Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor...

BFRB and I were conversing yesterday evening about the usual topics: men and why they suck, work and why it sucks, being bored and why it sucks…and then we started musing about WHY we were bored. Well, it's because we're broke, and we can't afford to do any of our usual weekend field trips to various retail locations because we suck at window-shopping.

Seriously. Six months ago, we had money. We went shopping a LOT. We'd hit the clearance sales at Dillard's, cruise by Ross and Old Navy, and wind up at our favorite, Shoe Gallery. Then, we would go have dinner somewhere that didn't have a drive-thru. Now, the only places we go are Wal-Mart, PetsMart, and Laundry-Mart. (Okay, it's really called Swiss Cleaners and Laundry, but I was trying to maintain the symmetry.) Our bills are the same, our paychecks haven't mysteriously shrunk, so where has the money disappeared to??? Did our Christmas gifts/tax refunds just finally run out, or what?

It's not just us, either. Everyone I work with is bemoaning their lack of funds. The rest of my friends (GEB, BFRB2, TM) are all riding the broke bus. None of us can really pinpoint exactly WHY, either. All I can figure out is that in my last life, (assuming I believe that I had one, which let's say I do today) I must have been really rich and a complete fuckstick. That must mean that all of my friends were, too. But really, universe, I have the point now!! I promise that, if I were to suddenly be possessed of great riches a la Bill Gates, I would know how to use them in a benevolent and kind fashion but still maintain myself in the pinnacle of luxury. I don't even mind WORKING for the riches. Just send me an idea, okay? Something which will make my metaphorical ears perk up.

So, if anyone has any ideas for money-making ventures that do not involve selling access to my orifices, donating bodily fluids, or risking death, please let me know so I can steal…ahem….utilize them in a manner which will benefit all humanity, particularly me.

And if you live in Oklahoma, be sure to vote for the lottery in November. We all need a get-rich-immediately fantasy which does not involve driving to Texas.

All the Small Things...

My illness has finally begun to abate. After one last bout of weird, overdosing on cold medicine, heart racing, hands shaking, freak-o-rificness this morning, I feel much more human. However, certain things that have happened over the last few days have made me wonder…why do things seem to be so much more bothersome when you're sick, tired, and/or stressed out?

For example, computer problems. Everyone who owns a PC knows that the shit will crash periodically, especially when you're about to win the auction of a coveted item on eBay, achieve orgasm, or hit send on the hate e-mail you've been composing. But when you're not feeling your best, the "server busy" message on Pogo games will provoke a whiny, snot-slurping rant about how no one loves you because you can't even play a stupid GAME.

Then we have pet problems. The cat puking on your bathroom throw rug is a weekly occurrence, at least when you have a fluffy kitten like my little Emily:

While you're sick, though, and are just going in the bathroom to grab another wad of toilet paper because you're out of Kleenex, the cat puke takes on astronomical significance…"Even my cats HATE me, I'm so pathetic."

Of course then we have the frustration of dealing with humanity. Wal-Mart on a weekend is never a fun place to be. However, when you've gone there to replenish your supply of Robitussin and Sugar-Free Alpine Hot Spiced Cider Mix, and you feel like a big pile of quivering Jell-O because you have not had a dose of either of them in a whole hour, and you discover that these two items are on opposite ends of the Super Mega Wal-Mart, and then they don't have enough checkers, so you have to wait in line for 30 minutes in the express lane behind the non-English speaking, overdressed woman who can't figure out how to swipe her fucking credit card….need I say more? While this kind of crap is not exactly uncommon when dealing with a heartless corporate giant, it's especially frustrating when your head feels like it has been crammed in a vise and your nostrils feel like they are stuffed with socks and sealed with duct tape and your eyes hurt from the glare of the lights because all they have seen in three days is the dim light in your cave-like apartment.

The list never ends. I remember once, I was trying to wash a bowl or something when I was sick. Don't ask me why I needed to wash this PARTICULAR item, other than my sick little head decided I needed THAT bowl to make soup. So, of course, I break it. And it slices my thumb open. And I cry for an hour. Yeah, the cut hurt, but any other time it would have been a "slap a band-aid on the shit and keep on trucking" kind of incident. Or you finally venture out of the house to get some food, and your KFC Popcorn Chicken is like Popcorn Rocks when you get it home…and your sick ass goes back to KFC and you're pissed off and upset enough to (a) convince the manager to make a fresh batch of Popcorn Chicken (which takes like 30 minutes, apparently) at 9:00 at night and (b) give you a free Little Bucket Parfait, too.

I have this theory that life tends to kick you while you're down. Therefore, it's never just one bad thing that happens. One bad thing sets off a chain reaction of many bad things, and before you know it, you are completely fucked. However, I can't figure out if being sick really fits into this hypothesis. Yeah, a few minor things go wrong when you're sick, and they really make your life miserable. But if they're not really that bad, do they count as bad things in the event cascade, or should you still be waiting for more jacked-up stuff to happen once you have recovered? Is there another shoe, or did it already kick you?

DayQuil, Jack Daniels, and Taco Bueno

It's that time of year...the time for the disgusting, gross, neverending upper respiratory infection. And it's all thanks to my friends in the office next door. It's sounded like the fucking tuberculosis ward in there for weeks, and they finally managed to breach my immune system's defenses. For the last four days, I have been very very very sick.

This is the part where I whine....

I didn't know my body could produce this much snot, and that it needed all of it so badly. I can't smell, I can't hear, and I can't breathe. I try to blow my nose and nothing happens, except I feel like my eardrums are going to implode.

I've consumed three bottles of Robitussin DM (and/or its generic equivalents) over the last three days. Not working. Box of Day Quil - ditto. Sugar-free hot spiced cider with Jack Daniels...better, but not by much. Spicy fast mexican food...couldn't really taste it, so now it's just sitting there.

I can't really smoke much, and my head is so stopped up I think I'm getting dizzy from lack of oxygen. I can't tell if (a) I'm running a fever (b) I've combined the wrong medications or (c) I'm semi-drunk.

This was not how I planned to spend my weekend. I planned to (a) hang out with BFRB2 and her niece (b) see a movie, have dinner, and get laid and (c) work out a few times. What I've done instead is (a) played endless games of MahJongg Towers II (b) whined enough that GID brought me some cough syrup and (c) sat on my ass for two days.

I wish I had sick time, but I don't. This means I will have to drag my hacking, coughing, sniffling, sneezing ass to the office tomorrow. However, I will use copious amounts of Germ-X antibacterial hand gel so that I don't infect anyone else.

Part of me would love to just go off on someone or something, but I can't summon the energy.

I. Feel. Like. Ass.

Cat Fight!

This apparently happened last night in ghetto land. However, I heard none of this, because it was on the opposite side of my building. BFRB got an eye-and-earful, though. This tale features underage drinking, theft, women fighting, and the competence we've come to expect from the Oklahoma City Police.

Apparently, the ruckus began about 11:45 p.m. BFRB was watching Oprah and playing on the computer. After muting the sound on the TV, BFRB looks out her window. Four girls in a Blazer-type vehicle were harassing two girls walking to their car. Many allegations were made, most of which contained the words "white trash." The two girls approach the SUV, the chicks in the SUV take off their shoes and jewelry, and the fight begins, complete with rolling on the ground, hair pulling, screaming, and yelling. They would take breaks and start back up. Of course, they have an audience of about a half-dozen horny young white boys. Break up the fight? Don't be silly. They'd have to pay for this shit on the internet later…..

Well, on about Round 3 of Chick Fight 2004, the neighbors come out to watch. Most of these are young black men.

