tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24202828414228074272024-03-05T01:21:56.858-06:00Satan Goes to Sing SingSatanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.comBlogger193125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-6625655866380155572016-01-05T18:24:00.002-06:002016-01-05T18:37:28.857-06:00i'm not dead, i'm just depressed!! i've sat down more than once to try to write a life update, and every time i don't even know where to begin. so much has been happening within this last year. i'll try to give you the short version...<br />
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where did i leave off? (i was waiting for all of this to seem funny so i could write about it, but eh, let's give it a shot.)<br />
ah yes, we were staying at a friend's place momentarily. my opinion at the time was that she was saintly, seeing as i was not sleeping in my car in August, entirely due to her goodwill. yeah. about that goodwill. not very long-lived, as it happens. <br />
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i will REALLY never understand people who try to "steal" someone else's partner, particularly when said partner is polyamorous. and that's not just shade (not gonna lie, some of it's shade - she deserves all the shade, as you will shortly see), it's a genuine statement: i will never understand it. as she got possessive (towards Matt) and grumpy/snappy towards me, i just left. i was dealing with suicidal depression at the time, and i Did. Not. Have. Time. For. Her. Shit. i went back to my friend's place, because there i didn't have to pretend to not be rolling my eyes at girl's weird - and you know, knowing i was actually welcome at my friend's, etcetera. <br />
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her weird was progressive. Matt was not feeling good about any of her nonsense either, so he went to stay with a coworker of his for a while. then she got even stranger, began telling her coworkers and friends he was her boyfriend... all while Matt was backing off like a roadrunner at that point, because the situation was Not Okay. <br />
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she then proceeded to stalk him all across social media, and with multiple telephone numbers, started flagging down his coworkers when she saw them out & about... just a few months ago, she showed up at Matt's place of employment and started yelling at people. thankfully he wasn't there. and also that she hasn't found out how close we live to his place of employment. <br />
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(brief aside - girl lives wayyyyy down in south Austin & does not own a vehicle. how she even managed to get up here to commence stalkery is beyond me. she must have spent 5 hours on a bus that day.)<br />
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shit was crazy for a while. i didn't want to exacerbate the situation by confronting her, particularly if she was the "level up" type, because i didn't want to make it any worse for Matt, who was already stressed the fuck out.<br />
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but we finally found a shithole apartment for way too much fucking money at the tail end of November 2014, and were officially Not Homeless Anymore, mostly through the grace of my mother helping us to pay rent at first. the situation was looking up, relatively speaking, though i wouldn't have said that at the time (see: depression). at least, the living situation fuckery had been dealt with, if none of our other issues. <br />
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and then, i really fucked my back up. <br />
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i may need to include some quick backstory, here. i was an active kid - gymnastics, ballet, marching band, etcetera. so i was always tweaking something here or there. i figured it was normal. injuries do happen in competitive sports. none of the injuries were ever that bad, except for when they were (that one time i danced EN POINTE on a foot with both a broken toe & tendon injuries, although i didn't know about the broken toe at the time. i only found out about the toe much later, after it had healed, via x-ray). <br />
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i thought i was normal (physically speaking, anyway). my neck & back had started hurting me when i was fifteen. nobody ever took me seriously when i said it, because i was young and nobody expects a teenager to actually be hurting, hurting. plus, i'd had severe whiplash as a kid from an accident, and we knew my neck was screwy. but i was in pain every day. <br />
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i did go see a chiropractor, which helped some. i talked to my GP about back pain, and also the hand tremor i'd developed at 16 or 17 - but although he remarked on all of my symptoms correctly at the time, he didn't put them together (as a family GP for a small town, frankly i wouldn't have expected him to. he still got closer than anyone else).<br />
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now back to December 2014, where i injured my back more severely than i ever had before. this wasn't like a minor twinge issue. this was one of those stabbing nerve pain when i sit or stand or breathe or pee or really do anything but lie perfectly still. i was in bed for two weeks, and couch bound for probably a month after that. and although my chronic pain was definitely daily and chronic and had been worsening throughout the fifteen-plus fucking years i've been in pain, this back injury ratcheted it up to a whole new level. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEi6t3tdYVTVI4Fgf-Bj-RwsX_uJOZ5hyphenhyphenQoGC_oOAbSoK6-Egp0X0Uq9wyIN_1r8pNpI034PWTW5fEvdNCPQyDUx0oCdYzK0hyphenhyphenSw8u9DutZNRNotCWpo3nXhhUA0J2o3y8xD-LYvkhH-LB/s1600/comparative+pain+scale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEi6t3tdYVTVI4Fgf-Bj-RwsX_uJOZ5hyphenhyphenQoGC_oOAbSoK6-Egp0X0Uq9wyIN_1r8pNpI034PWTW5fEvdNCPQyDUx0oCdYzK0hyphenhyphenSw8u9DutZNRNotCWpo3nXhhUA0J2o3y8xD-LYvkhH-LB/s640/comparative+pain+scale.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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so you get a general idea of what i'm actually talking about, here is a pain chart. previous to this back injury, i had probably spent most of my days in the 3 - 5 range. <br />
now i was living mostly in the 6 - 8 range.<br />
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i don't think i had talked about pain much before this last year, on social media or otherwise. some of my joints and my neck/back really bothered me - but i had done enough physical stuff and had enough legitimate back/neck injuries that i thought there were concrete reasons for all of these old pains. and again - i thought this was normal. i didn't have a way to gauge my pain as compared to other people who talk about their back hurting. it can be difficult to gauge something so subjective. and again, i wasn't taken seriously by a lot of people - because i'm young, this sort of thing isn't normal. <br />
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but i don't think i was being honest with myself about how my functionality was degrading. i was having worsening problems with hand pain, and function. my tremor was just getting worse. and i was having increasing issues with other joints which hadn't previously been an issue - my right knee, even my ankles and feet. i found myself more and more short-tempered, which i later realized was largely due to pain. i was also experiencing the kind of chronic fatigue that left me exhausted even after sleeping 12 hour nights all the time.<br />
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when i injured myself, i fell into a perfect storm of bullshit. my back never did fully recuperate from the most recent injury; even now it's still not at its pre-recent-injury level of my "normal." at the same time i was living in allergy hell (not properly medicated + allergic to shithole apartment = Not Good.), and experiencing headsplitting tension headaches or migraines on a daily basis. i went for about a month having a horrible splitting headache of some variety ever single day. and that was on top of the heightened overall body pain. <br />
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i basically became a rage monster. i'll own up to it, i am not a fun person to be around when i'm in this much pain. particularly when i was experiencing daily migraines while coughing my lungs out, with a nasty back injury. i straight up wanted to die at that point, and i'm not being hyperbolic. thankfully i didn't have the energy to pursue it. (yes, i am on psych meds and doing a lot better, so don't worry on that front.) and i felt horribly guilty about not being able to work - or contribute to much of anything, for that matter. <br />
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i started researching. because there was no way in fucking hell this situation was normal. i was 29, 30, and this level of debilitating pain is not fucking normal. i'd already been researching BEFORE injuring my back - before even moving out of that rental house - but i really leapt into it then. i didn't have anything left to lose and i needed answers. i'd already failed to get a <b>minimum wage job</b> that i was both recommended for by an employee of theirs, AND hideously overqualified for, due to me being honest about my physical condition. (a mistake i won't be making again - disclosing disability is definitely a bad idea, don't do it.) talk about an ego blow. i cried. <br />
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i lucked into finding a great group of people on twitter, many of whom were experiencing similar (or exactly the same) symptoms - and many of them already had diagnoses! i researched more. it was like looking into a mirror. with the necessary IANAD (i am not a doctor) caveat out of the way, still, i will eat every hat i own if i'm not right. i *like* medical science so i tend to do things like read scholarly articles about things, particularly things i think might be affecting me. (my life's not all bad news - somewhat relatedly, i'm currently getting paid to write about medical science/research, so for the first time i have regular freelance work - woot!!)<br />
<br />
i have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. and trying to figure out how to live with my changing body has eaten up my past year, for the most part. (if you'd like more information about EDS you can get a brief overview <a href="http://www.ednf.org/what-eds">here</a>, or for scads of info, i recommend <a href="http://ohtwist.com/">Oh Twist</a> as a great one-stop resource.)<br />
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a lot of things have changed for me, in the past year. i got tired of being the "strong silent type" about it and i started talking about my daily reality some, particularly on twitter. i now own a cane, to help mitigate the chronic fatigue - doing routine stuff like going to the grocery store can cause a pain or fatigue spike, and the cane helps me hurt less. but fuck, i'm 31 and i own a cane. i've effectively become disabled by pain and fatigue. it's the most frustrating thing i've ever had to deal with.<br />
<br />
in fact, once we sell the house here, we're going to be moving back to Portland - i love it there, but the main reason for the move is that Oregon has a well-established medical marijuana program. i absolutely have to get my chronic pain under control, if i want to have decent quality of life. it's exhausting to be in pain all the time. i'd like to avoid the opiate/opioid route if i can, because entirely separate from some of the drawbacks of the drug itself, i've personally seen my friends who are prescribed them to manage chronic pain get dicked around and treated like addicts by a shocking number of medical professionals. <br />
<br />
i haven't really wanted to talk about this much, since i'm not technically diagnosed yet. but since the most effective method of diagnosing EDS is usually through a geneticist, for fuck's sake, and i have no insurance... well. i guess it will have to wait a while. but i wanted to put an update up, since i basically left you hanging a year ago... if anyone still reads this, anyway. i want to be updating the blog more regularly - particularly with funny shit! but y'all, i'm overwhelmed as hell. and all this is why.<br />
<br />
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well, this post was depressing as hell. but if you're looking to get your hands on some fresh humor writing, don't forget that i have a <a href="https://www.patreon.com/SexySexyWriting?ty=h">Patreon</a> (it's so cheap to support, for real, it's a dollar a story!), and if you become a supporter you'll get material that this blog won't see... tempt, tempt. </div>
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<br />Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-85594265826380301492015-08-05T06:10:00.000-05:002015-08-05T06:57:01.204-05:00White Trash Day! (Patreon, etc)hello old readers, and hello new! I'm going to be releasing some of the stories I've been working on, via <a href="https://www.patreon.com/SexySexyWriting?ty=h">my Patreon</a> - go check it out! I'm trying to find a way to sustainably write for a living - if you've been a fan of what I've been writing over the years, please consider helping me dig out of the poverty hole, if you can! Plus you'll be getting access to book material well before anyone else gets their paws on it...<br />
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without further ado, a sample of what kind of stories you'll be reading if you become a supporter of my Patreon!! I hope to see you there...<br />
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<span class="s1"><b><u>White Trash Day</u></b></span></div>
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<span class="s2">Portland - 2009 </span></div>
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<span class="s2">White trash day started in pajamas. I scraped myself out of bed, went across the hall to knock on Alex’s door, and went to the kitchen. There I grabbed the nearest thing to wine glasses, which in this kitchen’s case, was pewter goblets. I poured two goblets of sangria, stumbled back to Alex’s room, pulled him out of his bed, and handed him the sangria. Season 1 of Sex and the City was ceremoniously placed into the dvd player. </span></div>
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<span class="s2">Alex had bought all of the seasons of Sex and the City, and he wanted to make a marathon of it. And I, despite all prior knowledge of both the show <i>and</i> good common sense, really wanted to watch all of it with him. In order. Perhaps even in the same day. We knew our plan was trashy. Hell, we didn’t care. We played it up, and made it a theme: an entire day of drinking shitty wine in bathrobes. We bought a large box of sangria at Target.</span></div>
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<span class="s2">I think we made it through about a season, drinking steadily, before we finally looked at each other, and had a Moment of Realization: Matt was not here, he hadn’t slept over. In fact, no one was in the entire house. We could do whatever the fuck we bloody well pleased, and no one would be the wiser. </span></div>
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<span class="s2">This is the part where I take pity on you and fill you in on some back story. </span></div>
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<span class="s2">Alex and I were friends and roommates. We were in the same band, and we were also kinda-sorta trying kinda-sorta hard not to fuck each other. It was reasonably clear by this time that Alex had a thing for me. And, well. I’ve been known to indiscriminately fuck anything that is both human and pretty. From time to time.</span></div>
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<span class="s2">Now, as we’ve established, I’m not the monogamous sort, but I was kinda-sorta dating a guy by the name of Matt, and while I’d told him I was planning on doing whatever I damn well pleased, sexually speaking, he appended a caveat: no fucking of the Alex.</span></div>
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<span class="s2">His reasoning was sound. All three of us were in the same band. If word got out, it would have made all the bandmates a bit awkward and uneasy about things. Also, he knew how much Alex liked me. So I understood why he asked. And I understood, too, that ego bit of it: “No way in hell is my buddy going to get to fuck this girl, too.” Or something like that. I don’t know, I actually <i>like </i>to share my friends/lovers. (To be fair, Matt was Very New to the non-monogamous scene.) </span></div>
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<span class="s2">Honestly, he couldn’t have made fucking Alex more appealing if he’d smeared him in caramel. The worst way to get me to NOT do something, is to tell me you don’t want me doing it. I will admit to being possibly THE most contrary creature on planet earth. </span></div>
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<span class="s2">I never said I was a good person. </span><br />
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<span class="s2">So, about five seconds after our mutual Moment of Realization, we were up in Alex’s lofted bed, trying and failing not to whack our heads on the ceiling (which was about a foot from the bed), having some arguably fine sex. Naturally. I mean, tell me <b>not </b>to do something… We fucked, talked, fucked more, showered, and got back into our bathrobes – sans pajamas this time, since we were A. drunk, and B. comfortable, damp, and post-coitally glowing. </span></div>
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<span class="s2">More Sex and the City commenced, of course. Also, more sangria. So much fucking sangria. It was spilled all across the floor at one point, by one of us – I can’t even remember who to blame. Good thing the cup was metal; it merely bounced. I think we threw a towel down. We didn’t bother to pause the show. </span></div>
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<span class="s2">I remember being very comfortable on Alex’s couch, almost seeing double, in nothing but a bathrobe. My legs were slung over Alex, who was also wearing nothing but a bathrobe. Yes, the fact that we were naked underneath these bathrobes was terribly apparent. And if it matters, the robe I was wearing was actually Alex’s. We’re cutting up and laughing, and all of a sudden, Matt walks through Alex’s closed door. </span></div>
