Go F Yourself.

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September 25, 2008 Log Out
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Certain People Should Be Put Down

While I am well aware of the fact that euthanasia is illegal in the United States, I often wonder what it is that is so god damn wrong with it. No, I do not even mean to use it for people who are on their death beds and are suffering, although I do think that is an appropriate use of said poison, I think it should be used for people who do not deserve the death penalty, but that we can all agree deserve to be put down.

I was inspired by this after just reading an article regarding Project Runway which delightfully made fun of Kenley who I have been wishing for weeks would somehow get tetanus from her sewing machine, and, well, just go away. However, it would also be perfectly fine by me if Tim Gunn came by with a lethal injection after she made yet another hideous outfit and put her out of her misery.

Regardless, in terms of real life, it has recently come to my attention that I know of several people who the world would be a far better place without. I will not go into details, but there is one specific person I have met in my lifetime who most certainly deserves to be put down. I have been informed by former co-workers that a woman, oh let's just call her Trixie, who was a raging bitch to me while at this shithole and undeniably was part of my demise, has taken quite the liking to my male replacement. Oh yes, Trixie girl is married with two babies, but apparently there are massages and dinner dates being exchanged. I have no doubt that the subject of her affection is dumber than a lamp post as I have met him, and well, there was an argument which ensued as to which one of us went to a worst law school (he did). However, his strapping good looks and rather grotesque accent has attracted Trixie and certainly she is not spreading rumors around this toilet as to how incompetent he is.

Well Trixie, now that I have had time to reflect, here is what I have to say to you. My apologies about your recent f*Ck up of a case as we both know that when I put a comma in the wrong place you informed me that I was a sloppy lawyer, but what I really wanted to say to you is that Eve is on her last limbs. No, I am not kidding, M has called me and told me that she is no longer urinating and hiding underneath the bed. WELL, I was thinking that when M takes her into to be put down, perhaps you would consider me taking you in to also be put down? Meow.

Why I Will Remain Single, Part 1

Allow me to preface my first ever post by saying ‘Welcome’ and that I’m not an angry person. I don’t, however, suffer fools. I do, however, use lots of commas. I also tend not to share my innermost thoughts with anyone other than the slobs and my multiple personalities. But yesterday I stumbled across something so alarming, so frightening, that in the interest of protecting others around me I am compelled to blog it out.

An old “friend” and current virtual Facebook friend (sense the limitations) is on the cusp of marriage. God help her. Now, from what I can tell by investigating her page, she is happy about these developments. In fact, from what I can discern, this is something she’s been waiting for with bated breath, as she’s fielded various horrifying public comments speaking to her “relief” that she’s “finally engaged.” I am loosely happy for her, the way I am when an impacted molar is removed or someone’s chronic pain is mollified by a morphine drip. It’s a quick fix. But what I’ve realized since scanning her wedding website is that it’s not the wedding that typically sickens me, or the outrageous industry that’s sprung up as an excuse for women to leave their jobs and plan a party. Okay, that does sicken me. But really, I’m mostly opposed to sharing the limelight.

Let me again offer up some facts. First, I will not be invited to said wedding, as I have not spoken to the deb in question in decades. Remember, this is virtual friendship we’ve nurtured. Second, I’m on professional holiday, and as such, have little to do with my time other than view my series of televised teen-dramas. Ahem. And let’s face it, Facebook has offered unsuspecting and previously productive lasses like myself the chance to waste entire days perusing frenemies’ vacation pics and photos from weddings to which we were never invited. For the most part, I’m content with the time suck.

Okay, so why I don’t believe in outlandish and extravagant affairs celebrating your predilection for life-long monogamous sex: Why share a party?

History: Growing up my birthday fell fatefully on the same day as another girl in school who I detested more than the threat of back acne. Our grandmothers, however, were very close friends; old hags who played Mah-Jongg and smelled like Welsh Rarebit. Because of their affection for one another--and inability to drive long distances whereby they may make new friends--they believed we should be best friends as well. There was a constant pressure to have joint-birthday parties, a threat I took as seriously as that wink you might get before being hauled off to the Gulag. Again and again, I declined.

