Sunday, December 16, 2012

Just Wondering

I am going to post today for the first time in forever with no explanation just because I have something I need to say and I have this outlet. Hopefully soon I will update with my usual BS.

In regards to what happened Friday in Connecticut, I have no real words. It is horrific, tragic and absolutely mind boggling that this could happen; and to little children no less. I haven't said anything about it on Facebook unlike the rest of my friends list because I cannot find words to express how sorry I am for the families. The people I know, however, seem to have no lack of pictures and statuses promising prayers for the families of those kids. My only thought after something like this is "how dare you offer to pray."

If you're reading this and you're a Christian by all means express your disagreement with me. I know a lot about your beliefs. I spent my formative years in a southern Baptist school and a Catholic one before that. I know that you believe that your God is omnipotent and that he knows everything that is going to happen throughout all of our lives before we are even born (I also know you believe in free will which means not only are you ignorant, but you also don't know what those words mean). That means, in the case of the children at that school Friday, that he knew before they were born that they would make it through being a fetus to emerge into the lives of people that would love them. He knew before they were born that they would go to Sandy Hook Elementary on the last day before Xmas break 2012. And he knew that they would die in complete, paralyzing fear. That does not sit right with me. You believe that your God planned this atrocity and then you have the audacity to offer your useless words back to him; offering to ask the same being who wanted this to happen to ease the very suffering he caused. That is legitimately the worst thing you could offer at this time. Offer condolences by all means, but offering them with the promise to pray is a slap in the face to those parents who will never see their 6 year old turn 7.

I don't know how you reconcile our world with your view of god that says he is a god of love. If this is your God's "love" then your God is an abusive husband who tells you that he does these things because he loves you. And if you pull out your "God is just" line then I beg you to tell me what those 6 and 7 year old kids did to piss your God off so much. Original sin isn't in the Bible and I can't imagine that any of those kids had committed any sins worthy of dying in this manner for in their 7 short years of life. All I'm wondering is how you sleep at night while continuing to worship a god that would plan these types of horrors. Sounds pretty far away from love to me.



Saturday, September 1, 2012

Being Older is Weirder than Expected


and I expected it to be pretty damn weird. 

The problem with what we *think* "adult life" is going to be like when we're 11 is that we're 11 and, therefore, completely retarded and hilariously ill equipped to even fathom the future. When I was younger, I was fat and not so cute. Well, elementary school years were ugly I was the cutest goddamn baby/toddler ever, but that is neither here nor there. Anyway, I was fat and not cute and I talked pretty much just how I talk now but with less swearing. So, I always assumed people would always call me fat. As in, ALWAYS. My tiny child brain thought that adults seriously go around calling each other rude names right to each other's faces like all the kids in my class did. I was thinking today (and I always feel like I should justify where my thoughts come from, but honestly they're just buzzing around in there and one will occasionally stop long enough for me to consider it) that I wouldn't even know what to do or how to react if someone started an argument with me and said something like "Well, you're fat!" I mean, I honestly cannot even fathom that scenario. I know that adults are mean (rarely meaner than middle school-ers,  but I digest (intentional digest/digress)), but my brain cannot comprehend that scenario without laughing at the type of immaturity that would manifest a comment like that.

Other things I assumed to be true:

     "Driving will be awesome always. I will never tire of driving by myself even if I'm just getting sent to the store." False. I hate getting sent to the store. 

     "Grown people aren't ashamed to be your friend." False. Sometimes you'll spend all your time with a person and one day it will dawn on you that you never go in public together, you don't know any of their people, and they're constantly scanning for better plans on the horizon. 

     "Your best friend is your best friend always and nothing stupid like boys will make you not be friends." Hahahaha. I know you've all heard some The Pretty One drama kinda consistently and I'm sure it's losing it's luster, but just going to once again state that, though I love her, she is a royal bitch almost always. Especially in situations where menfolk might be involved. 

I'm not sure what got me started on all this reflection. All I know is that I thought life went one way and it turns out that I was pretty much wrong on every assumption. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled that I was wrong about most things because I think my existence is pretty rad, but 11 year old Bri definitely thought 22 year old Bri was going to be a lot of things she's not; like graduated from college, working a real job, having someone love her (11 year old Bri could not think of a better scenario than someone loving her fat self, 22 year old Bri loves her though so I think she's fulfilled (just gave myself diabeetus with that one. bleck)), looking put together. Also, she hoped we'd have money. Silly girl.