One of the girls who had not yet reached her vehicle had a purse. When she picked it up, everything fell out, and then she kept dropping it on the ground so that she could continue to smack one of the other chicks around. Finally, one of our friendly neighbors walks over, grabs the purse, picks up the contents, and calmly walks back across the street. BFRB screams out the window for him to give the purse back. He of course pretends he doesn't know what purse she's talking about and says that he's just waiting on his crack dealer…I mean friend. So he casually walks back over toward the girls, and before he drops the purse, he grabs the wallet. At this point, BFRB tells the bar boys watching the fight that the other guy just swiped the wallet…and their wussy asses don't want to mess with the boyz in our hood. BFRB asks them to tell the chick, because she clearly has no problem getting in someone's face. They ignore her.

About this time, BFRB runs downstairs, and tells the guys and girls they better get going before cops show up…she can tell that each and every one of these little drunks is underage. They start getting all indignant and telling her that they only have to be 19 to get in the bar. Well, yes, kids, but the legal drinking age is still 21. Of course, they ignore her. The girls in the SUV cruise off, though, right before 6 cars carrying Oklahoma City's finest arrive. BFRB tells the cop about the purse-snatcher, and four cars leave. Then, another neighbor comes downstairs, and tells BFRB about 3 times that she's the one who called the police. The cops talk to everyone, take down some names, stick the girls in the police car for a while, but don't appear to actually arrest anyone. Maybe they felt sorry for the girl who got her wallet stolen. Of course, the four heavily armed officers could not track down one scrawny little drug abuser.

Finally, everyone disperses, and BFRB and our neighbor are talking. They agree that our neighborhood pretty much sucks big purple donkey dicks from the sky, but we'll never move. We should, however, invest in a video camera. We could make a shitload of money selling footage to "Girls Gone Wild" and "COPS." Then maybe we could afford to live somewhere besides next door to a 19-to-enter, serve anyone, beer-only, white-trash dive.

I Don't Feel Like Being Funny Today.

Every time today I have tried to write something interesting, it meanders, rambles, and is generally not interesting and sure as hell not funny. I'm not in a funny mood, I guess. Is it a lack of sleep, or a lack of anything interesting happening in my life? I suppose I could go off on the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad drivers I encountered yesterday…but please. Everyone's heard that shit a hundred times and it never changes.

Maybe that's what is causing my writer's block. The more diaries I read, the more I feel like I have nothing unique to contribute. Nothing intriguing has happened to me personally lately. I could describe the events in the lives of my friends, but they all seem to be having bad luck. Not the funny kind of bad luck either (where you do some stupid shit that really pisses you off at the time), but the kind that just makes you wish you could go kick the asses of those causing the problem.

I know, I know. They need to adjust my medication. I've tried that, though. Didn't work. I've taken Prozac for years, and even though I kind of feel like it's not working anymore, when I tried Effexor, it really didn't work. Sure, there are others. But that would involve taking sick/personal time from work (and I have none)…plus paying for the office visits with money I don't have.

I read this poem in an old "Dear Abby" column:

The Dilemma

To laugh is to risk appearing a fool.

To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.

To reach out for another is to risk involvement.

To expose feelings is to risk rejection.

To place your dreams before the crowd is to risk ridicule.

To love is to risk not being loved in return.

To go forward in the face of overwhelming odds is to risk failure,

but risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.

The person who risks nothing and does nothing

has nothing and is nothing.

He may avoid suffering and sorrow,

but he cannot learn, feel, change, grow, or love.

Chained by his certitudes, he is a slave.

He has forfeited his freedom.

Only a person who dares to risk is free.

I think that really puts the finger on my problem. When was the last time I really risked anything? Maybe my friends would disagree, but I don't see that I've really put very much of myself out there anywhere. Minor risks, "safe" risks, but not something I could point to as a source of personal growth and change.

Maybe working out counts. But I've hit a plateau, weight-loss wise…and while sure, they happen, I am quite sure I have something to do with it as well. I have somewhat rediscovered food. I haven't gained anything, but I haven't lost more than 2 pounds in a month. It's just so hard to stay with the program. Am I trying to sabotage myself? Am I afraid of what will happen if I lose the rest of it?

Even though I have tried very hard not to chunk all my eggs (i.e., career, love of my life, etc.) into the "after I lose weight" basket, reading this cheeseball inspirational poem has made me wonder if I am doing exactly that. When I started out on this "journey" or whatever the fuck you want to call it, I told myself that it wasn't about what I looked like, it was about improving my health. That was complete bullshit. It's not about health. If I looked like BFRB (who is about as close to the fashion-model ideal as anyone I know), I would not fucking be doing this working out shit. Why I'm really doing this, bottom line, is that I'm tired of being looked down on. I'm tired of having my options limited because I have to overcome negative first impressions.

But now that I've admitted to myself that it IS about looks and it IS about appearances, if I really want to be out there and risking things, why am I trying so hard to hold on to my security blanket of fat? Am I afraid that I won't have an excuse anymore for not doing more with my life? That my built-in excuse for not putting myself really out there will disappear, and I will have to admit to everyone that I'm not as brave as I pretend to be?

I wish I couldn't act. I wish I was incapable of pretending. But I am Oscar-worthy. People think I'm self-confident and unafraid. Whatever. My fears are not of the usual things…public speaking, death, spiders, etc. I am afraid of the negative judgment of others. In an attempt to stave off said judgment…that is, not be judged on things that really matter, like my intellect and talents, I've designed a package that enables people to judge me as lazy and stupid. Therefore, anything I do that shows something besides lazy and stupid seems that much better by comparison to the bad first impression. Deep down, I guess I'm afraid that my "potential" is not enough to be successful.

Gee, and I thought 8 years of Prozac and 4 years of therapy would help me get over some of this shit, but lately I feel like what I've done is buried it even deeper…and since the metaphorical ground is being swept away from the burial site, my instinct is almost to try and bury it deeper. How completely fucked up is that? And why couldn't I have discovered this at 20 instead of 30?

I'm going to wind this up, since I'm getting nowhere. Thought for the day, from "Dancer with Bruised Knees" by Lynne McFall:

"Out of such long and dangerous exercises in self-mastery, Nietzsche says, one emerges a different person. The trust in life is gone. Life itself has become the problem…..I have never been a religious person….and even though there was no one there to hear it, I said it aloud: 'Amen.'"

You've Just Been Visited by the Random Thought Fairy!

So the other day, I walk out of my office building, and I see a shiny black super-pimpin' Lexus with a big parking ticket under the windshield wiper. Almost reflexively, the giggle bubbled out of my throat. However, then I wondered why I expressed an almost childish glee at someone else's misfortune. As I pondered this character flaw, I realized that if it had been anything other than a luxury vehicle, I would have been sympathetic to the owner. But somehow, when it's someone whose car cost more than I have made in the last two years, I have a hard time being nice.

It's probably because I've worked for a number of these assholes, and they somehow think they are entitled to respect because they have made money by exploiting their employees, exploiting their clients, and being assholes to everyone who stood still long enough. Therefore, when confronted with evidence that occasionally, their karmic debt will come due, I am helpless to do anything other than rejoice.

It still bothers me that I'm stereotyping like this, though. Probably not everyone who drives a brand-new luxury car is an asshole. For the three people who are not, if the parking ticket was on one of your cars, I'm sorry for your bad luck.

Okay, enough of that self-analysis for one day. Now on to other things that are on my mind….

1. Underwear sucks. Particularly brassieres. You get to pay at least $30 for something which will pinch, poke, and itch, and you are more or less obligated to wear the freaking thing ALL THE TIME.

2. Banks suck. Last weekend, I went places. I paid for stuff with my debit card. I thought the whole POINT of a debit card was that it would not let you spend money you didn't have. Well, it did. So I ended up being charged overdraft fees on things like a $4.00 purchase at Taco Bueno, etc. 10 overdraft fees. So not only was I poor LAST week, I got paid and I'm STILL poor.

3. Men suck. Just on general principles.

4. Insomnia sucks. Sometimes, no matter how tired I am or how little sleep I've had for a week, I'm still up till 2 a.m. Then me and the snooze button fight in the morning, and I lose. Then my cat is stepping on my head meowing at me in between the alarm ringing.

