Chronicles of Madness

According to several recent conversations, I may have no morals.

I accidentally pulled out a couple of my eye lashes. EYE LASHES!

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My insides fucking hurt. It feels like someone shoved a balloon up me. I've been trying to drink a fucking soda for four hours and I HAVE NO ROOM. Fuck.

***

I don't care that I have no room in there. I'm hungry. Fuck you mother nature.

***

Fuck you fuck you fuck you

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Does anyone else watch Entourage? I was all, screaming at the TV last night, "NOOOOOOOOOOO" when they fired Ari. Which is stupid and pointless because Ari's the best fucking character on that show, no way in hell they'd fire Ari. God. I'm stupid. Who the fuck cares, it's a TV show!

***

Doggy day care rocks. For twenty bucks I get to abandon my dog for 12-14 hours. I mean, sure they don't recommend leaving them there that long, but fuck them. Take my twenty bucks and shut the fuck up.

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Note to self: Remember to put tampons back in purse.

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Note to self: Remember to later take them back out of purse, while not standing at the cash register... in a nice store.

***

I wish there was a show called whore whisperer.

So I'm at the DMV when this really, really, not hot Police Officer walks by. He's so not hot that it almost makes me gag.

Out loud.

Which prompted me to draft a mental letter of complaint to the Police Department about how low their standards have obviously dropped. I'm sorry, all the ugly ones should be weeded out immediately! When I'm having fantasies about being strip searched I don't want reality to intrude! This guys need to be HOT! And SLUTTY! And partially naked.

Okay, I realize that the last part might be somewhat hazardous for their career, but really, what the fuck do I care? On with the hotness!

Meanwhile that cop just kept walking by, rubbing his ugliness in my face.

"Fucking Dan Little still hasn't come back to work. He won't return my calls, he won't show up, he's completely fucked me!"

"Maybe he's dead." (just so you know, this is me)

"He's not dead. He's a lazy fucking prick who's driving me to bankruptcy."

"Seriously, what if he's dead? Aren't you going to feel bad at his funeral calling him an asshole?"

"No, I'm going to spit on his fucking grave. He better be dead, fucking Dan Little, I'm going to fire his ass."

"Look, you said he's driving cross country in a POS twelve year old hatchback. Maybe he broke down and wolves ate him."

"WOLVES DIDN'T EAT HIM TERRA! Wolves... WOLVES, what kind of made up bullshit is that? Wolves don't even EXIST!"

"Of course they exist! I've seen them on tv... in movies and shit."

"Pfft... tv. That just proves they don't exist. Look, if Dan Little is stupid enough to get attacked by a make believe creature then he fucking deserves to die."

remind you to get out of bed... even when you don't want to. There are walks to be had, shoes to be saved, and a nine am obedience training that they have to get to. Then, when you have dragged your sorry ass every where you didn't want to go, they deign to pose for pictures.

But I keep telling myself, if you're lucky and pray to baby Jesus enough, they bite someone, and that makes it all worth it.

If this cat could get any lazier, or fatter, I'm pretty sure I could sign him up for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and no one would even blink an eye.

Cindy was joking the other day, "isn't it time for your hormonal posts?"

NO YOU FUCKING BITCH I AM NEVER EVER HORMONAL HOW FUCK YOU FUCKING DARE TO SUGGEST SOMETHING SO BASE, SO BENEATH ME, GAH I WILL CUT YOU.

Then I calmed down. Because I'm not hormonal.

Except, this month I'm seriously not. You see, I put my ass on the pill. Because, as it turns out, I am not altogether a big fan of temper tantrums, and sudden abrupt emotional swings. Crying, border line suicidal? Yeah, totally not my gig. I fucking hate crying and if I'm going down fuck if I'm not taking out 20 random mother fuckers with me. This applies to old age. If old age is going to kill me I'm going to take out a bunch of young kids before I go, just to balance out the universe and all.

The good news about the pill? So far I have not attempted to cut anyone this month merely for breathing.

Nice. I would count that as an improvement.

Downside?

