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Mar 31

Back, and stronger than ever.

Posted on Saturday, March 31, 2012 in That's the spot.

overloaded-car

We're moving cross country like these guys (with bigger cars and less turbans), but with the help from Earl.

We’re moving across country in 7 weeks, and I the hubs and I can’t wait! I have enjoyed living close to some of my family and my husband’s family, but it’s time to just go do what’s right for us regardless of the opinions our moms, dads, sisters, brothers and friends might have about it. Hasta la vista dry desert wind and dust. We’re going to the ocean to dip our feet in the saltwater and sand. To read books in the sun and listen to seagulls. To meet like-minded people who shower and take care of themselves (and aren’t judgmental!). To listen to rain and thunderstorms and enjoy all of the benefits of living seaside for a while. I believe it will suit us better than living in the West ever did. We are both ready to leave behind a lot of memories that just weigh us down–whether it be personal, family-related drama, lost loved ones….. Neither of us is perfect and we’ve both made mistakes that have set our relationship back in a lot of ways, but we’re making huge progress towards becoming the people we each want to be individually and as a united couple.

Making bad decisions is easy. Not just easy, but almost preferable. Being a good person, and a good husband or wife, is a lot of work. When my husband and I said “I Do” we had no idea what that meant and even if we really “did”. But, taking all romance and attraction out of it, we are a good team. We’re friends. We are learning each other and letting each other be who we are. It feels good to know that even though we are human and will make mistakes and there will be stumbles and hard times, we’ll deal with these problems as a team. It took one ugly ex-girlfriend, a whole lotta of lies, tears, fights and counseling to get on the path we’re on, but now that we’re on it there’s no stopping this train.

I know that I am a strong individual, and whatever happens, I’ll come out on top–in whatever way that was intended for me. Don’t misunderstand me–I love the life I’m living now. But if tomorrow it all falls apart, I know that I can take my dog, get in my car, and start new and there’s a whole world of adventure out there. I’m a bright, capable young lady who doesn’t need to worry about making it because it will just happen.

Jul 16

Dumping a load

Posted on Saturday, July 16, 2011 in arbitrary nonsense

Some things that are currently vexing me:

  • Sirens in songs that play on the fucking radio.. hello, that’s just stupid, if it scares the shit out of me, just think what it could do to an old person who already doesn’t remember that they’re driving a car
  • Assholes on the bike path who think they own the path. I’d like to spit in one woman’s hair in particular, just for being a stupid bitch–biking is great fun and a wonderful way to get exercise, but man, bicyclists as a group are comprised of some of the douchiest douche bags to ever walk the planet
  • Women who mess around with married men.  I don’t care if you dated him before he got married–it obviously didn’t work out for a reason, so move the fuck on with your life already.  I sincerely hope you can find someone to love your damaged, rotten face before you I move you along myself
  • Friends who didn’t remember my birthday.  Ok, I’ll make a mental note to cross you off of MY birthday list for next year
  • Our $400 water bill…WTF?  We must be filling someone’s swimming pool, daily
  • my neighbor’s dog who won’t shut the fuck up
  • teenaged girls who act like sluts–don’t they realize that they are still children and should cash in on that while they still can?
  • dog hair, endless dog hair
  • I really wish someone would wire Michelle Bachmann’s trap shut, and maybe forget to feed & water her for awhile
  • Men who say “pussy”, grow the fuck up already — if you were getting some, you wouldn’t take about it like that with your loser-ass friends
  • Men over 55 who say “pussy” on the radio, yeah, Jay Thomas, I’m talking to you
  • Christians who act like they are perfect and all forgiving, but then act like total bitches the second they don’t get their way, or encounter someone who doesn’t agree with their jesus crap.  This in particular is annoying to me because I have an ex-friend who hides behind religion to make people believe that she is a decent human being, but the truth is, she is the worst of the worst and I hope she gets what she deserves someday, I really do. I hope when she dies and goes to heaven, she gets turned away at the gates. In other words, burn in hell, bitch.

Boredom is killing me these days, if you couldn’t tell. But I’m feeling much better now.

Jun 25

Jennifer Aniston: Is it just me?

Posted on Saturday, June 25, 2011 in Legitimate concerns

I just wish I could catch a man!

I am funny, I am! I am!

In what could possibly turn out to be Nosebean’s shortest post, can I just say that I hate Jennifer Aniston?  I don’t understand where her popularity stems from.  She can’t act and she’s dog ugly. She has pretty hair….but that’s about it.  As far as I’m concerned, she’s an aging, washed-up television actress, who has only lasted in the media for as long as she has because she was once married to Brad Pitt (and even though he’s a weird dog, at least he can act).  I really wish she would just meet a guy and disappear, but given her string of failed relationships, it doesn’t seem likely. You see, when you snatch a guy from someone else, that means he’s “snatchable” and can only end in heartbreak and desertion.

One can only hope that in 10-15 years, we aren’t watching her play grandma roles. Jennifer Aniston, gets two thumbs down from me, sorry honey.

