existential boredom

are you fucking kidding me?

2010-12-09T00:53:00.000-08:00

   Is there a job out there for me? If I were to find my dream job listing in the paper, it would read "WANTED: daydreamer, who will do whatever it takes to remain unnoticed at work while she collects money to spend on hobbies. Numerous useless degrees a plus. Word and excel experience preferred."
   Unfortunately, I doubt that I will ever find that job. That job is also the most likely scenario I can come up with as far as "dream jobs" go. Obviously, there is no job description that says "Find out what the X Files was all about and hunt down aliens!" or "Communicate with dolphins telepathically!" or "test out sex toys for living!" Actually, I think that last one is a real job, and one might be able to find the two former on craigslist, but one might also then get paid in pesos, or wonderbucks, or some equally useless currency. Also, I am quite positive that showing up for a job interview for a "dolphin telepath" would result in an immediate raping. Rule one of navigating craigslist: use the buddy system.
   Craigslist actually has a lot of viable job listings. Unfortunately, I am not qualified for any of them. I would love to be a librarian or a secretary (I love the smell of books and have what you could describe as a "fetish" for office supplies) but all of the job listings for secretaries and librarians require experience. I'm not sure how one is to obtain experience if all jobs require experience. I guess that's just another one of those fun loopholes of our capitalistic dream machine.
   I'm not sure whose dick I have to suck to get a job as a secretary (or at barnes and noble), but it seems almost impossible. I'm a twenty-five year old with a college degree, who loves filing and office supplies. I could be like Pam from The Office, even though she's technically a "receptionist." I guess employers are looking for a fifty year old with twelve cats, but if the pay is the same, wouldn't they WANT me over the cat lady? I would never ask off for hip replacement surgery or menopause, and I wouldn't have to take two hour lunch breaks to give my cats their insulin shots. I take a shit load of smoke breaks, but since I'm young and smart, I can get twice as much work done as the fifty year old in half the time. It more than equals out in the end.
   While on the couch in my underwear, I googled career options. I tried all sorts of searches like "secretary school," "librarian school," "do i have to go to school to be a secretary?" and finally "whose dick do I have to suck to get a job as a secretary?" What I found was a lot of bullshit and a lot of advertisements for the University of Phoenix online. I could go to school in the Bahamas and get the same degree AND a tan. So why bother with online school? Librarian school on the other hand is no joke. I already knew that from watching my favorite movie "Party Girl," and because I've applied to be a "clerk" in a library three times in my short life and got sheisted every single time. Most librarians have degrees in library studies and even have masters degrees and phds. Unfortunately, they get paid less than teachers and there is no point in going to school for another four years when I can smell all the books I want for free at the library and use the dewey decimal system in my home at my leisure.
   There does exist a secretary certification program at votech, or whatever the fuck they're calling it these days, that takes an astonishingly long SIX semesters to complete. I'm not sure why it takes six semesters to learn how to use excel, ms word, the interweb and the fucking telephone. Maybe the idea is that if I stay in secretary school long enough, I will end up a fifty year old with twelve cats and will then be qualified for the job. Would going to secretary school even help my plight to become a secretary? I was going to ask my mother, who I always go to for advice, but I didn't want to get bitch slapped. She grew up in a time when women were fighting for the right to be anything OTHER than a secretary, and here I am desperately trying to be one.
   To me, though, being a secretary is the perfect slacker job. It's mindless and easy, there are infinite amounts of office supplies, and I will finally have a stable nine to five work week. Also, the omniscient internet insists that secretaries make somewhere around $27,500 a year. Now some of you may be saying to yourselves, "That's how much BP gave me all in one check! I don't want to work all year for that amount!" And to you I would say "go fuck yourself" because I barely got any BP money and I make less than half of that a year. Your eyes did you right, less than half, assholes. You also might be saying to yourselves "You're awfully fat for someone who barely makes any money." And, again, I would tell you to go fuck yourself, and I already covered "couch tacos" in a previous post.
   I'm not really sure why I want a stable job so badly. It might be because everyone my age who has a "real" job is doing significantly better financially than my friends who are still waiting tables and tending bar. I'm also tired of the seasonal routine where I work. My boss did me a favor by laying me off for the winter so I don't have to fight for shifts. That's fine with me, because it's freezing there, and we lay down carpet, and the cats start to pee and poop all over it. Also, I work somewhere where cats sneaking in an peeing and pooping is a problem. It's a good job, but I would like something more dignified as I head into my thirties. Right now, I'm collecting unemployment and resting up for my thirties, and I'm trying to be more picky about the job I get next.
   Unfortunately, I'm one of those unemployed college graduates that NPR is always referencing. I'm not sure where to go from here and I'm not sure I even want to go anywhere. Where is there to go? What is going to make me happy? Nothing is going to make me happy. I think I'm in such a state of anomie and existential boredom that nothing will work with me, sadly. Usually, people who suffer from acute cases of anomie end up being hippies that use their trust fund to establish tree house communes, but since I have no trust fund, I will continue to live in poverty until I die at a very young age. Luckily, I smoke cigarettes to try and shave years off my meaningless life. Unfortunately I am one of those uninsured Americans (that NPR is always referencing) and I will probably suffer through a debilitating bout of lung, throat, mouth, breast, etc, cancer before I die. But since I'm an atheist I have no problem with offing myself when the going gets tough, so i have that to look forward to.
   It's really sad that my future was built on broken promises. It's sad that most of my peers have to make moral sacrifices to be financially stable and, consequently, happy. I never thought it would be like this. I never knew, while I was growing up, that this was how things would pan out. Everyday, the world I live in seems to be caving in around me and I have no sense of ownership of identity in it. I feel lost in a sea of unconscious Americans. We're all out there trying to pay our credit card bills and save some money by shopping at walmart. We're all looking for our dream job on the internet, but settling for a blow job from complacency. We all float through this life, unconscious and daydreaming, spending money in an economy we don't understand and buying shit we don't need. And where does that leave us? Procreating and passing on our deep seeded hatred of ourselves and our environment, and there's no way out. All one can do is make enough money to make it through the week and drink oneself into oblivion to forget about all the compromises one made to get where one is.

