when people take a year to cash your check

did you lose it? you cashed the other check i sent you AFTER the first one. where is the first one? why.

also, this lady in the office has her phone on speaker…..she’s on hold. FUCKING HOLD ELEVATOR MUSIC IN MY QUIET OFFICE. stupid bitchhhhh

well now i’m going to eat my chex mix with my mouth open. and you know what else? i’ll eat the beef chips FIRST while i’m at it. 

i’m just kidding, i really can’t do either of those things. because i’m ocd about my food, mind you. 

to eat the chex mix: start with pretzels. then: the beige stick thingys, the brown squares, the white squares (the saltiest ones last), beef chips. 

i can’t concentrate because this lady is going to be here a while, and she’s been bitching about her electricity pay plan for 20 minutes, being unnecessarily repetitive in her complaints. FUCK

not that the chex mix was going anywhere spectacular. 

on another note, after listening to this lady, i am going to smile sooo big and say thank you more than is necessary. because now i am scared of her. 

so this sentence, right here, is occuring hours after the preceding one. it’s been one shit occurrence followed by moments that i’m not sure should have ever happened. and now there are children in my presence and this does not please me in the slightest. i would just like to eat in peace and not have some strange child eyeball me the whole time and ask me stupid questions that i knew the answer to at their age. 

thank jeebus for whore’s wine night with josie. i will wear makeup, and heels, and a dress that shows off my goody (just the ass, i have zero in the tits department), and i will try to sit straight while i pound my third glass of pinot grigio. and i will look classy all the while. that’s what cigarettes do for you, fuck the truth campaign. the truth is: if i didn’t smoke, some people would be dead and i would have no friends. thank them for making me slightly less irritable, and for decreasing my life expectancy because lord knows i’m not meant to be endured for 60 plus years. 

feta cheese when you’re drunk

no me gusta. 

what my real issue today is that i want to know who’s behind the decision making process that thinks it’s a good idea to hand kendell the keys to a camaro. WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE.

i might have died last night when she got excited about doing her first donuts. and i don’t mean making cutesy pinterest shit, i mean smelling the tires a lengthy period of time after the offense occurred. though i should point out that my ass also thought it would be a good idea to go 70 in a construction zone. it was at night calm your tits.

how i never get pulled over is beyond me.

apparently milk is the cause of my increasingly frequent anxiety attacks. personally, i think the cause is that i don’t have a prescription for xanax, but who’s pointing fingers. you know what ruffles my danders? and don’t sit there thinking “everything,” because i hate it when other people are right. when you tell someone you’d be very pleased if you could have medication for when you start crying and seeing absolute doom in your near future for no apparent reason, and their idiotic response is something along the lines of “they don’t happen that often, you’re fine.” fuck you very much. i’d love to see you try to quell the compulsion to huddle in a corner until the ‘i’m fucked in every sense of the word” wave passes. that’s always fun when you’re at work and trying to function like a normal fucking being seems like the farthest thing out of your reach.

let’s take it down a notch, to where shit’s funny, because even i’m getting annoyed with my own words. so what, i have an anxiety thing. i also have a fear of large fish.

i will never snorkel again. i have scars to prove just how horrific the experience was.

STORY TIME  

EPILOGUE: stephanie slips out of floaty tube and sinks to the deep end of pool at grandmas. daddy takes a little bit longer than i’d like to stop me from dying. stephanie is rescued. daddy puts her on step where she sputters and whimpers, having almost kicked the bucket at 5. after a few minutes, stephanie is still upset. parents tell her to, in a nutshell, suck it up because she’s still alive.

we’re not super close.

chapter one, and only.

