how i know i am getting fucking old

for starters, the majority of my mail now consists of wedding invitations, baby shower invitations or baby announcements. i mean, i am glad to not have as many debt collectors wasting paper on my ass...but still.

the fact that my car broke down during my last trip to nyc, and has had other problems since, has prevented me from driving anywhere i want to go...even the beach, 3 hours away. had this been 2002, i would fucking drive it anyways, never thinking about how much it would suck if i was stranded on the side of the interstate or the fact that i need to get something for a trade in. i mean shit, when i had my old altima i drove that shit until the wheels practically fell off. by the time i traded it in, the grill was gone, the back windows wouldn't roll down, the ac hadn't worked for 2 years, the oil had been leaking for 4, the sunroof was leaking...you name it. it cut off more often than it cranked (i know that's not possible...just making a point here).

more time is spent reminiscing about good ol' times than creating new ones. for example, last night my friend laura lee and i had a long ass discussion that mostly consisted of stories from nights like when we got kicked out of a condo and moved 14 people into a hotel room where the keg found a home in the shower. or when a night at the bar turned into a night of complete chaos where everyone ended up showered by beer, stoned, and off to another place to take icy shots of tequila. now everyone needs a written invitation 8 months in advance to participate in a weekend of insanity. it sucks.

i actually feel like i need health insurance. i am getting old.

yeah...so, this could go on, but i am going to stop here because i am starting to depress myself. getting older is inevitable, but becoming a boring creature of habit, not willing to take any chances doesn't have to be. there must be some other people out there like me who aren't willing to give in to the endless cycle...maybe?

fuck the heat

it's HOT outside. REALLY, REALLY hot. so, it's the time when most people go swimming or hit the beach, or just lay around in the air conditioning, eat ice cream and watch movies. but what do i do when the temperature for the past 2 days breaks the 100 degree mark? apparently make myself miserable. well, it's not all my fault.

the morning started with me cleaning out my car before going to work. then, when i realized that i needed my badge to get in the building since it's a freakin sunday, i locked the car and headed back inside. oh, but no i didn't. no...instead i locked my keys in my car. so now i am standing in the sweltering heat with no way to get into my apartment or my car. i called my roommate who was asleep inside about 12 times and then remembered that he is a zombie. so i walked to the store to get a water, sat on the stoop getting glared at by bums--because apparently the only people who are just chillin in this god-awful weather are bums who have no where else to go and therefore they assumed i was down for making small talk or, i don't know, sharing my crack--, and called around until a coworker finally came to my rescue. he drove me to work and let me in the building with his badge. i figured that in the time i was working jarrett would surely wake up and be able to come get me. haha.

i was ready to leave work by 3. i hadn't eaten all day. all i had done up to this point was clean out my car in the heat, sit outside in the heat, and fucking work on a fucking sunday. well, of course it would be my luck that jarrett's car wouldn't start. great. and conveniently, just about everyone else under the sun that i know in this town was either out of town for a friend's wedding that i unfortunately missed, or hungover and inside avoiding the 101 degree temp, not answering their phones. finally, around 5, jarrett's car started. then we get home. then, THEN...the fucking power goes out.

okay, so let me paint this picture for you. our apartment building was built in the 1800's. it's full of lead paint and window units. go figure. there's a tiny one in my bedroom and a larger one in the living room. the one in my bedroom can barely combat the fact that the THREE windows in the room are the ones original to the building, and allow heat to seep in faster than the little window unit can cool it. when i go to bed i have to lay motionless with no blanket and all my limbs spread out as to make sure that i don't break a sweat.

and now, after one of my most miserable days, THE FUCKING POWER GOES OUT. it literally was fucking 93 degrees in our apartment. i wanted to rip my hair out. i wanted to sit in the tub and use every last drop of charlotte's cold water. and the power went out the day before too. this was an ongoing problem the whole weekend. the maintenance men were walking around clueless going, "well, we just put the third and last fuse in...they keep blowing". well, here's a fucking idea. why don't you realize that something is actually causing the fuse to blow and fucking figure out what it is. god, i guess fixing the actual SOURCE of the problem would make too much god damn sense. not to mention, he left after replacing that third (and final) fuse, and our power was still not on. fortunately, now it is. i can go another day without going postal.