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<span class="s2">More back story: Alex’s room had a strange habit of eating cell phone signals. Two feet outside of his door you could get a call, but in his room, it was almost impossible. Matt had apparently been trying to call both of us for a while, but neither phone ever rang. He had given up calling, and just came on over. </span></div>
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<span class="s2">I can only assume Matt heard us cracking up, and so headed to Alex’s room first, instead of mine. Also, White Trash Day had been in the planning stages for a few days, so he probably figured that’s what we were up to. But I’m also sure that did not prepare him for seeing us both mostly naked, cuddling on the couch, and shit-housed drunk. At all of 4 pm. </span></div>
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<span class="s2">I’m sure Alex had the same moment of panic I did. We both thought we were caught, for sure. I mean, we both had wet hair, were wearing only bathrobes, and I was sprawled out pretty much on top of him. I could see my fledgling little relationship circling the drain. So I did the only thing that was logical at the time: scream out “HEYYYYY!!!” at the top of my drunken lungs, very enthusiastically, as if he were not definitely interrupting Something, and go for the Attack Hug. </span></div>
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<span class="s2">And my gambit worked. For YEARS, Matt had no idea that Alex and I rebelled and went against his request. (So Matt, I’m sorry, sort of. Kinda.) I mean, I don’t pride myself on fooling people, but this encounter did do one Very Important Thing: it killed the sexual tension in my household, and made Alex and I both realize that we were far better off being friends than lovers. </span></div>
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<span class="s2">Matt, who was sweating profusely from his bike ride over, looked our drunken asses over, and merely deadpanned, “You know, I’m pretty sure a normal person would be jealous right now.”</span></div>
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<span class="s2">“Well,” I said, “it’s a good thing we’re not normal. You want some sangria?”</span></div>
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<br />Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-20110947409258378692014-09-02T00:52:00.000-05:002014-12-29T01:36:33.661-06:00a "comedy" of errorshave you ever had one of those months where you think <i>maybe, just maybe</i>, the universe is taking a GIANT SHIT on you?<br />
<br />
for whatever reason, this year has been really hard on business. not just for us, apparently, but for our entire company, despite them putting more money into advertising than usual. who knew? i just thought we were having a slow year, you know, since we ARE a new business and all. and sure, that's annoying. but it's life.<br />
<br />
life. i'm starting to think that the entire concept is some type of colossal joke played on the unwary.<br />
<br />
it all STARTED when the bank, which had pre-approved us for a house renovation loan, was like LOL JUST KIDDING WE AIN'T EVEN ABOUT TO GIVE YOU ANY MONEY, SUCKERS. <br />
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related: FUCK WELLS FARGO IN ALL OF ITS HOLES.<br />
<br />
so we regrouped, and applied at different banks. for two separate types of loans. but HA, since we're self-employed basically, all THOSE banks were like HAHA NOPE, THERE IS NO WAY IN HELL WE'RE EVEN THINKING ABOUT GIVING YOU ANY MONEY. SUCKERS.<br />
<br />
which led to... renting the expensive rental house for much longer than originally intended.<br />
which led to... using money set aside for living purposes, on rent. <br />
<br />
long story short, eventually we ran out of money. seeing as how we don't HAVE any business. fall is usually our crazy busy time, but we have barely anything booked. and i think we've had 3 gigs in the last 3 months, if that tells you exactly how bad things have become. <br />
<br />
having utterly exhausted every possible avenue for a house loan, we wound up at a dead end. apparently the only way forward was for Matt to get a day job, and hopefully try again for a loan in 6 months, with the added attraction of a steady paycheck. meanwhile, since we bought our house outright, every penny we have is tied up in this house... and no income. had we KNOWN we wouldn't get a loan, we would have just done some minor repairs, and moved into the house as it was. we wouldn't have been PLEASED, but at least we would HAVE A FUCKING PLACE TO LIVE. <br />
<br />
but noooo, the universe HAD OTHER FUCKERY PLANNED. <br />
<br />
about a month and a half ago, we were late on rent. FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER. so naturally, our piece of shit fuckhat landlord's first reaction was not to talk to us, but to call a lawyer and start eviction proceedings. BECAUSE THAT'S THE NORMAL THING TO DO, AND ALL. we did get him to quit that shit, because seriously, the last thing we need is THAT on our credit while trying to get a fucking house loan. but the way Matt got him to drop it... was to tell him that we'd be out of the house in 20 days. thankfully my brother had already planned on moving... but it certainly didn't lessen the chaos involved.<br />
<br />
the next time i get notice that i'll be moving in less than 30 days, i'm just going to burn the fucking house down, with me in it.<br />
because that will be easier. <br />
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i'm sure all of you have moved at least once in your life, so i won't bore you with the tedious details, although i will mention that apparently getting a fridge stuck in the front door of a house is easier than you would imagine, and much harder to free than previously assumed. <br />
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the last week of moving was a complete clusterfuck. i think we maybe got sleep on three nights out of the entire week. my feet swelled and made every step an agony, from my toes to my neck. this is the only time i've moved that i've had ZERO friends help, not even with the insanely heavy stuff (see fridge comments above), so it was all up to me and Matt. <br />
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also related: side-eyeing all of Austin right now, until my feet stop hurting after about 15 minutes of standing on them. and until my muscles relax enough that i stop waking up with tension migraines.<br />
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meanwhile, while all of this was going on, we started looking for apartments. HAHA, SAYS THE UNIVERSE. because of all times to move, in Austin, August is THE ABSOLUTE WORST. University of Texas starts up in August, so 20,000 students descend and make the entire city a little crazy. we were asking for apartment for Aug 15th. most places would then tell us they had one free... for October 1st. <br />
<br />
turned out not to matter anyway, because HEY, moving is expensive as hell, and so are massive storage units! especially ones that must fit your entire house into it. so by the time we finally got out of the RAT FINK BASTARD MOTHERFUCKER landlord's shitty house (3 days late i might add, because NO HELP and all), we were completely and totally piss poor and fucked. to my absolute complete lack of surprise. because really, once the universe starts stomping on you this hard, you just wait for the next bit of bad news. <br />
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the one saving grace of this situation was that we DO have a (fucking saintly) friend who is letting us, and the cats, stay in her ONE BEDROOM APARTMENT. because she is a (saintly) crazy person. <br />
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related: i don't care how much you LOVE THE FUCK out of anyone, ever. three people in a one bedroom place will drive you INSANE and make you long for privacy like nothing you've ever experienced before. i had more room in my college dorm. even though i'm INSANELY GRATEFUL to not be living in my car... it's awfully nice to be able to go pee in peace without waking up one or two people on the way. <br />
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to the end of giving us ALL some space, i went to stay with another friend for a week. while i was gone, one of the cats ran away, and we haven't seen her since. because OF COURSE that would happen. <br />
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oh, and Matt lost his job. BECAUSE FUCK YOU, THAT'S WHY!!<br />
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::INSANE "MIGHT AS WELL LOCK ME UP NOW" LAUGH::<br />
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just for funzies, i'm also running out of my asthma meds which i REALLY can't afford. i've already stretched my prescription as far as it could possibly go. they're like $500 a month. so in about a month, i have no idea what the fuck to do about that.<br />
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we are pretty much as fucked as anyone can be, and i'm just hoping we can scrape up enough money to pay the phone bill and the storage unit, so that they don't sell everything i own, and i can still talk to the rest of the world.<br />
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this may be a great time to mention that we need, NEEEED, new tires for the car. and this was very obviously demonstrated by me having a huge blowout while going 80 on the highway. the entire fucking tire exploded and shredded. i'd normally post a pic, but since we don't have any internet where we're staying, i'm just glad to be able to camp at this coffee shop and scream like a banshee into the wilderness of the internet at all.<br />
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NORMALLY, i would say at this point, if ONE MORE fucked up thing happens, i'm giving up, throwing all my shit in a moving van, and going to live with my mom. even if she DOES live in alabama. but HAHAHAHA not only has my brother done exactly that already, but my mom has fucking enough to think about, since my stepdad (who was supposed to be going into remission) just learned that his cancer has metastasized to Stage 4, they don't even know WHERE yet, but HEYYYY. and with all that going on, even THINKING about asking my mom for money is a fucking joke.<br />
<br />
AGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGGHHG FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU<br />
<br />
if you hear of a Mel in Austin going absolutely batshit and stabbing someone/setting things on fire/found on highway naked and raving....<br />
<br />
well, you'll know why.<br />
<br />Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-51964483911506153062014-03-14T21:00:00.000-05:002014-03-14T21:07:28.632-05:00LOOK WHAT THEY'VE DONE TO MY HOUSE!!!hey! you may have noticed that i added a wee banner to the right there...<br />
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::trust me. i'm pointing to the right. scroll down a bit... yep!::<br />
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I'MMA GONNA BE A <a href="http://insatiablebooksluts.com/">BOOOKSLUUUUT</a>!!!!<br />
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just imagine me either taking copious bows, or jumping and squeeing, whichever gets your rocks off more.<br />
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actually, you may also have noticed that i have been THE WORST BLOGGER for the past year or so. and i have plans to fix that... mostly in the form of thoughts like "i should blog more, goddamnit." i'm admittedly bad at planning.<br />
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SO! <br />
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it's official. hell has frozen over, cuz we bought a house. yes, an entire damn house.<br />
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it is a tiny house. it is a house in much need of repair. but it is a HOUSE!!<br />
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now keep in mind... these photos are BEFORE the chaos...<br />
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le living room. do not let its fancy appearance fool you. <i>it liiiies. </i>those aren't even real beams on the ceiling. they're just pretending. note the lovely popcorn ceiling! /gag<br />
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this is gonna be full of musical instruments. um... soon. yeah.<br />
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our friendly neighborhood realtor, who is like 6'4" (also the music room)<br />
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i don't think i need to tell you why the kitchen had to be gutted. it measured maybe 3 feet between sink and stove. The Matt is 5'8". it would be a head hazard just to wash the dishes.<br />
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it was THE TINIEST, and would barely fit two of us in it at all, much less if we were actually planning on cooking a thing.<br />
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HA. because i totally cook, right?<br />
snort.<br />
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these pictures make the house look pretty nice, actually. what you can't see from where you sit is the terribly uneven floors, and what looks like vinyl shelf liner applied as "flooring" directly over the concrete slab... complete with bubbling and gaps. and the uneven walls that are out of square...<br />
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i spared you pictures of the horrible tiny bathrooms. <i>which we have a glorious, glorious plan for. you will see.</i><br />
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but... we knew we were walking into a total gut job. we signed up for this.<br />
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and i am beginning to think we were completely batshit.<br />
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oh, it will be painted, post haste. i would have picked green, except we have 3 neighbors with clashing shades of green on their houses.<br />
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so uh, yellow got vetoed, and purple isn't a completely ridiculous shade for a house, right?<br />
RIGHT?<br />
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i'm gonna need some help convincing The Matt that i don't plan on painting our house Faygo grape purple. but i fucking hate neutral shades, i don't like red THAT much, and blue houses are all over the place. i wouldn't mind orange... but then people might think we were UT fans. AND WE CAN'T HAVE THAT.<br />
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this is why we can't have that. that is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad color. burnt orange my ass. it's like baby shit OH GOD MY EYES brownish-vomit.<br />
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this pretty much sums up the condition of this place. it was rough and uncared for. it was cheap. <br />
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and that was BEFORE they let us swing a sledgehammer at the most expensive thing we've ever bought!<br />
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who knew house smashing would be SO MUCH FUCKING FUN??<br />
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The Matt, that is who. he dug into demolition with a vengeance. i saw it in its non-smashed condition, and then the next time i came over...<br />
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that WAS a bedroom.<br />
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...and that WAS the living room/music room/kitchen...<br />
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not even the garage escaped.<br />
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the entire house is literally see-through. it's like an x-ray of a house.<br />
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i don't mind any of this. i got to SATAN SMAAAASHHHHHHH!<br />
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i am SO GLAD that we decided to gut this place... because this is the type of nasty that we found. evidently this was somewhat CLEANED, before i took a picture of it.<br />
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GAAHHHHH!<br />
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yeah. we're crazy.<br />
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but hey...<br />
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at least we got a new mailbox.<br />
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this post's title courtesy of this <strike>earworm</strike> song and i DON'T CARE if you hate Miley Cyrus, she is actually talented, SHUT UP AND LISTEN, IT'S GOOD FOR YOU.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/aSpkaBeZckY" width="560"></iframe>Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-9484512644204186102013-04-10T22:37:00.005-05:002013-04-10T22:50:35.577-05:00vacations rarely go as planned...while i was busy frolicking in Oregon, The Matt got laid. **<br />
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<span class="s1">this is SO not fair. i mean, i was the one to go 3,000 miles away and stay with TWO former lovers... it stands to reason that <i>I </i>should be the one getting laid, eh? ***</span></div>
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<span class="s1">but no. oh, no.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">back it up, back it up: i just spent about ten days in beautiful, beautiful Oregon. i went to four different cities, spent time on a mountain, had a blast, and saw a ton of people.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">i also got my hairs did. look ma, my natural color is back! for now, anyway...</span></div>
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<span class="s1">okay, okay. minus that bright red part. and the bleached blonde streaks. oh fuck it, it's kinda reddish and i won't have to dye it for a while.... that counts, right?</span></div>
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<span class="s1">i am a very loyal Satan - i find one person i love (such as my Oregon stylist), and i'll never bother switching. i don't go to Oregon to get my hair done... but guaranteed if i'm there, i'll be seeing Gina, for she is The Awesome, and i can tell her something incredibly vague like "make it look cool," and i will LOVE it when she's done. hell, i could go in and say nothing, and my hair would still look awesome. of the many, many things, places, and people in Oregon that i dearly miss, Gina rates very high on the list.</span></div>
