Because Sometimes Youtube is on Acid

Day 28: A Song that Makes You Feel Guilty

Usually, when I am preparing to pick a song for this challenge, I put my iPod on shuffle and I wait for something perfect (which might explain why it sometimes takes me weeks to come up with a song that fits…oops) and then I write about it. For the last week, however, I have been trying to think of songs with my BRAIN and without the assistance of my trusty iPod because, you see, some fucktard decided to steal it from Tony’s house a little over a week ago and now I am without my very best friend. (RIP Shabuta Jenkins 2.0. Yes. My iPod’s name was Shabuta Jenkins 2.0. What?) No offense to my human best friends, of course, but I don’t see you guys following me around and singing to me all day. Assholes. Anyway, I digress…

So, fortunately for me, thinking of a song that makes me feel guilty was super easy (read: ridiculously effing hard) and I didn’t need my iPod (read: sort of wanted to pull my hair out and/or bang my head against something hard and possibly pointy). But I found it, guys. I found it.

I picked “I Can’t Make You Love Me” by Bonnie Raitt. I think we have all been, to some degree, on both ends of this situation, ya’ll. I have definitely been Bonnie Raitt in this scenario, being all smitten and retarded over some dude who obviously didn’t love me, but liked me enough to make out with me (while, in turn, keeping me hooked and more smitten), but that isn’t the part that makes me feel guilty (foolish, yes, but I was a teenager, and that means it was my job and my right to be an idiot). I have also played the part of whomever Bonnie happens to be singing to. And that, I am not proud of. Sometimes, it is easier for people to just have someone to…have…than it is to deal with being alone. Even if that person, isn’t the one for you. Or, like, listens to Godsmack or something. It is always nice to be wanted. But it kind of sucks when you know you’re kind of…well…being a douche.

So there it is. My feeling guilty song (which only took me a billion years to think of).   

Preach On...

So, I try really hard not to get into touchy subjects here. Sex? Eh. Sometimes. Drugs? Come on, ya’ll, *I’m an adult. Rock and Roll. Yes. But Politics and Religion. No. Never. Not a chance.  And this is not because I don’t have strong views. Because I know that I DO have strong views and I would rather not have to argue with anyone here about them. This is my safe place.  And I know, I know, I should be saying a big FUCK YOU to anyone who comes here and wants to argue in MY house, but I would rather just not get into it. I will tell you though, internet. I don’t like hate. I don’t like war. I don’t like ignorance  and I will punch you in the face if you are a racist. That said, I am going to go ahead and give some props to my friend Hesper over here who got a little fed up with the whole passive-aggressive Muslim-bashing that happens on Facebook. (I am totally aware that it isn’t just Muslim-bashing, but all these “patriots” who get on their high-horses and start spewing their ridiculous, “patriotic” nonsense trying to tell the entire world that the USA is the best country in the world are really just proving that there are a lot of really stupid people here.)  Anyway…I got a little carried away…Sorry. (See above where I said that I don’t want to talk about this stuff here? Remember why? I ramble. And I get pissed. And I will punch you.)

Ahem…starting again…Hesper! My friend over here…wrote this on her blog and I thought, “Well hell…I totally agree. I am gonna bring her soapbox on over to my soapbox and they can hold hands and skip together and be friends for all eternity. (Also, she is awesome. Give her props.)

Enjoy! (Read: Holla if ya’ hear me!)

Brace yourselves. It is about to get all controversial up in heeeere. I am fired the eff up right now. A so-called “friend” of mine on facebook just posted the following:

“I need to start a business in the middle east making land mines disguised as prayer mats.”

Is it just me or is that absolutely disguisting? I thought all of the hate mongering almost 10 years ago was ridiculous, but I just can’t stand to listen to it at this point. Muslim does not equal terrorist, just like German does not = nazi. How can you write off an entire religion because on one major (awful) event?

The Islam faith did not attack the world trade centers, a group of religious fanatics did. I think it is important to remember that there are fanatics in every religion, race, country, etc.

