"yeah, man - like what the fuck's going on?"
man, like, sleep is going on. sleep! ya freaking idiot.
"yeah, man - like what the fuck's going on?"
man, like, sleep is going on. sleep! ya freaking idiot.
bitch!
---
p.s. - i miss the following saturday morning cartoons:
that's pretty lame.
bitch!
---
p.s. - i miss the following saturday morning cartoons:
that's pretty lame.
*phooey*!
just who do you think you are, sittin' there eating potato chips? huh? who? put. it. down. you asswipe! unless you have every intention of throwing it back up, PUT IT DOWN!
you only want saltines, you hear me? SALTINES!!
---
god, i'm really whingy when i'm sick. apparently i'm not happy unless you feel my pain too.
hey, i hate to break it to you, but i've used the shampoo/conditioner combination... and nothing happened! it's just shampoo, furchristsake!
based on the irritability factor of the commercials alone (aside from having been under the false impression that i would be orgasming by using their product), i have decided to boycott the entire herbal essences product line.
i would urge you to do the same, but i saw what happened to oprah! and i ain't messin' with those crazy clairol people!
because i am getting real tired of dancing around the apartment. and all the exfoliating, moisturizing, and ripping out hair by the roots? that's pretty freaking tired too.
but, i'm formulating a plan... i'm going to scare him out.
living in the gayest neighborhood in seattle has it's advantages. like gay people! who i will invite over to my apartment! and have them bring all their gay friends! and we will eat gay food! and drink gay wine! and play gay twister!
that should get rid of him.
you do realize that if you never hear from me again it's because i'm on the lam... y'know, cuz i'll have killed him.
now, shush! i'm going to go pretend i'm not home.
this little hooey plan of mine appears to be failing miserably... i mean, this is capitol hill! he's supposed to be frightened, dammit!
but, my father is not nearly as afraid of "the mahu's" as i thought he'd be. instead of fear, he's just looking like someone slapped him upside the head.
however, on an ever more horrific note, HE IS CRAMPING MY STYLE.
not only is he wearing ugly pants and sandals with socks and speaking pidgin, but it appears he's lost TEETH! oh, and he's a born again christian, now. *weeps*
if when you walk, your shorts start riding up into your crotch, it's time to start thinking about wearing pants... or kilts... or grass skirts.
just PLEASE! no more shorts!
also of note: you know that sly little bow-legged-walk/yanking-of-shorts-leg you do? ... YUCK!
like anybody who talks to me. or attempts to talk to me. or touches me. or comes anywhere near my personal space bubble. or looks at me.
I AM IN THE CONE OF SILENCE! do not talk to me when i am in the cone! aagh!
yeah... i'm punchy. fuck you, i'm busy! GARRR!
this is day four of operation abstinence... WHAT. EVAH!
why can't everybody be on my time zone? aren't i the only thing that is important?
who cares if you can get to work tomorrow on time? i am bored. entertain me, dammit.
well... that's it... i'm going to start calling people now. i hope you're happy.
or call meeeeeeee. don't be scared. i don't bite.
and my making aggrevated noises and occasionally flippin' off the television, is also delaying the application of my mascara.
oh, and did i mention, bush is a twit?
"patriot day" my ASS! what the fuck does patriotism have to do with what happened, you dope?
why, i am so impressionable, i think i'll go and believe the supposed 85% majority of americans who loves them some bush! teehee!
unless, of course, you want me to believe something else... teehee.
---
* due to excess guestbook signings here is the excerpt i am referring to:
"I am convinced that you don't even know why you hate GWB. You probably learned from some feminist that you are supposed to hate him. Please explain to us your reasoning behind this little obsession."
teehee. don't ask me! i'm just a girl!
guess who can't take boylessness? guess who went and made a date for next week tuesday? and wednesday?
go on. guess. i bet you won't get it right.