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<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">THIS place is about four blocks from my former Portland house... and oh, i love it so. it is exactly what it sounds like. it is also open past bar closing time, for all the right reasons, and thus an extremely entertaining place to be at about 2 am.</span></div>
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<br />
BUS.<br />
this place serves something called a Grilled Cheezus, which is a hamburger patty sandwiched between two grilled cheese sandwiches. it might be a heart attack on a plate, but it's such a GOOD heart attack...<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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</div>
<div class="p1">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">so when i mentioned the mountain....</span></div>
</div>
<div class="p1">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">my former roommate Dave has moved out to ButtFuckEgypt, and it is just GORGEOUS out there. he lives in a wee shack, which is built onto a bus. there is only one drawback to all of this: the outhouse.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="p2">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
</div>
<div class="p1">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">it is ridiculously difficult to get out of one's cozy lofted bed to run out into the chill of the night just to piss. it was one of those few times i wish i was a guy - i would literally just open a window and piss right out of it. fuck that whole "getting up" business. bitches be lazy.</span></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDo94sHeV0jYU1cJIWrEWhwU2NGERlWauxZXja3fj_735fzgBDtL3Yk0ooT3t5jydBz8Hv1yCHJankNBo51CkYoLKJLpUrhFpqmlmD2gvT4mai2VZiuwSeBT5SwAlWh24o74E84nufw26l/s1600/IMG_1820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDo94sHeV0jYU1cJIWrEWhwU2NGERlWauxZXja3fj_735fzgBDtL3Yk0ooT3t5jydBz8Hv1yCHJankNBo51CkYoLKJLpUrhFpqmlmD2gvT4mai2VZiuwSeBT5SwAlWh24o74E84nufw26l/s640/IMG_1820.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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</div>
<div class="p1">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="s1">see those deer? they're stupidly tame. to the right, that's Dave. i don't think he knew he was in this photo.</span></div>
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6VWyUoCtaLpEiZCQ5ENo9KOEmiB2Vxahb5p9c89Vrq6TpXq8e3WpUUX1fXJR7CRligeEyUP33qw28KHfqCbuMDIJvB8icAEaFMiIPk6nedl4fLfOM6ZzyKipT_t5TZAh3QPO_JK1KLMic/s1600/IMG_1821.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6VWyUoCtaLpEiZCQ5ENo9KOEmiB2Vxahb5p9c89Vrq6TpXq8e3WpUUX1fXJR7CRligeEyUP33qw28KHfqCbuMDIJvB8icAEaFMiIPk6nedl4fLfOM6ZzyKipT_t5TZAh3QPO_JK1KLMic/s640/IMG_1821.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">(ps, this photo is not cropped, i was just close.)</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">these motherfuckers aren't scared of shit. they will walk right up to you. i went to the outhouse one night and heard a <i>rustle rustle rustle rustle</i> in the bushes - and lo and behold if these little bastards weren't staring at me as i made my way to piss. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">"Shoo!" i said, "i don't want a fucking audience!" i stamped my foot and waved my flashlight at them, and... they just stared at me like "WHAT. derp derp, i'm a deer. " </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">they never did move. they just stared at me, while i peed. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">evidently deer are into that sort of thing.</span></div>
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<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">HOLY MOTHER OF BEER.</span></div>
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<br />
mulberry sour beer: because fuck your lager.<br />
<div class="p1">
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
i knew The Matt was gonna get fat someday.</div>
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<br />
this exists: just one of the many reasons i love Portland so...<br />
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4d49MhBfZZWkUGcenDCE7dYw51PzI2NhapaP9V2-hZEbCVqI9VWFYRaZrAKAvaruwK5yJ4CphkBpFCyo3K6xB9o-T-fr6jgOFWFe-6lm1bD6jT_93fHJHclC09I4INiBnunaXGxEXO_WR/s1600/IMG_1829.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4d49MhBfZZWkUGcenDCE7dYw51PzI2NhapaP9V2-hZEbCVqI9VWFYRaZrAKAvaruwK5yJ4CphkBpFCyo3K6xB9o-T-fr6jgOFWFe-6lm1bD6jT_93fHJHclC09I4INiBnunaXGxEXO_WR/s640/IMG_1829.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">...right across from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Bunyan"><span class="s2">Mr. Paul Bunyan</span></a>, of course. like you do.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">
</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">it makes sense. i am SURE that lumberjacks are all about the titties. i know i am, even if i'm not a lumberjack - although i certainly own enough flannel to fit right in. (shh, don't tell. i'm secretly still a grunge kid.) </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivJKg7XY7tD15jCqJPlKpYmZhMdq0SJfhtgdKzAckB4p74vJm-2Z1ux0oq1Oi1gdrx6tXM7lyujThKXb5yCte67JnRwel3znjVq16Wq1RL-xTGK2AZwrhZ1UOlS2yg1DMHZCWhiFkCE7z1/s1600/bird+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivJKg7XY7tD15jCqJPlKpYmZhMdq0SJfhtgdKzAckB4p74vJm-2Z1ux0oq1Oi1gdrx6tXM7lyujThKXb5yCte67JnRwel3znjVq16Wq1RL-xTGK2AZwrhZ1UOlS2yg1DMHZCWhiFkCE7z1/s640/bird+1.jpg" width="368" /></a></div>
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<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">and of course... new ink. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">one of the aforementioned former lovers has a brother who is SO. DAMN. GOOD. he did this tattoo. see? this is just one of the many reasons why it's a good idea to be friends with your exes. i even got a friend discount. yeahhhhh!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqmmAP9vOOjK9RcAlKy_i0n2ASoK7fL2tbjPiu9W1wCvZsSdBo1vFhyphenhyphenqbI0pnixo0dfXsI6K4z14PTA7GrO0Kg8bOOvgUdDdgW3x89nfNQk1yiFnY9L4fg3ikiDK0ZjQXN1toiZv3KOgQG/s1600/bird+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqmmAP9vOOjK9RcAlKy_i0n2ASoK7fL2tbjPiu9W1wCvZsSdBo1vFhyphenhyphenqbI0pnixo0dfXsI6K4z14PTA7GrO0Kg8bOOvgUdDdgW3x89nfNQk1yiFnY9L4fg3ikiDK0ZjQXN1toiZv3KOgQG/s640/bird+2.jpg" width="418" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">they're ravens. eight damn hours i sat for these birdies...</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">i now have a firm rule: i will never, ever sit for more than four hours. ever ever ever ever ever. jesus fuck, that was brutal.</span></div>
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<br />
my personal least favorite part of tattoos, and the getting thereof: the motherfucking molt.<br />
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">for those of you who have never gone through the ritual of sticking needles into yourself for no good reason, this is what happens after the tattoo. i don't care how bad the tattoo itself hurts, this is the worst part. it ITCHES LIKE A FIEND, and you CAN'T SCRATCH IT, lest you start peeling the scabs (ahem) and then your ink bleeds out, and if so you have to go BACK, and then you get more scabs... it's the worst. the tattoo only takes so many hours. the healing takes two weeks. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">right now i'm in the supremely itchy "look ma, no more scabs!" phase, but you're still not supposed to scratch it, and GODDAMNIT I'M SO ITCHY SOMEONE PLEASE COME SCRATCH MY ARM. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">
</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">okay, okay, onto the juicy shit, cuz we all know you're reading this because there's sex involved. aren't you? i'm writing it because sex is involved.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">i was just chilling at a Portland bar, when this text conversation happened - verbatim.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Matt: "i'm hung over."</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">me: "went out with the girls?" (his two friends from his hometown that now live in austin, also.)</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Matt: "yep. ended up taking [redacted] home with me."</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">me: "oh yeah? how'd that go?"</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Matt: "she is paranoid that you will hate her."</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">me: "why? silly girl."</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Matt: "i told her that she just needs to fuck you too and it will be ok."</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">me: "i think it's funny that i took the trip, and YOU ended up the one getting laid. good one, universe."</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">i announced this fact on twitter at some point, and one of the tweeps was like "argh are you infuriated?" i don't think she knew about the poly. i find it amusing that so many people think my life is INSANE, and i think THEIR life is nuts. (fuck only one person? WHY? i'll just be over here with this hot girl... erm, respecting people's monogamy. yeah.)</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">
</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">the last final bit of "excitement": my first flight got canceled, so i spent an entire goddamn day at the airport. and there's only one thing to do when you're stuck in an airport... go find the bar, and get drunk.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">which i did, with help from a random bar friend who was on my flight. she was cool, and she snagged me a seat on the "massive amounts of leg room" aisle later. but we had a LOT to drink all day, so imagine my consternation when we landed in dallas at 2 am, went to go to our complimentary hotel, and got into this...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCNM8j5bNVXDozItZMSLZb8kVVhhWhqIm7fMR5Ybnpl-l-Yb1cZWyUPrCa6TgK817lz2hMMZtcZe8ujOtZZVxojXx5wBFiEsOTtt3H6V6MhcnRCRDgxgtWJF0uQh-wz3GqCsKbo054L7sR/s1600/IMG_1851.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCNM8j5bNVXDozItZMSLZb8kVVhhWhqIm7fMR5Ybnpl-l-Yb1cZWyUPrCa6TgK817lz2hMMZtcZe8ujOtZZVxojXx5wBFiEsOTtt3H6V6MhcnRCRDgxgtWJF0uQh-wz3GqCsKbo054L7sR/s640/IMG_1851.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">this is a motherfucking strippermobile!! if i hadn't had so much luggage, i might have had to try it out. as it was, i was tired and drunk and barely made it to the hotel without falling over. i did manage to text, though: i always do.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Matt: "i assume when i see you in the morning you will be beaming sunshine and sparkles.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">glitter too, can't forget the glitter."</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">me: "HAAA. i will probably immediately drag you back to bed.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">THE KRAKEN.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">be prepared for mass amounts of cuddling."</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Matt: "i love you too damn much."</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">me: "no such fucking thing."</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE KRAKEN!!!!!</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: x-small;">** The Matt and i are polyamorous. feel free to go and google that.</span></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: x-small;">have i mentioned i'm shitty at being monogamous? i am really, really shitty at it. fun fact: i haven't had a monogamous relationship since before i was legally able to drink.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: x-small;">*** damn all yeast infections, anyway. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-43244397313151146672013-03-19T21:58:00.002-05:002013-03-19T23:37:45.146-05:00when SXSW kicks your ass...this past week and a half was <a href="http://sxsw.com/">SXSW</a>, which, for the uninitiated, is South By SouthWest. it's a city-wide festival in Austin, which is a great deal of music absolutely everywhere (and a lot of it free or cheap), film showings, and also a conference full of tech-y stuff. <br />
<br />
apart from all the Stuff Going On Downtown, and All the Ridiculous Traffic Nonsense And Bullshit, we had four days of photobooth gigs. in a row. <br />
<br />
Jesus Fuck. <br />
<br />
three of those days were at the convention center. <br />
a word about doing gigs at convention centers: they are HUGE, massive places. they have loading docks, and you must go through them. there's no way you're going through the front door, which is the average photobooth gig's usual MO. so, since we go to all these gigs in <a href="http://www.satangoestosingsing.com/2013/02/casa-de-hell-gets-upgrade.html">the previous post's pictured truck</a>, we sometimes have a bit of difficulty getting INTO places like convention centers, since we don't have an Obvious Work Vehicle. this requires Loading Permits, and other Assorted Annoyances that we usually don't deal with.<br />
<br />
thankfully, dealing with the Austin convention center was surprisingly easy. i was gratified to find out that i didn't have any Issues with loading in or out. <br />
<br />
our first gig was a 3 day event, in the tech-y showroom.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi812YPGdoLX8Kp55iJ8gI-agkNWjCeQKGinKsgJl2qSfH0M206CaSB9YlunOT9cf_0Ij80gqR99E1d_espg362KH86mP0060G2zDZf5Okc2LesBoIwR_AkLT3KJ1LcOsLBFRNAwKe1Gzry/s1600/photobooth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi812YPGdoLX8Kp55iJ8gI-agkNWjCeQKGinKsgJl2qSfH0M206CaSB9YlunOT9cf_0Ij80gqR99E1d_espg362KH86mP0060G2zDZf5Okc2LesBoIwR_AkLT3KJ1LcOsLBFRNAwKe1Gzry/s640/photobooth.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
lookee! an actual picture of one of our photobooths. i usually don't put them on here, so as to not jeopardize our employment, and such. but since you can't SEE our company name...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSOtKvvVIr0q9xp3M5ElK0q0ulhKwkTxTI3rqAltR-Hxh8XX-BWtsEECSJDHUq-SQyXPFn5kI_JWVwhit3brwRv-8yxiw2M0eDS1py3ffTlkHK68iA6wtmNxaFkJ3wZKUJ6bClwdHTU6n-/s1600/screenprinting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="604" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSOtKvvVIr0q9xp3M5ElK0q0ulhKwkTxTI3rqAltR-Hxh8XX-BWtsEECSJDHUq-SQyXPFn5kI_JWVwhit3brwRv-8yxiw2M0eDS1py3ffTlkHK68iA6wtmNxaFkJ3wZKUJ6bClwdHTU6n-/s640/screenprinting.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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i had lots of fun with these guys - they were screen printing, and so i got to watch them churn out some really excellent prints.<br />
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ignore the scribbling, i'm preserving the anonymity of our customers, so as to Not Get Sued.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYiowwmlIfLnUnpjkjFane8iPBUdS3spcIZp1XpxPj2QnpC8p4t7sDgzHw8LheWQLLsbXhGXLoc2MjTnS-cIXo8f7oJ4nJ-z43hlcpw_E6D_nC9E7FH4QJ7lxsFS9hJsfGaijHBDCFHaRG/s1600/IMG_1737+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYiowwmlIfLnUnpjkjFane8iPBUdS3spcIZp1XpxPj2QnpC8p4t7sDgzHw8LheWQLLsbXhGXLoc2MjTnS-cIXo8f7oJ4nJ-z43hlcpw_E6D_nC9E7FH4QJ7lxsFS9hJsfGaijHBDCFHaRG/s640/IMG_1737+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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but seriously, how cool is this?<br />
<br />
they were making these prints:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSVPKzTRjQh_gSsWmHi5QJ0cQ8BYXp6KTmzUFH8F9UhIufTuKJQKIL1h52MDPzvX85pzuulNl2P8Spu02H-U089qkvKZtegxUmV5UIEIK-OAKq5XmpNyQhevAJrppL44cqbR79UoQ-f3Wq/s1600/print.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSVPKzTRjQh_gSsWmHi5QJ0cQ8BYXp6KTmzUFH8F9UhIufTuKJQKIL1h52MDPzvX85pzuulNl2P8Spu02H-U089qkvKZtegxUmV5UIEIK-OAKq5XmpNyQhevAJrppL44cqbR79UoQ-f3Wq/s640/print.jpg" width="556" /></a></div>
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during this gig we were SERIOUSLY busy... i had one pee break during the first day. ONE.<br />
i left every day hungry enough to eat the photobooth, since i didn't have time for meal breaks.<br />
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there were a ton of fun things to see at this convention, when i did finally get a chance to step away from the booth... see if you can spot why this sign gave me a serious giggle. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsNDulpkv9pC7rLOFoxJSGcEG9HyIKG9QYG6e2Cymc01sTBYzfboCp31GIDVhj7kVcS1FRDEMCB3Tlosvv6Ty3TUyPPZJBp8hGXbNgv5tWVMl1nJHjXkZUgzAMyB6JQ0zq3eMBdlyKgkjR/s1600/IMG_1741.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsNDulpkv9pC7rLOFoxJSGcEG9HyIKG9QYG6e2Cymc01sTBYzfboCp31GIDVhj7kVcS1FRDEMCB3Tlosvv6Ty3TUyPPZJBp8hGXbNgv5tWVMl1nJHjXkZUgzAMyB6JQ0zq3eMBdlyKgkjR/s640/IMG_1741.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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hehe. hehe. "ass typing." now i'm seriously imagining someone trying to type on this sucker. WITH THEIR ASS. and failing, obviously. bad ass typing, indeed.<br />
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grammar. it's important, yo.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4W9BgAdIrUgdyi4Zqce_oTsewGZlf_VU1tfw-cZ0XDlyhrrskxltOmsspzUeMwCiZQGM0h3ssnxQtjlxbCZy9RQE_9VqAIuZYLFEVilssvf008rAQWd6wjI1pzrt7pm4N1Zc-fsfp3QAy/s1600/IMG_1740.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4W9BgAdIrUgdyi4Zqce_oTsewGZlf_VU1tfw-cZ0XDlyhrrskxltOmsspzUeMwCiZQGM0h3ssnxQtjlxbCZy9RQE_9VqAIuZYLFEVilssvf008rAQWd6wjI1pzrt7pm4N1Zc-fsfp3QAy/s640/IMG_1740.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
this was an excellent backdrop for a booth. i don't have a clue what they did there, but i had to snap a photo. the artist's name is in the bottom lower corner, for those who are curious to check out his/her work.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfN6Tem1nLDwgj2eEBkNDr7wTFNO48YbKSsdQZNbyyo4x3KC1OYB3aRqXL1wphmslP58rhiOf5pDGeFR7ogDrLpSn6PVNxpP9h4lsFIWTzK-mgToJfK0vc39iKYa6flia4cAoHUaUFavoh/s1600/IMG_1743.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfN6Tem1nLDwgj2eEBkNDr7wTFNO48YbKSsdQZNbyyo4x3KC1OYB3aRqXL1wphmslP58rhiOf5pDGeFR7ogDrLpSn6PVNxpP9h4lsFIWTzK-mgToJfK0vc39iKYa6flia4cAoHUaUFavoh/s640/IMG_1743.JPG" width="468" /></a></div>
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this guy was roaming around. i have no fucking clue what they did either, but... SQUAREHEAD.</div>