so yeah, that's it. summer days are here again, and i cannot wait to move to an area of higher elevation and cooler temps.

fake boobs do not equal great service

it really sucks when you like a place but you don’t like the staff. there’s a bar that we walk to on occasion that is small, dark, and full of men. the reason it’s full of men is because all of the bartenders are tiny girls with big fake boobs, fake hair, and fake tans. and you know, even if a man really isn’t in to the whole “fake” thing that doesn’t mean he doesn't enjoy eye candy. but let me just be clear; i am not one of those jealous bitches. i would never envy someone who feels the need to get attention by emulating barbie. what i do have a problem with is when the staff is so fucking stupid you can’t get good service.

last night we were at this place. we sat at a bar table. i ordered drinks from the bar. i sat down. we drank the beers. i went to the bar and ordered 2 more. we drank those. i went to the bar and ordered 2 more. we drank those. a friend of mine called for directions to the place. i was on the phone with him for at least 10 minutes. i went to the bar and ordered two shots of tequila and 2 more beers. we drank those. i went outside and walked to the corner to meet up with my friend. we walked inside and sat down. he ordered a beer from the bar. the point is…a good hour (or two) had passed, when one of the servers comes up to our table and asked if we needed anything. i let her know that we have been ordering from the bar, but then (being a former waitress and just the unbelievably polite person that i am) asked her if we are at her table. she says yes, and she would prefer that we close out at the bar and open a tab with her. we oblige.

and now, seriously, 35 minutes, 35 MINUTES LATER, she comes up and says that she is getting off for the night so we need to close our tabs with her so she can get the tip. okay. i know this happens. i know in bars with shift changes this shit happens. and i always close out and open a new one so the original bartender/server doesn’t get the shaft. but come the fuck on. you make us close our tabs at the bar and open one with you when you know that your shift ends in 35 fucking minutes???? where was your stupid ass the first 2 hours that i made 8 trips to the bar? oh yeah, you were in the bathroom piddly fucking around with your hair extensions and admiring your ass in the mirror. fucking cunt.

interruption.
this guy just walked into my cube and i have my hoodie pulled up over my head and this is how the conversation went

him: what’s wrong with you
me: i drank too much last night
him: you went out last night and didn’t call me?
me: yep. do i ever call you?
him: i see how it is
me: well i am glad we are both clear on the subject
him: shouldn’t you be taking it easy?
me: probably…this bone on my head really hurts (history side note: when i jumped off a waterfall a couple of years ago i hit my head on a rock which resulted in a concussion, contusion, some surface hemorrhaging of the brain and 2 black eyes. i hit the middle of my forehead…like the right brow bone, but oddly enough, there is now this part of my skull that sticks out on the left side of my forehead. it’s like a knot, but it’s a bone. and it keeps shifting and sticking out more. you only notice if you are at the right angle…but still…i think i am growing a devil horn or something)
him: that’s weird
me: i wonder if like my skull is like the earth and the platelets are moving and there’s about to be an earthquake and all my hair is going to fall out
him: whoa, platelets…you just took it back to some earth science
me: god…i forgot all about earth science…that was ages ago
him: like, at least 10 years
me: how old are you, like 16?
him: when i took earth science my teacher was really fat and when she did the lesson on earthquakes she got up on her desk and jumped off
at this point i laugh hysterically and really, really loudly.
me: no she didn’t
him: yes she did…it was hilarious.
me: how did that measure on the rictor scale?
him: you know what else was funny…another one of my teachers slipped and fell and hit her face on the corner of the desk and had a black eye for a really long time.
me: black eyes are awesome
him: i am going to go do some work
me: get away from me

okay…we can now resume with the bartenders saga.
so…we close our tabs with the server, but another one doesn’t appear, so we go back up to the bar. at this point i am told that i can’t open a tab since i am not at the bar, which is amazing because i just had one 40 minutes prior. but whatever. so then i just had to pay for the drinks and close out. then the bud select people showed up and gave us free beer so that saved me from another trip. but, because of these idiots, i now have four freaking bar tabs from this place! assholes. and so conveniently, i had to call the bank this morning because something funny was going on when i tried to make an online purchase, and the woman was like, well let’s go through the most recent transactions and see if they are valid…
that was a fun conversation.