Okay, so this entry is lame. But I am having some sort of lack-of-sleep, brain dead writers' block thing. And I have actual work to do. My, but my life is exciting.

But God TOLD Me To....

Yeah, I said I wasn't going here…but I few e-mails I have seen in the last week have irritated me enough to reconsider. Folks, it's time to talk about religion. Actually, what's funny is that the religious propaganda e-mails come from the same people who feel the need to inflict their political agenda on the rest of the office, too. Last Friday, a girl sent an e-mail to our entire office (which is pushing 200 people)…asking us to sign a petition to bring back the lame-ass TV series "Touched by an Angel." Allegedly, this was canceled because it mentioned God on TV. Gee, and I thought it was canceled because it sucked rocks! (Well, that wasn't the WHOLE point of the petition, but it was their reason for circulating it. They're trying to encourage the networks not to ignore their Christian viewers. Since when ARE they ignoring them?? Didn't they have some Jesus miniseries on not that long ago? And isn't Mel Gibson trying to get them to show his Jesus movie commercial-free?) No, what these e-mails are for is to make those of us who would rather watch sex and violence feel bad about it. Remember, the people circulating these so-called petitions are the same people who believe we should bomb the shit out of Iraq and support the president in all of his war-mongering, small-penis bullshit. Personally, and maybe this is just me, but I think some fake explosions and carefully choreographed beatings with fake blood pale in comparison to real death and destruction. But what do I know? I'm just a flaming liberal wussy. I don't like those stupid prayer-request e-mails either, but at least that is more understandable and is trying to help someone who is sick or injured; they are not designed to try and instill guilt into those of us who would rather eat broken glass than go to church.

My biggest problem with religion is that it never seems to serve its intended purpose. Since the beginning of time, people have constructed belief systems designed to explain the inexplicable and establish societal norms. In and of themselves, these goals are understandable. However, their application leaves much to be desired.

Think about it. Do you PERSONALLY know anyone whose religion causes any significant changes in their behavior? I think most people are either basically good or basically assholes. Religion gives the good a framework for being nice and doing things to help others. Religion gives the assholes moral justification for being assholes. Not only are they going to continue being rigid, judgmental, and stubborn, we've now provided them a "valid" reason for acting that way…and said reason is impossible to empirically prove or disprove. You can think someone is being hateful and call them on it. When you do this to a religious person, it will turn from an argument about why you shouldn't be a hateful piece of shit into a "but God says you're evil, so that means I have the right to act this way" argument. Even if you cite the lack of evidence supporting their belief system, they will use this to further their cause…you're supposed to have FAITH. If you don't, it means you're evil and going straight to hell. Pardon me, but I think actions speak louder than words. If you profess to espouse a belief system which provides rules for your conduct, you need to be trying to follow all of them, not just the ones which justify your current behavior.

That's the problem with religion-based debates as opposed to political ones. In a political debate, you can at least cite solid facts which support your position. In a religious debate, the facts themselves are not solid. The argument is about the existence or nonexistence of something which will probably never be proved conclusively.

Living in the Bible Belt, the religion with which I have the most experience is Christianity. I don't hate Jesus. He probably even existed in some form. I'm all for the "do unto others" philosophy of life. However, for every person who really lives the biblical teachings, there are five who are rampaging hypocrites or completely uptight sticks in the mud whose definition of "evangelism" involves guilt-trips and sanctimonious preaching at people.

What I'm trying to say is leave me off your list, kids. I am not signing any petition to put any more self-righteous shit on TV. Ya'll have your own channels. Watch them. Don't support the other channels. Don't buy stuff from the companies that advertise during the programs to which you object. But get over the e-mail stupid chain petitions….nobody reads them except the people who circulated them in the first place.

Never Discuss Politics or Religion?

Given the hotly contested nature of the upcoming presidential election, everyone has an opinion on the candidates, the issues, and the nature of civic responsibility and freedom in a nation at war. Although this IS a free country, some people don't think it should be free…or at least not if "free" means "expressing opinions contrary to the policies of the current administration."

As I believe I have mentioned before, I think George W. Bush is a moron. I don't necessarily love John Kerry, but at least he's not George W. Bush. However, I live in the heart of Republican Bible Belt America, and most of the people I work with don't appear to agree with my opinion. That's fine. In fact, that's their right. My problem is this: they feel obligated to share all of their anti-liberal propaganda with the entire office…but get all offended if you send something back which is contrary to their opinion. And forget sending any political jokes or pro-democrat articles around.

Unfortunately, this can come between friends. My friends are mostly liberal-ish, but some are fairly hard-core conservatives. Therefore, we spend lots of time sending back and forth e-mail slamming one candidate/party or the other. It's all intended to be in good fun, and MAYBE it sparks an occasional political debate…which is not a bad thing. Despite the spirit of good fun and the fact that it's a free country, though, one particular "friend" of BFRB2 gets all pissy whenever someone sends her a leftward-leaning e-mail. Here's an example of the shit she sends back to her "friends." This is in response to the e-mail which suggested going to www.google.com, typing in "miserable failure," then hitting "I'm feeling lucky." (For those 3 people in the world who haven't seen this, it pulls up a resume of sorts for G.W. Bush.)

"I am not impressed that you are so easily amused and find this remotely funny. In this time when innocent people are being beheaded and the liberal left keeps spewing the trash that they do...yes we live in a free country where we have the 'right' to express our beliefs...when it comes to this kind of trash...please do not include me in your list.

I am committed in supporting our President and our troops who are risking their lives for our freedom of _expression and knowing that the best person is leading us in this most terrible of times. Please leave politics out of our friendship. I have included some friends of mine who would also not find this at all funny. Some happen to have served our great country, both in this current engagement and the Gulf War as well. This has upset me enough that I have risked my relationship with you to reply, but I am willing to risk it all to let my feelings be known.

I am certainly not out to convert you or anyone else...that is why we live in this great Nation. Freedom of choice. I choose to not be on your list anymore for political 'crap'. I also do not wish for reply to this either. I wish it to be something that is quietly understood and respected by both of us not to mention.

[KL]

By the way...I have been to this website before. This is a way to get morons to that page...they might learn something!"

Of course, her "friends" expressed their extreme displeasure with her intolerant lack of a sense of humor, and she STILL seemed not to get it…

"What didn't anyone get about just not mentioning anything anymore? … I am not a holyroller Christian and I am not a Rightwinged freak either. But man, I do have the common sense to recognize down right pathetic political (non) humor and I was deeply OFFENDED by it. As mentioned yesterday when I finally opened up most of my e-mail, I was appalled by that particular mailing. I got up out of bed last night to write that because I could not sleep until I got it off my chest. I still slept like shit because I knew this would cause furor amongst you. Well damn me, but I will not be part of those for lack of respect for what our President and others in his cabinet are doing. Nor for those over in the fucking hell hole of Iraq fighting for our fucking freedoms and rights! It's a hell of a lot better than the fucked up job that piece of shit Clinton did.

You can all either apologize to me, for belittling me and pointing the finger at me for writing in my opinion freedom of speech or you can all kiss my ass. I am not thinking that wrecking a friendship over politics is worth it but the choice is up to you all.

I hope that you are all happy. I feel like shit...and I am shaking.

[AC], I was not out of line. [JS], I didn't put [BFRB2] down and there is not anything else behind the message either.

and by the way...I am pissed too. Hope you all are happy!"

Perhaps I should mention that this is a woman who is (a) an alcoholic, (b) a loud, annoying alcoholic, and (c) a loud, annoying alcoholic who hits on other peoples' men when she drinks. I've met this bitch once. I was not impressed, and I was not amused. I WAS amused by her holier-than-thou e-mails, though. I laughed my ass off. I also sent the following suggestion to BFRB2…but she didn't send it. Therefore, I'm posting it.

