Welcome to Hell

Welcome to hell. Please take a number. Her Evilness will be with you when she damn well feels like it.

Friday, October 5, 2012

hello from Hell

there's a few reasons i haven't been blogging.  some of them are mundane - being lazy, working with the photobooths, etc.

i have plenty of things to tell you about, too - the great concert i went to recently, the cool people i've run into, what i've been up to for the past few months.  i've been living a pretty cool life, and it's not boring - i have stuff to say.

so then, why haven't i been here?

when i first started this blog, i absolutely wanted it to be a humor blog.  because of this, whenever my bipolar ass gets really depressed, i don't want to post.  because it won't be funny.

I, Satan, Am Currently Depressed.

and i've been trying to get myself to sit down and write about other shit, but it hasn't happened.  so fuck it, i'll write about right now.

i've written about my dad on this blog.  i portray him as a hilarious, fun person.  and generally, he really is.

sometimes, he isn't.  he can be judgmental, and viciously cruel, if you dare to disagree with him.  FUCKING GODS FORBID you try to talk politics with the man, and expect reasonable discourse.  his version of a political discussion is the equivalent of a toddler sticking its fingers in its ears and going "NYAHAH NANANANANNA I'M NOT LISTENING."

my dad came to visit me here in Austin recently.  about a week ago, maybe two.  and since then, i've been more than just a bit down in the dumps.  it took me a few days to really get out of bed and stay out.

my dad came on a sunday afternoon, and left on a tuesday afternoon.  obviously this visit was a ROARING success.  /SARCASM

i made the TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE mistake on monday night of actually attempting to talk to him about something that truly concerned me.  it was sorta political, but i wasn't talking about politics - i was trying to say something that really meant something to me.

earlier in the evening he had LITERALLY stormed out of a bar, leaving me to APOLOGIZE TO STRANGERS that we had been conversing with, because he didn't want to listen to something that someone was saying.  instead of being a rational human being and saying something like "let's talk about something else," he left the bar in a huff, and left me behind.  i had to run a block to catch up with him.

and after this happened, i made my DRASTICALLY HORRIBLE OPINION KNOWN - ie that i really think all human beings need health care, this being a major concern for me, as i have been hospitalization, i-think-i'm-dying sick from asthma a few times.  more than a few times, truth be told.  i once had walking pneumonia for nearly a semester in college, due to asthma bullshit that just wouldn't calm down. yay, senior year.

my dad is a republican.  not a fiscal republican, not a moderate republican - a Rush Limbaugh-listening, rabid, Fox News-watching, hate-spewing Republican.  i know better than to try to talk to him about politics.  i know it will end badly.  but i can't even make a simple point without him turning and attacking me.  as in, personally.

so here we are, sitting at this restaurant, eating some burgers, and i try to bring up a few things that are important to me - and try to explain WHY they are important to me.  instead of letting me get out more than three sentences, my dad turns on me.

he has a big beef that i haven't followed him in his judgment-filled christian ways.  he's not so much "do unto others" as "i think i know what the bible means and you're all WRONG and you live horribly blah blah blahblah."  which, considering that my dad is gay (and thus a self-loathing gay man, because his INTERPRETATION of his religion leaves no room for anything other than a slave-like devotion to antiquated rules), is especially shocking, but mostly sad.

"Don't think that you haven't turned out to be a major disappointment to me,"  he hissed.  as we were sitting in a mostly empty restaurant.  with all the staff staring at us, probably.  "I tried to raise you with all that is RIGHT and you have just gone and thrown it away."  or something to that effect.  i'm sure those aren't the exact words, because i was sitting there in shock, my eyes filling with tears.

i just shut down, and shut up.  i gave up.  i drank my bourbon, and we went back to the car and drove home.
i cried on the way home, i cried all night, i cried in my sleep.  i woke up crying.

and then, with my eyes so swollen anybody could tell there was something deeply wrong, my dad pretended that nothing had happened.  we went to lunch, we toured the Capitol building, we came home, he left.

i am the type of person who doesn't let anyone give me shit.  ANYONE.  but i just don't know how to deal with the man.  i have a very hard time dealing with people who can't think rationally.  and his first instinct is to turn and bite, and i don't want to go to that level.  i DON'T want to spit out some of this shit i really think about my dad, because hey - i'd like to have a relationship with him.

this is a man who, if i were to sincerely make my opinions of him and his politics known, would have no qualms about absolutely cutting me off and pretending that i didn't exist.  i would know.  i've seen him do it to others.  he has a nonexistent relationship with my brother.  i'm pretty much the last family member standing.  and this is because i haven't spoken my mind.

this situation has somewhat come to a head, for me.  but it's not a good choice, either way.  shut up & bite my tongue, or say what i really mean, and possibly have him never talk to me again?

this is the shit that's on my mind.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

I Can Leurn Things... I Thinks.

stay tuned for a completely random list of Shit I Haz Leurned This Week.

