RSS Feed
Nov 16

The Aftermath of tap

Posted on Monday, November 16, 2009 in Someone please pay me to bitch.

I’ll admit it, the couple times I did attend tap class, I had a good time. Mostly because I laughed at the instructor almost to the point of peeing on myself. But that’s over now. For a couple of solid reasons:

  • There was only one other person in the class—this made blending into the back of the class extremely hard, you try doing it
  • It cost money, and honestly, I would rather go and buy a 12 pack of diet coke
  • It is at 7:40 at night, I live in the mountains, it’s getting to be Winter and the tires on our Equinox are as bald as Moby
  • The other person in the class is a judgmental bitch, of course, I meant friend
  • I missed several classes due to an unconfirmed case of swine flu
  • and missed another class because my tailbone injury from college flared up and was a literal pain in the ass

Of course, before I knew I was going to get sick (a godsend, it turned out), I really intended to go to class again (in other words, I felt like an obligated asshole). Even so, we never got around to ordering tap shoes. Which may have made the class a little more worthwhile. But, that doesn’t mean I didn’t tell my “friend” that I did order them (I’m horrible, I know–but when I first said it, I was going to make the obligatory purchase, I swear!). So, friend thinks I orangerdered them. Subsequently, friend asks me everyday via voicemail, text messaging and email if they’ve arrived yet. “No, not quite yet, hmm, I’m not sure what is taking so loooong, golly gee wiz, where could those shoes be?” Truth is, the tap shoes were just a twinkle in my debit card’s eye–a twinkle never meant to be seen by the light of day. Truth is, like I said, I’d rather have a diet coke. Really. I’m SUCH a shit, I so so am.

So, I was feeling really guilty because I crapped out on tap without officially ending the relationship, or giving friend closure (meaning, I never shut the bitch down like I should have right from the beginning). But thanks to some really nifty work I’ve been doing in group therapy, I’m learning that I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to and I’m not responsible for other people’s actions or reactions. Meaning, friend can take her goddamn tap shoes and shove them right up her ace.

Jun 14

It’s bullshit, that’s what it is.

Posted on Sunday, June 14, 2009 in Legitimate concerns

Why is it that men can stare, ogle, and cat call women ALL DAY LONG, yet no one ever thinks any less of them–it’s chalked up to “that’s just men”…but women who do that are considered unclassy and gross?? I haven’t noticed that many women, especially women who are happily involved with someone, do this anyways. I don’t even consider men like that–really ever. But, why do men have this universal pass? Why do women put up with it? Men and women are equally responsible and equally capable of being aware of their actions. My fiance, who has been caught doing this on SEVERAL occasions, insists that he doesn’t recall doing it. and it’s not a conscious thing, and he derives “absolutely NO pleasure” from watching that girl with the bouncing tits walk by (puh-lease, don’t insult me). Sometimes I almost believe him that he can’t remember doing it–but he definitely does it, pretty much every day. Being an insecure woman doesn’t help this situation. So obviously, the reason I’m blogging about this is that yesterday we had an incident, where he was most obviously checking a girl out, I pointed it out to him, and he just kept doing it, in the process looking right through me to see this girls boobies jiggle around in her slutty shirt. After I heartily cussed him out for being such an obvious dirtbag, (right in front of me!) I met up with my mom, who told me “oh honey, don’t get caught up in caring about that, that’s just what men do….”……??WTF? Since when is that ok? Since when did women stop demanding respect from their life partners–the men who supposedly want to livethosearesomeboobs their lives with, have babies with, grow old with….? She might be married to, and happy to be married to, the world’s biggest sexist asshole, but I don’t want to be. I will not settle for that. Now, don’t get me wrong here–I KNOW that things happen, I KNOW that glances will be made, and when there is an obviously attractive woman, she might get my man’s attention for a second, but it should never be such a blatantly disgusting, tongue-wagging, eyes popping out of head situation. Maybe I’m asking too much, maybe men are incapable of controlling this seemingly unstoppable need to look at every woman’s tits, but I think it’s NOT asking too much, especially from my own soon-to-be-husband-in-two-weeks-for-god’s-sake! Maybe I’ll try an experiment, where I will drool over men’s muscles and six-packs so my fiance knows how it feels. I don’t think it would feel good. In fact, I propose a “give your man a reality check” WEEK-long event which includes all of the ogling and drooling over hot guys right in front of them, and maybe reduced listening skills, oh, and during this week, women will NOT have to do a lick of housework..and if you’re really into it, you can pee on the toilet seat and surrounding floor….This would be worth it for a dishless day alone! I’m not a man-hater, because I love my fiance, and love most everything about him– but I’m definitely a hater of things men do, get away with and believe they have the right to get away with. No more! I agree that my pointing his ogling out to him will cause fights and tension, but it causes ME tension and stress to watch him do it, so FUCK THAT SHIT. I am not a follower of the belief that you have to play a game and be “careful” when dealing with men–they aren’t careful with us, and I think they can handle it and it’s about time that they become the “manly men” that they all think they are and own up to their bullshit ways and deal with the ladies calling them on it!

