Missing: My motivation

Bad news, y’all…I lost my motivation. Like, I can’t find it anywhere. I’ve even looked in the freezer because the freezer is kind of like Narnia. You never know what you might find in there. Holy crap, I totally figured out where the entrance to Narnia is in my apartment. Actually I have two: the freezer (obviously) and the dryer. I would say I probably have an entrance in my closet as well, but my closets are tiny and Narnia wouldn’t fit….yet somehow my freezer and dryer are able to hold Narnia within them. Interesting.

I don’t know how Narnia works.

Related note: I think Mary Poppin’s purse (or would it be Poppins’? Apparently I don’t know how fictional characters’ names work either) also contains Narnia within it. And it’s infinitely smaller than my tiny, hobbit-sized closets. And it’s portable. Two things:

1)Why the fuck does she get magical powers AND a portable Narnia?? Because she’s played by Julie Andrews, and clearly Jules sold her soul to the devil. What a bitch. The hills are alive with the sound of music. And the screams of the innocent.

2)The smaller the object, the more likely you are to find Narnia. So ladies, when gift giving time comes around, don’t be upset with your guy because that tiny jewelry box contains earrings and not a ring. Get upset because it contains earrings and not Narnia. Scratch that…get upset because the tiny box doesn’t contain earrings AND Narnia.

….I clearly don’t know how Narnia works. Or Mary Poppins. Or Julie Andrews. Or freezers. Or closets. Or dryers. Or gift giving.

Seriously y'all...how have I made it this far in life? 

This is probably where the moths come from too. Narnia moths are the worst.

I will have a real post later. Until then, enjoy:

Nathan Fillion wins Halloween. Forever.

You're welcome.

Sorry I haven't updated...I've been in the middle of a battle of epic proportions...Seriously, Frodo ain't got shit on me.

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything about bugs…okay, that’s mainly because it’s been forever since I’ve posted anything at all. My bad. Stop yelling at me.

Anyway, a couple of months ago, I was getting ready to feed my cat some new food that came in a box instead of a bag. It was a brand new box, so you can imagine my confusion when I went to pour it into her bowl, and small bugs rose up from the food like an army of undead assholes. With wings. For a minute I stood there, staring dumbly at the bowl as most of them gave me the finger and flew away, presumably to find something else to contaminate or a nice cozy place to lie in wait until they could regroup and attack me in my sleep. I don’t know…I’m not sure how these bugs work. They seemed evil so I’m just going to assume that they’re plotting to attack me at my most vulnerable. All I could think as I stared down at the bowl was, “Oh God…this isn’t happening. I’m hallucinating. I’m having a bad acid trip…wait, I’ve never done acid. It’s probably a stroke.” I dumped the whole bowl into the sink because I wasn’t sure how to dispose of a whole horde of these flying monstrosities. I immediate turned on the hot water because damn it, if I was going to drown them, I was going to do it with boiling hot water. I wanted to make sure that the remaining flying asshole zombie bugs saw exactly what I was capable of in the hopes that they would decide that it was a better idea to just go ahead and end it all then instead of sticking around to die by my hand. Much to my disappointment, I didn’t hear their tiny terrified screams resonating around my apartment.

I went to Austin for the weekend and had forgotten about them until I went to grab something out of the laundry room when I got home, and I looked up at the ceiling and counted seven or eight of them on the ceiling. I grabbed the closest thing I had to bug spray  and Febreezed the shit out of those motherfuckers. I was hoping to kill them, but thought at the very least, if they were going to be flying around my apartment, they could make it smell nice. It’s all about compromise. Well, apparently they didn’t see it the same way….I guess watching one of your buddies get taken out by Christmas scented Febreeze will cause you to snap. Who knew? Anyway, one day I was walking through my apartment when out of fucking nowhere one of those bastards flew AT. MY. FACE. I’m talking it straight up dive bombed me. Did you guys know moths could do that? Cause I didn’t! Well, being the stoic, completely in control individual that I am, I freaked the fuck out and ended up slapping myself in the face as I did my best impression of an epileptic, mid-seize.  I’m amazed I didn’t swallow my tongue. 

Like this, only with more face slapping.

Seriously, you would have thought the God damned Mothman had snuck up on me. Although if it had been the Mothman, I would have apologized for being in his way and quietly left and not gone chasing him around my apartment trying to kill him by clapping like a retarded seal.  But it wasn’t him; it was just one tiny asshole moth, so I did the latter…I just thought about what all of that must have looked like to anyone who could see into my apartment.

Great…now I’m the retarded, epileptic girl who runs around her apartment applauding empty rooms and then does an “In-Your-Face” victory dance when she’s done. Le sigh...

Yeah, that's about right...

I'm onto you Blogger template...

I just realized that the Dandelion right under my header is covering up the end of "bullshit"....My own template is censoring me...what the hell is that shit?? Ya know, I used to be on your side; I totally had your back and would tell anyone that called you a weed that your were a flower in your heart and didn't like being referred to as a weed...well not anymore, asshole. You're a weed in my blog; I'm gonna go straight up Scotts on your ass. Or just change my template.

