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.