Thursday, May 31, 2007 

Oh My Fucking GOD!

(And other rants and raves from Craigslist)

Okay, I'm single, female, and somewhat attractive. Attractive enough to have guys honk on horns, ask me out in, somewhat, admittedly, dimly lit bars, and sure, that might not exactly be 'proof' that I'm attractive, but for fucks sake, just take my word for it.

And so what if I occasionally surf the personals? I don't think that exactly qualifies me for loser status as I don't do it while surfing online ads to add to my ever growing cat collection. Fine, I'll admit it; mostly I'm on here to see if any of my friends have their picture up. Because I'm THAT kind of friend.

But what has stopped me from ever replying to any of these ads, drives me to want to tear out my hair, kick kittens, and scrape my nails down a chalk board??? What in the FUCK is up with people advertising their fucking stupidity on-line for all to see? For fuck's sake, learn some propriety, get some modesty, look up the phrase 'saving face'!

Got a foot fetish? Fine, I don't give a rats ass, just please, fucking please, spell 'foot' right. It has 2 'o's. TWO. And there's a difference between 'your' and 'you're' A BIG FUCKING DIFFERENCE. They are not, in any way, interchangeable. No matter what you think. Also, note how I didn't spell 'No' 'Know'. Also not interchangeable. I don't care if you typed it while you were wearing your hat backwards and grabbing the crotch of your baggy jeans because, surprisingly enough, I haven't been impressed by that particular brand of machismo since, umm, high school. Yeah. That's pretty much when the fantasy ended.

Also, when you spell 'goda' in place of 'got to' not only is it bad fucking grammar but it suggests to me that while you've heard this particular combination of words before, and have a somewhat hazy understanding of what they might actually mean, you do not in fact have any knowledge of the words that they are actually referring to.


See? Two distinctly separate words. TWO.

Run on sentences I can, quite obviously, forgive. However, the BLATANT advertisement that osmosis, at the very least, has failed to teach you proper grammar (for example: I very funny. Cue internal gagging) and/or how to spell owl (not oul) then I give up. I fucking give up. I have to go. I have a harsh word or two to exchange with my biology teacher on the issue of natural selection.


Thursday, May 24, 2007 

Freaky Thursday

I haven't been writing much because I haven't been myself lately. No edge. I'm in here somewhere, but I feel a bit fuzzy. I blame it on all the TV watching so I started doing Leslie Sansone's walk tapes everyday. Which helps and is cheaper than red bull.

Come to think of it... I'm still watching TV, so smooth move idiot.

In other news I'm searching for a job that doesn't make me want to drink cyanide everyday and wash it down with some good old anthrax.

I don't know when this happened. I mean, sure, sometimes there's a slight distaste for the work you do (so guilty over here), but it's what you do and it's what you've done for years so like it or not you do it well, you show up and it all goes like clockwork. You don't even have to think. So what's with all this sudden career hatred?

A lot of things really.

Most of it in combinations so there's really no one to blame other than timing. And God. Boy that guy can be a real prick! (ick, catholic self cringing in fear)

Plus the house is still in an uproar. I just moved, for the second time in six months and third time in two years, and okay. The rest of the house is starting to look presentable but I've got 20 fucking boxes stacked in my bedroom of shit I don't have fucking shelf space for or room! And okay, sure you don't want to hear my bullshit, but guess what?? No ONE FUCKING DOES? AND YOU KNOW WHY?


28 in three months, thank you fucking father time.

That's right! I ditched my boy friend, am trying to change careers, AND just moved! YAY!

Anyway, the bedroom's a disaster. Pluse I want to take the desk from the dining room into the bedroom, the shelf from the living to the dining, the armoire... blah de fucking blah.

I need a truck and a half dozen mexicans to work for five bucks and one burrito. Which when you think about it is total overpayment. Fucking illegal alien leaches.

Oooh look, I just got all racist on you. Well fuck off. I'm an equal opportunity hater. I hate everyone. But mostly their purse dogs.


Monday, May 21, 2007 


There comes a point in many relationships when you go to bed alone, wake up alone, and the person sleeping peacefully next to you keeps on sleeping, or at least pretending to, while you lay awake staring at the ceiling. Disconnect.

