I saw my own blog on someone else's computer the other night, and holy crap, it HURT MY EYES. People, please tell me if you find my color scheme's terrible/hard to look at/ugly. I am reading/creating this on a laptop, and apparently that makes a difference.
For realsies. TELL ME. I won't even make fun of you.
Too much...
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
You Cannot Drive
I was driving down the street today, minding my own business, doing 40 in a 40 zone, and I crept up on a man who was content doing 30 in a 40 zone, so I pulled around him and went back to doing 40. Like a normal human being.
There was an ever-increasing block in between us afterwards (because I was doing the speed limit and he was not) and then, suddenly, he FLOORS it and gets right up on my bumper and starts honking and going nuts and shit.
So I Brake Test him. (For those of you who are not members of the Future Felons of American, allow me to explain what a Brake Test is: When someone is riding your ass, you tap the brakes lightly and hold it. Not long enough to slow down, but usually it makes the person being a dick behind you slam on their brakes.)
So the guy slams on his brakes, realizes it was a brake test, and then GOES EVEN MORE NUTS. We pull up to a red light and he does the roll down arm motion.
I would like to stop here and say that if you want to be abusive and scream at me, that's fine. But don't make me participate in this berating. I mean, what did he expect me to do, excitedly roll down the window and look at his expectantly for like a free puppy and shit?
But I am an idiot. I roll down my window. And he goes OFF.
Now, I could have defended myself. I could have said that passing someone on a three lane road is perfectly legal. So is doing the speed limit. I mean really, I didn't do anything dickish to deserve this.
The psycho pauses to, I dunno, punch an orphan or something, and instead of defending myself, I say the following:
"No one has touched your penis in a very, very long time, have they?"
And that little sentence up there? That flustered him so much that he rolled up the window and pretended like I wasn't there.
Seriously though folks, I am tired of the rich idiots that live in my neighborhood feeling like they can go at their own pace and that the rules of the road do not apply to them. Right turn out of the left lane? WHY NOT! GO FOR IT.
I cannot wait to move back to Chicago where the other drivers have the decency to shoot you in the face for not going at least 5 over the speed limit. Ahhh civilization!
There was an ever-increasing block in between us afterwards (because I was doing the speed limit and he was not) and then, suddenly, he FLOORS it and gets right up on my bumper and starts honking and going nuts and shit.
So I Brake Test him. (For those of you who are not members of the Future Felons of American, allow me to explain what a Brake Test is: When someone is riding your ass, you tap the brakes lightly and hold it. Not long enough to slow down, but usually it makes the person being a dick behind you slam on their brakes.)
So the guy slams on his brakes, realizes it was a brake test, and then GOES EVEN MORE NUTS. We pull up to a red light and he does the roll down arm motion.
I would like to stop here and say that if you want to be abusive and scream at me, that's fine. But don't make me participate in this berating. I mean, what did he expect me to do, excitedly roll down the window and look at his expectantly for like a free puppy and shit?
But I am an idiot. I roll down my window. And he goes OFF.
Now, I could have defended myself. I could have said that passing someone on a three lane road is perfectly legal. So is doing the speed limit. I mean really, I didn't do anything dickish to deserve this.
The psycho pauses to, I dunno, punch an orphan or something, and instead of defending myself, I say the following:
"No one has touched your penis in a very, very long time, have they?"
And that little sentence up there? That flustered him so much that he rolled up the window and pretended like I wasn't there.
Seriously though folks, I am tired of the rich idiots that live in my neighborhood feeling like they can go at their own pace and that the rules of the road do not apply to them. Right turn out of the left lane? WHY NOT! GO FOR IT.
I cannot wait to move back to Chicago where the other drivers have the decency to shoot you in the face for not going at least 5 over the speed limit. Ahhh civilization!
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
I Am Calling A Company Meeting
First, my skin has cleared up, not that you really needed to know that, and I feel like an idiot even stating it, but there you are. I used baby wash from Mom2Mom. Someone gave me a free bottle of it, and whenever someone gives me something free, I smear it all over my face.
(There is totally a semen/used condom joke in there somewhere, but I'm not going to make it...)
In other news, there's a FREAKING FANGROUP DEDICATED TO THIS BLOG! No. Really. REALLY. I am totally not pulling your leg (and trying to rub it on my face!)
You can join all the fun by going to this link:
This link is totally work safe and will not give you herpes.