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the second gig we had was at a bar, where not only were our clients Truly Excellent, but they also gave me four FREE drink tickets. FOUR. FREE. DRINKS. i loved them so hard. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGxFxqOhWqQn_j35OxmnT4_4lBag7ggj3u8QQ0K-8YQX1XQrLZmZ2IA18tNkNsujBr-0OYWjzIWvWlsG-FkBONbPM49Bqkuw7bX56ZNPPFJstrtI7nFd_c2HmEYH1ETX2qFd9zSuSn94tc/s1600/IMG_1746.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGxFxqOhWqQn_j35OxmnT4_4lBag7ggj3u8QQ0K-8YQX1XQrLZmZ2IA18tNkNsujBr-0OYWjzIWvWlsG-FkBONbPM49Bqkuw7bX56ZNPPFJstrtI7nFd_c2HmEYH1ETX2qFd9zSuSn94tc/s640/IMG_1746.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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traffic during SXSW is a fucking nightmare, and so is parking. for four days of working, i spent $60 in parking alone. and that was with one day of me not having to park, since Matt gave me a ride. <i> i know. that's crazy. </i>when not parking, i probably spent two hours a day getting in and out of the city... and i live 15 minutes away from downtown.</div>
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for the rest of SXSW i did what any reasonable non-working person would do, and Went Out and Got Drunk. i met lots of random people, brought a full-size hookah to my favorite bar, went to a small party that was literally in a parking space in a high rise, flirted with some hot ladies, and also Saw Amanda Fucking Palmer, for free. she brought a lot of cool bands with her.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpUCulYGj6oQ23zPiJP0Iv_xSM2KhLweaS0svuyqke6rvBnt5oE67fEO1t_Nd9DdNawIpXVrX8kRJ1GSZbuLTmLFo9s25feImyEdJrRD1RXjk8N8rXJrAF8QbzXCCM0YKsKxXExa2e2oKk/s1600/IMG_1754.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpUCulYGj6oQ23zPiJP0Iv_xSM2KhLweaS0svuyqke6rvBnt5oE67fEO1t_Nd9DdNawIpXVrX8kRJ1GSZbuLTmLFo9s25feImyEdJrRD1RXjk8N8rXJrAF8QbzXCCM0YKsKxXExa2e2oKk/s640/IMG_1754.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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these girls ranged from 12 - 18, were all sisters, and were fantastic. look them up - they're called Von Grey. i highly recommend them. another one of the Bands of Awesome were called Andy Suzuki and The Method. also definitely worth a listen. and of course, Amanda Fucking Palmer put on a great show. if you haven't heard her, or heard of her, check her out. she is AMAZING.<br />
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by the way? the absolute BEST place to stop downtown for free bathroom facilities is also one of the prettiest - the Capitol building. breeze through the metal detectors, take a few pics, and hightail it into the bathroom.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYAEAPusuLnXWe-JzhFQMW9GsLUzuC1sc0xcNAjCfh_JT_EEuR_xU4I9dUjeirF7qjaoGdgjhDq3-KlrrlyksA33vZwjdj3iXolOGcVgKn3BfWrWM1NXOnYYfRkgOiieVbbADvhBjw0Yw/s1600/IMG_1763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYAEAPusuLnXWe-JzhFQMW9GsLUzuC1sc0xcNAjCfh_JT_EEuR_xU4I9dUjeirF7qjaoGdgjhDq3-KlrrlyksA33vZwjdj3iXolOGcVgKn3BfWrWM1NXOnYYfRkgOiieVbbADvhBjw0Yw/s640/IMG_1763.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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also. did you know that you can bring pocketknives under six inches long into the Capitol building? i asked a State Trooper to be sure, and his response was "sure, as long as you show it to the security guards, and don't go and wave it at people."</div>
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only in Texas.</div>
Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-37375268604929337092013-02-07T18:48:00.001-06:002013-02-07T18:48:46.861-06:00Casa de Hell gets an UPGRADE
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a lot of shit has happened, since last i blogged. a lot of it was me being a lazy jackass. like you do. i could go on at length about that shit, but why bother? let's get to the fun parts:</div>
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as it happens, in september The Matt came into a bit of money, shall we say...</div>
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overnight we went from BROKE AS FUCK to... well. we're not set for life, by any means. not even close. but when you go from $4 in your bank account to "oh holy shit," things change a bit...</div>
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"i bought something really stupid," Matt texted me. i was afraid - i mean, REALLY stupid? like what? a fucking ostrich? Really Stupid is generally Not Good.</div>
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as it turned out, the Stupid Purchase was rims. </div>
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rims? RIMS??</div>
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on an old beat up Chevy Suburban. </div>
<div class="p1">
really. </div>
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to be fair, said rims aren't flashy chrome affairs. they're fairly simple and tasteful, and Matt is making me say that the truck really DID need new rims anyway. but. RIMS. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK7LsM6OBMhiQwQPNzg9CbC4jtwE_ujigPCdq2BH8P0j3np0NHjBFH4w4qwTu80KM54d9ssI9YeHUNwcCx9ECNrFbIeHoimbJ7FqncWZee0Kpftihoe2sPh2UuzhehyphenhyphenQ4FYEu3eCkPAWe_/s1600/image.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK7LsM6OBMhiQwQPNzg9CbC4jtwE_ujigPCdq2BH8P0j3np0NHjBFH4w4qwTu80KM54d9ssI9YeHUNwcCx9ECNrFbIeHoimbJ7FqncWZee0Kpftihoe2sPh2UuzhehyphenhyphenQ4FYEu3eCkPAWe_/s640/image.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqWK1Hw6RHsEDeHW7olZl0jQDpmXkDhBLIW-SZdVWqrIgSpvBmMiOIKwn9fwoRmNk7FuCCRlDZo8WD-4s9QHWZCgN4VSetpENoY91ZsBRS_Fkvxq8dZkBzzjThhnSmYUSTn9H6vZ_CKG_o/s1600/photo-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqWK1Hw6RHsEDeHW7olZl0jQDpmXkDhBLIW-SZdVWqrIgSpvBmMiOIKwn9fwoRmNk7FuCCRlDZo8WD-4s9QHWZCgN4VSetpENoY91ZsBRS_Fkvxq8dZkBzzjThhnSmYUSTn9H6vZ_CKG_o/s640/photo-1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>they see me rollin'... they hatin...</i></div>
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our first "frivolous" purchase was a washer and dryer, the blessedness of which can't even remotely be summed up in words. I NEVER HAVE TO GO TO THE LAUNDROMAT AGAIN, OH JESUS FUCK YES!!! </div>
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we thought we were Hot Shit, being all smart and buying some appliances. but the crazy was just beginning...</div>
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it's strange, going from "can we pay the electric bill?" to "sure, let's buy a fridge!" (which we had to do, here at our new rental house.) </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix8pSZ4jLGa1N-QFTSN8W82vK3QoMm-wF3lu0YzY_aUA2edygkG6qVewMu3Fbdrwmb9m6IVOZQ68RrRDxiJj1zg-GRlEA9ASRryAGdybwpUZIXVSm-XFC3gT4JGtyffNmNc5gpT9WcUZPH/s1600/IMG_1493.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix8pSZ4jLGa1N-QFTSN8W82vK3QoMm-wF3lu0YzY_aUA2edygkG6qVewMu3Fbdrwmb9m6IVOZQ68RrRDxiJj1zg-GRlEA9ASRryAGdybwpUZIXVSm-XFC3gT4JGtyffNmNc5gpT9WcUZPH/s640/IMG_1493.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<i>the cabinets were filthy... you're welcome for the gratuitous picture of my ass.</i></div>
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said rental house is more than twice the size of the closet we were previously living in. like, we have to buy furniture for this place. it's a weird feeling - i've always had too much shit to fit into wherever i was living. and now we need a dining room table, and furniture for a guest room? am i starting to act like a grownup? SHIT!!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
our neighbors have no idea what the fuck to make of us. they're all older, with families, and they stare at us like we're cuckoo birds or something every time we go outside of the house. i don't know if it's because we're young, or if it's because i'm wearing whatever ridiculous ratty thing i own, and climbing into the oldest car in the neighborhood. <i>these people are kinda snobby around here. </i>we live in one of those McMansion neighborhoods, which is causing no end of amusement for us, especially when the old dude across the street sits in his Porsche revving it like there's no tomorrow.</div>
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<div class="p1">
Matt decided to save his (and my) sanity by getting me a new laptop for my birthday, since my old one was on the fritz. so here we go to the Mac store... where they wouldn't take our money. it was the most bizarre thing i've ever seen. </div>
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<i>see, what had happened was...</i></div>
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we have been broke since forever, until now, so we both have daily limits on our debit cards. limits that, even combined, wouldn't buy a laptop from Mac. so we tried a check. no go. "blah blah our third party check company blah blah go fuck yourself." this was done a few times, despite the fact that our bank was approving it, so...</div>
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in we go to the bank for a cashier's check. because everyone and their fucking brother takes a cashier's check, amiright? NO. not Apple. same bullshit. "fuck your check. your mother was a hampster, and your father smelled of ELDERBERRIES!"</div>
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in the end, it took FIVE TRIES for me to get a damn laptop. we had to walk into the store with almost $4000 in cash like some fucking Gangsta Drug Dealing Badasses, Matt grumbling the whole time. "i feel like just throwing shit. it's not like they could make me pay for it - they won't even take my money!"</div>
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<i>my precioussss...</i></div>
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there's been a lot of amusement around here, just simple shit. "argh, i really want to do/get this thing, but it's SO EXPENSIVE and i can't afford to.... </div>
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WAIT A MINUTE."</div>
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i'm talking about things like doctor's visits, and going to the dentist - the things we've been putting off forever, due to, y'know, being broke. </div>
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one side effect, which is AMAZING to my mind but CATASTROPHIC in Matt's world...</div>
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i can now BUY ALL THE BOOKS. ALL THE BOOKS. ALL YOUR BOOKS ARE BELONG TO ME! </div>
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i filled up an entire bookshelf in a matter of a few months with new books - and when i mean full, i mean...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA4qVUV28VCqPQPt9JbKElYgQN7xp-2LtBSmEYsPt816vE2J3-p6ZhYOkdHpkko09ugkyMMGaHN1asNXa9XMbnb-AalYMUka25bdM3w7CgCV6MY5KBtzDZTezAQIe4bKhmdmJtA_EkDCx6/s1600/IMG_1384.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA4qVUV28VCqPQPt9JbKElYgQN7xp-2LtBSmEYsPt816vE2J3-p6ZhYOkdHpkko09ugkyMMGaHN1asNXa9XMbnb-AalYMUka25bdM3w7CgCV6MY5KBtzDZTezAQIe4bKhmdmJtA_EkDCx6/s640/IMG_1384.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqblGFbZc4r4TLBxZgeQVvVHPNrCU1L1stOOGXecqIeLnrEf8euP2RRfgPVxbD28gJAMPp4PaW9DUa27Ow8vsh8SD6dtE1j3E5gSM8JkhxDrZl0lyP8ZyAHTcuP3dH80oK8INflD4tP44j/s1600/IMG_1013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqblGFbZc4r4TLBxZgeQVvVHPNrCU1L1stOOGXecqIeLnrEf8euP2RRfgPVxbD28gJAMPp4PaW9DUa27Ow8vsh8SD6dtE1j3E5gSM8JkhxDrZl0lyP8ZyAHTcuP3dH80oK8INflD4tP44j/s320/IMG_1013.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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to be fair, i am buying them at thrift stores and used bookstores, but... still.</div>
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ALL THE BOOKS. i think Matt is still holding it against me that we had to move all of them over to the new house.</div>
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Matt fulfilled his fantasy of having a tv larger than a computer monitor. and now we are still going "WHOA!" every time we turn it on, because this thing is bloody massive.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0oZK8WDO4h9pS4fbiwiSAj6CK5aQk_XIFWRGeD79eBSnondC2QqfrSisgFy4gKJva7RBH5ut_WffbMG6BjZloUOq8U18ZAl4mBXiBwBTpeXzqV7CoWPdbzz0RPC1Hg8yBLeV0JIFSbHWt/s1600/IMG_1147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0oZK8WDO4h9pS4fbiwiSAj6CK5aQk_XIFWRGeD79eBSnondC2QqfrSisgFy4gKJva7RBH5ut_WffbMG6BjZloUOq8U18ZAl4mBXiBwBTpeXzqV7CoWPdbzz0RPC1Hg8yBLeV0JIFSbHWt/s640/IMG_1147.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>old and new...</i></div>
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we also had my fucking car break down, and found ourself in need of new wheels, and thus...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHjexp7a1v-Wgu537mC_0QDaPEwQPZuK6NA8vbXB8UCtq0H3Tp5WUO8s0D-n-CN_5FitCMTv_wObw4Af8a5MgYEDELmVR8qiE0zepiGBK9UmMYjkg0DTYVHuZFuRc9bY-inRh5VNPZNtd/s1600/IMG_1098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHjexp7a1v-Wgu537mC_0QDaPEwQPZuK6NA8vbXB8UCtq0H3Tp5WUO8s0D-n-CN_5FitCMTv_wObw4Af8a5MgYEDELmVR8qiE0zepiGBK9UmMYjkg0DTYVHuZFuRc9bY-inRh5VNPZNtd/s640/IMG_1098.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<i>vroom, motherfuckers.</i><br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">texas drivers can't drive for shit, and i get sick of people cutting me off on the highway. i want to ram the shit out of them, because they're douchebags. and then i'd probably get arrested. this has always stopped me before. </span><br />
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but now i'm not afraid of getting arrested, it's just like... i don't want to go to jail today. what a fucking hassle.</div>
it used to be the money thing - oh god, i don't want to go to jail, how EXPENSIVE, i would diiie... now? "<i>dahling, what a bother</i>." <br />
(Matt informed me that if i rammed the new car into someone, he would let me sit in jail.) <br />
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The Matt got some more insanely loud things...<br />
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and i got a motherfuckin box fort. </div>
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<i>best. fort. ever.</i><br />
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i now find myself in the rather curious position of having a Sugar Daddy. Matt is Mr. Money all of a sudden, and i'm just... me. not to say that i'm not reaping the benefits, certainly, but it's strange. </div>
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<i>"Daddyyy, will you buy me a pony? preeettttyyyy please???"</i></div>
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we live in this strange in-between state - yes, we have some fancy-looking shit, and our new house is huge, and all of our friends probably think we hit the jackpot - but really, we're just us. we still have this "we be broke as shit" mindset, and get all nervous about buying spendy stuff, even if we do need it. </div>
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and then i have this weird guilt - like, god, are people gonna hate me and think i'm bragging & shit, just because i can buy some stuff? fuck! i'm just me. um, with stuff. a lot of stuff.</div>
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when we finally get this house set up, with all our shit unpacked and, you know, clean, i will of course shower you with some pictures. stay tuned for more ridiculousness. because in Casa de Hell, nothing ever goes as planned...</div>
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Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-5078136484405499562012-10-05T21:13:00.000-05:002013-09-12T05:10:45.128-05:00hello from Hellthere's a few reasons i haven't been blogging. some of them are mundane - being lazy, working with the photobooths, etc. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
so then, why haven't i been here?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I, Satan, Am Currently Depressed.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
i've <a href="http://www.satangoestosingsing.com/2011/10/one-tequila-two-tequila-three-tequila.html">written about my dad</a> on this blog. i portray him as <a href="http://www.satangoestosingsing.com/2011/05/tonight-i-went-to-dinner-with-my-dad.html">a hilarious, fun person.</a> and generally, he really is. <br />
<br />
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."<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
my dad came on a sunday afternoon, and left on a tuesday afternoon. obviously this visit was a ROARING success. <b>/SARCASM</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
"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.<br />
<br />
i just shut down, and shut up. i gave up. i drank my bourbon, and we went back to the car and drove home. <br />
i cried on the way home, i cried all night, i cried in my sleep. i woke up crying. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
this is the shit that's on my mind.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-83888248309102004452012-08-07T21:06:00.000-05:002012-08-07T21:06:09.652-05:00I Can Leurn Things... I Thinks.stay tuned for a completely random list of Shit I Haz Leurned This Week.<br />
<br />
<b>My Ass Is Too Big To Fit Under The Bed Sideways.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
i know this, because <a href="http://www.satangoestosingsing.com/2010/03/me-cats-exploding-face.html">Fuzzbutt</a> 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.<br />
i know. i'm not smart.<br />
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. <br />
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....<br />
i gave up. we let her in the bedroom, and now she doesn't do any of that shit at night. win!<br />
<br />
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....)<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9dT6IKoTqxDl246dQ52M_MeAQT7t6aDYDycBJ4hyBKQ1BAGoVGVhwXTucKCGUqGDCFtGrxnA8bnd3o0xyFGQvzt7ZZWGXQpyBOAmqsV3ELYUqV-jfeYfk09ksYhc9W1Zqhe2K4OBUp6zm/s1600/IMG_0580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9dT6IKoTqxDl246dQ52M_MeAQT7t6aDYDycBJ4hyBKQ1BAGoVGVhwXTucKCGUqGDCFtGrxnA8bnd3o0xyFGQvzt7ZZWGXQpyBOAmqsV3ELYUqV-jfeYfk09ksYhc9W1Zqhe2K4OBUp6zm/s640/IMG_0580.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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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."<br />
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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.<br />
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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!"<br />
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<br />
<b>My Couch Will Never Be The Same.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
due to a combination of things.... my poor, poor couch. it's on its last legs. <br />
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.<br />
<br />
<u>The Kitten</u><br />