Jun 4

Dear job, YOU’RE FIRED!

Posted on Thursday, June 4, 2009 in That's the spot.

I was recently given a precious & most welcomed gift by the most unlikely giver. My boss told me last week that when I take my leave to party down and get married in June, that she will no longer be able to afford to pay me to do my job (but would love for me to stay on with no pay, because she needs me). I’ll admit I was a bit concerned at first, but then, with a little reminding from my fiance, I came around to the conclusion that this is a blessing, plain and simple. I hate my job. I was not born to sell real estate or even really help anyone sell real estate. I don’t care about real estate at all, unless it involves me buying it! Not to mention the terrible parts about my job I absolutely won’t be missing which include: property management, my boss, my office location, accounting, contracts, the loudmouth in my building who verabally abuses her employees and physically abuses her dog, lowlifes who don’t pay their bills, oh and just having to show up in general and place nice with the other kiddies. I’m thinking that this news is, after all, most definitely good news. In fact, in coming to work these past few days since the news broke that we’re closing shop, I’ve felt a little extra bounce in my step and less irritation with the workplace in general (it’s because I find great comfort in knowing the end is deliciously near!). Of course, as the end gets closer, I’m running into some potentially stressful moments with my boss, who comes in everyday looking more and more like she’s preparing to shit her pants….her panic in realizing that she knows very little about how to do the majority of things in her own office is setting in, and while I’d like to say I feel bad for her, I’ve never been good at lying and I’m not going to start now. Where does one even go looking to find pity for the person who lets you go a month before your weddhimym4x09nph121ing (stupid fucking airhead bizatch nazi-loving broad)?  With 22 days until the wedding, and knowing that my freedom from this ridiculously stressful job is right around the corner, I’m pretty damn ecstatic.

In other (apparently old but completely unheard of to me) news, NPH is gay. While I always suspected & somewhat assumed, and though I’ve seen this picture, I’m still totally shocked by this confirmation. Is anyone else?

May 12

Kelly Clarkson (oh yeah, I went there)

Posted on Tuesday, May 12, 2009 in Bitch slap of the day, Legitimate concerns

kelly-clarkson-nomakeupI’m more than comfortable to admit the following statement: I hate Kelly Clarkson. More specifically, I hate Kelly Clarkson’s shout-singing music, since I don’t personally know Kelly Clarkson. And to specifically nail what I would call the low point of her musical career we have her latest song “My Life Would Suck Without You”. What. The. Fuck? Ok, so I’m giving some of you the benefit of the doubt that you have no idea what song this is, so I’m going to include some of the lyrics. I won’t go as far as to stream the actual song, mainly because I wouldn’t inflict that on anyone. Here goes:
Guess this means you’re sorry
Your standing at my door
Guess this means you take back all you said before