On another note, all y'all should listen to my radio show, Go Peeve Yourself, on Wednesdays @ 11am on http://lifeimprovementradio.com/ it's basically just a bitch fest to get all our little pet peeves out so we don't go all Hulk on the terrible people we meet in our daily interactions. Also, like the show on Facebook because that's how love works nowadays and tell me your stories of terrible people: http://www.facebook.com/gopeeveyourself

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Things They Need to Hear Thursdays: Facebook Christians Edition

Dear Facebook Christians,

Don't post your preachy bullshit all over the place if you don't even have the balls to engage in respectful discourse. Every time I post a reply to one of your absurd assertions I get absolutely no response. It's not an admirable thing to just put "I believe this" out there and then not be willing or able to back yourself up. I'm not trying to fight or be disrespectful, I just want to exchange opinions with someone whose beliefs differ from my own because that shit is fascinating to me. I know that the whole world has to agree with us now, but sometimes it's good for everyone to express WHY they hold their beliefs instead of just state them. Jesus doesn't give a shit that you posted a "witty" poorly photoshopped support thingy of Chik-fil-A's hatred. Jesus wasn't a hater. The fact that you stand up in his name and hate others is ridiculous. I don't even believe in your bullshit, but I know more about it than you if you truly think that is something your "savior" would have ever done. The point of this being: argue with me or shut the fuck up.

Sincerely,
Better at your religion than you 

It has been a damn long time, but the stars have aligned; it is Thursday, I'm working an overnight shift, and I have people to bitch about. I don't know that any of you are as hateful as me, so maybe the jumping off point I'm about to explain won't make a whole lot of sense to you and for that I apologize. There is a woman my mom used to work with that I am friends with on Facebook; I take all of my random rage out on her. She is just a huge stereotype...literally huge (that was a low blow, I know (but that rhymes so I think that negates it)). She's all Jesus-y and absurdly Republican. She represents a whole subset of the population that have their heads so far up their own asses they can't even a remember a time when they didn't bask in their own shit. She posts ridiculous assertions and then when I present an alternate viewpoint I get no response at all. Does she truly believe if she ignores me then I don't exist and she must be right? I hate that refusal to acknowledge other opinions; it's weak, it reflects poorly on you and your beliefs. I'm not in any way saying I hate all Christians; some of the best people I've ever known have identified as such. I am referring almost exclusively to this woman and others of her ilk that post their hate all over a public forum and then ignore any disagreement.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

You've Got a Friend in Me?

Hey there! Long time no blog. Don't worry, my family has given me enough shit about not posting to make anyone feel guilty. It's good that they're on my ass though or I'd never manage to get on here and say something and I really enjoy having this thing here.

Anyway, let's talk about my crazy best friend, The Pretty One, again because she has truly topped herself in whatthefuckery lately. When I first wanted to post this there had only been one bitchy incident, but now that I've waited so long there are 2! I can hardly keep up.

Allow me to set the scene:

  It is 3am.
  I am on a bench in Ybor City.
  I am absolutely schwasted.

Perhaps I should let you know what led me to this forsaken corner of my city and my sanity.

The Pretty One and I went to a male revue in downtown St. Pete, because...wait, I need more reason than MALE revue?? Uhm, $10 AYCD. Boom.

So we went and it was fun. I was far too short to really see anything, so I focused on my buzz. I said to The Pretty One before I started drinking: "Are you OK with being my DD?" She said yes and I was off. As an aside, let me tell you I am ALWAYS the DD and guardian for her and I find nothing wrong with asking for my turn to act like an ass in public.

After my desire to imbibe alcohol overwhelmed my desire to see gyrating men we retired to anther bar downtown where The Pretty One decided to just text strangers via the Skout dating app (if you haven't heard of this, congratulations. It is awful. People are cray.) rather than interact with me. Needless to say, I was ready to pay the tab, get some Taco Bell, and eat it in bed while falling asleep.

If only.

The Pretty One decided she wanted to go "dancing" (AKA find a dude to bone) and convinced me we should go find a club in Ybor to continue our evening. Recall that I'm already beyond feeling good and it's only 11pm. Red flag number one should have been that when we were getting out of the car and I was drunkenly laughing and whatnot and she said something pissy and I warned her if she was going to be shitty we could leave right then. Should have just left dammit.

