Tag Archives: comedy

Au Revoir Apartments…Smell Ya Later

My lease is up at my apartments, and I’m planning a more economic friendly move to another apartment with a roomate. It’s tough for single gals and I for one would sure like financial stability as well as the company. This move is bittersweet, while I often complain on Facebook about my apartments, I’m still going to miss what I’ve called home for a few years. I’m also going to miss my neighbors, no, not in the way you think. I don’t think I’ve talked extensively to any of them but I’ve observed them from afar on a level of certain creepiness. So, who will I miss?

The Denim Clad Bludgeoner

Perhaps I’m jumping to conclusions here, but the guy who lives across from me is in the business of death, sudden violent death to transients and hookers. He leaves early in the morning while the dew is still on the grass, because he travels to commit his heinous acts. Dressed in a demin shirt, demin shorts (jorts) and brown boots topped off with a khaki hat he leaves, taking a long wooden walking staff (ready for spontaneous murder). He gets into his inconspicuous white jeep and gives me a friendly nod as he drives away. He’s gone for several days. I know this because when our apartment management leaves memos stuffed in our doors his will remain in place for 3 to 4 days. Meaning, it would have to be removed if he came into his apartment. However he’s home when they do inspection and he leaves notes for them not to spray his apartment with insecticide. I don’t believe this is a worry about chemicals, no sir, it’s because he has clippings about the place celebrating his crimes. Duh. All killers do this. Which is really outdated and not very green. One could easily just save a zip file on their PC labeled “My Insatiable Lust for Blood”. I also believe this because he left his blinds open and I peeked through, there were newspapers everywhere (no I’m not weird!). He doesn’t want pest control to walk around spraying that watered down Mello Yello they call insecticide and discover the missing teens from Branson MS met their fate at the hands of a blue jean loving assassin. He’s nice enough but his eyes sing a song of murder to me, “I want to dismember you, fa la la la la la”.
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Tankerbell’s Mommy

I don’t know this lady’s name either but I know her godforsaken dog’s name; Tinkerbell but pronounced “Tankerbell”. This lady is at the very least 400 hundred pounds and she  yells at her chihuahua while walking around barefoot all day. Seriously it’s like president Taft walking around in a house dress. She’s always saying, “Tankerbell, hush up quit barkin’ git in tha house!” These apartments are pretty small and she lives with her significant other, another woman, and some kids but there’s a like several and I can’t discern which one’s actually live there or just like show up. Nonetheless that’s a lot of people for one place and at night their shades are open…yes I look in and there are sheets the partition the living room. It’s like a Hooverville in there. There’s another dog too but it never gets yelled at because Tankerbell is the one that never shuts up. This dog has like a hernia or hemorrhoids because it’s butthole looks like it was pulled out, kind of like a Sonic straw. I can say right now I don’t envy that dog.

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Tankerbell! where are you?

The Office Depot Adonis

This guy I often see getting into his yellow Mustang going to do whatever beautiful people go do all day. I’ll assume float on clouds. He works at Office Depot which I discovered by happenstance and not by being a stalker (this time). I went to make prints of my artwork and he was there, we talked about apartments and how much they suck, and well what do you know! He’s int he building next to me. I figured out that he was actually the well muscled hulk of lustful thoughts that jumps rope and jogs around the complex. He drips sweat that could bring flowers back to life.  He’s the guy I for serious, almost wrecked into a dumpster watching warm-up with some high knees. Did you know movies do not edit beautiful people in slow motion? Beautiful people effect the time space continuum and their movements actually slow down so the world has some semblance of order while they are around. I fumbled over words like an idiot, and forgot what I was talking about mid-sentence. Yeah, THAT beautiful. Now I can’t just walk into Office Depot without feeling like an awkward school girl or stalker-like. I would like to look into his window.

Gandalf the Grey

There’s an elderly lady who leaves her apartment several times a day to go to the mailbox or kind of stand on the sidewalk and stare contemplatively into the horizon. Firstly, I want to know what kind of US Postal Service does she think she has to go to the mailbox more than once? Secondly, I think she goes outside to steal the joyful noise of the nearby songbirds. She has her name because she wears a grey sweat suit ALWAYS and has matching grey hair. Thus, Gandalf the Grey, plus when you get that old you have magic powers. Maybe her mobility has far exceeded her cognitive ability and she is slipping slowly into the world of dementia. A small part of me fills with fantastical terror when I wave and say “Hi” but she only glares at me with contempt. I can’t say what her apartment looks like because it’s on the second floor and that presents a challenge of sorts. I’m going to say full of razors and Halloween candy. Her plan only foiled by the fact that old people hand out that caramel candy kids hate and never eat.

