Thursday, July 1, 2010

Ten Things You'll Hate About Me

So, as I'm delirious from the process of packing and moving and terribly bored with work today, I'm not going to rant about shit. Instead, I'm going to share some bizarre facts about myself with you, because apparently people read this thing.

1) I name things. Like, inanimate objects and things that aren't really objects at all. I have two tiny stuffed snakes that sit on top of my speakers. The green one is Bootsy and the red one is Grandmaster. I've named my tattoos (which are also snakes). The first one is Hermann, somewhat named in honor of Austrian skiier Hermann Maier. The second is Rolfe, named after the Nazi messenger boy in "The Sound of Music". I expect to get another snake tattoo to finish up the arm, and I will choose another German male name for him. I don't know why.

2) I eat incredibly slowly. My father used to yell at me as a child because he thought I ate too fast. As a result, I now finish meals 5-10 minutes after everyone else around me. Thanks, dad.

3) I fucking love movies with retards. I laugh like an absolute asshole. I think retards are hilarious, and if you say you don't, you're a goddamned liar.

4) I get really pissed if I can't complete a crossword puzzle. Which is why I don't even attempt to NY Times ones. I'm just not smart enough.

5) I'm the klutziest fuck on the planet. I have literally walked smack into walls in my apartment while dead sober. I am constantly bumping into door jambs. I'm covered in bruises because I apparently have no fucking depth perception or realization of my own girth.

6) Despite my current status of "graceless fucking spazz", I took ballet for 9 years. I was decent at it, I guess, but my body type is more suited to birthin' babies and pulling plows in Ireland than tripping the light fantastic.

7) I love coffee, but caffeine does not wake me up. If I consume enough of it, I tremble involuntarily, but that's it. Much like every other mind-altering substance, my tolerance for caffeine is ridiculously high.

8) I've had several completely unrelated career plans in my life, zero of which were ever achieved. They are: veterinarian (love animals, but I fall apart around the sick/dying ones, so... no); animator (used to be an okay artist, but didn't think I was good enough to do it for real); Thoroughbred trainer (even planned on going to U Kentucky to major in equine sciences, then realized a life on the racetrack is one of early mornings and abject poverty); investment banker (majored in finance for a while, then figured out that while money is fucking righteous, all the bullshit surrounding it is real boring); criminal psychologist (changed my major to psych, mostly because I wanted to study violent offenders and figure out what was different between us - not much, I'm betting). My career has actually consisted of: computer technician, publicist, computer technician/specialist/whateverIam.

9) I am competitive to the point of total psychosis. In every aspect of life. I have to be the best at fucking everything ever. If I'm not absolutely spectacular at something, I won't do it, or even attempt to do it. I have no ability to do something half-assed. All or nothing. (See #4)

10) I'm an amazing friend, if you can get past my myriad eccentricities. I am stupidly loyal, like a dog, and inappropriately generous, and all I really want to do is make you laugh and have you like me as much as I like you. I'm a firm believer in having just a few really good friends, and having them be the kind of friends for which you'd lie to the cops and dismember bodies and throw their bastard babies into rivers. That being said, my past is littered with former friends who I decided were not worth it. And when I decide you're out, you're out. Out of my life, out of my other friends' lives, and no one ever speaks to you again. As awesome a friend as I am, when the good times are over, I'm the cruelest, iciest cunt you'll ever meet.

And a bonus fact:
11) Instead of being "tired" or "sick", I like to claim I've got some obscure disease. If I'm tired, I've obviously been bitten by a tsetse fly and have African sleeping sickness. I breathed in dust while packing, so now I have Legionnaire's Disease. I also sometimes have rickets, scurvy, dengue hemorrhagic fever, and necrotizing fasciitis.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Womb Closed for Business

So it seems that I know a lot of people spawning babies these days. Some are having their first, some are onto the second.

It makes me sad, really, because it completely changes/erodes a friendship when one person has kids and the other doesn't. I know that slowly, these awesome people are going to fade from my life, maybe entirely. Having a child is this massive, life-changing, all-consuming event for my friends... and I just don't understand or care very much.

I don't understand kids. I don't like them in general. I can't fathom why someone would willingly, gleefully sign away the rest of his/her life to provide for a small person who will likely turn out to be an average jerk. What's the payoff? That someone loves you? Sure, from about ages two through ten, then maybe again after age 20. And God forbid you screw it up. Then your brat will end up writing on the internets about how much of a miserable drunk she is.

Obviously, I'm a dick, but people still incredulously ask why I don't want kids (I mean, really? You people think there should be small versions of me running around in the world?). There is no simpler way to put it than this:

I'm selfish, and I want to be responsible only for myself.