Like how much you wanted
Anyone but me
Said you’d never come back kelly-clarkson-coffee-bean
but here you are again

Cause we belong together now, yeah
Forever united here somehow, yeah
You got a piece of me,and honestly
My life would suck without you

Maybe I was stupid
For telling you goodbye
Maybe I was wrong for trying to pick a fight
I know that I got issues
But you’re pretty messed up too
Either way I found out
I’m nothing without you

Cause we belong together now, yeah
Forever united here somehow, yeah
You got a piece of me,and honestly
My life would suck without you

Being with you is so dysfunctional
I really shouldn’t miss you
But I can’t let you go, yeah

Cause we belong together now,yeah kelly-clarkson-fail
Forever united here somehow, yeah
You got a piece of me,and honestly
My life would suck without you

Cause we belong together now, yeah
Forever united here somehow, yeah
You got a piece of me,and honestly
My life would suck without you!

(I love that whoever it was who typed these lyrics ended the last chorus with an exclamation point–yes, I’m happy it’s over too! yay!)
Also, as proof that there’s always someone ready to eat any shit you play enough, here are some comments I found while doing research for this blog on a Kelly Clarkson webpage:

(7)

Apr 27, 2009 at 05:48 PM

I Luv dis song!(•_•)
It’s 1of ma fave Kelly songs! (I simply have no comment)

(4)

Apr 27, 2009 at 03:02 AM

yeah!!!this song is so pwerful and kelly ruleeezzzz….. (spell check please?)

(12)

Apr 10, 2009 at 12:33 AM

this song is one of the best songs on earth!!!!
awesome!!!! (One of the best songs on the earth? I say take every copy of this song and bury it 3 miles deep into the earth, then we’ll be ok)

(3)

Apr 08, 2009 at 03:48 AM

i love this song! i am getting a hang out of it in singing it too!  (What? What’s going on here?)

180px-kelly_clarkson_blue_angels1I don’t mean to poke fun at Kelly fans (yes, I totally do) and I’m not saying every Kelly fan is stupid (yes, I totally am  and yes they totally are), to each their own, I know. All I’m saying is that you’d have to have pretty low expectations to find anything musically worth admiring in her music or lyrics. Oooh, she’s angry, ooh, now she’s feisty, ooh now she’s sassy and lovelorn. Oh give it up. All I want to know is: When will she be retired??!

May 2

Share the road?

Posted on Saturday, May 2, 2009 in Someone please pay me to bitch.

So, it’s that time of year again. That time when many lives are endangered by mass hordes of unattractively skinny, narrow-assed men pedaling two wheels and some metal down many of the area’s major county roads and highways. Share the road my ass! There have been many articles and “letters to the editor” about sharing the roads around here, who’s got more rights, who’s more responsible, so here are my two cents:

A. I do believe that both bicyclists and drivers should follow all traffic laws. (I cannot count on my fingers, toes and everyone else’s fingers and toes in this town, how many times I have seen some snooty bicyclist whip through a stop sign, red light or even riding in the wrong lane against traffic–but hey, they’re training, we drivers should be understanding and inconvenienced of course.)

B. Bicyclists many times feel that they must travel in packs, sometimes 4-6 deep. As you can imagine, this would take up a fair amount of road, leaving drivers no choice but to either cross the yellow line or take out a few self-centered assholes (and go to jail feeling like they just did the world some good) who are under the impression that it is not only easy for drivers to manoever their, but also enjoyable to miss on-coming traffic by a hair’s length.

C. Bicyclists also seem to flock to roads, highways, etc, that meet their strict requirements which are as follows:

  1. MUST be a winding road with many treacherous twists, turns and blindspots.
  2. MUST have a very narrow shoulders, on both sides, preferably less than 6 inches across.
  3. MUST be a heavily traveled area with many commuters in vehicles big enough to slaughter bike, helmet and body without leaving a trace.