death and dying

2010-11-30T11:58:00.000-08:00

   What will happen to us when we turn thirty? Will we vote republican? Will we advocate Mexican shock collars in order to enforce border patrol? Will we drive mini vans and have children that watch movies in the back seat? Will we drive hovercraft mini vans and have children that watch hologram movies in the back seat? Will most be doing that, while I am stuck in an endless avalanche of mid-twenties hipster residue? I'm so tired of being poor that I regularly fantasize about being financially independent, and a complete waste-oid yuppie. I feel as though the decision to sell one's soul to "the man," or become a "mainstreamer" is a threshold that all of my friends and I must cross (or not) at some point during our twenties.
   There is no questioning the appeal of the life of a "mainstreamer." I don't really want a mortgage or a phone bill that my parents don't pay, but there is a certain amount of respect that comes with being able to pay for those types of things. There really is nothing good about either of those things, or credit card bills, or the collection agency that won't stop calling because I couldn't pay my vagina doctor on time. Even though all of the bullshit that comes along with an adult lifestyle is less than ideal, there is an allure to being "mature" and "grown up" that I can't seem to ascertain. I sometimes daydream of having my own house that I can decorate to my likings, with a back yard full of vegetables that i'm growing, and a live in partner that makes me completely happy and loves the mutt we adopted and named Lava. We could have dinner parties, and I could go to target with my bestest girlfriend and we could pick out plastic dinner ware made especially for hors d'oeuvres and aperitif. We could make handmade written invitations (when we weren't busy scrap booking) for the party, announcing that it was a 1920's prohibition theme party and request that everyone wear fancy dress.
   Yeah right. That shit will never happen, and if it does, hopefully my "bestest" girlfriend will shoot me in the head. We made a pact when we were 14 that if we ever didn't like Danzig or didn't think poop was funny that we should kill each other. I can't imagine having dinner parties and functions while playing danzig and talking about how funny poop is. The only people I know that like Danzig and poop would never show up to a dinner party, especially if there were hand made invitations. They wouldn't do that now, but will they when they turn thirty/thirty-five/forty?
   What happens to the bearded masses when the threshold of adulthood approaches? Do the hipsters stick to their subversion, becoming "crypsters," still hanging out with kids and drinking on the carport? Does it have to be one or the other? If one gets a nine to five job must one stop throwing/attending keg parties? At what point does one's lifestyle become a sad parody of the youth one once enjoyed? One minute we're having dance parties and doing coke and fucking people we don't know and the next minute we're trying to buy houses and get married and have babies. What the fuck is happening to us?
   Should I feel relief or shame because of my current life situation? I'm unemployed, floating between homes, and a general drunk loser, low life. Should I be someone by now? Should I be plagued by guilt when I scrape change together to buy cigarettes instead of food? I definitely don't want to be living this life forever. Frankly, it's exhausting and eating taco bell every day with couch change makes a person fat. But would I rather be eating couch tacos, or working at a soul sucking job so I can eat actual fresh vegetables from the grocery store everyday? Am I willing to get a career so I can eat actual food with a shelf life instead of a half-life?
   Fuck yes, I am. I'm tired of orange food and pabst blue ribbon. I want health insurance, a phone from this century, fresh vegetables and a dining room table!! I'm tired of eating couch tacos on a pillow in my lap!! I want all these things, and so much more! I want to shop at ikea and have a guest room and enough money to buy shots when i go out to get drunk! I want all this, but I still want my dignity. I want to show up at a shoes optional house party and bring my own beer and not hear any bullshit about only having stemless ridel wine glasses from mother-in-law at christmas, bla, bla, bla. I don't want to be ashamed if I have to pee in a bush or throw up behind a tree. Is that so wrong?
   If I choose to grow up, will I have to stop driving drunk and calling into work because I'm hung over? Will I one day find myself in an office and a leased car and no one around for miles who will eat mushrooms with me? I'm not dedicated to some subversive lifestyle, but I don't want to grow up and have all of the life sucked out of me. Because I am probably a borderline alcoholic, I can blame my drinking on something other than myself, and that thing is money. I get depressed because I'm poor, therefore I drink. It doesn't make much economical sense, but this America, land of the economy that no one understands. By buying alcohol I'm stimulating the economy and that makes me a patriot, asshole.
   Is there a point when one DECIDES to grow up? I feel as though I'm about to make that decision right now. If i decide to go back to school, it's over, I'm old. I will be drug tested and work from nine to five and have health insurance. I only really want one of those things, so I have to prepare myself to make a sacrifice on the altar of maturity. It's a scary thing, getting ready to go spelunking into the dark cave of old age. Maybe it will be nice in the cave, and maybe eventually enough of my friends will end up in the cave, and hopefully one of them will bring beer and pot.