Is it really fair to make Osama Bin Laden the face of Islam? I don’t think so.  I do, however, think it is high time people get over themselves. Burkas don’t come with bazookas and bibles don’t come with a license to judge the hell out of everyone else.

*Debatably.

Day Nine: A Song You Often Hear on the Radio

Oh, internet, you should know better. I can’t remember the last time I listened to the radio. And if I did, it was probably the oldies station, and then…YOU GUESSED IT, internet.  Phil Collins was playing!

“In the Air Tonight”, I am convinced, is playing constantly. It never fails, if a radio is on and I walk into a store, a public restroom, an underwater basket weaving seminar, it won’t be long and the famous notes will start to play and my skin will begin to crawl.

I don’t really think that I need to say anymore about this.

I did, however, recently hear that Phil Collins was retiring from music and that is good news. If only it meant that they could no longer play him on the radio (read: everywhere I happen to be.)

*Also, is this not the CREEPIEST picture of Phil Collins you have ever SEEN? Just sayin'.

Day 2: Your Least Favorite Song

Okay, internet.  Now, there are a LOT of songs that I dislike and I have to say, it took me a very long time to come up with one that I would consider my “least favorite song” but…I think I did okay. I will tell you that I will probably, over the course of the next few hours, think of several songs that I dislike as much as this one, but this one, my friends, is terrible. It would have to be “Barbie Girl” by Aqua.

I honestly don’t know if this song is a joke or if it was, like, supposed to be an actual, like, piece of music. I suspect that this bunch of weirdos got really methed up and went to a gay bar and BOOM! “Barbie Girl” was born. It is obnoxious. It is stupid. It was surprisingly popular for such a piece of complete crap. And I am regretful that I was unable to slap each and every member of Aqua, one by one.

Seriously, people. Gross.

Of Course

The radio in another department at work, which is strangely loud this afternoon:

“In the Air Tonight” – Phil Collins

“Take it to the Limit” – The Eagles

Coincidence? I think not.

(Curses, universe. Curses.)

An Open Letter to Annoying Bitch in my Office (Part 2)

Well, hello again.

I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you for, not only being the most careful person in the office (I can only assume that you are the most careful person, as you are most definitely the slowest. I give you mad props for being so cautious in your work and caring enough to appear almost slothlike in everything that you do. It proves that you are most accurate and amazing at your job.), but also for assisting me with my job on such a consistent basis.  You know, I really, honestly don’t know what I would do without your constant comments from across the entire office to tell me how to check email or respond to questions when I am on the phone (and cannot hear over you to actually have the conversation that I happen to be engaged in…) I think that the entire office will agree that you are quite a big help.

I am sure the office will also agree that, while your age-inappropriate slumber parties with other religious freaks are fascinating, they are far too exciting to speak of with coworkers. The stories you tell fill me with so much joy and longing to be part of what you are part of. I think that you probably notice that this longing is painful for me as I constantly turn away from you and block you out when you are telling me about your niece insisting to paint your nails “super sparkly pink” and making s’mores with your friends after the nine hours you spent at church on Sunday.

In closing, I would like to express my appreciation for all you do but to ask that, in the future and to save me the painful longing of missing out on scrap-booking parties and nail painting, you refrain from speaking at all, thus, releasing me from the growing urge to staple things to your face.

Thank you,

C

The Curse

Her: Whatever you do, do NOT turn on the Eagle radio station right now.




Translation: PHIL COLLINS.



I know, I know internet. You have no idea about the significance of the mention of Phil Collins in my life. I haven’t gone into this for fear that it would culminate MORE insanity. But now is the time. I should really explain.



Back in high school, I had this deliciously quirky friend named Alex. She was beautiful and smart as hell. And more importantly to me, she was a wealth of musical information. This chick knew every song ever made. Like…ever. And she knew who sang it. And what year it came out. And who the drummer of the band was. And if he dated Kathleen Hanna. And this was not limited to music made between the years of 1985 and 1999, this was, like, all music ever made. All the music. Of. All. Time.