D. I live, along with all of these bicyclists, in a town that was voted 2007’s most Bike Friendly town. So, last time I checked, we have a beautiful trail that allows you to travel from one end of town to the other, along a beautiful river, no less. If you’re not riding your bike to commute, why must you ride in traffic, on dangerous highways, endangering motorists and yourselves?

E. The idea that motorists have more responsibility in this issue is completely ludacris. If you’re moronic enough to challange my 1.5 ton SUV with your alluminum can on wheels, then best of luck to you. If I don’t encounter you on a narrow winding road with only a mere memory of a shoulder, riding in the middle of my lane, and you follow the traffic regulations, I got no beef (literally, because even if I were to hit a waifish bicyclist, it would be the equivilant of riding through a sudden downpour of dry leaves in late November–no blood, guts or beef on my grill!). But if I come up on you, huffing and puffing up the middle of the East bound lane on Floor Ida, game onclown_bike1.

F. Bicyclists tend to have a poor attitude towards everyone else who isn’t like them. Like, because we get our exercise at the gym or hiking on one of the nice trails available to us, or even if we don’t exercise at all and sit at home and drink beer and scratch our asses, we are lesser beings because we don’t humiliate our ball-sack (or in my case, female parts…) everyday by highlighting it with bright green spandex advertising Spam. Whatever happened to riding your bike for fun? And since when does it make you less awesome because you aren’t a grown man dressed head to toe in spandex to go out for a nice bike ride? Last time I checked, it doesn’t. That brings me to the final leg of my two cents: Attire

F. The “appropriate” attire is sickeningly hypnotic, like a car wreck you can’t turn away from. Spandex stretched from here to there, with nothing worth looking at in between. The “costumes” are just about the only redeeming quality of this “sport” because one can’t help but laugh when it pedals by.

Apr 22

Low-rise jeans (and stupid bitches who wear them)

Posted on Wednesday, April 22, 2009 in Bitch slap of the day

I’m starting a new thing, as of today. It’s a mini rant, a tiny little bitch slap to all of the stupid fucking things I see in my day.

Subject for today: Low-rise jeans

As I was returning from the restroom today at work, I caught a glimpse of a plump, dark-haired girl heading up the stairs. As we moved closer (I was already on the second story, heading towards the stairs she was ascending), I realized that she wasn’t actually as plump as her jeans made her appear, she was just making the classic mistake (that many a woman have made since the creation of these little assholes) of wearing what I would quite literally call women’s worst enemy: the low-rise jean. She displayed all of the classic symptoms of a girl who wears low-rise jeans one size too small including: tugging her pants up after each step was defeated, flashing butt-crack during the defeat of said steps, and the ashamed once-over of the area to ascertain who may have witnessed this tugging/butt-crack flashing action. Oh, and let’s not forget the most noticeable symptom: the muffin-top.muffintop1

I’m just going to take one quick moment to point out two things that nag at me every time I see this choice of wardrobe:

  • Low-rise jeans were created for the anorexic models who grace us with their presence in every media magazine from here to Tahiti, not real girls with love handles and dumpy butts and, lets face it, ass cracks. Rule 1 of becoming a model, if you didn’t previously know this, is surgically replacing your ass crack with dimples which were designed to inspire maximum male masturbation sessions all across the world and a world-wide female scramble to the nearest mall equipped with an Abercrombie & Fitch store.
  • There is no excuse for a muffin top…I understand that a lot of girls don’t want to have to admit to themselves that they actually wear a size larger, but wouldn’t you rather be able to hide the size of your jeans inside your pants, rather than advertise your muffin-top love handles to the world? Bigger jeans = no muffin-tops. Yeah!

That’s all.

Apr 11

Those Friends: part 1

Posted on Saturday, April 11, 2009 in Keep your friends close., Someone please pay me to bitch.

So I’ve got a couple friends–everyone’s got at least one of them. You know, the type of friend who you’re not quite sure is actually your friend. Takers who readily take and wouldn’t know the first thing about giving. Today, I’ve got one friend I’d like to discuss.