BIG FRIGGIN' WHOOP!!
you can shove that argument right up your tight little ass, is what i say, fuckmonkey!
there is no difference, goddammit! love is just lust over a period of time. duh!
i am not selfcentred! i deny! i deny, deny, deny!! i am NOT selfcentred! i'm not, i'm not, i'm not!"you want your readers to BUY you stuff, and then now you want them to write a theme song for you."
yes, and i'm very disappointed in all of them. how DARE they not buy me a $5000 television! SHAME ON ALL OF YOU! except bren, because bren writes me benadryl-induced theme songs. we love bren! (yay bren!)"the world doesn't evolve around you, dahling, where have YOU been the last millenium?"
actually it DOES evolve around me, stupid! where were you during biology? bible study or smokin' the crack?"i know you're going to mock this entry, but atleast [sic] i got it through. stop thinking you're so funny. your entries are, some of them, i admit, but gawd [sic], not everybody wants you."
you're right. i'm so glad that i, a newly 31 year old divorced single parent, took the advice of a 16 year old to heart! because you have way more life experience, "kimille". way!so, i'm not funny and nobody likes me! WOE IS ME! this must be why i have to come on the internet and anonymously berate strangers. boo hoo!
straight outta da guestbook
hah! that's what that fucker gets for saying that i'm not a real girl. (then what the hell are these, you punk ass bitch?)
private note to my favorite queer: PEE DAMN YOU! PEE!
i think it means you have too much time on your hands... and i know all about that crossword puzzle dictionary.
you can't fool me! i'm SMAH'T!
who said i don't have grace?
was it you? asshole? huh?!? was it?
talking to strangers about existentialism doesn't make you look smart, dumbass. it makes you look LAME.
---
still technically being married comes in handy.
Q: "there's a pretty girl. hey, you're a pretty girl. how are you, pretty girl? i bet you have a husband, a pretty girl like you."
A: "YES! I do!" [insert squeals of glee]
---
i get way too excited about presents.
we have been receiving many gifts at the office from vendors, clients, and consultants... of fruit! and chocolate! and nuts! and cheese! and did i mention chocolate?
it's like a little party for me everyday... and yes, i said ME. because they're all mine. MINE MINE MINE!
how's that for a new year's resolution.
- ps. jennifer will be spending this new year's eve SOBER. yes, you heard me. SOBER! and she's not even pregnant or nothing.
weird.
stop it! stop it now, eyelid! STOP IT!
---
and while my eyelid stops ticking, get a load of this! (i live behind all the big stuff)
HELLO?
A) how would that be profitable in a friggin' community of animals? don't they have, like, oh i don't know... FUR?
and B) why the mama gotta be so homey? why she gotta be stereotypical mama-bear? huh? why? i mean, QUILTS? why not just friggin' open up a sock-darning shop?
pft!
what? can't a girl fling rubber bands at you, and smack you with a book, and call you "big fat jerk", without being accused of being hostile?
besides, he likes it when i'm mean.
and if you're wondering if i just invited you to grab my ass, then you're wrong.
pretty much if i want you to grab my ass, i will take your hand and put it on my ass.
got it, buster?
---
also - kill me.
Take the What High School Stereotype Are You? quiz, by Angel
she's just really, really lazy... and cynical.
---
ps. i'm tired and no longer funny. no funny for you! none!
but don't bitch because i'm throttle-riffic! GRR!
pretty much for the last week, i've only been working, drinking lots of tea, urinating alot, bitching about working. bitching about urinating alot, and then drinking more tea. and that's about it.
oooh. excitement!
but there have been bran muffins every day, so... ok. so that means nothing. but they were really good. like jesus good!
so, anyway. due to excessive boredom, i am poopy. so be warned! there will be poopyness!
we thank you for your support.
poop!
i only wanted my water to boil, not evaporate! gah!
but when i am sick, i also brainstorm like a mo'fo.
mister pokey pants and i have decided to urge pharmaceutical companies to come out with adult flavored medications.
namely, whiskey flavored nyquil and irish cream theraflu.
I don't know who it was, but oooooh I want to kick you in your pants hit-&-run man! In the FRONT of your pants!
In the meantime I will sate my rage with Girl Scout cookies.
Mmm. Cookies.
Tip for the easily confused? Don't go out a different door than you entered in the strange, new grocery store.