hawaii, year twenty something. not sure what beach, even if i knew i could not spell it. location: satan’s drop off into the deep sea abyss. seasoned divers are impatient with the girl who sits at the edge holding everyone up who isn’t afraid of the watery black hole that is sure to swallow you; you will not come out of this one like gandalf, you will die. after a half hour of feet dangling and inner turmoil, she slowly eases into the water. in retrospect, she can’t really swim at all so how she stayed afloat is up to the gods. moving on. and we’re swimminggggg (don’t know howwww) there’s brightly coloured little fishies keeping their distance. she looks underneath for too long, and now her snorkeling tube is filled with water. sheer panic ensues and that whole swimming thing is shot to hell. the sputtering continues as she struggles to yank the plastic water mask death trap away from her face and hair that wasn’t properly secured. her family laughs. she’s very put out. they move on to shallow water, where if you’re standing up it’s up to your knees (given that you are of a generous height). slightly better on the front of “maybe we won’t get sucked into the sea’s asshole,” but the fish are not so familiar with personal space here. she calms herself and tries to imagine it’s all just a very realistic documentary on the discovery channel. father taps her shoulder, she turns….there’s a very large fish 2 inches from her face. absolute terror, panic. let’s be clear about the size of the death fish, and also its hideousness.

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this was all up in my grill.

remember the depth, or lack thereof, of the water? frantic swimming, if that’s what you could call it, plus giant flippers and mask that can’t do its job right and keep the ocean out of my ocular cavities, turns out to be a disastrous combination. not only am i in a foot of water and using my hands to pull myself to shore, but i am also careless. i cut my arm on a rock. blood bubbles up and out into the water. now, on top of hoping the giant fish has left me alone, i am bleeding in the open water. two things can happen here: perhaps a pack of wild piranhas will spring up and start to eat me, or a shark will come for me. i’m going to die right here in front of all these tourists.

fine, i make it to shore, hair a mess and blood spilling onto the sand mind you. my mother asks me what the hell happened. i tell her my sordid tale, and she begins to laugh.

this is my family.  

opening your tumblr in public

unless you’ve looked around every single corner and peeked in all the surrounding crevices, DO NOT DO THIS

i knew it would be a little on the ‘tasteless’ side when i got one, but i wasn’t expecting anal fisting. having said that, this might be my own fault for following a “daddy” who lets us know what fifty shades of grey was supposed to be about. though his posts can be somewhat on the side of maybe i’m a little uncomfortable looking at this, it has inspired me. who says that you can have the same sex life and never get bored with the routine?

no one.

no one says that. 

SO, not saying i’m ready to jump into calling him master and waiting on the floor for carrots and kneeling whilst wearing bunny ears, but i think there’s something to be had from a dominant/submissive relationship. before all you vagina thumpers decide to rain all over my sexually open parade by saying that it’s degrading to women, remember that these women choose to be treated that way because they like it. and you’re all about a woman having her choice right? so shut the fuck up and let a girl get her kicks however she decides to, because that’s exactly what you do. end scene. 

fifty shades of grey was so wildly inaccurate that i can’t even comprehend why the author has a job writing about a relationship that she clearly does not understand in any form. i just can’t stop saying that, i’m sorry if you’re tired of hearing about it; it was so stupid. there’s a lot more to it than being tied up and fucked till you’re senseless. much more minions. i won’t tell you cause i’d fail epically trying to describe what i’ve seen. so just go get a tumblr and follow daddysfucktoys.

you’re in for a rude awakening, and you might actually like it. i hold no judgement over your pointed little heads. 

guys, the american season 2 of wilfred is on netflix. you may thank me.

side note: australian dvds don’t work here in america. go ahead, try.

 

getting personal on facebook

i’m just gonna go ahead right now and tell you all how stupid you are (my facebook people) because you don’t read it anyway. and if you do, chances are i don’t give a flying fuck if this upsets you. if jenna marbles can tell people how to suck less, i think i should dabble a bit in doing the same. i have a few key pointers i’d like to spell out real quick before i go into detail

1.) when your status is over 3 lines long, you just need to slow your roll, turn on your filter that lets you know what people couldn’t care less about, then shut the fuck up.

*you really think anyone is reading past line 2 when they figure out that you’re just ranting in the hopes that 30 people will like it and comment on it? pipe the fuck down.

 

2.) talking about your significant other or an ex EVERY SINGLE DAY is not ok. minimize your gooey hooha output to at the most once a month. 

*example: “i thought you loved me but i was wrong, i’ll never let you hurt me again.” and then you put a fucking SMILEY FACE like you’re not crying and eating all the taco bell. 