adam sandler

okay. i am drunk. i just happened to come across this article while i sit and wait for my lean pocket to cool to a temperature that won't burn off my tongue.

and let me just say...i hate when ANY shit is talked about this actor. let's be realistic people. he's a saturday night live-er. what is up with the people who judge him so harshly? what is up with people analyzing the character THAT HE PLAYS? hey, have you ever heard of a thing called comedy? have you ever heard of a thing called entertainment? that is why we have people like adam sandler (and jim carrey). if you're worried about his depiction of american men then go fuck yourself. i hope you make it long enough to see us all go down in a nuclear fury.

okay...i am getting out of control. but seriously...when did people get so fucking serious? if you want to critique take a look at someone like jack nicholson. i mean...i know that he has had his fair share of laid back roles more recently...but his career didn't start off in the lime light of saturday night sketch comedy. and you know what this bitch said to me at the gym the other night? as good as it gets was on one of the tv's...and she literally was like, oh, this is a cute movie but he is such an asshole in real life. REALLY?? oh, so you know him? you have had a dinner party or two, to which he was invited, and i guess he showed up and shit on your floor and used your doily to wipe his ass with? and even if he is an asshole...who the fuck cares. guess what, johnny carson was quite the douche and he had no problems raking in the ratings for his late night show. guess who else is a douche? our president. okay...i am going to leave it at that.

the point is...these people are actors. they are famous. adam sandler is the shit. i don't care what anyone says, he is funny, but also very capable of playing a diverse role...just take a look at punch drunk love and reign over me. so for everyone who wants to be the judge and criticize and downplay someone's success...go fuck yourself. who are you anyways? play the lead in one...JUST ONE role, and then tell us how sorry of an actor everyone else is. and let us know when you have found your personality...we would be much more fond of you if you had one.

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.

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.

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!

cinco de gyno

i have a big sombrero in my backseat that i scored at target for a dollar and it is dying to be worn by me today. it told me so this morning. i want to go out and play beer pong on the one day that i can sport the big hat, sing "cielito lindo" at the top of my lungs and take a ridiculous number of tequila shots without looking like an obnoxious alcoholic.unfortunately, at this point in the day, my only plans are to go to the gyno. and this has already fucked my day up completely.

i have somehow managed never to go (except for one incident that occurred when i was 22). so really, if you take the number of years that i have been sexually active and subtract the one time i stepped into a women's clinic, well then you have 13 pap smears that i have successfully avoided. my uterus could be a cancer cave at this point, but well, that's a risk i chose to take.

so we have 2 major things that are going to make this suck:

A. i am modest-if we aren't between the sheets then there is no reason for me to be naked and spread eagle. i was talking to my mom yesterday and she gave me the old, "brooke, they are doctors, this is what they do...they look at them all day". i know she was just trying to calm my nerves, but i responded saying, "thanks woman who has had doctors all up in her cootch while 2 babies have popped out...GOD!"

2. it's just fucking weird-so take the modesty issue, add florescent lighting and a lack of arousal that has you tightened like an 8 year old while a complete fucking stranger is ramming a cold, metal torture device inside you, and well, i think you get the picture. i know for a fact that they make TINY cameras that would be more suitable for viewing the cervix because i came across a video on youtube the other day of this cocaine user who shoved one up his nose so you could see in there (it was really, really gross by the way). but the point is, why not use one of those??? it's fucking 2008 and the speculum came into use in the fucking middle ages. isn't it time for an upgrade???

so far the only things that have gotten me through the morning without having a nervous breakdown are sexy einstein (although i wouldn't suggest that you click that link unless you are not put off by date rape and debauchery...oh wait, you read my blog...yeah, go there, he's funny) and thinking about the fact that i can finally get birth control and keep my useless reproductive organ from bleeding monthly.maybe when i leave work i will pick up a bottle of tequila and get good and shit-faced before i go. i am sure that after having me strip down to nothing they won't say anything about the sombrero.