"I sent this [the Google suggestion] to [BFRB2]. I do not support George Bush. I think he is a moron who has no business being president. However, I DO support the troops in Iraq. They did not ask to go there, and they are doing their jobs to the best of their ability. I feel awful that people have died and I sincerely hope that everyone over there (WHICH INCLUDES MY COUSIN) comes back safely. Caring about the fate of American citizens is one thing....but if you think about it....we're only over there in the first place because Bush the First didn't finish it off 12 years ago!!! The Iraqi people should be free. Everyone should. But that doesn't mean that it's our job to do it, and it also doesn't mean that everyone in America should have to suppress their opinions about the current administration. You are entitled to your opinion. You are the one allowing politics to interfere with friendship. You are the one with the problem, not me, not [BFRB2] not [AC], and not [JS]. An appropriate response would be some liberal-bashing humor. We can take it, even though you clearly cannot."

Here's the point, kids. Chances are, you're not going to change anyone's political opinions, because people have so many deeply-rooted reasons behind their beliefs. Discussion of those beliefs is beneficial, though….it helps to reinforce your current opinion and open your mind to the validity of the arguments of the opposing party. Knowledge is power. (So are vast sums of money, but we will keep all of this on a nice, theoretical level rather than dealing with messy things like the real world.)

And I'm not even going to go there on the religion issue. If you think political arguments are ugly, they're nothing compared to those about whether or not any given religion is "real."

Done Been There, Done Seen That

It boggles my mind that, in a professional setting, you will encounter people whose grammar makes them sound like they just jumped off the manure truck this morning. I don't know about anyone else, but I cannot get past poor grammar (both written and verbal). Therefore, I have compiled the following list of my "Top 10" written and verbal grammatical errors…and how to correct them.

1. INCORRECT: They come over last night, and we went frog-giggin',

CORRECT: They came over last night, and we gigged some frogs.

2. INCORRECT: I seen that Billy Bob with Bubba's wife.

CORRECT: I saw Billy Bob with Bubba's wife –or— I have seen Billy Bob with Bubba's wife.

3. INCORRECT: I done been to Junior's Bait Shack.

CORRECT: I have been to Junior's Bait Shack –or— I was at Junior's Bait Shack yesterday.

4. INCORRECT: I like them shoes…did you get 'em at the Wal-Marts?

CORRECT: I like those shoes…did you buy them at Wal-Mart –or—I like your shoes…did you buy them at Wal-Mart?

5. INCORRECT WORDS: Flustrated, irregardless, brung, supposably.

CORRECT WORDS: Frustrated (or flustered), regardless, brought, supposedly.

6. INCORRECT: He don't care about me no more.

CORRECT: He doesn't care about me any more.

7. INCORRECT: I think I'm in love with you, and I want to take you on a special, romantic date.

CORRECT: You're hot, and I think we should have sex as soon as possible.

8. INCORRECT: How atypical. Wanda Sue looks like one of them prostitutes.

CORRECT: How typical. Wanda Sue has on a trashy outfit.

9. INCORRECT: I am trying to loose some weight.

CORRECT: I am trying to lose weight.

10. INCORRECT: Where the party at?

CORRECT: Where will we be partying? –or— Where will the party be held?

I know that I have heard and seen many more examples of poor grammar and spelling. Feel free to e-mail submissions for a future list. I'm sure this problem will not be disappearing in the near future. Folks, learn about "grammar check." Even though it's not perfect, it's better than sounding like a complete idiot. Further, if you are going to use big words, please be sure you know both the definition and their proper context. Big words used improperly make you look even more stupid.

Some of my "creative" type friends have informed me that writing is not a spelling and grammar contest. No, but if you are trying to (a) convince someone to give you a job, (b) convince someone to publish whatever it is, or (c) resolve any sort of complaint, it would likely be helpful if you did not come across as a special-ed third-grader.

"Them" is just my suggestions.

...But What About the Lawn?

Men….Can't Live With Them, Can't (Legally) Beat the Crap out of Them

I really, really wish that I weren't having to write these kinds of male-bashing entries. However, despite my attempts to distract myself with shopping, surfing the internet, and (gasp, choke) actually working, I'm still pissed off.

So, GID had not responded to my e-mail prior to our dinner plans on Thursday. I am not one to make scenes in public, and he knows this. Therefore, we do not discuss the e-mail…in fact, he doesn't even acknowledge that he has received it. However, his behavior (i.e., actually speaking to me, etc.) clues me in that he has, in fact, read it.

This morning, I come to work to find a shitty, defensive e-mail….something along the lines of "Don't you dare belittle and demean me" and "Your e-mail is full of distortions of the truth" and "I am not trying to control you". Ummm…did you read the same e-mail I sent? Because it was all true….and there was no belittling involved. All I asked was if he was still working toward some of his life goals. Guess that's demeaning, because evidently he's not. Oh, and of course, he has to bring up that I talked at one point about going to law school, but I'm not in law school, so that must mean I'm not doing anything with my life either. Hello, moron. What I actually said was that, when my current job ends (it's a special project which won't last more than a few years, but the money was good and it beat the hell out of FHH), I am pondering the law school thing. Plus, if he thinks nagging me about going to law school will upset me, give me a fucking break. My friends have been doing that for years. I've developed an immunity. Say the words "law school" and my brain immediately goes on a cruise to the U.S. Virgin Islands.

But I digress. Point is, he missed the point. So of course, I sent him another e-mail explaining in greater detail what I meant, which should have been obvious to anyone literate….men blow the goat ass.

If there are any guys who can explain to me why men cannot (a) discuss anything of substance or (b) read (or hear) and understand a simple declarative sentence, I'd love to hear the explanations for this. Seriously.

I will close with one of my favorite "I hate men" jokes….

Q. Why do women need men?

A. Because a vibrator can't mow the lawn.

No Boys Allowed.

I try to avoid being one of those bitter, resentful women who blames all of her problems on the male species. However, sometimes, men are just so fucking retarded that it's all you can do to maintain your sanity.

As I am sure you've figured out, there is one particular man who is pissing me the hell off right at the moment. This guy I'm dating, in other words. Let's call him "GID," which is more polite than "Fucking Immature Asshole." Anyway, I went out of town to visit my mother over Labor Day weekend. She had just moved, and needed help unpacking. I had not seen her since Christmas. GID has (another) new job, and this time, he's working from 3:30 pm to 12:30 am. He does have Friday and Saturday off, but other than a quick dinner on his lunch break, he really can't hang out during the week. (I've always been an 8-ish to 5-ish kinda girl, myself.) Therefore, he EXPECTS me to hang out with him each and every Saturday.

So anyway, when I break the news about going out of town, he starts in on this "I will miss you" bullshit. Keep in mind that I've been dating him for a while and we NEVER see each other more than twice a week, and I did have dinner with him Wednesday. While I'm gone, he sends one e-mail that basically says "I have nothing to say except I miss you." I get back, e-mail him, details about the trip, yada yada. He e-mails me back with more of the "I miss you" shit, a few minor work schedule details, and says we can go to dinner Thursday. I e-mail back to ask him if he's still taking lunch at 7:30…and get a snarky little reply about how I never tell him I miss him or anything, but that's what he expects.

Let me back up for a minute here. The last three or four times I've hung out with him, he really doesn't talk to me. And he doesn't always want to have sex, either….it has to be his idea. Actually, pretty much anything we do has to be his idea, or he acts like a whiny pain in the ass and makes sure I don't enjoy whatever it is either. Further, I make more money, am more intelligent, and do not live with my parent(s). I'm sure that at some level, he's threatened by all of this, and that's the reason for the pathetic attempts to control me.

On with the story. I spend several hours at work composing an e-mail detailing what my problems are with all this crap. I send it. He had likely left for work by then, but I have yet to receive a reply. More control shit.

At this point, I don't know whether to expect a shitty, defensive e-mail detailing every single fault I have, or whether to expect a contrite "don't leave me" e-mail. What I would really appreciate is him opening a dialogue about these issues, but I'm afraid that's too much to hope for….and I wouldn't have to send e-mails like the one I did send if he would open his mouth and communicate like a grown-up.

