So, yea, I'm happy about the upcoming 4 day weekend because I really really need it. And I plan to drink heavily because I need a good long weekend where I don't remember what happened Saturday night come Sunday morning. This doesn't come without a downside or I should say something for me to complain about. Don't pretend you're not surprised by that.
It's Friday and the worst day to work all year is the Friday before a holiday. You don't want to be here and it's usually like a ghost town around this place. Which should make it a whole lot easier but it doesn't. The day just drags on and on and on and on.....
And there's usually the promise of leaving early. Which, in the case of my boss, means about a half an hour early. Wow, a whole half hour? Really? Geeeeeee....thanks Boss!!! Asshole.
But, that's not what really irritates me about today. What really pisses me off is my pig bitch of a coworker and her lack of consideration. There are only really three of us in the office. Me, my boss, and my coworker. And occasionally the bossmans wife comes in to help out - which really means she comes in to fuck things up because she's here so rarely that she can't remember how to do anything when she comes back in. When I request vacation time off from my boss he always tells me to check with my coworker to make sure it's okay with her. Which, is a total bunch of shit - having to ASK my coworker if I can take a day off. It's bad enough that I have to ask the boss but to ask the equally paid (shyea, right) inconsiderate bitch I work with is something else entirely.
This all started way back a month after I started working at this job on my birthday. Coworker and I share the same birthday. Granted, she's a few years older and a few years bitchier than I am but that's not really the point here. So, the coworker takes off her birthday as a vacation day. Not that big a deal right? But, here's the kicker - she is going out all day with Boss' wife - which means that the Boss' wife won't be here to cover for her. Now if this wasn't bad enough I find out the Boss is going to be out most of that day too. So, here I am, working for this company for less than a month, not knowing what the fuck I'm doing or how to do it, by myself in the office on a Monday, on my birthday. Fuck!! It was a day from hell - Happy Fucking Birthday!! So, I suck it up and figure I'm the new kid on the block so I guess this is my initiation. But it really should have been a sign that I will never again have the pleasure of taking advantage of taking any vacation time around a holiday or birthday. And this Fourth of July will be no exception.
I told my coworker about 3 weeks ago that I was toying around with the idea of taking off a few days either before or after the 4th and going down to spend some time with my Dad. Which, was a lie. I didn't really want to go visit my dad but what I intended to do with the time isn't any of the bitch's business. But, in her defense, I dropped the ball and didn't "mark it down in the holy calendar of vacation time". So, I digress to this past Friday. I see her marking stuff in the holy calendar. So, I ask her when she's taking off and she informs me that she is taking off this Thursday, Friday, and next Wednesday. Oh, sweet. I love how I have to ask her if it's okay when I take time off but she doesn't have to tell me dick? Fucking powerhungry asskissing bitch that she is? So, thanks for fucking me out of not being able to take any time before OR after the holiday you fucking vacation time whore.
So, other than that I'm looking forward to having 4 days off in a row. So, I guess I'll stop bitching now.
Hope everybody has a safe and happy 4th of July holiday!! Don't drink too much or eat too much. Eh, screw it. Eat and drink all you want. It's a holiday for fucks sake.
Do you ever wonder looking at the days headlines who decides what is news and what is not? I mean, let's take a look at what the big stories of the day are:
Britney, darling, I don't care what color you dye your hair. You're still a white trash skank hoor and nobody wants to see you naked - pregnant or not. And, seriously, how much airbrushing did they have to do on this to get you to look like that anyway? Me thinks I should get into the airbrushing photos business.
Weren't you just whining about not wanting more publicity and wanting the paparazzi to leave you alone on your interview with Matt Lauer? What a way to keep a low profile. Yea, this should do it.
*yawn* Seriously, does anybody care at all about this? She's come back, like, 100 times already in the past 25 years. And does anybody even watch soap operas anymore? They are so....passe.
Soap stars always go back to the soaps. Oh, sure, they think that they're going to move on and do feature films or even a television series or two. Or even co-host a morning talk show with Regis. But, we all know that, most of the time, they have to go right back to the old Soap mill. Genie, you're no Demi Moore. Stick with the Soaps and learn to accept it.
Ok, so this is like so obvious it's not even funny. You have Uncle Fester living with the biggest skank known to skankdom. She even makes Britney look like a fucking rocket scientist. I feel so bad for the unfortunate souls that have to be their neighbors.
Ok, now this one had me laughing my ass off. So, this judge is on trial for pumping his dick while sitting on the bench. I guess now we know why they wear those flowing robes. God knows what they have going on underneath them.