Jun 2

What Facebook is NOT…

Posted on Thursday, June 2, 2011 in Legitimate concerns

The time has come.  There is now a need for what I call Facebook Etiquette, so listen up, assholes.facebook

Facebook is….

  • NOT a place to embarrass yourselves and your elementary school teachers by displaying your pitiful spelling and grammar skills
  • NOT a place to advertise “your goodies”, aka, photos of your tits, ass or your muffin-top
  • NOT a place to post wedding photos of a wedding you attended, BEFORE either the bride or groom does
  • NOT a place to constantly bitch about your life and the people in it
  • NOT a place to make other people feel like crap
  • NOT a place to force Jesus down others’ throats, not everyone wants a daily dose of “God Wants You To Know”. Hard to believe, I know.
  • NOT a place for parents and children to be friends with each other or each others’ friends, it’s just weird and the potential for invasion of privacy is just too great, and there’s just no easy way to explain to your friends why your 14 year-old daughter is posting inappropriate photos of herself and her boyfriend in compromising positions at your home (actually, your friends may already suspect that you’re an awful parent, this just confirms it)
  • NOT a place to dispense parenting advice (there are lots of parenting forums, so visit and contribute there)
  • NOT the place to ‘LIKE’ anything and everything your friends post, instead of actually involving yourself in maintaining the friendship by inquiring about their lives (this one will be hard because more than likely, you believe that everyone on your friends list is waiting anxiously for an update on your love life)

exclamation-mark-150x150And most important, if you can’t follow ANY of the above rules, try to at least follow the next rule: Facebook is NOT a place to inform family members or close dear friends of a death in the family or death of a beloved pet PERIOD–not EVER is this ok. It’s shocking and horrible to learn of a loved ones’ death, and to read it on Facebook is an absolute insult on top of the pain and grief.  If you can’t take 30 seconds to send an email or better yet, call KNOW THIS:  you are useless and everyone privately hates you.

Dec 19

Since when do I have nothing in common with a 21 year old?

Posted on Sunday, December 19, 2010 in Legitimate concerns

Crikey. On Thanksgiving, my brother informed myself and various other family members that he got his girlfriend pregnant. Shocking, no? Ok, let me phrase it this way: On Thanksgiving, my 33 year-old brother informed myself and various other family members that he got his 21 year-old girlfriend that none of us have ever met in the whole 3 months they’ve been together pregnant. And that they were going to get married. To quote my brother, “She’s the one” (To quote my mother, “Look at a 21 year-old for too long, and she’ll end up pregnant”). Naturally, I’m excited and jealous, both, simultaneously. Excited because I never thought the day would come when my brother would have to grow up and be a man. Having a wife and kids was only mentioned in the same sentence as my brother’s name when jokes were being made. This was exciting. I was going to be an auntie! Nice. Jealous because I want to have a baby. My husband and I have been trying for awhile now, with no success. The jealousy quickly passed, and gave way to only extreme elated-ness, just as it should be. I started thinking of my brother being a daddy. How very wonderful.

Fast forward to now, present day. It’s a week before Christmas. My brother and his fiance have been married since Thursday (as in a few days ago Thursday). His now wife, lost the baby two days before that. It’s been a hell of a lot of ups and downs in this past week and I’ll admit there have been quite a few tears (for losing the baby, and not being able to attend my big brother’s wedding). But that’s behind us now, everyone seems settled, happy, and ready to celebrate Christmas. I’m now faced with the challenge of purchasing a Christmas gift for my sister-in-law, whom I’ve never laid eyes on or even spoken to. In fact, only yesterday did I see a photo of her for the first time (the wedding portraits, of course). Not only am I purchasing a gift for someone I’ve never met, but I’m attempting to buy a present for someone who was not that long ago a teenager. Again, I exclaim “Crikey!”. Thinking smart, I ask my brother what his wife might like. He says she needs a sweater. Something to keep her warm. And she likes pink. Ok, this I can do–no problem. Yesterday, while shopping, I have the foresight to snap a picture of the sweater I had planned on purchasing and sending it to my brother, asking for his approval. That was a big fat negative, I believe his words were “She would never wear that.” I had picked out a pretty reddish/pink long sweater with big buttons and a belt. I imagined it would look great on her, knowing what I knew of her physical appearance. Strike 1. I pick out a heather gray cowl-neck sweater, snap another shot, and send it off. Strike 2. Ok, a pinker-than-pink ribbed sweater, plain, but pretty. Stttteeeeerriiiike 3, you’re outta here. At this point, I make the call. “Brother, where does she shop?”, I ask. His reply was shocking and inconceivable to me: “Um, she really likes Pac Sun and some store with the number 21 in the name….I mean….she’s a kid…..well, not a kid…but you know what I mean….”. Yeah. I knew what he meant. Screw it, I had my husband pick up a $50.00 gift certificate to Pac Sun while I waited in the car and drove around until he came out because we couldn’t find a parking spot. I have to laugh, because upon his return to the car, he says “Those aren’t our people, honey”. No shit. I felt kind of bad that I was now so old that I couldn’t relate to a 21 year-old well enough to know that “duh, Pac Sun is THE place to get clothes”. So old that I had written Pac Sun off as a silly store for teenagers, filled to the brim with sunglasses and ugly shirts. I’m 30. That’s not really that old. And I guess I have to honest that never in my life would I have ever considered buying any of my daily attire at a store like Pac Sun or Rue 21. The problem I have with my sister-in-law shopping at these stores is not that they are her preference and she likes them, that’s her style–that’s fine. It’s that her shopping at these stores mean that not only do we currently not have anything in common–we NEVER would have, not even when I was 21, because when I was 21, I still was never THAT young. I’ll hold off on assuming too much before I ever even meet her in the flesh, but this situation does make me a little nervous.