Then, there's the guy I was hanging out with….more of just a friend with benefits, but I did actually like him a lot…it seemed like I'd been the one doing a lot of the calling, and it was his turn. I haven't talked to him since July. While I realize we were not having some "serious" relationship, a phone call would be nice once in a while. If he's dating someone, or whatever, fine….but at least have the courtesy of telling me that. I don't know whether to be worried about him or pissed off. I want to call, or e-mail, but I'm stubborn that way. I have forwarded a few funny things to his e-mail, so I know it works and the mailbox isn't full….so he's checking it. Or someone is.

I am not trying to imply that all men are assholes. I'm not trying to imply that they are the root of all my problems. However, once in a while…I would just like them to do something that doesn't piss me off.

Get a Condom...or Get a Job

Let me state, for the record, that I am not a Republican. I think George W. Bush is a moron, the war in Iraq is a mistake, that the minimum wage is way too low, and that big business doesn't need any more tax breaks. I am heartily in favor of the ERA, protecting the environment as much as possible without resorting to living like pioneers, and health care for everyone. However, I have some REAL problems with the welfare system.

BG (the friend with the asshole brother), said that yesterday, she found out that her 20-something cousin is pregnant….for the third time. The cousin is collecting money from the government. She has no job. The kids all have different fathers.

Excuse me, but why should my hard-earned money be going to pay for other people's bad life choices?? I think it sucks donkey balls that I have to pay more in taxes than single parents with the same income….after all, their kids are in public school, and their SUV's take up more of the road than my car. However, since I went to public school, and my mother is a teacher (overworked and underpaid), I can at least get over that. After all, the parents are actually WORKING.

But these bitches who pop out one kid after another puzzle me. Getting pregnant by mistake once is dumb. In today's society, we all know that birth control exists, and that sex causes babies. Getting pregnant twice….is deliberate. Getting pregnant a third time….is just retarded. And expecting me to pay for this shit is completely wrong.

I don't mind that low-income single folks can get all kinds of grants and loans to go to college. It's okay that they can get DHS assistance with child care. I have no objection to their kids getting free health insurance. I don't mind that they can get Section 8 housing. I don't even mind much that the government will feed them…with WIC and food stamps.

What I DO mind is that my single, working friends and I can barely survive. We cannot get any assistance at all because we make too much money. However, we don't make enough to contribute to a retirement plan, buy a house, pay off a car, or avoid bankruptcy if something catastrophic happens. In the meantime, these welfare bitches are collecting a check every week for having irresponsible sex, and even though they have all kinds of help available, they continue to whine about not having any chance in life.

I'm tired of people and their excuses. Yeah, life sucks. Yeah, life's not fair. But get the fuck over it and do something productive…not RE-productive.

Big Sister is Watching

Beware of your e-mail address book, as it could bite you in the ass. I thought I was a fucking tard for hitting "Reply to All" to tell someone who sent me a joke that it was funny. That pales in comparison to these cautionary tales.

The Present

BG, an acquaintance, sent a present to her brother. It was an amusing present…which referred to a skit her brother saw on TV about a whole family sharing one bar of soap and how nasty it was (that you're washing your face using the same soap your mom used on her butt.) A picture of the present is below:

She also enclosed two bars of soap with "For Face" and "For Butt" written on them.

She e-mails her brother to ask if he got it, and gets the following e-mail:

"[BG] just e-mailed me and asked me if I got my present and how I like it. What the hell am I supposed to tell her? If I tell her it was great I'll just keep getting stupid shit like this forever. If I say what I want to and just ask "What the hell were you thinking?" I'll hurt her feelings. Maybe I'll just act like I never got the e-mail."

Well, moron, if you're going to bitch about the present you received to a third party…make sure you type the RIGHT e-mail address into the "SEND" field. Of course, we've all received gifts we don't like, but the appropriate response is to say thank you and then re-gift it at the earliest opportunity.

This e-mail was sent yesterday morning. As of today, the "ball-less wonder" (as he was christened), had still not replied to her e-mail about this. Chickenshit. Apparently, he's been on some holier-than-thou pretentious kick lately. He probably doesn't think he even HAS a butt anymore, because that would be so déclassé.

The Stupid Receptionist

At FHH (my old office), the receptionist was not the sharpest knife in the drawer. She was e-mailing back and forth with my secretary (who was upstairs). My secretary got a package, which was actually his new cell phone. She means to e-mail him. Instead, she e-mails the whole firm something like "Hehehe so what kind of toy WAS it?"

The Old Flame

When I shared the story about the present with my Office Mate (OM), she had an even more troubling tale to tell. She got back in touch with a friend from high school. This wasn't really her boyfriend, more of her high-school discovering-sex buddy. Well, apparently he was a slacker in high school…but found himself later. That is…made a shitload of money, retirement homes across the country, etc. So anyway, OM is composing an e-mail to this guy. Her daughter is helping her with the computer stuff, and tells her that if she wants to work on this for a while, she should send it to herself as a Word document. Said daughter converts it, and is trying to send it to their home computer (OM was at work.) Well, she scrolls through the address book…and instead of the home e-mail (which is under OM's husband's name), she sends it to the HUSBAND AT WORK.

It's not like OM was necessarily plotting and planning a way to cheat on her husband…but she was bitching about him. In detail. Making fun of his job, complaining about his lack of money, blah, blah, blah. Needless to say, OM's husband was pissed off. OM didn't even feel like she could e-mail the Old Flame again and explain why she could no longer contact him.

The Ex-Husband

BFRB's friend forwarded her an e-mail from the friend's ex-husband, wherein the ex was saying all sorts of hateful, mean shit to the friend. When she hit "reply", the e-mail saying something to the effect of "What a fucking jerk….he needs to grow up and get over himself" was sent to the ex-husband. I think that's the ex's problem, though….not like the friend wouldn't have sent him something similar (but hers wouldn't have been that nice.)

No Profanity Allowed

Finally, the most troubling of all are companies that censor the content of employees' e-mail…BFRB and I have a third musketeer (we'll call her TM). For the last year or so, she's been living in Alabama. (And ya'll thought Oklahoma was bad.) The three of us have frequent e-mail conversations at work….about men, office drama, movies, books, jokes, whatever. Said conversations are sometimes very important and require the ability to reply in a timely fashion. Well, TM's work e-mail server wouldn't allow profanity to sneak in undiluted…that is, "fuck" had to be "f*ck", ad infinitum. You may think this means we should just censor ourselves. Well, we kinda tried…but how the hell are you supposed to bitch about something (especially a man) if you can't use swear words?? I mean, her e-mail server censored things like "dickhead," too! This meant that often, if the conversation was really intense, she had hours and hours of delay time while the censor typed enough asterisks to populate the Milky Way.

I just don't see the point….we all know that "F*CK" does not say "FECK," and that "D*CKHEAD" does not say "DUCKHEAD." Seriously.

Yeah, modern technology is great. Computers enable all sorts of looking busy which was not possible in the past. However, the "auto fill-in" feature, the "reply" and "reply to all" buttons being too close together, and the alphabetical sorting of your address book can get you into real trouble….almost as much trouble as not locking the buttons on your cell phone and having it auto-answer. True story. A male friend of BFRB2 had just broken up with his girlfriend. He bought the girlfriend a teacup Chihuahua when she lost her old one….because she let it out when she was drunk, passed out, and the dog vanished. Anyway, the bitch left the dog when she was kicked out…and he called her to see if he could find the dog a new home or if she wanted it. Well, her phone answered….but she didn't know. She was in Vegas with her new man, talking about what a loser her ex was. BFRB2's mom now has a new cute little pet.

Point being….you should really be careful what you type. You never know where it might end up.