But even now, as you’re adult-like and somewhat financially viable, why must you be forced to share a wedding party with another person? Would you not rather keep all the gifts to yourself? And, if like this affianced childhood friend, you’ve gone to the necessary trouble to throw together a 500-person, black tie event with 12 bridesmaids and counting in three days time, would you really want to share the attention with some slobbish (hetero), and in time, cuckolded man who would never appreciate this?

And moreover, why would you want to force your (presumably) twelve closest friends to don the same hideous dress? My friends have more flare, and at least half the fun of any party is watching them assemble an ensemble befitting the occasion.

Ladies, if you relent and share this most important day of your life with another person, you will spend the rest of your life making compromises until you don’t even know who you are anymore, and stand waiting at the sperm clinic in an effort to marginalize this chap and change the locks on your door. Is this unromantic? No. A party is a party, dammit.

Next time: Why 12 bridesmaids is larger than my entire guest list.

When I cry, I am God Forsaken Busted

I just finished watching the Hills and as much as I think none of these girls are anything to write home about, I can not help but notice that when these bitches cry, they cry black tears and look prettier than I do. ever. Even when I have just freshly applied six layers of whatever mascara LC said I need to wear in order to look just like her, I am still uglier than that bitch when she is having a tsunami coming out of her eye balls.

I am so sick and tired of turning on this stupid show, losing twenty brain cells and then wondering how I can look more like them. The problem is that if I were to make an appearance on the show, LC would not only put me in the extra house for Audrina, she would put me in a god damn kitty litter box as a) I would be like their not so cool older friend b) my breasts combined are about the same size as one of Heidi's and c) I am so freakin pale and not blonde it is frightening.

However the major problem is that when I cry, I am mother f&ckin busted. It is true, I have always imagined that I can woo some boy by shedding some tears and even using some of LC's lines like "gee, I thought we were friends and I am so sick and tired of having friends who don't like me." However, after whatever eligible bachelor leaves, I go to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror and realize I look nothing like LC when I cry. I look more like a swamp creature than anything. There is no makeup that can resolve that problem.

Are We at the Zoo?

After a long talk with M&M this weekend wherein they told me that the real reason that I am single is that I have not been exposed to legitimate prospects, I yelled at them and demanded that they get out of my basement. After the mild temper tantrum I threw, I reflected on my history and decided that it is true, I have mingled only with sub-humans since I was roughly twenty four. Before I was twenty four, I mingled with mostly sub-humans interspersed with some homo sapiens.

As it turns out, I have probably have "dated" (I use this term very loosely as I am not sure what other people consider dating) a quarter of Manhattan degenerates with the hopes that they do not know any better but to date me. It is true that I am in no position to negotiate these prospects given that it is has been roughly a year since I have held down a job. Okay, that is a lie. It has been roughly twenty seven years since I have held down a legitimate job. Perhaps if you do not have a legitimate job, you also do not have legitimate "boyfriends?" I thought about why I have allowed my standards to drop so low and decided it might be a defense mechanism. If I were to come across a legitimate homo sapien, I might find that he has other prospects that are superior to me. However, this theory does not hold up given that not even these homeless people want to date me and pass me up for lesser prospects.

So what gives? I posed the question to E who also has had similar luck on the "dating front" and she simply asked "what makes you think that you deserve to date anything aside from sub-humans?" It is true. She is right and in my free time I am going to the zoo to pick out my next boyfriend.

When It Rains, It also Shits

Well, well, well this has been the worst week of my life. After a week of unemployment, I have come to understand that I am way more productive member of society when I have nothing to do during the day. This week has been exceptionally hectic, what with forcing myself to go to the gym because there is no excuse not to, doing my own laundry because there is no excuse not to, and showering on a constant basis, I am bloody exhausted.

The major upset has been the past twenty four hours when I learned that my computer is infected with the HIV virus. Look kids, if you ever get a call from M squared and he tells you to download Norton at the time of purchase as in 2007, just do it. Don't fuck around and wait until your computer no longer turns on and when it does projects rainbows on the screen, download when M squared tells you to. Because if you don't, you might end up like me: unemployed 600 dollars poorer. That's right, I just dropped 600 dollars to repair this piece of shit.

When I called M to tell her about this crisis, she did not seem remotely bothered. In fact, she was happy that something in my life was fixable as everything else seems so destitute and hopeless. When I told her this was clearly not the time to tell me how pathetic my life is, she told me that she did not find me pathetic because I do not have a job as after all she has never had one and is impressed that I have had one at all.