I am happy, though. For the both of them. I hope they have a nice long life together, I hope they have lots of babies, and laughter and happiness.  And I can’t wait to meet her!

Sep 1

I’m pretty sure…

Posted on Wednesday, September 1, 2010 in That's the spot.

After a quick glance at the analytics for this blog last night (analytics is so very cool, it lets me know when people are looking at my site, and from almost exactly where), I’m fairly certain that the female accomplice to my husband’s successful attempts to stomp my heart to a standstill emailed me yesterday, politely posing as someone else, asking me to remove her name from my blog. While, at first, being a trusting human being who is working hard everyday to rediscover my faith in the human race’s ability to be good, do good, I not only removed the name, but all blogs associated with the whole mess assuming I had unknowingly slandered someone else’s innocent name. I then apologized in an email to this person. I didn’t even bother with the analytics, until speaking with my husband, who insisted that it had to be her, and that he wanted to write her a nasty email (yeah, go figure that one out–like he has ANY room to sling curse words at anyone, other than his own reflection in the mirror) because after lengthy (and expensive) counseling both together and separately, we’ve really made some progress towards healing (notice I said ‘towards’–not that we’d arrived at healing–because we haven’t) and now, in his words “this cunt-whore bitch appears to rip shit up again”. Ok. True, I could have done without the reminder of how shitty our first year of marriage was (moving, leaving my fulfilling job to be a thumb twiddlin’ housewife, a violent death that left a pretty big hole in the family and the devastating healing process that follows that, going to twice-a-week counseling to get my anxiety and insecurity under control so that my already lying husband wouldn’t take it the next step further and physically cheat on me….and then this). I also could have done without his CHOICE to hide things from me. I could have used a man with balls who hasn’t been brow-beaten by his mother and a long string of loser girlfriends who seemed to believe that their sole purpose in their relationship with him was to make him feel like shit. Ok, he’s knock-kneed…yeah…but…he’s tall and wraps his arms completely around me and makes me feel hugged from the inside out. Ok, he chews with his mouth open–so does my brother, dad, male friends…any dude with a dong, basically. He’s also brilliant–he can read anything and then do it. He has an amazing ability to sense when I am frustrated and lend a hand. He lies. To himself most of all and to others, to protect himself from rejection and conflict. No reason to make him feel like shit about the things that make him who he is and the things he’s dealing with at this point in his life. And it sucks now that we two damaged people managed to meet, fall in love, get married with the hopes of being happy only to discover that we’ve both been severely handicapped by the people who have been inflicted upon us thus far. But, all that being said: He fucked up. It was him. This girl owes/owed me no loyalty, we were not friends, certainly not married. So after laying awake for a few minutes last night, thinking about the situation as it is now, and I guess you could say I ain’t mad at her. She was just doing what she does–she did what she wanted to do with what she was presented with. Maybe she needed a little ego-stroking like he did. No need for the name-calling. I have called her a few things myself–but the disappointment lies squarely on my husband and believe me, he’s been called every name I can conceivably think of–to his face. It is true that she knew that he was married, and based on the fact that he was using a fake name for his email, being the smart cookie that she is, had to have known he was hiding her (and another “Friend”) from me, and at least the other friend had the decency to back off and stay out of it. So, yeah, she could have taken the high road, but the fact that she didn’t doesn’t surprise me. Lots of people think marriage is a joke or temporary.  I don’t happen to be one of them, but it’s really not my place to judge those who do.

It may be hard to believe, but this situation is just one in a long line of disappointments that have sprung from our relationship dating back to the very beginning of our time, and it’s kinda really the least troubling. We both have some serious scars to work through, and as far as I know, we are doing that now. I hope it works out. Either way, I’ll come out on top. I’m smart, capable, have a fantastic family to fall back on whenever I need them, and good friends who support me without judging me, or judging my husband through all of his mistakes. My husband is weak, but everyone is weak at some point or another to varying degrees. And having stood by his side through a lot worse shit than this, I guess I can stick around a little longer to see where we end up.

I am a little confused though, why she pretended to be someone else..had she emailed and said “Please take my name off your blog, you whiny bitch” I would have done the same thing, partially because I need to move past that time, and partially because I understand where she’s coming from, sortof, and partially because she said ‘please’. It would have been nice to at least be leveled with. I follow the “own your shit” camp, but it’s definitely not for everyone.