kick ass good samaritans

2010-11-15T16:24:00.000-08:00

   I'm not sure what it is about people that makes them choose to do the wrong thing. I think everyone will pick up money and pocket it if they see it lying on the ground in a parking lot, but i like to think that most people, If they saw someone drop money would return it to them. I know I would. I don't think I know anyone who would pocket an unattended phone at a bar or steal a bike off of someone's porch. I wouldn't do any of those things, but those things have all happened to people i know. It's possible that everyone has it in them to be opportunistic and basically steal, in which case i'm just a terrible judge of character.
   I do hang out with a lot of drunks, and unless they were completely drunk, no one i know would hit a car in a parking lot and drive away. Which is, I guess, what happened last night. I, along with at least six other people (most of which work at the establishment where we were drinking), witnessed a douche bag and his girlfriend back their BMW into a parked Xterra and then drive off. My boyfriend and his roommate (who had his car pretty much annihilated in the same fashion and parking lot) chased after the car, trying to get them to stop. The car finally turned around and roommate confronted the d-bag driver. D-bag asked if it was roommate's car, and when roommate said "no," the driver responded by saying "then what's the problem?" Roommate went on to explain how hitting someone's car and driving off was a dick move and that the driver was a bad person. The driver still insisted on leaving, so when he saw roommate writing down the BMW license plate number, he went into a rage.
   D-bag got back out of the car and walked up to the terrace of the bar where boyfriend, roommate, a few other friends, and I were sitting, and in a condescending tone asked "Anyone here drive a grey Xterra?" We all said no and he replied by thrusting his arms outward and saying sarcastically "Yeah, didn't think so." He then mumbled something about how we were all fucking stupid and then called roommate a "homo." Roommate responded by saying something along the lines of "Fuck you motherfucker! I'm a homo because I'm trying to do the right thing?" D-bag driver responded by knocking over the chair I was standing by and getting in roommates face. He was in full raging ape mode, not really listening to anything but his own shouts of "fuck you" and "Mother fucker" and "Yeah, that's right bitch!" and repeating those and various other phrases over and over again.
   I retreated inside to get the pussy ass bar manager (excuse me, GENERAL manager) to attend to the chair flipping and ape like demonstration that was going on outside. Obviously none of my low life friends or I were going to call the fucking COPS! I hate cops. And of course, GM pretended not to hear me or the shouting that could be heard over the string cheese incident, or whatever the fuck they were playing inside. D-bag's girlfriend was inside talking to the couple who's car they had hit. I say talking, but she was wasted and not really making any sense. When I saw d-bag come in, I went back outside. I don't like confrontation very much, and since d-bag had stopped yelling, I didn't need pussyGM to come outside anymore.
   When I rejoined the group outside, everything went back to normal for a while. A friend started telling me about her date that night, we discussed another friend's chipped tooth, and then d-bag reemerged in all his douchey glory to invite roommate to come and talk to the couple with him since roommate insisted on getting in the middle of his business. I don't see how it was only d-bag's business, since he blatantly hit a car in front of close to ten people, but then again, I can't flip chairs or yell as loud as d-bag, so I will go ahead and admit that he's probably an authority on such issues. D-bag and roommate exchanged a few words from a distance, and with a good bit of shrubbery between them, until d-bag decided to leave and yelled "suck it!" with a very triumphant look on his face. Of course, we all started to laugh. Who says suck it? I guess a grown man who drives a bmw and buys clothes that already come pre-faded does.
   I wish I could have taken a picture of d-bag's face when he saw everyone bust out into genuine laughter. He looked so defeated, like he was sure "suck it!" was going to be a blow none of us "homo's" were going to recover from. Once he realized that none of us were going to "suck it" he called roommate a "fag," which started us all in an uproar again. Then he walked off mumbling and drove away.