Mainly because I've heard weed killer and electronics don't mix.

I should have named this blog ants and Santa’s in the Russian mafia

Santa Claus was called AA Santa from 1997-2001 here in the U.S.A.

Wait….what? I get that I stopped believing in Santa Claus about 20 years ago, but WTF?! I didn’t think I was so far out of touch with the whole Santa situation to not know there was an alcoholic Santa running amok around the world. I’m sure that’s not what ‘AA Santa’ even means, but I don’t care. That’s what I’m saying it means, and it baffles me. I don’t remember hearing about an epidemic of puddles of vomit by fireplaces and really shitty gifts for those four years, well other than the ones that can be attributed to Daddy’s all day Christmas Eve drinking binges, which I’m sure weren’t limited to just those four years. You’d think people would have been more vocal about a drunken Santa roaming around on Christmas Eve, yelling “Ho Ho Ho!” to the hookers turning tricks on the corner and then giggling to himself as he pees off the side of the sleigh.  And you’d think that at some point, he would have passed out in someone’s home. Can you imagine little Timmy’s face in the morning as he races down the stairs only to see hard dose of reality in the form of a bare-assed Santa, crushing the Christmas tree and all the toys underneath it (he passed out while peeing on the tree because he thought he was outside peeing in a bush…because that's so much better, Santa.) I’m just saying don’t call him that unless it’s true people. That’s how rumors get started. By the way, if it is true, and any of you find that Santa has peed/puked on your carpet, suck it up and replace your carpet. There’s no way in Hell you’ll ever be able to get the smell of peppermint schnapps, broken hopes and dreams, and Christmas cheer out of it. And another question I have is why did it abruptly stop in 2001? My guess is rehab. And I imagine it looks a lot like the Dr. Pepper commercials with all of the fictional characters, but with more soul-crushing depression.

My mom had the international Santa Claus figures, so I’m aware that Santa is known by a lot of na--…..Mrs. Santa Claus??

I get that there was a Mrs. Claus, and logic would imply that she would be known as Mrs. Santa Claus….but this was a list of alternative names for the Santa Claus. Maybe we were referring to the idea of Santa Claus and not the actual person, meaning it doesn’t matter who delivered the presents, just so long as they were delivered- that person would be referred to as Santa Claus. Maybe the missus took over for Santa once he was in rehab so that no one missed out on Christmas; although I’m sure by this point everyone was a little gun shy about checking to see what was left under the Christmas tree and possibly the stockings that were hung with care. Waaaiitt a minute, the time of Mrs. Santa Claus overlapped with AA Santa for two years….these must have been the sexually confused, tranny Santa Claus years…oh God…I just got a mental image of Santa Clause with his junk tucked between his legs, drunkenly yelling “IT PUTS THE LOTION ON THE SKIN OR ELSE IT GETS THE HOSE AGAIN!!” at a some family’s golden retriever. Dogs don’t even use lotion, you douchemonger. It’s bad for their fur.

Okay, maybe it’s just something with the Americas….from 2001-2006, Mexico called him El Niño.

….I think you’re confused, y’all. Did you guys mean to name him after an irregular global weather pattern? You do understand that El Niño brings you destructively strong wind, hurricanes, and torrential rain, and the big, bearded guy in a red suit and, knowing you guys, a sombrero brings you gifts, good tidings and lots of Christmas cheer…or I’m sorry, “magia de la Navidad”. Or at least that’s what Google Translate tells me it is…I’m trying to speak your language here…help me to help you. But I digress…I understand how things can get lost in translation, but do you see how they’re not the same? Also, Santa is over 1600 years old and you have the nerve to call him “The Boy” or “The Child”? Waaaay to be respectful, you guys. I’m fairly certain that gets you put on the naughty list….enjoy your lumps of coal and hurricanes, Mexico.

So to recap: Between the U.S. and Mexico, we have an alcoholic, cross-dressing man-child drunkenly flying around once a year bringing your kids shit made by elves, which if we’re honest with ourselves, we know are being held against their will. Well played Americas.

On a completely related note: My brain hurts now.

Gentle Dentist and Ded Moroz

Some people should not be in advertising or be allowed to name things....specifically the people who decided to name a dentist office "Gentle Dentist". Do you guys really need to advertise that he's gentle? I get that some people are dentophobes and think that all dentists decided on the career just because they wanted to torure the shit out of people. I, for one, am not one of these people. Although I've never been particularly fond of them poking around in my mouth, I never said to myself, "Well he isn't very gentle at all" or "Wew, he inn't vewy 'entuh a' aw" because he had his medieval torture devices and arms up to his elbows crammed in my mouth. I've never thought of dentist as either being gentle or not gentle, but this stupid sign forced it upon me. Is this sign supposed to imply that other dentists who don't advertise that they're gentle will punch your teeth our of your mouth, kick your puppy, and push your grandma down and steal her Hoverround®? I mean....I wouldn't be okay with all of that, but I guess they would be covered because they never claimed that they were a "Gentle Dentist"...it just would have been nice to have some warning, like, maybe if they're sign said "Hardcore Dentist That Will Punch Your Teeth Out, Kick Your Puppy, and Push Grams Down and Steal her Hoverround®".