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I'm going back upstairs to wait for the third mail delivery today.

Facking Cool Guy

The northern guy who has several bad tattoes including the black panther of shame and the tribal arm band. He “DJ’s” um, nowhere. He cuts the sleeves of his shirts because all fellas know this creates an optical illusion of muscle. He hits on EVERY woman at the pool maybe even some dudes with bitch tits. He wears sandals and has gross feet.

Hot For Teacher

This woman is the 80’s and honestly I love her. She has the leathery brown tan skin, bleach blonde hair, neon clothes made of mesh net, sunglasses ALWAYS, and a convertible. She can always be found at the pool when its open baking herself in the sun slathered in baby oil, seriously, listening to Poison on her boombox.

I however will not be missed by anyone because I’m that weird fucking girl who looks through windows, stares at everyone, and can’t drive very well in the parking lot. Changes…

Ways to Divine SMART

Hello WordPressers, stalkers and prison wives. What is today’s topic you ask? Keep your pants on, I’ll tell you. Divination. What’s that? It is an occultic method used to foresee the future or gain insight on the past and present. All of which are inspired by
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My Most Hated Show

Hi folks, I’m BAAACK. I have missed you, give me some sugar!

I firmly believe television is making us, as a nation collectively dumber. I’ll go ahead and mention the obvious offenders; Maury Povich, Jerry Springer, Teen Mom, Jersey Shore, and the list could go on forever.

However, reality TV has been a time filler for better programming for a long time. You know like that freckled face asshole kid who you don’t really want to play with but the kid you like in your neighborhood is on vacation. So you have to sit in his room and view his paint sample collection or listen to him talk about summer camp while every vocalized pause makes you concurrently want to punch his face into oblivion. I mean it, punch his face so hard it becomes a black hole and sucks all surrounding matter into it.  Also, his mom is a whore, no that’s not innapropriate.

So what’s trending on television that I dislike the most? MORE than reality television?

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CSI Miami….boom.

Alright, I’ve mentioned before that Law and Order is the eternal flame of television, and is on all hours, all days, most channels all the fucking time. However CSI Miami is following close behind.

What could be wrong with this show besides everything? Well, let’s get specific.

1.The forensic pathologist is either being held captive in the autopsy room or she has a mental disorder.

This lady is always available to perform an autopsy, actually, she’s always alone. I mean, you never see “Butch” fill in for her while she’s on vacation. If you think one can remain in a basement full of dead folks and not be a little touched you might be wrong. I’ve witnesses several episodes where she speaks to the victim asking, “What story do you have to tell me?” Why do you think she asks? Because in her mind they answer. I’ve also witnessed a creepy degree of affection, such as hair stroking or face petting. Unfortunately the camera changes to an highly color saturated shot of sexy people partying in a boat before you witness her kissing, fondling, and possible attemps at ressurection.

2. This is an inaccurate portrayal of Miami citizens.

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We all know, thanks to the news reminding us like every day, that America is full of fatty-fat-fats. They take candid shots of overweight people from behind as proof. Now, let me say right here if News 5 in Nashville ever shows a picture of a fat ass that makes me say, “Oh I have those pants, I was downtown today, I spilled ice cream into my crotch when I sat on a bench….oh boy.” That will be a reckoning day, and day one of my newest new diet. I can’t get really fat, or I’ll find Cathey comics funny…no body wants that to happen to them. No, no, according to this show, everyone in Miami is sexy, rich, and parties on boats. Everybody owns a boat or a Hummer. Maybe they party in a Hummer on a boat, who cares they’re beautiful (and rich). Nothing has to make sense when you’re beautiful (and rich).