We pay our way into a club, get a shitty overpriced drink, and she begins her "dancing." Not long after we leave that club with a dude. Go down the street to somewhere playing sweet music and grab a table. This is where shit got real. We're talking and I'm shouting because IT'S A GOD DAMN BAR and I'm drunk. The Pretty One starts to cry and goes to the bathroom. I walk out of the bar and pop a squat next to the building and promptly fall asleep...yes, I was 'that girl' and I am in no way proud of it. My first interaction with the public was someone who worked at the bar I was using as a cot. He was very polite and asked me if I was OK; I told him I was just waiting on my ride. Allow me to point out that I am directly in the line of vision of everyone walking on the sidewalk near this bar, there is no way that if someone had been looking for me they wouldn't have seen me. ANYWAY, the second run in was with a dude who woke me up and asked me if I wanted to get a drink with him (all I could think of was that scene in 40 year old virgin where they all say "TOO drunk" about the chick he's hitting on). His reasoning for why I should was "I'm a nice guy! I'm a Christian!" OUCH sorry buddy, but saying "I've only been to jail ONE TIME would have gotten you further with me than saying that.

The next time I wake up, it is 2:30am and the bars are letting out. I am convinced she has now abandoned me and I have a killer headache. I wander down the street till I find a nice secluded bench and I sit down to continue acting like an asshole via text to people who are in no way at fault for my miserable evening. A dude stumbles up and says "I need to make a call" and starts rattling off a number as he plops down beside me. I dial the number and hold the phone to his ear; this happened:

   Dude: "Kimmy! I can't find my car." *listening* "Kimmy! Kimmy! Kimmy! I'm in Ybor."
   *looking at his phone incredulously* "She hung up on me"
   Me: *shrug* "I'm sorry"
   *phone rings again*
   Me: "It's for you"
   Dude: "Kimmy! *listening* "A girl on a bench. She's very nice, Kimmy" *listening* "She's really nice Kimmy!"
   *turns to me* "She's calling you a whore."
   Me: *crickets*
   *phone rings again*
   Dude: *listening* "Yep. Mhm, yeah Kimmy, me and her. Right here on this bench. Mhm"

It was hilarious and the only bright spot in an awful evening. I wound up having to take a $60 cab ride home and I was not pleased. Around 5am I got a text from The Pretty One's mom asking if I was OK and if I needed her to come get me which means The Pretty One didn't get home until 5am because while I was sleeping in the mulch outside a bar my "best friend" was boning a stranger...I don't really have anything witty, it was just kinda messed up all around.

Well, it's been forever and I opened back up with this whale of a tale and for that I apologize. I hope some of you are still with me. If you're at all interested in hearing me bitch out loud in my own voice, stay tuned because someone might be putting me on the radio to do just that.

Saturday, July 14, 2012

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes


A whole heap of things I want to blog about; absolutely no motivation. 

I'm dropping this post here to say I'm still alive and just making some huge adjustments to my life currently. I'm hoping that I can also help my little blog here out in the process.

IMMINENT LIFE CHANGES I AM IN NO WAY PREPARED FOR:

I'm moving back in with my parents in a week. A WEEK. I'm equal parts excited, nervous, and relieved. I'm excited because my family is rad as shit, we have a good time, and I never have to feel the way I do around other people (read: awkward) around them. I'm nervous because I like doing whatever I want to do, whenever I want to do it and I know that is going to take a beating; also I like nighttime shenanigans with menfolk and that will be taking a breather for sure while I'm a resident at Chez Parental Units (side note: I don't understand people who get jiggy in their childhood beds. Ew. So incredibly creepy. My 4 year old self slept in this room, please refrain from getting bodily fluids on it). Most of all, I think I'm relieved. Sure, I feel like a massive fuck-up moving back in with the 'rents after only a few years on my own, but it will feel so good to actually save some money and get out from under the financial crap I've already accrued at the tender age of 22; for that, I can't really thank them enough.

I'm going to be taking more than one class come August for the first time in well over a year. I'm trying not to compare myself to all the people I graduated with who recently graduated college. I like my life and especially myself and I don't like most of those people at all so fuck them I'm doing alright. 

I'm planning on having MUCH more free time since I won't have even the meager excuse for a social life I have now so my first priority after schoolwork will be this blog here. I have so much I want to say and I love it, poor anemic thing that it is; I'll do to it what I've done to my ass and plump it up. 

If you're still occasionally checking here, thanks for being a trooper, I hope to be entertaining soon.