Jul 11

I still hate Twilight and I’m not sorry.

Posted on Sunday, July 11, 2010 in Someone please pay me to bitch.

So I recently turned 30 years old, and in honor of my birthday (or so I thought at the time), a friend I haven’t seen in many years whom I’d reconnected with on Facebook, flew out from Chicago to visit. I had been really looking forward to her visit, as I have not made many new friends yet in our new town and was feeling lonely and unable to be with family, this visit appeared to be, on the surface, a real treat. My husband was excited that I was excited and we were both really looking forward to her company, me because I needed a female friend, he because he needed me to get the fuck out of his face for five minutes. As the day of her arrival approached, I made various plans about what we would do, what it would be like, etc…basically setting my expectations maybe slightly higher than they should have been, based on the simple fact that I hadn’t seen this woman for over 8 years. I worked hard at cleaning the house and creating a nice atmosphere for my dear old high school buddy. I even bought her a little gift that I had been eyeing with her in mind, wrapped it nicely and wrote out a little note of appreciation of her visit.

The big day arrives. Her flight doesn’t arrive until 9pm, so I have all day to be excited and anxious. At no time in that whole day did I rethink over the past 16 years of knowing her–all of the times she let me down, walked all over me, demanded things of me that no friend has any right to demand of family, let alone a friend, treated me and others around us like expendable characters in her never-ending, completely self-involved “All Melissa, all of the time” show in her mind. Come to think of it now, I am comfortable saying that I hated the bitch. I hated the bitch so much that when I flew back to Chicago to shoot one of our mutual friend’s wedding, I avoided her like the plague and immediately lost the phone number she passed to me through a guest at the wedding via my boyfriend (who is now my husband). I hated that bitch so much that even though I’d heard that she’d been divorced and had two kids and had plenty of life-changing experiences, I had no interest in reigniting our friendship. Not once did I think any of this (had I, I might have just told my husband to turn the car around, let’s save our time and money, honey!).

My husband drops me at the arrivals gate, so I can run in and find Melissa, while he loops the parking areas so we don’t have to pay for parking–(hey, airport parking is a total bitch and complete waste of time under all circumstances). I walk through the doors to see my friend, waving frantically, moving at me at a slow shuffle run. Words like “I’ve missed you so much! I can’t believe I’m here” were aplenty. O.K. so far, so good. We go to look for her bag that is just coming off the conveyor belt, and before I know it, I’ve been snapped into a horrible photo opp of her and I–me in my pajama’s practically, not really at all prepared for photos–and before I know it, it’s been announced to the whole world via Facebook that she and I have reunited and that I now look like an middle-aged lady with horrible (or no) style, a tired face and, as was so eloquently pointed out to me in a repeated & louder than hell fashion–I, gasp!, have GRAY HAIR. Forget about the fact that the whole baggage claim area is going to need chiropractic assistance after craning to see my shout-worthy GRAY HAIR, forget that one of the worst pictures in existence is now floating around on the world wide web….it’s great, right? It’s fine! This is a wonderful reunion that I couldn’t wait for…..right.

My husband swoops in as we exit the airport, and I am relieved to just be near him again—NORMALCY…someone safe, someone who denies my gray hairs, no matter how many times I point them out in every type of light possible…anyways, needless to say, the meeting of these two worlds, the world of my past and the world of my future, did not go so well…

As we head toward the airport exit, my husband and I try to make awkward conversation with someone who has their nose completely buried in their cellphone–texting someone–anyone. I felt like the square parents with their nasty teenaged sourpuss of a kid in the backseat. This incessant texting was to become a pattern throughout the trip. It became such a huge annoyance to my husband that he started texting me anytime she was texting other people so that we could talk to each other and ignore her back (no, we’re not in 5th grade anymore, but it sure does feel like it…!). She would go into a texting coma several times over the next couple of hours and days. I can only imagine the texts were a mixture of “OMG, LMFAO, she has gray hair!”, “OMG LMFAO, I’m in New Mexico!”,” OMG LMFAO, I miss you so much, I can’t wait to get home, LOL, TTYL,”….OMG, LMFAO, I’m pathetic!” Ok, so that last one would never cross her mind, let alone fly out of her fingers onto her keypad, but hey, whatever, it’s my story, so it stays.