3. The staff is overqualified to be mere detectives for Dade County.

For starters, you have to be attractive to work CSI. No fuddy duddy uglies on this crew. These agents shoot better than the SWAT team and often go ahead of amored officers in their power suits only to fire all fatal shots. Every time they shoot the bullets they even hit their target while they go in slow motion, that’s pretty amazing. They are trained on all forensic equipment; microscopes, DNA analysis, fancy sound equipment (They also produced an album for Rick Ross).

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and he's still hustlin

They know how to do it all (becasue detectives often do serum blood typing or fiber analysis). Although I’m sure why they need it being they catch EVERY detail in all video, audio, and physical evidence. Meaning they should just say, “I already saw that juxtaposed image at .00032 seconds, but I want to show off by having you pause and rewind…and now for my witty remark.” Which also leads me to say, they are witty, one liners that hit with more impact than face on asphault after a poorly devised stunt goes terribly wrong. Which ends up on Rob’s Ridiculousness, another show I hate. It should be called Rob says unfunny things while that white bitch laughs at everything, fucking everything.

4. The CSI equipment and computer programs

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testing for semen AGAIN

While that handy computer searches for finger print matches, I feel more like I am selecting a player to fight with on X Box than I am watching the retrival of suspects. Perhaps fighting with a sexy player though, because even the criminals are sexy, only in Miami. The staff has a high tech laboratory capable of any kind of analysis, ever. I’m not sure why Miami payed for a laboratory that looks like the newest credit union they just built down the road from me. It has like modern glass and shit everwhere, the future needs a lot of glass everywhere. Furthermore, I don’t know what the laboratory workers actually do there. You see them, briefly, but the CSI detectives pretty much have to do their job for them, clearly, they’re incompetent. No one really needs safety equipment. Beautful people don’t wear goggles, chemicals know not to spill in their captivating, dreamy eyes.

5. The agents themselves.

The self satisfyed smirk they get on their beautiful faces everytime they find evidence, everytime they out wit a super smart criminal, every time they fucking speak. I always say they won’t get me to confess to shit, ever. I’d say, “Where’s my lawyer, an ugly one, go suck a bag of dicks.” I’d rather be found guilty in that courtroom than look at their smug faces when I stumble into confessing. I’d also put my fingers in my ears when they tried to talk, yes like a child, because I refuse to listen to their smarty smart remarks.

5. Horatio Caine (this Asshole)

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He actually found that in a butt without the aide of metal detectors

I only have room for one bad ass ginger in my heart, it belongs to Chuck Norris, aka, Walker Texas Ranger. I watched Mr. Norris defeat a bunch of bad guys in a nursing home, not a yaht, that’s real. This dude responds faster than the police (who let’s face it are worthless too) and the ambulance (also not needed because the agents know a bunch of medical shit too). He gets like babes, I mean it, total babes to date. They always happen to be a victim’s relative, which means he’s a preditor. I know your playing the “friend game” dude, I know. He’s a police force unto himself. The whole show I mock him in an incredibly immature fashion.

You probably wonder why I would watch this show? Well simple, it’s that or a show about wedding dresses, housewives, or people bidding on storage facilities. I mean what else is on before King of the Hill?

Google Search Users Don’t Understand Kids

Yesterday, I wrote about kids, specifically my kid and the children of the Industrial Revolution. My spawn, as I like to call him. I tell him all the time I am so happy I hatched him. He looks at me with wonder, love and trepidation mostly trepidation. I’m sorry I’m so weird son. I’m also sorry that I’m going to be embarrassing when you’re a teenager.  Please just know I love you, bear with me.

Well, I couldn’t fit this into my post yesterday as it didn’t fully fit the format. Today I will share with you some of the jacked up Google searches I found for children while researching child labor.

All of these began with: WHY DO CHILDREN…. 

1. Scream for no reason?  I tend to agree, have you taken a child to a birthday party? For fuck sake, it’s like a scream fest where they get together and scream, eat cake, only two bites, waste the rest and then scream more.

First a circle scream, then we’ll stand in a line and scream

2. Join the Taliban? Well given it’s optional, it’s probably like summer camp…that teaches suicide bombing and kickball.

3. Souls stay behind? Not all of them, just the souls of poor kids.

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4. Overgeneralize words? All children always do this all the time, times infinity.

