with all due respect

yesterday was one of those days where i felt the need to rage in straight godzilla-destruction mode.

there wasn't any particular reason for it.

but i was in one of those "i'm in limbo" moods.  

the kind where you're not unhappy but you're certainly not happy.

you're not tragically upset about anything in particular but you're almost dangerously indifferent to the point where the most unassuming thing could set you off and then all hell will break loose.

and frankly nothing snapped me out of it.  

i just floated through the day teetering on the edge of a menacing apocalypse.

so i came up with some general advice for interacting with me:

do not ask me stupid questions.

do send me funny cat pictures.

do not leave me goddamn voicemails.

do text me inappropriate things littered with profanity.

do not forego deodorant.

do bring me pickles as a peace offering if you've angered me.

do not not anger me.

do bring me pickles anyway.

do not ask me if i want to get drunk (that's a stupid question).

do not think i give any fucks about anything you're trying to tell me (unless it's about funny cats, booze, or pickles because then i'm all ears).

do make smacking me on the ass a top priority.

do not put olives on your fingers and chase me around.

do watch the video below.

  

are we clear?

because i won't hesitate to come

at you like a spider monkey.

      

A Series In Poor Choices

i just wanted to lay in bed all day and watch bedknobs and broomsticks.  but no.  it's wednesday.  and i had to work.  while hungover.  severely.  

so severely that i ate my lunch before 9am.  so severely that i didn't even heat it up - just dunked a cold hamburger patty in lemon poppy seed dressing.  i'm a fucking wreck.

in my defense - it was shitler's last night of bowling and i can't tolerate being at that fucking place when i'm sober.  so i indulged.  and now i'm paying the price.  here's a few ridiculous fucking pictures from last night:

[caption id="attachment_1624" align="aligncenter" width="1024"] me. and the wheez.[/caption]



[caption id="attachment_1626" align="aligncenter" width="1024"] because normal pictures would be too easy.[/caption]

oh, good news.  shitler is the champion of his fantasy football league.  

also, he got a trophy.



what's that?  you don't care?  ya, me either.

but i do like trophies.

[caption id="attachment_1629" align="aligncenter" width="1024"] and shoving them up people's asses.[/caption]

and apparently shitler and i can take a decent photo together:



you'll have to excuse me.  i need more bayer advanced strength.  and another gallon of water.  if there were a contest for being the most dehydrated - i would win.

but today wasn't all bad.  i remembered that i did hit the eight ball in to win a game of pool last night.  i only won because b was my partner and he got every other ball in.   i'm not even joking.

and then my friend the super fox sent me the best text in the world.  seriously.  it was this and only this:

but now i'm concerned.  does jeff have cancer?  and why is his hair like that?

also - i would post a picture of the super fox and me but i don't have one.  and upon thinking about it - i don't know if i do want one.  because she's infinitely gorgeous and i am infinitely not.  

also - my hand smells.  that is all.

Throbbing. And Not In The Good Way.

update: remember when i cut myself on the sink?

well, great news.  i dug glass out of the sink the other day - so i don't feel quite so stupid.

but this morning is another story.  

there's nothing better than being woken up due to the fact that you have somehow thrashed in your sleep and cracked the back of your skull on the corner of your bedside table.  

even better?  
it hurts so bad that you start sleepily crying and then your significant other blindly extends his hand and pats you on the head (where it happens to fucking hurt) and slurs ok, "y'ok?"  and then rolls back over.  thank you shitler, thank you.

then, you're so delirious from sleep and pain that you convince yourself that you probably have a concussion and you've seen way too many movies and decide that there's no way you should go back to sleep because if you do - you'll probably die.  but you do fall back asleep, for like fifteen minutes.  and when you wake up, you somehow have a cold.  and a massive headache due to the blunt force trauma to your head.  so your morning consists of this:



and then you discover, upon attempting to brush your teeth, that your dog has done this:

[caption id="attachment_1490" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="it's like a fucking shiv."][/caption]

and the drive to work is painful, because you're convinced that the sun is trying to kill you and you have to wear two sets of sunglasses to just to make the trek somewhat tolerable.  but then you're at work.  and everyone is loud.  and your head throbs.  and then you realize it's good friday.  the day people acknowledge that jesus was crucified and died on the cross.  and you kind of wish that you were dead.  but you're not.  you're just quietly suffering.  until you find these pictures:







but then you realize it's only noon.  and you have ten to twelve hours worth of work left.

happy good friday assholes.

