Silly Little Girl

Because "Stupid Fucking Shitface Asshole Bitchpuke.com" was already taken

What's that you say? My banner looks like it was created in MS Paint? Well, it's the first banner I ever made so seriously, go fuck yourself. Is it a crime to not own or know how to work Photoshop? Um...it is? Oh. Well. Kindly turn the other way while I run away, ok?

Hm. Anyway. During this half-assed and haphazard "redesign" it also occured to me that I selected the dumbest fucking site address. So, someday when I'm some mad famuzzz bloggah, y0, I will be forced to convert to some shit like "kitkat.org" or something equally stupid.

I chose "Kitkat" because it was a childhood nickname, and because I was at work and pressed for time and was like "fuckit, don't care." I tend to take stuff like choosing names way too seriously, and eventually I freak out and just choose something to get the decision away from me. "Decisions" and "choices" freak me out to no end, because I am "flighty" and "fickle."

At any rate, please excuse my pitiful excuse for a web design, and instead, look at the pretty snail over on the left there! He rocks, pretty hardcore, is what I am thinking. Makes it all ok.

Still don't know stuff

Hey, what's up to the person that got here by searching "coitus" in google blogs! Sorry if you were disappointed!

I'm sorely tempted to change the header of this blog to "penis vagina dirty sex panties foot fetish i love new york britney spears nicole richie is pregnant and lindsay lohan giving blow jobs" just for the search engine hits.

Ahem. Welcome to all you pregnant foot fetishists, also.

IN OTHER NEWS:

The Crazy that ate my brain took over the house last night and forced me to scream 'LAZY, INCONSIDERATE FUCK!' over and over again at my poor boyfriend. I still maintain that my initial complaint was justified, but the whole "I fucking hate you and never want to see you again" may have been a wee bit over the top.

Now I find myself firmly implanted into Friday, which is exactly where I've waited to be all week, yet I'm finding it strangely disappointing. Sure, I have jeans on, and I can be little more blatant about my inability to concentrate, but the fact that a pair of stiletto boots and 'nice pants' are waiting for me in the car is leaning heavily on my shoulder. No one should ever have to dress up on Friday, unless it's in a cocktail dress and involves, well, cocktails. But alas, I have an interview this afternoon for a job that I'm only slightly lukewarm about.

It's way closer to my house, and that's the biggest draw. My current position and the new one each have drawbacks and attractions. Let's observe them, in pretty list form.

Current: 35 miles away
New: Less than 3 miles

Current: Good Pay
New: Same pay

Current: $120 a month for the best benefits on the east coast for me and my child
New: $157 every two weeks for mediocre benefits

Current: Fully matched 401k, up to 6%
New: Partially matched up to 3% 401k

Current: Day one benefits, day one Paid Time Off of 21 total days. Also, paid funeral time for family and non-family.
New: Benefits after 30 days, accrual of PTO of TEN DAYS PER YEAR. Hi, that sucks really bad. Get your shit together and pay me to not be there.

In all honesty, I've got it pretty good here. I get paid rather handsomely considering I don't have a degree and I'm only 21. The thing that massively sucks is I'm not fond of my colleagues and the commute is starting to make me consider pouring tequila into a thermos for the ride in. Oh, also, I hate insurance. I freak myself out over this damn job every single day, and all for what? So some yuppie in California can get his fucking commission? I wouldn't mind being a basketcase all the time, if it meant that I was making some miniscule difference. Call it cliched or naive or whatever, but I do want my life to mean something. I do not want to be a corporate robot.

That's all I've got for this morning. At one point, I had a story in my head about the construction guy who got disgustingly close to my ear like he was going to lick it, then screamed 'HAVE A FANTASTIC DAY' but the memory of it is still pretty squicky at this point, so give me a little time to heal. 

Sometimes, I really wish I knew stuff.

It occurs to me, a little late in the game as most things usually do, that before one starts a website, one should know how to, like, run a website and stuff. Or, um. Make it look nice.

I'll be honest - I have no idea what CSS means, I know very little about things like "bandwidth" or even "html." I know how to make stuff bold and put pictures in and how to make the words all centered and pretty-like on the page. That's pretty much as my far internet knowledge goes. Oh, I'm also mad good at googling stuff and pretending I'm smart. Kind of.

At any rate, I know there are people reading this. Typepad's control panel says so, damnit! So could anyone recommend a good "how to make a website not look like a 14 year old girl's livejournal?" book, or page, or anything? Let's keep it real beginners-like over here, we're talking "CSS for really, really, dumb, silly girls. Girls who may have walked around all day with a kitkat rapper stuck to her ass and gave people dirty looks for laughing at her, because 'WHAT, ASSHOLE? WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM' except not really, cuz that would be fucking weird, right?"