5. Always stare at me? I like to believe their giving the “evil eye” trying to evoke misfortune in the form of The Black Death to my family and famine to my crops, killing my goats. To counteract this I recommend a vial of lizard blood and skullcap.

6. Play with their poop? It’s organic play-doh

7. Fail in school? Because learning is dumb, duh.

8. Have to suffer? I hope this person shook an angry fist at Google when they typed this rhetorical question. WHYYYYYY????!!!! Damn you!

It’s not fair! Answer me!

9. Vomit at night? Ugh, what the hell is wrong with that kid? I bet because he played with his poop all day and didn’t wash his hands.

10. Use private speech? So adults have no idea that they are plotting when and where they will start screaming, that way it appears unprovoked and spontaneous.

“Why does this happen?”

11. Need vitamins? Those too? I got to feed and water this thing as well? Gah! Can I trade it for a Chia Pet? I’m glad a parent felt the need to research this…

12. Take Xanex? Because lacking responsibilities is stressful.

13. Cry in their sleep? They’re whimpering, probably dreaming about chasing rabbits and squirrels, right? I mean they’re legs are moving like they’re running.

Or because monsters know kids are delicious.

14. Feel the need to access guns? You can’t join the NRA without a gun. You can’t be American without a gun. I’m as proud as a bald eagle.

15. Hate you? Don’t take it personal, they hate all adults, hence the real reason they are constantly screaming.

Lastly a search that did not fit in with the searches above:

Why do Tom Cruise’s kids live with him? 

Fear.

Opening Acts Don’t Get Love

Greetings and salutations fellow blogonians. Quick show of hands here, how many of you have gone to a concert for the opening act? Did you raise your hand at the computer? Sheesh.

Okay so, the answer is going to vary from yes to no, the opening act is balls. I lean way more towards the last statement. For example, I recently went to a Bush concert. I did feel rather old and uncool when I stood in line with thirty somethings in Affliction shirts with their fancy jeans. By fancy jeans I mean these unisex (I think they’re girl pants but bitch dudes and Brazilians wear them) jeans with distressed stitches and bedazzled crosses on the back pockets.

There are actually vagina magnets in the pockets

I also stood in front of a guy who, I am very sure, was the most annoying guy in a line, ever, ever in the history of human kind…like since we walked upright. He was not only a cell phone loud talker but a conversation dropper too. He kept trying to nerd his way in. I didn’t want to talk to this Taylor Hicks look alike and his monotone droning about how important his job is. He wanted the whole fucking line to know he had something to do with promoting the concert. I didn’t know you got paid to stand in line, buy tickets, and dork down the general area only to return to your wood paneled house and eat beanie weenies straight out of the can.

“Sometimes, I get sharp pains on my left side when I eat burgers too fast.”

It doesn’t matter, I saw Gavin Rossdale’s obliques. His shoulders were so cut up that I wanted to eat them like chicken cutlets. I may or may not want to drink his sweat…just saying. He’s beautiful in photos and he is statuesque in person. Drool.

Hands off bitches!

The concert was badass by the way. Now, I need to get on topic. The opening band was one that is probably pretty new. It had the emo kind of sound going. I don’t want to age myself here, but I hate it as much as I hate dude’s in skinny jeans ESPECIALLY fat dudes in skinny jeans. No guy should have a muffin top it screams “Hey, I have an inordinate amount of estrogen in my system!”

It just doesn’t do it for me DAWG

So they played and the whole time I patiently anticipate sexing Gavin with my eyes. I wanted those guys to hurry up, no offense, but I was there for Bush.

This ties into a conversation I had yesterday, about TV shows from childhood. The show Captain Planet was brought up. I’m not sure if you all remember this gem but this show was lame, in copious amounts.

Ah bloody hell, is Judge Judy on instead?

From the picture, I immediately have questions. Why is this blue man only wearing underwear and a middriff? Is it a suit that happens to be the same color as his flesh? Did he have a “flesh pants” fashion faux pas?

I’m so confused..

Then there are the Planeteers, kids from all over the world, even Soviet Russia (in Soviet Russia the planet saves you), that are chosen by and underground magic woman to save the world. These kids had magic rings that controlled elements, which is pretty scary to give kids given their capacity for recklessness and risk taking. I’m not sure I want a developmentally inadequate pubescent able to summon fire when all he really thinks about is boobies and Skyrim. Also, I am glad there was a ginger added for diversity.