juicy bathroom gossip

haha. it's not really that at all. but i know that guys are always wondering what the fuck bitches do in the bathroom. i am here to end this mystery and i hate to disappoint, but here's a hint: it has nothing to do with rubbing our breasts against each other's or trading panties. every time i go into a public restroom (especially at a bar) i come out either annoyed, laughing my ass off, or with a story to tell. last night i made a trip that resulted in my hating preppy fucks even more than i already did (and i didn't think that was possible).

the wachovia classic is in town. so in come flocks of yuppies who think that they are somehow elite because they scored passes (i don't think they are called tickets because that would be too "working class"). i didn't even know it was in town...basically because i don't give a fuck. yesterday i noticed an increase in the amount of people walking around downtown in their polo and khaki combos, complimented by their leather penny loafers. jarrett and i said (i don't know how many times), "they must be lost...do they not know where charleston is"? (for those of you that aren't familiar with charleston, sc, it's on the coast and is made up of rich white folk who would seriously prefer that the south rise again and that they could have a few of the poor black folk fixing them some grits and buttermilk biscuits. surrounding areas, like folly beach, are cool...but charleston is for the fucking birds.)

anyways, when we got to our favorite bar last night i went straight to the bathroom and these two bitches were washing their hands and talking about the poor arrangement of things-the soap and paper towel dispensers are on the right wall so if someone is washing their hands in the right sink the person to the left of them can't get to the shit. this is really no big deal. either wait a fucking second or reach around. well, these ladies decided that it would be a great conversation topic. i stood behind them as the drunker of the two proceeded to practically rip the paper towel dispenser off the wall (is it that hard to tear a paper towel?). the really drunk bitch staggered out and the girl left behind says to me, "woah, looks like she had a few too many at the wachovia classic today". i'm not much for small talk or making friends in the bathroom so i just continued washing my hands.

and here is where you have the classic case of someone wanting to feel elite, or entitled, or special, or worthy. this girl says to me, "my boyfriend is totally still wearing his bracelet that we had to have on to watch the tournament today, and i am like, take it off, you look like an idiot".

at this point i am wishing that i was wearing big sign that said "I DON'T GIVE A FUCK IF YOU SHIT GOLD. YOU ARE PROBABLY A FUCKING IDIOT"

why are you in the bathroom telling a random girl about your stupid ass boyfriend and his wachovia classic bracelet? what could she have possibly wanted to gain out of this? did she think i was going to go to that high pitched squealing place that most dumb bitches reside in and say, "OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS GOT TO GO?? I AM SO JEALOUS! I BET YOU HAVE A POOL AND THROW THE BEST PARTIES!" obviously i didn't go there. instead i said, "poor thing". this prompted her to continue talking about him so i just interrupted and said, "no...i was referring to you...aren't you the one that chose to date the douche bag?"

that got her out of my face.

so you see...nothing interesting happens in the bathroom. well, that's a lie because sometimes you see someone passed out or trying to courtesy flush the smell of their shit away, or someone crying over something ridiculous (which i find really funny). but for the most part it's just girls being girls...and by that i mean really, really dumb.

reasons charlotte sucks: nascar

i came across a featured story on msn today about nascar (which i can no longer find and don't have the time to spend searching the nascar files) and almost puked on myself. and that reminded me of another reason that charlotte sucks. NASCAR. it's not so much the fact that there is a speedway here, because it's in the northern end of charlotte (not near uptown) so when races are going on i barely notice (except for a little extra traffic and people talking about it). what gets me is the obsession that people around here have with the "sport"...and i put that in quotations because i don't even understand how it can be classified as such.

nascar gets on my every last fucking nerve. it's a complete waste of time, energy, gas, tires, money, etc, all for assholes to drive around in circles to determine whose penis is bigger. why don't we just build bleachers alongside the interstate, watch people zoom by and wait for a wreck. sounds like a good way to pay to fix the fucking roads.

they are currently building the nascar hall of lame uptown. this disgusts me. people are sooo excited about it. i, obviously, am not. why do we want to give rednecks a reason to flock to our city? is it not enough that we are already in the south and that charlotte is surrounded by po-dunk towns full of rebel-flag-sporting wannabe white-supremacist fucktards?