We get home, I tried to point out a couple of times where she might find the Sandia Mountains, and various landmarks along the way..all answered by some variation of the words “uh huh, hmmm and ok”. (At this point, my hopes have fallen quite a bit, and I’m contemplating throwing her phone out the window on I-25) When we get home, my husband sets off blowing up her inflatable mattress while I try to talk with her about what the week will bring and how much we have to catch up on…everyone is pretty tired by this point, so we all dress in our pjs, my husband takes off to read for a bit in bed before sleep, assuming that she and I would want to stay up and talk a bit before bed. I’ll admit that I kinda thought this too. At some point while I’m taking care of the dogs, making her bed and getting ready for bed, she gets on the phone. I sit in the chair near her and wait for her to get off, assuming that this would be a short call. I waited, and waited… I soon realized that this was not a “I made it, I’m safe, I’m tired, talk to you later” call, it was an “OMG, he DID NOT say that! OMG, tell me more…tell me what you were wearing, what you said, and then tell me what he said..and then tell me what anyone else you told this story to said…OMG!” conversation. I’m not kidding you. All the while I’m sitting there yawning, twiddling my thumbs like a dumb ass. At some point during this conversation, I got up and went into the bedroom, for what I’m not sure. My husband assumed that since I’d been gone so long, we’d had our initial catching up chat and I was coming in to go to bed. Not so. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to go to bed, but didn’t want to be rude (no, going to bed without saying good night to this thoughtless bitch would have been too rude for me), but I didn’t know how much longer I could stay awake and I was pretty sure my impulse to punch her in the face couldn’t be held off much longer either. Finally, after an ETERNITY, she reluctantly gets off the phone. She then begins to tell me this long drawn out story involving she, him, them, who-ever-the-hell-else-who-cared-to-be-involved. At this point I assumed she was telling me the unbelievably crazy story she’d just spent 35 minutes or so listening to in order to explain her blunt rudeness. Nope. When I asked if her friend was calm enough to go to bed and get some rest, she said “oh, this happened last week–that was someone else on the phone.” What the hell? I went to bed just shaking my head. Duh.

I'm pretty sure this is her "I'm peeing in the pool" face.

I'm pretty sure this is her "I'm peeing in the pool" face.

The next day was my birthday, and I had decided before getting out of bed that I would start this day fresh. Let bygones be bygones…except for the fact that what was to come next was a nonstop cellphone party for this friend and all of her friends (you know the ones she sees all of the fucking time when she’s not over a thousand miles away visiting a new place and an old friend..) What kills me is that at one point, because it was my birthday, I was responding to a birthday text from a friend, and she was in the middle of telling me a long story about how this guy or that guy likes her but won’t date her, and she’s like “um, am I interrupting you?” Bitch, please! Mind you, this is her second day, and it dawns on me that I’d been wishing she would go home since about 9:30 the night before. My husband was very sweet and made sure that despite this rude cow’s presence, I had a nice birthday. And despite that rude cow, I did. It was a pool party, like when I was kid, with balloons and pizza and presents. The whole sha-bang. Thanks, honey!

Let’s see, since I realize now that I am kind of rampaging and not getting to my point, I’ll try to hit the highlights:

  • We paid for a great many of her meals without her offering to chip in (my husband wanted to hit her)
  • She told endless stories about the guy who is the love of her life, the guy she’s in love with (because somehow the two are different), the guy she has a crush on and the guy she has no feelings for but answers his booty call when he breaks up with his girlfriends
  • She made a few more comments meant to be direct blows at my self-esteem, as if turning 30 hadn’t left me feeling fragile enough
  • She went on and on about how there are tons and tons of guys in love with her, but none of them would date her because she’s too good for them (right!)
  • I was so desperate to figure out how to entertain her (a glob of human flesh with no interests outside of FB and texting) that I suggested we go see…(I cringe…) Twilight, knowing that she was a ridiculously huge fan. As was expected, the movies was crap, and all of the people who were there to see it were morons, and I am only sort of glad that I now know that I was speaking correctly in my last blog about how stupid this Twilight stuff is. Literally the movie was over and I was wondering why there was no climax to this movie and why everyone around me was crying or sniffling or some combination of the two
  • She continued to post awful pictures of me on FB and send them to her friends which is just not cool
  • She picked her zits until they bled and then later turned to bruises, then presumably rubbed her nasty face & hands all over the sheets and comforter and anything else she touched
  • She left her clothes around everywhere, never made her bed (which just happens to be in the middle of the living room) and left empty coffee cups on the table, literally feet from the trash can
  • She spouted on and on about how she’s now an evangelist about Jesus, OMG, I just love Jesus.
  • She helped herself to anything and everything in our cupboards–in constant forage mode, much like a locust
  • She squatted on my computer so much that my husband got into the routine of actually cutting off the internet to my computer so she could no longer surf Facebook and PlentyofFish.com (a website devoted to connecting skinny dudes who like fat chicks with fat chicks who like skinny dudes, apparently)

