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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.

Sep 23

Toot it & boot it by YG lyrics

Posted on Thursday, September 23, 2010 in Legitimate concerns

yg

Why would anyone want to sleep with this presumed woman-hater? Come on, ladies, get some self respect!

Any woman who likes this song should be tried for treason and be forced to walk the plank straight into the icy waters of the Bering Sea. Let’s take a looky here, shall we? (please note, I copy & pasted this nonsense, so I can’t take credit for the typos, unfortunately)

(chorus)
I met her in the club
then I said wassup    (this alone would get me hot and ready from the get-go, of course, just like any woman, but it gets better, oh so better)
I took her to the crib
and you know I fucked
yea toot it and boot it  (WTF? Since when is ‘toot’ another word for sex? I thought only small children and older women referred to their farts like this..?)
toot it and boot it
toot it and boot it
thats why I toot and boot it (What is why you toot it and boot it? I didn’t see a reason in there…because you asked her a rhetorical question?)

(x2)
She think im cute, she wanna have Sex (cute? not really…  stuipd? Hell yes)
girl knock it off you know you cant have this (Oh, but she will…)

(Verse)
and she told me run that, i told her run it
and she never seen a chick until she met my magic stick (Magic? Not likely, more like infested filthy and probably limp dick.)
yo im a pimp bitch straight game never no sippin (what, now pimps can’t sip?)
And after we did it she was walking with a limp
bust it open leave it wet you know i leave it soakin (at least this makes sense, good job YG. Your 2 years of high school really paid off here.)
who next I don’t ever close, I stay open (oh, so that’s what a manwhore looks like–like YG)
i met her in the club, you know i was drunk
i asked her name and then i said i wanna fuck (this all sounds just so terribly romantic)
and im YG and you know I fucked (Yourself, later, after you puked on  yourself and maybe your dog, too)
and she fucked back like a little slut
and she fell in love ya
and she felt stupid cuz you know (so this is where it obviously surpasses just ok lyric writing..this shit is shooting for the stars, and almost reaching them)
i toot it and boot it

(Verse2)
girl let me toot that boot that stop actin stupid
acting like you dont know me like who that (Unfortunately, YG, until you have your own Wikipedia page, you don’t exist.)
walked in the club but ill fly things
im in the back girl you know where to find me
and I love how she think im cute
and she dont even wanna tell me what she wanna do
its me and my crew her and her friends
and they all trying to leave with us when the club ends
and she toot it from the back and you know she made it clap (this visual could be considered offensive if it wasn’t so goddamn funny to think of.)
and you know I run it back like (like what, YG? **Sigh**)
only for one night and she know im on like a switch on light
hey girl I can have you feelin right
I can supply the pipe (more like a pipecleaner–you know, the fuzzy wire things you make crafts with in the 1st grade?)
just make sure its tight
we can do it all day only for one night (this sounds like a daily special…)
and after that you gotta go (oh, man, if I was stupid enough to fall for all of this, I would want to forget it as soon as possible)

(Verse3)
i toot it to the left i toot it to the right (you put your left foot in, you put your left foot out….that’s how it goes, right?)
fuck with me we gonna do it all night (wow, how lucky can one girl get?)
i seen a bad bitch i swing my hat back (‘I seen’ a loser who would probably be homeless if today’s music industry wasn’t so morally bankrupt)
and after i hit its on my back
cuz i toot it and boot it
and made her feel stupid (wow, how terribly modern this admission is…)

One would think that all of these intellectual lyrics couldn’t be further improved upon, but their sloppy, lazy, slurred delivery by YG really cream my corn. Oh yeah, baby.

The next time I have the flu, I’m going to puke into a freezer bag and mail it to YG.

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!

Feb 2

It’s shit, that’s what it is.

Posted on Tuesday, February 2, 2010 in Legitimate concerns

I'm mad.

I'm mad.

A little over a year ago, I designed and built a website for a friend, at a deeply discounted rate. I charged a measly $300, for something I should have charged over $1,000. Not only this, but I designed brochures, printed them, and helped this selfish bitch hang them around town. Additionally, I made several changes and updates throughout this last year. FOR FREE. I did it all because I knew that the business she was advertising was something she really wanted and would be good at, because she was my friend. On top of all of the free advertising I did for her, I asked her about her business, on a regular basis, genuinely interested in her success and funny, albeit stupid stories about clients.