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. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinBOm4Y9GaEIWjiSqAdvdh3uUTj4qjcwbRVncnmCd2GMcVOMOQJlWJLOE4UpDD3U8vb6TL0WSvsp_WtkqJCgiQnJk5Psl4c33j1j42yqU2tc_k99PkGA8qCAV3sWusoxE81AiSg-1SDQ2t/s1600/IMG_0501.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinBOm4Y9GaEIWjiSqAdvdh3uUTj4qjcwbRVncnmCd2GMcVOMOQJlWJLOE4UpDD3U8vb6TL0WSvsp_WtkqJCgiQnJk5Psl4c33j1j42yqU2tc_k99PkGA8qCAV3sWusoxE81AiSg-1SDQ2t/s640/IMG_0501.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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. <br />
<br />
<u>The Coals</u><br />
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.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<b>I Forgot How Annoying Kittens Can Sometimes Be.</b><br />
<br />
because they can fit bloody anywhere.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY1PBx1wmlFyyeA1tDKQvfdc9f43MGQ_rVXTYYHHD2F8YdV_IONXda3XOn6UUw1mDb_eZgzgqO6IOhz0KL5EGqB7pygHUGLIKXEBiU_ZmqqKoVVvj2BWZfQSd0Y5QdA3aNcWGLyIskHrrL/s1600/IMG_0562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY1PBx1wmlFyyeA1tDKQvfdc9f43MGQ_rVXTYYHHD2F8YdV_IONXda3XOn6UUw1mDb_eZgzgqO6IOhz0KL5EGqB7pygHUGLIKXEBiU_ZmqqKoVVvj2BWZfQSd0Y5QdA3aNcWGLyIskHrrL/s640/IMG_0562.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
case in bloody point.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Porn Is Sometimes Incredibly Terrifying.</b><br />
<br />
i had a mild twitter-splosion of EEEEW OMG KILL IT WITH FIRE.<br />
<br />
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<br />
by the way, the Look Of Utter Horror went as follows:<br />
<br />
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<br />
for anyone <strike>stupid</strike> brave enough to take a look at what horrified MY jaded ass, here you go...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.submityourflicks.com/videos/60285/she-uses-a-rubber-fist.html">click this, motherfuckers! </a><br />
<br />
skip ahead to the 14 minute mark if you want to skip the "erg" parts and go directly to WHAT THE HOLY FUCK.<br />
<br />
<b>But Mostly Though, Kittens Are Fucking Adorable. </b><br />
<br />
but y'all already know this. which will in no way prevent my sharing a bunch of pictures, anyway. <br />
<br />
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<br />
First Evar picture...<br />
<br />
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<br />
holding still... for once!<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXhBhnTQya2Ckf-ip0rwtKPbK41dQqlaHLR92VYwYDzAKVK8H0dbu6yuKJ3XUOEcqxwxmbLI8tZJkwZ_Nvb9c_JxKMyUdAxpKUuoL2Ab8H9JiEeybC109H3H1rcx-rQKHluh7IejiDz9wB/s1600/IMG_0588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXhBhnTQya2Ckf-ip0rwtKPbK41dQqlaHLR92VYwYDzAKVK8H0dbu6yuKJ3XUOEcqxwxmbLI8tZJkwZ_Nvb9c_JxKMyUdAxpKUuoL2Ab8H9JiEeybC109H3H1rcx-rQKHluh7IejiDz9wB/s640/IMG_0588.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
pretending to be sweet... most likely right before she claws the couch.<br />
<br />
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<br />
ACTUALLY being the sweetest of sweet.<br />
<br />
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yes, kittens are great. now if only i can survive her...</div>
<br />Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-51505565048378518392012-06-06T22:16:00.001-05:002012-06-06T22:25:11.749-05:00The Barista Fucking Hates You::insert apologizing for not posting in forfuckingever due to [insert reason here], namely working <strike>like a five year old in a sweatshop</strike> like a goddamn dog at this horrible, horrible <a href="http://www.satangoestosingsing.com/2012/02/i-havent-mentioned-my-new-job-yet.html">JOB</a>, in this case... ::<br />
<br />
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:<br />
<br />
<b><u>"How to Order Coffee Without Getting Cyanide In It For Being A Cockwaffle."</u></b><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<b>Be Specific, Dumbass.</b><br />
"coffee."<br />
<i>WHAT. no shit, you're at a coffee place, you dim bint. so then, we play twenty questions!</i><br />
"size?"<br />
"regular."<br />
<i>what the fuck is that. no, really. we have three sizes. the cups are right in front of you. </i> <i>all you have to do is point, if the names are that confusing.</i><br />
i hand them the cup for brewed coffee.<br />
"no, i want a latte."<br />
AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRVGVBVBBBHHH%@@&^@#%^!#&!#%#!&$&!#%^<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
"Tea."<br />
<i>ohgod, here we go again.</i><br />
"hot? iced?"<br />
"hot."<br />
"what type?"<br />
"Black." <i>we have 4 different black teas. fuck me.</i><br />
<i>ooookay. </i>"which one?"<br />
"the red one." <i> fuck my life, you are stupid.</i><br />
......"Size???"<br />
<br />
or, oooh! oooh! i really like this one.<br />
"yogurt."<br />
<i>we have 3 different brands, and like 8 flavors. WHICH ONE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, YOU HAVE A BRAIN, DON'T YOU?</i><br />
"which type?"<br />
"blueberry." <i>there are three different blueberry yogurts WHY MUST YOU SUCK SO HARD?</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<b>Just Say No To Cappuccinos. </b><br />
oh i know, but it's your <i>FAVORITE</i> and you <i>MUST</i> have one, right?<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
plus, it's just a fucking latte with pretenses, and Fuck That. <br />
which is why it's earned a moniker, among baristas everywhere: <br />
PITA. <br />
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.<br />
<br />
<b>Corollary: Frappuccinos are for Slow Times Only.</b><br />
don't get me wrong, i understand the siren call of a good frozen coffee beverage.<br />
i do, believe me.<br />
however.<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
i will be happy to make you one. when i'm not busy.<br />
<br />
another corollary: baristas have shorthand on our drinks. a frap would be an F. a caramel frap, a CF. mocha, MF. etcetera. <br />
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.<br />
i truly enjoyed making up shit just for this. <br />
vanilla frap? "Venereal-diseased Fuckface!" <br />
i can go on for days. <br />
<br />
<b>"I just need [insert thing here], can i cut line?" </b><br />
NO. YOU ARE NOT A SPECIAL SNOWFLAKE.<br />
<br />
<b>Just... Why?</b><br />
anything Decaf, Sugar-Free, with skim milk: it's a <b>"Why bother?"</b><br />
see also, decaf americanos. seriously. watered down espresso with no caffeine content? <i>why bother?</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<b>Don't Do This:</b><br />
"grande caramel latte."<br />
::makes latte::<br />
"no, i wanted soy/skim/special snowflake caramel syrup."<br />
<i>I CAN'T READ MINDSSSSSSSS.</i><br />
<br />
<b>Or This:</b><br />
::goes to make your drink::<br />
"can i have [special mods that cost $1.35 extra] in that too?"<br />
<i>no. no, you can't. you KNOW that shit costs extra.</i><br />
<i>or you CAN, and you can give me $1.35 more. back to the register with you.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<b>Or THIS:</b><br />
::me, working a line of 30 people::<br />
person i've already checked out, at the end of the counter:<br />
"I Demand Special Thing No One Else Wants."<br />
i don't respond within ten seconds, <i>because i'm busy.</i><br />
"I DEMAND SPECIAL THING NO ONE ELSE WANTS, FOR I AM A SPECIAL SNOWFLAKE, <b>RIGHT NOW,</b> I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME, I WANT SPECIAL THING NO ONE ELSE WANTS, I AM A SPECIAL SNOWFLAKE."<br />
mother fucker. <i>if you want whole milk instead of half & half or skim, MIX THEM TOGETHER, it's the same fucking thing. </i> or, you know, just DEAL.<br />
alternately: wait until i have two seconds, and POLITELY request your special snowflake item, and be goddamn gracious when i give it to you.<br />
<br />
<b>DON'T THROW CHANGE AT ME.</b><br />
i will eat your fucking face.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>How To Make The Barista Fucking Love You:</b><br />
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." <br />
she came up, described what type of drink she liked: "small, sweet, really caffeinated, milky, iced!" cool. what flavors are your favorite? "vanilla." <br />
excellent! you get a small iced vanilla latte, with an extra shot, and extra vanilla. i got this. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
"the usual!"<br />
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>i never have to play 20 questions with them. </i>plus, most of them are awesome, anyway.<br />
<br />
"you just make it better than everyone else!" oh god, stroke my ego, <i>stroke it i say! i love you.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<b>for the record:</b><br />
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.<br />
<br />
1. size<br />
2. flavor<br />
3. type of drink (latte, coffee, frappy whatever)<br />
4. mods - ie soy/skim/breve, decaf, extra shot. <br />
<br />
for example, if you want a medium latte with vanilla syrup and almond milk:<br />
"medium vanilla latte with almond milk, please!"<br />
::scribble scribble::<br />
"THANK YOU, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!"<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-68426931130785729912012-03-28T18:14:00.001-05:002012-03-28T18:17:29.275-05:00SHITTASTIC! part two...part one is <a href="http://www.satangoestosingsing.com/2011/06/shittastic.html">HERE</a>...<br />
<br />
i seem to be having some seriously bad luck with plumbing this year, NONE of it my fault. <br />
no, really.<br />
<br />
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, <i>thankyouverymuch</i>!<br />
<br />
it was great... for the first two weeks. <br />
and then...<br />
well, it's OUR house, so something had to be wrong with it, right?<br />
<br />
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!"<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
and then the toilet was flushed....<br />
oh god. we weren't getting an overflowing toilet... we were getting a backup of (thankfully clean) water from the UNDERSIDE of the toilet. <b><i>what the holy fuck?</i></b><br />
we called the realty company.<br />
<br />
turns out? foundation is all kinds of fucked up, and so is our plumbing.<br />
<br />
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...<br />
<br />
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well. maybe there's a reason.<br />
<br />
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."<br />
<br />
and, we waited. and waited. meanwhile...<br />
<br />
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<br />
this. they left an OPEN SEWER PIPE in our house... in our fucking bedroom. <br />
...for two months.<br />
<br />
yes, really. <br />
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...<br />
no dice. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiroAjMSMKXD0m-qSXiziEOQd-pK2buaTBRY7MprD6kkwsDYJxmC4W2JJHMIxbipmYSbFkhhtJztEGfyh4x20ALVaGRygUDQNDSwJyRTRrGXUK1KfbRpvD_EgSXVAf4hXQLxev2HcgRm2yy/s1600/photo-8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiroAjMSMKXD0m-qSXiziEOQd-pK2buaTBRY7MprD6kkwsDYJxmC4W2JJHMIxbipmYSbFkhhtJztEGfyh4x20ALVaGRygUDQNDSwJyRTRrGXUK1KfbRpvD_EgSXVAf4hXQLxev2HcgRm2yy/s640/photo-8.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
<br />
so it stayed like this. and the door stayed firmly shut, because...<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwOK_LoZs0bZr47gVEYPQDJuZaIlJUlPPakA-NoEV8uHeyeDGVB1R342RcAqzWRZ3fN87LBbN61Ol8P9pu4Th7KvRMXscU73CshGS-cjrqD544Oh6Tjk2OyMQjPVcodWP-bBzPh3xAtis3/s1600/photo-9.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwOK_LoZs0bZr47gVEYPQDJuZaIlJUlPPakA-NoEV8uHeyeDGVB1R342RcAqzWRZ3fN87LBbN61Ol8P9pu4Th7KvRMXscU73CshGS-cjrqD544Oh6Tjk2OyMQjPVcodWP-bBzPh3xAtis3/s640/photo-9.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
the original plumbers left this shitwater mess on our carpet, and the realty company will be getting that steam cleaned, you BETTER believe it.<br />
<br />
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...Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-58060125176432568812012-02-21T18:38:00.002-06:002012-03-28T18:22:39.830-05:00i haven't mentioned my new job yet. there's a REASON.if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all???<br />
<br />
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!<br />
oh, i slay myself, i really do.<br />
<br />
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!"). <br />
<br />
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:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2liDHjSnk8_mA3n418MzbTNRD6vvOavCYANOSm_cBP0xLFPElyvN5zpGEa-n_rutY2Hsffhze7Fcu7shDKsL5GACBklEDWrT2LhzOaZq-j4OCLuNCt0agyfu2A0b18zeaiTA7iHBl0lCm/s1600/cubicle+hell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2liDHjSnk8_mA3n418MzbTNRD6vvOavCYANOSm_cBP0xLFPElyvN5zpGEa-n_rutY2Hsffhze7Fcu7shDKsL5GACBklEDWrT2LhzOaZq-j4OCLuNCt0agyfu2A0b18zeaiTA7iHBl0lCm/s320/cubicle+hell.jpg" width="289" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>in other words, purgatory.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>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. <br />
and yes, i realized it meant i'd be sleeping from approximately 4am to 7:30 am, on a good night. <br />
(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. <i>advice: you're doin it wrong.</i>)<br />
<br />
it's a coffee job. <b>things i expected:</b><br />
<br />
getting covered in milk & coffee (and i mean <i><b>covered</b></i>, from glasses to shoes, because we are constantly slammed)<br />
scalding myself daily <br />
cranky customers who need their caffeine NOW<br />
picky customers<br />
overly caffeinated customers<br />
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...)<br />
<br />
blah, blah, blah - it's a coffee job, i've been doing this for 7 years. old potatoes.<br />
<br />
<b>here's what i did not expect: </b><br />
<br />
"write-ups."<br />
write-ups when you clock in late. write-ups when you clock OUT late. as in, 5 minutes late.<br />
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?<br />
oh yeah - and after 10 "write-ups" for being late? they fire you. yeah.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV0ZHERCLCta_r8qZEBm1SRmUKvnwuBtV-5MKI2Pz6eqPLC6c0_Fn8VLZv1wkl2e67xJO-F0lLbRxs2NCR4pwzujJ9vybzvLUVV7wvHvuFdXyzuWsgwqIW4pSNQAFm4GLDrSwevPKF1duy/s1600/Photo+on+2011-04-02+at+01.41+%233.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV0ZHERCLCta_r8qZEBm1SRmUKvnwuBtV-5MKI2Pz6eqPLC6c0_Fn8VLZv1wkl2e67xJO-F0lLbRxs2NCR4pwzujJ9vybzvLUVV7wvHvuFdXyzuWsgwqIW4pSNQAFm4GLDrSwevPKF1duy/s640/Photo+on+2011-04-02+at+01.41+%233.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>well, fuck you too!</i></div><br />
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<br />
A). get bitched at for having my piercings in,<br />
B). get ALL of my piercings infected, because i have to force the jewelry through if i leave it out all day, or<br />
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."). <br />
<br />
(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.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6kHBU8rRqKCHhyphenhyphenEb9lLa1EBpzspFmXr6J17ledcznrsrMPkFEhJvXO71djgRMMeMG1YKRzfJWsMrQrnB8sICKriUVHrn-oJqjCBTAtlbkpOo9UJHBDhtY3tUcOVYUiDWuPNgRYHeVOEFo/s1600/Photo+on+2011-06-24+at+20.32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6kHBU8rRqKCHhyphenhyphenEb9lLa1EBpzspFmXr6J17ledcznrsrMPkFEhJvXO71djgRMMeMG1YKRzfJWsMrQrnB8sICKriUVHrn-oJqjCBTAtlbkpOo9UJHBDhtY3tUcOVYUiDWuPNgRYHeVOEFo/s640/Photo+on+2011-06-24+at+20.32.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>you can take THIS out.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>the banning of nail polish.<br />
can i.... can i just say how much i love nail polish?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ3dqUPGZh97M-s7T8uM3ja5h26fUsI_2v_gld1xZi5GNn51q-hBpAxnxyP_swnmkmHvfrHT3euIVSXaFF51Y6kTpMI91YdY4C60NW9i2951KmzlGu4cFM_3TfGblB7K4QdkNfWUfERL4C/s1600/photo-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ3dqUPGZh97M-s7T8uM3ja5h26fUsI_2v_gld1xZi5GNn51q-hBpAxnxyP_swnmkmHvfrHT3euIVSXaFF51Y6kTpMI91YdY4C60NW9i2951KmzlGu4cFM_3TfGblB7K4QdkNfWUfERL4C/s640/photo-1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">i love nail polish THAT MUCH.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpnDK0bKFZNFzodpOTtxvrVSLDerxyeD-mnS47qxviL996AmWxqXeghRtJZP7XZOSjj0iWNAcBa8iue-uHH2_X8kvQCGTdpcx3XOhIFW2RSKDXRU-vbglZSWjQaFVySCU-SymRyx54bFSO/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpnDK0bKFZNFzodpOTtxvrVSLDerxyeD-mnS47qxviL996AmWxqXeghRtJZP7XZOSjj0iWNAcBa8iue-uHH2_X8kvQCGTdpcx3XOhIFW2RSKDXRU-vbglZSWjQaFVySCU-SymRyx54bFSO/s640/photo.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><br />
yes. the whole thing. is full. of nail polish. <br />
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.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit185Hekohf1vykciGoztSMZwBX8a5Dcoa4P9uJTMyyucQhNn3SUC7J0xWv5ORGdz2rSj-rEBdEa2RcKSFier-PdX5boEJZDXkIVLvqBiK_itv_lKUqQkRWcrd-8uUqgKty_2t9VyYkk5T/s1600/Photo+on+2011-07-03+at+02.02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit185Hekohf1vykciGoztSMZwBX8a5Dcoa4P9uJTMyyucQhNn3SUC7J0xWv5ORGdz2rSj-rEBdEa2RcKSFier-PdX5boEJZDXkIVLvqBiK_itv_lKUqQkRWcrd-8uUqgKty_2t9VyYkk5T/s640/Photo+on+2011-07-03+at+02.02.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>case in motherfucking point.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>and now you're telling me i can't fucking use ANY OF IT monday through friday? cocktwat douchebags! and don't tell me <i>blahblahblah health code</i>, whatever!!! if it were <i>really</i> that important, don't you think you might have made me GET a health card or something? but noooo...<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowVkp83WbXB_igfp_XTAA1OozShN6bl_jVo3qhMZpJ_pra8WQQ_d5S88va2yPWW8MlgoIDPD6IvsesQp81wZwXXP6y7weeSd004HaEYY2ggalEP5CB3AHJqgd5faYLsLY5v0RndIs9YLb/s1600/Photo+on+2011-07-17+at+18.46+%232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowVkp83WbXB_igfp_XTAA1OozShN6bl_jVo3qhMZpJ_pra8WQQ_d5S88va2yPWW8MlgoIDPD6IvsesQp81wZwXXP6y7weeSd004HaEYY2ggalEP5CB3AHJqgd5faYLsLY5v0RndIs9YLb/s640/Photo+on+2011-07-17+at+18.46+%232.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>i haven't asked yet, but i'm pretty sure i'm FUCKED if i ever feel like doing this to my hair again.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>hey, just in case all this rules&regulations fuckwittery wasn't enough, guess what! we also get incompetent management! wooo!<br />
<br />
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." <br />