Who hasn't seen this scenario played out, like, a thousand times. I hate it when I fall asleep in prison at night and wake up with a lightbulb shoved up my ass.
It doesn't look like a lightbulb to me, sorry. Or, it's a very small lightbulb. Either way, if it had been one of those fucking things I stick in my lamp at home it would have broken apart in his sorry ass 2 seconds later. I can't even unscrew one without it shattering into a zillion pieces. (edited to say, I can finally make out the light bulb stuck up his ass on this xray. That has to feel great.)
I wonder how much I could get for myself and my Mustang? Maybe that and a dollar will get me a cup of coffee. Not Starbucks coffee though. I still wouldn't be able to afford that.
And there you have it. Stolen from today's headlines.
I wonder what tomorrow has in store for us - Maybe they'll finally figure out a way to get that gerbil out of Richard Gere's ass.
Anyway, I'm a huge fan of this show. I was never a big fan of Dennis Leary, however, until this show. It has everything - dirty language, fire, gay sex, straight sex, kicking the shit out of your brother for fucking your wife, alcoholism, ugly divorce and custody battles....you know, light family fare.
To bring you up to date, Tommy catches his wife and his brother, Johnny, feeling each other up under the table at a family birthday party. He freaks out, jumps across the table, and totally beats the ever lovin' shit out of him. Which is pretty cool to watch on TV. Who hasn't seen this scenario played out a hundred times before? But, what is really going to be the thing to watch is how it plays out when his wife finds out he gave her chlamydia, which he got from banging his nephew's high school teacher. Now cut to Marisa Tomei playing Johnny's ex-wife Angie. Tommy and Angie figure they'll get together and have a little fun fucking with Johnny and pretending they are involved. But, are they really pretending? Hmmmm.....
I do find it quite disturbing the latest developments on the Probie front. He's getting hummers from his male roomate and doesn't know that's gay? Ok, dude. It doesn't matter if you're the catcher or the receiver, either one is totally gay. And I find it even more disturbing that Susan Sarandon is doing a cameo as a love interest to Franco (as if he would even go near that) but snatches his daughter in an attempt to provide said daughter with a mother figure. More like a grandmother figure, but whatever.
And the Scariest Cast Member of Rescue Me Award goes to Maggie, played by Tatum O'Neal. Enuff said. She plays Tomy's sister, a drunk whore, so I would assume she took the job because it required the least amount of actual acting.
Last nights episode was, really, pretty boring. But I suppose some have to be to lend a hand to the backstory and set the stage for upcoming craziness. Stay tuned....
Yea, I know. You're going to think, by the end of this post, how happy you are that I'm not in charge of shit. But, if I were...... (queue dream sequence now)
1. I would have my own lane built on all roads in America. And you aren't invited to use it. Unless you give me money or gifts, take your pick.
2. I would make it official that the work week will be changed to working 2 days and having 5 days off. I always believed they had it backwards anyway.
3. I would make it illegal to talk on your cell phone while driving for longer than a 2 minute conversation. If you must carry on a longer conversation, you will be required to pull into a parking lot of some kind and not off the side of the road to continue. Hey, this is for the rest of you - I have my own lane and will be avoiding assclowns with cell phones.
4. Speaking of cell phones, it will be required that your license plate on your car also include your cell phone number. That way when you're driving like a fucktard we call your sorry ass and tell you off. Which would render the bird obsolete. Yea, I know what you're thinking. This will kill rule 3. I thought of this. That's why there's a 2 minute coversation limit. It doesn't take longer than 2 minutes to call somebody a stupid fucking dickwad and where did you get your license? From the same people that ordain you as a minister on the internet? See, it all works out. 5. If you go on welfare you will be required to have some kind of birth control device installed before you will receive your first check and for 2 years following the receipt of your last check. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm dead tired of supporting bitches who get knocked up at the drop of her pants and expect the rest of us to support them and their 6 kids. Get a JOB like the rest of us you lazy bitch.
6. You will be allowed to collect social security after 25 years of paying into it. So, if you start working at 18 and continue to work for 25 years then you collect when you're 43. Hey, it's possible if we're not supporting all the lazy skanks in point 5.
7. The Credit Bureaus. Get rid of all of them and setup a system that is fair and not for profit. Any butt reaming jackoff company can give you a bad mark in a week but just try to get something removed from your report that is incorrect. I dare you!
And those are just a few of the things I would implement immediately. There are many many others and, if elected, I will do my very very best to uphold the law of Sue. Of course, any law that I deem worthy in my kingdom has the right to be changed at will by me at any moment.
(I think I just killed any dream of a political career...good thing I hate politics).