My Ass Is Too Big To Fit Under The Bed Sideways.

i know this, because Fuzzbutt has taken to hiding underneath our bed, because we have At Last Relented, and allowed her into the bedroom, despite the fact that i am hideously allergic to cats.
i know.  i'm not smart.
but it's either let her in the bedroom, or have to deal with constant bullshit - ie her coming in and out of the house at all hours of i'm-trying-to-sleep-damnit-fuckyoucat, which is IMPOSSIBLE to prevent, because she has, i shit you not, a meow the same approximate decibel level of an air siren.  and she will NOT give up.
or if it's not that, it's constant scratching at the closed bedroom door, which leads to me throwing her out of the front door in a rage, which leads to her standing underneath the bedroom window and doing that air-siren-yowl thing....
i gave up.  we let her in the bedroom, and now she doesn't do any of that shit at night.  win!

but then... we got a kitten.  yup.  KITTEN!!!   Matt has finally given into MY biological clock, which, unlike most peoples',  screams "I NEED A KITTEN!" every ten years or so.  (more on the amazing kitten later....)

anywho, Fuzzbutt has NOT forgiven us this Cardinal Sin of Loving Other Cats, which has prompted a hell of a lot of pouting underneath our bed.

which leads us to the point:  my ass will not fit under the bed when lying sideways.  i have to kinda do a snake shuffle underneath the bed to visit the cat every so often, because i kinda (if only kinda) feel sorry for her, as she has confined herself to our bedroom with a visible air of resentment.  "Fine!  I HATE YOU ALL, and i will Be In My Room.  Assholes."

so i have spent a more-than-normal amount of time underneath my bed, and i learned today, as i tried to roll out, that yes, my hips WILL get stuck if i try that shit.  i truly wish i could have videotaped the process of me trying to get the hell out of the bed.  it was kinda epic.

additional point:  i'm not a fat ass, evidently Matt's ass is also too big to fit under the bed sideways, as he recently learned.  "Mel... help!  The Bed Ate Me!"

My Couch Will Never Be The Same.

due to a combination of things.... my poor, poor couch.  it's on its last legs.
the cushion has... problems.  problems mostly due to us sitting on it constantly, as it is An Antique, and was CLEARLY not made for such things.  but it's got other problems, too.

The Kitten
the kitten, who has a name, but is generally known as Little Fucker, has taken to the underside of the couch like some Nutella to crepes, and has made it her stomping grounds.

this is generally exacerbated by the fact that Fuzzbutt FatAss can't fit underneath the couch, and so it remains her safe space - as long as she's small enough to squeeze under there, anyway.
she's delighted by the fact that the lining under there has a small rip, and she's trying as hard as she possibly can to enlarge it enough to, i imagine, someday fit in there and eviscerate the couch from the inside.
if that wasn't enough, she's also very prone to chasing her tail (very cute), which has the side effect of creating little claw marks allllll over the couch (Not Cute At All).  because she also has really shitty aim, in trying to catch said tail.

The Coals
just in case the claw marks and ripped lining on the underside weren't enough, we (and by "we" i mean NOT ME, and also not Matt) had a mishap involving hookah coals and burned gold velvet... yeahhhh.

I Forgot How Annoying Kittens Can Sometimes Be.

because they can fit bloody anywhere.

case in bloody point.

Porn Is Sometimes Incredibly Terrifying.

i had a mild twitter-splosion of EEEEW OMG KILL IT WITH FIRE.

by the way, the Look Of Utter Horror went as follows:

for anyone stupid brave enough to take a look at what horrified MY jaded ass, here you go...

click this, motherfuckers!  

skip ahead to the 14 minute mark if you want to skip the "erg" parts and go directly to WHAT THE HOLY FUCK.