rinse and repeat. <i>for a month. </i>meanwhile, a repair guy sent to fix our coffee machine went and got a badge <b>within a day. literally. </b> (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?)<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcjHdwuhdoHnhfuqm4BUCMHgPxH7yu1L_3gWdBtmxbaApZ1pOLW3krWSKaxSpSD2vSF0yKubMTF0KnXShajnXKIVean_qJ91lOFnArHrtRHy-X60MbHfqYIyv42zLR1NuNcg7YdqEnqgyy/s1600/Photo+on+2011-08-20+at+22.06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcjHdwuhdoHnhfuqm4BUCMHgPxH7yu1L_3gWdBtmxbaApZ1pOLW3krWSKaxSpSD2vSF0yKubMTF0KnXShajnXKIVean_qJ91lOFnArHrtRHy-X60MbHfqYIyv42zLR1NuNcg7YdqEnqgyy/s640/Photo+on+2011-08-20+at+22.06.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>this is how i feel after coming home from work every day!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">and now! and now. we come to asshat coworker. </div><div style="text-align: left;">one of my coworkers is fucking great. she knows who she is.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">the other....</div><div style="text-align: left;">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....</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">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.... </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">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! </div><div style="text-align: left;">she also evidently thinks i'm an idiot. "you just turn around while you're steaming or pulling shots & set up your coffee..."</div><div style="text-align: left;">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..... </div><div style="text-align: left;">ARRGGHHGHGHGHMOTHERFUCKINGCOCKSUCKERTWATFACEJESUSASSMUNCHINGCHRISTONACRACKER<br />
IHATETHISFUCKINGJOB!!!!!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UmqMo58UvNZbcziUF2eQ_sBk9QofwsKxqp9YhOo0m5toZULfSsW1MsJ8NfOuFV2bpwDz32TzvUI0S1Ccs7H36zJbzKUdE30hKJ1iGAq3vbAmVJxvOK7k1BH5mpoPW94FxZmBCoHvL0q6/s1600/Photo+on+2011-09-02+at+17.12+%232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UmqMo58UvNZbcziUF2eQ_sBk9QofwsKxqp9YhOo0m5toZULfSsW1MsJ8NfOuFV2bpwDz32TzvUI0S1Ccs7H36zJbzKUdE30hKJ1iGAq3vbAmVJxvOK7k1BH5mpoPW94FxZmBCoHvL0q6/s640/Photo+on+2011-09-02+at+17.12+%232.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>bitch, i will sic my attack cat on you. she's CRAYCRAY. you can see it in her eyes.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">hey y'all - want to see how long i can be driven batshit insane before i have a complete meltdown?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2jGMHjsU0rMM54PamB8tme3XpGirE4qTMt4xuLeswWUHEMi59KGr1NdDZHeYHV-W2lxWFIi9QcvjPE_eveBz8oTdoFg7rpi36L7LGbsgiEwd77tRsjWMrg5obIRPHfX9MDKBiM9qojtS/s1600/Photo+on+2011-09-09+at+22.32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2jGMHjsU0rMM54PamB8tme3XpGirE4qTMt4xuLeswWUHEMi59KGr1NdDZHeYHV-W2lxWFIi9QcvjPE_eveBz8oTdoFg7rpi36L7LGbsgiEwd77tRsjWMrg5obIRPHfX9MDKBiM9qojtS/s640/Photo+on+2011-09-09+at+22.32.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>eventually i'm gonna lose it and tell this lady to suck my nonexistent dick.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><i>...</i>have i mentioned we don't get tips?</div></div>Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-69183819656058250402012-02-10T16:32:00.005-06:002012-02-10T16:32:00.440-06:00fun with stupid (or, the crack spider's bitch)<div class="MsoNormal">now this one, you can blame on <a href="http://itssofuzzy.blogspot.com/2012/02/odd-numbers-make-me-stabby.html?zx=d8c20f4bd96b78a">Jaime</a>. </div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">upwards and onwards...<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>If you had the choice to know when you were going to die or not to know, what would you choose?</b><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">shit yes. how will i die? when will i die? really? awesome. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">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?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>What is the one food you could not live without eating ever again?<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">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. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"> in other words, pizza.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Where is the one place you most want to visit on the planet and why?<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Scotland and Ireland, because my ancestors are from there. Europe in general. Canada. i like to break rules.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>How many times a day do you say a swear word?<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">HAHAHAHAHAhahahahaha i don't even have enough fingers & toes to count the number of times i swear per hour.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">What is the most absurd phobia you have and why?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">i am arachnophobic. no, it's not funny to try & creep me out with spiders. although <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sHzdsFiBbFc">this IS maybe the funniest thing i've ever seen. </a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><b> If all A’s are B’s, Not B, therefore not A. How does this relate to the greatness of cheese?</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">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.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">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.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>If you could go back in time and undo one event, what would it be and why?<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">don't snort <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gabapentin">neurontin</a>. 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.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">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.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>A frat boy, a cougar and a priest all walk into a bar. Which do you make fun of first?<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">the priest. he can't get laid.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">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. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">the cougar is cool. we can compare plots to ensnare hot young things. but they must be at or above drinking age.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Fried or deep fried?<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">fried green tomatoes.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">deep fried cajun turkey, motherfuckers.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>and now, for some random questions of my own:<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">if you have 10 million books and not enough bookshelf space, what is the approximate velocity of a LADEN african swallow?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">cake, or death?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">if a writer works all fucking night long on a project that is essentially intellectual masturbation, when does that person actually masturbate?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">how much nail polish is "too much nail polish?"<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">trick question. there is no such fucking thing as too much nail polish. or too many books. or "too much beer." HA. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUluPLC67q0hepL7dmLaQtD5-LwOD1a5MQ1KJKRmgzgIS5u0OiI6jxkkDwCbsP4p6Wd4GjMNLjf9SojOv6O7nb8QwJhpcLGWJYn3WTYcbJ6ejSB3v7DtHHjRca-J3ezzoC8QET6O3nwdG5/s1600/Photo+on+2011-09-19+at+00.52.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUluPLC67q0hepL7dmLaQtD5-LwOD1a5MQ1KJKRmgzgIS5u0OiI6jxkkDwCbsP4p6Wd4GjMNLjf9SojOv6O7nb8QwJhpcLGWJYn3WTYcbJ6ejSB3v7DtHHjRca-J3ezzoC8QET6O3nwdG5/s640/Photo+on+2011-09-19+at+00.52.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> please caption photograph. obscenity encouraged. kinkiness rewarded.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-66125843109309135252012-02-09T17:34:00.000-06:002012-02-09T17:34:50.195-06:00Singles Awareness Dayi have boycotted valentine's day for YEARS for general reasons, first and foremost being: i fucking hate making a big deal of nothing. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
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! <br />
<br />
and in all the many years after that, i can't remember a single valentines day that was memorable.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
and now, even though i've been in a relationship for a WHILE...<br />
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.<br />
i don't celebrate it at all.<br />
<br />
but this year? BRING IT.<br />
because i pretty much have the BEST valentine ever, in the form of this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4VBzS0yGAChQC70X-artmoA7SBKcHw1ofv_nZg3kvF_oHKdkmjRAonvQtVDLHq_k69AIn0g2gJGJQ4CTGBF_1BJ6pFAm65s5wL7BQLG4EvxDSvtwEVxAye8Lfm_82VTg2iOrNDpB4y22v/s1600/Photo+on+2012-02-09+at+17.03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4VBzS0yGAChQC70X-artmoA7SBKcHw1ofv_nZg3kvF_oHKdkmjRAonvQtVDLHq_k69AIn0g2gJGJQ4CTGBF_1BJ6pFAm65s5wL7BQLG4EvxDSvtwEVxAye8Lfm_82VTg2iOrNDpB4y22v/s640/Photo+on+2012-02-09+at+17.03.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<a href="https://twitter.com/#!/SnarkleyStreet">Ms. Snark</a> FOUND ME A SATAN-BEAR. <br />
i'm... officially in love.<br />
<br />
and, just in case that wasn't enough?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ilaYmfy7nwJUzQ4KU59-U_hOmXt6OjJIpLiitDz0UaN1UFZlGLB1GzTOwWxkn24UPTAejt2DuBjMNSYxnvclbF0j60m0o5n9fvde0qWPpNiadQW6Luvn-G0SQkFB_m6ke73QTFyc-Oeu/s1600/Photo+on+2012-02-09+at+17.06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ilaYmfy7nwJUzQ4KU59-U_hOmXt6OjJIpLiitDz0UaN1UFZlGLB1GzTOwWxkn24UPTAejt2DuBjMNSYxnvclbF0j60m0o5n9fvde0qWPpNiadQW6Luvn-G0SQkFB_m6ke73QTFyc-Oeu/s640/Photo+on+2012-02-09+at+17.06.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
those would be peanut butter cookies. <br />
heart-shaped peanut butter cookies.<br />
yeah. <br />
darlin, i will be your valentine ANY day!Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-43567823402183593512012-02-08T01:03:00.002-06:002012-02-08T01:05:25.762-06:00blame Tazer<a href="http://tazerwarriorprincess.wordpress.com/2012/02/06/the-google-is-a-pervy-wench/">she started it.</a><br />
<br />
and of course, i had to figure out how to out-dumb the master, soooooo...<br />
<br />
barrel bowler:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcyhcXrOVkGmCU50Hy6AhGiiWZg7S8w5rjQZRQSsfacfP1Erp8DphSZh6BpMxv_GH-Qfgghg1Gsp1ng45DBgGZ7L33A0GyVZ7mLFuu05V4GCULZFMdwOvv1-uCceKXBswCHaW47N2f82On/s1600/barrel+bowler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcyhcXrOVkGmCU50Hy6AhGiiWZg7S8w5rjQZRQSsfacfP1Erp8DphSZh6BpMxv_GH-Qfgghg1Gsp1ng45DBgGZ7L33A0GyVZ7mLFuu05V4GCULZFMdwOvv1-uCceKXBswCHaW47N2f82On/s320/barrel+bowler.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
obviously. <br />
<br />
dinosaur fries:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Qdwg-3gWfkR_waBiwFc0hXKh_30iqvRHr0d2-90omEy2ktuXO7crmjF4bqlcy_Y6-Agsfcxh3BsnMAxls0Ykg_hdDMdOPbVF1_G5NoAL_sDIf4BEZwcjp08cwsjQdWH8kEAm7sGJg65B/s1600/dinosaur+fries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Qdwg-3gWfkR_waBiwFc0hXKh_30iqvRHr0d2-90omEy2ktuXO7crmjF4bqlcy_Y6-Agsfcxh3BsnMAxls0Ykg_hdDMdOPbVF1_G5NoAL_sDIf4BEZwcjp08cwsjQdWH8kEAm7sGJg65B/s320/dinosaur+fries.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
dinosaurs might be the worst cooks on the planet...<br />
either that, or this is what their shit looks like after a bad night of fast food.<br />
<br />
flying snickers:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlA4XSLchGLTAHL7BruYeNXxfK6_KdR9RmoNkL6dYAuO6rAiahcX9Nm1bPPhGxF4CdP1RGeappVtT2bs-E7u5n8mbabYrvaanDY-JCITmkq2LUvsl4Oiq0Xac_ue1odXpecTXhi_hcbYK-/s1600/flying+snickers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlA4XSLchGLTAHL7BruYeNXxfK6_KdR9RmoNkL6dYAuO6rAiahcX9Nm1bPPhGxF4CdP1RGeappVtT2bs-E7u5n8mbabYrvaanDY-JCITmkq2LUvsl4Oiq0Xac_ue1odXpecTXhi_hcbYK-/s320/flying+snickers.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
close, google, but no snickers bar for you.<br />
<br />
jello sportscoat:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUn98ljQXNCEGpZmh2IcPtRNGk5WBOuEnKdFNX12qRLh6oOzUT0j8-D-BxbXRM0aJUMx1MbxX4AE3GaLIeuwmbfl5kVPvqTEBWh91TbuDNxqml7LyCrR9JwCzOJClaeEdy6cy_-P8LZMZV/s1600/flying+sportscoat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUn98ljQXNCEGpZmh2IcPtRNGk5WBOuEnKdFNX12qRLh6oOzUT0j8-D-BxbXRM0aJUMx1MbxX4AE3GaLIeuwmbfl5kVPvqTEBWh91TbuDNxqml7LyCrR9JwCzOJClaeEdy6cy_-P8LZMZV/s320/flying+sportscoat.jpg" width="243" /></a></div><br />
evidently the Japanese do it, although i'm not quite sure how...<br />
<br />
fuzznuckle:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilIRfdEwTJ4ieHUrm2uV_up7xPQFHd8oY7yl3WUsXavcNThUchaG0tcOfmE6wolCEDWyxtJix5BSaV_0ULIGQ8NpBbLGnScbRWzecCY8GfEltKe8vWmh_lCWkSohOoYrBGt2rBJAw6PXsJ/s1600/fuzznuckle+bond.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilIRfdEwTJ4ieHUrm2uV_up7xPQFHd8oY7yl3WUsXavcNThUchaG0tcOfmE6wolCEDWyxtJix5BSaV_0ULIGQ8NpBbLGnScbRWzecCY8GfEltKe8vWmh_lCWkSohOoYrBGt2rBJAw6PXsJ/s320/fuzznuckle+bond.jpg" width="303" /></a></div><br />
come to think of it, his knuckles probably are pretty bushy.<br />
<br />
glomstick:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLp-DHCQoR0RVNk_eE78pIDuL1tdUa6EJPlVroZ4Wx0MFiwP4LaosjKmUnoI6d5mVA7ovW-zr49Gu9DFUFi9kyDZX1RFfgtLer7xBW6JOKAQrUwkaFRkx5uRx9y2fdqg-D_jANYiWDkIUG/s1600/glomstick.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="86" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLp-DHCQoR0RVNk_eE78pIDuL1tdUa6EJPlVroZ4Wx0MFiwP4LaosjKmUnoI6d5mVA7ovW-zr49Gu9DFUFi9kyDZX1RFfgtLer7xBW6JOKAQrUwkaFRkx5uRx9y2fdqg-D_jANYiWDkIUG/s320/glomstick.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
what you are, when you end up in this position, evidently.<br />
<br />
secure pants:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCVyXAAUwUjXu4nKu71CdNH21kEXASCMLqC1QNEQs8r-47uu4Qgr6FNl2N00Q-CSoOZD9PtnCRUn5lFA_kmHJMn2lhm-EJi6RAcNXcegcbPfiJHVgTjyR8-dq4iK2JRHiU-WN9bjhUkGii/s1600/security+pants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCVyXAAUwUjXu4nKu71CdNH21kEXASCMLqC1QNEQs8r-47uu4Qgr6FNl2N00Q-CSoOZD9PtnCRUn5lFA_kmHJMn2lhm-EJi6RAcNXcegcbPfiJHVgTjyR8-dq4iK2JRHiU-WN9bjhUkGii/s1600/security+pants.jpg" /></a></div><br />
THIS IS THE OPPOSITE OF EVERYTHING THAT IS SECURE ABOUT PANTS JESUS<br />
<br />
yuff nuts:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGK11Icu1bBCIciZJWKdP0MJXcdQt89lvFVqgOAHWY94GFbRRBcibg-k0Il0RAkjKgWBryt0JFVFcKAqdUgBxPKhvulXVfyqWOYyVxJd-WUVO_OX_U1iw3VrIWTyaumvFsGXyURWfVKCZ/s1600/yuff+nuts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGK11Icu1bBCIciZJWKdP0MJXcdQt89lvFVqgOAHWY94GFbRRBcibg-k0Il0RAkjKgWBryt0JFVFcKAqdUgBxPKhvulXVfyqWOYyVxJd-WUVO_OX_U1iw3VrIWTyaumvFsGXyURWfVKCZ/s320/yuff+nuts.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
because you'll "yuff" after you eat it?<br />
<br />
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 BLARFFFFFFFSatanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-29186969422859192052012-01-01T15:19:00.001-06:002012-01-01T15:21:16.340-06:00the Bitch is Back!oh fuck, the things i've done in the past month. things i never thought i'd do.....<br />
<br />
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..."<br />
<br />
yes, folks. imagine me, Satan, in charge of little Spawn. <br />
<br />
suffice to say i have now successfully influenced the entire household in matters of drugs, piracy, and other awesome things.<br />
<br />
yep. such a good influence.<br />
<br />
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....<br />
when he asked what kind, i said, "you know, the cheesy porn kind."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2pjlcLzExlTKXyJ-qFXtfhvzOt9QOVSk6R8lDPDKrAQIOlz2Kj-eqRqrYjP9jzVUlmPGqGfgHQY5SmDv1HRFMPWBEkGzGA8gS2tO3NtgNF5Q5bZdn7IN08LSXXiVeuQ8zeXrPN-y2bUsX/s1600/IMG_2899.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2pjlcLzExlTKXyJ-qFXtfhvzOt9QOVSk6R8lDPDKrAQIOlz2Kj-eqRqrYjP9jzVUlmPGqGfgHQY5SmDv1HRFMPWBEkGzGA8gS2tO3NtgNF5Q5bZdn7IN08LSXXiVeuQ8zeXrPN-y2bUsX/s640/IMG_2899.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
evidently, he could have a great career in being a cheesy porn star.<br />
i fully support this... do you know how much money those dudes make??!?!<br />
<br />
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...<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4yd7CW03TiczY2vpoIcr1pim19caXY3qdKKaa_-EU2qXBzdIEO42c_e1g_9zxnG6DjP99y0CFncrEsVu9WBG1bWFDc2FH9DbUTl68heyihQjsyGpyq9GBep_gvO5xFG_jJX1mEAY8ZXom/s1600/IMG_2911.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4yd7CW03TiczY2vpoIcr1pim19caXY3qdKKaa_-EU2qXBzdIEO42c_e1g_9zxnG6DjP99y0CFncrEsVu9WBG1bWFDc2FH9DbUTl68heyihQjsyGpyq9GBep_gvO5xFG_jJX1mEAY8ZXom/s640/IMG_2911.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
i know. we're completely fucked. it's cool though, i'm sure we'll get to it sometime...<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_bbrwxg2b2K4Ead8G3DVb-UvXnMA114W2p1lJvpx2f0x4gJmiYiOaKylai1U-FU3V7KB7V2A3jC5D1mHcI3eNx6nuru29BzKp-pvObsih0iZufot4lel3IrfhxGtN-SEoQY2zB1ErwcV/s1600/IMG_2915.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_bbrwxg2b2K4Ead8G3DVb-UvXnMA114W2p1lJvpx2f0x4gJmiYiOaKylai1U-FU3V7KB7V2A3jC5D1mHcI3eNx6nuru29BzKp-pvObsih0iZufot4lel3IrfhxGtN-SEoQY2zB1ErwcV/s640/IMG_2915.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
but he was happy to have me home, at least...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA4_kCW_TGQc4dh3FKa5ZqwqDt8FVsOf1C1BzUYSlJOMzxLi30en0ktL25xBTIXyJ9GjOIOieB51E536Xaa8lJ9AH7L-nBnrtCC65SunFb5LodZ8Y3dsdfVL8uyYndpFnU6TvKJGxHhWs6/s1600/Photo+on+2011-12-31+at+20.58.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA4_kCW_TGQc4dh3FKa5ZqwqDt8FVsOf1C1BzUYSlJOMzxLi30en0ktL25xBTIXyJ9GjOIOieB51E536Xaa8lJ9AH7L-nBnrtCC65SunFb5LodZ8Y3dsdfVL8uyYndpFnU6TvKJGxHhWs6/s640/Photo+on+2011-12-31+at+20.58.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
and bitches, am i glad to be home! for a whole 7 days, that is. <br />
<br />
now if only we can find a house to rent in Austin....<br />
anyone know a good place? cuz i really don't want to have to live in a moving van with two pissed-off cats...Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-61948994339780653402011-11-12T01:26:00.000-06:002011-11-12T01:26:33.249-06:00Fuggs.it has come to my attention that some spambots have REALLY wanted to tell me ALLL about Fuggs, lately. i've had like 27 spam comments from them, & it's ridiculous. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPQmIfHu6Iln5-GhKCAKmEAyXmtQiesyb2cP1-X4SWDUn55RSyuec9j8orRnNtqRQmsHoqt98_ywMaZ25bZ47Y5OQbv5ljOB2R6J9BvHziT0-Lb5NNqRYXUkkSz1h5WGR41KcxoT4hK1D/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-11-11+at+11.38.16+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPQmIfHu6Iln5-GhKCAKmEAyXmtQiesyb2cP1-X4SWDUn55RSyuec9j8orRnNtqRQmsHoqt98_ywMaZ25bZ47Y5OQbv5ljOB2R6J9BvHziT0-Lb5NNqRYXUkkSz1h5WGR41KcxoT4hK1D/s640/Screen+shot+2011-11-11+at+11.38.16+PM.png" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<br />