Question: What's the fastest way to make Enna cry at work?
Answer: Punch me in the boob. If you want to make me cry out of happiness, however, well, that involves making a Facebook group dedicated to me. Because I bawled people! Bawled my chubby little eyes out.
Ugh, you know you watch too much E! when you start to think your eyes are chubby.
Anyhoo, that's all from me for right now. You all got anything to bring to this weird little company meeting? Otherwise I say we all try to cut out early and meet up at the bar. Deal? Deal.
(There is totally a semen/used condom joke in there somewhere, but I'm not going to make it...)
In other news, there's a FREAKING FANGROUP DEDICATED TO THIS BLOG! No. Really. REALLY. I am totally not pulling your leg (and trying to rub it on my face!)
You can join all the fun by going to this link:
This link is totally work safe and will not give you herpes.
Question: What's the fastest way to make Enna cry at work?
Answer: Punch me in the boob. If you want to make me cry out of happiness, however, well, that involves making a Facebook group dedicated to me. Because I bawled people! Bawled my chubby little eyes out.
Ugh, you know you watch too much E! when you start to think your eyes are chubby.
Anyhoo, that's all from me for right now. You all got anything to bring to this weird little company meeting? Otherwise I say we all try to cut out early and meet up at the bar. Deal? Deal.
I Am A Terrible Person
There comes a point in ever person's life where they just can't take any more. I hit that magic point a year ago, but just when you think you've hit rock bottom, there's a whole new level of hell you have to go through.
The thing about "hitting rock bottom" is it makes you a little less than sympathetic and patient when it comes to dealing with others.
Recently, someone with a small child moved in above us. The kid is maybe four and RUNS AROUND NON-STOP 24 FLIPPING HOURS A DAY.
I should stop here and state that yes, I lied to you. In previous posts, I have stated that I lived on the top floor of a high rise. I live in a high rise, but obviously not the top floor.
I lied to you all because 90% of you are normal. But then there's that 10% that emails me repeatedly (like 200 times over the course of three hours) requesting to buy my underwear. And yes, I am being completely serious. That happened.
ANYWAY, this kid and his mother moved in. His mother puts her car alarm on, and without fail, the thing goes off in the middle of the night EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT.
The alarm wakes me up every night, but so does the kid JUMPING UP AND DOWN ON THE BED while the mom goes and shuts off the car alarm. The child just DOES NOT SLEEP.
The thinnest part of the ceiling in our building is the bathrooms. Everyone shares the same ventilation system which means I can hear clear as day when my downstairs and upstairs neighbors are showering when I am in the bathroom.
This also means they can probably hear me "taking care of business" but I choose not to think about that since if I do I will never again be able to use my own bathroom.
After a particularly hard day at work the other day, I decided to relax in the tub with a book about the artwork of Roy Lichtenstein. Instead, I was treated to the child upstairs screaming because he didn't want to take a bath. SCREECHING LIKE SOMEONE WAS MURDERING HIM. And it was so loud it sounded like it was echoing off the walls.
So, I wait for the screeching to die down, and then I do something that any parents reading this right now will describe as unspeakably evil.
I get out of the tub, get a toilet paper tube, and in a "satanic" deep voice say the following into my ceiling vent:
"Little boy, you had better be good or I will crawl out of your vents and EAT YOUR SKIN! I'll do it I LIKE THE TASTE OF LOUD OBNOXIOUS DIRTY LITTLE BOYS WHO LIKE TO JUMP ON THE BED! Also [this is in my normal voice] tell your mother to stop arming her car alarm when she is home."
There is about three seconds of silence, and then all hell breaks loose up there. The kid is SCREAMING for his mother and it sounds like he is sloshing the entire contents of the bathtub on the floor just trying to get out of the tub.
But you know what? The car alarm didn't go off, and no one jumped on the bed in the middle of the night, which means I managed to get a full night's sleep.
Now excuse me, I have to go get a restraining order against 10% of the internet...
The thing about "hitting rock bottom" is it makes you a little less than sympathetic and patient when it comes to dealing with others.
Recently, someone with a small child moved in above us. The kid is maybe four and RUNS AROUND NON-STOP 24 FLIPPING HOURS A DAY.
I should stop here and state that yes, I lied to you. In previous posts, I have stated that I lived on the top floor of a high rise. I live in a high rise, but obviously not the top floor.