You take road trips and during your time at the wheel they sleep. They sleep so you can listen to your cd's without their complaints and they sleep through you crying every time a love song comes on because you are overcome with that feeling. That feeling that you are missing out, that there is something else out there, something perhaps a little less dysfunctional? You stare at couples in passing cars because he keeps telling you that you're demanding, that he's perfectly normal, you stare at couples wondering if they are really happy with less, if you're looking for something that really doesn't exist; something that even if you had you would still throw away.

You fight and you fight because you call a handyman to fix the door and he screams until he turns into something ugly over the insult, the absolute incredulity that you would insinuate a handyman is better than him, and you are suppressing your rage because you just want to go to dinner and come home to a door that doesn't fall off the hinges anymore. At dinner he says women who stay home with only one child are lazy and your friend is trash and should give her child up for adoption. Sure. He's looking for a fight. But he's always looking for a fight. And when you say you hate this he says, "for someone who doesn't like to fight you sure like to fight a lot".

Which makes you realize something.

The only way to stop fighting is to take this, be okay with this, or leave.

My days are filled with unpacking boxes in my new place, a place too small for all of these boxes, and I confess; I just don't know what to do. I sold furniture on craigslist. I bought a new sofa at Macy's outlet. I take Izzy for walks and for the most part, I feel good. I think everyone thinks I'll go back because I've gone back before. Except the truth is that this hurts less. Being lonely, when you're actually alone, makes more sense. And now, when I wonder what is else out there, I feel hope.

I'm going on four nights of bad dreams. Stupid dreams that shouldn't sit with me, but do. I dreamt that I had to shave my face each morning and was horrified to discover that I had an Adam's apple. All day I felt slightly disgusted.

My mother tells me to fix myself before I start dating again. She talks to me like I am someone else, someone stupid who wears too much hairspray. I remind her that I was single for years, that if there is any fixing left to do that I am obviously incapable of it. My friend laughs when I tell her, "I don't need to fix anything. I'm PERFECT". Except it's true. There's nothing wrong with me. And I'm not going to jump on the bandwagon of thinking I need to be perfect to be happy.

It didn't work out. Isn't that every one's life story? Oh sure, it's the part they tend to edit out, but trust me, it's there.


Friday, May 11, 2007 

A Moment of Silence...

while we review the lyrics to, 'Damn, Wish I Was Your Lover' (lyrics that particularly make me want to crack my head into the nearest curb are bolded, italicized, one or the other, but mostly making me rip the wings off of beautiful endangered butterflies)

That old dog has chained you up all right
Give you everything you need
To live inside a twisted cage
Sleep beside in empty rage
I had a dream I was your hero

Damn I wish I was your lover
I'd rock you till the daylight comes
Make sure you are smiling and warm
I am everything
Tonight I'll be your mother (sexy RAWR)
I'll do such things to ease your pain
Free your mind and you won't feel ashamed (why? just because we're play fucking my MOTHER?)
Open up gonna come inside
Gonna fill you up
Make you cry
This bloke can't stand to see you black and blue (tee hee)
I give you something sweet each time you
Come inside my jungle book (do you think this is Woody Allen's pick up line?)
It's just too good
Don't say you'll stay
'Cause then you go away
Damn I wish I was your lover
I'll rock you till the daylight comes (the next time I go out I am SO using this line)
Make sure you are smiling and warm
I am everything
Tonight I'll be your mother (again with the crazy incest fantasy YUM)
I'll do such things to ease your pain
Free your mind and you won't feel

blah blah blah. There are obviously more lyrics but by now I'm afraid you're going to electrocute yourself what with all the projectile vomiting going on.

In a completely unrelated story, I'm not wearing panties.


Friday, May 04, 2007 

I am so drunk

that it is not fuking dunny. fkLURK:EJvlacxvfmdrlqtjlhjerl

I fucking hgate typos. fuck typos. Fuck them and their goddamned fug looking moghthers. fuck them.

Anyway. what wasI saying? drunk. Drunk is cool. really... um... cool

Except.ll tthat the room is slighty spinning. other than that. Suhweet~

Ok,Y!!! So, today is the first time that I played at a poker night. cool huh? Yeah I thought so too. I cleaned them the FUCK OUT! Beginners luck I know. But even if I hadn't? It would've been worth all of the money I lost. It was that much fun.
God I have to pucke.

or not.