When it was finally time to discuss what time she needed to be at the airport to return home, she suggested 2 hours beforehand, and before she could even finish getting the words out, my husband says without looking at me “That sounds good!”….lol, poor guy, he’s been very understanding. I let the fact slide that being at our particular airport two hours early is silly because they are very efficient and security is quick no matter the time of day. Needless to say, I was as eager as he to be done with this ordeal. The night before she was to leave, my husband and I are lying in bed, playing on our iPads, relaxing, just praying for the morning to come soon so we can be rid of her awfulness, I’m feeling mistakenly confident that the situation can’t get worse and that the worst has passed. I then hear the doomed, and in hindsight, dreaded ‘ding’ notification that I have a text message. Confused at who would be sending me a text this late, I go to look at the message. It’s from her. The message says (mind you I am quoting word for word, hence the horrifying grammar and spelling) “hope u dont care but im lookn at the hood pics…FUCKN AWESOME! why r u not doing this for a living???” Upon reading this, I’m a little confused because no one has seen these photos, the bride, my friend, hasn’t posted them on FB, and I haven’t posted them anywhere either. The only place she could have possibly seen them is….on….my….computer….. Surely she didn’t. Surely she didn’t get on my computer without asking. Surely she didn’t start looking through my personal files….surely. Right? I text back nervously “Where are you seeing these?” She responds “on your computer duh… i check my fb and saw “hood wedding” i was like oh…good.” I’m panicked at this point because I feel totally and completely violated. The wedding file was on my desktop….OOOOOoooohhh shit. This bitch has the nerve to treat me like shit all week, eat on our dime all week, basically toot her own horn all week and act like she’d rather be in our shitty ass hometown from whence she came all week???? Oh hell no. My husband became alerted to my panic and starts angrily getting out of bed as I finish stuttering out what horrible deed she has just committed, presumably to go knock the living shit out of this ungrateful bitch. I stopped him, telling him not to go, knowing I had to do something, feeling for the second time during her visit that I’m not sure what to do, but know that something must be done, but I don’t want to be the one to do it…blaaaarg….dammit you nosy worthless human being! I felt completely powerless and, well, for lack of a better word, little. I just wanted it all to go away. This was, to me, the ultimate betrayal, you really can’t go back on that one. I don’t really remember what I said as I entered the office to put an end to this bullshit, but she got the message, very clearly. She was up and out of my chair like a flash. Nighty-night, shitstick.

I’m not sure where we stand now, and to be honest, I wouldn’t care to ever see or hear from her again. After dropping her at the airport and enduring the chilly goodbye, we threw a mini party in the car on the way  home, just happy to be free of her non-stop “Aren’t-I-Great” party. It’s exhausting, really. We get home and head up the stairs feeling utterly liberated. As I begin the clean up after her destructive departing, I notice that the gift I thoughtfully chose for her was in the very place she left it after tossing it aside thoughtlessly the night I gave it to her. Even knowing what I now knew, about what a thoroughly nasty person she is, I was sad and a little offended. She also left behind a pair of shorts and a pair of holey underwear. What sweet memories I have of those parachute panties when my husband accidentally picked them up, not even thinking that anyone would lay their dirty unmentionables out on the patio for just anyone to see, assuming it was a swimsuit since everything else out there was swimming apparel of some sort. I’ve never seen him move so fast to drop the panties and run to the sink, just in case a communicable disease lingered. This is pure class, for sure. In the guest bathroom, I found all of the towels in a ball on the floor (because at our hotel, that is our policy apparently) and in the trash dangling precariously on the edge, ready to topple out at any moment, was a USED MAXI PAD, not wrapped in kleenex or even somewhat concealed in any fashion. Apparently even her used maxi pads are gifts to be honored and cherished. It’s being dipped in gold as we speak.

Jun 27

T’why’light

Posted on Sunday, June 27, 2010 in Someone please pay me to bitch.

Let me begin by admitting that I am somewhat of a news junkie. I have my favorite sites that I visit every morning and every night and sometimes several times in between. Lately, my concern is growing over the fact that EVERY SINGLE DAY, on news.google.com there is a new “news” story about Twilight, its fans, its characters, its plot, or if not one of those coma-inducing topics, it’s about the actors themselves and the stupid things they say, do or think. I have to wonder if there is any mystery left about this latest movie coming out (it may be out already as I write this…but I wouldn’t know because I don’t give a hoot). Granted, I understand that this article invariably falls into the “Entertainment” section, where it does belong, but, this is more than just covering the opening of a new Summer smash. This is like beating a dead horse a week after the vultures have had a go at its rotting corpse. Article after article after yet another article about these movies, their actors and any of that nonsense is NOT NEWS. No one cares that Robert Pattinson cut his hair. No one cares that one of the other actors in the movie won’t show his abs unless it’s “really important”…I can’t tell you how many times flashing my abs saved someone’s life. Sheesh. I swear to god, if the actors themselves would allow it, I think some of these journalists would set them all up on heart moniters and other various medical systems meant to moniter one’s health activities, they would do it in a heartbeat, and we’d be seeing stories like “Robert Pattinson’s Heart Rate Stays Stable Overnight”, and then all of the Twilight fans could breathe a sigh of relief and sheer joy that most likely, Mr. Pattinson will (unfortunately or otherwise) live to make another Twilight craptastically stupid sequel. The other thing that bugs me is that these actors are deemed “smoking hot”, not because they actually have ONE OUNCE of attractiveness, but because they have billions of dollars of marketing funds fueling the appearance of their ugly, scowling faces on every screen or surface in the world, in effect convincing the stupid masses that they are indeed attractive in some way–and yes, I’m talkingtwilight trees about Kristen Stewarts’ often superior smirk on her unsmiling and just darn PLAIN face). I really can’t say whether or not the Twilight books are any good, I’ve not read them (too busy reading the instructions on how to grow strawberries on my apartment patio)–I’m sure they are entertaining to a certain demographic and certainly any reading is better than no reading at all, but this hype over the movies is straight up ridiculous, and I’m not afraid to say that (I’m no fool, I stocked up on garlic and bathed in holy water this morning). I don’t remember there being news updates about Harry Potter or its actors, etc, every single minute (I can just imagine headlines like “Daniel Radcliffe’s Adam’s Apple Causes Traffic Jam” or “Emma Watts’ First Pop Album To Hit Stores In January”). I think my favorite headline that I’ve seen, only just this week, is (drum roll please…..) “Is Robert Pattinson a Real Vampire?”. Well. Of bloody course he is! Can somebody PLEASE enlighten me to the greatness and importance of these people and their stupid movie? Can someone make a detailed argument to me about why these movies and every move the actors who are in them make, are such a newsworthy topic? (Cue the crickets, please sir!!!)