Is it weird that I can't stop giggling because now I've decided that all the other "Non-Gentle Dentists" are actually members of the Russian mafia. Although, I think having a "Non-Gentle Dentist" would be a selling point then because in Soviet Russia, teeth pull you. I know I'd probably want a dentist that kicks ass and takes names, and if the puppy and grandma are assaulted, it's no ones fault but theirs. You did this to yourself...this is the Russian mafia, grandma.

Actually, working off of this logic and combining with the lie I'm going to tell my children, Santa is also a dentist. I'm thinking that might be the most terrifying part for me, personally. Shit. I created this lie to screw with my kids, but now it's screwing with me....I'm fairly certain, my kids won't give a shit or won't believe me, and somehow I'll convince myself of this lie and spend many sleepless nights plagued by the fear of  Ded Moroz, D.D.S (Seriously, Russia? You're not helping your case, like at all. Could you have tried being a little less creepy about it? No? Oh right....you're Russia. You guys invented creepy).

Great. Now I've got the song "All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth"...sorry little Donnie Gardner, it ain't gonna happen. Santa's keeping your two front teeth and probably taking a couple more just for the hell of it as well as your Red Ryder Air Rifle. Merry Christmas to you, indeed...



Fucking exactly, y'all.



I swear this won't become a blog about ants

I was going to post this last night, but I fell asleep...that or I slipped into a mini coma because of all the goddamn ant bites. I think it was the latter. I almost died, y'all!

Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating. But only slightly.

Last night I went to my nephew's football practice, and Sarah, Tre, Breanna and I forgot to bring chairs. Mistake number 1. Mistake number 2 on my part was wearing shorts and flip flops. It was hot, and I didn't want to sweat balls. My bad. No matter where I stood, ants kept crawling all over me. When it first happened, I just brushed them off of me, trying my best not to curse and look like I was having a seizure. Normally I wouldn't care, but this was a "family event" and there were "kids around" and "parents that Sarah and Tre didn't know" and Brenna and I shouldn't "bring attention to ourselves". Or at least that's what Sarah said before we got there. Whatever. While normally I'm a glutton for punishment, when it comes to ants, I'm not. Fuck that. I decided it was a good idea to go sit on the track and watch Brandon's practice. It made sense...ants are in the grass, the track does not have grass, there won't be ants on the track, I will go stand on the track...A=B=C=A or whatever. Normally circular logic does not fail me, but last night it did. The ants followed me, y'all...they saw me walk away and were like, "There goes the asshole that keeps writing us letters and trying to steal our Nacho Cheese Dorito-y goodness...fire ants, roll out!" That or there were ants in the grass by the track, but I'm putting my money on the first scenario. Because ants are assholes like that. Anyway, so I'm sitting on the track in my safe little bubble of self-delusion that I won't get bit by ants while sitting on the track. WRONG! Not being content with just biting my feet, I found one little over achieving asshole going to town on my arm. And then it happened....let me just say I started getting bit in places that no one should ever be bit. I'm serious. I will never tease someone about looking like they have ants in their pants ever again. That shit is nothing to joke about.

Anyway, that's when I realized something about ants. First, one bites me for no reason as I'm mowing the lawn, I write it a letter. Second, a gang of them attack me as I'm about to get into the pool, I write them a letter. I tell them I don't appreciate their behavior. I politely ask them to stop (Edit: Okay, it wasn't very polite, but point is I told them to knock it off, and that I did not appreciate their advances). They ignore my requests and attack me last night, and to top it off, tried to go for the goods. All of this made me realize something that might help the rest of you out in the future...let my experience be a lesson to you all: Ants are the sexual predators of the insect world. I can hear them now, "She was just asking for it, wearing her flip flops and shorts...what did she expect us to do?". I expected you perverted little douche canoes to leave me alone. I mean, I wrote you guys letters...how much clearer does it get?


No means no, assholes.

YAY!! Stream of consciousness post!!!

You guys knew it was coming. I knew it was coming. I was just shocked that it took me this long to get to writing a completely non-sensical post about nothing! Go me!!

....is sensical a word?

I just googled it. It's totally a word. Thanks, Google....you never let me down. Unless I'm trying to find my silverbacks. In which case, you are an evasive asshole. Fuck you, Google.

.Am I allowed to insult Google? Can they sue me for telling them to fuck off? Or are information ninjas going to attack when I least expect it....like when I'm sleeping? Wait, I would totally expect it then because I'd be unconcious and vulnerable and shit. Ninjas are also evasive assholes. Awesome. But still assholes.

Anyway...

I really have no idea what I want to write about....and I'm getting pretty delirious at this point, not that any of you could tell, I'm sure. I had a couple of ideas that I was thinking about writing....about...does that sentence work? Ah well, fuck it! It does now! I'm a writing trailblazer...making up my own word combinations and sentence structures and shit. I'm like the Faulkner of blogging. Ya know, without the Nobel Prize and being famous and whatnot. BFD. I've got punctuation and sentences that don't stretch on for pages, bitches.

