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?

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Rock On, America.

Dear America -

Thanks for being pretty awesome. I mean, not really, but compared to most of the other countries on the planet, you're a righteous dude. It is my understanding that in other places, chicks get stoned for being uppity bitches, which is strange, since that's the exact same way I make most of my friends. Those broads should definitely come here, because we love that shit.

Also, thanks for welcoming my drunken ancestors. They left lands of much booze (Ireland and Germany) to come here and have different booze. And fall into lives of crime, but that's neither here nor there. Besides, we all liked New York enough to stay, and eventually achieved the American Dream - the generations transitioning from Drunken Unemployable Micks to Drunken Fancy-Pants College Graduates (sure, it took like 100 years, but all that boozing slows us down).

Anyway, dude, thanks for sucking way less than all the other places I could live. I could really do without the disgusting Walmart-topia that is the entire middle section of the country, but I don't live there, so fuck 'em.

Here's to you, USA! I salute you with tall boys from the bodega and an obvious fear of the sun.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Misanthropy Briefs: STFU, self.

You ever have one of those moments/hours/days when you think, “Wow. Maybe I should just shut the fuck up for once”? I’ve been having those a lot lately.

You know, the urge to delete your Facebook, your Twitter, and your stupid fucking blog that no one reads. I babble on endlessly and stupidly in the online arena, and really? Not a single fucking person cares. I offer no insight, I’m not charming or witty, and I spew vitriol everywhere (which, by the way, I sense makes me quite attractive to the men out there – which is a rant for another day). What the hell am I doing?

I fear I’m becoming one of those people who you’d like to walk up to, tap them gently on the shoulder, and say, “Stop. Fucking. Talking. No one gives a shit.” I mean, Christ, I’m even annoying myself lately with my desperate need for attention, so I can’t even imagine how annoyed everyone else is with me.

Come on – you didn’t really think my misanthropy wasn’t turned inward, too. As much as I hate you, I hate me more.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Sad and Nostalgic: You've Been Warned

Like I’m sure so many people did this morning, I listened to “Thriller” on the way to work. I haven’t listened to that album in its entirety in years. It’s fantastic, really, and holds up far better than I thought it would.

Before I get too into this, let me just say: my public persona is decidedly unsentimental and insensitive. I cracked jokes about Jackson’s death and laughed when other people did so yesterday (and likely will for weeks to come). He was amazing, and a peerless entertainer, but was completely fucked up and pretty goddamn scary. Besides, there is not much in this world I can’t laugh at. You laugh, or you go insane. That being said, I don't get maudlin very often, so feel free to skip this one if you want to always think of me as a hard-ass bitch.

Anyway, while listening to “Thriller” this morning, memories started flooding back, ones I didn’t even realize were buried in the archives. Sitting on my brother’s bed in our shared bedroom, listening to “Thriller” fucking endlessly on a portable cassette player with tinny, muffled speakers. Begging my mother to rent the “Thriller” video on VHS and then being scared shitless by it. Watching “Beat It” about a thousand damn times at a friend’s house until we got the choreography down. Trying to moonwalk at another friend’s house across her living room floor in our socks. I was only six when it aired, but to this day, my father says that Jackson’s moonwalk on the Motown TV special was one of the most spectacular things he’s ever seen. I even remember when music videos were so important that they would show his new ones during prime-time network TV (after “The Simpsons”, say). You’d talk about it the next day at school, whether you were seven or seventeen, because you still frigging cared – on some level – what this dude did.

So, remembering all this weird, archaic, pleasant stuff from my childhood, I actually started to tear up. Not for Michael Jackson, of course, but for myself. When the symbols and icons of your youth die, it’s like shutting the door to a room you wish you could go back into. When the people you grew up with – personally or culturally – stop existing, it seems like your childhood gets another step further away. Without those touchstones to spur memories, your early years seem more like something you saw on TV or read in a book or imagined, and less like something you actually lived. An easier, more innocent time is long past, time marches relentlessly on, and life only gets fucking harder and harder.

This is far, far less eloquent than I would like it to be, but it’s hard to put into words. It’s not the loss of Michael Jackson that has me so upset. He was one of the overarching symbols of what was probably the best part of my life. And it’s the loss of that which has me a bit inconsolable this morning.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Everyone Is a Goddamned Idiot

So, let me tell you a little bit about what I do for a living, while still being incredibly vague (and perhaps lying about some of it to throw you off). One of the many components of my ridiculous job is troubleshooting technical problems. This includes computer software, hardware, outside/inside wiring, compatibility with outside equipment/technology, etc. Sounds like a pain in the ass, right? Right.

But for every “normal” problem – meaning something legitimately wrong wherein the technology at any level is not working properly – there are five “I’m a fucking moron” problems. The issue I just checked into, for example. Someone in another (non-tech) area submits a problem sheet indicating no data collection in the past five days. This happens on a semi-regular basis, so I’m used to delving into it and seeing what the problem is and then getting annoyed about it because all of the equipment here is a piece of shit. So I log in and look around at the stuff he/she’s looking for. LO AND FUCKING BEHOLD, there is a constant stream of data coming in. Not sporadic. Not occasional. Not “I could see how you’d think there was something wrong”. Constant and unmistakable.

So, then I get to call this jackass and be like, “Hey, this is Drunken Misanthrope from Such-and-Such and your data collection is working fine”, when I really want to say, “Hey, asshole, I’m glad I took 20 minutes out of my lunch hour to troubleshoot this shit for you because you’re too dumb to look at dates and times on the computer screen you’re staring at.”

I worked in tech support in college, and I swore I’d never do it again. Ten years later, I was back at it (in a supposedly high-level, tech-heavy area) and everyone is just as fucking retarded as they were back then. At least this time, the majority of my clients are off-site, so there’s less danger of me beating them to death with a chair.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

The Player Hater's Ball

So, as a sort of intro/let’s-just-get-this-out-of-the-way thing:

Things I Love:
Alcohol, up to and including malt liquor. Puppies and all other animals, except maybe goats. Sleep. Music (all sorts – Skinny Puppy to Pavarotti). Horse racing. Geeky, arty boys. Tasteless comedy. Tasteless horror. Educated people, and that doesn’t necessarily mean a “formal” education. Laughing. Nighttime. The color black.

Things I Hate:
Hangovers. Humanity, children in particular. People who are really fucking impressed with themselves. Geeky, arty boys who don’t love me back. Cutesy sluts (i.e. 95% of females age 12-50). People who are downright proud of their own ignorance. People who take the nerd thing waaaaay too far. Hot weather. The goddamned sun. The color yellow.

Things I Am:
Relentlessly, stupidly, senselessly loyal and generous to the few people I like. Smarter than most, in that 99th percentile sort of way. Maker of poor decisions, regardless of IQ. Functional alcoholic. Atheist. Occasionally funny. Fortified with titanium. Obnoxious. Profane. Wildly jealous. Insecure. Arrogant. Hopelessly romantic, to my great chagrin. Compensating for an inferiority complex by having narcissistic personality disorder. Self-aggrandizing. Self-loathing.

Things I Am Not:
Trusting. Politically correct. Spontaneous. Empathetic. Beautiful. Overtly sexual. Above petty cruelty. Careless. A mean, bitchy drunk. Concerned about the opinions of others, even the people I care about. Light-hearted. Cute. Afraid of being disliked/hated/“the asshole”, which will become readily apparent.

It is what it is, and I am what I am, and I apologize for none of it. Enjoy the ride.