Then there was the weird kid “heart” with the monkey. How is heart an element and what does it do? Well, it made animals like help destroy factories and shit. Thanks Planeteers, the laborers that cannot feed their family are eternally grateful because “heart” will put food on their table. Not to mention Captain Planet encouraged teenagers to do untold property damage and vandalism.

At least they were more productive than the “occupy” movement

Their leader Gaia the underground R & B singer who has “planet vision” to seek out pollution and uncut soda can rings. Capatain Planet appears when shit gets too real for the kids and they combine rings. He has a grass mullet. He does some floating around and molecular manipulation of his body there’s even some like sparkles and flashes when he fucks stuff up, trees are saved. I want to know what he does until he is summoned with the rings. Bath house, a dirty, lewd, and lustful bath house.

Smooth operator…Smooooooth operator…

I mean based on this, never seeing the show would you watch it? Hell no. That is why I would only watch Captain Planet while waiting for something more awesome to come on. By that I mean the last few minutes like “Ahhh, Captain Planet is still on! Let’s make fun of the planeteers until Spiderman is on!” Which is what my brother and I did every time. That show was the suckiest suck that ever sucked.

sucked

It must be rough being the “opening act” so to speak. It reminds me of high school when a dude dated me just to date my friend. It’s all good that’s typical high school drama, but I remember that was pretty humbling none the less.

Have a good day, and enjoy this…

How is a sleeveless t-shirt sexy now? Well it is.

It Could Always Be Worse

If you have a Facebook account, and you probably do because even Amish Acres  is on board with social networking. You may notice some of your friends post some pretty negative status updates. For example: “I’m sad about everything, I bit the side of my mouth and it hurts… no one appreciates me.” I mean, that may not be verbatim, but pretty close. At this point I would like to add that I giggle when that one smart ass “likes” those kind of status updates. I usually ignore it and check out whatever Cracked.com article is posted or focus my hate on memes that are not funny.

I would like to take a moment to address the negative Nelly’s out there and say cheer up, things can and will at times, be worse. I have provided some examples of how I justify small frustrations in my life that do suck:

The amount of chocolate I ate today is absurd. Inconsolable shame…

I did not, however, do too much meth today.

My boob cleavage is sub par.

My butt cleavage is amazing

My gynecologist looks like this…

My gynecologist could be this…

I don’t really know what to write today

I’m still smarter than animals.

I only got a regular ol’ burger…sans cheese

My hair looks awesome…

I’m hormonal and bloated

It’s not spontaneous explosive diarrhea.

I have no idea where my money goes…

I didn’t spend it on this movie

Lowes employees STILL send me butthurt comments over a fairly old post…

Sorry that store is balls, and I stand by my original post statements.

So in conclusion, chillax, post some eCards, not everything is appropriate for Facebook. More importantly, being happy is an effort not an innate human right. Go hug on a loved one and enjoy all the good things, there’s an innumerable amount if you start counting.

Protocol for the Stupid

I don’t like going to the doctor. I dislike the full spectrum of the healthcare experience from the receptionist who talks like she eats her own jerk face, to the Family Circle magazines, to kids coughing their pathogenic droplets all about the waiting room. Needless to say, I will try to tough out any ailment I can at home.

Me? Doctor? Nah bro, I’m cool.

I am aware that patient education is a portion of the healthcare spectrum. Sometimes though, I wish it were a little subjective. It just seems like, despite legality issues, when alone in that exam room, the doctor could just keep it real.

“And here, Ms. Smith is a list of reasons why your concerns are stupid.”

UTI or Urinary Tract Infection is probably pretty familiar to the ladies. You, know with our short urethra that has an affinity for attracting bacteria and supporting our decision to watch reality TV shows about wedding dresses. You may know first hand that each voiding feels like you angered a nest of fire ants…with your genitals.

“Put on some Black Eyed Peas this party is going to get ridunkulous”

Men, are more fortunate in this area being that their urethra is much longer than the female urethra. The bacteria has much further to travel before they reach the bladder, ingest bath salts, party their ass off and leave you with a bladder infection.

“I won’t take sulfur and I will pee in every movie, it’s in my contract!”