*example: every fucking day or other day, you feel the infernal need to tell us how awesome your man is. p.s. i did that today, but you just go ahead and look at the last time i got all mushy in complete excess. 

3.) pretending you’re on the debate team: facebook wasn’t created so you could get on your high horse and act like your completely unsolicited opinion is higher up on the social media food chain than anyone else’s.

*you know nothing about politics or the environment. quit acting like you’re in the situation room and wolf blitzer is mumbling something incoherent about the other side of the argument. you are stupid, and we all sense it.  

4.) when you’re soooo sick and miserable, but you have the energy to update us on your snot content and vomitting every fucking hour.

*no one in their right mind is going to bring your disgusting ass soup, so quit asking and using winky faces.

5.) when you’re perfectly healthy and could definitely get the fuck out of the house, and you post stupid shit every half hour 

*WE DON’T CARE, I REPEAT, WE DON’T FUCKING CARE

6.) when you’re out and about, checking in at every corner and telling us how much fun you’re having. we get it, you spend your money frivolously 

*instead of sitting on your phone all damn day, turn that shit off and enjoy the food you’re eating instead of taking pictures of it and using a filter so it looks brighter

7.) posting shit that’s none of your fucking business. example: rip so and so who lived in my town once, but who i never even fucking saw; some person in my general vicinity is fighting for their life in the hospital, please pray for them, etc. 

*cause you’re so admirable, huh?

8.) announcing your deleting sprees and adding something like : if you’re still on here, then you can read this and you’re a swell character.

*come the fuck on. i hope that you delete me because you obviously are the type of person who feels better when they “cleanse” their social outlets. you are an idiot.

9.) when you tell us all that you’re “deleting” your facebook and that we can contact you on your cell phone.

*no shit. and by the way, zuckerberg is a fuckface for only letting us “deactivate” our accounts. like you’re actually doing something? you’re only going to reappear a week later and say “i’m backkkkkk :)” and then i’ll lose my shit because you can’t control yourself

10.) when there’s a major life event or crisis currently going on, and yet you still find the time to tell us everything about your day and how bad it sucked and how your grandpa isn’t doing so well.

*well duh, grandpa is probably over 80 and used to drink and smoke like he lived on the set of mad men. don’t get me wrong, i love my grandpa, but he’s mine and my facebook friends don’t need to know about him. so shut the fuck up for once.

11.) airing dirty laundry: this is my favourite out of all your pointless, stupid activities.

*example: my friend so and so ACTUALLY posted pictures of rude texts from her baby daddy’s girlfriend. you’re joking. you must be joking. and then said something along the lines of how dumb she is (ironic) then lol’ed it off like she didn’t just put the joke on herself.

FUCK. i’m starting to get really angry and my typing would give me an exemplary score on mavis beacon, so i’m gonna stop now before my acrylics get stuck in between the keys. i just might continue with this hate list, there’s just too many things that need to be said. 

stop stupid people. help us all. save us. 

corny pick up lines

                 did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

well, now that you mention it, it actually did hurt. i wound up fracturing my back and had to sue the gods for reckless behaviour, assault, and lost wages. so i made millions off the whole thing and now i just smoke a lot of medical marijuana to ease my pain. i mean, that shit hurts every day. you know, they don’t have weed in heaven? or whiskey? no, they just have wine. and it’s not even that good. it’s like that wine you see at trader joes and you get all curious about its healthy and organic origin, only to discover it’s just called “table wine.” you’d think that after, oh i don’t knowww, thousands of years, that jesus would get a little bored with the whole “i can turn water into wine” shit. he failed to mention that he can only make one type of wine, there are no variations. no pinot grigio or chardonnay. oh no, that would be too magical and show offy. you see, he doesn’t really like to roam far from the humble perspective that people cling to. i mean, he’s like jesus, you know? 