Over a year later, she’s paid me half of what she owes me, and it’s looking like we won’t see the other half any time soon. To be a little more specific, after doing the math, she has paid me $11/month. That’s cheaper than cable! Cheaper than Netflix. Cheaper than the pot and liquor her boyfriend buys on a weekly (maybe daily) basis! What a selfish user she is. Ugh, she makes me so mad- I can’t wait until she is a nearly forgotten memory!

Dec 7

The richest asshole in my town.

Posted on Monday, December 7, 2009 in Someone please pay me to bitch.

My husband and I went to dinner, on a date, to watch our favorite football team. We have this place that we go, they serve the best chicken wings in the state of Colorado. Our plan was to grab a table with a T.V. and watch the game, have some tasty wings and drinks and just relax.

We arrived at the restaurant and seated ourselves at a table next to a huge T.V. and asked the waitress to change the channel to the game we were looking for. My husband ordered a margarita for me, so at this point, all is going really well. As soon as I made the mistake of making this assumption, a short, pug-nosed lady with a wreck of a haircut shows up with a little girl who appears unable to stop neck dancing. For those of you who may not be familiar, neck dancing is where you bob your head and shift your shoulders in the opposite direction of your head in some form of a rhythm–think of an uncontrollable seizure. Anyways, these two characters show up and begin pushing two tables together, basically right in front of the T.V. Now, this is not the problem, not really. The T.V. is up high and so obstruction is not what I was worried about.

Shortly after this occurs, more of the brood shows up. More kids, and not sweet, well-behaved kids. Hell no. Snot-nosed tween-aged boys with bad haircuts, ugly hoodies and bad attitudes. They also happened to be rooting for the team opposing ours. But that’s not the worst of it. I’d recognized the portly man who came to join his unfortunate-looking wife and kids. He is the brother of one of the biggest douche bags in this whole county, maybe even in the whole state of Colorado, who happens to also be one of the richest guys in town–thanks to his Daddy. So, there’s one more seat left at the table. I’m eying this seat, wondering who it could be–not even imagining that it could possibly be who it turned out to be.

So, a quick recap, we’re now seated next to a table of rowdy, wretched looking people, who are cheering against our team, with one seat open at their increasingly disgusting table. I see him from the doorway. Nasty red hair, beady molesting eyes, a laughable attempt at a scraggly red mustache, topped off with a leather coat and a pedophile’s swagger. My heart sinks as I make the connection. Of course, he takes his seat at the table right next to ours. Appetite is at zero by this point. My whole attitude has taken a dive, and I’m feeling something akin to rage at the entire wreck of a family. It doesn’t help that every time our team messes up, they cheer. Two margaritas in and I’m imagining rolling over more than one of their heads with my car tire.

My husband seems concerned at this point, not knowing just how much I hate this guy. Reasonably worried that I’m going to let these people (if you prefer to call them people instead of pigs) ruin our evening. I explain the reason for my sheer hatred, which includes the way he eyes me at the gym, the way he always tries to talk to me like we’re friends–but with a definite note of condescension, like it should be my honor to be speaking to him while he sweats all over the eliptical. Oh, and let’s not forget how he stops by my office, acting like god’s gift to men and women alike. He owns the building my office was in and for some reason he thinks this makes him welcome in our office and in my life. First off, the building is a slum. The ceiling leaks whenever it rains, there are big mildew spots on all of the ceiling tiles, the carpet is moldy and worn throughout. Not to mention, he seemed to specifically hire only sex offenders to maintain the building. Secondly, the building is home to maybe two successful businesses, everything else comes and goes. If he thinks that owning this property makes him anything but a slum lord, he’s made a serious mistake.

I wish all kinds of bad things on him, and feel terribly sorry for his children, who have no choice but to be raised from little shits to full-grown assholes. I feel pity for his pudgy wife because I know he spends his time eying anyone but her. And, apparently, he’s supposed to be a good example of what a Morman should be. Ha!

Finally, the brood left and I couldn’t have been more happy. My spirits instantly lifted and suddenly, even the fact that our team was losing at this point couldn’t sully that. Even our service from our waitress improved, once she wasn’t busy kissing their asses. I don’t know how many times she refilled their iced teas without even glancing at my husband’s empty glass and melting ice.

In the end, our team didn’t win. But, I did walk away from that restaurant with a bounce in my step, thankful to be reminded that we are not them, and no matter how hard we tried, could never even come close!

Jun 5

Peterisms

Posted on Friday, June 5, 2009 in Someone please pay me to bitch.