I want my money to be mine. I want to be able to take vacation from my job on a whim and go visit friends in Los Angeles, Denver, London. I want to go to Europe whenever the mood strikes, not just when there's no school. I want to sleep in on weekends, every damn weekend. I want to buy cool tech shit without worrying about who needs school clothes. I want to come home late, or early, or totally irregularly. I want to go out and get drunk until 4AM. I want to eat peanut butter for dinner and not worry about who else needs to eat. I want to be able to camp out on the couch with my husband/boyfriend and laugh and talk until sunrise, without worrying about waking anyone up. I'm wildly, unapologetically self-absorbed, and no child would benefit from that kind of parent. Moreover, I don't want any of those parts of my life to change. Ever.

No one would argue that having children changes your life. But to me, it seems more like they change it from a life to a prison sentence.

Monday, January 11, 2010

Drunkenly Live-Blogging "Intervention"

"I don't drink to get drunk. I drink because I like drinking."
Preach it, bitch!

Seriously, dudes, I've been drinking for nearly 20 years and don't have brain damage. And what kind of faggy lush gets brain damage from drinking WINE?

Oh, wait, she drinks because she was fat and ugly as a child? All right, maybe I'm down with her. I mean, that's why I drink now.

And then she got hot at, like, age 16. Never mind, fuck this bitch. Funny and beautiful and smart. I hope her insides bleed.

I'm sorry, a miscarriage spurred the alcoholism? That's it? Boo-fucking-hoo. It pales in comparison to the million past stories from people who have had actual tragedies. That being said, the very idea of being a housewife/stay-at-home mom makes me want to drown in a vat of booze, too.

Also, alcoholism = sickness? No. Fuck that. Cancer is a disease. Multiple sclerosis is a disease. Drinking? Is a behavioral problem. Let's not dress it up all fancy.

Whoa! Bonus thieving crackhead compulsive-gambling enabler? Thanks, Intervention gods!

You know, my father wouldn't be trying to find me to take care of me if I were a 35-year-old crackhead. Maybe these people are so fucked up because their families bail them out every goddamned time.

Drunk's kid just laid out a beautiful burn. Told her aunt/guardian that she was a "great mom". In front of her actual mom. Nice work, kid!

A water glass of white wine? Christ, I'm ready to puke just thinking about it, and I love wine. Being a middle-aged female wino might be the grossest, lamest shit ever. Runner-up to that title might be a gambling crackhead who makes the pre-intervention ALL ABOUT HIM.

I thought the interventionist just told Crackhead that they would send him to a wellness center to "have a drink". Or, you know, "have a dream". I got way too excited, because I'd really be down with a rehab center that let you keep drinking.

DrunkMom is waffling on the going-to-rehab thing. I don't blame her. I like to drink, and the prospect of a lifetime without booze is not fucking cool.

God, this woman and her whiny hitching sobs. I picked the wrong episode to write about, because she is an annoying git.

And to conclude, the phrase "sober-living facility" sounds like the least fun place in the universe.

Friday, October 30, 2009

Misanthropy Briefs: Shut Up, Mexicans

You know what's my least favorite thing to see on my morning commute? Two fucking Mexicans getting on the train, one with a guitar, the other with a motherfucking accordian. That means I have to endure some ridiculous bleating they consider "a song", which is then followed by public begging.

Here's what's wrong with this whole shitshow:
a) Accordians suck.
b) Mexican music sucks.
c) Mexican music sucks most when done by amateurs trying to drown out the screeching of a subway. Which means they also drown out whatever music you've chosen to listen to that morning.
d) It's 9:00AM, and no one wants to hear anything out of anyone about anything. Especially a midget warbling about matadors or tamales or whatever-the-fuck.
e) I'm on the train because I need to go to work to make money for myself. I'm not giving you a goddamn penny, so don't hold out your cowboy hat to me like I'm supposed to drop cash in there. Get a fucking trabajo like the rest of us.

In closing: Shut up, Mexicans.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

More Shit I Hate

Housewarming parties/baby showers/bridal showers: So I gotta buy you shit now to validate and fund your life decisions? Fuck you. You want a baby, you buy the bullshit for it. Oh, you moved into a new apartment? Unless you’re 20 years old, you have towels and plates, so leave me out of it. Maybe you shouldn’t do ANY of this shit until you have the financial means to do so, and not come begging under the guise of “tradition” and “party”.

People who move their lips while reading: Someone should kill you. That behavior is only acceptable for first-graders who still need to “sound out” the words. You know, because they’re seven fucking years old. You’re just a moron with a first-grade reading level.

Chicks who actually refer to themselves as “hot”: I live for the moments in the future when these whores realize that their looks are gone. “Oh noes! I never cultivated an actual personality because dudes thought I was pretty!” Good luck with that high school diploma and vacant stare, bitch.