What was I saying? Oh right, I had a couple of ideas that I was going to write about, but they would require me to remember the stories and make funny comments about them, and right now, that's too much for my brain to handle. So instead, I bring you this! A blog post about absolutely nothing!! Um...yeah. I'll be right back. I...am going to the store. Crap! I also need shampoo....this trip is taking longer and costing more money than anticipated and it hasn't even started yet.

Okay, I'm back. I realize I didn't need to tell you guys I was leaving. If hadn't said anything, y'all would have had no idea. I am also an evasive asshole.

Do you know what's a fun combination? An empty stomach and Red Bull! Seriously!! Not so good for the train of thought and liver, but great if you're going for that jittery, overly hyper feel.

So....yeah....this blog has gone way off topic. Wait, can it go off topic if there was never a topic to begin with? No? Okay, good! I really have no idea what I want to write about right now...I just kind of started typing because I told the boy and a friend of mine I would have one done tonight. Let's see....

......


Okay, so I was going to start a list about why it would be awesome to be old, but I lost interest by Pro #1...so we'll save that for another post. Thanks, Red Bull. Now everyone's disappointed because of you. I hope you're happy.

I've got it! I was talking with one of my best friends tonight, and we were talking about the pros and cons of showering at night or in the morning (I never claimed that our discussions were ground breaking). I prefer showering at night, and she got used to showering in the morning because her mom always told her to never go to bed with her hair wet. She said she had no idea why her mom didn't want her to go to bed with wet hair, but she got the distinct feeling that something bad would happen if she did. I started thinking about the things you could tell a child in order to keep them from doing things or, on the flip side, encourage them to do things.  I decided as we were talking that why should lies be limited to just getting them to do things? I think I'm going to make shit up at any opportunity I get. It'll teach them to be creative. Or put them in therapy. Either way, I think they'll appreciate the lesson. For example, tonight, I decided that Santa Claus is actually a member of the Russian mob, and those toys are the toys of Russian children who didn't listen to their parents. They're blood toys. I don't even know if there's a Russian mob, but what does little Susie know? She's five. And if she doesn't care about that, then Santa's going to start offing all of the other fictional characters, like the Easter bunny, the tooth fairy, and Edward Cullen. Actually, he'll probably just kill the Cullen kid just on principle. Seriously? Who the fuck sparkles? Santa doesn't tolerate that kind of bullshit. Oo! Maybe that'll keep her away from glitter too! That shit is the herpes of the craft world...not only will I not have to clean glitter up, but maybe she'll avoid becoming a stripper too! I'm killing three sparkly-ass bird with one stone! Thank Russian mobster Santa!! You're the best!


I have a feeling that when I do have kids, I'm going to be getting a lot of concerned notes from the teachers regarding little Suzie's (or was it Susie...I can't be bothered to scroll up there to look) ideas about the way things work in the world. Oh well, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

Well, the Red Bull has already worn off, and now I have a headache, so I think I will bid thee adieu for now. Hopefully I'll have something better for you guys next time!


p.s. I'm also not editing this one, so if there are typos, please ignore them..you know what I meant.

Kids. To have, or not to have- that really isn't the question.

The question is more along the lines of should I be allowed to have kids.

I have a few friends that already have kids, and I love them dearly. I'm Aunt Bekky to most of them, and they're great kids. I also have a few more friends that are about to have their first child, and I couldn't be happier for them. I know they'll be great kids as well. You know what makes all of these kids so great?

They're not mine! I can give them back anytime I want. Yay me! I get to have fun with them and be there for them, but as soon as they start annoying me, I'm all, "You know who loves you? Mom and Dad! Go annoy them now! Byyyyeee!"

Seriously, I've sat down and weighed the pros and cons of having kids (not that I'm in any kind of position to start popping them out or anything).  Here's the list that I've come up with as of tonight. I'm sure there will be more added at some point, but for now, this is it:

Cons

1. I have a hard enough time making myself to the daily stuff (get up, eat, go to bed at a decent time, training myself for the zombie apocalypse, etc.). If I can't even make myself do all that stuff, how do I expect to teach a baby to do the same. I mean, seriously....do you know how hard it is to train a baby to shoot a flame thrower without catching your pet on fire in the process. I'll tell you: hard. I'm just now learning that one myself. Sorry, Naruto (my cat, not the cartoon character).
2. I hate cleaning and doing laundry. When you have a baby, both of these things multiply by, like, five hundred...thousand percent. So I hear anyway. No thank you. I'm not even gonna take the chance. Not until I can afford to hire a maid.
3. Babies don't do much for a while. They eat, poop, and sleep. They can't even carry on a decent conversation..seriously, how am I supposed to be entertained during this waiting period? It's like waiting for a game to load....for months. Fuck that. I'm fairly certain I popped out of the womb talking, so I'm gonna need Hypothetical Baby to do the same. We will revisit the name Hypothetical Baby in the Pros section. If I remember.
4. I forget where things are constantly. I don't trust myself to take a baby out in public.  People say "When it's your baby, things change...you won't feel that way or do those things!" Clearly, you overestimate my attention span and memory. I don't want to take the chance of going grocery shopping, and then, "Holy shit! Where's little Timmy, and why am I putting this jug of milk in the car seat?!"
5. You're stuck with your baby. You can't give them back to anyone when they start screaming, and if you try, I'm pretty sure that would earn you some pretty nasty looks from strangers. I guess they don't want your shrieking little shit machine either. Who can blame them, really? Congratulations! You're now the person people give little Denny back to. You could try giving him back to the doctor that delivered him, but apparently that's "frowned upon". Whatever. If you have a spouse, you could try giving him back to them, but chances are they'll give him right back, then you're both stuck in a neverending game of hot potato...er....baby.
6. I'm way to selfish at this point in my life. I like being able to pick up and go if I want (well, on the weekends, at least...curse you, Monday-Friday job!!). I also like lying in bed all day, watching movies or reading if I so choose. You can't do these things when you have kids. Word on the street is they have to be "fed" and "taken care of". Everyday, all day. Seriously, who has time for that?? Little Bobby...or Timmy...whatever your name is, I'm going to need you to start pulling your weight around here. I'm not saying you have to get a job or anything (although you might want to check out the "jobs wanted" section of the Chronicle...wait...you can't read, either?? Goddamnit, Timmy!!). Alls I'm saying is it would be nice if you changed your own diaper or picked up your onsies off the floor every now and then. Mommy's watching her stories.
7. Rumor is that you get what you gave as a child tenfold. If that's true, I'm fucked. I don't think anything can prepare me for that.
8. They can't hold their liquor for shit.

Pros

1. My kid is going to be hilariously awesome. If he's not, I'll just take him back and demand a new one. That's how it works, right? .....Right??
2. I'll get to make up stories just to fuck with him. My parents did it to me, and I plan on passing that down to my kid. It's like a fucked up family tradtion, but instead of having warm and fuzzies, they'll get night terrors and therapy...yay!!! For example, I was adopted, and whenever I acted up, my parents told me that they were going to call the stork company to come back and pick me up so they could get a better behaved child. There was no laughing; they said this with completely straight faces. One day, we went to the zoo, and as we rounded the corner, there they were, waiting at the front of their enclosure: storks. I flipped  the fuck out, did an about face, and ran as fast as my little legs would carry me, screaming at the top of my lungs that I was sorry and promised to be good, just "pleasepleasepleasedon'tletthestorkstakemeback". When my parents caught up to me, they could have very easily have said, "We didn't really mean it....storks don't do that." But noooo, not my parents. Then they would have had to admitt that they lied. So, they took the lie even further and told me I didn't have to worry about these storks because they're retired. They even got a goddamn zookeeper in on it, and had him tell me that those storks couldn't fly anywhere and they were here for the rest of their lives. Another time, they told me that we had snakes in the attic because I liked to climb to the top of the stairs and perch (I'm a weird one, I know). The joke was on them because I liked snakes, so it just fueled my curiosity about the attic. So once again, they took the lie further...my mom bruises really easily, and this one time, she had a bruise on her shin from walking into something, and she pointed down to it and said, "No, these snakes are vicious and poionous...one of them attacked me and I had to go to the hospital.  If you go up there, they'll probably eat you alive." Sure as shit, I didn't go up there until I was old enough to know her story was bullshit. Well played, Mom...well played indeed. So yeah, I'm totally traumatizing my kid when he's old enough to understand what I'm saying. And if he's anything like me, he should turn out fine...ish.
3. Hypothetical Baby sounds like some kind of baby superhero....I don't know what his powers are, but with a name like that, I think he can have any goddamn power he wants. Or any power I think of to tell people. He'll be the reigning champ of baby fight club with his super speed and super strength!

Wow....8 to 3. It might sound like I have something against kids, but I swear I don't. I love kids....I'm just so not ready for my own yet. For now, I'll live vicariously through my friends because their kids are all hilariously awesome, I can still tell them insane things that my friends will have to then try to explain, and I can invent powers for them too. So really, this is just allowing me to hone my parenting skills. Go me!!

I was apparently Samuel L. Jackson as a child. Also I can't draw stairs.

Note: Forgive me if there are typos...I didn't take the time to proof read...I know, it's horrible...

Where my silverbacks at??

Earlier today I was googling Silverback gorillas, but I forgot I was in Google Maps, so it started giving me locations that had Silverback in the name, but I thought it would be better if they showed you where actual Silverback gorillas are. I don't care that there's a company called Silverback Hauling in Coronado, CA...well, unless gorillas are actually hauling your shit for you. That  would be awesome...although more than likely PETA would get wind of it and be all, "Ohh nooo...that's unethical! There are animal labor laws against that! Poor silverback gorillas...they're endangered, you know!", and shut it down. Fuck you, PETA. If gorillas want to haul my stuff, then who am I to tell them otherwise? I would pay them in bananas or whatever the shit they eat...I'm not an asshole.

Anyway, like I was saying, I think it would be better if Google Maps showed you where they were located. I mean, how cool would that shit be? I wouldn't necessarily want to go check them out because, holy Hell, have you seen them when they're angry? They hulk the fuck out. No me gusta. I just think it would be cool to know where they are at any given moment. I get that scientists have that kind of technology, but in case anyone was wondering, I am not a scientist. I'm sorry...I know you're disappointed.