I lied to you all because 90% of you are normal. But then there's that 10% that emails me repeatedly (like 200 times over the course of three hours) requesting to buy my underwear. And yes, I am being completely serious. That happened.
ANYWAY, this kid and his mother moved in. His mother puts her car alarm on, and without fail, the thing goes off in the middle of the night EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT.
The alarm wakes me up every night, but so does the kid JUMPING UP AND DOWN ON THE BED while the mom goes and shuts off the car alarm. The child just DOES NOT SLEEP.
The thinnest part of the ceiling in our building is the bathrooms. Everyone shares the same ventilation system which means I can hear clear as day when my downstairs and upstairs neighbors are showering when I am in the bathroom.
This also means they can probably hear me "taking care of business" but I choose not to think about that since if I do I will never again be able to use my own bathroom.
After a particularly hard day at work the other day, I decided to relax in the tub with a book about the artwork of Roy Lichtenstein. Instead, I was treated to the child upstairs screaming because he didn't want to take a bath. SCREECHING LIKE SOMEONE WAS MURDERING HIM. And it was so loud it sounded like it was echoing off the walls.
So, I wait for the screeching to die down, and then I do something that any parents reading this right now will describe as unspeakably evil.
I get out of the tub, get a toilet paper tube, and in a "satanic" deep voice say the following into my ceiling vent:
"Little boy, you had better be good or I will crawl out of your vents and EAT YOUR SKIN! I'll do it I LIKE THE TASTE OF LOUD OBNOXIOUS DIRTY LITTLE BOYS WHO LIKE TO JUMP ON THE BED! Also [this is in my normal voice] tell your mother to stop arming her car alarm when she is home."
There is about three seconds of silence, and then all hell breaks loose up there. The kid is SCREAMING for his mother and it sounds like he is sloshing the entire contents of the bathtub on the floor just trying to get out of the tub.
But you know what? The car alarm didn't go off, and no one jumped on the bed in the middle of the night, which means I managed to get a full night's sleep.
Now excuse me, I have to go get a restraining order against 10% of the internet...
Sunday, February 21, 2010
CNN Likes to Make Me Mad
Every time I go to CNN.com it tells me the local weather. Except, for whatever reason, it keeps telling me that I live in North Carolina and it's currently 58 degrees out.
I hate you CNN. It got up to 40 here yesterday and I almost went out in shorts I was so excited.
Seriously though CNN, stop taunting me. Dicks.
I hate you CNN. It got up to 40 here yesterday and I almost went out in shorts I was so excited.
Seriously though CNN, stop taunting me. Dicks.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Not That There's Anything Wrong With That
I recently attended a conference in which the topic was how progressive my company/industry is.
I had to give a short talk about "Partner Benefits" i.e. health insurance benefits that are extended to your life partner, i.e. if you were gay and you wanted your partner to count as your spouse they will cover your spouse and any children your spouse/you have.
I got up and talked about how this is very important to me because I currently utilize these benefits, and since I cannot get married anytime soon, will continue to do so. Then everyone clapped. A lot. Way more than they should.
I sat down and realized that I made some mistakes in my presentation. Not actual mistakes, but mistakes about ME:
1. I never mentioned my "partner" was a man, and I never mentioned his name.
2. I mentioned that I couldn't get married any time soon. I never mentioned it was because WEDDINGS ARE EXPENSIVE not because it is illegal for gays to get married in Illinois.
3. These people clearly think I am gay and have a female life partner. They were clapping because they thought I was coming out.
Not that there would be anything wrong with that, it's just NOT TRUE.
I have spent the better part of last week saying things like "Me? I like sewing. Eric-my-life-partner likes football. He's a total guy's guy." and "My goodness I do not like the taste of this fish [double entente totally intended]"
I have the complete list of attendees, and I will slowly make my way around to all of them. When I told Eric about this, he just laughed and laughed and laughed, which is good I suppose. He could have totally been offended that I just turned him into a woman in the minds of almost my entire company.
He's such an understanding life partner!
I had to give a short talk about "Partner Benefits" i.e. health insurance benefits that are extended to your life partner, i.e. if you were gay and you wanted your partner to count as your spouse they will cover your spouse and any children your spouse/you have.
I got up and talked about how this is very important to me because I currently utilize these benefits, and since I cannot get married anytime soon, will continue to do so. Then everyone clapped. A lot. Way more than they should.