Over-dramatic gay men: You are not ACTUALLY a 13-year-old girl, so cut the junior high cafeteria bullshit. You need to calm the fuck down and stop creating your own queeny drama just so you can have something to bitch and eye-roll about. Grow up.

Double-wide strollers: Stop breeding.

People who are really into their birthdays as adults: You narcissistic cunts. The fact that you exist is a not a reason for celebration. Shut the fuck up.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Drunkenly Live Blogging the Fucking VMAs

This is going to be a terrible idea, so here we go... (caveat: I'm not going to know who most of the people on this damn show are, because I am old)

That's enough, Lady Gaga. You're OMGweird as part of your calculated marketing plan, we all fucking get it. It's old and tired.

Buzz Aldrin introducing an award. WHAT IS HAPPENING.

I don't actually know what "The Hills" is, but I know it needs to go away.

Jermaine is sooooo fucking psyched that Michael is dead so he gets invited to places again.

I also don't know who Julius is, but I thought he was gonna punch Beyonce and/or the correspondent. Settle down, dude, YOU'RE the a-hole who walked in front of the camera during a live interview.

The Show:
Uh, wow. Madonna talking about her dead mother. Way to make the MJ intro ALL ABOUT YOU.

Oh my God, I want Pete Wentz to cry on camera so bad. Please, Pete. Please.

So... I like Janet Jackson. She's probably the only semi-sane one in that family, and I feel bad for her, but... that tribute was half-assed.

I am BEYOND SICK of people defiling my beloved Freddie Mercury. Shut your whore mouth, Katy Perry, GODDAMMIT!

If MTV insists on tapping an obscure British comic to host this abortion, why couldn't they pick The Mighty Boosh boys? At least then I might laugh instead of wanting to set this unfunny retard on fire.

HOLY SHIT. Kanye just pulled an ODB "Wu Tang is for the children" moment, but in his typical obnoxious douchebag way. Seriously, dude? I actually dig your music at times, but you make it really hard to do so. What a fucking asshole.

I used to absolutely LOATHE Green Day back in the day, but I now have some weird affection for them. They seem to have an appropriate level of contempt for all this music biz bullshit, and I dig that.

I can't hear "Poker Face" now without thinking of Rob. It's a shame that Lady Gaga is so overhyped and so "look at my stylized eccentricity", because she legitimately has a good voice. And ok, I dig the spontaneous blood. The VMAs need more bloodshed. Good on ya, Gaga.
However, her costume changes are going to give me nightmares. Goddamn.

And also getting the "That's Enough" award, Megan Fucking Fox. You're hot, we know. Please stand in a corner and be hot and STFU.

I am also super-excited for the "New Moon" Twilight-thing preview trailer whatever-the-fuck it is. But not for the same reason the kids are.

OK, I laughed so hard at "New Moon" that I think I twisted a Fallopian tube. COME ON, girls. I know my taste in men/love is slightly untraditional, but I really don't understand how this is some epic love story, and not some laughable hot mess of a movie with the worst actors ever to grace the screen. I'll watch it the same way I did "Twilight" - with Rifftrax.

Kanye gets mentioned in a list of nominees and everyone starts booing. Sweet schadenfreude.

Gerard Butler is getting all King Leonidas on the crowd. I'm into it, and I want to drink with him. He seems like he'd be a rad drinking buddy.

Tracy Morgan is my hero. Fuck you.

As I'm discussing on Twitter, Tyson Ritter from the All American Rejects is not only stunningly beautiful, but also completely humble and down-to-earth and lovely. I met him once, under some horrible circumstances, and he - and his bandmates - were fine, wonderful men. Quality people.

Oh God, Lady Gaga and her evil red demon face-eater costume just won something. I might shit my pants.

I have a no-longer-secret love of Pink. I seriously dig her songs, and will drunkenly sing them in bars. And, you know, "Sober" has a certain message for me. Ahem.

Beyonce bringing Taylor Swift out actually shows some serious class. It is a rare thing, even from celeb to celeb.

Another personal aside: I worked next to Rocafella Records for a while, and they were the most obnoxious fucksticks I have ever had the misfortune to work near. Everyone from Damon Dash down to the interns had a shitty, holier-than-thou yet ghetto-trash attitude and were ruder than shit. EXCEPT Jay-Z. He was a gentleman and always polite and respectful, no matter how important or unimportant you were. A genuinely good guy.

And any song about NYC and how beautiful it is wins my approval. "Empire State of Mind", indeed. Thank you and good night.

Monday, August 3, 2009

Peeves: Part 1 of Fucking Infinity

Focus - Subway

As a preface, I am guilty of none of these things, which is why I hate on them. Trust me, there will be many more of these entries, since no one has any decency or common sense anymore. Ready? Let’s go.