But on the upside, I now know where to buy homemade organic dog biscuits... Yip-pee.
Bonus! I also found out where I can purchase gay porn, gay porn, and gay porn... Oh, and gay porn.
---
PS. Whenever I decide to close down my diary, I'm taking one of you with me. Which one of you would like to be the object of my allegation of harassment?
Please insert annoyance here.
Thank you very much.
And while I'm busy doing that, the other crazy guy can go 'splode stuff when I'm not looking.
You know the guy. The one with nuclear capabilities that keeps threatening to pre-emptively strike the US? The one that kidnapped small children off the beaches of Japan and took them to Korea to become translators? The one with the REALLY bad Don King hair... THAT guy.
But in other news. I am an heiress, now. Kiss my ring.
Hey man, I don't think it's so funny.
We'll just see how much they laugh when they fall asleep on a small couch so that their foot goes numb, and then when they stand up to go to bed, they assume that their foot is in regular standing position, but it's not, so they fall down on their face and hurt themselves.
Hah! We'll just see who's laughing then! Bastards!
It will be me! ME!! I will be laughing! HAH! I will laugh at your pain! HA HA!
You boob!
Anyway, my I'm still gimpy and I am itchin' for some bacon.
---
Coworker A: I'm going to get coffee, want something?
Me: BACON!
---
Coworker B: I'm going to the bank, want me to get you something while I'm out?
Me: BACON!
---
Coworker C: Hey, Jen...
Me: BACON!
Word to the wise, people! DON'T FALL OFF THE COUCH. It's dangerous and you could get weird purple feet because of it.
But let me get to why I'm really here.
OK. There's nothing there yet, but ain't I the cutest template maker in the world?
PS. Join, you snarky bitches!
But anyway. I have been going barefoot in the office for the past week because of my hamfoot, and all of a sudden, people are tall.
What is this madness?!
FYI - Coming up behind me, patting me on the head, and saying "Aww. You're so short!" is unacceptable. UNACCEPTABLE!
But, moving on...
Due to lack of coordination, I will begin pilates tomorrow... Because I can only be trusted to perform exercises while prone.
Ahem.
PS. I have a hankerin' for some rice pudding. Mmm Mmm. Old people food!
Yeah?
Well, dude, that is so annoying. And next time you do it, I'm punching you in the eye.
Because I've always wanted to punch someone in the eye.
---
If you make fun of someone in your diary, that is fine. Oh yeah?
If I meet one more Mimi or Buffy or Jojo or Fifi or... Arg! KIPPY! I'm going to drop! dead!
Nothing! Muahahaha!
Not that I don't adore him (don't tell him he's my favorite), but because he will be amusing me with some highly attitudinous entries soon.
Even if I have to go down to Texas, tie that mother up and beat him silly, until he relents... For a fee, of course.
And I had a REALLY CRAPPY DAY! And one of these days? I'm going to shove an architects scale RIGHT UP SOMEBODYS ASS!
Bah!
"I'm natural!"
No, you're stinky.
"Anti-perspirant does horrible things to your sweat glands!"
And your sweat glands be doin' horrible things to me.
---
And now a reaction to google hits:
"How to do cunnilingus".
Uh... Sorry dude. I appreciate your research in the matter, but me straight, me girl... But if I ever switch teams, I'll be sure to make informational posts about my newfound skills.
"very big butts".
Hey! It's not that big!
---
And in other cunnilingual news: Cunnilingus For Everyone.
"Wow, you're really flexible... For a big girl."
Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Did somebody just call me a "big girl"? Holy crap, I think I'm going to have to kick somebody's ass! With my humongous gigantic big-girl fists!
Internal Dialogue:
Cheesus Christ! If you say the word "interesting" one more fucking time, I'm going to kick you in the teeth! Get a thesaurus, you big dumbass!
External Dialogue:
"Yeah. Interesting."
---
Internal Dialogue:
Did she just wink at me? WHOA! What was that all about? Is she flirting with me? OH MY GOD! I think she's flirting with me! ... Eee! She touched me! OH MY GOD! I'M BEING HIT ON BY A GIRL! EEEeeee!