.....


Also, don't be this guy:

Please.

Seriously?? :-/

So I was attempting to do some work before bed when I realized (conveniently, I might add) that I needed to run out to the store for something. I go to said store, pick up said item, and head back to the apartment, ready to dive back into work (okay, not really, but I was ready to give it another half-assed attempt). When, what to my wondering eyes did appear, but one shiny white mustang with three douche-y decals on the rear.


In my parking spot. And yes, it is mine. My name might not be on it, but it has a number on it. A number which is is in my leasing agreement, and my name is sure as shit on that! In your face, you spot thieving douchetard.

....well, it would be in your face if I could find my God damn leasing agreement so I could get you towed.

Yes, not being able to find my leasing agreement is my fault. I know that. I should keep all important documents filed away safely. I can hear my mother lecturing me about it now. I get it. I effectively suck at keeping paperwork filed away neatly. But this isn't about me. This is about you.

I mean, really? Who goes into an apartment complex and sees covered parking and thinks, "Hey! I'm gonna park there! Surely no one pays for it! Ha ha ha! Look at all these spots that are empty...I guess no one else has figured it out like I have. I'm the smartest person ALIVE!"? Let me inform you, if others have failed to, you are most definitely NOT the smartest person alive. In fact, you're about fifty....no, fifty BILLION IQ points below a pile of rocks. Don't let your opposable thumbs, decision making abilities, and ability to drive a car fool you. Upstairs, you're basically the equivalent of a rock's retarded cousin. Yes, it's true. Allow me to explain:

First off, your decision making abilities are shit. You chose a white Mustang for a car. I mean, really? It's not a classic Mustang either. I would respect that. But no, you chose the 2010 Mustang. And it's white. I don't know why that bothers me so much. Oh wait, yes, I do! It's because you parked in my fucking spot. I can't help but picture you being one of the following: a vapid girl whose daddy, biological or of the Sugar variety, bought you said embarrassment; a douchetard with overly-styled spiked hair and a popped collar; or some overweight, middle-aged man whose mid-life crisis allowed the used car salesman to convince him this is the car that will make him look cool and not at all compensating for his, what I'm assuming are many, shortcomings (this last one at some point was the second guy...just a word of advice to the spiky, popped collar guy- this is what you have to look forward to- go you!).

Secondly, your ability to drive a car combined with your crappy life decisions is what led you to park in my spot in the first place. Now your decisions are affecting my life. I'm not okay with that. In fact, I'm even less okay with that when this causes me to park in BFE. Do you know why I pay for a parking spot? SO I HAVE GUARANTEED PLACE TO GOD DAMN PARK! I do not pay for a parking spot so I can flag down a stranger driving around my complex and ask him or her if they'd like a place to park because, "Guess what? I've got one!" And if you do think that's why I pay for it, you're a bigger idiot than I thought, and should immediately have your license revoked on the basis that you are too stupid to function.

At this point you might be saying "Hey, at least I've still got my opposable thumbs!" Good for you, mate! I'm about to take that away from you too.  I mean, yay opposable thumbs and all, but c'mon....monkeys have opposable thumbs too, and they fling their shit at things.

Dolphins don't have opposable thumbs. Sure, they can't drive cars or open jars, but they kill sharks and have sex for pleasure....which again is more than you can say (I'm honestly not sure how dolphins play a part in all of this, but it sounded good).

This is you.

By the way, I feel that I should note that this isn't the first time this has happened.

Ants are assholes

Dear fire ant at the pool,

I had an incident about a year ago with one of your kin folk. He decided it was a good idea to hitch a ride and bite the crap out of me for no good reason; things didn’t work out so well for him.  And then tonight, I decide to go to the pool for what I thought would be a relaxing night. As I walk towards the pool, I feel the unique type of pain that only you little bastards are capable of inflicting; I look down and see you and about 5 of your stupid friends attacking my feet. Why?? Why would you do that? I simply walked over to the table to put my stuff down and take off my flip flops. Maybe you assumed I was going to steal your gourmet meal of discarded Nacho Cheese Doritos that were no doubt left by someone who lacked the motor skills to actually get the food into their mouth. I blame that person too, but mostly I blame you guys. I guess maybe you guys thought it was your lucky day when I showed up because hey, not only did you get to stuff your nightmare-inspiring mandibles with nacho cheesy goodness, but then you guys got to feast on my feet as well. High five to you guys!  PSYCH! No high five for you! EVER! Those are my feet, you ass clown. You can’t just go around biting people all willy nilly. Well, you can, but it’s just crappy behavior.  And you know how I reward crappy behavior like biting me? I crush you. Seriously, your feeble little exoskeleton couldn’t save you from my Hulk-like strength when you decided that it’s a good idea to latch on with what I can only assume was the intention of carrying me back home because “Holy fucking fuck! The guys back at the anthill are never going to believe this shit!” I’m sure, even being an ant, you know the phrase “When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me”. Well, in this situation it just makes an ass out of you. And now you and your buddies are dead. Well played. Fuckers.