Anyway, one day Alex and I were having a pretty deep conversation with regard to her extreme (and before this conversation, secret) hatred of The Eagles, and right in the middle of her dissecting the lyrics to “Tequila Sunrise”, her face became serious.



“I am going to tell you something that you are going to remember for the rest of your life.” She said.



I braced myself for this intense and important thing she was about to say to me and then I waited.



“You will think of Phil Collins every day. For the rest of your life.”



Naturally, I protested, thinking that there was no way in holy hell I would have that many occasions to think of Phil Collins. Not only did I not despise him enough to give him much thought ever, but because of my distaste for Disney movies, I didn’t think about him at all. So, yeah, there was disbelief but I humored Alex and considered the possibility that, after this moment in time, Phil Collins would become a staple.



What I didn’t realize was that Phil Collins is fucking everywhere, you guys. And Alex was right. You will wake up in the middle of the night, realizing that you have forgotten to turn the TV off, and you will see Phil’s big, round head on the screen. He will be singing “Su-Su-Sudio” and you will curse the day that you ever heard this story. I know what you’re thinking though, internet. “Why would Phil Collins be on the TV in the middle of the night singing ‘Su-Su-Sudio’?” The answer is this: The universe is obsessed with Phil Collins.



You don’t believe me? Just wait.



So, there you have it. If you hadn’t already heard the story of the birth of The Phil Collins Curse, you were lucky. I didn’t want to have to do this to you, internet. But, I did what had to be done. Avoid your TV. Avoid cheesy radio stations. Avoid leaving your house all together.



And don’t even get me started on the number 23.

Zen and The Art of Not Kicking People's Teeth In

So, I am a pretty laid back person. In fact, I might sometimes even be too laid back. And that’s okay, I think. I don’t bother anyone and I can’t be bothered most of the time. But I don’t like to be disrespected. I mean, say a stranger is all up in my space in the grocery store, right? They are definitely disrespecting the space-bubble rule, but they are doing nothing that warrants a kick in the teeth. However, say I live with someone for 8 years and leave some very valuable items boxed up in a closet (with permission, of course) for safe keeping and due to lack of space in my place when I move out. And let’s say that these valuable items are collectible and irreplaceable and maybe that I have been collecting them for oh…say…15 years. And then, just for fun, lets say that the someone who I lived with “absent-mindedly” threw out every single one of those valuable items along with about 300 more items, knowing full well what the boxes contained because he/she was the one who packed them.

Now this situation is sticky, internet, and might actually be teeth-kick worthy. But stickier still because the angel on my one shoulder (who I believe goes by the name of Thing Two) says, “There is nothing you can do, you have to accept that she is not a good person and that she will get what is coming to her. Besides…you are SO much better than her.” But the devil on my other shoulder (who looks and sounds oddly like Quentin Tarantino) is saying, “If you leave work right now, you can get to her house in enough time to set it sufficiently on fire before she even knows you’re gone.” 

Both valid points.

I have to say though, I think that this act of disrespect is one that is definitely worthy of kicking someone’s teeth in. But, I will resist you, Quentin Tarantino Satan. I will remain Zen in this situation and moment of great fury and I will not set fire to anyone’s home. (Unless, you know, it just happened to become infested with some sort of vermin that could not be destroyed with anything with the exception of fire. Then I would just be helping.)

And just so you know, internet, if you do something like this to someone, you cannot make up for it with a 20oz Diet Coke. Even if the person REALLY likes Diet Coke.  Just saying.

Doppelganger?

So, as most of you know, Spliff and I lived together for about 7 years. We have known each other since we were 15 or 16 and when I decided to move to the beach, she packed up her stuff and headed north and that's where it all began. Naturally, living together for so long, we rubbed off on each other. We used the same slang, inflections, and often spoke in unison. This was all sort of expected when you are around someone so much. Coupled with the fact that we were both blondes with blue eyes and were rarely spotted independently from one another, people sometimes got us confused. In the grocery store people would ask if we were sisters, sometimes even if we were TWINS. Neither of us ever really understood that, because we are OBVIOUSLY very different. For instance, I am taller, and just generally bigger. My eyes are dark blue and my hair is a natural blonde where Spliff's eyes are the lightest blue and her hair has always been blonder because it is dyed. I have freckles and pale skin and Spliff is tan and unafraid of skin cancer. These might not seem like obvious things to just any regular Joe who just met us. But they are big differences to us. I am not saying I don't get it. People are dumb and the two of us have similarities.