That being established, most women know when they have a bladder infection. It’s painfully obvious, literally. So, you go to the doctor, and supply a specimen for testing.

“Yep, it’s a UTI”

The doctor returns to tell you what you probably already know. I understand there’s a first time for everything and maybe the patient is not fully aware what’s going on. I’ve only had three of these in my life and the first time I thought I would go into renal failure and be on dialysis for life. Imagine my relief when I only needed antibiotics (and perhaps less alcohol). My last UTI was only about a year ago, I presented my symptoms: blasphemous statements during urination (I’m so sorry baby Jesus). I knew the drill. I just wanted those magic pills to make my bladder rejoice.

Imagine my surprise when the doctor returned with the diagnosis (duh) and began patient education. She went on to actually tell me to wipe “front to back”. I wanted to stop her right there with, “What the fuck yo? You serious right now? Shut your mouth! What am I? Stupid?!” Here I am, at the time 27 years old, being told to wipe my poopsie correctly. She did the correct application underhanded wiping motion, I remember vividly.

The motion was mortifying and I could take no more. I had to interrupt and say “I know, thank you.” I’m sorry lady, I know this is your profession, and I know you’re probably required…but you’re embarrassing me. I suppose next thing she’ll tell me this is a bad idea…

“Call that Japanese guy, tell him it’s a no go, doc says something about unsanitary conditions and Hep A. We can still visit Threedog though…”

I suppose stupidity is common enough that it’s really necessary to tell an adult something like this. Probably Nickelback fans…yeah I didn’t factor in that variable. My bad.

S.A.D. Makes me Sad

My most emo days are snow days

I hate winter. I hate it more than almost everything, except maybe Nancy Grace talking about her kids and kids on leashes. If our seasons had an asshole, winter would be the physical manifestation of one. Personifying winter only antagonizes my hate because it gives it focus. With one obvious reason to hate winter, (it’s fucking cold) I happen to have many, many reasons for such disdain. I hate winter so much I am about to get specific and this is only a morsel off the buffet of reasons winter sucks.

My Son Takes Twice as Long to Get in the Car

You want to take your own car kid?Didn’t think so.

It never fails that while I hold open the door, that he’s still a little too small to properly open and shut, he cannot just make a straight line to the car. He actually stops to pick things off the ground, points at nothing in the sky, or suddenly realizes the earth is a beautiful place full of fantasy and wonder. In my mind I am screaming, “I will leave you here like Kevin McCallister if you don’t come on!” and yet I say, “Come on sweetie, we need to go.” I say this with patience…twice. It seems the cold effects his hearing as well, because he walks slower. I reach panic mode when the wind whips around me and I instantly want to give God a big warm hug in heaven. I then say, “Kid, you got to move your body faster, like much faster, now. If you love humanity you’ll get in this car.” Puzzled, he gets in the vehicle. How he is impervious to the deadly cold (albeit 40 degree) weather, I don’t know. I just saw a tunnel of white light and heard “Candle In the Wind” playing.

Warming Up the Vehicle

Quitting time = blatant disregard for all life even my own…

I have always been a fan of key, ignition, gas, and go. I hate having to let my car warm up. For starters, I forget and it makes me late, quite often. I walk outside and and for shit’s sake!!! There’s frost all over the window. This will put me ten minutes behind, meaning my coffee stop allotment is…18 seconds. Trust, I love coffee, ain’t no mountain high enough, ain’t no river wide enough…etc, etc. My last job was probably the worst job I’ve had to date. When I got off work there, I couldn’t vacate the premises fast enough or with enough middle fingers in the air as I peeled out. No joke I would Tokyo drift out that bitch it was so miserable there. We weren’t allowed to go to our car to warm it up before leaving, so you can imagine how unhappy I was about the whole situation. I could either start my car up and wait in the deepest level of Dante’s hell, or I could go back inside that fortress of doom and wait for my car to warm up (which to me would be like a POW hanging out an extra day with his captors upon gaining freedom) or leave with a cold engine. Well, I chose speed away with teeth chattering, my engine may suffer but better that than stifling my loosely veiled disgust for all the turdburglers working in there. I can only be professional for eight hours, after hours it’s beyond my control.  I no longer work there, coincidentally, I don’t pray for a 40 day flood to get me out of work anymore either.