Thursday, June 28, 2012

Debacle is an Awesome Word Until You Realize it Describes Your Life


Hey all! I was going to write a post entitled "The Great Car Debacle," but then some shit happened and I could've written "The Great Man Debacle ('great' here meaning big; I obviously am not keeping company with any great men)." Then some MORE shit happened that pushed this into "My LIFE is a Debacle" territory. Let me begin making you feel super awesome about your existence (I'm a giver):

THE GREAT CAR DEBACLE OF 2012
My car is old. This is not news. When I broke down on the side of the interstate outside Ocala back in May, we had to replace the radiator and I had to stay in town overnight; all this to the tune of about $700. When that happened, my dad said "This is the LAST big repair we're doing to this car! *eye twitch*" So, I got back on my merry way almost 24 hours after I had started out. The car was fine all the way home and back. The next day I went to start it and...nothing. Turns out the battery was dead because my tail lights were staying on all the time. That was an easy fix so I was back on the road after only one week of having to disconnect the battery every time I left the vehicle and jump it when I got back. Fast forward one more week and my car won't turn over and is a giant paper weight for 2 weeks before I get it towed to a garage...where they want $500 for a tune-up that will supposedly make the car useful as a car instead of an outside closet with wheels. I pick the car up after the tune-up (at about 3pm; this is important in a minute) and it's driving great. I go home, post the obligatory "yay my car is fixed" facebook status, and decide I should go grocery shopping BECAUSE I CAN. I get 2 blocks from my house and the car is overheating (it is exactly 5pm). I call the guy at the car place and try to get it to them. Doesn't work. They come out to me and say we have to tow it again because I blew the head gasket. It was here I lost my shit and cried about life being unfair and blah blah blah: "EXCUSE ME, MISTER?! I blew the head gasket?? I think not, I drove it for maybe 10 minutes all combined. I invite you to suck my dick." So, then they want to do $500 more worth of work to fix the head gasket. I go to pick it up yesterday and they say "well it was running, but now that you're here, it's magically not. That'll be 5 more days." SO MUCH SAD. The story now though is that they're rebuilding my engine and putting a motor in that only has 90k miles on it, so I guess...yay?
THE GREAT MAN DEBACLE OF 2012 (IN THE STYLE OF BIZ MARKIE)
Ever met a guy that you tried to date, but "I'm not ready for anything serious" he wanted you to take? Let me tell you the story of my situation, I was talking to a dude from the douchebag nation. The way that I met him was drunk at the pool hall, he had pretty eyes and just enough game. I drunk-shouted in his ear "YOU SHOULD GIVE ME YOUR NUMBER, so I can believe men other than Mikes want to see me naked (and also to see if you're hundred proof, obvs)" I asked him his name, all I heard was "not Mike" plus, he had a car and didn't live with his mom. We hung out a few times and he was enthused, recon asked "what's the deal?" He said I am very amused. But when I online dating stalked him, I found another story; all about how he was looking for 'a special somebody.' Come on! I'm not even going for it. You, you're not what I need, cause you say I'm just a friend, and you say I'm just a friend...But if I did these things with my "friends" I'd be the creepiest, whoriest (spell check wants this to be horsiest and I find that hilarious) friend ever. 
THE GREAT KEY DEBACLE OF 2012
 The Pretty One came up last weekend because after the car thing and in light of the man thing I was in desperate need of best friend therapy. You may have heard there was a tropical storm all over my fair state, so it rained all day and night on Sunday. We decided to go out to the pool hall on Sunday night, so we gussied up (I even wore a dress!) and headed there after hitting the Olive Garden for an entire bottle of wine and making people uncomfortable. Before we left I gave The Pretty One my house keys and she put them on her key ring (this is important later). We play some pool, share some beers, have some fun; overall a good night. We head back to my place around 11:30 and it is POURING. When we get there I ask for my keys and we realize THEY AREN'T ON THE KEY CHAIN. So, we go back down to the car; can't find them. Call the bar; dumbest chick there says no one has found any keys. Call a locksmith; fifty bucks to get me in. We decide to retrace our steps (I should point out there were SO many frogs out and I was losing my shit) so we go back to the bar and ask again; she still says they don't have them, we check the table and the bathroom. Find nothing. We drive all the way back across town to Olive Garden (they're closed). At this point, The Pretty One is all pissy blaming herself and shit and I am convinced that I'm having a psychological break. We're both looking like drowned rats already so I start dancing around the Olive Garden parking lot, jumping in puddles and shit. Totes fun. We don't find the keys. Go back to the apartment and call the locksmith, guy comes out (it was the same guy who had to get me into my car last month!), The Pretty One and I are all wild eyes, running mascara and limp hair by this point. So, the guy picks my lock (giggity?) and says "Don't tell anyone I did this for free" We must have been horrifyingly pathetic to behold.  
This post is super long, but I needed to make up for the lack of posting, so I guess you can read one debacle a sitting if you can't make it through. 



Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Surefire Ways to Spot an Asshole


I've been compiling this quick reference list for some time, because I believe one should always know when they're in the presence of an asshole. If you find yourself talking to someone wondering "Is this person awful?" just consult this list and if any one thing matches up, you've got a dick on your hands (giggity).

This person...

1. is a New York Yankees fan; these people are just the worst and should be avoided at all costs.

2. eats pizza with a knife and fork

3. drives a cream colored car; not white or tan, but cream.

4. wears white sunglasses

5. has a lower back tattoo; this is not about placement, but content. I saw a man at the pool with the word "Mesmerized" tattooed across his lower back. That guy sucks, I guarantee it.

6. won't give their phone number when they check into the hotel; you aren't that important and when you've been waiting 45 minutes for the shuttle and I can't call you to keep you updated  because you were too goddamn special to give your number do NOT yell at me when you get back. Fuck you.

7. says "I'm a very sexual person;" yeah, you like to get laid a lot and whore around. That doesn't mean you're all in touch with your sexuality, it means you're "horny" which is fine, but try not to be so pretentious about it.

8. tells you that "everything happens for a reason" when your life is going to shit. Just...just cunt punt that person, because that is the most BS cop out masquerading as wisdom.

9. identifies as a New England Patriots fan.

There are so many. Assholes are everywhere, but luckily they're usually doing asshole-y things to help you more easily identify them. Feel free to add anymore. Also, do you think this guy is an asshole? or just weird as shit?


His shoes are made of rope and there was no irony in that hat

Friday, May 11, 2012

Sometimes I'm a Perv. Join Me.


So, I've been MIA and I am totes sorry! I'm blaming it on my obsession with A Song of Ice and Fire (the book series that Game of Thrones on HBO comes from just in case you didn't know. Which you better have!) I just finished book 2 and am about to delve into book 3, but I had to come up for air to see if anyone on my corner of the internet is as into this story as I am. I'm dying to dissect and discuss it. I even gave book 1 to my 12 (almost 13!) year old sister to read so I'd have someone to talk about it with. 

When I told my mom I gave it to her and that it is wildly inappropriate (I had to explain incest when I gave it to her to dodge the question later) at worst and questionable (she asked "Is there, like, lots of killing?"(she was pretty stoked about that part)) at best all she had to say was "she'll never read it because it's so long." C'mon, Lindz, prove her wrong! My dad though got all indignant asking WHY I was trying to get her to read an inappropriate book and I answered honestly that it has a myriad of strong female characters and I thought she could use some positive female role models (no matter how fictional). The TV show is of course just retardedly wrong because HBO is like "fuck you guys, we're HBO. We'll put girl on girl action that in no way furthers the plot in here all we want."

Anyway! The point of this post was to play Marry, Boff, Kill with the characters of ASOIF. I'm gonna need to do a few 3 person scenarios (there are a LOT of characters or all I think about while reading intense prose is the bang-ability of these fictional characters...mostly that last part) but I'll try to do them in categories because I'm OCD like that:




Marry
Boff
Kill




Winterfell
Ned Stark
Theon Greyjoy
Bran Stark
Free Cities
Jorah Mormont
Khal Drogo
Melisandre
Lannisters
Tyrion Lannister
Jaime Lannister
Cersei Lannister
King’s Landing
Sandor Clegane
Bronn
Joffrey Baratheon
Miscellaneous
Arya Stark
Daenerys Targaryen
Lisa Arryn


If you've read the books or watched the show, play the game! I've only read the first 2 books so if someone is going to do something to change their standing on my fancy chart I'm not aware of it yet so no spoilers! I mean, except the people who are already dicks, like Theon. I'm just kinda into that in the right context I suppose. Oh! and the Hound, I think he's not as bad of a guy as he seems...see? I need to trade opinions on this stuff!

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Notes From a Judgmental Observer


Dear Short Guy Walking Down 13th Street,

You're probably self conscious about your height, I mean, I am and I've probably got a good 3 or 4 inches on you. You know what you shouldn't do? Wear your 'shorts' to your ankles and your shirt past your ass. You look like you're 6 playing dress-up in big brother's clothes. You aren't Peter Dinklage; you cannot pull off the dwarf thing.

Sincerely,
me

Dear Spanish Speaking Ladies in the Shuttle Van,

Why are you shouting? Are you mocking the English speakers who talk LOUDER and s l o w e r once they learn someone speaks a different language? Because I agree that that is irritating, but I wasn't trying to communicate with you. I was just driving you to the airport and you made my ears ring.