External Dialogue:
"Ha... Umm... Yeah... Err... Hee."
Not that I'm being overly dramatic or anything.
Can you believe it?! Doesn't he know who I am am? I was sure there was a memo circulating.
Pretend it's Japan, jerkwad. Or get out of my way! Or else I will walk past you briskly and huff! Or possibly raise my voice and say "fuck"!
And then you'll be sorry!
Wussup with that, white people? Why can't you watch your own damned children? Why do I have to make sure they don't fall off the wall? And poke the kid next to them with a stick? And touch peacock poo with their hands? HUH? WHY?
But in other news... Walking around a zoo for FIVE FREAKING HOURS makes for a very firm ass. Especially when I'm walking around saving all the Caucasian children.
* Whitey
Dear Boys,
Why! Why! Why can't you just do what I want you to do? Huh? Why? I'm smart, damn you! You big burly cute ass bastards!
I know where you left your socks. I know where the remote control is. I know when you touch something you're not supposed to. Hey! I even know that you need to pee before we leave the house.
See? I KNOW EVERYTHING!
Signed,
Seething with rage.
Everything is seriously getting on my nerves. I want to kick everythings ass. Everything! Everything must die!
First, I am going to kick this stupid cardboard boxes ass for not unfolding properly. And then I'm going to kick the door-buzzer-intercom thing because it never fucking works. And then, I'm going to kick the weathermans ass. Not for any particular reason other than he has a really annoying voice.
Apparently, the cure to crankiness is to drink lots and lots of beer over lunch. Yay! Yay for beer! Yippee! Yahoo! Yay yay yay! Beer!
I won't kick your ass now, cardboard box! You're my best friend! I love you, man!
But I'm still angry at that weatherman! And his stupid high-pitched tweety voice! GRR! Hulk smash!
AUGH! Why, oh why do i have to listen to the elevator version of Elton John all day long at work?! Why! Why! Whhhhyy!?
I'm this close to impaling myself on this box of colored pencils! Aaaaaaah!
Oh my God. I just agreed to stay with my mother and step-father when I go back home for a visit next month.
Would it be appropriate to scream in the middle of the office?
AUGH! They will talk and talk incessantly, and ask me about my "love life", and then I'll have to barf, and then they will feed me huge amounts of food, and then pinch (yes, pinch) me to point out what parts are fat, and then they will bring out the pictures of me at twelve and wonder aloud how come I'm not built like a prepubescent boy anymore, and then I WILL HAVE TO KILL THEM!
Arg! And now my eyelid is ticking! BAH!
Did I ever tell you just how much I loathe summer? I am a buttload of angry, motherfucker!
I hate the heat. I hate getting stung by stupid bees while I'm waiting to cross the street. I hate getting an inconsistant tan. I hate carrying a big ass water bottle around town, because if not I'll get all dehydrated and pass out... Because I'm sweating because it's hot. Bah!
But most of all I hate those stupid strappy shirts with the shelf bra where the freaking elastic sits in the MIDDLE of the boob. So now, all of a sudden, I have FOUR boobs.
Gee thanks, stupid strappy shirt!
:frustrated:
Bah!! Absolutely everything went wrong today at work... Except for the part where I got a picture from the site with My Pretend California Boyfriend in the background... WITH NO SHIRT ON!
Lordy, lordy... I needs to make a trip down to San Diego. To get me some Gorgeous Half-naked Construction Site Pretend California Man Meat Boyfriend... Or whatever.
But now? I NEED A FLIPPIN' DRINK! And since nobody is around to go with me, I have to go to the bar all alone... Just like the little crack whore I am.
:drunk:
PS. Look! I made the smilie macros work! I'M A GENIUS!
PSS. Last call! This is the last call for getting your own gen-u-ine Hawaiian postcard! Send me your mailing address now!
Seattle at 6:00pm.My, what a perfect Winnie-the-Pooh day... Why, it's the perfect day to listen to nothing but sump pumps and, oh... I don't know... DUTCH TECHNO MUSIC?