Outdoor fesitvals are the best. Stupid cheesy rides, semi-cold beer, greesy food, all horribly priced...but, oh the fun of people watching. If there's a freak within a 20 mile radius, he's there. But, it does makes sense. It's a carnival, after all.
And the bands that you hear at these festivals - must be the final resting place of dead 80's rockstars all over the country. And this festival was, without a doubt, no exception. I had the displeaure of meeting one of these dead 80's rockstars that was performing at this particular festival tonight at a previous date. I won't give away the person in question, but let me say there's a certain *cough*eyeofthetiger*cough* gleem from this guitar players eyes.
And, holy hell, did this guy smell like a tiger took a direct dump right into his spandex leather pants. I mean, seriously dude. With all of that money you've made I would think you could probably afford some soap and deodorant.
.... Either that or I'm better at telling a joke than I thought.
Yes, I got pulled over by the police today. Asswipe fucktard cop pulled me over for doing 70 in a 40. The fucking nerve!
So, this cop comes to my door demanding my license, registration, proof of insurance, and my "get out of VD free" card. He then asks me, "What's your hurry?". That is by far the most idiotic question a cop can possibly ask you. My hurry? Well, where do we begin? If you read my blog then you already know how I feel about driving in traffic
So, anyway, said cop is not an unattractive man. To my shock he's actually quite Ponchy (for you little kids out there - there was a really horribly bad television show called CHIPS in the, what, 80's? Nevermind). He then tells me that he didn't pull me over to be an asshole. Yea, whatever, but that makes me laugh anyway. Then he asks me why I'm laughing. I tell him it reminds me of a joke, which is the truth. Yea, I know. Telling the truth to a cop. How unconventional. So, now, I piqued his curiosity. He wants to know said joke. Of course, if I tell him this joke I know he'll lock my sorry ass up until I'm well past menopause and my coochie has all but dried up. But, I think, what the hell. Maybe this cop has a sense of humor (yea, right) and I should tell him my stupid joke. And it goes something like this:
A guy is driving down the freeway, speeding, going to work. There's a cop under the overpass taking radar. As he passes the cop the cop pulls out, lights and siren blaring, and pulls the guy over. The cop asks the guy the dumbest question imaginable, "What's your hurry?". The guy tells the cop that he's late for work. Of course, the cop asks the obligatory stupid second question, "What do you do that's so important that you need to speed to get there on time.". He tells the cop, "I'm a rectum stretcher.". The cop, now fascinated, asks the guy, "A rectum stretcher? Seriously? What does a rectum stretcher do exactly?". The guy tells him, "Exactly what it sounds like. I stretch rectums." . The cop now is very interested in this line of work and asks him how big the biggest rectum he ever stretched is. The guy tells him, "6 feet". The cop is just astounded at this and asks the guy, "What would anybody possibly do with a 6 foot asshole?". The guy tells him, "Give him a radar gun and put him under a bridge".
Needless to say, I figured at this point I'm done for. I'll be getting ass raped in a woman's prison someplace by some bitch named Moe. But, to my surprise, the cop comes back to my car and doesn't hand me a ticket at all but gives me back my license and a card. On the card is his phone number. He tells me, "Give me a call if you have any more jokes. Can't wait to hear them." and walks away.
I think I'm going to start taking another route home from work.
♥ = Fuck ♣ = Asshole ◘ = No, you can't sniff my Panties ○ = MDSkinner's Coolie ◙ = Dick ♠ = Shit ♂ = Bastard
You can use these in combinations as well, such as:
♥ ♣ and ♥ your motivational posts too.... or ♥ ◙ and his pulling posts. ♥ing ♂ . He can eat ♠. Please comment and add your own to be added to the list....
Is a very strange thing. You can now hit celebrity status for the most insane things. We now have to know everything about celebrities and if you can't get enough about the celebrities themselves, now we can read about how famous their chefs, assistants, and even the bitch that gives Nicole Kidman her bikini waxes are. And if you don't believe me just look at reality TV shows. You can become a celebrity now for doing nothing other than getting kicked off of Survivor. Hell, even Paris Hilton is a celebrity for doing what exactly? Oh, yea, for being a wealthy heiress. And now we have David Hasselhoff judging a show called America has Talent. Seriously, shouldn't the judge of a show called America has Talent actually HAVE Talent?