I Cut Myself on the Sink

i know.  it makes no sense.  

well, in retrospect - it makes perfect sense.  i'd been drinking.  and then cleaning.  

i'm really, really good at one of those things.

[caption id="attachment_1441" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="ack. also - i suggest you click on the picture. the close-up is way better."][/caption]

the artsy version:

[caption id="attachment_1442" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="i like the one with the hearts."][/caption]

boring, un-decorated band aids are for losers.
so this one is for later when it's time to change the dressings on my wound and when i'm in a better mood.  

[caption id="attachment_1445" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="that smile will soon be bloody."][/caption]

 this is now:

[caption id="attachment_1446" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="because i'm angry."][/caption]

what have i learned from this?

1. sinks are sharp

2. i shouldn't clean

I Don't Think This Was The Jelly Beyonce Was Talking About

and lord knows i wasn't ready for it.
apparently b put these in my purse two or three months ago and i'm just finally discovering that they exploded all over.

that's fine.
even though everything in my purse was covered in a sticky layer of jelly it at least smelled like strawberries.
oh, here's my purse.  and its contents.

contents include, but aren't limited to:

wallet, 2 books, twilight returns movie, re-usable grocery bag thing, pepto, various beverages, headphones, deodorant, tiny satchel thing, 2 kinds of body sprays, 3 chapsticks, sunglasses, loaf of bread, triscuits, new barbell and nose rings, a thousand receipts, birthday card from last year, keys, lotion, jely, 26 cents, my crumpled march madness bracket

oddly enough - no pens.

and no, that printer wasn't in my purse.  although i'm sure it would fit.

Textual Feeling: B's B-Day!

in trying to honor b on the day of his birth and his cursed existence in my life since i encountered him however many years ago - i give you these:

***

me: i had asparagus with dinner last night and my pee has smelled alllll day.
b: i love when that happens.

***

b: why aren't we supposed to cry over spilled milk?  if not cleaned up properly, spilled milk can get pretty nasty.  that seems like something to cry over.

------ (this is me ignoring him)

b: 

------ (this is me ignoring him again)

b:



------ (me ignoring him)

b: EVENTUALLY YOU WILL RESPOND TO ME.
me: those are old news bitch.
b: la dee da.  i just had them sent to me.  sorry for thinking you'd enjoy them too.  now answer my question.
me: i guess my answer would be that i wouldn't give a shit because a dog or cat would lick it up and it wouldn't be my fucking problem anymore.
b: why are you so bitchy today?
me: i need a drink.

***

b: well, it's what she wants.
me: all that she wants?
b: you got it.
me: what about another baby?
b: that's me.  duh.
me: quit being obtuse and acknowledge my ace of base reference.
b: nope.  i refuse to give you that satisfaction.

***

so here's to b.  on his fucking bday.  

here's to many more times we get hammered and make poor choices while shitler judges us, to hours spent watching "my cat from hell," and to discussing books and how much we love them in front of shitler till his head explodes.  

to vodka presses (with lime -because if you prefer them without - odds are you're a fucking communist) and john daly's, and ranch dressing on the thighs of hot girls.

to daring me to steal shit when i get drunk out of my skull, to encouraging you to drunk dial people and leave embarrassing messages, and most importantly - here's to poor-decision making (especially on your bday).

Shitler Is Breaking My Heart

i need to stop thinking i'm invincible.  i made some poor choices this weekend in regards to food and alcohol and my poor, poor body is currently paying the price.
my back hurts because i spent the majority of my day yesterday hunched over the toilet.  my head is pounding.  and everything i encounter is literally the most annoying thing ever.  people are walking loud and they are talking even louder.  it's crazytown.
and on top of all of that - lincoln is making me give charchar binks the cat back to its original owner because he's a fucking devil-man.
from here on out - he will be referred to as shitler.  in an effort to campaign against his current nazi regime - my friend made some convincing photos that are pretty self-explanatory.

i've decided to occupy the pussy for catgate 2K12.  although i'm not sure if i'm utilizing the concept correctly.  or if that makes me a democrat or a republican.  or if it makes a nazi.  or if this will even work.
i'm sure it won't.  shitler doesn't even care that he's literally ripping my heart out.
bastard. 