I'm going to kill my neighbors... But before I go do that, I will tell you a story of my youth.
This one time? When I was ten? I was playing kickball out on the field, and I ran and I ran to catch the ball and then I turned around, and I ran straight into the post at the corner of the baseball cage, eyeball first. And then I passed out.
Ha ha! I knocked my-own-self unconscious! Man... That's talent.
You know how when people call you, and they ask for "Rex", and you say, "Sorry, you have the wrong number," and then they say, "Isn't this the Rose residence?", and then you say real annoyed like, "noooooooooo", and then they say, "Isn't this 206-blah blah blah", and then you say real annoyed like, "yeeeeees"? And then the fuckers act all indignant because they're fuckers and they go, "well, who am I speaking to?", and then you go "I don't have to tell you who I am!" And then they just hang up.
Well, I would like to kill those people.
But I'll just find solice in the fact that I make way more money than their telemarketing assholey ass.
Muahahaha!
Mmmm... Pig...
Does anybody actually like being grabbed by the arm and yanked around like a freaking ragdoll?
:mad:
Good grief, that INFURIATES me!
I hate, hate, HATE women who think it's cute to be stupid. Ugh! My urge to throttle is ALL CONSUMING! I am consumed with throttleosity! AAAARRRRG!
---
Heh. I really need to get back to Killing Mikey. 'Twas fun!
Does it irritate me when people ask a question and then answer it themselves? Yes.
Do I think I can fight the urge to pop them in the nose? No.
If that frickin' screechy windbag doesn't STOP SINGING SCALES RIGHT NOW, I swear I'm going to go outside, follow the EXCRUTIATINGLY IRRITATING SOUNDS, and punch her in the neck.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!
My extremely tall baby brother just put out a restraining order on his wife... She's been hitting him!!!
ISN'T THAT JUST LOVELY?!?!
He's 30 years old, and it's about fucking time people stopped hitting him, dammit!
Man, you gotta give my brother props for being a gentle soul.
But I, however, am not... And if that crazy-ass, volatile, tiny little pipsqueak ever lays a hand on my enormously large brother again, I swear I'll tear her arms off!
You see, I solve violence with violence.
And don't you forget it.
God help you if you ask me a plain old regular question today. I just might go "waaah waaah waaah!" and make those annoying quacking gestures with my hands.
But you'd be crabby too if you just learned that you have to work ALL WEEKEND LONG. You know. After having worked late EVERY DAY.
And after having to stay late yesterday because magic soapy water was raining down from the ceiling in the office bathroom.
And then go to Dyke Fu and learn that, dude! I totally don't choke hard enough... Can you believe that? Me!?!?! I don't choke hard enough!
Well, I can remedy that, buckwheat! Come here. I'll choke you one good!
Sure... Maybe I didn't go to work today, but did that stop me from participating in Friday Night Happy Hour activities?
No... And whee!
Also. What is it about me that attracts the creepiest men in the world? Is it the big hoopy earrings? The chunky shoes? The tasteful beige scarf? WHAT? Because I want to knock it off immediately.
If one more gold-toothed asshole pulls up next to me on the street in his stupid ass Honda Accord, with an open container (of Colt 45!!!) in his lap, saying "Girl! Come her. No. Come her. Come on. Come her," I'm going to punch his teefs down his throat!
I have the feeling Dyke Fu is going to come in very handy.
Being a stay-at-home mother doesn't automatically make you eligible for sainthood. Full-time, 24 hour a day, 7 day a week parenting is as challenging as you make it.
You can choose to be involved in the educational, spiritual, and emotional development of your children; OR you can sit on your ass in front of the TV all day while your children run around outside unattended playing with hedgeclippers! (True story!)
I will not be attending your pity party, you lazy sons a'bitches. Don't plan on me patting your head and telling you what a hard job you have... BECAUSE YOU DON'T! When your children are missing appendages (see true story above) and have had a few incidences with near drownings, you're not even doing your job.
I have never wanted to stab anything as much as I have wanted to stab my fucking plotter today! GAH! I HATE THAT THING!