   In that same parking lot, I witnessed the exact same thing happen, except it was in the middle of the day, and it was a sober housewife who hit a patron's BMW. She pulled into a space, went into the nail salon next door, then came back out and started to drive away again. One of my friends ran up to her car and asked "You're not leaving, right?" Someone had already gone inside the bar to see if the BMW belonged to anyone, and i was outside with a few other people watching this all go down. The woman had one of those awful country accents and she walked up to us to say "How dare you!" Everyone was a little dumb struck. I imagine that if I had been that woman I would be so embarrassed and apologetic that saying "how dare you?" to someone would never cross my mind. She started to lecture us and point her finger at all of us in general, even though only one of my friends had run out to talk to her.
   Said friend explained to her in the middle of her lecture that he was just trying to be a good samaritan and wasn't sure why she was yelling at everyone. She kept going, so I interjected, "Why are you being such a bitch about this?" She pointed her finger at me and said something like "Listen, missy, my husband is a state trooper and I would never do a hit and run." I was going to argue "well it looked like you were. I guess since we're all servers, you expect us to be fucking psychics and we should know that you would never leave the scene, like you appeared to be doing, because your husband is a cop." But you can't argue with indignant, angry people. So we all started to laugh at her and how crazy she was acting. She was trying to make a case for herself being a good citizen, by scolding us for being good citizens and not being fucking mind readers.
   When the owner of the BMW came outside to talk to her, she made a big dramatic show full of sarcasm explaining how "we" had flagged her down because she had hit his car and thought she was leaving, as if we had done something wrong. The owner of the BMW turned to us and said "thanks, guys," breaking the crazy lady off mid sentence. A look came over her face like she had just seen a puppy die. Then they walked off to the parking lot together to assess the damages. I always wondered if she went home and explained that story to her friends, and if any one of them pointed out to her that she completely overreacted and went nuts on innocent bystanders who were just trying to the right thing.
   I guess these are two cases of people being embarrassed about getting caught doing something stupid, and reacting in an extreme way. I say it's extreme because it's the exact opposite of the way I would have acted. These scenarios are akin to when someone cuts you off driving, and then flicks YOU off. I guess it's a way to deflect negative attention from oneself, but it has the opposite affect. Did d-bag really need to call roommate a "fag" and a "homo?" He found an argument to focus on and get angry about (the fact that roommate flagged him down even though it wasn't roommate's car) and totally blew the situation into another dimension entirely. The fact that the driver of the car didn't see him hit the car was a moot point, because shit load of other people did. The crazy woman lecturing us for simply asking "you're not leaving, right?" borders on insanity. No one even accused her of anything. The question "You're not leaving, right?" already gives the woman's integrity the benefit of the doubt, yet that was exactly what she was angry about. She felt that her integrity had been questioned by a bunch of stoner low lives who drink in the middle of the day, so she responded by overreacting.
   The fucked up thing is that these people probably still think that they did nothing wrong, even though these situations only arose because they DID do something wrong. They smashed into parked cars and then attempted to drive away without taking any responsibility. Not even a note. I guess it's a really fucked up way to defend your honor, or something. I don't think I'll ever understand it. The fact that I've witnessed it twice makes me believe people will tend to act nuts instead of sane and apologetic. Who knows? Maybe when someone feels that stupid, adrenaline takes over and they start acting like gorillas. I'm not sure. What I do know is that it's not going to stop me, or anyone i know who was involved in either of those situations, from doing the right thing the next time it happens. Unless the driver has a weapon or is a cop. Hopefully these people feel a secret rash of shame burn their faces every time they think about what idiots they acted like.