but this isn't the only invasion charlotte is experiencing. dale earnhardt jr just opened whisky river in a new complex that still isn't finished. and this complex is actually something that uptown needs. right now we lack shopping and a movie theater so until this place is finished you still have to leave uptown for some new shoes or to catch a flick. but why, WHY did the first thing to open up have to be a big (somewhat country) bar with a mechanical bull? oh, because dale jr opened it. i have seen more cowboy hats and embellished jean skirts in the past two weeks than i would if i had cable and was forced to watch cmt for 73 consecutive days. fuck.

but above all this, here is the worst thing about being in nascar country: every football season i go to the bar and watch the games (if i don't actually go to the games). almost every time i end up with some man beside me, who (i guess in his inbred brain that lacks logical reasoning skills) assumes that because i am into football i MUST be into nascar. right? i mean, clearly any female who is willing to watch one sport must be willing to watch them all. WRONG. so there is always some dipshit who wants to strike up a conversation about a race or a driver or the 37 car (is there a 37 car?) and i always stop them dead in their tracks (making sure not to make eye contact) and say, "i hate nascar, don't talk to me about it". but no, this never suffices. it just starts them on their, "whut?? you don't like nascarrr? well where thu hell are youu from?" rant. seriously. these are the people i want to fucking strangle. i am somehow the fucked up person because i am in the good ol' south and i don't like nascar. god i wish i had a dick sometimes so i could just tell people to fucking blow me.

dumb fucking bitch

i just went outside for a smoke. i was amazed to see a sunny sky and find that it is actually 80 degrees (since this is the longest awaited spring i have experienced in my 28 years). while i am standing there staring into the sun with closed eyes, my moment of zen is interrupted by someone saying, "you are interesting to me". clearly they cannot be talking to me. i open my eyes and find a random red-headed bitch standing next to me in her bright ass wrinkly sequined shirt. she was so in my space i flinched. i said, "excuse me"? she then proceeds to clarify her previous comment by saying that she thinks i have beautiful eyes and the most amazing hair she has ever seen, BUT she really thinks that i should wear something more flattering because then guys would notice me more. okay...so a few things:

1. who the fuck are you? you are obviously crazy, but where did you even come from? i have never seen your face before. oh, but that's because i spend time minding my own business and enjoying the sunshine, rather than critiquing every passerby.

2. perhaps you have no friends which is why no one has told you already, but people of your girth should not be caught dead in the pastel number you are sporting today. you look like a fucking easter egg that was shit out of a dinosaur bunny. and not only is it pastel, it has fucking sequins on it. the last thing i wore with sequins on it was some heinous shit for a dance recital when i was FOUR. christ.

3. unlike you, my goal in life is not to be noticed by men. and also unlike you, i do get noticed by them. i know this comes to your surprise, seeing as how i don't have a fucking prom dress or pound of makeup on, but none of that is helping you anyway. not to mention, if the fact that i am wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt turns a guy off, it's just as well because chances are he is looking for some high-maintenance bimbo that i definitely am not.

4. news alert! there is not a shortcoming of horny guys. there is only one thing i need a man for, and it's not a meaningful relationship or to cuddle and talk about how the fucking stars aligned and brought us together and it must be destiny and blah blah blah. that being said, i could get what i need from the opposite sex by, i don't know, breathing. once again, the clothing i wear does not matter.

5. why the fuck do you think you know me? why the fuck did you think for a second that this was an acceptable way to approach someone? why is your ugly fucking ass in my fucking space?oh god, i can't even go on. this bitch was fucking crazy.

i gave her a look that she might have nightmares about and said, "i have a suggestion, and it has something to do with you getting the fuck out of my face".

your pillows are bigger, but not as soft

you have got to be fucking kidding me. seriously. is this a joke? i'm not being a smart ass...this HAS to be a joke. a fucking children's book, My Beautiful Mommy, to explain why mommy will come home with bigger milk jugs, wearing bandages and then spend days lying in bed?? how about this for an explanation: you're mommy is a shallow bitch who is currently doped up on oxycontin which she will soon be addicted to because she couldn't live with the stretch marks that she has on her belly as a result of bringing you into this world. now go be a good little heathen and teach yourself how to cope with being neglected. also, make sure that you love mommy more now that she has put her priorities in order and spent your college savings on making herself more like barbie. oh, and don't forget the lesson here: beauty=worthiness. let's hope puberty doesn't put a hump in that cute little nose of yours.