Constant nausea, my weight initially went up two pounds, but is back down to normal currently, blah blah X, aka too gross to mention, and... and...

the other day while changing I notice the Irishman is totally targeting my boobs. It's freakishly direct. I move one way, I move the other, it's as if they're a circus act and the ring leader's just inserted his head into the lions mouth. What. The. Fuck?

"Your boobs are bigger."

I count this as a downside because they're super sensitive, I can't tell the difference, and now I have a grown man constantly attached to them.

"Real Fact" #126

A pigeon's feathers are heavier
than its bones.

Fuck you snapple. Fuck you dry and hard.

Whatever happened to my love life with Cindy Lou? Lately she's gotten all clench-kneed and frigid on me. Perhaps she's being a tease? Yes, that must be it! I'm sure she just likes it rougher. And here I was being all nice nice. What a whore.

I hate people who talk to me as if I'm stupid, as if we live in some magical fairy tale land where insane people get to talk nonsense, drive around drunk, and eventually be voted president.

Absolutely nothing is right when I don't own a weapon.

being pissed off is stupid.

I don't have problems with my car. Oh, my tires may need replacing, the oil changed more often than is a good sign, and my brakes tend to wear out right on schedule, but other than that? Zip, zero, nada.

That car is good to go.

And although this sounds gay, I credit it to the fact that I prayed for that car. I needed a good car for cheap because I was so broke that I was subsisting on white rice and ramen. I started dating again just for the occasional free meal! So there I was, car stolen, praying for a good vehicle and then came along the pontiac.

That car NEVER FUCKING BREAKS DOWN ON ME!

I payed two thousand bucks for it three years ago and the thing is an indestructable monster.

Also, as a side note, every car that my parents have ever had a hand in are NIGHTMARES! Absofuckinlute nightmares. They break down all the fucking time! And of course, being a young student as I was for years, I never had the money to fix them. I don't know how many times my mom put 2 grand into a car that was only worth 15oo while I screamed and ranted that the car was a pos, I didn't want her help, even though I might desperately need it.

Prior to this I bought a car off of a lot in order to pay monthly insane payments just to escape the dictatorship that is my mother. Why in the fuck is she bat shit crazy? Who in the fuck MAKES their daughter put two grand into a car that's practically on bricks?

So I bought a car off of a lot and never had a problem. It was so sweet. Then I decided to go back to school and started to save up money to buy a vehicle outright and sell mine. It was in pretty decent shape.

Then someone totalled it.

Cue to the scene where I pull up to my parents house, ask whose car is out front, and they say, "Yours."

And so began the car nightmare AGAIN. Piece of shit toyota broke down all THE FUCKING TIME, overheating, leaving me on the side of the road because a spark plug FLEW out of the engine, seriously, this car was crappy.

But can you really tell your parents, "Thanks for buying me a car, but no thanks. I don't want a pickup, especially one that been driven through bushes a million times, has power nothing, ripped seats, and no stereo."

Where I come from that's called ingrateful and grounds for the guilt trip of a lifetime.

So I kept it. Ugg. Then, thank god, I totalled it! And the lady who helped me total it? I almost punched her in the face and then told her to get back in her car before I did something causing my arrest!

It was really a sweet day.

So cue where my mom has to help me get a loan for a NEW car.

Jesus fucking christ. Why can't that joke about starving students be a mere myth? Whatever.

So now I had a Honda, it was so cute and sweet, AND IT HAD POWER WINDOWS!

I loved it. I was so in love. I was so stupid.

First the brakes went out, then something else I've blacked out, then the battery left me stranded, then something else so it had to be towed to the shop, and then? The grand finale?

IT GOT STOLEN!

It was so great. I owned the car for six months and had put over a grand of work into it and then it got stolen. Can you say, SUH-WEET?

But fuck it. I payed less than what the car was worth so after yelling at my insurance company for 48 hours straight, possibly more, I got the loan money, the grand I put into it, and three thousand on top of it.

They were so pissed, but fuck 'em. Money grubbing bastards. My cousins point out that they must keep my file handy, just so they'll be ready for the next car I murder.

But I bought this car outright, paid off my mother, and never looked back. And so far, so good.

Until my tire blew out forty miles from home while I was visiting my mother. It only seemed logical that she would take it to a tire place next to her while I took her vehicle to work. I guess you could say I made a deadly deadly mistake when I let her touch my vehicle.