The Other Women (part one)

2010-11-08T00:43:00.000-08:00

   It is with heaviness in my heart that i report that most women i know, including myself, have either been other women, or have dealt with them. There is a sliding scale of "other women," which one should consult before reacting. Women have a tendency to be extremely catty and unkind to one another in general. Women's periods will synch up when they are friends so that the alpha female is the only person who can get impregnated by the alpha male. Even though most women I know would rather risk the chance of death by coat hanger than champion the feat of being impregnated by the alpha male, i think that our biology still dominates our emotions when it comes to "the others."
   There are many different types of "others." There are the unwitting and unsuspecting other women. On the other hand, there are the other women who have not been officially informed, but none the less, have a pretty good idea of the role they are filling. There are also the consenting and deliberate "other women." These women fall into a vast grey area. Most men will lie to the "other," in order to fuck her. This is forgivable on behalf of the "other." I myself, have been caught in this conundrum. Nowadays, there are varying degrees that constitute monogamy, which makes it increasingly easier for men to fuck around. Mind you, I'm not only hating on men. This is strictly about "other women," but that doesn't exclude lesbian monogamy. What I do take issue with is the kind of women/girls (let's face it, just because they're bleeding doesn't mean they have any grace, class or wisdom to demarcate them as women) who willingly go after another woman's partner.
   I would like to say that I'm not judgmental, but i guess i am in this case. I try not to befriend skanks, whores, cheaters and generally unsavory individuals. Although I am friends with many a slut, I chalk that up to the fact that many women have "daddy issues" and are unable to function within the constraints of a monogamous relationship. Also, I live in a really small town and most of the people here whom you want to fuck, you don't want to date. Hence the "slut" stigma. Why pay for the whole pig when all you want is a little bit of sausage? Men aren't chastised for their behavior in this regard, why should women be? I guess this means that I am also friends with cheaters (which i am), but i feel like if one weighed their morality out on a tangible scale and sympathized with their plight, one would find them not guilty. Or at least less guilty than some cunts out there.
   While on the topic of the classifications of "others," one can't help but point out the varying degrees of crazy that women display. I am aware that by stating this i am tip-toe-ing on the verge of sexism, which is a very slippery slope, and i take heed with that fact. Regardless, I would like to point out that if men had an organ in their body that shed it's lining and fell out of their sex hole every month (YOUR GOD I wish they had a sex hole-besides the butt hole), they might act a little crazy as well. Women are fucking crazy sometimes, and it's just a fact. Yet, if the whole world were filled with (or either run by) women, this would be a moot point. Even in that circumstance, the completely womanized world would still recognize some women as more crazy than most.
   I will attempt to classify the main forms of crazy, but as there are so many, I fear I will fail. You have your cat collectors and/or stalkers. You have the women that text you so much (mostly about their cat/cats) that they encompass both of the aforementioned characteristics. You have the commitment issue women. "LEAVE ME! JUST LIKE MY FATHER DID!" You get my point. There are the perpetual cheaters. "I'LL LEAVE YOU BEFORE YOU LEAVE ME! LIKE MY FATHER DID!" Yeah. You have the women that are so non-functioning in regards to their craziness, that they take WAAAY too many drugs, or drink instead of breathing. That might be the worst combination: crazy AND really fucked up. Especially when they take too many pills and get emotional in public places. I went through that phase. It's disgusting and demoralizing, even more so once you sober up and realize what a fucking twat you'd been acting like for god knows how long.