It must be extremely hard for these people. Every time they take a dump it makes front page news. We watch in sheer fascination as they get married, have children, get divorced and, the best of all, when they crash and burn. Who wasn't glued to their TV set and talked for weeks about the demise of the careers of Michael Jackson and Britney Spears? And don't we just LOVE to hate Tom Cruise and how messed up money can actually make you? And, more often than not, the celebrities themselves are their own worst enemies. They go on national TV in highly publicized interviews and insist upon making themselves look completely stupid thus driving home the point that they were trying to nix to begin with. Who should they blame for this fiasco? Their publicists? Their image consultants? The paparazzi? Nobody but themselves are to blame. We gobble up the National Inquirers, Us Weekly, People, and Globe magazines because we all can agree on one thing - that we love to see the rich and famous in a not so glamorous light. And who doesn't love to see the annual rags showing us the beautiful people at the beach, cellulite and all? Just goes to show you that they are human after all and maybe we aren't looking up to the people we should be looking up to.
Who the hell am I kidding? They're fucking rich and have access to hair and makeup people, fashion designers, image consultants, personal trainers, personal chefs, etc., yada, whatever. And get a hell of a lot more free stuff than my broke ass does. Fuck 'em. Yes, they deserve to be constantly ridiculed and I hope they burn in hell.
And I know how much you all wait to hear about stuff like this so....
Ever since my surgery last month I've had incisions in my armpits so it's been kind of difficult to shave 'em. This morning I looked under my arms and I had so much armpit hair it looked like I had Buckwheat in a head lock. I immediately took care of this.
I had to honk at a guy this morning. He was a jackass that sat there at a green light for 30 seconds changing his song list on his IPod from Gay Hits of the 80's to Current Gay Hits of the 00's (Bon Jovi anyone). And I know this because he had it blaring so loud you could hear it through the rain and thunderstorm on my lovely drive to work this morning.
Why do people insist upon multitasking while driving? As if walking and chewing bubble gum isn't already a major accomplishment in most people's lives. On one single drive to work I saw a woman putting on makeup (it didn't help), a guy reading a newspaper, one woman so involved in a cell phone conversation that she didn't realize that the light had changed for a full 15 seconds. What the hell is so important that you have to discuss it in great detail while everybody else has to maneuver all around your sorry ass because you're driving like a fucking idiot? Do we really believe that we can do all of these things at once when we can't even have a rational thought until we've had our morning latte?
It made me think a lot about traffic this morning. How it happens, where do all these fucking people come from, and why does IDIOT have to tear up multiple roads at once just to piss off every driver in a 20 mile radius? Believe me, getting to work in the mornings gives me plenty of time to ponder such nonsense. What should take me a half an hour, tops, to get to work in the morning now takes me a bare minimum of 45 minutes (on a good day) to an hour and 15 minutes (on a bad day - today). I figure at that rate I spend a minimum of 7.5 hours a week and 30 hours a month driving myself back and forth to work. And this is to drive 15 miles there, 15 miles home.
You know you're going to have a whole lifetime of struggling with your weight when you're baptized at SeaWorld.
At least, that's how it feels sometimes. I know that I'll always have to watch what and how much I eat otherwise I'll wind up with an ass so big that when I step on the scale it says, "to be continued...".
Today is my one year anniversary for maintaining my goal weight of 125 pounds. In that year, I only went over the 125 pounds for one day, and that was the day after I had surgery. My weight has fluctuated from 117 to 122 pounds over the past year, depending on the time of the month. It usually hovers at just around 118-119 pounds. Now I could hanglide on a Dorito.
Recently a friend asked me how I did it. How did I lose the weight and keep it off - what was the secret. It really made me think again about how this all actually works and how I did get here.
I was actually pretty lucky. I wasn't ever really that horribly obese. But, I did have to take my pants down a time or two to get into my pockets. That didn't stop people from teasing me about my weight when I was at my heaviest. Getting my pictures taken for a work related brochure was the the worst. They gave me a few prints of it - on those little 5X7's that weren't nearly big enough - we needed a poster to get all of me on it. But, that wasn't the worst part. When we would go into an Old Country Buffet they had installed speed bumps by the tables to slow me down. I knew I needed to do something about it. And that's a hard thing to do. I know the first time I stepped on a scale and saw that I was 180 pounds I knew I needed help. I was the same weight and the same age as my mother when she had bypass surgery some 30 years earlier, when I was in the fifth grade. It really made me stop and think about how I wanted to spend the rest of my life.
I was pretty slim all through high school. Actually, by today's standards and the weight I am now I would say I was a tad on the chunky side at about 135 pounds. Of course, when I was at my heaviest I would think to myself that I was sooooo skinny in high school and I wish I was that tiny again.