in case you can't read the page: "that's sweet of you to say, my love, but mommy is also having her tummy made smaller. you see, as i got older, my body stretched and i couldn't fit in my clothes anymore. dr. michael is going to fix that and make me feel better".

there are so many things wrong with this i don't even know where to start. but here is one thing; in 2007 the total expenditures for COSMETIC surgical procedures was a whopping $8,395,851,754. wow. and just think of all the starving children.

society fucking disgusts me.

work sucks

i am sitting here getting paid to do nothing. i have mixed emotions about that. part of me thinks i should be delighted. the other part of me thinks that i should just be able to go the fuck home and get paid to do nothing...at home.

i woke up with no voice today. about 85% of my daily tasks require vocal communication with clients. i have done the 15% that doesn't. actually, i was done with that work by around 9:15. now i am just sitting here waiting for further instruction.and to make matters worse, people keep calling me. managers call me. so, i alerted you first thing this morning via email that i lost my voice. why the fuck are you calling me? and when i pick up they say, "i know you lost your voice but...". but what? do you want me to blow into the phone? is there a touch tone answer key that i am unaware of? should i press the pound key once for yes and twice for no? if so, where the fuck is this sop? it might be helpful today. there's a little thing called email. let's try that.

but back to the original issue...why the fuck should i still be sitting here? is it because my voice might magically return after a warm cup of green tea? or do you want me to prank call doctor's offices and insurance companies and see how long they will sit on the other end listening to the closest thing to a whisper that i can conjure up?fuck sake's this is retarded. RETARDED.

a day in the life of work

today at work the cleaning lady who has seen me every morning this week in the fitness center, stopped me in the hallway today and said, "you skinny" as she ran her hands down her sides. i said, "what?", and she responded w/, "why you in there every day, you skinny". i am hoping that, because english is her second language, 'skinny' is actually the only term that she knows to use, but what she really meant was, "you look like you have lost some weight". if not, that bitch needs some damn glasses.

i was on the phone with a rep from humana and asked her to verify the benefits for IV infusion in the doctor's office. after several minutes of dead air and little weeps and sighs and mumbling, she asks, "what do you need specifically about IV infusion?". I respond, "UM, WELL THAT'S AS SPECIFIC AS IT GETS, I NEED SPECIFIC BENEFITS FOR IV INFUSION THERAPY." 45 minutes later she tells me that the patient's policy has termed. it really takes a genius.

i get on the elevator (on the 3rd floor) to go down to the first. a girl waiting for the elevator says, "oh, this isn't going to the 4th". so i am thinking that she got on the elevator meaning to go up and then realized it was going down. well, then she scans her badge and is hitting the button for the 2nd floor, but doesn't do that until we have actually passed the second floor. when the doors open at the lobby on the first floor (which is the only floor that has marble tile and plants) she exclaims, "WHERE IN THE WORLD ARE WE?" i don't know where the hell you are my friend, but it's obviously not the right planet much less the right floor.

mmmm...chocolate taffy (tootsie roll) why you so good?

we had qdoba catered today. in line the woman in front of me went on and on about how she needs them to stop catering lunches because she is fat. so i tell her that i am just going to make a salad w/ the grilled chicken, lettuce, tomatoes and a tiny bit of cheese. she says, "oh, that's a good idea, i don't know why i always feel like i have to eat tons of the nachos". so as i am in line behind her i am making my salad, which is 95% lettuce and tomatoes and 5% chicken, she scooped about 17 large spoonfuls of chicken, tons of cheese and EIGHT (yes EIGHT) spoonfuls of sour cream onto her plate. i wanted to say, "lady, the nachos are the least of your worries".