Friend A, we’ll call her A. She’s overly confident for reasons that are not apparent to the naked eye, a terrible singer who loves to sing more than life itself-the kind of singing that would drive a deaf dog crazy. Not just a hum-a-long-to-the-radio-singer. A my-life-is-a-broadway-production singer. Sitting in a fishing boat, on a lake stocked with fish trained to jump in your boat (for 5 hours…) and there’s not a fish to be found, BUT, I did get a full on re-enactment of Rent. As truly annoying as I’m sure this sounds (and truly is!), this has nothing to do with why I don’t believe she is a genuine friend to me. It has more to do with the fact that I can pour my heart out to her in an email about something huge in my life that’s really bringing me down, and she can manage to respond without actually addresssing a single word I wrote in my email. It has to do with the fact that we mainly keep in touch via email because she lives far away, in a big windy town, yet every email she sends are only about her and her stupid illegal alien boyfriends who claim to have been deported (who in reality have only been “deported” to the South side of town) just to cleanly and quickly end their relationship with her (how awkward would that be to walk into the pub and see your deported boyfriend, or, if you are as dillusional as she is, you might just jump for joy that he managed to escape Immigration..? To further the dillusion, you just might concoct a story in your head that he actually planned all of this and was here at this very pub to surprise you!!) So, feeling like our emails were missing each other by a mile, because obviously what I was writing was of no interest to her, and while I always asked how she was, and what was new and did this or that happen, did it go well, etc (and genuinly cared that she was well), her self-absorbed emails quickly lost their glimmer and gleam for me, I decided to stop responding to her emails (oh, btw, I was also bombarded with mass email and text updates on her life, I mean, this bitch wb178969537ould stand on a mountain top and shout out her business to anyone who would listen) just to see how long it would take for her to notice that I’d stopped responding. It took 2 months (for me to get tired of the bullshit emails and point out to her that she had stopped receiving emails from me). A little background on this friend. We went to college together at a pretty little liberal college in the midwest. We had a baseball team and a joke of a football team. We had halls named after bodily functions. We spent our free time drinking watermelon pucker(remember that nasty shit?) on various bunkbeds in various dorm rooms between classes, her: theatre, me: science & lit. We met on a trip to build a house for Habitat. We sat on the roof of this house and smoked a cigarette together (ick, now). I listened to her stories about her then boyfriend (who later hit on me, blatantly in front of her while I was visiting her in her big windy city, but she did not notice) who was of course being a douchebag. I think I learned early on, somewhere in my gut, that for the most part, our friendship would be one that looked better on paper, it sounded better when retold in stories later, but really wasn’t all that reciprocal, like, at all. But, after college, we didn’t see each other all that much for about 4 years and by the time we reconnected, I (stupidly) assumed that she had matured. After all, she was now a high school drama teacher, working on her master’s degree. She came out to visit me in my high, wide open space-filled town, about 3 years ago (we actually reconnected on Myspace haha!), where I quickly realized that she’s only aged in years, not in maturity. Her eyesight has not broadened beyond her own nose, and it’s not looking good folks.

In conclusion, yes, she will be invited to my wedding (I guess I haven’t had enough torture yet!), because it’s expected by others and she expects to be invited and I think the hassle of not inviting her at this point would be greater than just letting her come and having her there (I’ve hired bodyguards and professional listeners, she won’t get within a good arm’s length of me). And also, we have had some crazy times, that are super funny, together. We laugh our asses off, until we cry or pee a little, and I’m content to be the listener and the sympathizer, because the center of attention has never been a great location for me. We camp, drink beer, eat burned corn on the cob and dehydrated camping food, kayak, fish and pitch a mean tent together. So will I keep her as a friend, sure. Will I trust her with my life and my deep dark secrets (regardless of how many of her deep dark secrets I currently house)? Never.

nosebean, out.