First of all, maybe you should wake up 10 minutes earlier to eat something in your own goddamn house like a civilized human being. You made that ham sandwich somewhere, so instead of eating it there, you decided to pack it up and eat on public transit where bums piss. Idiot.
Second, how are you okay with stuffing your face in front of a mass of strangers? I know I’ve got some pretty severe food issues (I’m uncomfortable eating in front of anyone I don’t know very well, and I usually won’t eat in front of strangers at all), but what the hell are you doing? No one wants to watch you smear your ugly mug with cream cheese at 8AM.
Third, why is it that every asshole who insists on eating during the train ride chews with her mouth wide open? You are a disgusting uncouth piece of shit whose parents should have beat that habit out of you. With a tire iron, if necessary.

You, too, need to wake up 10 minutes earlier to slather that shit on your face. The train is not place to start busting out liquid fucking foundation and an eyeshadow quad. Also, I’m noticing most of you have no idea how to apply any of it. You’re wasting your money, because 98% of you bitches are doing a terrible job. And that spray tan you’re rocking that you think makes you look “healthy” and “sexy”? Wrong. You look fucking old. Skank.

Not Your Couch:
Take your fucking feet off the seats. The other day, I’m on the train, sitting like a fucking lady for God’s sake because I was raised correctly, and I see this whale of a human being plop down into a seat, put her shopping bag on another seat, and then swing her bulk around and put her feet up on the seat next to her. She is now lounging across two seats while taking up another seat with a bag. At 6PM on a Friday. You fat cunt, the train is not your couch where you get to hang out and get comfortable, and certainly not at the expense of taking up seats that other people could be sitting in. Lazy douchebags. That goes for you skinny bitches putting your dirty flip-flop-clad hooves on the seats, too. Put your feet on the goddamned floor where they belong.

Practice volume control. I wear noise-canceling headphones and if I can still hear you talking from 20 feet away? You’re too loud. The person you’re speaking to is sitting 8 inches away for fuck’s sake, keep it down.

Can’t you people just get on the train, sit down, and be quiet? Really?

This, and pretty much all the other ills of the world as far as I’m concerned, stem from one thing: unfounded narcissism. I am one of the most selfish bitches anyone will ever meet, but that does not mean I think - or act like - I am the only person in the world. I was raised by the last generation that worked to instill manners and social niceties in its children, and fulfilling your part of the social contract was a big part of that. Say “please” and “thank you”, be polite, and treat people how you want to be treated. JUST BE NICE. I’m not sure when it happened, but people now seem to believe that they are the only ones who have a right to behave any way they goddamn well please. “I can do what I want and you just have to deal with it, but when you do it, you’re a rude asshole”. Being polite and respectful is the price you pay for living in a functioning society. If you don’t like it, take your spoiled, immature, self-absorbed ass into the mountains and see how long you last on your own.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Advice Requested

How can you tell if you're being paranoid, or if your intuition finally woke the fuck up and is sending out the alarm?

Seriously. Feel free to comment. I'm having some trouble with this one.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Misanthropy Briefs: Danke

People of Earth:

I'd like to thank you for continually validating the absolute worst things I believe about myself. It teaches me to never hope that I could be proved wrong, that maybe I'm not a monster. How naïve of me. I appreciate you setting me straight.

Also? Fuck you.

Monday, July 6, 2009

More Adventures in Troubleshooting

Today, with some help from a coworker, I finally got around to unraveling the mystery of a trouble sheet that came in last week. No major issue, just slightly weird. I email the person who reported the problem and gave her the details on why it wasn’t really a problem – i.e. yeah, we know, it’s inconvenient, but there's nothing we can do about it, and here’s why it shows up this way.

She then proceeds to come down to my floor and look for me to tell me that I must be wrong, there’s no way that there’s not a problem. Luckily, my coworker intercepted her and fetched up some technicians to explain to this stupid cow why I was right.

Allow me to dispense some Totally Amazing Advice: If you’re going to ask for help correcting a problem you have no goddamned knowledge of or experience with, don’t tell the people who know how to fix it that they’re wrong.

Seriously, lady? Fuck you. Just because I gave you an answer you don’t like doesn’t mean it’s not the answer. I’m not a mouth-breathing customer service rep over here. I’m a tech specialist who consulted with electrical engineers on your issue (you know, just in case it was legitimate), and you’re gonna tell us we’re wrong because you don’t like what we tell you? Your skill is typing, and you know better than me? No. No, you don’t, and actually, I’d wager there is precious little in this fucking life you know better than me, unless it’s how to be a fucking retard, because you’ve pretty much got that whole area wrapped up. And good luck getting your tech problems handled in the future, because God knows if there’s anything we fancy-pants tech folks like, it’s a glorified stenographer who questions our knowledge about data collection. Can you fuckin' dig it?