The difference is now I have to work at it. Constantly. It's not so bad because I'm doing it the right way. I used to believe that you had to either starve yourself, purge yourself, or just downright kill yourself exercising to stay at a decent weight. I figured you really had to feel like you're punishing yourself to lose weight. Like, if it doesn't hurt you somehow it can't be working. Luckily, now, I eat more healthy things, but not all the time. I believe that you still have to live and, occasionally with moderation, eat the things you want to eat. It makes a huge difference in being successful and failing.
Now, at 117 pounds and keeping it there for a year today, I discovered there really wasn't some huge secret in all of this. I just needed to make better choices. With the tremendous help and support of Weight Watchers I am now celebrating my one year anniversary of losing 63 pounds. So now, when I get my pictures taken they aren't aerials taken from the Goodyear Blimp.
Why do men always have to have the room at a temperature only a penguin could love? I have a great boss. I really do. He's a decent guy that pays me pretty good (could be better) and doesn't complain a lot - even when I screw up. He's always concerned about the rest of us being comfortable in our work environment. So much so that he closed 2 weeks ago on a new property that we will soon be moving our office into. Of course, the work involved in moving is probably going to kill me but the new office has a lot more room than what we have right now. It's pretty tight corners for us in our office right now. No room to move around at all or hire any more staff, which we will promptly be doing once we move. This new person would take over some of my duties so I can concentrate more on our systems and selling more insurance. Which is what I live for *smirk*
Old, Current Teeny Tiny Office
The nice thing about the new office is this - my boss will have his own thermostat in his office. If he wants it 20 below fucking zero then he can have it 20 below fucking zero without the rest of us complaining and bitching about it all day. Which has to be a bonus for him because then he won't have to listen to three women constantly harrasing him about it being cold all the time - well, except one of us. But that's because she's his wife and he took an oath at least 23 years ago saying that he would put up with all things bitchy from her. And she took an oath to put up with freezing her ass off for the rest of her life with him. I took no such oath, not even with my own husband. He knows that if he puts that temperature too low that he has to put up with bitching and he doesn't want any of that.
Anyway, the boss was gone all last week which is nice because a) it's so peaceful and I can actually get my work done and b) because I don't have to wear a parka in the office when it's 78 degrees outside. Which is exactly what is happening today. I have my space heater by my feet so I don't lose my toes to frostbite.
Welcome back boss. And as a side note, please be sure to help save Screech's house by buying a crappy TShirt. I guess his Saved by the Bell money is long gone by now.... http://www.getdshirts.com/
This is by far the strangest thing I think I will ever type - My Father's Girlfriend.
My mother and father were married for 50 years and had 5 of us kids. Me, being the youngest. On January 1st, 2000 we lost my mother to heart disease. Since then, my father has been a widower. Is that right? The word widower?
Anyway.....
My father has a tattoo. And on this tattoo is a woman's name. The problem lies in that the woman's name is not my mother's name. And this is where it gets tricky. It's the name of the woman that my father dated for two years before he went into the service, came home, and met my mother. It was his high school sweetheart. I'm not sure why they broke it off or how my dad hooked up with my mom other than knowing he met my mom on a blind date. But, I do know that my mom would constantly tease my dad about his "other woman" on his arm for the next 50 years.
By a chance meeting about a year ago my dad was talking to an old friend about other old friends and mentioned "Betty", the "other woman on his arm". This friend told my dad that he has seen her and would he like her phone number. Well, one thing leads to another and next thing you know my dad is dating his old high school sweetheart. At age 78!! God bless him!!
Now this is where it gets really kind of Twilight Zonish. I make my obligatory Happy Fathers Day phone call since I can't be with him (wish I could but he lives about 300 miles away) and my dad tells me that Betty's husband died the same day that my mother died. Okay, now that kind of gave me chills. Still gives me chills typing it. What are the chances of all of this happening? Has to be high, right? But, it gets even stranger yet. He also tells me Betty has a daughter named Suzie AND she lives in the same city that I do. Hello!! Suzie here too (in case you're reading this and you had no idea).
He's taking her to his 60th class reunion this September.
Ok, that's a stretch, but they can be amusing. But, maybe they shouldn't pole dance?
Just a typical Friday night. Sorry so grainy and blurry. It was getting dark and the cheap ass Razr phone doesn't have a flash. Shit, even my old Sprint phone had a flash.
I don't know this drunk guy, really don't want to know this drunk guy, and I'm sure this drunk guy would shit a brick if he knew we took this picture and proceeded to use it on my blog. Oh well, he wasn't around for consultation this morning. I dislike drunk guys more than drunk chicks so that should tell you something.