Rude.

Sincerely,
me

Dear People who Spray Perfume in a Full Car,

Fuck you.

Sincerely,
Everyone

Dear Radio Station 103.7,

You guys suck. I know your claim to fame is that you play coverage of all Gator sporting events, but interrupting the Sunday countdown right when they're about to play the number one song is a dick move. Everyone could have missed the first 4 minutes of sports casters talking about college baseball. Everyone knows college sports are inferior. Stop being douches.

Sincerely,
me and the other 10 people in the whole world who enjoy the Sunday morning countdowns

As an added bonus, in case you aren't living life to the fullest, a picture of Peter Dinklage (I love him, go watch him in Game of Thrones and Nip/Tuck):



Totes pulling it off; take notes guy on 13th street.

Thursday, April 5, 2012

I'm Gonna Write About Christmas Now That it's Easter, I'm Kind of a Hipster That Way


Forever and a day ago, before everyone stopped checking here because I never post, I told you about present opening protocol; at least that it existed. Well, today you're going to learn what the rules actually are, so that I'll have evidence for when later this year my whole family decides to act like a bunch of assholes during present opening. The guidelines are fairly simple and very rigid. The only person who should have trouble with this is me since I am stuck in the limbo between "kid" and "grown up" and yet I'm the only one who can handle it. 

Through the use of diagrams and my descriptive skill I will now paint a you a picture of the peaceful, fair Christmas I yearn for (when I was an only child, this was far easier).

First thing you need to know, the living room at my parents' house looks like this on Christmas Eve:





I know it's huge, it was either REALLY big or REALLY small (giggity). So, we're dealing with that room and a bunch of loud ass people all yelling and trying to get situated. Once everyone gets an ass in a seat, they inevitably turn to me and tell me to begin bossing everyone around. This would be great except that 10 seconds later I'm getting mocked and the little(er) kids are getting told to just open gifts. This would be fine except if you've ever told a young child/tween to "just do (something)" you know that they just gape open mouthed like you just spoke Mandarin Chinese instead of telling them to unwrap a bunch of free shit.

That's why my rules go like this:

1. The children hand the adults their gifts from them.
2. Once all the adults have all their gifts, each person opens one per circuit ONE AT A TIME. (this is the part that my family just cannot fucking handle) I spend a lot of time considering, purchasing, and wrapping gifts for every member of my family, I want to see their reaction god dammit! 
3. After we've completed sufficient circuits so that all the adults' presents are unwrapped, then the chillins get to go. ONE AT A TIME alternating between them so that everyone gets proper acknowledgement and so they can actually absorb what it is they've received instead of just moving onto the next like greedy little hooligans. 

BTW, circuits go like this:



[editor's note: MS Paint is hard.]



I simply cannot handle a world in which everyone just rips the wrapping off of every gift in 8.3 seconds, not even knowing what they got or who gave it them; that is not a world in which I will ever live. If you aren't patient enough for the system, I guess you don't get presents; sucks to suck.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

I'm Not Dead, but it Was Touch and Go There For a While

*insert generic apology about not posting here*

Now that we're over that, let's talk about the time I legitimately thought I was driving into the den of a killer. 

Let me open with a fact about me: I am careful about everyone's safety in social settings; I am usually the DD and I rant like an old woman about how motorcycles are death traps, so why I agreed to do what I did is beyond me. Anyway, what happened was:

I was invited to hang out at the house of a guy I know. I had never been there before and I, frankly, didn't know him that well. I said sure because my life is sad and I didn't want to spend another night watching the same episodes of The League and trying not to look around and notice how gross my room is right meow. He lives out in Melrose, about 30 miles from where I'm at. I didn't get off work until 11. While at work, I loved this plan and I was 100% sure I was not going to be killed (keep track of that percentage, it'll change as we go on)

I went home, took a shower, googled how to get there, and set out upon my adventure. The drive out there was pleasant for the first part where I was seeing lots of deer on the sides of the road; I was overly excited, especially considering my thoughts went something like "AWW DEER! I bet gramps would like to shoot them." Then, I noticed there were no other cars on the road and I was in the middle of fucking nowhere; percentage of certainty that I'm not going to be murdered: 80%