   There are the obsessively clingy and/or delusional women. Usually it stems from some kind of confidence issue that one can forgive, but it's annoying none the less. The early twenties are a cornucopia for madness in women and, more often than not, one will encounter a woman who exhibits at least six of the above mentioned traits. I understand how difficult it can be to be friends with these sorts. Not to say that I myself am not a little crazy, but i hang out with women/girls who are generally younger than I am OR so much older that they don't care anymore and the crazy has worn off a significant amount. Something about aging dulls the vestige of crazy, probably because of the lack of energy/willingness to be so. These older, "crazy" women usually fall under the category of cat collectors, and pose no real threat to society of boyfriends and husbands.
   When one female, who is generally levelheaded, befriends a female who is not, the gray area becomes much larger for the former in regard to the latter. It may also be true that the levelheaded female is in fact NOT levelheaded. The fact may be that she is SO CRAZY that believes she is not. I like to think of myself as eccentric and slightly neurotic. Such would be the case if I weren't under the poverty line. For some reason, women who generate a relatively similar crazy threat (magenta is the color classification) as I, but who make (or take from the man who makes) more than $100,000 a year are eccentric. If any woman makes less than that, she is justifiably crazy. If one of her "crazy" ideas ends up making her a shit load of money, then she moves out of the "crazy" realm and becomes eccentric.
   But I digress. The facts are these: all women are friends with some crazy bitches. Even if the company you keep are skanks, whores, cheaters etc, one can usually rationalize their behavior to some degree. I had a friend (we'll call her Jim) who had been dating a man for two years only to find out (via following him to his ex wife's house, sneaking into the back yard, and watching the two fuck) that he was seeing someone else. Since the person he was seeing was his ex-wife, whom he had two children with, she tried to rationalize the situation. Although as most of us know all to well, rationalizing doesn't work when you're fucking pissed. This situation made BOTH women "other women." Jim decided to write "YOU CAN HAVE HIM" on one of her dildo's, in sharpie, and hang it on the rear-view mirror of the ex-wife's convertible. She later took it down, then three hours later hung it back up and then two hours later ended up taking it down. How she suspended a dildo from a rearview mirror, i'm not sure. I didn't ask. What i did ask, since this woman is twenty years my senior and so are the other two characters, is "Are you fucking crazy?!"
   Is she fucking crazy? She ended up taking the dildo down, and for all i know continues to use it to this day. Whether the sharpie note is still on there or not is a mystery, and furthermore it's not important, but still noteworthy. But really, is she crazy? She took the dildo down, stopped seeing the man and instead, decided to write the ex-wife a letter and leave it in her windshield. The letter simply stated the facts: that she, Jim, had been dating the man for two years and was not aware that he was seeing her, the ex-wife. She informed the ex that she had ceased to see the man 1) because he was cheating on her and 2) because the ex and the man have a family together and she did not want to come between them. She just wanted the ex to know what he had been up to for the past two years. Perhaps he had been pulling the same ponzi scheme on her. Jim wanted to take the high road and do the ex a favor by giving her all the facts that the man had more than likely left out. Is that crazy? I would say no. But I also am an atheist and an animal rights and civil rights advocate, respectively, which probably makes me liberal. Regardless, i hope we can all agree that it's not crazy.