Just who does he think he is? Being all picky about how I load the stupid paper! It's fucking straight! Just print the stupid lines, you asshole! Or I'll show what a paper jam REALLY is!
Fucker.
I've got the shoulders of a linebacker and, if you count the big shoes, I'm almost 6 feet tall today... So, why do people keep walking into me?
Hello?
Do they not see the giant girl? Do they not know that there's no way in forking hell that I am moving out of their way? I AM A GIANT KUNG FU PRINCESS! MOVE THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY, SHRIMP!
... I give you Stuff That's Pissing Me Off. Enjoy!
I didn't think I could be any more irritated with all the little art college students in this neighborhood... But I was wrong.
When they call what they do their "craft" IT FILLS ME WITH RAGE! Well, OK maybe rage was the wrong word, but I start making puking sounds. So I guess it fills me with vomit.
There was a time that walking from the Waterfront up the stairs to the Pike Place Market used to tire the poop right out of me. Today? No poop. Not even a baby poop.
But I think I have come to the conclusion that if I don't buy an SUV, invest in a J. Crew wardrobe, and move to the burbs in a year, I'll be shocked... I have had it UP TO HERE with the streets that smell like urine and the buses that smell like BO. And I'm sick of the noise, ALL THE TIME WITH THE NOISE! And I'm tired of knowing nothing more about my neighbors than what floor they live on.
But most of all I'm sick and tired of having to expand like a puffer fish and yell out "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT, ASSHOLE?" at some asshole at the asshole bus stop who wouldn't stop leering at me like an asshole.
Asshole.
Why do the buses go North-to-South when I want to go East-to-West? It's only 12 blocks, for crying out loud. Why do I need to take FOUR DIFFERENT BUSES? I can't be expected to walk IN THE RAIN. Don't you know who I am?
And if you DO know who I am, then you know that I have been spectacularly happy for the past five years. Like, delusionally happy. Like, so happy that I'm so busy being happy that I walk into parking meters and fall over cracks in the sidewalk because WHEE! I can't pay attention! I'm too distracted by being SO FUCKING HAPPY!
Seeing as I come from a family with a long history of clinical depression and alcoholism, I think I'm long overdue for a prolonged state of shitty.
Who knew that crushing my ego would send me into a whirlwind of Relatively Shitty Days and OH MY GOD THIS IS SO HORRIBLE, I WANT TO DIE! AND DON'T TELL ME I'M EXAGGERATING BECAUSE DO YOU REALIZE THAT THIS IS CRAPPY!?!?! OH MY GOD! I'M DYING! days.
Oh yippee!
Did I mention how much I hate the wireless router my ISP gave me? No? Well, I HATE IT! No access to the internet?!?! Aaaaaaaaaah! It's ruining my life!
Other things that have ruined my life:
For once, I would just like to be able to cross my arms in front of me and not make the cleavage extend ALL THE WAY UP TO MY COLLARBONE.
Stupid boobs! Get out of my way!
Speaking as a girl who often smells like a cupcake, I would just like to say to all the bugs in the metro Seattle area: Leave me alone! Because if one more of you flys up my nose, I WILL LOSE MY COTTON PICKING MIND!
I hate spring. I hate all the stupid near-invisible swarms of stupid spring flies that just hover there like jackasses, waiting for me to walk through them... And then FREAK OUT like a damn lunatic. And I hate the stupid spring bee that dive bombed my head. And made me FREAK OUT EVEN MORE!
Don't these bugs understand that they will DIE if they land in my eyeball and I rub the shit out of my eyes and go "Gah! GAH! BUG IN MY EYE! Ack!" What are they? STUPID?
A client of ours lives on "Skyfarm Drive"... Did you see that? Sky. Farm... SKYFARM!
What the fuck is a SKY FARM? OH MY GOD! That street makes me so ANGRY! I want to stab it! I'm going to stab that stupid street! Because it has the DUMBEST NAME EVER!
Today is the third day of 85+ degree weather in Seattle... I think this is the day that I will no longer be able to contain my extreme irritation. Because this day? WILL BE AIR CONDITIONING-LESS!