When we started working together, we weren't shocked at all that our office-mates couldn't tell us apart. And even though I had been here six weeks before she started and thought that there was no way that this would be an issue, it was. And we thought it was pretty funny and could have easily taken advantage of it, but we didn't. We calmly and patiently accepted that nothing had changed and that we would be confused for a while until people learned our personalities and, you know, what we LOOKED like. And eventually, people started to figure it out. Gradually, people got to know us and could tell us apart.

We are rarely ever together outside of work anymore, but at work functions people we have to schmooze with still ask, "Are you sisters? You look alike!" And even though it is frustrating, it is still sort of funny that even now, with Spliff dying her hair brown, closer to her natural color and her bizarre obsession with skinny jeans and her glasses, people still get confused. But those are people who have never seen us before.

I have suspected for a long time that one woman in our office still hadn't figured it out. Up until about two weeks ago, Spliff's desk was directly next to mine, so when N needed us, she would walk over, say one of our names and wait to see who turned around. Every time it happened, I would point it out to whoever was around and say, "See? I still don't think she knows which one of us is which!" But I was never sure. Until today.

Today, after I have been with this company exactly 2 years, 7 months and 4 days, I asked Norma to locate something for me so that I could take care of it. She read the email I sent and didn't respond. I assumed this was because she was trying to locate said document and would get back with me if/when she found it. No. Twenty minutes later, Spliff placed the document I requested in my hands and said, "This was on my desk and I have no idea why." Yes. That's right, internet. She thought Spliffany was me. Still. After almost three years of seeing us on a daily basis, she still has no idea which one of us is which.

I find this offensive. From now on, I am calling her Judy.

Reasons to be Punchy

, thThis week has been a disaster, internet. It has taken everything I have not to kick people in the teeth, or like, hit them with my car. But I have reasons, internet. Oh yes, I have reasons.

1.The Office Nazi has started the Christmas music extravaganza wherein she blasts crappy choir music or Celine Dion's Christmas Disaster all day. Every day. Until Christmas (or someone straps her to her chair and rolls her down the two flights of stairs in the hallway).  The only Christmas music I like is Bing Crosby. (Or the RENT soundtrack, because it CAN be considered Christmas music because it takes place ON or AROUND Christmas. It counts.)

2. There have been several staff changes in my office over the last couple of weeks. What used to be a well-oiled machine has turned into a wild and crazy clusterfuck. This is due, mostly in part, to the lovely and charming Spliffany. It seems that, when she accepted a new position replacing Han (who is moving back home to Hotlanta), it was discovered that, not only is Spliff incapable of doing her new job, but she doesn't appear to have ever been capable of doing her OLD one. Han has been training the new girl and finding all sorts of ridiculous stuff that hasn't been done and having to put out all the fires. And then, of course, promptly every evening, calling me to bitch about Spliff's ineptitude. Thus, making me punchier.

3. Tuesday. Tuesday could possibly have been the worst work day I have had in, ohhhhh, about my entire adult life. Combined with Spliff's idiocy, the new girl's training (the jury is still out on whether she is a slow-learner, a victim of Spliff's inability to effectively train, or in fact she is an imbicile...perhaps a combo?) Han's frustration with the aforementioned and with the sheer VOLUME of work that passed over my desk, I felt that my head would pop off of my body as a red, firey ball of fury. I made it home. But, then...