                               hey, i lost my number, could i have yours?

you know, you can totally have it. i keep getting these weird calls from some prison in texas asking me if i will accept a call from some inmate whose name is completely indiscernible on the recording, so i feel kinda bad rejecting someone when i don’t even know their name. wouldn’t you? and like it totally sucks knowing that they legitimately think that they’re calling their one and only (or maybe even a friend or some shit to relay drug cartel info to) when in reality, they’re calling me. maybe i should have like accepted the call, and then like had a heart to heart with this inmate. who knows, maybe i could have seriously helped the dude and talked him out of the gang and drug shit. 

for future reference boys, these do not work unless the girl is a complete dumbshit. but i just demonstrated what even a dumbshit’s response would be, so maybe you should reconsider what you’re really doing here.

ladies, these are my own original thoughts, i don’t expect anyone to fully understand why i would ever think these in the first place, but come on. you know “the face” that our dear jenna marbles taught us? and what to do when it doesn’t work? this is plan c. i highly recommend it, and i sincerely doubt that anyone looking to bone you or even start some shit would stick around after all that. 

god speed, i’ll see you at the bar. testing these puppies out. 

starting a new series

why can’t the authors just keep going with all the awesome story lines? 

1.) gemma doyle trilogy: book four- kartik becomes so powerful as a tree that he wills himself to become human again. problem: still in victorian age london; must marry promising white woman. there’s another 500 pages right there. 

2.) that’s it actually. charlaine harris did a pretty decent job with the sookie stackhouse novels. that shit will never end, because hardly any real/mystical people die. 

not that i’m not reading the harper connelly series or anything, which is ok but no one beats libba bray and her shit. it does not stink, i promise you. i literally cried when she decided to go with the whole “it’s not like she can marry an indian, much less be romantically involved with one lest she be scandalized, so let’s just put her in an apartment with a type writer and turn him into a tree” ending, but it’s her shit and she took the realistic approach to the situation. in all fairness, we should be uber proud that gemma also decided to stay single; but wait: isn’t that also a wee bit on the side of scandal (thank you waitress, i’ll take my eggs with toast and a side of scandal)? i mean, i don’t know how many cats were running around london that time, and if there were enough to stave off the need for a man so you lie back and think of england instead of lie back and hug your corset to sleep (you know, since it’s all hard and shit. presenting a firm presence) 

don’t listen to me. 

since like, 2 people responded to my titanic question, i’ve decided to never ask you people a question ever again. because you suck. did you NOT notice that i made a refernce to roe v. wade? i mean, rose v. jack is pretty close right? she could have been pregnant and in the water, child endangerment, possible attempted abortion by hypothermia….

seriously, what am i even talking about today? this is worse than the usual, casual, no direction whatsoever ramblings. 

shenanigans, absolute shenanigans.

i think i’m done for now. before i start making another drinking game that will surely give me or my loved ones alcohol poisoning, i should go read or something. eat some sunflower seeds after my coffee is finished (great sensory combo there. not). 

ya i need to go. 

 

putting entirely too much cream in your first cup of coffee

who else looks down at their calendar and wonders what the fuck the numbers mean? for example: august 7th 2013 reads- 219/146 <the fuck? second, “(Eid) al Fitr begins at sundown.”

I CAN’T BELIEVE I FORGOT THAT AL FITR BEGINS AT SUNDOWN NEXT WEDNESDAY.

i don’t even want to google it, for i’m feeling a tad bit lackadaisical (seriously, just learned that word last night, spelled it perfectly just now) i am the master commander. i could go on another rant about how much i hate men, but you all know how stupid you are so you might as well just accept it. own that shit. not sure where i’m going today in bloggy land, but i’m almost positive that the more nonsense i type, a topic will somehow form itself. not that i ever care, but i feel i get more of your attention when my thoughts are relatively cohesive. i am so behind on project runway. 

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they both could have fit on that damn plank of wood. if rose had stopped eating so much custard in first class, maybe their combined weight wouldn’t have sunk it. this caused a thirty minute, and, mind you, not quiet debate in a small family restaurant amongst my family members. me, being fueled by 2 whiskey sours and a cup of clam chowder that oddly tasted like beef and noodles, couldn’t contain myself with all the pictures that perfectly demonstrate the ability of both persons to remain afloat and not die of frostbite and shit. found my topic!

i’d like to take a small survey. small, because maybe 3 of my 68 followers will reply. what’s your opinion on rose v. jack, in the case of the sinking or legitimately buoyant door?