So, I drive along like a happy (and only marginally nervous) little bumble bee until I see the Kangaroo gas station where I thought I was meeting said guy so I could follow him back into BFE to his home. I inform him I have arrived and go inside to get some coffee. The dude behind the counter looked like that inbred monstrosity from Harold and Kumar; I heard banjos. Percentage of certainty that I'm not going to be murdered: 75%

I am informed that I went to the wrong gas station (probably because that one was well lit and there were witnesses). So I continued another 5 miles or so up to the "right" gas station...which was closed...as in boarded up. There's a single car sitting in the parking lot. Percentage of certainty that I'm not going to be murdered: 50%

We proceed down the road, me following behind. Now might be a good time to mention that there were no streetlights, like, at all. So we make a left off the hard road. This is a legit dirt road and I'm now humming along with the happiest shit I have on my phone to keep the panic at bay. Percentage of certainty that I'm not going to be murdered: 20%

As I scoot along the road is crazy bumpy (I drive a Honda Civic (hey! a palindrome!) and just in case you know less about cars than me (impossible!) those aren't made for off-roading. So, I'm bouncing along and it feels like I'm on this dirt road forever and the deeper I get into this wooded bullshit the closer the trees get and the narrower the road gets. I'm hyperventilating and trying to get right with the universe. Percentage of certainty that I'm not going to be murdered: Fuck that, I am going to die.

Here's the twist ending: I'm not dead! And he's not a murderer(probably)! I know yous guys were worried, but feel free to celebrate because I did make it out alive and have since been there in the daytime and it is not far off the road; in fact (if there were fucking street lights) you can see the main road from the dirt road in places. So, yeah, I thought I was a goner, but I'm also a dumb bitch sometimes.

I need to tell y'all about Crazy Bananas Mike ASAP. Bitch has lost his shit. 

Friday, March 2, 2012

And That's How I Wound Up Hulk Angry at Busch Gardens


Hey y'all! I apologize once again for being MIA a lot and also for my last two posts being boring (also, in advance, sorry for this one being boring). I want to tell you all about how Old Mike lost his shit last night (preview at bottom! :D), but I'm gonna wait and see how that one pans out so I can tell you the whole story. 

Anywho!

I went to Busch Gardens last week! It was fun. I went with people I don't really know. It was a guy I'd gone on a few dates with and his family...for someone with anxiety I sure agree to some anxiety-inducing shit. The part that got me all ragey and ranty actually had to do with me being a shameless eavesdropper.

I was walking to the park gates and got stuck behind this behemoth of a family; mom, dad, little boy...all fat (not the point but I want you to get the mental picture). They're walking with junior in between them and they're lightly pushing him back and forth (this is obviously NOT the part that upset me) and he's pushing back at them. They were heckling him by saying "hey Sally, is that all you got" and "oh Sally, you better call Lightning to come help you, Sally" (weird misogynistic Cars reference).

Seriously?? If you're a parent and you ever call your son a girl like it's a derogatory thing, you fucking suck. There's no defense of that; you just actually should have your kid taken away. It was disconcerting to see the same archaic ideas that we've been fighting against for years being drilled into the head of the next generation. That kid is obviously being inundated with how lucky he is to have been born a boy, because being a girl is the worst thing you can be. If you're going to heckle your kid about being weak, just call him weak; if he can't throw a ball, call him a... fucking shitty ball thrower (or something that rolls of the tongue better I guess). There's no reason we should still be able to hear things like "You throw like a girl" or "Why you crying, Sally?" coming from parents. 

I'm having such a tough time being funny or even interesting lately! I don't know where my groove went, but I'm desperately looking for it. If you see it, call me. 

**Preview of insanity: he told me that "telling someone you love them and then sleeping with someone else is the definition of a whore" and I'm not talking to him, but if I was I would inform him that: a whore is "a woman who engages in promiscuous sexual intercourse, for money; prostitute; harlot; strumpet." I certainly haven't been paid; I date poor guys.**

In the mean time, Killa informed me that beavers make noise (I did not know this) when asked what they sound like, she said "a whining toddler"...she was right. Enjoy




Saturday, February 18, 2012

All it Takes are Balls of Steel

Sometimes, when I see the same strangers around all the time I like to make up little back stories and motivations for their actions even though I know nothing about them. There's a guy in my apartment complex that I'm pretty sure has actual balls of steel (at least according to my imaginary back story for him).

Let's discuss balls of steel guy.