Some friends of ours band was playing at this bar in their outdoor beer garden. The Singer Chick sang her ass off, as usual, and fun was had by all. The reason they were playing at this place was because the bar had a golf outing earlier in the day and as a part of said outing the bar had food and a band waiting for them upon their return. They had a raffle and gave shit away. We had our seats all lined up on one particular picnic table and we were good to go. However, the wait staff totally blew and we couldn't get a drink to save our lives. So, we went in to get a drink. When we came back out these two women and a guy took our seats to eat their dinner. No big thing. We stood for a while, walked around for a while, went out to the car to, well, for a while that's all you need to know. When we came back the table was empty again so we sat at it. There were a few open envelopes on the table so we looked for a garbage can to toss 'em. There wasn't one around so we left them there. About an hour, yes, I said an HOUR later one of the women that had their dinner at our table came over for the envelopes. Of course, she had about 4 drinks more in her than she did earlier in the evening. She takes the envelope and looks inside and gives us an evil look. She says, "Where are the tickets?". We're, like, "What tickets?". She says, "The Cubs tickets!". We're like, "Lady, we have no idea what the hell you're talking about.". She's says, "I know you took them. They were right here and I just know you did!". We're like, "Fuck off. We didn't take your tickets. If they were that important why didn't you take them with you.". Dumb ass people. We're going to have such a great time at that game! *side note - we did not take her fucking tickets*
I must confess. I am a Shop-a-Holic. Some dip-shit told me that admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery. What that dip-shit probably doesn’t know is that I’m not admitting I have a problem with shopping – I have a problem with money. And not making enough of it to do all the shopping I want to do. But, let’s face it. I don’t think there’s enough money in the world to do all the shopping I want.
A lot of that is my own fault. I’m not a very good saver. I figure I don’t have kids, I’m not having kids, so any money that I make I might as well spend because there isn’t anybody to inherit it after I’m dead, right? Yea, I know. Maybe my first step should be admitting I have an attitude problem. But, we don’t have enough time today to even touch the surface of that one. I’m a lot better than I used to be about spending money but I don’t think that has anything to do with me being more thrifty. I just have more bills to pay now. In the past year I’ve acquired a new car, new boobs, and have to now self pay my health insurance (don’t even get me started on that one) which means I now have payments on all of these things. Which gets me back to my original confession – my name is Suzie and I need to make more money!!
So, there’s a few ways I could make more money and do more shopping. One would be to get a part time job. But, then when would I have time to shop? You see where this would be a problem. Second, I could sell my car. As if!! I would sell my body first which gets me to number three. Prostitution. And that’s out because, frankly, I would be way too tired from screwing guys brains out for a whopping 25 bucks a pop. And we all know how far 25 bucks goes nowadays.
Now, how could I possibly give THIS up?
I guess I’m just going to have to face facts. I must learn to budget better and not spend $300 dollars on a fucking purse that I just had to have because it was oh so cute and it’ll last so much longer because it’s made so much better so it’ll really save me money instead of costing me money bullshit.
An Open Letter to all Fast Food Managers and Rude People in the Drivethru in General
See? I knew I couldn't go a whole day without getting pissy about something.
Mothers, when you have the entire soccer team in your car and you decide to go thru the Burger King drive thru at noon PLEASE HAVE YOUR ORDER READY or, better yet, go inside and place the order. Nothing more rude than making people sit in line at the drive thru so you can order meals (after it takes them 15 minutes to decide what they all want), ice cream and toys for your 10 screaming brats for lunch. Seriously, it took me 20 minutes to get to the drive thru. And why, oh WHY do they trap you in the drive thru? Make an exit so if we decide not to wait for the fuckwads ordering for everybody in their 3 story office building we can get the hell out of there.
How often do you find yourself getting really pissed off a day? Not stark raving lunatic “somebody took a shit on my desk” pissed off but calling perfect strangers you’ve never even spoken to before “butt munching fucking stupid ass motherfucker idiot assclown freaks that shouldn’t be allowed to live” pissed off?
I decided to write down all the times somebody pissed me off yesterday and I was forced to call them some kind of dirty name. Granted, I don’t recall the actual names of everybody that had the misfortune to cross my path, but I tried the best I could to remember exactly what it was that pissed me off. And here we go:
7:45am – driving to work. Monday morning. Garbage day. Had to call the garbage guy in the big ass garbage truck blocking my driveway so I can’t get out and is making me late for work a fucking moron.
7:50am - guy in right lane that is ending goes 80mph to pass the people waiting in line for their turn at the light in the the lane that is still open. Hello!! Wait your turn you fucking cockmaster like the rest of us.