But Mostly Though, Kittens Are Fucking Adorable.  

but y'all already know this.  which will in no way prevent my sharing a bunch of pictures, anyway.

First Evar picture...

holding still... for once!

pretending to be sweet... most likely right before she claws the couch.

ACTUALLY being the sweetest of sweet.

yes, kittens are great.  now if only i can survive her...

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

The Barista Fucking Hates You

::insert apologizing for not posting in forfuckingever due to [insert reason here], namely  working like a five year old in a sweatshop like a goddamn dog at this horrible, horrible JOB, in this case... ::

BUT NOT ANYMORE!  bwahahahahahha.  tomorrow is my Last Goddamn Day and i couldn't be happier about it.  but hell, it's given me a few things to think about, and here i present to you:

"How to Order Coffee Without Getting Cyanide In It For Being A Cockwaffle."

Be Specific, Dumbass.
WHAT.  no shit, you're at a coffee place, you dim bint.  so then, we play twenty questions!
what the fuck is that.  no, really.  we have three sizes.  the cups are right in front of you.  all you have to do is point, if the names are that confusing.
i hand them the cup for brewed coffee.
"no, i want a latte."

ohgod, here we go again.
"hot?  iced?"
"what type?"
"Black."  we have 4 different black teas.  fuck me.
ooookay.  "which one?"
"the red one."  fuck my life, you are stupid.

or, oooh!  oooh!  i really like this one.
we have 3 different brands, and like 8 flavors.  WHICH ONE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, YOU HAVE A BRAIN, DON'T YOU?
"which type?"
"blueberry."  there are three different blueberry yogurts WHY MUST YOU SUCK SO HARD?

Just Say No To Cappuccinos. 
oh i know, but it's your FAVORITE and you MUST have one, right?
fuck you, no you don't.  there's a line of 40 people behind you (no seriously, this place really is like this) and FUCK OFF.

just in case you're wondering:  cappuccinos suck because, in order to make one that doesn't taste like burned asshole, i have to start with fresh milk.  which means i have to stop everything else i'm making, and make Just This One Drink.  which means the extra milk in my pitcher that i just steamed has to be dumped Elsewhere, for your Motherfucking Cappuccino.  it's a drink that takes twice as long to make, and it stops everything else i'm doing.
plus, it's just a fucking latte with pretenses, and Fuck That.
which is why it's earned a moniker, among baristas everywhere:
if you ever hear a barista call out a "PITA," you'll know that whatever drink it is, it's a PAIN IN THE ASS.

Corollary:  Frappuccinos are for Slow Times Only.
don't get me wrong, i understand the siren call of a good frozen coffee beverage.
i do, believe me.
i've timed my average transaction at this job; i round out at about 20 seconds per customer, which is CRUCIAL when you have a constant line of about 40 people, for a solid two hours plus.  the line MUST MOVE.  i am very good at moving a line.

fraps take time, you gotta squirt 23624903 different syrups into the blender and snag ice and shit and blahblahblahblahblah the blender takes 20 seconds.  which means that by the time i make your One Fucking Frappucino, i could have checked out 3 or 4 different people.  you are Slowing My Roll, Goddamnit.
i will be happy to make you one.  when i'm not busy.

another corollary: baristas have shorthand on our drinks.  a frap would be an F.  a caramel frap, a CF.  mocha, MF. etcetera.
so you can be sure that when you order a frappuccino when i'm slammed, i'll be calling you a "Fucker," a "Cunt Face," or a "Mother Fucker!" under my breath.  every single time.
i truly enjoyed making up shit just for this.
vanilla frap?  "Venereal-diseased Fuckface!"
i can go on for days.

"I just need [insert thing here], can i cut line?"  

Just... Why?
anything Decaf, Sugar-Free, with skim milk:  it's a "Why bother?"
see also, decaf americanos.  seriously.  watered down espresso with no caffeine content?  why bother?

Don't Do This:
"grande caramel latte."
::makes latte::
"no, i wanted soy/skim/special snowflake caramel syrup."

Or This:
::goes to make your drink::
"can i have [special mods that cost $1.35 extra] in that too?"
no.  no, you can't.  you KNOW that shit costs extra.
or you CAN, and you can give me $1.35 more.  back to the register with you.