I wish you would all die,

Me

p.s. I don't even like Nacho Cheese Doritos.


Here is the letter that I wrote the little Hell spawn from last summer:

Dear fire ant,

When I'm mowing the lawn, I'd greatly appreciate you not hitching a ride on my foot and then biting me. I'm sure you're aware that I'm too big for you to carry back home, so I know you didn't bite me because I'm a possible food source. I also didn't stomp on your home or mow it down. This leads me to believe you bit me because you're an asshole. Unfortunately for you, now you're a dead asshole.

Kind regards,

Me


By the by, I just looked up why fire ant bites hurt so bad. I thought it had something to do with their saliva, but I realize now I was confusing them with mosquitos. Mosquito spit makes you itchy. Ants bite the shit out of you with their jaws of death, but this isn't what hurts. They bite you so they can get leverage to raise up the rest of their body and not because they doing the ant equivalent of a keg stand. They do this so they can stab you with the stinger located on their ass. Repeatedly. They're humping you. Talk about insult to injury.

How much signal I need to cut across 8 lane? None? I turn now...good luck, everybody else!

It's been awhile since I last posted...I would like to take a moment to apologize to all of my non-existent readers. I realize that you guys have been waiting with bated breath for me to post my next blog, and it was selfish of me to keep that from you. I will do my best to keep it from happening again.

Okay, now that I've gotten that out of the way, let me start by saying TRAFFIC SUCKS ASS!! I know this isn't groundbreaking information or anything, but I just really wanted to get that off of my chest. I got off work at 5 and got home about 10 minutes ago. I know to some people an hour and twenty minute commute is nothing, but I am not one of those people. I have absolutely no patience when it comes to sitting in bumper to bumper traffic...especially when the drive without traffic takes about 20 minutes tops. In between swearing under my breath and begging the apocalypse to come early and wipe out everyone in front of me, I began to think about my fellow drivers' behavior, which led me to think about the behavior of people, whether in a vehicle or not. I've noticed that a lot of people (not everyone, mind you...just A LOT) act like they're entitled to things. I'm not the best driver in the world, despite what I assure my parents, but I try at the very least to be a couteous driver. If I can see someone struggling to get over while everyone flies by them, I'll try to make room for them to get over. Or if I'm the one who is trying to get over, and someone throws me an opening, I ALWAYS shoot them a wave that I like to think says, "Hey, thanks for not being a douchebag! You're swell!" I like these people....these people are not the ones that send me spiralling down into a blind rage. No, the people that make me want to use my car as my own personal murdering machine (a PMM, if you will) are the ones who don't thank you for letting them over or who purposely try to keep you from getting over.

Seriously, I don't get it. When did we all become such assholes?

I don't have to let you over...I was being nice. The least you could do is be thankful, you ass hat. I don't need you to throw me a freaking parade (mostly because the traffic situation is already bad enough without a Snoopy float and a marching band announcing what an awesome and courteous driver I am), but a little bit of acknowledgement would be nice. I mean, really, it takes a second to throw up a wave to thank someone for not being a shit human being and letting you over. If someone cut you off, you wouldn't think twice about flipping them off, so why not take a second to thank the nice man or woman who let you get in front of them. Last time I checked, you're not royalty (granted you might be; I don't know you- but I highly doubt it), and I definitely know I don't owe you anything. I'm just trying to be nice because I know how frustrating it can be to fight your way through traffic. I'm fairly certain these are the same people who, when you hold the door open for them, breeze through without so much as a glance in your direction.

 Jeez...I'm sorry I didn't get to the door sooner to announce your arrival, Your Highness. I was stuck behind one of your obnoxious relatives in traffic. Totally my fault.

I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to run ahead of those people, just to hold the next door shut. Hopefully there is a second door, and hopefully that second door is made of glass. That way they can see you flipping them the bird for being such self-entitled pricks.



One day.



Dear Reader:

<Bitching> I started my blog today (obviously), but I can’t think of a way to start it (mission accomplished). I was going start with an introduction of who I am, ya know, to prepare the readers (you guys!) for the nonsensical way that my brain works. I started writing it in my notebook, and I didn’t like what I wrote. I started off talking about Hyperbole and a Half, a blog written by Allie Brosh. She’s the one who really inspired me to start my blog </bitching>. I related, like most of her followers (which, btw, makes us sound like stalkers…albeit, long-distance stalkers), to her posts almost completely. She’s one funny chick, and I tell anyone I can to check out her blog. I’m worried that it might seem like I’m trying to copy her style, but I’m not. Her pictures crack me up, so I thought, “What the hell…why not give it a shot?”. So I tried it…my first few attempts were horrible. I mean atrociously so. I stopped trying for a few weeks, but decided to revisit it today because I’m a glutton for punishment and all.

But guess what?