   This will be continued when i am less drunk.

A salute to mediocrity

2010-11-05T00:57:00.000-07:00

Fuck this! I worked harder than this! Here I am, and forever will be, stuck in an endless whirlpool, circling the drain. Let's go get em team! Let's wake up early and exercise! Let's actually stop our friends from driving drunk and then get out there and vote! I should be skinnier and more successful than i am! Let's feed our pets vegetarian food! Don't let the man hold you down! Smoke even when you have the hiccups!

choking on the dust (in a singsong cadence)

2010-11-03T02:05:00.000-07:00

Professor Beardface decided to roll to my side of the bed to throw up. The shape of his, mostly liquid, expulsion resembles a cock and balls pointed straight to his mouth. Although we share a double bed, there is still plenty of room to throw up on one's own respective side of the bed, OR in one's own mouth. Though choking is a hazard, (that is a risk i am willing to take with these nice satin-ish sheets purchased at target for the lowish price of lowishy-lowish) I feel confident that his mighty beard would have soaked up most of the life threatening bile.

If you're going to get ass fuck drunk, throw up on your own side of the bed! Yes, it's true that i don't technically live here, but it is technically (more actually than technically) my bed, and i resent the fact that he has chosen to throw up in it. And on my side! Is there some Freudian slip associated here? Is he figuratively vomiting on my intelligent and independent vagina? Does he resent the fact that my parents have a nice house with a remodeled kitchen and a pool? Is he subconsciously vomiting on the presuppositions that he holds about me and my lifestyle?

The aforementioned reasons were brought up by Prof. Beardface's Roommate, whom i spent the better part of the night drinking with. Prof. Beardface, Roommate, and I went out to meet my parents, sister, and brother-in-law, because today happens to be my mother's sixty-first birthday. She decided to celebrate this day by drinking at a skeezy bar with the motley crew mentioned above. Prof. Beardface was dropped off early in the night because he decided to start drinking at 6 pm. (like any good American), and unlike the mighty Taylor's (my family), he is unable to to drink like the red men (/women) that we are, all night long. Roommate and I departed around midnight from "Hog's Breath" (BTW, it's better than no breath at all) and left Prof. B at The Kelly Cottage, to African American Out and dream of a world where everyone listens to The White Stripes, or some such utopian thing, and continued drinking with my over 60 parents at the local dive, KJ's.