first off, y'all? <i> i have some.</i><br />
they look like this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE_WNeors-MHAROLyHGUtngs9N5_3y8tELSUAsvdq6b_V0pHZJxmCSRfShBwGJMvGqVXlMKcLvaFtOdRpzgXV_GSxcbVs7ohI4X8Lb-Uy9J-jJSnLZEfl46U7xJFh7eJMHTxEMZIeXUl3a/s1600/fuggs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE_WNeors-MHAROLyHGUtngs9N5_3y8tELSUAsvdq6b_V0pHZJxmCSRfShBwGJMvGqVXlMKcLvaFtOdRpzgXV_GSxcbVs7ohI4X8Lb-Uy9J-jJSnLZEfl46U7xJFh7eJMHTxEMZIeXUl3a/s320/fuggs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
except for mine look like they've been chewed by a bear, or something. <br />
they came to me dirty, to be fair. but then i managed to vomit on them the other day (due to food poisoning rather than drinking, which is a SHAME) and then all was lost. they now probably look like they belong to a homeless person.<br />
<br />
to say it mildly, they're NOT a fashion statement. no. <br />
what they ARE = warm fuzzy houseshoes to wear out of your house, when it's winter and your toes are cold.<br />
cute? hell no. but at least they're better than the last incarnation i was using, which looks like this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9TYaCXM9k-OLjGagEpfM5P40_nPULGckvNvn-aYJ8ablXcHEFiVKB4v69pTEpt7naCi7Or-h-rbRRE-GtAyQ3kPLZFmeEe3bNRcycTl8oFoO2-KSRcBcv6-yNBZyhYuvdSWSVOclIdrVs/s1600/IMG_2164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9TYaCXM9k-OLjGagEpfM5P40_nPULGckvNvn-aYJ8ablXcHEFiVKB4v69pTEpt7naCi7Or-h-rbRRE-GtAyQ3kPLZFmeEe3bNRcycTl8oFoO2-KSRcBcv6-yNBZyhYuvdSWSVOclIdrVs/s640/IMG_2164.JPG" width="434" /></a></div><br />
Matt might break up with me for this picture.<br />
you may blame <a href="http://www.satangoestosingsing.com/2011/07/people-feel-compelled-to-give-me.html">my dad</a> for buying me the fuzzy boots.<br />
<br />
and secondly, spammers? i don't want to pimp your Fuggs either. i don't wanna buy any from you, and i'm CERTAINLY not about to give you free advertisement on mah blog. <br />
NO FUGGS FOR YOU!!!<br />
<br />
ahem. <br />
i am ashamed, but i heart my Fuggs. i'm wearing them right now.<br />
<br />
cuz let's be honest with ourselves -big fuzzy boots are almost NEVER a fashion statement. <br />
<br />
unless some hoity toity designer makes them or something, and they're a million dollars. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDgdMyA6wSuQkn1eWvY6oyCCv3k2PScsHMGXV8vvect3PuxNHDPluE9EOQjWUpAxVFSjSQD9i-3fafsXlvIif-c03qSA7715Etbq43eh2mW5DZb0h60R6SlZ4W-BBfCh5VcWQHJ6gV8Yr6/s1600/zac-posen-fur-boots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDgdMyA6wSuQkn1eWvY6oyCCv3k2PScsHMGXV8vvect3PuxNHDPluE9EOQjWUpAxVFSjSQD9i-3fafsXlvIif-c03qSA7715Etbq43eh2mW5DZb0h60R6SlZ4W-BBfCh5VcWQHJ6gV8Yr6/s320/zac-posen-fur-boots.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><br />
<br />
but that doesn't mean we can't loll around in our Fuggs like the houseshoes they are.<br />
carry on.Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-37805925312018923952011-11-09T16:01:00.000-06:002011-11-09T16:01:08.183-06:00i dub thee Minions!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3DR7zgeDu8x-GdgTU8QmHN9NpGbVRo-KlcUc0CJqkNQZLkx5sC_CftWvZcq_Hk2tXxUcBdEs75geLP1wLf8W_uH9rhI9uxPjkMpvWpY54Of6vVnqhTJEA8UqRotjuf9JHsIYHSmujkSC/s1600/versatile+blogger+award.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3DR7zgeDu8x-GdgTU8QmHN9NpGbVRo-KlcUc0CJqkNQZLkx5sC_CftWvZcq_Hk2tXxUcBdEs75geLP1wLf8W_uH9rhI9uxPjkMpvWpY54Of6vVnqhTJEA8UqRotjuf9JHsIYHSmujkSC/s1600/versatile+blogger+award.png" /></a></div><br />
i got an award the other day - woo! i like awards. shower me with praise!<br />
<br />
ahem. anyway, i'm passing this one along - i just asked who wanted it, and voila! people came out of the woodwork. ^_^<br />
<br />
<a href="http://twitter.com/#!/thedeaconblue">@thedeaconblue </a>: his blog is <a href="http://holyhell.wordpress.com/">Holy S!+t</a><br />
of course you can tell why i like him. bwahahahaha.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://twitter.com/#!/RubberChickenMa">@RubberChickenMa </a> who writes <a href="http://www.rubberchickenmadness.com/">Rubber Chicken Madness. </a><br />
and who doesn't like some rubber chickens? nobody, that's who.<br />
<br />
next is <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/forever_trust">@forever_trust </a>who writes <a href="http://ourtransplantjourney.blogspot.com/">Our Transplant Journey.</a><br />
she writes about everything!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://twitter.com/#!/crystalpratt">@crystalpratt</a> is a sloth at <a href="http://houseofsloth.blogspot.com/">House of Sloth.</a> <br />
how cool are sloths? way cool. go get your sloth on!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://twitter.com/#!/blogginglily">@blogginglily</a> posts on<a href="http://blogginglily.blogspot.com/"> Just a Lil Blog</a><br />
he has hilarious beard pictures. beards are the shit.<br />
<br />
all right y'all, come get your button - and pass it on!Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-17670487647581295922011-11-08T13:31:00.000-06:002011-11-08T13:31:24.563-06:00don't be an asshole!want to know why you shouldn't be an asshole?<br />
because there are people out there in the world; people like me, who have absolutely ZERO shame. ZERO.<br />
<br />
the other night at yet another <a href="http://www.satangoestosingsing.com/2011/04/get-your-party-on.html">wedding gig</a> i encountered a type that i've seen before, occasionally - the wedding crashers. <br />
now, most wedding crashers are just hanging around near me to use the photo booth. and most of them are reasonable - if told to go away, they go. simple.<br />
and sometimes, they're really nice, and they take nice pictures and tip you and offer to share their booze, and.... <i>ahem</i>. <br />
<br />
these guys? not so nice. they were incredibly drunk, and they were crashing someone's WEDDING. in t-shirts, and jeans. they were from Holland probably, which i deduced from the fact that they were speaking a language that was not German, Swedish, Finnish, Norwegian, French, etcetera. <br />
<br />
they came through the photobooth at first, and i wasn't absolutely sure they weren't wedding guests (i have seen stranger things, after all), so i let them go. <br />
then, i started asking the wedding guests: do you know these guys?<br />
no. they definitely did NOT know those guys. <br />
<br />
the wedding crashers disappeared for a while, but showed back up even drunker, carrying 40s, and trying to steal an entire 2-liter of diet coke, which is just tacky, okay?<br />
<br />
they joined the back of the photobooth line. i went over, and asked them to leave. <br />
they obviously spoke and understood selective english - meaning they understood me just fine, but pretended not to. <br />
<br />
as the two drunken assholes came out of the photobooth a second time (which i unfortunately wasn't able to prevent), the bride showed up, and asked me and them what the hell was going on here. <br />
"i've been trying to get rid of them, but they speak selective english," i said to her.<br />
"english? we speak english," one of them said.<br />
"really? oh, great! well, understand this. this is HER wedding that you are crashing, which means this is a private event - which means you should split. now."<br />
they started leaving.<br />
"and leave the damn diet coke!" shouted the bride after them.<br />
<br />
now normally, i am not so much of an asshole that i post pics of people without permission, without a censor bar over their eyes.<br />
but this time? consider this just rewards, for being asshole wedding crashers. take that, you fuckers!<br />
<br />
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kids, don't do this. after all, you don't want your drunken pictures plastered all over the internet, now do you?Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-82240816164899381262011-11-02T13:12:00.001-05:002011-11-02T13:21:01.163-05:00the ghosts of halloweens past...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJkDGe_Tm8R63fjIlxwyKqruyRMkFNbNOq0F4CV1E8FEjx1RKPt0q0RQVsEAqnVHgwbK1DgL9YNyGBAkQO5-_LQfGOQDyMi9kv-SjNLV-1lTIsN6FKPQyVUDLcJcywThhlHEHI0kpPazRI/s1600/IMG_0705.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJkDGe_Tm8R63fjIlxwyKqruyRMkFNbNOq0F4CV1E8FEjx1RKPt0q0RQVsEAqnVHgwbK1DgL9YNyGBAkQO5-_LQfGOQDyMi9kv-SjNLV-1lTIsN6FKPQyVUDLcJcywThhlHEHI0kpPazRI/s640/IMG_0705.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">in the past, i've been pretty... ahem... repetitive in my choice of halloween costumes. i've mostly vacillated between vampire, devil, and black cat for YEARS.</div><div style="text-align: left;">this was one of the few exceptions...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsXloXgj2f1ZdTY97zNGqZ94Kpt5_PF58zriA884VoRAQlP1hZ36XL5o8FtGl03R1uTnCCqroO5PTbYqN8UwltP4KKAhyRfOjKk2SODHvcjn9HATTHYYS9q6ep-ecLvyv7JcAmUJ8P-X1W/s1600/IMG_0707.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsXloXgj2f1ZdTY97zNGqZ94Kpt5_PF58zriA884VoRAQlP1hZ36XL5o8FtGl03R1uTnCCqroO5PTbYqN8UwltP4KKAhyRfOjKk2SODHvcjn9HATTHYYS9q6ep-ecLvyv7JcAmUJ8P-X1W/s320/IMG_0707.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">and of course, there were all those years i went as a pirate... and i don't think those years are over just yet - i mean,<b> look at that hat</b>!!!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsG-5YX9ISxKNy6gCWHgHgcI57sXGDU4g8EQq2dG268GB02hMJlvioVMRuH8QcLd8TSBFj0qVdymM0P2mOWbH2LuqfcDPyxeYBcUB-OMQF-KLGzVp6R34DdMIbU6_oEGNE1jvy7WDRkkwj/s1600/pirate+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsG-5YX9ISxKNy6gCWHgHgcI57sXGDU4g8EQq2dG268GB02hMJlvioVMRuH8QcLd8TSBFj0qVdymM0P2mOWbH2LuqfcDPyxeYBcUB-OMQF-KLGzVp6R34DdMIbU6_oEGNE1jvy7WDRkkwj/s640/pirate+crop.jpg" width="410" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">love the hat. <i>adore it</i>, i say!!!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWQZb5hFD14YugSYjww90sv7XpIchN8s-vOypf3KIFj_lRV6PypJ0A24L8MxQKdwiv9Au3OOa4AffU741OdtREZgQNPbiJeMluC4PKsLymjnZb67GDvWA5ydWUPKPs19WGaQht3ZcVv8z/s1600/erotic+ball+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWQZb5hFD14YugSYjww90sv7XpIchN8s-vOypf3KIFj_lRV6PypJ0A24L8MxQKdwiv9Au3OOa4AffU741OdtREZgQNPbiJeMluC4PKsLymjnZb67GDvWA5ydWUPKPs19WGaQht3ZcVv8z/s640/erotic+ball+crop.jpg" width="416" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">then there's the vampire getting out.... this was at a Vampire ball, so really, what else was i supposed to be?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaF4WXPm9W6gEtqmGI-7ghcN7yDr0zg6fjYCRleAZvDuq4FdwjShpvmTlaVJI0m1cByFCGj_LMvZDgFSEwkOOjlplHS4pZ5w1D2WW8WwMhdXgj7p0pmydBMx3dhOicYtG-rEo9h2BSyULS/s1600/vamp+ball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaF4WXPm9W6gEtqmGI-7ghcN7yDr0zg6fjYCRleAZvDuq4FdwjShpvmTlaVJI0m1cByFCGj_LMvZDgFSEwkOOjlplHS4pZ5w1D2WW8WwMhdXgj7p0pmydBMx3dhOicYtG-rEo9h2BSyULS/s640/vamp+ball.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">i did go as a crazy lady in 2009. as if <b>that</b> was much of a stretch...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioYxl-bhsLAFtBtFMKxo78Sgr5-Zh8NVPChQQsZrQRY9Bj5zpPJbRpDvdt8G36V7igT_ck-6Nnn1KZjjipXKchnCg3dFWqvi9ZW9lVggMq5pXIYnU7b-_ioUf-aUf6aN51uKA__Sp5e68d/s1600/halloween%252709+w+roxyheart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioYxl-bhsLAFtBtFMKxo78Sgr5-Zh8NVPChQQsZrQRY9Bj5zpPJbRpDvdt8G36V7igT_ck-6Nnn1KZjjipXKchnCg3dFWqvi9ZW9lVggMq5pXIYnU7b-_ioUf-aUf6aN51uKA__Sp5e68d/s640/halloween%252709+w+roxyheart.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Matt was a doucheboard skateboarder. the cat was... well, i don't know. psycho as usual?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGn7OeF6f1Pa7qc4PjDyI6ODdrVl2tigmUo6FOPoo_77VRHCkYXdPwpHNcQp_c0J390tNVW49yadaDERwbcRMZbT5IMPhx-X6atjIT-j4foHrcCqu1B-RPgFarQAfqxcrzlG1xmB3lhqvT/s1600/IMG_1844.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGn7OeF6f1Pa7qc4PjDyI6ODdrVl2tigmUo6FOPoo_77VRHCkYXdPwpHNcQp_c0J390tNVW49yadaDERwbcRMZbT5IMPhx-X6atjIT-j4foHrcCqu1B-RPgFarQAfqxcrzlG1xmB3lhqvT/s640/IMG_1844.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">and a pirate again...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoS_VZ6zua10euOkwQ57VlXnb-QIWDU8gNeRN4keko7SYYMF5J_hhbeXfKk2_E3qjIqQ7kCdonm_Ce-KlNjK-geI-UWGTS-uC7SHjqZO3urmQbVvfxry7IOWGWCdblNLHcwAJvZc_4bZ56/s1600/IMG_2491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoS_VZ6zua10euOkwQ57VlXnb-QIWDU8gNeRN4keko7SYYMF5J_hhbeXfKk2_E3qjIqQ7kCdonm_Ce-KlNjK-geI-UWGTS-uC7SHjqZO3urmQbVvfxry7IOWGWCdblNLHcwAJvZc_4bZ56/s640/IMG_2491.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
then there was the time i went to the club as a harem girl...<br />
do y'all have any idea how hard it is to get harem pants off when you're trying to pull them off over stripper shoes? yeah.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig1LVQ-OUGSPC3-yBE2_AURmsNWjD_eNWw05eRhwW1jcQvanWLHT4QDm4E4tUdSYPOlYUjTGMDKlwCfvRGpo3NmepGYYJajqN37YAgHnVP95DkSSrt_omOgi6dq6FX_egaHnveybAyaPWH/s1600/IMG_2490.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig1LVQ-OUGSPC3-yBE2_AURmsNWjD_eNWw05eRhwW1jcQvanWLHT4QDm4E4tUdSYPOlYUjTGMDKlwCfvRGpo3NmepGYYJajqN37YAgHnVP95DkSSrt_omOgi6dq6FX_egaHnveybAyaPWH/s640/IMG_2490.JPG" width="480" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">chomp! (<i>again</i>...)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuW7zIJMX7U7CgplR0VHwTwPGIZAKABAX5_sxxgN_-dUhDRQAHb7pCgG-I357tP1DNLZIWURUyejBp93M53APPnU8Kl-w7jhiwO0DEr0UTkiJX60-nBS7enbvslpYrdVZg-vmQje0YEHqR/s1600/bite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuW7zIJMX7U7CgplR0VHwTwPGIZAKABAX5_sxxgN_-dUhDRQAHb7pCgG-I357tP1DNLZIWURUyejBp93M53APPnU8Kl-w7jhiwO0DEr0UTkiJX60-nBS7enbvslpYrdVZg-vmQje0YEHqR/s640/bite.jpg" width="418" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">at least in this case, i was a <i>specific</i> vampire - Pam from True Blood.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfIWzX9UD7BiOEPSS713K3piAfWIENKYbWdhXxYSo5Vv9mvfbITbWWx3vEiyu3iTeNUzHKunAC5ZzWTkKAAPfrIvgQaQ6X6ZiCcAWIV9xF0xry4V2LO8lr-jT1ivX4-plX9sLTXbt5ubWo/s1600/IMG_2516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfIWzX9UD7BiOEPSS713K3piAfWIENKYbWdhXxYSo5Vv9mvfbITbWWx3vEiyu3iTeNUzHKunAC5ZzWTkKAAPfrIvgQaQ6X6ZiCcAWIV9xF0xry4V2LO8lr-jT1ivX4-plX9sLTXbt5ubWo/s640/IMG_2516.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The Matt was a gay cowboy. he's surprisingly good at that.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4WjRFWj1jRhXeM_TNxucd0GVOZ3V5LFSVGtHVO56Nbhbm42RlfBePRSJbq5SF-cx7QcTUSyC28Bfy751PCC73o7IgVyn6l3RjwGQB6xmiZOpexlO0GBoRNplqYkSaTjVCVUMRL1DcYCmE/s1600/IMG_1077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4WjRFWj1jRhXeM_TNxucd0GVOZ3V5LFSVGtHVO56Nbhbm42RlfBePRSJbq5SF-cx7QcTUSyC28Bfy751PCC73o7IgVyn6l3RjwGQB6xmiZOpexlO0GBoRNplqYkSaTjVCVUMRL1DcYCmE/s640/IMG_1077.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> i thought about going as an alligator, but that didn't quite pan out.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>THEN </b>i got a GREAT idea for this year, but all our halloween plans fell through, soo...</div><div style="text-align: left;">this year i was kinda boring. i stayed at home. and i was a cat.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsU_7LZkkpyZ5k6ewnWb5oEZuYu7tOMfhxvtqI1LJvQpdEpQwyqn5DCfxwbIJkrgd_w4xds-VZ0rOsvSDpwBKqoRX1CwFFQMtJGI8tFIq9kFiRHCjLJk9WUjJfwuRqsXcAEPYSBkfDTrsg/s1600/Photo+on+2011-10-31+at+15.48+%25232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsU_7LZkkpyZ5k6ewnWb5oEZuYu7tOMfhxvtqI1LJvQpdEpQwyqn5DCfxwbIJkrgd_w4xds-VZ0rOsvSDpwBKqoRX1CwFFQMtJGI8tFIq9kFiRHCjLJk9WUjJfwuRqsXcAEPYSBkfDTrsg/s640/Photo+on+2011-10-31+at+15.48+%25232.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">but i was a SPARKLY blue cat, so that counts as being somewhat creative...right?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">next year, i have a fantastic idea - of course, i'm not giving it away. all i'm saying is - it involves a LOT of lace. a TON of lace.</div><div style="text-align: left;">and my friends will NEVER see it coming. muahahahahaha!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-48946835583577236222011-10-13T23:54:00.005-05:002011-10-18T15:48:43.963-05:00let's get serious (for once...)<div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG_Ak5I7LwGqP6WFk8WxibHLVL7rr57JCnh_uo3jWkGgI1cmIryz1TmGwt3p3fRiJKm8JYbThYSiyVJ8XG11QZDbBTa5WFOENy-Z8tbP7rzLLO5H_zA9nVV0CA1ro-sJkEfGIsarDQqI_W/s1600/Photo+on+2011-10-13+at+21.55+%25232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG_Ak5I7LwGqP6WFk8WxibHLVL7rr57JCnh_uo3jWkGgI1cmIryz1TmGwt3p3fRiJKm8JYbThYSiyVJ8XG11QZDbBTa5WFOENy-Z8tbP7rzLLO5H_zA9nVV0CA1ro-sJkEfGIsarDQqI_W/s640/Photo+on+2011-10-13+at+21.55+%25232.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span><br />