I sat down and realized that I made some mistakes in my presentation. Not actual mistakes, but mistakes about ME:
1. I never mentioned my "partner" was a man, and I never mentioned his name.
2. I mentioned that I couldn't get married any time soon. I never mentioned it was because WEDDINGS ARE EXPENSIVE not because it is illegal for gays to get married in Illinois.
3. These people clearly think I am gay and have a female life partner. They were clapping because they thought I was coming out.
Not that there would be anything wrong with that, it's just NOT TRUE.
I have spent the better part of last week saying things like "Me? I like sewing. Eric-my-life-partner likes football. He's a total guy's guy." and "My goodness I do not like the taste of this fish [double entente totally intended]"
I have the complete list of attendees, and I will slowly make my way around to all of them. When I told Eric about this, he just laughed and laughed and laughed, which is good I suppose. He could have totally been offended that I just turned him into a woman in the minds of almost my entire company.
He's such an understanding life partner!
Friday, February 12, 2010
Holy Cow What Is Wrong With My Face?
Why are the corners turned upwards? What...is this strange sensation? AM I HAPPY? OH MAN I am happy!
Allow me to elaborate why I am happy with this super awesome list:
1. I am wearing a green fitted polo with green finger nails that match. I love it when I set out in the morning trying to dress like a hipster and somehow end up looking normal by the end of the day anyhow.
2. I got to eat today. See, for one of my classes, I had to "fast" or, as I like to call it, I had to "Starve Myself for Jesus!"
The Fast was supposed to teach me about third world hunger and the experiences of the poor. But here's the thing - I AM POOR. I have been very poor in the past. I know all about hunger.
All this taught me is that if you tell your coworkers that you are fasting, they will offer to buy you food. And then give you cake. Either these people really love me so much that they don't want to see me suffer, or they really know me and would like to see me suffer. Or maybe both. Let's go with both.
3. Eric made my birthday pretty darned awesome. I think I'll let him stick around for another year.
4. I opened a purse I was storing in our outside storage area and found a bug infestation inside of it. But it's cool cuz the purse was totally ugly. (This is why I should not be put in charge of another human beings' life.)
5. The skin on my stomach is peeling from a sunburn I got a week ago. This is going to entertain me for the rest of the day.
6. Remember that lady who told me I dress poorly? SHE GOT CANNED TODAY. I know it is a bad economy, and I should feel bad for her, and blah blah blah this makes me a bad person, etc. But I feel like I won the game of life this week!
Now excuse me, I have to go tell people I am fasting again. I got a taste for cake!
Allow me to elaborate why I am happy with this super awesome list:
1. I am wearing a green fitted polo with green finger nails that match. I love it when I set out in the morning trying to dress like a hipster and somehow end up looking normal by the end of the day anyhow.
2. I got to eat today. See, for one of my classes, I had to "fast" or, as I like to call it, I had to "Starve Myself for Jesus!"
The Fast was supposed to teach me about third world hunger and the experiences of the poor. But here's the thing - I AM POOR. I have been very poor in the past. I know all about hunger.
All this taught me is that if you tell your coworkers that you are fasting, they will offer to buy you food. And then give you cake. Either these people really love me so much that they don't want to see me suffer, or they really know me and would like to see me suffer. Or maybe both. Let's go with both.
3. Eric made my birthday pretty darned awesome. I think I'll let him stick around for another year.
4. I opened a purse I was storing in our outside storage area and found a bug infestation inside of it. But it's cool cuz the purse was totally ugly. (This is why I should not be put in charge of another human beings' life.)
5. The skin on my stomach is peeling from a sunburn I got a week ago. This is going to entertain me for the rest of the day.
6. Remember that lady who told me I dress poorly? SHE GOT CANNED TODAY. I know it is a bad economy, and I should feel bad for her, and blah blah blah this makes me a bad person, etc. But I feel like I won the game of life this week!
Now excuse me, I have to go tell people I am fasting again. I got a taste for cake!
Birthday Wishes
Yesterday marks the one year anniversary of my friend dying, and instead of writing a post about how much I miss her and how I have all these unanswered questions and how now, because of her death, Eric and I are both terrified of dying.
Instead, I am going to write some funny, non-sequitur short true stories that are in some way related to Sheryl.
Ready? Ok let's go.