4. The Flat Tire. Okay. Yes, I know that it is my responsibility as a car owner to make sure that my tires are not low and are functional and have...you know...rubber on them. But, I drive 4 miles per day. Period. When the tire is low, I fill it up with air and then I go on about my day. Or I don't fill it up with air, have the worst day ever, and then pull into my driveway only to discover that said tire has been demolished. Luckily, Thing Two knows how to take a tire off and replace it with the donut. Which then, of course, would also be flat.  SERIOUSLY luckily that the dude at the Tire Kingdom near my house let me have a used tire and mounted it for TEN BUCKS. Saving me the evergy of a homicidal rampage. Then I drank way too much wine and went to bed.

5. It is effing COLD outside. Fuuuuuuck.

That is all.

Conversation with a Coworker

Her: Wacko, Texas??

Me: It's Waco.

Her: Oh. How do you know that?

Me: You don't know about Waco, TX?

Her: No. Why? What happened?

Me: What year were you born?

Her: 1990.

Me: Excuse me. I have to go kill myself.

Waco happened in 1993. Fuuuuuuuuuck.

Some Thoughts on Disrespect

Alright, internet, I promise to drop the Spliff talk after this. (Maybe, it really is the most annoying thing going on in my life right now, and what would I do if I didn't share it with you? Explode? Possibly.)

The situation is this, evidently. On Monday, after speaking with a few people about a trip to North Carolina to visit some family and some friends there who all live in different places, I requested off some dates in August. Among those dates is Spliff's 30th Birthday. Okay, now maybe I should have thought about this before agreeing to the dates, but I really didn't think about it much because we can both be out of the office at the same time and have been before, so you know, it really doesn't make any difference at all. Right? No. Absolutely NOT right.

She tells me today that I was "disrespectful" by requesting her birthday off. Because you know, she MIGHT want to go out of town. "Or something." Really? So I offered to reschedule so as not to anger it. She did the passive-aggressive stupid BS that she always does and said, "No, don't cancel it, it doesn't matter." Clearly. When things don't matter, naturally, you have a temper tantrum and refuse to speak to people. I mean, isn't that the way everyone handles stuff?

Oh. Really? Only 12-year-olds do that?

Good to know.

So then I get to thinking, internet, about why requesting time off is ever disrespectful I mean, every day is someone's birthday. But usually other things are happening too. Like things that aren't about you. Right? I mean, I am correct here? Other things happen?

Well, that's what I thought.

So then I started thinking some more, internet, about some other things. Disrespect, in general.

I didn't share this little tidbit before because it is a little more personal than I care to get on the interweb, but I think it is an appropriate example of disrespect. Ahem...

A couple of months ago, actually, the day that Spliff and I had the talk about living UN-together, a few friends came over. Among them, internet, was a guy that I had been seeing very casually for the past few weeks. She was aware of this, proceded to get retarded drunk and throw herself at him. Now, he is a moron and I knew that I didn't want anything serious with him. But this is not a free pass to get drunk and practically attempt to swallow him in my very own living room. Is it? I mean, it isn't...right?

You must understand here, do I like this guy? No. Was I upset with him? No. Was that shit disrespectful? HELL YES. And he is an idiot dude and I have known him WAY long enough to know what to expect from him, but her? Really? Did I stop talking to her and throw a temper tantrum? No. Did I have a reason to? Yeah, I think I did. I should have probably just punched her in the throat right then and there, but I am an adult. Imagine that.

Now internet, I would like to to take what I have just told you into consideration and tell me which of these scenarios is more disrespectful. Go ahead. I'll wait.

And another post altogether!

I know, I know...TWO in ONE DAY! Crazy talk!

I am soooo not a morning person. And I am definitely not a Monday person either. (I am more of a Saturday night kind of girl.) So naturally, I am a bit pissed when the alarm started yelling at me to get my arse out of bed. But I begrudgingly did and as Spliff and I were walking out the door, I announced that today would be a Dunkin' Donuts day. We never go there...because I am not a terribly big fan, but I couldn't handle not having breakfast and didn't want to spend 10 bucks on a drink and a tiny breakfast sandwich from Starbucks...even though they are totally FIRE! Anyway, so we get there, and pull up to the speaker and the conversation goes, as follows:

Guy: (A little too enthusiastically for a Monday morning) GOOD MORNING! What can I get for you?