Because before you knew it, oh the alignment needed to be done, some belts about to give out, this fan looks old, and oh, by the way, you need a brand fucking new radiator on a car that doesn't leak, and never overheats.

Do you think she called me to verify that this work needed to be done? Oh no. She authorized it. And since Friday my car has leaked, overheated, and left me stranded.

How much did all this shit that I didn't need cost? A thousand bucks. That's right. She authorized a thousand bucks of work to be done on a vehicle that only cost me 1900, is ten years old, and has 160 thousand fucking miles.

Why did she do this? Because she hates me. She hates my guts.

I almost missed an important meeting today, I inconvenienced a ton of people trying to get from point A to point B, and also? Work? What is that? Some sort of pipe dream?

Last night, standing over my engine with the hood up, I contemplated kicking the fucking car, but my shoes are pointy in the front and lack the power a good boot kick would do, so I went to punch the wall, but I remembered it was brick and would really fucking hurt, I contemplated punching the car but didn't want to add to my costs and so finally I did the only thing I could do, I removed all my jewelry and threw it.

Yes, I threw my jewelry, cussed, and then took off my shoes and threw those too.

Not only does being a girl completely suck, I broke my bracelet.

For a bit of calendar madness:

Izzy turns one years old today. In the past year he has chewed up my favorite nine west shoes, demolished my favorite gap sandals... that were five years old, but still, wtf?, eaten the Irishman's brand new H&M sandals (they were cheap, and he didn't care, so I got to laugh at someone else's misery, YES), chewed on my sunglasses and then watched amusedly while the Irishman accused me of munching on plastic (moron), peed on every bush/tree/stray piece of garbage/leaf he can find, and knocked a poodle down in order to grab it by the throat.

What in the world would I do without him?

Oh. I know. Buy less shoes.

(Did I mention that he also has a penchant for iPod headphones? The brat typically has expensive tastes... did those shoes come from Payless? Oh, he's way too good for them then. Pashaw)

Not to be left out, I have to mention that Tom Tom turned 14 in May. I've never known his exact birth date and so I settled for a randomly fair number, May 15th. Not that I celebrate it with a cake or anything. He's a fucking cat for crying out loud!

Have I mentioned before that not only is this cat FAT (14 pounds of solid pumpkin belly, this is no jelly massed Kelly Osbourne Mcfatty Fatty) he has attitude. And he's smart as a whip, always has been. In fact, when one of my friends from high school runs into me they always immediately ask, "Do you still have Tommy? Is he still a bastard?"

Well, duh. Of course.

He's funny.

I'm not quite sure what he thinks of the doggy beyond normal annoyance. Tommy's got this thing, he doesn't like things to move near or around him. It pisses him the fuck off. Frankly he just wants you to lay down and die, and if you do do that, could you please do it somewhere else, because your mere existence is causing his eye to twitch, which means soon your eye will be twitching... and covered with blood.

When Izzy comes into the house he immediately starts chasing Baby, I'm not sure if he's under some wierd sort of delusion where she likes to be chased, but he certainly seems happy doing it. So while Izzy's busy doing laps around the house Tommy always comes out to the hallway and sits up very straight and regal, watching the scene unfold, and then the moment Izzy runs past him Tommy sticks his claw right in his face.

Izzy jumps back and shakes his head, which is when Tommy scratches him right in the ass. Then, Izzy being apparently smart, runs away, except I live in a loft divided by a huge ass shelf, so when Izzy runs away all he really does is run in a circle around the house.

Not only is Tommy smart, but he's also fat and lazy. Does he chase Izzy? No. You want to know what my cat does? While Izzy is running for hell or highwater in a circle through the house my fat cat saunters over to the scratch post, sharpens his claws, and waits for Izzy to circle back.

This is Baby. She is so loveable I don't know how the fuck she ever got into my house. She's a fucking princess. Izzy and Tommy are as healthy as horses. They could get hit by a house and they'd still ride off on broomsticks. This little pampered bitch sits around cleaning herself all fucking day long AND get's sick. All the fucking time. She also never hisses, or scratches, or growls. Ever. Not even if you accidentally close her tail in the door, or step on her, or kick her in the face. It's like she's retarded.