Starbucks Makes Itself Suck More as a Corporation Hell Bent on my Unhappiness.

Dean got hit in the face with a ham? That’s what this picture is. How did I miss that?

I don’t really even go to Starbucks until winter, why then? Well I’ll tell you, keep your pants on.  Cafe Mocha, it’s got enough sugar and chocolate to make Paula Dean swoon ya’ll, and add butter…and well she’s getting the vapors for this drink. Considering I have the cold tolerance of any nursing home resident, this is a favorite warm treat. I hold it’s hot goodness in my hands, and can feel blood circulating in my marbled fingers again. I smell the chocolaty aroma and my heart is human. I drink, and I feel a satiating warmth that only a redneck in a bed full of Bloodhounds and cousins could feel on such a chilly day. Guess who seems to not have their chocolate syrup when yours truly stops by? Starbucks. Guess who never has one element of any drink and bad customer service in addition to poor inventory management? The Starbucks in my local bookstore (bastards). I found some local shops that have some yummy things, but I can’t help that the Cafe Mocha specifically, from this evil corporate chain, completes me.

If you buy the box set…you’re surely the dumbest person ever. The show is an eternal flame.

There are many reasons to hate winter. Christmas music that starts in October and driving in the snow. Perhaps it’s being inside so much you realize that Law and Order is on a 25 (yep) hour rotation, it never goes off…the sun rises and sets with that show as if it’s the British Empire in the days of yore. Seasonal Affective Disorder is the worst, amazing how sunlight weighs so heavily on my mood. Suck it winter. One day I’ll defeat you.

Death > Kids Bop

I know I used to be a kid, but even as a younger me I didn’t always mesh with other children. I preferred the company of adults. So, naturally as I got older, I’m no Dugger at heart. My standard tolerance of children is limited in capacity, like, 1.5 children per day. Yeah that’s the calculation I came up with, don’t argue it’s a series of complicated mathematical theorems and it’s SMART.

Don’t get it twisted, I care about children and I do love them. I am outraged by any harmful acts on a child. I love their innocence and honesty. However, some kids, are so annoying I want to improvise a home sterilization kit that will render my eggs more useless than a Beanie Baby collection.

Here are the type of kids that I find most offensive, trust their parents are to blame for letting these things happen:

1. Real life Garbage Pail Kids

We all know that children’s hands are a reservoir for infectious disease and all things yuck. My son’s hands retain a slimy, and sticky texture after several vigorous hand washing attempts. My car windows are petri dishes for bacterial growth studies. Some kids, however, are really filthy. Particularly snot nosed, booger eaters. Never mind their cooties, they are one sneeze away from a mucous eruption. There is nothing worse than a kid who wants to engage in play with a nose full of nuggets. I absently pick a dangler or two from my son’s nose so as not to let it get to this level of gross. I can’t help but think “Bloody hell the wee bugger is going to breathe too hard and a booger is going to catapult itself onto me. What will I do then? I’m going to scream, how will I stifle it?” I watched one kid pick a booger off the floor once and eat it, double whammy disgusting. Who the hell did that kid belong to?

2. Kid Scientists

Know-it-all adults have know-it-all kids that are annoying. These adults and kids alike seem to lack mature knowledge that’s more applicable to daily life.  I have never had an intelligent debate with even a kid, much less, one convince me I’m wrong due to compelling argument. Hey kid, no adult gauges intelligence by knowledge of dinosaurs, mummies and Cartoon Network characters. Newsflash, “Nuh uh!” is not a definitive argument settler. If this kid can tell me how to achieve a high yield investment on my IRA, I might care. Otherwise, I’m steady looking for his mother, who should teach her kid that it’s rude to be an elitist turd and that no one is nice to nerds until they’re rich adults. Don’t get it Screeched and run away potential friends with an overly hostile stance on the exact era of the Byzantine Empire.

3. Evil Children

Evil Children scare me more than evil adults, always. First of all, I have an innate sense to nurture and be kind to kiddos (even gross know-it-alls). When they are evil they fuck up my sensibilities. Thanks to Pet Semetary, far away toddler laughter sounds sinister to me, especially if it echos. I mean, what’s more scary than a really strong little kid that can easily hide under furniture and in closets? You can’t outwit evil children like you could a normal kid. They don’t care if Santa won’t bring them gifts because they would murder him too. Evil kids also derive more joy from being evil. They’re always laughing, as if matricide is hysterical in nature.