Me: Ummm...coffee, sandwich, sandwich, blah...

Guy: Will that complete your order?

Me: Yes.

Guy: And then?

Me: Ummmmm...(giggle) No? And then?

Guy: (long pause) AND THHHHHHHEN?! (snicker, snicker)

Me: (REALLY long pause...) NO AND THEN!!!!

Guy(s): (They had multiplied and they were laughing into the intercom like crazy people.)

At this point, I just drove to the window, Spliff and I both crying our newly applied mascara all over our faces. When we got to the window, there were three guys standing there cracking up and offering us a job...

That, my friends, was the best Monday morning, fast food experience I have ever had. Ever. Well done, Dunkin Donuts. Well done.

Open Letter to The Annoying Bitch at my Office

Dear Captain Speaks when not Spoken to:

I am sort of a wordy bitch, so I understand having something to say about most things. The thing is, oh annoying one, I try to avoid jumping into conversations that people are having across the office. I avoid this for several reasons 1) if they are that far away, they are probably not talking to me, 2) if they wanted to talk to me, they might try something like...addressing me directly, and 3) I do not assume that everyone gives a shit what I have to say. I know, I know, that might seem a little unreasonable, seeing as you seem to think that EVERYONE is ALWAYS talking directly to YOU. But I assure you, we are not. In fact, when I lower my voice and am looking directly at someone while speaking, I am usually just talking to THEM. So your incessant, "What? What? What?" gets a little, you know...wearing. I am not asking that you stop speaking altogether, (however, I am a firm believer that this might make the office a much more bearable place) I a mearly suggesting that you might...you know...BUTT THE FUCK OUT. Keep in mind that this is only a suggestion, but it may save you from getting your teeth knocked out before 9am on a Monday morning. I'm just saying...

I would also like to point out that when engaging in a conversation that people are TRYING to have with you, gradually raising your voice until you are the only one that anyone can hear is really fucking rude. And again, annoying. I don't know if this is something that you can help. I don't even know if you are aware that other people are talking. Or if you have some sort of disorder (if this is the case, a tiny amount of leniency is totally granted). But you should wear a sign or something. It should say, "I am the most annoying conversationalist in the UNIVERSE. Prepare to be infuriated."

Well, I think that about sums everything up. Thank you...and SHUT THE FUCK UP.

Sincerely,
The Criz

The Haps

Well, internet, I finally got that break from things that I have been so desperately needing. This weekend, however ridiculous, seemed to be just what the doctor ordered.

Friday night, Spliff and I headed out to the (gasp!) North Side for dinner and drinks for a friend. It was a surprise party and we met at a sushi restaurant which only sold wine and beer. This is very, very bad. I’ll tell you why. Last Wednesday, I started the South Beach Diet (I have lost 10 lbs already, thankyouverymuch!) so could not have anything with carbs. Meaning, no sushi, no wine, no beer. I had thirteen diet cokes. MISERABLE. We then moved on to a dive bar in the middle of nowhere and danced like morons and gave each other temporary tattoos in the bathroom (and God help me, I can’t get this thing off!) and then I slept on a friend’s floor with a giant Labrador and even more giant stuffed tiger in my face. Oh, good times.

Saturday, I woke up too damn early, drove home from the North Side, took a shower, ate breakfast and headed for Orlando to spend the day with the JGJ. I have to say, internet, there is nothing better than running away from stress. We spent the day playing darts, pool, shopping, and then playing poker until the wee hours. It is so good to get away, but it is even better to have someone rad to spend time with. So, it was a good day. (Thanks, JGJ, for a great day!)