I once got the clapper for Christmas. Before you start imagining how trashy my family/friends are that I got this for Christmas, let me just tell you this one thing - the CLAPPER IS AWESOME AND I TOTALLY WANTED IT. I wanted that thing for years. I do not care that you can order it off the TV and that it is the 90s equivalent to the snuggy, I didn’t want to ever have to get out of bed again to turn off the lights or TV. Deep down inside, I think all the gifts I want revolve around making me more lazy.
Sheryl came over to my house and we are both laughing and then I fart. Loudly. And the lights go off. Because the clapper thought I clapped. YEAH, that is how loud it was. Sheryl doubled over and almost peed herself laughing. And so did I. So here we are, two "ladies" not being "lady like" and laughing about it in the dark until one of us peed.
(Hint: It was me.)
The second little tidbit related to Sheryl revolved around when I was at a wedding that had a photographer, and this photographer looked exactly like Sheryl. This poor woman could have been her twin.
Every time this woman would come around the corner, it would startle me, and I would scream and instantly start crying. Eric would pull me aside and be like "I know she scared you, I know, it's okay, sometimes these things happen, it's okay." and he would be all comforting.
The thing is though – the poor woman didn’t know why whenever she would come near our end of the room and I would run into her, WHY I WOULD START SCREAMING AND CRYING SUDDENLY.
I mean, she would come around the corner and I would look up and forget that this woman existed and looked like my dead friend, and I would scream "Oh God no!"
So, by the end of the night, I was blitzed, and conjured up a plan. I gathered all my strength, walked up to her, and proudly announced (without crying):
“I took too much acid and your face looks like snakes. Sorry about all the screaming, I am better now.”
And this woman who looked like my dead friend? She laughed so hard she had to sit down. She was still laughing when I decided to just walk away, because she would not stop laughing.
Eric doesn’t know the rest of that story, I think he thinks I went over there and made friends or something. But no, my brain (that I swear is made up of Marshmallows!) decided that blaming an acid trip at a wedding would be a better plan than telling this woman that she looked like my (recently, at this point) dead friend.
The only comfort to this story is that in the car on the ride home, I imagined Sheryl in the backseat, laughing and pointing at me the whole trip.
Instead, I am going to write some funny, non-sequitur short true stories that are in some way related to Sheryl.
Ready? Ok let's go.
I once got the clapper for Christmas. Before you start imagining how trashy my family/friends are that I got this for Christmas, let me just tell you this one thing - the CLAPPER IS AWESOME AND I TOTALLY WANTED IT. I wanted that thing for years. I do not care that you can order it off the TV and that it is the 90s equivalent to the snuggy, I didn’t want to ever have to get out of bed again to turn off the lights or TV. Deep down inside, I think all the gifts I want revolve around making me more lazy.
Sheryl came over to my house and we are both laughing and then I fart. Loudly. And the lights go off. Because the clapper thought I clapped. YEAH, that is how loud it was. Sheryl doubled over and almost peed herself laughing. And so did I. So here we are, two "ladies" not being "lady like" and laughing about it in the dark until one of us peed.
(Hint: It was me.)
The second little tidbit related to Sheryl revolved around when I was at a wedding that had a photographer, and this photographer looked exactly like Sheryl. This poor woman could have been her twin.
Every time this woman would come around the corner, it would startle me, and I would scream and instantly start crying. Eric would pull me aside and be like "I know she scared you, I know, it's okay, sometimes these things happen, it's okay." and he would be all comforting.
The thing is though – the poor woman didn’t know why whenever she would come near our end of the room and I would run into her, WHY I WOULD START SCREAMING AND CRYING SUDDENLY.
I mean, she would come around the corner and I would look up and forget that this woman existed and looked like my dead friend, and I would scream "Oh God no!"
So, by the end of the night, I was blitzed, and conjured up a plan. I gathered all my strength, walked up to her, and proudly announced (without crying):
“I took too much acid and your face looks like snakes. Sorry about all the screaming, I am better now.”
And this woman who looked like my dead friend? She laughed so hard she had to sit down. She was still laughing when I decided to just walk away, because she would not stop laughing.
Eric doesn’t know the rest of that story, I think he thinks I went over there and made friends or something. But no, my brain (that I swear is made up of Marshmallows!) decided that blaming an acid trip at a wedding would be a better plan than telling this woman that she looked like my (recently, at this point) dead friend.