I’d like to see a face off: Twilight v. True Blood (a t.v. show apparently all about vampires and werewolves as well, another thing I haven’t dumped my valuable time into watching…why would I when there are ample seasons of Murder, She Wrote available on Netflix Instantwatch???). More interesting, quite possibly, would be a face off between the fans of each, although I’m pretty sure that they would end up to be one in the same, because after all, vampires and any subject matter even remotely related to vampires is just irrefutably cool. Anybody who’s anyone knows that!

May 31

My disgust is overflowing

Posted on Monday, May 31, 2010 in Bitch slap of the day

Recently, there’s been a new slut on the Hollywood scene, and it’s got me gagging on my Grapenuts. No, it’s not that trash bin Heidi what’s-her-face, or any of those distinctly classy women with current “accidental” sex tapes circulating the internet. No, it’s 17 year old Hannah Montana, AKA Miley Cyrus, AKA underage streetwalker. There’s been a lot of talk in the media about

And she's supposed to be 17. This makes my skin crawl.

Oh, gross.

how “grown up” she’s been looking lately. Yeah, any teenager can look 10 years older if you get a professional to cake enough makeup on their face and dress them in a slutty getup that no teenager has any business wearing–not even for Halloween. I’m not sure what her hurry is to appear grown up, when she clearly has the maturity level of a 12 year old, based on some of her recent comments in the media. Why does her father stand for this? Could it be that he is immune to the wrongness of it because he too has been in the spotlight for too long? Or maybe he allows it because his career is washed up and he’s living through his daughter. Either way, it’s despicable and gross. Any man who looks at Miley Cyrus and thinks “damn, she is hot” (because let’s face it, that’s the whole point of this gross display of ridiculousness isn’t it? To gain adoration and fans to get the sales on her records that her talent just clearly doesn’t support?) If ever there was a “product” of the pop industry, Miley is IT. It’s sad too, because from what I understand, she was a role model for young girls for many years as a child actress. Not true anymore—I would be appalled as a parent to find out that the girl my daughter had been idolizing turned into a cheap media whore.

My prediction for this “new” Miley: She’ll wind up either a drug addict/alcoholic (maybe both), in an abusive relationship (maybe she’ll be the abuser), an arrest record of some sort, probably a DUI and some version of a “sex tape”. It’s just gross the kinds of things the media reduces people to. A young, bright-eyed starlet, turned into a JOKE. In all fairness, she didn’t have much of a chance. Making a transition from child star to serious actor or singer is hard, as we all know. I think the smart thing for her to have done would have been to enjoy her Hannah Montana success, dumped the proceeds into the bank and gone to college. At least she’d come out of college having learned something. At the very least, she’d have something to fall back on when this all goes “poof”. Nah, splashing inappropriate images of herself all over T.V., the internet and silver screen is more fun and way more lucrative. And hey, ANY publicity is better than NO publicity, right?

Dec 9

10 things I hate about you, {city name here}

Posted on Wednesday, December 9, 2009 in Legitimate concerns

I know I’ve mentioned in past posts about the lovely town I live in, and how much I sincerely loathe, I mean love, the people who generally populate this area. I’ve decided to vent, once and for all. I’m going to dump it all out there and then move on, or rather, move away! My husband and I are praying to be able to move away from this rat’s nest within the next 6-8 months to somewhere in the Southeastern region of the country.

Let’s jump right in with the list, shall we?