I drew two pictures of a Velocirapper (and yes, Velocirapper- it’s not a typo), and I’m not that horrible! I mean, I’m no Picasso, but for using a track pad and MS Paint, it wasn’t too bad to look at! I even showed to the boy and the best friend, and while they shook their heads at the context of the pictures, they didn’t make fun of the actual drawing! Look at me go! I just realized as I typed that last sentence, it seems that I might have overused the exclamation mark, but you guys just don’t realize how excited I was to learn that I don’t completely suck at computer drawings. Well, let me rephrase: they’re not good, but hopefully they come across in a “so-bad-they’re-funny” sort of way which, in an ironic way, equals me not sucking at computer drawings. Me sucking at computer drawings=funny (hopefully)=me not sucking at computer drawings…(hopefully). I feel like I’ve spent too much time on the issue of me being a horrible artist, so I’m going to move on.

This has been your first lesson on reading my blog…I get horribly distracted by my own train of thought.

In the past, I’ve actually completely lost what I was going to say to someone mid-sentence. I apologize if that is annoying and distracting to you, and if you are one of those people, I would suggest that you don’t read much more. I try to stay focused, but sometimes I’ll have a thought pop in my head as I’m already talking so I’ll segue into that. I won’t realize it’s happened, and because most of my friends are the same way, they won’t realize it either. Before we know it, we’ve both (or all, because I do have more than one friend and talk to them both at the same time on occasion) become kidnapped by my A.D.D. We start off talking about something serious or relevant like gun control (this is Texas, after all), and then the next thing we know we’re talking about tiny hats and other things a monkey might wear. I don’t understand why it happens. Sometimes I hate that it happens like when I’m about to make a really good “in-your-face” point, and I find myself meandering past my point to discuss why the Kardashians are famous. For the most part though, it amuses me. I hope it also amuses you.

But back to Hyperbole and a Half. If any of you guys read her blog, or make your way over to her blog now that I’ve mentioned it, you might see one or two things that she mentions that I mention also. I’m not trying to steal her ideas, I promise. I want my blog to be my own thoughts and experiences. I mean how can you get enjoyment from people liking your work when it isn’t even your work? No me gusta. One of the things she mentions in her blog is a “mandatory sex party” (no, she was not involved in one), and I will bring my thoughts on that up in another post. I mention it only as a disclaimer. I think she’s funny as hell, and wouldn’t dream of copying her. Plus, now that she’s got so many followers, if any of them saw my blog, they’d verbally and possibly hunt me down and physically, rip me to shreds. I like being intact, so I will not be participating in crappy, plagiarizing behavior.

So to prepare you for the ridiculousness that you are about to encounter, I’ll tell you a little bit about myself (yes, it did take me this long to get to it):

1. I’m about as random as they come.  I have a lot of weird shit that happens in my head, but not in a “let’s-get-her-into-a-straight-jacket-and-cart-her-off-to-the-loony-bin” kind of way. It’s more of a “where-in-the-hell-did-that-come-from-but-she’s-kind-of-got-a-point” kind of way. This one ties in with what I was saying earlier about getting distracted by my own thoughts.
2. I’m a huge nerd/geek/dork….a Nerdorgeek, if you will.  I realize after saying it out loud, it sounds like I’m trying to say Nordic, but don’t know how to pronounce it. I assure you neither one is true. Well, I might be Nordic, but because I don’t know, we’ll err on the side of caution and say I’m not.
3. I used to say that I’m a grammar Nazi, but because people are still touchy about the holocaust and whatnot, I choose to not say it anymore. I also make a lot of careless mistakes, so I don’t feel like I deserve the title. That’s actually the main reason. I’ll let someone else take the burden so that I’m free to make all the grammatical mistakes I want. Yay me! Actually, I’ll still try not to because bad grammar annoys me.
4. I curse. A lot. My dad is a Marine, and I said my first curse word at the age of about 3 or 4. Well, I should say I said my first couple of curse words in the same breath at the age of about 3 or 4. I will probably curse in my posts, and if that offends you then fuck you. Actually I hope it doesn’t offend you because I like you already, and I hope you’ll stick around.
5. I say “retarded” a lot also, so the phrase “That’s fucking retarded” might make an appearance here also. I don’t discriminate against people with learning disabilities or people who are physically handicapped in anyway. I feel for and respect the people who have to deal with what they deal with. For me, it’s just an expression (which I know some people will argue that that’s what’s wrong with the world today). I mean no disrespect. But that being said, if you are offended by that kind of thing, then that’s fucking retarded. Lighten up. I didn’t mean to offend you. Again, if these last two things did offend you, maybe you should stop reading.
6. I feel like I come from the Island of Misfit Toys (hence the name of the blog in case anyone missed that). I’m pretty weird and feel like I don’t really “fit in” anywhere. This used to bother me, but now I like that I’m weird. I look pretty normal, so when I say something that comes completely out of left field, it really throws people for a loop. Well, actually if you picture left field and then look about 50 miles to the left of that, that’s normally where my thoughts come from. The look of bafflement on people’s faces is priceless.

I know there’s more to tell other than those 6 things, but I can’t think of anything else that might help prepare you for reading my blog. I’ve rambled on enough, and it’s late, so I’m going to bed. And you probably should too…unless it’s the middle of the day, in which case, get off the internet and go do something productive. Unless you’re doing research on the internet…in which case, get off Facebook and do something productive…like researching shit.