The only comfort to this story is that in the car on the ride home, I imagined Sheryl in the backseat, laughing and pointing at me the whole trip.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Help Me Be A Girl
Dear Internet Friends (and Perverted Strangers Who Googled Something Nasty and Somehow Ended Up At This Blog):
I have a couple of weird questions that I need to get off my chest. First up - let's say you had just longer-than-shoulder-length-hair, how often would you brush it? My hair has started doing this whole "I look like Enna slept in a box over a sewer grate" stringy weird homeless looking thing lately, and I have no idea what is up with that.
I haven't had long hair in awhile, well, not since grunge went out of style, so help me out Internet Peeps, how much brushing should I be doing? Is there a specific type of brush I should be using?
Second question, also beauty related - I am very suddenly getting acne in one small strip of my face. I have never had acne before (yes, yes, hate me, that's fine.) and I have more little red bumps in this one area of my face than I did the entire time I was a teenager.
Has anyone else experienced this? What is causing this? I am already washing my pillow cases and not picking at anything even though I REALLY REALLY WANT TO OH MY GOSH IS IT KILLING ME NOT TO PICK.
So, I used Eric's acne body wash with exfoliating beads on my face (he uses it because it smells good, not because he is coated in zits or anything.) (Normally I use Cetaphil, but apparently that ain't cutting it) Then I used some astringent, and then I put on a water-based moisturizer. Is there anything else I should be doing? I have dry skin so I kinda need to keep using the moisturizer, though I did stop using the olive oil I normally use on my skin. Maybe it isn't moist enough, and is now rebelling against me. WHO KNOWS - I surely don't. So if you have any ideas for me, I am all ears (and acne, apparently.)
Thanks!
PS This post makes me sound like the dirtiest girl on the face of the planet.
I have a couple of weird questions that I need to get off my chest. First up - let's say you had just longer-than-shoulder-length-hair, how often would you brush it? My hair has started doing this whole "I look like Enna slept in a box over a sewer grate" stringy weird homeless looking thing lately, and I have no idea what is up with that.
I haven't had long hair in awhile, well, not since grunge went out of style, so help me out Internet Peeps, how much brushing should I be doing? Is there a specific type of brush I should be using?
Second question, also beauty related - I am very suddenly getting acne in one small strip of my face. I have never had acne before (yes, yes, hate me, that's fine.) and I have more little red bumps in this one area of my face than I did the entire time I was a teenager.
Has anyone else experienced this? What is causing this? I am already washing my pillow cases and not picking at anything even though I REALLY REALLY WANT TO OH MY GOSH IS IT KILLING ME NOT TO PICK.
So, I used Eric's acne body wash with exfoliating beads on my face (he uses it because it smells good, not because he is coated in zits or anything.) (Normally I use Cetaphil, but apparently that ain't cutting it) Then I used some astringent, and then I put on a water-based moisturizer. Is there anything else I should be doing? I have dry skin so I kinda need to keep using the moisturizer, though I did stop using the olive oil I normally use on my skin. Maybe it isn't moist enough, and is now rebelling against me. WHO KNOWS - I surely don't. So if you have any ideas for me, I am all ears (and acne, apparently.)
Thanks!
PS This post makes me sound like the dirtiest girl on the face of the planet.
The Reason I Will Be Fired By The End of The Day
I am on a fast for a class I am taking. I am allowed to drink liquids (I am assuming clear liquids but I am drinking tea and sugar-free lemonade. If I am assuming wrongly then...well screw it, I am not starting over!) I have to get to 7 p.m. tonight before I can eat something, which is quite ironic, because I normally do not eat after 7 p.m.
And when I say "ironic" I mean "the universe hates me and is trying to teach me that I, even though I am an adult, still cannot plan out my life properly."
Anyway, so I spent my lunch today surfing the net, looking at things, emailing friends, looking at pictures of food, specifically minestrone soup...
One of my friends emails me back with a screenshot of an article from the New York Times, so I open it.
I am completely unaware that the CEO of my company is standing behind me waiting for me to address her. COMPLETELY UNAWARE.
As I am clicking on this picture to open it, I am thinking to myself "How weird that she reads the Times. She always seemed like she wasn't interested in world events and a bit of a ditz."
YEAH - I CALLED YOU A DITZ - WHAT OF IT.
Obviously she is not as ditzy as me, because I actually opened the file.