9:00am – go to scan some documents at work and discover that the scanner isn’t working in the brand new copier we just purchased and had installed 2 weeks ago. Seems the asswipe that came out to clear a paper jam wound up erasing all the network settings on the copier forcing me to have to set it all up...again..for the 3rd fucking time. Good thing I used to work in networking otherwise we would never be able to make a copy. Ever.
11:00am - had a old cranky customer call to complain that they received a 120 dollar increase after they replaced their 1990 piece of shit Chevy with liability only with a 2005 piece of shit Chevy with full coverage. Ummm…hello!! Full coverage with a new car is going to cost more to insure than a 16 year old car with liability only. Freaking stupid ass people.
1:00pm – I just remember I have to find out where the stupid ass defensive driving classes are so I can get court supervision on the dumbest traffic ticket ever. Fuck!!
4:15pm – driving from work to home. Stuck in bumper to bumper traffic. Had to call the Illinois Department of Transportation (better known as IDOT, or IDIOT) a bunch of fucktards for tearing down Lake Cook Road at the Bridge and closing all west bound lanes of traffic for construction. Then I had to call them fucktards a second time for all the construction on Route 22 making it impossible to drive the 15 miles I need to get home in less than an hour and 15 minutes. Good thing I have that really fast Mustang GT Convertible that never goes over 30 miles an hour to and from work because of all the fucking traffic.
6:00pm – My husband (from this point on will be referred to simply as My husband. But only until I can come up with something better to call him) called to let me know he’s working late. Again. I don’t call him any names because it’s really not his fault – it’s his butt reaming, slave driving, all work no play pain in the ass brothers’ fault.
8:00pm – Lay down exhausted from being pissed off all day to find out something I thought I recorded on the sometimes pain in the ass TIVO box didn’t record. But, really, I think I need to call myself a fucking twit on this one.
And this is by far an incomplete list. I decided that maybe today I should try to work on my attitude a little bit and not let things piss me off. But, who am I kidding? By noon I’m sure I’ll have created new and interesting things to call perfect strangers when they piss me off. Please leave suggestions as I'm running out of ideas……..
Or, at least they can be. But not on a regular basis.
Drunk people bother me. You can't understand what they're saying and they usually just down right annoy me. I don't like being around drunk people, I don't like dealing with drunk people, and I don't like the way drunk people smell. But, there is a stipulation to this rule. If the drunk people buy you drinks then they can stay. But, there is another little known rule that is actually an extension of the previous rule – drunk chicks are ok if I am in fact drunk as well.
Case in point. Some friends we haven't seen in a real long time stop over Saturday night. They aren't drinking because Singer Friend is on a diet that doesn't allow her to drink which means that Singer Friend's husband isn't supposed to drink either. Which is ok since we don't push our alcoholic beliefs on other people. So, after I convince Singer Friend that any diet that doesn't allow you to drink any alcohol at all or eat anything with salt, sugar, or basically anything that doesn’t taste like cardboard just doesn’t work, she decided to loosen up a bit and enjoy a nice lite beer. One lite beer later she suggested hitting up the little place down the street for another drink. Which, would have been fine, however there was one little problem with this agenda. I’m friends (or should say former friends) with the owner of said Little Place Down the Street and we’re not on real friendly terms as of late. So, we go to Other Place Down the Street which is about ½ a block further than Little Place Down the Street.
So, we finally arrive in the overly crowded parking lot and make way into the dump (and I mean that in a kind way – said Other Place Down the Street actually smells like an outhouse) and there’s this incredibly horrible, terrible band playing there that doesn’t know what a key is and has the nerve to ask for a 3 dollar cover. So, we pay the cover and walk into said dump. After careful observation and realizing that there is only one full set of teeth in said dump between all of the classy patrons smelling up the joint, we decided one drink would be about 2 drinks time longer than we actually wanted to partake in this horrible experience in the first place. Unfortunately, a photographer from Wazzap (a cheesy little paper that is distributed throughout all the bars in the county just so everybody can see what an idiot you are when you’re drunk) catches us before we leave and makes us pose for a few cheesy pictures (which I will have to post once they are published).
We finally get out of said hell hole and my goofy hubby suggests that we go ahead and have a drink at the original Little Place Down the Street. And we thought that it couldn’t get any worse? Guess what? We were so wrong!! The minute we walk into Little Place Down the Street we realize that there is a bar fight going on inside. Great. Terrific. What every Saturday Night needs, right? We take a seat before the fists start flying only to discover that we are sitting in the worst place possible. We barely escape being pummeled by these two drunk idiots fighting over God knows what and decided to make our escape before consuming even one drink. Of course owner and my (previous) friend of Little Place Down the Street comes out while we’re leaving and can’t possibly understand why we don’t want to hang out *duh*.