  • This town is up to its neck in trustafarians. By trustafarians, I am lovingly referring to the surplus population of 30- something hippies who live off of their daddy’s trust fund. Trustafarians can usually be found attending yoga in the middle of the afternoon, taking their 6 month old babies to dance class, sipping lattes in expensive but gross coffee shops or talking in a rather animated fashion on their cellphones while they cart their superstar soccer playing kids to and fro.  They preach buying local, being green, hugging trees, etc. When they are finished spewing from their judgmental soapbox, they hop into their Escalades, Yukons, or Land Rovers and drive to their $600,000+ homes with million dollar views, send their household staff home to their apartments or rented rooms on the outskirts of town or further, which is the only place household help can afford to live on the measly salaries they are given, crawl into their lush king-sized beds in Martha Stewart decorated bedrooms. What the CHRIST do these people know about, well, anything?
  • Hippies. These are tricky in my town, because, well, as I’ve always understood it–hippies are loving people, they love everyone, man. They accept you for what you are and they embrace you. Hippies have also been commonly known to stink to high heaven, smoke a lot of pot, and hang out in parks, loving everything…right? This is only partially true in my town. The word “hippie” in my town, might as well be short for hypocrite. Yes, they stink–oh good lord do they stink. And yes, they smoke pot, in inordinate amounts. But when it comes to the hierarchy of judgmental fucks, they are at the very tippy top. I have never felt so judged, in my entire life, for being the type of person who showers, grooms themselves and cares to do a good job at work. If you’ve read my blog, you know I can tend to be a bit judgmental at 4times…I am but a simple kitten in comparison to these people. I might be wrong but I’m pretty confident that disliking someone because they aren’t just like you is the exact opposite definition of the word “hippie”. Oh, and white guys with dreads in my town? No way!! Just on every other block. Good thing there are hardly any african americans in this town, right? Actually, I miss experiencing diversity, because there sure as hell isn’t any here.
  • Real estate. Is a joke. People who work here can’t live here. Well, now, that’s not entirely accurate. People who work here are welcome to rent a room in someone’s house, or rent a nasty apartment for $1300, no students/pets/smokers/poor people. To be clear, I’m saying, people who work here can’t own real estate here. Affordable real estate is $250,000. In other words, affordable real estate is a laugh-out-loud joke. And let’s not forget what comes along with real estate: Real Estate Brokers. Ick. Even typing the words makes me shiver in disgust. Pushy, slimy, glorified sales people is what they are. As I used to be in the real estate “biz” I’ve been over-exposed to these sale-sy type people and if I never meet another one ever again, I’ll live a happy, satisfied life.
  • Skiers. You would not believe the amount of press the ski resort here gets. People praising this or bitching about that. I am so unbelievably tired of hearing about when the resort will open for the season, or people’s complaints that the resort is a shit hole, but that the renovations are taking too long and are making the resort seem like it’s bigger or more important than it is (or ever could be). Make up your fucking minds. As far as I’m concerned, this is not more important news than, oh, say, the tragic death of a great wife and mother. My suggestion to skiers: Take a ski lift to the top of the highest ski run and stay there, because chances are, we won’t meet there anytime in my lifetime, which will be more than soon enough for me. Oh, and let’s not forget snowboarders. The quicker they injure themselves off of the slopes, the better off everyone else is, and not just those on the mountain. They make them so young now. 8 year old snowboarders, whizzing by as you cross your fingers and hope not to die on a green run.
  • Bicyclists. I’ve posted about this previously. Recently there was an article in our paper about a guy who got so fed up with the bicyclists in our area that he had started intentionally trying to run them off of the road with his pick up truck. Hoooooo-fucking-ray. Kudos to him for finally doing what we’ve all wanted (dreamed of, imagined vividly in our daily daydreams) to do at least once a week (oh, come ON–you know you have!), more often for me. Bicyclists in this town are the rudest, most easily hated segment of our population. Share the road–no, share my foot up your ass. What really bothers me about these “people” is that we have plenty of nice places to safely ride your bike and these shit sticks feel the need to ride in the middle of the lane on the busiest, most dangerous streets in the area. Sadly, you rarely hear of a bicyclist being taught a good lesson. You’re probably thinking: It’s December, soon they’ll be off the roads. But no. The thing of it is, these bastards ride come rain or shine, sleet or snow. The below-freezing days of December, January, February, and March mean nothing to them, except MORE LAYERS. Blegh. I hate hate hate bicyclists.
  • SNOW. Seeing as we just got two feet of it, and my husband and I are now aching from head to toe from heaving snow from here to there, it’s safe to say that I hate snow. And we get a lot of it here. Since I don’t ski anymore, and I don’t particularly like sliding around in my car on the roads, I could do without it entirely. On top of the hassle the snow itself presents, this town is chock-full of powder heads. A steady stream of assholes in their stupid subaru outbacks, sliding and skidding 25 miles up the mountain to get in on the fresh “pow pow” as I have heard it so eloquently put, drinking way too too much at the resort bar and then drunk driving 25 miles home in the dark. Sure, put us all at risk, we don’t mind, as long as you had some killer runs, dude. Why not hit a few elk because you can’t see straight or control your motor functions? Why can’t more skiers get lost on the mountain? Ok, I don’t really mean that..but it would be nice if for some reason, all of the snow melted and everyone had to go home and stay there.

This pretty much concludes the worst things about this town. It certainly is not meant to be an exhaustive list, but it hits all of the major things that I hate, so that’s good enough for me!