, close-minded folks like my DAD.

i really, REALLY have tried to keep my patience with this man. i mean, i love him to death. he's the greatest dad i could have ever asked for...except for the fact that he is a closet racist. it's not really his fault. he was raised on a farm in SC and up until the day that she died, my grandmother spouted terms like "porch monkey". so, my dad didn't have much to work with growing up, but that's still no excuse. i mean, he married a wop from brooklyn (my mama), so deep down inside there must be someone who knows better, right?

after the above referenced email, i told him not to send me anymore emails about anything involving obama. and he stopped...for about two weeks...and then i get this. ---------------------------->

oh god this man was just pissing me the fuck off. he called me over the weekend while i happened to be at the self-checkout in wal-mart. i wasn't going to bring up the fact that he was disgusting me, but the first thing he says is, "how'd you like that email". so right there, RIGHT THERE IN THE WALMART, i decided to give him a piece of my mind. i should have been barefoot and pregnant...oh, but then i would have been arguing AGAINST obama.

so last night, i decided it was my turn to call him. and here's how that conversation (if you could call it that) went:

me: hey dad
dad: hey, we are going to come there next weekend instead of this weekend
me: okay...so you watching the news?
dad: no, why?
me: BECAUSE OBAMA JUST WON NC...HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!
dad: BROOKE, he's not a good person
me: why do you say that, i need an actual reason
dad: he's just not
me: i said i need an actual reason. why do you not like him (i was just fishing for him to say, because he's black, but i think he knows that i would really have to disown him then)
dad: brooke, he's muslim!!
me: no he's not
dad: yes he is, his dad is
me: okay, well you are baptist mom is catholic and i am agnostic because you and mom refused to take us to church because you hated having religion force fed to you growing up, so what the hell does that have to do with anything?
dad: i just don't trust him. you can't trust any of them. we don't NEED any of them.
me: well, hate to inform ya, but we are going to have ONE of them, so you have to pick the best of the choices we have
dad: well brooke, i don't like hilary either but i would rather have her in there than HIM
me: once again...why?
dad: wait 'til you see what happens when he gets in there. just wait
me: fine dad, i will wait. and what am i waiting for?
dad: there are already people plotting to kill him
me: well, i guess i should be thankful that one of those people is not you. love you, bye.

so this is what i am dealing with. the man is not dumb, he's completely lost all faith in any bit of government and because the one person (as far as i am concerned) that might have a shred of morality, honesty and decency left in his bones is black, my dad immediately rules him out. ugh.god...i hate talking politics, though this was more about me and my dad than politics. but still, it's tiring and depressing. i need a drink...AND A NEW FUCKING PRESIDENT. SHIT!

i feel like homeless woman who just ate someone's throw up

the other day jarrett sent me this link. Jonathan Harris has developed a program that scans blogs all day, everyday, for the word "feel". the program then pulls the sentence with "feel" in it and puts it on his website. you can go there and click on any dot (which represents a different feeling) and see the person's blog. actually, there is a lot more to it than that, and it's all really cool, so i would suggest you take 17 minutes out of your life to watch his presentation. unless you are too busy watching porn or something, in which case you probably aren't big on human emotion anyways, so just skip this post.

• after watching this i went to the site and there are so many sad or sappy sentences:
• i feel like i need to be in his arms to be happy.
• i feel like i am completely alone in this world.
• do you ever feel like no one understands?
• i feel my sanity slipping away.
• i feel let down, heart broken and ashamed
• i feel like the world's against me.

so there are just a few examples for ya. it's really depressing if you ask me. when i watched the presentation the other night i immediately thought that nothing from my blog would show up because i don't really think i talk about how i "feel"...but then i decided to use the wonderful alt+f feature to see just how many times i say "feel". check out the context in which i use the word. god, i might just be a heartless bitch. see for yourselves:

• if you don't like it, feel free to let off some steam by shooting me in the face.
• so, the seller is a self-proclaimed artist who feels the need to go on and on about how he sees shit in a way that other's don't.
• sexy einstein (who i will call Brad because i have a feeling he has one of those generic names that is given more than sloppy blow jobs in a frat house) cracks me up.
• so i scream when she does it, and she just responds by saying that she has to feel around and to let her know if i feel any pinching or sharp pain.
• and here is where you have the classic case of someone wanting to feel elite, or entitled, or special, or worthy.
• so if you can't find another rock to keep you fidgeting down the fucking street, don't feel like you are suddenly justified in disturbing those of us who aren't having illegitimate children and spreading AIDS faster than wildfire.
• know what's worse than leaving work because you feel like you are about to ralph and sitting in bumper to bumper traffic on college and 5th?
• okay, he's gone now and it's raining again and i am back outside and i feel like it's 1950 and i am in the COUNTRY.
• i feel like a microwaved bag of assholes
• i think you are going to blow a load in your pants, call her several times and hang up, feel stupid and finally quit contacting her, then weeks later post another listing asking for her to forgive you...after all, it's her fault for being so damn sexy.
• we go to the arby's across the street and i don't feel right.
• i am feeling stank so i drag my bag into the bathroom, change clothes and freshen up.
• i feel like we are in a cafe in epcot's version of paris.
• jarrett and i are sitting there enjoying our picks, getting disgusted by crying children, and feeling like death in motion.
• those colors are so bad they make me feel pregnant.
• I do have a job to tend to ya know, not to mention all those conversations would make me feel like I am auditioning to have the lead in some over-dramatic Lifetime original miniseries.
• She marks down my vitals and checks to see what meds I am to receive, which makes me feel better about not being able to remember the last time I got meds because this bitch doesn't even know what I am supposed to be getting

so there ya have it. i either feel like shit, or am projecting what someone else might feel...and that's not a good thing (the projecting that is). i am fully capable of "feeling", just in my own insensitive way. right now i feel like this was a wonderful way for me to kill about 45 minutes at work. i also feel that if medco doesn't let my prescription for birth control go through and stop acting like a bunch of incompetent fucktards i am going to get pregnant tonight and then sue them and become rich. how are you feeling?