WHY IS IT THAT A WOMAN IN MY GENERAL VICINITY IS SNIFFLING, COUGHING AND CARRYING ON NON-STOP. BUT WAIT, IT'S NOT EVEN SNIFFLING...IT'S A CONSTANT REARRANGEMENT OF SNOT IN HER NOSE. AND SHE IS REALLY WORKING OVERTIME ON TRYING TO GET SOME KIND OF MUCOUS OUT OF HER LUNGS. SHE DISGUSTS ME.

finally...while on the elevator (the way back up), this girl who was about 5 feet tall and 80lbs soaking wet gets on at the 2nd floor w/ this big ol' hat on and says to me, "is this hat too big for my head?" first of all, why would you get on the elevator and ask a random person about your hat. obviously you have some insecurities about whether or not it is appropriate (not to mention we aren't supposed to wear hats) so just leave the mess at home. secondly...you could have fit 12 days worth of elephant poo in this hat. if it hadn't been black it would have looked like part of a clown costume. so i just acted like i didn't hear anything rather than lying or being mean. my mom would be so proud.

5 things that currently suck

1. the irs trying to collect money from your 2003 taxes. look people, i am not a high roller...if you need a measly $600 to hold the nation's economy together then perhaps you should fire some of the dickwads that you pay to call and harass me when you KNOW that i am at work because you are taxing that shit everyday. or maybe you should consider cutting back on the amount of paperwork sent out reminding me for the umpteenth time that i owe your asses money. leave me a fucking message with a deadline, if you don't see a check by then then garnish my mother fucking wages. it's not like you aren't going to do that in the end if you don't see the money anyways...so why waste all this precious time and paper product.

2. work. that's just simple. art major in the healthcare field, moving drugs all day that i don't get to dabble in. and even if i could dabble i would soon after form a serious addiction (to go along w/ the already existing ones), lose my job and therefore cut off my new source of sedatives, start to steal and cheat people to get more, and end up homeless yelling like the man outside my window this morning at 1:30, "those mother fuckers better have some dope. i'm for real, those motha fuckas BET have some dope or someone is going to fucking die!" This dude wasn't playing around and when his homeless female companion came running along (as though she was willing to chance it for the small hope of scoring some dope) he about bitch slapped her scraggly ass and yelled, "BITCH, get the fuck away from me, heads are gonna roll!"

3. getting older. you remember being 18-24 and sitting at the bar and it never fails there is always that one (or those 5) "older" people who are just weird and you feel sorry for them because they have no life and they are still at the bar trying to blend in w/ the 20 some things. well, i remember looking at someone w/ a wrinkle that could only be seen under a dentist's light and thinking they were that creepy old guy...so i guess around 28. then at around 25 i was thinking that the man who was balding prematurely (say around 32) was that guy. well, now I keep inching up the age barrier like a limbo pole that is being adjusted for people with broken hips and it makes me wonder if I had the age barrier blurred, or is it that i am now just blending in. at 27 am i one of those weirdos that needs to go the fuck home and domesticate myself, learn how to enjoy some stupid shit like grey's anatomy, keep up w/ awards ceremonies and PLAN what night is laundry night, grocery night, mop the floor night. fuck that.

4. the war. argue any point you would like, play the devil's advocate; take one of 800 gazillion stances on the topic. plain and simple...i don't like for innocent fuckers to be killed for ANY reason.

5. clocks. or any contraption keeping me aware of the minutes as they tick by ever so slowly, almost taunting me, as if they are well aware of the fact that i can't leave this bitch until 4:47 (and if i wanted to be an ethical employee today...5:00). my database is down, i can't do any work, and although that might sound fabulous it really just sets you up to sit here and reflect on things that suck because you are bored and have done about everything entertaining on the internet that you could possibly imagine. sooo...the minutes tick away and you can almost hear a faint laugh...and you try to waste time by typing some bullshit and then you realize that you successfully sailed through a whopping 7 minutes. well holy fucking shit..someone mark this momentous event. 7 minutes burned w/ bitching. the damn clocks are going to make me drink tonight because before i had to sit here and become aware of how slowly time actually passes, i had prepared myself for a sober evening. now i am geared up to go get wasted. but prepare yourself, i don't have any money (see #1) so you might hear me outside your window screaming, "those motha fuckas better have some booze or someone is going to die!"