I came home yesterday , showered and went straight to dinner with Rack, Spliff and Anthony. I stepped outside to smoke and realized that the homeless guy sitting on the bench was quietly calling my name. Hmmm…after a closer look, I realized that about eleven years ago, he wasn’t homeless and his name was Brandon. We made out a couple times the summer after I graduated high school until he stole a shit ton of ecstasy from my friend, ate it all at once, and I believe, after we packed the car with all of his belongings and dropped them off in someone’s front yard, he was admitted into a mental hospital. I have no idea where he has been all this time. There have been a few sightings, but not for several years.

Needless to say, I, one, have awesome taste in guys and, two, pretended I didn’t speak English until we went back inside in hopes that he would think that he was mistaken. In the end, I didn’t have to speak to him, but he did sit out on the bench outside of the restaurant the entire time we were there. WOOHOO!

All in all, it was a nice (albeit short) weekend. I got to dance to Michael Jackson, sleep on a floor, actually beat someone at pool for once, take a nice long drive alone, listen to some new music, and play with the Pica…(JGJ’s dog…not the other meaning.)

Today, however, has just been weird. I got propositioned by a guy who used to read my blog. (I hope he doesn’t anymore, because…well, I am totally blogging about him right now). He wants me to meet him on Wednesday for a drink with him and his wife. Why does this happen to me? I don’t want any part of this. Obviously, I said that. But that is not the sort of email I like to receive. Especially during work hours.

THEN, I got to read that my ex is now “rage fucking” which is pretty rad. I shouldn’t have even read his blog, but I did because it is one of the normal stops while blog reading and I sort of do it out of habit. I am done doing that. It just made me want to vomit. Not jealous, not hurt, not anything but disgusted. Gross. Bleh.

That is all.

What's in a Name?

Well, internet, I've just had another infuriating converstation with "Boy to Avoid". I know, I know, his name speaks volumes about why I should...you know...avoid him. But he tends to email me every once in a while to say hi. And then, ultimately and inevitably, resorts to self-depreciating comments about how he is a "worthless bastard". I don't know about you, internet, but this is not the sort of conversation I care to take part in. If my sole purpose in your life is to tell you over and over again that you are only a mild idiot and that, though you are a tool, you are not completely worthless, then you should just go ahead and find yourself a hole to crawl into. I don't care if you have daddy issues and you think that every woman you ever loved victimized you. (One of which, of course, is me.)

 

Sidenote: I did not do anything to this fucktard except have a boyfriend who wasn't him. That is all. It isn't my fault that he was so "in love" with me that he couldn't take it and started fucking some tart who gave him chlamydia and ruined his life. The end.

 

It is a given that BTA has had some pretty serious self-esteem issues. In fact, we used to work very closely together and after our falling out, he eventually had to move to a different department and then take a leave of absence from work. A mental health leave. So, it is safe to sya he is a bit "unstable" but holy shit! I refuse to be his self-esteem coach. To be honest, I humor him by speaking to him because I am afraid he is too fragile to handle me saying, "honestly BTA, I think you are a nut-job and I don't think I ever want to speak to you again."

 

So, I am nice and cordial and when he says stuff like, "I am a worthless bastard", I usually just say that he shouldn't speak of himself that way. That obviously there has to be something good about him because he has a wonderful wife who loves him and takes care of him. To which he says, "Thanks. Thanks for straightening my unappreciative a$$ out and reminding me that I don’t deserve her."

 

Conversation? Over. Fuck you, BTA. Find a hole.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On Sadness

There's something so lovely about being sad, isn't there?

It sounds silly, but it is very true. Sometimes being sad is the only thing that keeps me sane. I don't often look sad and most of the time, I couldn't even tell you what I am sad about. I can just feel this void. It has always been there. It is like an old friend. (Only it isn't as good at hugs...)

It is official.

So, it is official now, ladies and gentlemen.

Four, count 'em, FOUR of my exes have married the chick that they dated directly after dating me. This is not good.

I don't even WANT to get married, but if you are a dude and YOU do, you should totally date me, then you are almost guaranteed to find the love of your life after we break up. I should start a business.

That is all.

Ummm...What in HELL?

This guy is a doctor...and I am not telling you how I know that...I am afraid. A-FRAAAAAYYYYED.