y'all, i enjoy being a funny person. (well, hopefully i amuse people. i amuse the shit out of myself!) but right now, i'm going to take a break from humor, and i'm going to talk about some important shit.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">i don't know what y'all think about the Occupy Wall Street stuff going on. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">i am cynical because i don't think it will change anything, but i also think it's very fucking important for these things to be voiced. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">because no matter what political side you're on, everyone must realize that there is some fucked up shit going on in America right now.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">i don't like to bitch about my life. i hate it. i know i should feel very lucky to be where i am. but i don't. and today i am going to bitch. (it's mah blog, and i'll cry if i want to! cry if i want to! cry if i want to!)<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">y'all know a lot more about the weirder sides of my life than the boring stuff. you may not know about the day-to-day personal side. some of you are my great friends on The Twitter and others know me in real life, so some of you kinda know what's going on. but i'm sure there's some random people reading this that have no clue about the practical side of my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">i'm just going to (try to) stick to the facts. i'm keeping it chronological. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><b><u>the last several years of my life<o:p></o:p></u></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">in 2006, i drove to Oregon to finish my degree at a liberal arts school in small-town Oregon, near Portland. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">in may of 2007, i graduated with a BA in Creative Writing. i went to school on scholarship. i had to maintain a 3.7 GPA throughout my college years. i graduated cum laude. when i graduated, i had accumulated $20,000 dollars of student loan debt, even with my $13k+ scholarships each year.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">after graduating, i was unemployed. i had to live off a credit card for a while, to keep my head above water and pay my bills. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">in June 2008, i finally landed a job at a prosperous law firm in Portland, OR. i moved to the city, and sold my car to help pay the credit card bill, since i was off several major bus lines and the car wasn't a necessity. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">i wasn't doing well, but at the very least i was paying all my bills, and i could eat. i couldn't afford luxuries, but i wasn't falling behind anywhere.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">in april 2009, i was laid off from the law firm. i did get unemployment benefits. they were not enough for me to pay bills AND rent, so for a while i was homeless. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">i had my stuff stored in my friend and former roommate Dave's basement, and i camped for a month or so. i volunteered at a music festival, and they fed us. i slept over at friends' houses. i crashed with The Matt, before we moved in together later (a move which was precipitated by him shattering his knee, and losing his income; we made the decision to move in together not because of our relationship, but out of financial need). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">i was a couch-camper; thankfully i never had to sleep on the street. i have very good friends. i also had food stamps, so i was able to feed myself.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">i tried to find jobs, and i did find a temporary job, but i was fired after 3 weeks, for no reason i could see.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Matt and i did end up renting a room again for the few months before I left Portland, in our friends' house. but when we had to move from that house, we decided it was time to try and make a change in our lives, in the hopes that we could somehow be better off elsewhere.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">december, 2009, Matt and i moved from Portland to Pensacola, FL so that we could squat in my dad's foreclosed house, while we saved money and figured out what the hell to do. when i moved, i lost my unemployment. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">in march 2010, we moved to new orleans and began the frantic job search. it... didn't go well. the job market might be even worse here in New Orleans than it was in Portland.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">i got the <a href="http://www.satangoestosingsing.com/2011/06/summer-from-hell.html">worst job ever</a>, and was then fired from it for a really shitty reason. i was fired from other random jobs. then, i just couldn't find any. i couldn't get interviews. (for the record: from 1999 to 2009, i worked steadily, and i had NEVER been previously fired. ever.) i stumbled along through a combination of random photobooth gigs, and eking by as a stripper. my bipolar and anxiety was steadily rising.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">march 2011, my mom got me an SUV (which she is still paying on) so that i could do more photobooth jobs, and quit stripping. it helped, but photobooth gigs are by their nature unreliable. unreliable income is INSANELY stressful, especially if you have to wonder if you're going to make rent every month. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">my bipolar and anxiety started flaring big-time. i was unable to even go in to strip when i needed to, because i would have anxiety attacks and be unable to go. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">i was <a href="http://www.satangoestosingsing.com/2011/08/on-being-in-pawn-shop.html">unable to pay for everything</a>. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><b><u>here is me, right now:<o:p></o:p></u></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">it's october 13th, and so far i have only been able to pay $100 of my $400 rent to my landlord.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">i can't pay any of my credit card bills, and creditors call me every day. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">my student loans are deferred, or in forbearance, collecting interest.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The Matt has to pay all the bills, which he can't afford to do, either. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">we go without food sometimes. it affects him a LOT more than it does me. he has lost 40 pounds in the last 2 years (although part of that was due to shattering his knee, and losing muscle). he's already a skinny dude. he weighs less than me, and he's 2 inches taller.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> i have exactly $0.24 in the bank right now. no cash. i get paid $150 tomorrow, and $100 will go straight to the landlord, but my rent will still only be half paid. the other $50 will be put towards paying back a friend, who loaned me $200. this month i will get about $750; my costs are about $1100, bare minimum. i will still be behind. it feels like i will always be </span><br />
behind.<br />
<br />
My bipolar is barely controlled; my anxiety is running rampant because the only doctor i can afford won’t prescribe me anxiety meds. why, i do not know. she just won’t. maybe she thinks i’m a drug seeker. maybe she just doesn’t care. <br />
i can’t afford my meds. i have no health insurance. i have no prayer of health insurance, even if i could afford it: i have preexisting conditions. bipolar disorder. asthma.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I AM A (relatively) HEALTHY 27 YEAR OLD WHO CAN’T GET INSURANCE.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Medicaid won’t accept me because i can’t prove my income. Ditto for food stamps.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">i feel like a complete failure. last year my grandparents <a href="http://www.satangoestosingsing.com/2010/12/miscellanea-and-why-grandparents-really.html">guilt-tripped me for my birthday</a>. i was pissed and wrote them back, snarkily. </span>they haven't spoken to me since.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">my mom doesn't guilt trip me, but she pushes me to try to get more work. i wish i could accurately explain to her what the job prospects are really like for me. she doesn't have any idea; she simply can't, because she has 30+ years of experience and she gets hired, even if she doesn't get paid nearly enough for her worth.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">lately, my mom's completely quit worrying about me. but it's because she's focusing on my step-dad, who just got diagnosed with cancer. one bad medical bill could put them completely under. mom can't even afford to take time off work to be with him while he has his cancer treatments half the country away.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">my dad had his house foreclosed in 2009, the one we squatted in for a few months. at least he seems to be doing better, financially, but he's the only one in our family.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">my brother can't get a job. i can't get a job.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">The Matt, whose resume is even better than mine, can't get another job. he has management experience out the wazoo. but nothing.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">we live underneath the poverty line.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">a few days ago, i was fortunate enough to get a gig as an extra for a tv show. we supposedly get paid in two weeks (by check), and it should be $100. at least i should have some of next month's rent, eh? or maybe i'll be able to pay the rest of this month's rent by the end of the month.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">i am bringing all this up, because i am <b><i>hardly</i></b> the only struggling poor person who does NOT deserve to be in that position. this is not just me, being "stupid with my money," or "lazy," or "irresponsible." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">look, there is not one single person in this household who has clothes that <b>FIT</b>, and none of us can afford to buy more clothing. no, not even at the fucking thrift store.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">there are so many people out there struggling. generally speaking, the rich don't give a shit. the compassionate among us are usually the ones in the same boat - living paycheck to paycheck, or falling behind, and unable to help others out.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
i have no end to this. i can't wrap it up. i have no moral to this story. it's just been on my mind, recently. it always is. <br />
<br />
it's there when i try to fall asleep at night, and insomnia has a firm hold on my brain, which is busy worried about everything. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">there's no end in sight. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">WE ARE THE 99%.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">and we are being <b>FUCKED</b>.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><a href="http://wearethe99percent.tumblr.com/">http://wearethe99percent.tumblr.com/</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-52249720565657953962011-10-12T22:19:00.001-05:002011-10-13T00:36:48.449-05:00those annoying "celebrity has plastic surgery" websites... how wrong they can be...i can prove it.<br />
cuz tits look completely different, depending on what you're wearing.<br />
and i'm gonna take a gamble and say an actress stuffed into a tiny dress and a push-up bra probably does have ridiculous cleavage, but it doesn't necessarily make it fake...<br />
<br />
i took a bunch of pictures in the same shirt, just for shits & giggles, to prove my point.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQIav22VEJpZAibft49oSB2psQNNvk7zEqGTm1jwQyNxnwRF_CInekR8U1p7yjhIejNBod1KHmLdLNKPqwv0L8abDvy6665YCiAi0XOrYcjC237QsYzG8rV2aI9qLnHR48jZBgvkr0T6AZ/s1600/IMG_2140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQIav22VEJpZAibft49oSB2psQNNvk7zEqGTm1jwQyNxnwRF_CInekR8U1p7yjhIejNBod1KHmLdLNKPqwv0L8abDvy6665YCiAi0XOrYcjC237QsYzG8rV2aI9qLnHR48jZBgvkr0T6AZ/s640/IMG_2140.JPG" width="486" /></a></div><br />
me, sans bra. see how much i love y'all? (ha, as if i haven't posted braless pictures before... i've just never announced the fact.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigXSwGk4yGPA1Kj0qUnwo-b91EGxi9OVFpXmyYuejeLtJb34WJSpuVr11eW2uZV0HoLmQK7sZZOpY6a1bWeHMOZhddDwJuBV6OYsOwSQOc1SXE5-8RMEjQusx2hlWZy2xRVSgAm5EtojHe/s1600/IMG_2142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigXSwGk4yGPA1Kj0qUnwo-b91EGxi9OVFpXmyYuejeLtJb34WJSpuVr11eW2uZV0HoLmQK7sZZOpY6a1bWeHMOZhddDwJuBV6OYsOwSQOc1SXE5-8RMEjQusx2hlWZy2xRVSgAm5EtojHe/s640/IMG_2142.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
regular bra. makes a difference, but not too much.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXjGF3NGbHXm6GN61bgroh_HxZlGJCSObjzp9zZEpqkbw3YWZLJXHvVa1ZT9xA0KLnavMFVdrSDXltdivb8t2iNYXfp8ByYGV3SiuBqN0f8Tid0PtOMR1ih8BBHPUyOXG04J8_YoW0Ju_/s1600/IMG_2146.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXjGF3NGbHXm6GN61bgroh_HxZlGJCSObjzp9zZEpqkbw3YWZLJXHvVa1ZT9xA0KLnavMFVdrSDXltdivb8t2iNYXfp8ByYGV3SiuBqN0f8Tid0PtOMR1ih8BBHPUyOXG04J8_YoW0Ju_/s640/IMG_2146.JPG" width="502" /></a></div><br />
push-up bra! affects definitely more noticeable (especially when compared to the first photo).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxz4lsEHx_mXrs8wdNHV2IAGo-bPGp9Nxjmf1d_ng4HyKcF3IyEQU0x78A-SYQT8ZPiR0AbZdgjvLYmbNWa1Yi_F9NrXotV7NMUvbVaqiJtGxa2B5xqKCEXIIibDZKiAH7gUNjFPb1tosQ/s1600/IMG_2147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxz4lsEHx_mXrs8wdNHV2IAGo-bPGp9Nxjmf1d_ng4HyKcF3IyEQU0x78A-SYQT8ZPiR0AbZdgjvLYmbNWa1Yi_F9NrXotV7NMUvbVaqiJtGxa2B5xqKCEXIIibDZKiAH7gUNjFPb1tosQ/s640/IMG_2147.JPG" width="548" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">why hello, corset! and boobs up to my chin. some douchebag on a "plastic surgery alert" website would probably flag this picture, if they'd seen the difference from the first, to this one. eh?</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPtlJzy5fcU3oAy4Of83A9v9Xw3wbQ9GZebr6CXI6i2nVxb-zWL7AJEUiZqira41u_5QIFyKJhe2A_G24yPnK3RxbbRaDbhHJJXZMw8WIpMGTl7siS9a6IFqIQjO06C39N0xc0EZEBWNz1/s1600/IMG_2150.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPtlJzy5fcU3oAy4Of83A9v9Xw3wbQ9GZebr6CXI6i2nVxb-zWL7AJEUiZqira41u_5QIFyKJhe2A_G24yPnK3RxbbRaDbhHJJXZMw8WIpMGTl7siS9a6IFqIQjO06C39N0xc0EZEBWNz1/s640/IMG_2150.JPG" width="492" /></a></div><br />
how the corset effect works under a shirt from one angle...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCs2Yk52AY4ytVPR-slEMpgM3PoV2o_fZP-BeNMWLEd1afPtmwDx_J7odsT0bXN6tksxOXb390D_Hr5MO639yWHXci0BzLI15P_sDTnqgYF23atq8eKH6ZwEq9Pv2egBqBfvQ0dKrUcdN/s1600/IMG_2151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCs2Yk52AY4ytVPR-slEMpgM3PoV2o_fZP-BeNMWLEd1afPtmwDx_J7odsT0bXN6tksxOXb390D_Hr5MO639yWHXci0BzLI15P_sDTnqgYF23atq8eKH6ZwEq9Pv2egBqBfvQ0dKrUcdN/s640/IMG_2151.JPG" width="568" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> and the affects are even MORE pronounced, from a different angle. see, guys?<br />
all this shit is subjective.<br />
<br />
also i think i'm proving, somewhat inadvertently, that the right "foundation garments" can completely change your appearance.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5BWdXanHNwS4Poh1585SSmWwVA9wlVrWXGB9NxE_vbJHzURCGerYQC6UtcAOnlJrYPvmuRUibbP8a95ewsiMNDXPwsiwXhLFF7f6gp2o20WdBiVkbbcLZBz-pftMHo0wPsQZAfXn4r-va/s1600/IMG_2149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="566" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5BWdXanHNwS4Poh1585SSmWwVA9wlVrWXGB9NxE_vbJHzURCGerYQC6UtcAOnlJrYPvmuRUibbP8a95ewsiMNDXPwsiwXhLFF7f6gp2o20WdBiVkbbcLZBz-pftMHo0wPsQZAfXn4r-va/s640/IMG_2149.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> and i just threw this pic in, because i like it. i think that's a "push-up bra" picture, but who the hell knows.<br />
<br />
moral of the story? the next time you see someone claiming that some actress has gotten a boob job, keep this in mind: push-up bras are like miracles for boobs. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-39359548781470446862011-10-06T07:30:00.002-05:002011-10-06T09:00:17.076-05:00one tequila, two tequila, three tequila...today was yet ANOTHER of the infamous margarita dinners i have with my dad. this time my brother and Anthony were along, and we decided to go to The Singing Oak.<br />
<br />
The Singing Oak is fucking kick-ass. here, watch ze video, that will give you a good idea of what it's like.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/tioWMla48iU" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
so, our drunken selves wanted to know if we could reach one of the lowest-hanging clangers on the biggest set of pipes...<br />
<br />
first, we tried jumping. not even.<br />
THEN dad decided it would be a great idea to try to get one of us on his shoulders...<br />
he completely failed with my brother, and then we decided to try with me...<br />
he backed up against the tree, and i attempted. take one.<br />
he leaned forward suddenly, i accidentally kicked him in the head, and the next thing i knew i was flat on my back on some tree roots, staring up at the sky. i just laughed my ass off, and lay there for a bit. believe it or not, i was kinda comfy. (see: drunk.)<br />
<br />
have i mentioned at this point, that while my dad is tall, he is also only about 50-60 pounds heavier than me? and 60?<br />
<br />
but of course, our drunken selves were NOT about to give up that easily. so we tried again. this time the shoulder mount actually worked, wonder of wonders! we walked over to the clanger, and...<br />
we were six (6!!! really??!?!) inches too short to reach the damn clanger.<br />
so what did we do, instead? say, give up? decide to get more drinks?<br />
ohhhhhh, no. not us!<br />
<br />
and that is how i found myself to be covered in grass, throwing my shoes at a tree. which was my dad's idea.<br />
<br />
we = special.Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-25299553668037482862011-09-30T05:15:00.000-05:002011-09-30T05:15:26.108-05:00SPORK YOU!!!blame <a href="http://tazerwarriorprincess.wordpress.com/2011/09/17/a-spork-tastic-day-part-uno/">Tazer Warrior Princess</a>. if she hadn't done <a href="http://tazerwarriorprincess.wordpress.com/2011/09/19/a-spork-tastic-day-part-deux/">THIS</a>, then this video might not exist.<br />
<br />
i really, really love sporks.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/pa46GcUrvUI" width="420"></iframe>Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420282841422807427.post-52284086509492377222011-09-26T14:33:00.001-05:002011-09-26T14:35:02.356-05:00i'm infecting you with this, just as i was infected.well, in recent news, i have a new girlfriend. she is quite adorable, but i don't know if i can post pictures yet. i'll let you know. ^_^<br />
<br />
my new girlfriend Sarah and i went drinking with my dad... and i found out something i REALLY wish i'd known before. the place where we go that serves the frozen margaritas that i love, for 2 for $5 at happy hour...<br />
yeah. evidently, there's two shots in each frozen margarita. so 3 margaritas evidently = 6 shots of tequila. well, that explains why i came home totally plastered after 4 margaritas that one time.<br />
<br />
this time, it was 3 margaritas. and then we went to another bar. i put 2 nice big glasses of wine on top of that...<br />
suffice to say, there was definitely some drunk going on that night.<br />
<br />
Sarah recently infected me with this song. <br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/sP4NMoJcFd4" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
i can't get it out of my head to save my fucking life, and it's been a week. so i'm sharing, because i love y'all so much.<br />
<br />
somehow, on our incredibly drunken night,<br />
"can't hug every cat"<br />
turned into<br />
"can't hug every Matt, but i can hug this Matt!"<br />
which turned into<br />
"can't fuck every Matt, but i can fuck this Matt!"<br />
yeah.<br />
<br />
but you know what?<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/lQlIhraqL7o" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
"i just had sex!"Satanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924927495555847410noreply@blogger.com5