::me, working a line of 30 people::
person i've already checked out, at the end of the counter:
"I Demand Special Thing No One Else Wants."
i don't respond within ten seconds, because i'm busy.
mother fucker.  if you want whole milk instead of half & half or skim, MIX THEM TOGETHER, it's the same fucking thing.  or, you know, just DEAL.
alternately:  wait until i have two seconds, and POLITELY request your special snowflake item, and be goddamn gracious when i give it to you.

i will eat your fucking face.

How To Make The Barista Fucking Love You:
i don't expect everyone to have their coffee lingo down pat.  i don't.  i have a customer i LOVE that orders "that thing you make me."
she came up, described what type of drink she liked:  "small, sweet, really caffeinated, milky, iced!"  cool.  what flavors are your favorite?  "vanilla."
excellent!  you get a small iced vanilla latte, with an extra shot, and extra vanilla.  i got this.

if you can tell me what TYPE of thing you want, i can probably get you something you really like.  and i don't mind this.  i actually LOVE helping someone figure out their perfect coffee drink.

"the usual!"
if i see you often enough and you regularly order the same exact thing, chances are that i will spot you and start your drink before you've even ordered it.   i dearly love my regulars, no matter what type of ridiculous shit they order, even if they are assholes.  i never have to play 20 questions with them.  plus, most of them are awesome, anyway.

"you just make it better than everyone else!"  oh god, stroke my ego, stroke it i say!  i love you.

for the record:
if you would like to streamline your coffee experience, and you know what you want, you can list it in a certain way that will make everything go quicker.

1. size
2. flavor
3. type of drink (latte, coffee, frappy whatever)
4.  mods - ie soy/skim/breve, decaf, extra shot.

for example, if you want a medium latte with vanilla syrup and almond milk:
"medium vanilla latte with almond milk, please!"
::scribble scribble::

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

SHITTASTIC! part two...

part one is HERE...

i seem to be having some seriously bad luck with plumbing this year, NONE of it my fault.
no, really.

so The Matt and i have recently moved into Austin, away from the damn shotgun house with no damn doors, and into a nice and shiny 3 bedroom house WITH hallways and doors, thankyouverymuch!

it was great... for the first two weeks.
and then...
well, it's OUR house, so something had to be wrong with it, right?

it started as flooding when we took a shower in our master bath... "why is the entire floor covered in water?  hmm.  maybe i didn't close the shower curtain enough.  will fix next time!"

only next time?  yeah.  that resulted in MAJOR flooding, into our room - and onto the brand-new fucking carpet. because obviously, we can't have nice things, even if I'M not the cuprit, for once.

and then the toilet was flushed....
oh god.  we weren't getting an overflowing toilet... we were getting a backup of (thankfully clean) water from the UNDERSIDE of the toilet.  what the holy fuck?
we called the realty company.

turns out?  foundation is all kinds of fucked up, and so is our plumbing.

suffice to say, ever since the last week of january, we've had the door to our master bath firmly shut?  why, you say?  oh, no reason...

well.  maybe there's a reason.

the realty plumbers came within 24 hours, and after yanking up the toilet and realizing there was a REALLY BIG PROBLEM, they contacted the landlord, who said "okay, we'll have the foundation guy come back, he's still under contract."

and, we waited.  and waited.  meanwhile...

this.  they left an OPEN SEWER PIPE in our house... in our fucking bedroom.
...for two months.

yes, really.
we had no contact information for the landlord, so when the foundation guy failed to show, for weeks running, we could only contact the realty guy who was SUPPOSED to be fixing it...
no dice.

so it stayed like this.  and the door stayed firmly shut, because...

well, suffice to say that the bathroom smells like musty asshole, and the only thing good enough to combat it is the MOST AWESOME scented candle someone gave me as a housewarming gift.

funny enough, we found out a few weeks ago that we had a NEW realty rep dude, one who *apparently* had NO IDEA about the shitstorm situation we had in the house.

we raised a motherfucking fuss, lemme tell you.  and dude (finally.  FINALLY!) got some shit done.  eventually.  after another two weeks, the foundation guy showed up at the house, and right now they're underneath the house, banging around.

the original plumbers left this shitwater mess on our carpet, and the realty company will be getting that steam cleaned, you BETTER believe it.

i'd be more pissed about this situation, except we got a whole months' rent for free, and i also get to imagine that every time i flush the toilet, it might just leak on that motherfucking foundation guy's head.  because fuck knows, half our plumbing is backed up in the house, and there IS a leak somewhere...