The picture was an erect penis with the tip a photoshop of the face of that Edward Guy from Twilight (you know, pale British guy, bad posture, good teeth, constantly looks like he has cum in his hair. YEAH YOU KNOW WHO I AM TALKING ABOUT.)
See, I would just google his name but then it will look like I am obsessed with him, and rest assured, I am not.
Unless he is chosen to play James Bond. Then I will not be able to help myself.
Anyway, the gist of this story is that I turn into an idiot when I do not have a carb in me but, on the plus side, I now know how that Edward guy gets his hair to stand up like that.
And when I say "ironic" I mean "the universe hates me and is trying to teach me that I, even though I am an adult, still cannot plan out my life properly."
Anyway, so I spent my lunch today surfing the net, looking at things, emailing friends, looking at pictures of food, specifically minestrone soup...
One of my friends emails me back with a screenshot of an article from the New York Times, so I open it.
I am completely unaware that the CEO of my company is standing behind me waiting for me to address her. COMPLETELY UNAWARE.
As I am clicking on this picture to open it, I am thinking to myself "How weird that she reads the Times. She always seemed like she wasn't interested in world events and a bit of a ditz."
YEAH - I CALLED YOU A DITZ - WHAT OF IT.
Obviously she is not as ditzy as me, because I actually opened the file.
The picture was an erect penis with the tip a photoshop of the face of that Edward Guy from Twilight (you know, pale British guy, bad posture, good teeth, constantly looks like he has cum in his hair. YEAH YOU KNOW WHO I AM TALKING ABOUT.)
See, I would just google his name but then it will look like I am obsessed with him, and rest assured, I am not.
Unless he is chosen to play James Bond. Then I will not be able to help myself.
Anyway, the gist of this story is that I turn into an idiot when I do not have a carb in me but, on the plus side, I now know how that Edward guy gets his hair to stand up like that.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Loaded Questions
Warning: If you have any respect for me, good for you, I don't! Seriously though, you probably shouldn't read this post!
I carry around a Moleskin notebook with me everywhere I go. In the last six months, I have decided to write in it when I am drinking/drunk. I will immediately write down if someone gasps or laughs out loud when I say something.
Without further ado, here are some of my comments from my less sober moments:
Ok folks, that's it. If you didn't understand a word of what I said in that last quote, well, I feel sorry for you. Because even Mr. Belvedere loves a good sassage every once in awhile.
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="218" caption="Mmmm tasty sassage!"]
[/caption]
I carry around a Moleskin notebook with me everywhere I go. In the last six months, I have decided to write in it when I am drinking/drunk. I will immediately write down if someone gasps or laughs out loud when I say something.
Without further ado, here are some of my comments from my less sober moments:
I am not speaking from experience here, but I think I would prefer anal sex to Diet Coke. At least I know what's in anal sex. Ya feel me ladies? Yeeeeah you do.
Ok, who do you think would get more pussy: Eric with his new sexy haircut (if he were back on the market) or Mr. Belvedere (if he were alive.) GO!
Eric: You're leaning towards Mr. Belvedere, aren't you?
Me: The man knows how to polish silver, IfYouKnowWhatIMean.
What does [friend's name here] do? She's in reputation management. I KNOW, I am surprised too. But there ain't a dollar amount large enough for her to manage the reputation of that whore of a sister of yours.
Ladies ladies ladies, remember the cardinal rule of soap: If it's good enough for your face it's good enough for your junk.
I would crack this bottle on the curb and use the jagged edge to cut up your face, but I fear that would be an improvement.
No, the difference between me and you is I am a little prick...
Me: She looks like the kind of girl that has wicked-awesome nipples! [said in a Boston accent]
Friend [Whispering]: I am sure she is glad to know that, and I am also sure she is glad she is stuck in this long-ass line less than five feet away from us.
Me: I stand by my first impression.
Friend: You have such a Southside accent it is crazy!
Me: I swear to fricken Ditka I will shove a sassage in your face and waterboard you with Old Style if don't shut your whorey mouth. We's south of Madison, so keep your Cubs-lovin' opinions to you-self!
Eric: Annnnnd you are now cut off, boozy.
Me: Is it because I took Ditka's name in vain?
Eric: Yes. Yes it is.
Ok folks, that's it. If you didn't understand a word of what I said in that last quote, well, I feel sorry for you. Because even Mr. Belvedere loves a good sassage every once in awhile.
