RANDOM
whoo boy, such a busy few days, such a busy weekend and i’m fairly certain that while i will be busy, the next four days are going to d r a g on like you wouldn’t believe. most notable things i can rememberate from the weekend are: drinking & antique stores don’t mix; sombreros are dead sexy; running w/out a knee brace is stupid & i am a cow; blenders are a godsend; blackberry slurpee + coconut rum = delicious; i love the midget.
that about sums it up…because i can’t coherently piece things together. there was more, and i think i’m cursed when it comes to *not* spilling my precious precious alcoholic beverages, and thus our floor is rum-soaked now. damn…
PET PEEVES
(or, a stupid rant because it’s hot out & i’m surly)
so it’s already been established that i’m a lousy girl. i mean, i’m just not that good at it — unlike the midget, who was probably born with a perfect manicure & the ability to walk in stilettos effortlessly. whereas, i, have never had a manicure (wtf is that?) and excell at nervous nail-biting, and stumble around enough as it is in fucking sneakers. yeah…i just suck at that shit. i mean, i look stupid in dresses, i have a boy haircut, practically nonexistent boobs, and can’t fucking stand anything pink. i don’t like chick flicks, i don’t like facials, and i don’t have a single fucking maternal instinct in my body. i think weddings are boring, and could care less about valentines day or flowers or froufy things. i’d rather watch football. and no, i’m not a lesbian, i loves the cock.
it’s just, i’m bad at girlie things. i don’t particularly care, though; it’s probably the laziness. my boss at job #2 thinks i’m a god damned freak because i don’t pay attention to things like anniversaries or whatever. and don’t get mad when shit like that is forgotten — but um, wouldn’t i be getting mad at myself for not paying attention? i mean, i’ve never been an anniversary girl. i used to have to take great pains to remember shit like that so i wouldn’t get in trouble or offend anyone, but it’s just, my memory doesn’t work like that. i won’t remember First Moments or Significant Events but i’ll remember random ass shit that pretty much doesn’t make any sense to anyone except for me. stupid details that i can’t for the life of me figure out why they stick.
i don’t do overly emotional conversations and i don’t bullshit because i just don’t have the time for that. and like [insert a bunch of generic girlie things here] doesn’t interest me. i’d rather talk about buttsex and drink. or hang out with my roommate (and talk about buttsex). i suppose these things make me weirder? oh wells.
and another thing i don’t do, can’t stand, and bugs the fuck out of me when people say it to me…i just, can’t use the word “boyfriend”. it sounds so stupid and ricockulous. i just don’t like it. i mean, about 80% of my nearest and dearest are dudes, wtf am i supposed to call them? it’s a pet peeve of mine. my standard is just to say “the boy” in reference to you know, whatever. or if i’m annoyed at whoever’s talking to me i’ll just mention my current cock dealer, etc. i’m actually fond of “cock dealer”…i think this bugs me most with strangers/near strangers. anyone close to me knows the boy and on the rare occassion that he comes up when he isn’t in the room, i’ll just say his name or something cuz they know him — and usually it’s only like, jetta or the midget or scooter anyway.. “my boyfriend” (gag) is just so…i mean…i equate that with talking about some annoying pet or something, like one of those fucking chihuahuas. and there’s this whole possesive vibe dealy that i just don’t dig. anyway, i don’t discuss that shit with people i hardly know. and it bugs me when they bring it up, cuz it’s nobody’s damned business. never has been, never will be. and actually, i just am annoyed by the most-likely-autistic tard who’s “training” me at my new totally-awesome-i-love-it-so-much job.
(wow, i’m bitchy today…)
DONALD RUMSFELD IS A DOUCHEBAG
in case you were wondering. d o u c h e b a g. with a capital D, even. because, you know, he can’t just content himself with terrorizing the world as is, no, he has to bring forth the threat of further suffering…you know, to kill any hope we might have that he’ll be eaten by a badger or succumb to the syphillis from a coked out whore and just go away. and that maybe, if that were to happen (whore or badger) the fucking madness would stop. (you know, in theory) but no, of course not. resigned, my left nut! stay tuned for the US annex of iraq, yo. it’s bound to happen. i’m sure we’ll have a 52nd middle eastern state sooner or later.
AND MOST IMPORTANTLY OUT OF THE WHOLE DAY
the world should be in mourning, yo. paul winchell — the voice of my beloved tigger since i was just a wee lil kid — is no more. ::sniff:: he was my favorite. tigger is my favorite. everyone should pour out a lil liquor, and maybe bounce around.
i hope they don’t get a really shitty replacement. because they have, so much. and they re-make and bastardize the things i love from growing up. i mean, i still remain dubious about the charlie & the chocolate factory remake — but then again, they went and put johnny depp in it just to destroy all my resistance.
but tigger? i mean, his voice is classic. tigger is a classic. you don’t fuck with the classics and you don’t fuck with my winnie the pooh!
to summarize:
- sobriety is overrated
- i can’t wait for nick to get here: 4 days!
- i’m still a cow – moo
- war on iraq still = bad idea jeans
- iraq likely to be 52nd state
- i suck at being a girl
- annoying people get on my nerves
- the voice of tigger is dead
- and it’s hotter than a crotch outside