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

i haven't mentioned my new job yet. there's a REASON.

if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all???

oh, i slay myself, i really do.

i work full-time as a coffee barista, for a company (which shall remain nameless, since i am about to slander the SHIT out of them) who works FOR a large corporation (which shall also remain nameless so i don't get sued or whatever, but here's a hint:  "dude, you're getting a shitty computer!").

consequently, i work in a small cafe located in a big corporate maze.  i've never seen the rest of the building besides the cafeteria/cafe and the foodservice offices, but i'd imagine a good majority of the building looks like this:

in other words, purgatory.

yes, i knew the job involved daytime hours when i took it, and that i'd probably die with this new phenomenon of sunlight in my life.
and yes, i realized it meant i'd be sleeping from approximately 4am to 7:30 am, on a good night.
(and i don't care what the fuck people say.  no, i can't just "get adjusted" to daytime hours.  it's not possible.  i stay up late no matter how little sleep i've had - either that, or i go home, crash on the couch, sleep til midnight, THEN stay up til 5am...  it's not like i haven't tried, shitbags.  advice: you're doin it wrong.)

it's a coffee job.  things i expected:

getting covered in milk & coffee (and i mean covered, from glasses to shoes, because we are constantly slammed)
scalding myself daily
cranky customers who need their caffeine NOW
picky customers
overly caffeinated customers
being over caffeinated myself...  (which turns out, not so much.  hard to find time to make yourself a drink when you're doing the work of TWO people during a rush!  but more on that later...)

blah, blah, blah - it's a coffee job, i've been doing this for 7 years.  old potatoes.

here's what i did not expect:

write-ups when you clock in late.  write-ups when you clock OUT late.  as in, 5 minutes late.
evidently this company REALLY has its panties in a wad about write-ups.  i guess it's to document EVERYTHING, lest that 5 minutes you were late somehow gets linked to a crime somewhere, or something?
oh yeah - and after 10 "write-ups" for being late?  they fire you.  yeah.

it's like high school, only more nightmarish - because at least in high school, you expect that sort of stupidity.  in the real world, it just makes you want to regress, and stick tacks on someone's chair.

well, fuck you too!

the complete banning of jewelry (oh as IF i'm about to take out 9 piercings worth of jewelry every morning & put it back in every afternoon!  suck it.), which means i either
A).  get bitched at for having my piercings in,
B).  get ALL of my piercings infected, because i have to force the jewelry through if i leave it out all day, or
C). wear clear retainers.  which would be FINE, if i could just sleep in the fuckers.  but  no, they fall out.  so i STILL have the same damn problem. jewelry in, jewelry out (which leads to infection, which leads to anger, which leads to "fuck this, i'm leaving them in.").

(a short aside:  i heal piercings very, very badly.  as in, my body never stops trying to heal them.  i have holes i've had since i was seven, that would close up if i left jewelry out for too long.  all the newer ones have a much shorter shelf life.  15 minutes and my nose piercing would be GONE.)

you can take THIS out.

the banning of nail polish.
can i.... can i just say how much i love nail polish?

i love nail polish THAT MUCH.

yes.  the whole thing. is full. of nail polish.
it's one of the few "girly" things i do.  at any given point i'm usually wearing 10 - 20 + shades of fucking nail polish.

case in motherfucking point.

and now you're telling me i can't fucking use ANY OF IT monday through friday? cocktwat douchebags!  and don't tell me blahblahblah health code, whatever!!!  if it were really that important, don't you think you might have made me GET a health card or something?  but noooo...

strangely enough, this place could give two shits about all the tattoos i have, even the one on my finger, which is usually underneath a family ring i wear (see "gofuckyourself gun" picture up there, you'll see both).  considering they'll "write you up" for earrings or fingernail polish, this is so fucking backwards it's insane.

i haven't asked yet, but i'm pretty sure i'm FUCKED if i ever feel like doing this to my hair again.

hey, just in case all this rules&regulations fuckwittery wasn't enough, guess what!  we also get incompetent management!   wooo!