The Bad Neighbor

The worst thing about living in an apartment is the close proximity to sub-human life forms. The building where BFRB and I live seems to attract a few of them, because it's dirt cheap. Most of our neighbors are okay. Sure, one of them has a bad habit of leaving her trash in the hall (bagged and tied, but smelly) for days at a time, but for the most part, they are nice people. Our landlord is pretty careful about renters. However, even she makes mistakes sometimes…

This all started about a year ago. BFRB's neighbor moved out. We barely noticed, because she was never there anyway….she was mostly living with her boyfriend but needed an address to keep up appearances. However, when the new neighbor moved in, we rediscovered the meaning of the word annoying.

At first, he was just weird. He was a short guy with bad acne and one of those dwerpy little braided tail things on his head. He was not usually very friendly, except when he tried to hit on BFRB and brought her a snacky from Starbucks. When she blew him off (rightfully so, I might add), he became a complete asshole.

His transgressions included:

1. I was carrying a computer monitor up the stairs. We have a security door. You have to unlock it (it opens inward), which is hard to do when your arms are full. The Bad Neighbor SAT IN HIS CAR until I got all the way upstairs. I'm not saying he should have carried it (although I would have let him), but opening the door would have been courteous…since he was going upstairs anyway.

2. Door dinging our cars. Hard. And I know it was him….he drove a white SUV, and my car has a BIG WHITE DOOR DING. Not just a little paint spot. A big, jackass opening the door really hard and fast door ding.

3. Bad cooking smells. Don't know what he was cooking, but it smelled like ass. Every day, we came up the stairs and smelled this nasty shit. It smelled like a diner after the breakfast rush on Saturday.

4. Super-irritating gangsta rap, loudly.

5. Flushing the toilet and turning the water on and off every time BFRB tried to take a shower…since he was next door, this alternately froze and scalded her.

6. The punching bag. We'd be hanging out watching TV or just shooting the shit, and kept hearing this horrible, repetitive thumping. It practically made BFRB's windows rattle.

As if the above were not enough to permanently inscribe his name on our shit list…there was Max. The pit bull.

It's not like he just called the dog and took it outside and play with it. Oh no. He yelled at it…both in the hall and outside. Hourly. Then, he and the dog would RACE up the stairs….and he would be yelling at the dog for CHEATING. Our stairs are old, they're wooden, and they are very loud. You can hear when someone comes in and out. Usually, no big deal…they walk up the stairs and go in their apartment. But yelling at the dog and pounding up the stairs at 2 in the morning is not cool. After a number of these incidents, BFRB finally opened her door and told him to hush.

Our landlord is adamant that you can't have a dog in any of her rental properties. In an attempt to get rid of the neighbor without fucking up our karma, we devised a plot. BFRB called the landlord over to investigate a smell in her apartment (there really was one). We made sure, though, that he was home and being irritating as hell when she got there. She hears the punching bag and music noises, and knocks on his door…when he finally opens it, she sees the dog.

Well, she told him to get rid of it, but a month later, the dog and the annoying one were still living there and still being supremely irritating. So we came up with a new plan for not ruining our karma but making sure the asshole was kicked to the curb. I just put a note in with my rent check that said "do you know he still has the dog?"

When the landlord finally called, she said that she'd been on his ass for a month, and he kept making up stories about the dog disappearing soon. Finally, after months of this hell, she evicted him…and his replacement is fine as hell. Apology accepted.

Pull Over...It's the Fashion Police

One of my favorite things to do is people watch….pretty much anywhere. The office, the mall, the airport, restaurants, Wal-Mart, the gym…I try to be a nice person, and not judge people based upon their clothes. Sometimes, however, the mistakes are so glaring, they are impossible to ignore. My years of study have led me to several conclusions.

1. There are a disproportionate number of people who do not now and have never owned a full length mirror, nor do they pay attention to their reflections in doors, windows, or puddles.

2. As a plus-size (but shrinking) woman, I am glad that the fashion choices have improved for fat chicks. However, there are certain items that should not be offered for sale in plus-size shops or departments, because people will buy them…and wear them in public. Among these are very short, pleated miniskirts; very short skirts of any kind; clingy tops which show off little except fat rolls; legging-type pants; bikini swimsuits; short-shorts; and tube tops. Additionally, some items should require approval before purchase, like sleeveless tops, hip huggers, anything sheer or semi-sheer, skirts above the knee, and items which are very fitted. Further, I don't care what size you are…even size 4's look fat when crammed into size-two jeans and an XS shirt. Make sure those low-rise pants are wider than the fat rolls, girls….and if that means buying a larger size, cut the fucking tag out and get over it. This goes for men too. Your waist is nowhere near your ass crack, and if you have to wear your pants that low, buy some new pants.

3. Electric blue is never an appropriate shade of makeup. Your foundation should match your face. You should not have to use more than one washcloth to get your makeup off in the evening. When a new man sees you for the first time without makeup, he should still think you are the same person he went to bed with.

4. If you have to ask if your butt looks fat in those pants, it does. Or you will think it does, which means you'll feel all grumpy and insecure all night, so just don't wear them.

5. Tan fat looks better than white fat.

6. Navy blue does not go with black. Mixing patterns is generally a bad idea on your clothing, although it can be fun in your housewares.

7. Brown or navy or white shoes do not go with black pants or skirts, ever. Camel shoes are far more versatile than white, and tend to look more like grown-up shoes and less like a 4-year-old on Easter Sunday.

8. A mullet is never an appropriate haircut.

What really motivated me to write this entry is this chick who works in the office down the hall. We're talking dark side of 40, dark side of 200 lbs., dark side of the bleach bottle….and wears clothing which showcases her lovely collection of cellulite and fake tan (it's SO orange). Whenever I feel insecure, I just remind myself that things could be worse. I could be wearing a black pleated micromini. With white shoes. And think it looks SO hot.

The Laundry Nazi

Once again, it was laundry day for me and BFRB. Since we've been doing laundry on Sunday morning instead of Friday night lately, we've encountered a new laundromat attendant. Sprouting a lovely mullet and moustache to go with her clothes which were purchased at Wal-Mart circa 1985, this attendant is way too devoted to her job.

BFRB and I frequently run errands while our clothing is washing and drying....stuff like Walgreen's, Target, PetsMart, etc. We make every effort to get back to the laundromat to restart our dryers within the alloted 30 minutes, but sometimes, we get sidetracked. Two weeks ago, in our first encounter with the Laundry Nazi, we spent a little too long fucking around at Target. We returned to the laundromat to find that the Laundry Nazi had removed BFRB's stuff from the dryer because "people needed it."

Now, one of the cardinal rules of laundry etiquette is that you NEVER EVER touch anyone's stuff. I don't want cooties all over my clean clothes, and neither does anyone else. Second of all, if the dryer space is needed, it would be polite to FOLD the items you removed. Laundry Nazi violated these rules. BFRB's blankets and sheets were in a giant wad, and were halfway hanging off the folding table.

While BFRB was furious, we figured we'd never see this bitch again. The laundromat is not exactly the most long-term employer on the planet. Actually, we've determined that most of the attendants have recently been released from penal institutions, and having a completely useless job is on the list of things they have to do.

However, today, the bitch was back. This particular morning, she did little but give us go-to-hell looks (because she evidently REMEMBERED that we were the dryer hogs from hell). Other customers were not so fortunate. As an individual attempted to place their laundry in a washer, the Laundry Nazi informed said patron that SHE was USING that one (nothing was in it...and what the fuck is she using it for?? Any drop off laundry goes to the dry-cleaner part of the store, which was closed.)The patron had little choice but to put their items in the next washer over.

On this fine Sunday morning, BFRB and I kept a careful watch on the clock, plus, we were both too tired and hung over to think about what errands we needed to run. As we were folding our laundry, though, Laundry Nazi dogged our footsteps, looking disapprovingly at discarded dryer sheets and making a big show of getting in our way to pick them up. She also glared at all the other patrons in turn, just waiting for someone to commit a transgression like leaving their dryer unattended for more than 15 seconds after it shut off. Point is, Laundry Nazi knows what's up in her little fiefdom.