“Uh, that’s just not going to hold. I wouldn’t recommend that. It’s just got to get done. Uhhh, it shouldn’t take long. Not much longer now. You might as well put the t.v. there, that’s where it’s always been, that’s where it always will be. Um, yeah, that sounds great.” Just a sneak peek into the inner-workings of Peter’s mind.

We’ve been cursed un-beer-ievablewith a chatty DIY landlord who lives 3 doors down. Our house is his pet project, his escape from his girlfriend and her visiting family. If it’s not one thing, it’s definitely another. We’ve not had a Peter-free day since we moved in. We’re quickly approaching a karate chop to Peter’s face kind of situation. My fiance doesn’t seem to mind it, which of course makes me even more insane! He’ll stand out in the driveway, holding a bag of potatoes, talking about lord only knows what, while I’m inside (waiting for previously mentioned bag of potatoes to start dinner with) pacing back and forth, planning voodoo curses on Peter and Peter’s children, and Peter’s children’s children. I guard my privacy with a fierceness, and I won’t apologize for it.

Today, Peter said he wouldn’t come by tomorrow if we were home–we’ll see if he can resist. I see him creep by, driving 2 mph, speed up, then break, trying to fight the urge to pull into our driveway. Peter might go missing deep in the moutain woods if I don’t get one day sans Peter! Hiiiii – yah!

Apr 2

Ye-AAH, kanka.

Posted on Thursday, April 2, 2009 in Someone please pay me to bitch.

Let us just skip the introduction here. New blog, blah blah blah. <Insert statement about how my life is boring and you don’t have to read this if you don’t want to…> bah!

I am a young female living in a pretentious area in Colorado, somewhere in the lower left-hand corner of the state and that’s just about all you need to know about me for the time being.

Today, I came to the conclusion (as I have on many other days), that people are rotten. Example: My boss, typically works 1-2 weeks out of the month (the other two are spent on various vacations or skiing/snowboarding–yay for her, right?). This is fine because she employs me. She pays me a measly salary which makes her feel like leaving me to handle everything alone is A-ok. I am the sort of person who convincingly “enjoys” eating shit all day, so this arrangement “works” for the time being. I am also a competent person who finds worth in doing things competently, correctly and relatively quickly (aka, no job too big or fucking-off-the-moon ridiculous for me!!) so she feels confident in her absence extending well beyond a month at a time (did I mention I work in a commission-based career…you may guess where this is headed). All of this would be A-ok with me if it weren’t for two small details (damn us type-a personalities and our details): 1. I do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT get paid proportionately for the amount of work (and ass-covering) that I do in a day, hell in an hour. 2. It never fails that when she IS in the office, she whines (in her whiniest voice) that she hates having to come home from vacation and go right back to work. In my opinion (coming from a person who hasn’t had a week vacation since last April, and then it was just a week), she should shut the fuck up and be happy that she gets to go on vacation every other week. You didn’t make the silly assumption, did you, that these are somehow “working” vacations? I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt that you did not. So, you’re probably asking yourself how she stays in business, right? I have also asked this question, and the only answer I can manage to find is: me. Not knowing all of the circumstances, this might sound conceited, and maybe it is. But I know that I do a damn good job, I keep shit in line and make sure her ass and everyone else’s ass who works in our office doesn’t wind up in court. I can’t really describe what it is that I do, because knowing my luck, some shitstick from my office will find this blog and well then it’s all over, isn’t it? Anonymity is key my dear friends!

So, the even that leads me to truly believe that people are rotten is as follows: My boss just came back from a weekend camping with her worthless husband (literally, and this is being kind I think) and too-smart-for-her kids….last weekend, which included the Friday before. In the meantime, between Monday and now, my immune system has taken a dump all over my life, I have canker sores, a cold, I haven’t been thinking clearly on and off, am having some sort of reproductive problems apparently (we’ll know more tomorrow), and I sneezed on Tuesday and threw my back out. I have been appearing every day for work, to sit at my desk with a fucking heating pad cemented to my ass. Do you think that any of these events would stop her from taking the other nimrod in my office and going on a 5-day, no cell-phone signal rafting trip? (I should also mention that the “nimrod” I am referring to also just returned from a skiing weekend in Utah, two weekends ago, BOO!) Hell no! Don’t get me wrong, I received plenty of sympathy looks and useless remarks of the “I’m sorry” nature, but come twelve o’clock, those broads are long gone.

This is the result of letting the world use you as a stepping stone to get somewhere else.