see, the big ass corporate has every employee get a security badge to enter the building & get through various doors.  cool.  no big deal.  the big deal was that it took me AN ENTIRE FUCKING MONTH to get one - because big corp's security said, "we don't have your info. it wasn't sent to us."  and then MY company said, "uh, we sent it like a week ago."
rinse and repeat.  for a month.  meanwhile, a repair guy sent to fix our coffee machine went and got a badge within a day.  literally.  (no, i didn't have smoke coming out of my ears or anything that day, as i went to the security office for the third time that week, why do you ask?)

and of course i'm sure that is ONLY THE BEGINNING to the management fuckery.  hell, i've been here a month.  there's plenty of time for even more ridiculous bullshit to develop.

this is how i feel after coming home from work every day!

and now!  and now.  we come to asshat coworker.  
one of my coworkers is fucking great.  she knows who she is.

the other....
well.  she's an older, heavier lady, and she evidently feels that once i get there, she doesn't have to do a goddamn thing.  she sits at the register and takes orders....

and i:  make the drip coffee, make all the lattes and espresso and cappuccinos and mochas and chai lattes, and run to the other end of the cafe (where she is, so she could easily snag me more, but NOOOO) for more ground drip coffee and more chai and soy milk and half & half to refill the pitchers out at the bar and clean all the dishes and rinse all the recycling and, and, and.... 

and then she YELLS AT ME if i get behind?  bitch, i got a line of ten drinks, and you're not helping at all.  brew some fucking coffee or something, don't whine at me about it!  
she also evidently thinks i'm an idiot.  "you just turn around while you're steaming or pulling shots & set up your coffee..."
no, dipshit!  that's how you fuck up your milk & let your shots sit and then have to redo shit.  and no, it's NOT okay to let orders go out wrong!  you can't give decaf people normal shots!  you don't fill the hopper with decaf if we're out of normal espresso because your dumb ass forgot to order it!  just..... 

bitch, i will sic my attack cat on you.  she's CRAYCRAY.  you can see it in her eyes.

hey y'all - want to see how long i can be driven batshit insane before i have a complete meltdown?

eventually i'm gonna lose it and tell this lady to suck my nonexistent dick.

...have i mentioned we don't get tips?

Friday, February 10, 2012

fun with stupid (or, the crack spider's bitch)

now this one, you can blame on Jaime.

hon, i just want you to know that i don't normally do this sort of stuff.  and NO, i'm not tagging anyone else to do it, although i will provide random questions you can answer in the comments, if you like.  please feel free to tag yourself.

upwards and onwards...

If you had the choice to know when you were going to die or not to know, what would you choose?
shit yes.  how will i die?  when will i die?  really?  awesome. 
then i know that doing this [insert really dumb thing here] is not gonna kill me... bottoms up!  anyone for some evil knievel style motorcycle riding?

What is the one food you could not live without eating ever again?
it starts off round, ends up in triangles, and it's messy.  and cheesy.  and ideally should be the best thing you've ever stuck in your mouth.
 in other words, pizza.

Where is the one place you most want to visit on the planet and why?
Scotland and Ireland, because my ancestors are from there.  Europe in general.  Canada.  i like to break rules.

How many times a day do you say a swear word?
HAHAHAHAHAhahahahaha i don't even have enough fingers & toes to count the number of times i swear per hour.
What is the most absurd phobia you have and why?
i am arachnophobic.  no, it's not funny to try & creep me out with spiders.  although this IS maybe the funniest thing i've ever seen. 

 If all A’s are B’s, Not B, therefore not A. How does this relate to the greatness of cheese?
i'll just start off by saying i HAD to take logic in college, and this is NOT a sound logic equation.  therefore your argument is invalid, no matter what.
by negating B, you negate A, which basically implodes a black hole in your brain, so you go eat a lot of cheese to try and force math out of your brain.  why?  because cheese is the best shit on the planet, and it might even be able to stop up that black hole.  also, math (and logic) problems can lick my balls.

If you could go back in time and undo one event, what would it be and why?
don't snort neurontin.  just don't. whatever you do.  A, because it won't do shit, or at least not anything fun.  B, because OH GOD IT BURNS IT BURNS OH JESUS FUCK MY SINUSES.
no, i have no excuse for why i did it, and this was in the last 2 months, which just proves that i am never going to grow up.  never.

