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Apr 9

Can someone please explain Christians to me?

Posted on Tuesday, April 9, 2013 in Legitimate concerns

I would really love to have the opportunity to talk with a Christian and ask them honest questions about why they believe the things they do, without the conversation ending with everyone involved leaving pissed. In every attempt of having a conversation with a Christian (even with really nice, smart, true Christians), I’ve only ever encountered two things: being on the wrong end of a high-pressure sales pitch or upsetting the said Christian with my honest-to-God-honest questions. I’d like to ask some of them how they can call themselves Christians, yet not help the needy, and love everyone unconditionally. Isn’t that one of the big components of Christianity? How can a Christian be a Republican? Those are two conflicting ways of thinking, technically, yet they seem to go hand in hand so easily. I have a lot of questions that I would like answered, but can’t find someone knowledgeable enough to have an intelligent conversation without the drama of them being offended that I really don’t know about it and would like to know. I don’t know what’s wrong or right, and I certainly don’t want to be preached to.

A few years ago, I reconnected with an old high school friend, who is a perfect example of why I am so perplexed. This friend had always been high-drama, selfish, self-centered. And according to her, when we reconnected, she had “found God” and acknowledged her personal flaws and had made a conscious effort to change them (and succeeded–apparently it isn’t a lifelong struggle to be worthy of God’s love, you just have to say some magic words, or tell a few people that you’ve been reborn or something). But I didn’t see any sign of this actually being true. In high school, she used people, lied to them, treated those who cared about her awfully and was pushy and constantly judgmental. You know, the kinds of friend you feel pressured to lie to, because you simply cant’t stand the judging glare, which looking back now, I realize was just envy and fear. She expected the world to drop what they were doing when she needed them, but didn’t stop to think how others were doing and how they could use help. She threw actual tantrums when things weren’t going exactly as planned. Now, as an adult, and a born again Christian she is divorced once, with two kids from two different fathers, she hides her car from the repo man, sleeps with any man who looks at her twice, obsesses over men–to the point of stacking her whole worth on whether a man will have sex with her or not. She gives her children cough syrup and leaves them in the basement that she is currently living in, alone and drugged. She’s had two DUI’s that she was lucky didn’t kill her or worse, her children or someone else. And she still doesn’t ask about me, my life, how things are going. Instead, she assumes that things are awful and that I need to be “saved”. I only ever saw her less than a handful of times, after realizing that she was the same toxic person she’d always been, only worse. Each time, I heard the same schtick about how God saved her, and loves her, and how I need God in my life to “make things better” (? Yeah, things haven’t been perfect, but I don’t abuse my friends and drug my kids and I feel pretty good about the direction life is going for me). On the surface, I did notice some changes. She smiled constantly. Even when people normally wouldn’t (Like when someone is telling you to go fuck yourself, I personally wouldn’t be smiling), she’d paste this transparent smile on her lips and a glazed over expression in her eyes. She would go out of her way to say glowing things about the mass church she was attending, always recruiting. Always. She said she felt that it was her duty to become an Evangelist for her church, whatever that means (because, as I mentioned above–I really am not sure what that means….I would guess it means someone who is akin to a spokesperson or recruiting officer for the church, but I don’t really know). She even went so far as to stalk me at the hotel I was staying at, dragging me to what was basically a rip-off of Hooters, and giving me a wrapped copy of a book that was basically “Christianity and God for Dummies”.

On the inside, she was the same hateful, spiteful, toxic person she’d always been and I suspect she always will be. It really grates my nerves that she thinks she is superior to me because she goes to church every Sunday and pretends to be this good person, but doesn’t actually bring any good into the world. I was not raised in a particular religion and no one in my family, for at least three generations, has been strongly religious, so my experience is understandably limited. But I do know what it means to be a good friend, a good parent, a good daughter, granddaughter, a good person in general. I don’t lie to people, I try not to hurt people needlessly, I work hard, I don’t expect the world to bend to my will, I don’t put myself above all others at all times, and I certainly don’t parade around behind some pretense that I am a better person because I go to church.

I need to make a distinction here, for any Christians that may just stumble upon this random personal anonymous blog: I don’t not hate Christians, nor do I judge them for believing as they do. I merely have questions I’d like to ask, so that I can better understand their point of view. Maybe the reason fear surfaces so much in these conversations is that they don’t have the answers either? Or maybe they aren’t sure enough in their faith to stand firmly by it and explain it to someone who is completely without religious experience or knowledge.

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.

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.

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.

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 8

Kim & Scott’s poop in your local freezer section!

Posted on Tuesday, December 8, 2009 in Bitch slap of the day

pretzel_005583_tnsMy husband and I recently returned from our Thanksgiving travels via Midway in Chicago. We arrived at the airport a bit early–early enough for me to get a good strong drink and for us have a semi-lunch/snack. I settled into the bar stool in a bright little eatery where they served alcohol and pizza slices, etc. They also served pretzels. If you could call them that. I was feeling admittedly agitated, not looking forward to the flight, and so my poor husband was just not going to do anything right, no matter how hard he tried. He asked me if I wanted a pretzel. I’m thinking, NYC street vendor pretzel. Or Aunt Anne’s Pretzels maybe. Yeah, that actually sounds like a great idea. He comes back and hands me what essentially appears & smells to be warm poop in a bag. The “Pizza Pretzel” by Kim & Scott’s Gourmet Pretzels. It comes in an oven safe “earth friendly” brown bag. So this pizza pretzel not only looks completely unappetizing, when you actually pull it out of the bag, it smells of wet cardboard. Yum? Speaking of cardboard–I know that whole wheat is good for you, and I do believe that whole wheat has its place in my diet. We eat whole wheat bread & pasta and it’s damn good, too. But whole wheat pretzels? Nah. NO THANKS. If it wasn’t bad enough already, they then stuffed it with cheap nasty cheese and just really gross, paste-like marinara sauce–neither of which re-heat very well in an airport kitchen. Needless to say, I was greatly disappointed in my warm poop in a bag.  We decided to actually throw it away, because it was just terrible. I then made the mistake of asking my husband to get me a “plain” pretzel, thinking that it might be better than the pizza pretzel. It wasn’t. I took pity on my husband, who was, after all, just trying to make me happy, and choked it down. I watched another couple choke theirs down, aided by gallons of mustard. (yeah, mustard….!) This pretzel business did not help my agitation one bit. I vowed right then and there to write a blog about these “gourmet” pretzels.

Tonight, I hopped online and did a quick overview of their website–I already had my opinion of their product and don’t care much to read other people’s opinions (because I know for a fact that if you call something gourmet and healthy, trust-funded hippies will buy it weekly), but I wanted to see what people who made this shit look like, and how they became so seriously misguided.

I was pleasantly surprised to read that while their pretzels are simply awful, the company is actually doing some good for the planet. In honor of Earth Day, they plant a tree for every order placed in the month of April. Kudos to them for being earth conscious. Still, in my opinion, they would be better planting more trees and ditch the pretzel-making.

tlc_cartoon3I guess my point is, if you see these pretzels in your local grocery store freezer, save your money and plant a tree.

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!