OH MY GOD! I AM SO IRRITATED!
I hate that my feet are hot.
I hate that I need allergy relief eye drops every day all day long.
I hate that I require about 5 times as much moisturizer.
I hate that my hair, which I normally love the crap out of, I HATE! Because this weather! It is making it even more crazy at the ends than usual! And do you know how hot big hair is? IT'S FUCKING HOT!
But most of all, I hate looking like shit. I mean, sunny weather is great for all you people with skin that doesn't require a team of dermatologists and powerful (STAY OUT OF THE SUN OR YOU'LL DIE!) medications... But when you have to wear 8 pounds of makeup on your face on a hot day, well - let's just say I want to punch things.
WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH ALL THE SMARMY MEN? ARG!!!! AAARRRGGGG! They're everywhere! With the "baby" this, and the "baby" that, and the "baby, don't say that!" when you tell them to GO AWAY. *
I think I'm going to have to start packing heat, because I don't want to get close enough to punch them in the face... OR you could just become my new Best Friend/Face Puncher and then I wouldn't have to worry about getting cooties.
* Seriously, who likes to be called "baby" by a stranger? I don't know what kind of idiot women are falling for this, but they better quit it because I am SO INSULTED AND IRRITATED AND INFURIATED NOW, I CAN'T EVEN EXPLAIN! Stop making them think this behavior works!
** Next person who calls me baby, that I have not allowed to see me naked, GETS KILLED!
The problems with putting me in a large crowd of fellow parents and children of similar size and weight to :turdface: are:
I somehow managed not to "accidentally" elbow anyone in the face, but my eyeballs haven't rolled back in my head this much since I was 12 years old.
You know who I hate? Those people who stand at the crosswalk at a busy intersection and then throw up their hands in impatience... Why, what ever will you do?! You'll be a whole 10 seconds late for standing on the other side of the street! Woe is you!
And refraining from smacking you in the head... That will be me.
... But today hasn't been ALL hate. I am now the proud owner of a RIDICULOUSLY cheap Kenneth Cole handbag, and a whole shitload of things that will make me smell like pudding, and feel like... well, pudding!
Also, I totally saw Wallace & Grommit all by myself like a good little hermit... I made faces at a few children and OH MY GOD, I can't stop the grinning. This biological clock thing had better shut the fuck up, because I already have one, and he's MORE than enough kid for one Me.
I'm sure the appropriate reaction to finding out your mother has breast cancer is not to roll your eyes... And yet? This is my reaction.
Don't get me wrong - the seriousness of this is not lost on me. But MY GOD, why would you wait until after you've had surgery, and after you've begun radiation to tell me?
Oh no wait, she didn't tell me. She told her sister, my aunt, who dragged my phone number out of her and she told me... Can my mother be any more Asian?*
Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go bash my head against the wall.
* I can hear her right now in my head! "No no! Don't bother her. She never calls her mother anyway. She doesn't care!"**
** After I'm done bashing my head against the wall, let's go smack my mother around a little bit.
Well, after much prying from my mother I discovered almost nothing except that the... uh, lymph node test (??) came back benign.
Now, I know this is good - but I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT MEANS! (Is it normal to do this? Or is there a scary reason why they would do this?) And I don't have enough information to google it and freak out.
So, I've resigned myself to rolling my eyes and sighing... It's like 1985 all over again!
Oh... But I also learned that said aunt (see previous entry) has cancer* too! Whee! And didn't say anything about it to me on the phone! Whee! ... You'd think an oncologist would know better than to act like this, but THE POWER OF THE ASIAN GENES IS TOO STRONG!
PS. An excerpt from last night's conversation with :turdface::
Me: "Did you tell your grandma that you love her?"
Turdface: "It was inferred."
* Colon
My feet are hot... Why? They're always cold. ALWAYS. And now, when it's that One Hot Week in Seattle, and I could use cold feet, instead I have two waffle irons.
I CURSE YOU, FEET!
Also - I went downtown (etc) today ON THE BUS. You know. The HOT BUS with the inoperable windows and people who don't own deodorant? That bus.