A frat boy, a cougar and a priest all walk into a bar. Which do you make fun of first?
the priest.  he can't get laid.
no, wait, the frat boy.  he has his collar popped, and he should probably be kicked in the balls on general principle.  and it's also theoretically possible that the priest gets laid more than he does. 
the cougar is cool.  we can compare plots to ensnare hot young things.  but they must be at or above drinking age.

Fried or deep fried?
fried green tomatoes.
deep fried cajun turkey, motherfuckers.

and now, for some random questions of my own:

if you have 10 million books and not enough bookshelf space, what is the approximate velocity of a LADEN african swallow?

cake, or death?

if a writer works all fucking night long on a project that is essentially intellectual masturbation, when does that person actually masturbate?

how much nail polish is "too much nail polish?"

trick question.  there is no such fucking thing as too much nail polish.  or too many books.  or "too much beer." HA. 

you come to my house to hang out.  do you bring weed, scotch, or beer?  show your work.  correct answers will be provided given quantities of the thing(s) that you bring.

 please caption photograph.  obscenity encouraged.  kinkiness rewarded.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Singles Awareness Day

i have boycotted valentine's day for YEARS for general reasons, first and foremost being:  i fucking hate making a big deal of nothing.

and for most of those v-days, i was dating someone - but the only good valentines day i EVER remember having was in middle school, seventh grade - i had literally asked out a guy the night before at a party.
then next day, when i came home from school, he had stuck a heart box of truffles (my favorite, who KNOWS how he even knew) by the door.  granted, he lived 2 doors down, so this wasn't *quite* the most difficult thing ever.  but still!

and in all the many years after that, i can't remember a single valentines day that was memorable.

and then, i became single... and the boycott began in EARNEST.  i started wearing a "Singles Awareness Day" t-shirt.  yes, i was probably obnoxious.  no, i didn't mind that one bit!

and now, even though i've been in a relationship for a WHILE...
i still hate valentine's day.  i hate all the stupid crap that goes along with it.  i hate the expectations, the commercials, the stupid movies.... gaaahhhhhhhh.
i don't celebrate it at all.

but this year?  BRING IT.
because i pretty much have the BEST valentine ever, in the form of this:

i'm... officially in love.

and, just in case that wasn't enough?

those would be peanut butter cookies.
heart-shaped peanut butter cookies.
darlin, i will be your valentine ANY day!

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

blame Tazer

she started it.

and of course, i had to figure out how to out-dumb the master, soooooo...

barrel bowler:


dinosaur fries:

dinosaurs might be the worst cooks on the planet...
either that, or this is what their shit looks like after a bad night of fast food.

flying snickers:

close, google, but no snickers bar for you.

jello sportscoat:

evidently the Japanese do it, although i'm not quite sure how...


come to think of it, his knuckles probably are pretty bushy.


what you are, when you end up in this position, evidently.

secure pants:


yuff nuts:

because you'll "yuff" after you eat it?

now, i will apply a flamethrower to my brain, because one of these searches popped up a pic of a guy with a belly hanging past his knees, and BLARFFFFFFF

Sunday, January 1, 2012

the Bitch is Back!

oh fuck, the things i've done in the past month.  things i never thought i'd do.....

it started when i said, "sure, i'll come live with you for a month, after you have surgery, and help take care of your kids..."

yes, folks.  imagine me, Satan, in charge of little Spawn.

suffice to say i have now successfully influenced the entire household in matters of drugs, piracy, and other awesome things.

yep.  such a good influence.

The Matt was a good sport about all this - a good thing, too, since he was stuck in NOLA alone working a temp job.  naturally, since it involved a uniform i asked for pictures....
when he asked what kind, i said, "you know, the cheesy porn kind."

evidently, he could have a great career in being a cheesy porn star.
i fully support this... do you know how much money those dudes make??!?!

in other news, we're moving to Austin TX, bitches!  we've got a week to pack up an entire house, and so far, this is all we've got...

i know.  we're completely fucked.  it's cool though, i'm sure we'll get to it sometime...

the cat has realized she's gonna be briefly homeless again, and has taken to pouting in one of the moving boxes.  the Poor Bastard Punk doesn't realize what he's in for yet...  i do NOT look forward to having him yowling at me in a car for hours.  no, i do not.

but he was happy to have me home, at least...

and bitches, am i glad to be home!  for a whole 7 days, that is.

now if only we can find a house to rent in Austin....
anyone know a good place?  cuz i really don't want to have to live in a moving van with two pissed-off cats...