Only after returning from drinking with Roommate did I discover the gift that my lover had left me in our bed. Roommate and I stayed longer than usual at KJ's hoping that the lowlife the establishment had hired as entertainment would deiced to play the Smashing Pumpkins song we had requested. We requested Mayonnaise, then Cherub Rock, neither of which are difficult if one had decided to practice guitar through one's awkward years. Unfortunately we spent our last beer listening to covers of Jason Mraz and NIckelback. Upset by the lack of willingness on behalf of the hired entertainment to indulge our high school nostalgia, Roommate and I decided to rock out to some at.the.drive.in on the way home, and stayed in the car until a few choice songs were over. Only then did I get the novel idea to "Get the battery powered speaker/cooler out of the back yard that's covered in sand, get really high, and listen to at.the.drive.in on it in the living room like we're in high school!" I went to take my bra off and BAM! there it was. My hobbit-y boyfriend had lovingly rolled to my side of the bed, and in an unconscious attempt to hold his distant lover (me), had thrown up on the sheets. Maybe "spit up" is the correct nomenclature, as there were no discernible "chunks" in it.

Regardless!

I'm too old to be dealing with people who vomit on a Tuesday night out with the "in-laws." If you can't handle drinking with some 60 year olds sensibly, then maybe you should just kill yourself. I mean, really. In the end, it all got blamed on me. My drunker-than -shit sister asked me, to ask my boyfriend (prof. B.), if he would get her husband drunk so she wouldn't seem like an alcoholic when she tried to rally the family troops on an excursion to KJ's. Even though I asked Prof. B. to "PERSUADE" Brother-In-Law to go to KJ's, I was accused of trying to get Prof. B. to get Brother-In-Law drunk, which by proxy means that Beardface got drunk, which is my fault. Obviously.

Beardface insists on "whisper jets," a shot composed of Rumpleminze and Stoli, and tastes like a hooker spit mouthwash into your mouth. And your eyes. I'm not sure how or why, but i know that's how it feels. The whisper jet attacks all of the senses. Mainly the Common Sense. When an individual suffers from "whisperjetivits" they will exhibit a general lack of common sense. Dancing sexually with one's mother-in-law is one example. On her birthday. Sixty-First birthday. Also, laying mostly horizontal in a mostly vertical car seat on a ride home and professing one's love (no really, I FUCKING LOVE THIS) to NPR is another. There are more serious side effects of "whisperjetivitis" including shaving one's head (like with a bic. Like REALLY shaving your head bald) even if you're not balding and throwing up on your lover's side of the bed in the shape of cock and balls.

In the end it wasn't such a bad night. Sure, i'm unable to sleep in my bed on a Tuesday night, but what-the-hey i'm up a 3:46am posting a blog. By the time i get through spell checking this bitch, the "spit up" will be dry, and I can sleep in it anyway. I've slept in grosser things. Only recently Prof. B reserved a room for us in the mountains of Georgia, that can only be described as a "fuck dungeon." I would not want to hold a blacklight/UV light/valmorification-light-whatever to that room for fear of what I might find in the heart shaped jacuzzi tub strategically placed by the king sized bed OR on the mirrors surrounding the entire upper loft of that cabin. I'm not sure if those lights work on mirrors but still. IT could be worse.

Atleast i'm not living in Haiti. Fuck those guys.

post election puppy fuck

2010-11-02T23:46:00.000-07:00

no one wants to fuck a puppy. However puppy fucking is inevitable and can be glorious in the right time and the right place. Have you ever looked a puppy in the eyes and just wanted to mouth rape it? sometimes, puppies are so cute that you just want to smash their faces into a wall. Other times you just hate your goddamn puppy so much that you want to treat it like a human. He or She will get over it. It's a puppy. It doesn't carry around emotional baggage when it comes to rape. Puppies are just there for the raping. Are we gonna be the assholes who don't stand in line for the free puppy raping???