In this picture she's sitting all pristine princess like in our hotel room in Boston. That's right, Boston, the little bitch even flew with us on the plane and went through security with us. Now you might ask, Terra, why in the fuck would you take a cat with you? Are you one of those fucking quacks from California who hugs trees and views their armhair as a sacred gift from God? And I'd have to tell you, No, she was SICK, because she's always SICK, and she was on antibiotics, and steroids, and before you knew it we were paying her cabin fee's and calling the hotel to inquire about their pet policy!

Jesus fucking christ.

Although, for the record, it was kind of nice. At night she cuddled up with me, and cat's are pretty low maintenance. We thought it was going to be a huge pain, but it really wasn't so bad.

Also, I think she is four, or five in some month between June and October. I really don't fucking know. I was going to write down that she was three years old, but then I realized I've been working here for three years, and I've had her longer. So now I can't figure it out. What can I say, I got her during my early 20's (I think) and so I can't really mark her arrival with any clear year. I wasn't in High School... so. Bleh. Fuck it. I'm old.

At the wine festival this old wrinkly bitch turns to me and does a double take and then says, "Excuse me, are you old enough to drink?"

"I'm 27"

"Oh my God! You barely look 18!"

Whatever, she needs to get her eyesight checked. It's August, I'm 27 in September, but I don't feel like being depressed so I'm doing it this month. It's part of my campaign against procrastination. O is three weeks older than I am and she's been telling everyone she's 27 since January. What an overachieving massochist.

In other news the Irishman and I have hit the six month mark. We've decided that if everything goes downhill from here there should be a car bomb somewhere in our near future.

Like tonight.

At seven.

I hate flowers. I paint them because they're cheaper than models and they don't move. - Georgia O'Keeffe

plus I just ate a whole bunch of chocolate merely because I could.

They were just laying there, all defenseless, and just I realized that a massacre was about to occur I lost the ability to care.

I should take a break. This morning I was looking at a row of silver cars, and I started shaking my fist at my fellow drivers uselessly, while my mind screamed,

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE THAT YOU HAVE TO FOLLOW A TREND SO BLINDLY THAT WHEN YOU PAT YOURSELF ON THE BACK FOR BEING COOL AND ORIGINAL ENOUGH TO OWN A SILVER FUCKING SEDAN YOU DON'T REALIZE, OH FUCK, SO DOES EVERYONE ELSE?!

You rebel you.

Anyway, then I realized that wasn't a good post. It wasn't even a good observation. I had basically given myself the title of Captain Obvious.

Why am I so stupid?

Stupid Terra, stupid stupid stupid!

I like seeing other people's happiness.

It reminds me there are still things to crush.


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Why is the Irishman always on the phone but never with me? And then when he get's around to calling me back it's mostly a newsletter updating me about him.

'Wow, life is hectic. I have meeting A, B, and C, I did prospecting all morning long and I'm prepping for...'

Blah blah blah blah. Listen, who in the fuck gives a shit?! Shut up.

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You know how I know Duckie is gay? You would think the first tip off would be the hair, or the art, or the job title, or the OCD, or... wait, what was my point?

**************

I totally fucking laughed when I heard about your miscarriage, you fat fucking cow.

**************

When I have an appointment with you at 4:30 and I show up at 4:15, do me the fucking courtesy of coming out before 5:10, and offering me something to drink since your fat little piggy hand is currently wrapped around something, and, oh!, here's a novel idea

APOLOGIZE.

whatever.

I'm not going to get pissed that an uneducated, badly dressed, fat bitch, chose to wield her practically invisible power over me. Listen, I'm really impressed at your impression of someone better than me, next time though try shopping at somewhere other than mervyns, because last time I checked that wasn't listed under "oh so impressive."

You hippo.

I wish Classmates.com would get a clue and realize I'm not paying ten bucks to read an email, especially when MySpace is free.

I mean, the people who founded this crap site, do you imagine that their sitting in their houses right now pulling out their hair screaming

OH SHIT

I don't know. I guess I just can't imagine this as a scenario where they're laughing all the way to the bank.