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="218" caption="Mmmm tasty sassage!"]
[/caption]
Let's Party Like It's My Birthday!
Today is my birthday.
Except it really isn’t. I moved it to today for a variety of reasons, but mostly because last year my friend died on my birthday.
I am not a complex being. Most people describe me as “guy-like” with my emotions. Meaning that, on any given day, I feel nothing. I am not happy or sad or mad, I am just being. I, unlike most women, cannot feel more than one emotion at a time. I recognized last year that I would never again be happy on the 11th. So, the search began for a new day for me to call my birthday.
I was inclined to say July. I really, really like the month of July. It’s warm, there’s festivals, fireworks, and national pride all in that month! OH I LOVE JULY!
But I thought I should at least keep it close to my “real” birthday. Plus, and not that I even think this matters or would have given two shits about this, if I changed the month my zodiac sign would change. Yeah, see, even writing that seems stupid. But I know other people would care about that, so I had to stay in February.
My dad’s birthday is January 9th and Eric’s birthday is February 19th, so I figured that February 9th might be the best day. Its one month later than my dad’s, and 10 days before Eric’s, and therefore easily remembered by the two men in my life. February 9th is perfect!
And that, my dear friends, is why my birthday is today. NOW NONE OF YOU GO AND DIE ON ME TODAY OR I WILL BE SO PISSED.
Except it really isn’t. I moved it to today for a variety of reasons, but mostly because last year my friend died on my birthday.
I am not a complex being. Most people describe me as “guy-like” with my emotions. Meaning that, on any given day, I feel nothing. I am not happy or sad or mad, I am just being. I, unlike most women, cannot feel more than one emotion at a time. I recognized last year that I would never again be happy on the 11th. So, the search began for a new day for me to call my birthday.
I was inclined to say July. I really, really like the month of July. It’s warm, there’s festivals, fireworks, and national pride all in that month! OH I LOVE JULY!
But I thought I should at least keep it close to my “real” birthday. Plus, and not that I even think this matters or would have given two shits about this, if I changed the month my zodiac sign would change. Yeah, see, even writing that seems stupid. But I know other people would care about that, so I had to stay in February.
My dad’s birthday is January 9th and Eric’s birthday is February 19th, so I figured that February 9th might be the best day. Its one month later than my dad’s, and 10 days before Eric’s, and therefore easily remembered by the two men in my life. February 9th is perfect!
And that, my dear friends, is why my birthday is today. NOW NONE OF YOU GO AND DIE ON ME TODAY OR I WILL BE SO PISSED.
Monday, February 8, 2010
What A Long, Strange Trip It's Been
I took a week off of this blog and got some stuff done that I needed to get done. Things like “get Eric a job” and “do my flipping taxes” and “celebrate the wedding of two good friends” and “accidentally come out of the closet at work”…
Yeah, that last one? That was a bad accident. I will be writing about that later in the week. Trust me, you will laugh until you drool. And, for those of you wondering, no, I am not gay. Never have been. And yet, a large conference of people now think I am. So there ya go.
I just paid a whole bunch of bills, which is always a fun time, and by fun time I mean “panic attack inducing event that makes me doubt almost every decision I have ever made because now I cannot afford what I want/need to afford and even though I know it is going to get better I am still freaking out for no reason.”
The more time that goes on, the more I think to myself “You stupid whore, you should have graduated high school and gone into the Air Force.” But if I had done that then none of you would be entertained currently by reading this here blog.
No, I do not want to hear how this post is not entertaining you. Shhh. Let me live in my fantasy world.
Yeah, that last one? That was a bad accident. I will be writing about that later in the week. Trust me, you will laugh until you drool. And, for those of you wondering, no, I am not gay. Never have been. And yet, a large conference of people now think I am. So there ya go.
I just paid a whole bunch of bills, which is always a fun time, and by fun time I mean “panic attack inducing event that makes me doubt almost every decision I have ever made because now I cannot afford what I want/need to afford and even though I know it is going to get better I am still freaking out for no reason.”
The more time that goes on, the more I think to myself “You stupid whore, you should have graduated high school and gone into the Air Force.” But if I had done that then none of you would be entertained currently by reading this here blog.
No, I do not want to hear how this post is not entertaining you. Shhh. Let me live in my fantasy world.
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