A few weeks ago I started seeing a guy and a girl walking around every evening. Through only the 3.2 seconds I saw them as I drove by, I decided that they were friends but this guy wants to get out of the friendzone and into the bed. I came to this conclusion for a few reasons:

1. They aren't ever walking very close or touching in any way.

2. The girl is wearing a scarlet velour jogging suit. Yes, really.

3. She pushes a baby stroller containing...a tiny Pomeranian. Yes, a dog. In a stroller. Beyond my own complete lack of understanding as to what the point of walking your dog is if the dog isn't actually walking, any person willing to be seen in public with this chick either has balls made of actual steel or is putting the pussy on a pedestal (as The 40 Year Old Virgin would say).

I say all this to say: If I ever drive by you, I'm probably making up your whole life in my head and that's why I'm staring. 

Also, my life is unexciting and I have nothing else to blog about.

Because this looks so short and blank to me, here's a picture I just re-found of my entire family standing under a sign that says someone else's names at a wedding chapel in Vegas (it hadn't switched to my parents' names yet and we're a little...touched.)


There in the middle you'll see...not Denise and James.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Radio, We Need to Talk


Radio, you know I love you. Even when most people have moved on to customized music experiences I still come back to you. I like the fact that I don't know what's coming next, but if this relationship is to continue, we need to lay some ground rules.

First, country radio, stop playing Big & Rich. While I appreciate the sentiment of "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy," that song is terrible. Big & Rich isn't even a thing anymore...this song should join them in nonexistence.

Next, every radio station ever, stop ruining Adele for me. I adore her, her songs and voice are gorgeous, but guess what?! She has 2 whole albums worth of music. Stop just grabbing a song and playing it until I never want to hear it again. You drilled "Someone Like You" into my skull so hard it has lost all meaning and emotion behind the song; same with "Rolling in the Deep." Now you've turned your obnoxious, dead horse beating on "Set Fire to the Rain" Please stop the madness. I want to love Adele forever and you're making it hard.

Lastly, who decided LMFAO gets to be famous? No one ran it past me. They are terrible. Plus they're taking advantage of the music buying public: "Oh we had one song people liked, now we can just re-release the same song again, but with the word sorry thrown in there." And neither of them are sexy in any way, shape or form. 


These guys lost their dictionary
Please just fix these few things, Radio, and we can get this lovin' back on track.

Saturday, February 4, 2012

I Didn't Know This Was a Thing

So, I stumbled upon some pretty alarming websites that prompted me to write this unfunny post instead of writing about the myriad of things I promised, but I really didn't know that angry men had started an "anti-feminism" movement. I understand that there are extremists in every single belief that has ever been a thing people believe in ever. But wow, these dudes are pissed. 


Reading these ridiculous things (and one eloquent article about having absolute beliefs) made me examine my own beliefs about my own brand of "feminism" and human rights in general; I think I've pinpointed my own opinions (not that you care, but I'm gonna tell you about them).

I am pro-choice. Every time. No exceptions. If you aren't pro-choice, then you don't trust women to make their own choices. That's really the bottom line for me. The thing that makes me the angriest is when people use the "it's murder" argument to defend their stance and then turn around and support the death penalty. You're hypocrites and, honestly, that's worse than being pretty much anything else.

I don't think it is any worse to hit a woman than it is to hit a man; I just think everyone should refrain from hitting everyone. Domestic violence is bad no matter who hit who. It's an extremely antiquated notion to tell young boys "we don't hit girls." No, you don't fucking hit anyone and if you do hit someone the punishment should be exactly the same.

I 100% support gay marriage. The fact that this is even an issue is ridiculous. People are people. It does not affect straight person A's marriage when straight person B gets married, so why the fuck would it affect straight person A's marriage if gay person C got married??

I used to be pro death penalty, but after a few years and more research, I can safely say I am against it. People do bad things, kill people even. I'm not saying that is good or should go unpunished, but killing the killer doesn't resurrect the dead (talk to your awesome god about that); it just leaves more dead and more angry, hurt survivors.

I don't hate men. There is this crazy stigma that if you call yourself a feminist you're either a lesbian or bitter about being dumped (which is truly an absurd notion, because "hating men" is not a prerequisite for being a lesbian; liking girls is). I am neither of those things and yet I identify myself as feminist/pro woman; some men do too. These men on these sites are the ones who sound bitter.

I want to tell yous guys the address of the angry, ignorant blog that spawned this kinda heavy blog post, but I really don't want to give them more traffic. They are like the Westboro Baptist Church except with a "God Hates Women" sign instead of a "God Hates Fags" one. These people are other people's parents and that makes me all sad panda because I always thought the Evangelical Christians were the main ones fucking up our youth (I may have seen Jesus Camp like 15 too many times).