Sick, Fucked Up Books Make For Great Reads

i recently finished what i would say is my new favorite book.
sharp objects
by gillian flynn
it is supremely fucked up and all things terrible.  an incredible twist focusing on women as nasty, conniving characters.  none of this women being victims bullshit or simply that women are on the receiving end of awful behavior and the results of said awful behavior.  in this book, women are presented as horrible human beings - hell bent on inflicting pain and damage if it benefited them.  we very seldom see women presented as they are in this book and it's quite refreshing.  and if you'd like, the author wrote a little essay about her book here.
for the love of all that's holy - read this fucking book.
because it has everything.  drug use, sexual exploits, creepy, fucked up small town bullshit, deep seated family issues, murder, psychological issues, etc.
there is something about the way the author writes that makes you sympathize and hate all at the same time.  not to mention that although some parts are completely fucked up - you can't help but judge yourself a little because at one point in your life - you've thought along those exact same lines.
the quote below is like an honest slap in the face.  because who doesn't or hasn't used alcohol as a buffer, an excuse, an escape, or as a way to cope?
"i've always been partial to the image of liquor as lubrication - a layer of protection from all the sharp objects in your head."
not to mention that it simply refuses to let women be standby characters.  it pushes back when it tries to pigeon-hole women as soft characters.  it serves to prove that women be just as sick, sadistic, and fucked up as many male characters can be.  it's nice to be able to read something that's not so cliche when it comes to women.
this book forces you to face some of the awful truths about the character of women and that those personality traits, to some extent, exist in all of us.

"sometimes i think illness sits inside every woman, waiting for the right moment to bloom.  i have known so many sick women all my life.  women with chronic pain, with ever-gestating diseases.  women with conditions.  men, sure, they have bone snaps, they have backaches, they have a surgery or two, yank out a tonsil, insert a shiny plastic hip.  women get consumed."

Chuck is Going to Murder Me

if this is the last you hear from me - you know who killed me.
check out that look in his eyes.  if that doesn't scream serial killer i don't know what does.

Christmas Music Makes Me Want to Kill Myself

i don't care that the title of this post is both bold and probably incredibly offensive.  it is exactly how i feel about christmas music.

i hate the radio year round.  but i despise it especially throughout the holiday season.  and i wouldn't hate driving so much if Lincoln would follow through and finish the ramshackle job he started when he went to put a cd player in my car.  instead, i am forced to listen to the repetitiveness that is radio.  none of my presets are set up so i have to do that thing where you scan through while simultaneoulsy try to keep an eye on the road and not kill your fellow travelers. 

but that's neither here nor there.

i'm not sure at what point in november people think it's appropriate to play christmas music - but let me make myself clear - it's NEVER appropriate.  there's always some radio station that plays christmas music fucking constantly (sidenote: it must be fucking awful to work at that shithole of a station) and and it never fails that when i'm scanning through while driving i happen to hear a nanosecond of it and i swear it causes me to seize. 

i will allow a limited amount of christmas music one day and one day only.

christmas day. 

that's it.  every other time i hear it i want to commit horrible crimes.

here's something fantastic i found and is literally thought for thought how i feel (except i'm not jewish).

there is one song that i will allow.  this one.

 but i think it's mainly because i love anything to do with rodents doing human things.

case in point:


OR my personal favorite:


i now realize that this has turned into a post about rodents and how much i love seeing them row boats, sing or dance (among other things). 

but it's still mainly about how much i hate christmas music.

I'm Not A Hateful Person, These Are Just the Things I Hate

in no particular order, these are the things i hate with a fucking passion.  this is nowhere near being done, but at least it's a start.

• whistling
• people who can't spell (i recently had a family member post something on facebook and use the word "rejoys."  i no longer consider us related)
• braggarts
• nickleback and los lonely boys (i don't know how far heaven is.  stop singing it like the answer is going to magically fucking come to you)
• my neighbors (i called her a miserable cunt to her face once.  the truth hurts)
• talking on the phone
• peeing (it's a waste of my time)
• people that think it's inappropriate to talk about taking a shit
• people who don't use bookmarks (your cockiness will be your undoing)
• the chicago bears
• the kindle/nook (i refuse to be part of a movement that murders books)
• people who groom themselves at work (stop clipping your fingernails.  i can hear it.
  it's disgusting)
• not drinking
• the bananas foster guy at the salsa cantina (no one cares that your recipe is awesome.  you're a show off)
• showering (which is why i love camping)
• people who don't ask specific questions when they're looking for a specific answer
• rollercoasters
• cleaning/laundry (also a waste of my time.  like peeing)
• christmas music (it may or may not send me into a murderous rage)

i guess i don't hate as many things as i thought.  although these are just the first few that came to mind.  sometimes hatred creeps up unsuspectingly. 
addendums to come.