Well, for some reason, a few of my shirts were still damp when the rest of the load was dry, so I chucked them back in there while I folded the rest of my clothes. Being that my hungover little brain (NEVER AGAIN will I drink that much Jack Daniels without eating something more substantive than chips, salsa, and a chocolate chip cookie) wasn't working too well, I left the shirts in the dryer when we left. Luckily, I realized my mistake in short order, and went back about 30 minutes later to get them. Thinking that Laundry Nazi would have been fully aware of the problem, and seeing as how the dryer I was using was now occupied with someone else's shit, I asked her if she knew where my stuff was.

Bitch looked me straight in the eyes and LIED. She said it had been busy and she had no way of knowing. Sure, people need dryers, and you don't know what happened to the stuff abandoned in one. Right.

I finally found my shirts, wadded up on a chair but basically intact. As I left, she gave me this completely fake smirk. Well, Laundry Nazi, the gauntlet has been thrown. We'll be back. And we'll think of something to make your already miserable existence even more miserable.

Charity Begins at Work

Well, along with good things, (I'll think of some in a minute) August brings the kids back to school. Not that I have any kids. People in my office do, though. They have lots of them. They just started school THIS WEEK…and they're already trying to guilt-trip me into spending money on a bunch of overpriced crap that I don't need or want.

You see, since the US can't seem to adequately fund its public school system, they have to resort to prostituting children. Figuratively, that is. (Give them time.) I'm talking about fund-raisers. Those glossy little brochures full of shit you can buy at the Dollar Store which has been marked up to $17.00.

I wouldn't necessarily have a problem buying one or two things from a kid I knew (like my other best friend-running buddy's (BFRB2) nieces). But I have a REAL problem spending my paycheck on shit I don't want for kids I don't know to go on a trip somewhere or have nice stuff at school. I don't have nice stuff, and you all saw what happened the last time I took a trip. Therefore, I'm a little bitter and resentful about the whole thing. Plus, it's not just one person. It's 30 or 40. That's a week's pay just so people at work won't think you're a stingy bitch.

Well, I am one.

And it's bad enough when the people bringing it are your peers…but when it's your boss(es) … then you really feel obligated to sign in the little box. Sorry, but I think if you're the boss, you (a) don't expect your employees, who make way less money than you, to buy shit from your kids and (b) need to just write your kid's school a check and not make anyone buy icky wrapping paper, useless knickknacks, or various foods which taste like stale packing peanuts with cardboard coating. You know, my dad would NEVER take my fundraising stuff to work because he didn't want to make his employees feel obligated! I was the kid who usually just had 2 people buy stuff because there were 97 kids in my neighborhood.

While we're on the subject of throwing money away, let's also discuss the inevitable corporate charitable fund-raisers. United Way, disease-of-the-week club, ad infinitum. Call me crazy, but I think that charitable giving is a personal decision. If you believe in a cause, for whatever reason, you are free to spend your money as you choose in support of said cause. However, I don't like being peer-pressured into generosity….and neither does anyone else. They try to make you feel like the Grinch Who Stole Christmas if you don't want to donate money to charity…as in, "Come on, just donate $5 a week, so we can have 100% participation." Again….THIS IS MY PAYCHECK AND I WILL DO WHAT I WANT WITH IT. Plus, at this point in my life, I really don't have it to share. I'm still paying for college (both the credit card spending and the student loans), and I have other bills which must be paid so that I personally do not have to rely on the kindness of strangers for food and shelter.

Don't be bringing your little flyers to my office. It's a waste of precious natural resources….and your time.

Getting Nailed Is Not Always a Good Thing

I believe I have previously mentioned that my apartment has hardwood floors. They look really cool, and are far easier to clean than carpets (when one has a very fluffy cat who upchucks a lot). However, there's one small problem with authentic, antique hardwood floors. That problem is nails. As in old, probably rusty nails.

I'm sure you can see where this story is going….but it's still a good story anyway.

March or April, 2004. After spending Friday evening doing not one fucking productive thing and enjoying this tremendously, I decided to go to bed around 1 a.m. I always wear slippers or flip-flops in my apartment….because of the nails. However, I thought I would be safe when I was two inches from my bed.

I was wrong.

As I went to turn back my covers and fluff the pillows, my big toe crept stealthily off the area rug and onto the bare floor under the bed….and ran smack dab into a nail sticking out of the floor. Hard. As in bleeding.

I did the heel-hop to the bathroom for a Band-Aid in bare feet, hoping like hell I didn't step on another nail with the other foot. After I successfully stanched the bleeding, I started pondering exactly how long it HAD been since my last tetanus shot. After some brain wracking and mental math, the last one I remember was … in 8th grade. I'm now 30. 16, 17 years?

In a panic, I hop on the computer, hoping like hell BFRB will be up and convince me that it's ok to wait till morning (scant 6 hours away) to get a shot. However, she's sleeping. So, I type in "tetanus" on Google. The websites I read all say something along the lines of "if you cut yourself on something rusty, haul ass to the emergency room or they'll be feeding you through a tube in your cheek." Obligingly, I put on something besides pajamas and zip over to one of the nearby hospitals.

At first, I was thinking this whole visit to the ER would be relatively stress-free and quick. Sometimes, I'm such a retard.

So, I see the triage nurse, she removes the bandaid, examines the wound, takes my blood pressure, and sends me to the "insurance chick desk." I fork over the insurance card, fill out a complete medical history, and go back to the waiting room. After about an hour, they put me back in a room…right next door to a screaming child. The lights are so bright. I'm so tired. I try to read the book I brought, but catch myself nodding off.

After about another 45 minutes, a doctor arrives, accompanied by two handy med students. He examines the cut on my toe, asks me if I have diabetes or asthma or some real problem, and scribbles something. When I say that basically, I'm perfectly fine except for the impending case of tetanus, he mumbles something in broken English about a nurse being in shortly and strides off importantly with his students in tow.

20 more minutes. By now, it's 3:00 a.m. In four more hours, the minor emergency (which requires only a $10 copay) would be open. The nurse finally arrives, stabs me quickly with the needle, and runs back out muttering something about "paperwork." I get the impression I'm not supposed to leave. A note: after removal of the original band-aid, I never received any other treatment for my actual injury.

She shows back up with some instructions about following up with my doctor, and at 3:25, I head for home.

The doctor bill and hospital bill were almost $500….and people wonder why our insurance costs so much.

100 Things about Me

This is an exercise a few of my friends told me to do....so I thought I would post it. You are not allowed to poke fun at my list without affording me the same opportunity to poke fun at yours.

1. As a housekeeper, I'm great at playing solitaire.

2. I actually can sort of cook, despite claims to the contrary….I would just rather have someone else do it….restaurant, friend, Stouffer's.

3. I wish I had discovered Prozac at age 10.

4. I don't use most of the words I know in casual conversation because I hate having to explain them to idiots who don't read.

5. I am most afraid of looking stupid (which encompasses a lot.)

6. I cannot imagine ever living with my parents again, and I don't understand people who do.

7. I have a hard time trusting anyone.

8. I hate that it's difficult to change careers.

9. Hypocrisy is the thing that will piss me off the fastest.

10. I feel less attractive now than I did before I lost 50 pounds.

11. The hardest thing about working out and dieting is the lack of instant gratification. I feel like I've proved to the universe that I can make a commitment (I have been doing this for almost 6 months, after all), and now it should reward me by making the rest of the weight disappear overnight.

12. I feel like I have two warring personalities: the one who is eternally hopeful, and the cynic.

13. I can't imagine not having a cat. I love mine. When I go out of town, I miss Emily, Maggie & Sissy.

14. I hate when women make excuses for men….men they're dating, men they work for, men they're married to, men they gave birth to.