And then I had to walk amongst the free range stupid people, and stab them... Because, apparently, it is too hot for them to do anything except stand around in herds (flocks?) (gaggles?) and not move until I PHYSICALLY PUSH THEM OUT OF THE WAY AND CALL THEM FUCKERS.
I CURSE YOU, FUCKERS!
PS. Have you noticed that heat makes me irritable?
Aren't you glad that fake time is over, and we can get back to living in Real time? I AM!
Daylight saving is so condescending... Right? It's not just me, right? You're insulted by it too, right? RIGHT?!?
Right.
And just think! Now that it's REAL time, I can get back to doing all those REAL time things I like doing, like REALLY sleeping until 5:30am and not fake 5:30am which is actually 4:30am, which is a ridiculous time to get up just so that I can "save daylight", even though it's STILL THE SAME AMOUNT OF DAYLIGHT. What the fuck, Benjamin Franklin?
Just think how much more fun my run-on sentences are going to be now, in REAL time! It just keeps getting better!
And more better: Now that it's dark at 5pm, I'm way cuter on my walk home... And who doesn't want me to be cuter?
OH THE EXCITEMENT!
PS. International Jennifer Day is NEXT WEEK! ... Crap! Nothing rhymes with 35.
OH MY GOD! MY FAMILY! THEY ARE BUMPKINS! AND I AM GOING TO KILL THEM ALL!
Holy fuck, since when can I not take my family anywhere without wanting to punch one of them in the face? Or, better yet just fling myself off the top of the Matterhorn to just MAKE IT ALL END.
I mean seriously - do YOU have to stop your family from picking fights with your cab driver by yelling at them to JUST BE FUCKING CIVILIZED ALREADY, OH MY FUCKING GOD! No! You don't! Because your family is not a bunch of FUCKING BUMPKINS!
Also! WHY MUST THEY WALK SO FUCKING SLOW?!? I am dragging half of them down the street, because OH MY GOD! IT IS NOT THAT FAR!! NOW SHUT UP AND WALK, YOU FUCKERS!
OK. Now that I have gotten that out of my system, maybe I can go back to the room and NOT take a pillow and suffocate them all in their sleep.
Maybe... Because the coffee in Anaheim is really, really weak. And it's hard... So hard...
:ponch:'s father died in a car accident in Oregon late Tuesday night... HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!
Also! :turdface:'s kitten had surgery yesterday! EVEN HAPPIER VALENTINES DAY!
So... I'm driving down to Portland this weekend to cry about the guy who when I was 17*, gave me a place to live, a family, and spent that night getting me drunk on Bud Light and making me laugh.
* In my mother's world, booting a child out on the street a few days after high school graduation is completely legitimate.
When I answer my phone and say "hello?", this is your cue to start talking. Don't say, "hello?", back so that I have to go, "hello?" again. So that you can go "hello?" AGAIN!
Because I WILL STAB YOU IN THE EYE the next time I see you.
An hour ago, I threated to drive up to Anacortes and punch somebody in the face... And guess what! I STILL WANT TO DO THAT!
If only I had gotten those illegal nunchucks from Jenjamin, instead of a book about my favorite subject, food. What was he thinking? And it's a paperback! I CAN'T DO ANY DAMAGE WITH THAT!
Five other things I'd like to do to the asshole-who-requires-face-punching:
I wish I knew a voodoo priest or something, because karma doesn't seem to be working on certain persons who have wronged me ... GAH! Where are you voodoo practitioners?!? WHERE!!!?
PS. If you are a voodoo practitioner, and would like to WREAK VENGEANCE on my behalf, please feel free to send EVIL SOUL CRUSHING BAD VIBES. But not to me. Because I'm precious. To, you know, jerks.
I don't get it! How does one even go about pooping outside (OUTSIDE!) of the toilet? And if you are going to poop outside of the toilet, why wouldn't you watch where you were stepping?!
And most confusingly... Why do the poop-prints lead to the sink? You washed your hands? Really? You poop outside of toilets, but you wash your hands afterward?
Amazing!