4. “Indigo Children”

So…this kid can travel to the world of my 3rd grade Trapper Keeper? Yep!

This is separate from kids that have legitimate behavior issues: A term created to describe, well, kids that act like turds. Meaning they have parents that allow them to feel a “strong sense of entitlement”. To which my father would have said, “Hey, I’m the big cheese, you’re the little cheese, I run things here.” I knew my place. Also a “resistance to rigid, control-based paradigms of authority” meaning, they get to do what they want far too much. I’m sorry mom, but your brat is not more special than my kid, he probably has behavioral issues brought on by lack of discipline, not a paranormal ability or intuition. So while he may be destined for greatness (like playing the John Edward guessing game), he still needs to put Play-doh back in it’s container before it dries up. Time for time out, trust, it’s a good thing. Kids aren’t usually intuitive as much as egocentric, so do you really think they make sound decisions for themselves? So they live with us for eighteen years for what? Yeah, I didn’t think so. A boundary here and there isn’t going to stifle anything other than that child becoming an adult jerk.

I’m not saying I got this parenting thing down but I do try to teach my kid to be socially aware of someone besides himself. I don’t know for sure if myself and him are lumped in the annoying category…probably. BUT we are not guilty of the above violations, at least. *shrug*

Aerobicidal Tendencies

I workout. I workout to maintain a semblance of physical fitness. I’d lie if I said it was all about health, wellness and endurance. I’m vain, and I don’t want my butt to jiggle in leggings. Which, by the way, I love leggings. I bought a pair of leopard print ones that channel my inner Peg Bundy. They’re pretty awesome.

Style. Class. For the win.

I did a post about driving and an example of random thoughts I have on any given commute. Well, this is a post about random thoughts that I have before, during and post workout. Here goes:

I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go. I’ll have one more cup of coffee and then I’m ready. Ugh, I think my muscle is kind of pulled. This coffee is delicious. Perhaps one more rest day won’t hurt? No, no, I have a high school reunion coming up.

When the fuck is science going to make us bionic? I for one cannot wait.

It’s off to the gym and the dreaded parking lot. Why in bloody hell do you insist on trying to park as close as possible to the front door when you are going to exercise? Oh my God, you do not have to run me over to get the space.

“You’re good on this side.”

I’m inside, now I have to swipe this membership card of me, the one that looks almost as bad as my driver’s license.

“You sound like a sexy cheeseburger”

I’m ready, let’s do this

I like to stretch in inappropriate overtly sexual ways, but it’s because I need my hamstrings to loosen, not for attention

Inevitably, the female in me starts to look around at other women working out so I can self loathe some more by making irrational comparisons…..

Fuck You

Fuck You

You’re Cool

The View is apparently the only thing on TV for the first four hours of the day, damn you “Baba Wawa”.

Why does this show seem four hours long?

Perhaps some music? I forgot to charge my iPod, and my headphones appear to have been tied in knots by boy scouts. Audible sigh of frustration.

I need to know that I’m too sexy today: sad face.

What the hell are these hens clucking about? It’s like an hour of who can talk over who the loudest about menopause.

“Vaginas and stuff, cluck cluck cluck”

There are treadmills in Catholic hell ( their version of hell seems pretty shitty). I’m sure of it, reserved for the most wicked of souls.

“No one at my gym will simulate the Ok Go video with me, something lame about injuries and my being a stranger.”

I’m finally done, I hurt everywhere, I’m covered in sweat, and I stink. I’m gonna look like a stone cold fox in my leopard print leggings.

I have lofty goals in life and need a date to the Golden Corral with these bad boys.

I’m getting dressed in the locker room, and some of these women refuse to put clothing on. They complete their entire morning routine naked, as if they were home. I mean it’s cool, whatever, but bending over to blow dry your hair…not flattering ma’am. Now then, I imagine the men’s locker room looks like this:

Satisfied with these mental images and my extensive knowledge of menfolk, I leave. I feel accomplished and powerful, like an extreme couponer. I will start the madness over again tomorrow. Good day.