15. I have no patience with stupidity.

16. I hate having to explain things to someone more than once.

17. I believe that respect is something which has to be earned.

18. I have always hated that my name doesn't have a cool nickname.

19. My way of defusing stressful situations is to make wisecracks.

20. Some of my favorite things: chocolate cake, cats purring, thunderstorms, driving with the top down and the music up, cinnamon lattes from the Buzz, the ocean, the first cold day in fall, a group of people laughing, kissing someone who is really good at it, hanging out with my girlfriends, playing stupid computer games stoned, reading a really good book, finding a really good shopping bargain, and good live music.

21. Some of my least favorite things: getting chewed out at work, icy roads, mean people, being left out, shoes that give you blisters, ripping/burning holes in your favorite pants, computer crashes, being wrong, awkward silences, people fighting when you're in the room, car breakdowns, mono, summer, having to hang out with people you hate, and bad live theater.

22. I can never pick just one favorite anything….food, friend, song, movie, book, you name it.

23. Turning 30 freaked me out more than I thought it would.

24. I need alone time or I get really cranky.

25. I will never change my name if I get married.

26. I have a hard time expressing my feelings to people I care about.

27. I don't watch much TV.

28. I hate cell phones.

29. Talking about my finances makes me nervous.

30. It's very hard for me to admit to myself when I'm in love.

31. When I walk by a group of teenage girls and they're giggling, my first thought is that they're making fun of me.

32. I have problems with authority.

33. I don't want to talk about good things that might happen to me because I'm afraid I'll jinx it.

34. If I could be anything I wanted, I would be an advice columnist.

35. I tend to be much better at expressing myself in writing than verbally.

36. I have impulse-purchased a car.

37. I think I tend to shop for shoes or bath/body stuff when I'm the most depressed, because you don't have to worry as much about things fitting.

38. My self-confidence is, in large part, an act.

39. I wonder often what will cause my 15 minutes of fame.

40. It bothers me that my brother and I are not close.

41. The things I do when I rebel have always been way more destructive to me than to anyone else.

42. I am semi-ambidextrous…I do some things better with my left hand and some things better with my right.

43. I hate people feeling sorry for me.

44. I don't like taking baths…I prefer showers.

45. It takes me a long time to get really angry, and it takes me a long time to get over it once I AM angry.

46. I don't like seeing my friends in pain of any kind.

47. People have told me I am intimidating, but I have never ever felt that way.

48. I eat most foods with a spoon.

49. Stress makes me hungry.

50. Boredom makes me hungry, too.

51. I love my family, but I'm glad my closest relative is 500 miles away.

52. My least favorite question is "when are you going to law school?"

53. My least favorite phrase is "you're not living up to your potential."

54. When I feel sad and lonely, I like to read kids' books.

55. I am a horrible insomniac, and have been since the age of 3.

56. I always wished I was shorter.

57. I used to bite my nails, suck my thumb, and chew on my hair. Then I started smoking.

58. I'm not sure about the whole having kids thing.

59. I think the single biggest problem with the U.S. is that it's almost exclusively run by penises.

60. Strangers tell me their whole life stories on a regular basis.

61. In any conflict-type situation, I'm always the peacemaker caught between two warring parties.

62. I'm very stubborn.

63. Once I make up my mind about someone or something, I rarely change it.

64. My first impressions of people, places and things are about 85% accurate.

65. Watching really moronic movies helps me fall asleep. Infomercials aren't bad either.

66. I hate rules.

67. I once went 3 years without having sex.

68. I don't like dating people when I know I'm a lot smarter than they are.

69. I always feel like I'm completely out of sync with everyone around me.

70. If I do get married, I'm eloping. I hate weddings.

71. I hate graduations, too.

72. And funerals.

73. I'm not at all afraid of stray cats, but stray dogs scare the shit out of me.

74. My stupid fear: being in a dark bathroom with the door shut. It's something about the mirror. No idea why, but that seriously gives me the creeps.

75. My stupid human trick is remembering phone numbers.

76. When I don't like foods (i.e., tomatoes, tapioca pudding, citrus juice with pulp), it's a texture problem rather than a taste problem.

77. I love to crunch ice cubes.

78. I can usually sing you the song, but I have no idea who the title and artist are.

79. I'm actually starting to like working out.

80. I claim to hate my hair, but I'm actually pretty vain about it.

81. I cannot stand drinking milk.

82. I'm glad I have a good relationship with my mom.

83. I really love each and every one of my friends.

84. I buy myself a Christmas present every year.

85. I love picking out cool presents for my friends and family, but sometimes I don't have time to do that.

86. I don't want to date any more men who have issues with their mothers.

87. I must have caffeine as soon as I wake up in the morning.

88. It really bugs me when I don't know the whole story.

89. It's important to me to be perceived as funny and smart.

90. I've never traveled outside the U.S.

91. I really want to.

92. I hate it when things are more complicated than they need to be.

93. I wish I knew how to fix my car. I don't necessarily want to do it, I just want to know how.

94. I really hate it when people nose around in my stuff.

95. I sincerely hope that people don't perceive me as a really smart person with no common sense.

96. One thing that always depresses me is knowing my friends went somewhere fun and didn't invite me.

97. I don't like to appear vulnerable in any way.

98. If I think about throwing up, I always do.

99. I really resisted growing up physically…I was embarrassed by getting my period and wearing a bra.

100. This was way harder than I thought it would be.

Call DHS. Or the ASPCA. Whatever You Do, Kill It Before It Can Breed.

After careful observation of the felines who share my abode, I have come to the conclusion that most volcanic rocks would be better parents than I would. My cats have some serious personality disorders. Sure, at first glance, they appear to be well fed, well groomed, and friendly….but upon closer examination, it becomes apparent that they are, in fact, completely fucking nuts. Oh, I'm sorry, that's not very nice. Mentally and emotionally challenged.

First, Emily, the oldest. Fat, fluffy, and somewhat of a fraidy cat. Every time a friend comes over and pets her, she will either (a) butt her head into every possible piece of furniture in the house or (b) immediately make for the food bowl. She has an eating disorder. Also, she doesn't speak up for her needs….she just kind of looks at you and squeaks. She wants to be picked up and carried around the house, but carrying her outside sparks a complete fur-storm that can never fully be expunged from the article of clothing you're wearing at the time. If she's not done with the whole carrying thing, she will wrap her paws around your neck and cry like a kindergartener with separation anxiety on the first day of school. >

Here are Emily & Sissy, trying to ensure that I never leave them alone...>

Maggie, the middle child. Small, black, and sleek, with a few white spots. A complete loudmouth whiner. You wouldn't think that a critter that small could make that much noise….but my apartment is at the opposite end of the hall and upstairs from the front door, and I can hear her as soon as my key turns in the lock. Additionally, she is the one who will do things like steal lighters, eat plastic wrap, and fish decorative marbles out of vases and bat them around the bathtub at three in the morning. Once, my tub wouldn't drain….so I examined the hair trap. Instead of hair, it was full of marbles. She can get them out of the vase, but not the drain….guess it's cheaper than those stupid ball & scratch pad toys. She's the most outgoing, but tends to freak people (especially guys) out with her "climb on the couch behind you and stick cold nose in ear" trick. She is a possessive drama queen.

Here she is:

Sissy, the baby. Someone's purebred Siamese mated with an alley cat. I got her as an adult, unlike the other two, but she's the most possessive. She growls at people when they come to feed her if I'm out of town. She doesn't like people (other than me) to touch her. She frequently lays on her back with all feet in the air. Lazy as hell. Very territorial. Comes when you call her and drools like a dog. Simultaneously sure she's the boss and worried no one loves her. Doesn't want anything unless someone else has it first….a spot on my lap, a spot on the bed, food, etc. I'm her third owner (the other two were seriously allergic to her.) I think she's trying to make really sure she doesn't get a fourth one. She's clingier than a teenage girl with her first boyfriend.

And this is just what I've done to cats. I don't even want to think about what I would do to an actual human child. What's sad is that people's kids like me a lot.