We decide to try one more place. Which is the Bowling Alley Down the Street that has a Cool Bar. Now, normally on a Saturday night said Bowling Alley Down the Street that has a Cool Bar usually has a cool band. Not this Saturday night. It’s DJ night (oh, yay) which means, you guessed it. Drunk college chicks and drunk college guys. We decide it has to be better than where we’ve been so we actually order a drink. While we are enjoying said drink a dunk chick walks up to us and started talking in her native drunk college chick tongue (heavily slurred). We had no idea what she is saying nor do we really care. That is until she says, “Let me buy my new best friends a drink.”. Ummm….ok friend!!! So, this girl winds up buying us drinks all night. She wouldn’t stop!! She wouldn’t take no for an answer and she definitely wouldn’t allow us to buy one for her. What is it about drunk people that makes them spend all their money on booze on other people in a bar? I believe it’s an act of God that makes us all believe in a higher power of some kind. But, in reality it’s probably more along the lines that she’s a rich drunk college chick. But, who cares right? We’re getting free booze!!!!!
Have you ever been involved in an online community? Maybe a message board, a chat room, or a 12 step program for that constant chronic masturbation thing that has been plaguing you forever - whatever it may be? If you haven't, just go lurk around in one for a while. You'll know where I'm getting with this.
There are certain rules of etiquette involved in online communities. There are also groups and cliques (and, trust me, if you want to get reemed out on a message board, just try to refer to them as the latter) that are involved in just about every online community. You have your leaders, your followers, your idiots, your brains, the ones that have all the answers, the ones that have all the questions, the ones that think they have all the answers but actually have no clue where their assholes actually are (it's located directly under your nose assclown). It's fun to figure out who's who and what their role in their little communities actually are.
My case in point - there are two different communities that I have been taking part in. One, is theWeight Watchers Newbie Board, the other is the Breast augmentation 411 Board. One, obviously, is for losing weight and the other is to help you get bigger boobs *duh* if you haven't already figured that one out.
The Weight Watchers Newbie Board has a lot of posts complaining about how mean people on the boards are as well as threads with people asking for points values and getting their asses chewed out for even asking. You won't find more cattiness than at this site. There are, however, so many benefits and great things about this forum - depending on who's online at any given time. There are a group of certain posters (known affectionately as the Cakies) that are a bit of a cross between total crazy asshats and really cool chickies. I must say it is very amusing to see how riled up hungry people can get about such things. There is another group of women on this site that are exceptionally spiteful. You know what I'm talking about - you've all met the type. The ones that are so frustrated with their sorry little lives and their own body images that they have the need to put down others to make themselves feel good. The chicken wing comes from this sad group of bitchiness that the likes of PMS runs from screaming. Of course, upon seeing my photos they have to point out that I have *ohmygod* flabby triceps. Like you can be 43 years old, lose over 60 pounds and be completely perfect? Of course, none of these bitch club members (known on the boards as the BFF's - which I assume means Bitching Frequently is Fun but in reality means Best Friends Forever. Yes, I know. How pathetic is that?) has the balls to post their own pics because they know that they will in turn be completely ridiculed beyond anything they can put out. So, the chicken wings are a salute to my flabby triceps.
Then there is the Breast Augmentation 411 Board. This board is fantastic, supportive, and full of great (big breasted) women. The funny thing is that you would think that a bunch of superficial (according to some) women that have one thing in common - wanting bigger breasts - would be a lot more cutthroat than a weight loss site. Not so!! You never see women post anything nasty about other members and these women offer support to one another without all the catty bullshit that so many other online communities have. And this is where the boobie tassle part of my blog has come to be. So what's my point? I have one, I promise. The point is that hungry women are really grouchy and women with fake boobs are happy. I'm not sure exactly what this means but I think it means this: what a great world we would be living in if we could just take the fat out of our big, fat asses and paste it to our chests?
I'm not an expert blogger so don't expect much ok? But, then again, how much can you expect from a blog titled "Chicken Wings and Boobie Tassles" anyway? And what the hell does this mean? Keep reading.....if you're interested enough....
I probably won't have anything interesting to say and will no doubt use this as a means to completely whine at random about stupid things that nobody cares about. But isn't that what life is all about anyway?I think I really need this as a work day diversion. I work for an insurance company so I don't have to tell you how bored a person can get discussing things like, "I ran over my new Pleasure Master 2000 with my car, is that covered?". You get where I'm going with that.The day has just started so I don't have much to complain about.....so far. But the day ain't over with yet! And I do have a pile of urgent exciting work to do like home declarations, certificates of insurance, and, of course, ignoring a ton of other things I should be doing.