...Thanks.

P.S. Jesus thinks you're an asshole, too.

I like babies. I have one of my own. I like looking at pictures of cute, squishy babies. I am so not above oohing and aahing over some strange kid's apple white monkey cheeks, or squealing with unrestrained delight over newborn baby pictures. But if I hate you? I really don't want to see pictures of your kid. If you do stupid things to your child and take pictures of it, I'm going to be especially disgruntled.

I'm not talking about unconventional haircuts or goofy outfits. I'm ok with mohawks, and it's seriously only because no one will let me near my kid with a pair a scissors that my son doesn't have one. (The one time I asked a professional to give him a mohawk, she looked at me like I was batshit insane, and said "No. Nothing doing.") And I can't pretend for half a second that I never dressed my kid up in some ludicrous costume and took embarassing pictures to show future friends, girlfriends, and possibly employers. But, let's draw a few lines here:

Spiking your four year old's hair up with unreal amounts of gel and taking pictures of him while he yells at you: OK.

Showing cell phone videos of you cornrowing your 3 month old daughter's hair while she screeches because YOU'RE HURTING HER, JACKASS: Not ok.

Doing your kid's halloween makeup "accidentally" the wrong way on his 3rd Halloween and mercilessly teasing him about it: Totally OK.

Putting eyeliner, shadow and lipstick and fucking mascara on your 3 month old daughter: TOTALLY NOT OK.

Letting your 2,3,4 year old run around in his/her dad's/mom's whatever's clothes and trip all over them and laugh at them: Completely acceptable.

Putting your 3 month old daughter in a shirt that says "I'm a hoochie and I learned it from my  mama": COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE, even if the second part is totally accurate.

Snuggly yummy baby thigh and neck rolls, or obsessively pinching your toddler's fat little chipmunk cheeks: Totally, completely, and wonderfully ok.

Bragging that your 3 month old daughter is already 28lbs: N.O.T. O.K. I'm not surprised your mom threatened to call social services on you, and if I hear you bitching about it to your friend on the phone at the top of your voice one more time I'm going to call them myself.

(I tried to find a picture of the hoochie shirt online, but no dice. If anyone finds it for me, I will love them forever. I feel like this is the kind of post that needs illustration.)

And then tomorrow I'll say sorry for being an asshole

Since my bloggy beginning, I’ve started jotting down little half sentences and made up words to keep blog ideas in my head. The following is what I’ve written today:

Sick kids

Stupid Colleagues

Weird people in building

Asian

Orange Shoes

Fucking idiots

Crazy Man

In case it is not abundantly clear, I am having a frustrating day. Let’s review.

• On my way to class last night, with all my good intentions and note taking readiness, my son’s father’s girlfriend called me to inform me that the little, wee, cough my boy was sporting on Sunday? Has totally turned into a phlegmy hack, and oh, did I mention his ear is fire engine red and he screams when you touch it? So I skipped class, went to pick him up, and brought him home. The homeness of the situation thrilled me to pieces, as I was missing him like all get-out, but the sick, someone is missing work and there is no more PTO and we’re going back to the doctors that we officially now hate, did not rock my socks so much.

• I have colleagues who, instead of opening a computer file and clicking “SEND” to email something them-damn-selves, they would rather open the file, check the status of something, and then email ME to email the whatever-it-happens-to-be-that-second. Hi. Did you realize that you put more effort into asking me to do something than it would have been to just do it yourself? No? Well, then, that is why I have labeled you a “stupid colleague.” Also, Mr. Boss Who Is Suddenly Making Me Call Him Mister After Working For You For a Year Because You Are Mad That I Questioned Your Shitty Business Practice and Would Rather Come Down Three Floors to Ask Me to Make Copies for You Than Use the Copy Machine THAT IS IN YOUR ACTUAL OFFICE Just to Humble Me? Well, you, SIR, are the biggest, dumbest, alpha-male, pretentious, knock-off Armani suit wearing asshole of them all. That is all, have a good day. SIR.

• I work in the corporate mecca of suburban Philadelphia. The only real residential neighborhoods around here are technically part of other townships, and those are rambling, gated, Doberman-guarded estates, and their residents do not count as real people, thank you very much. Because of this, I would be inclined to think that the population around here would consist of semi-together professional type folk. I am…sadly mistaken. Or, more likely, the idea of “together professional folk” is really just a myth, and corporate robots are batshit insane. The biggest perpetrators of this lunacy are in my building, which houses two small operations, and my company, a multi-million dollar insurance operation. You would think, wouldn’t you, that these people would be relatively sane. You would be wrong.

                 

              a.   Mr. Orange “Crocs”. Dude. You are a company OFFICER. I know this because you have a special parking space and EVERYTHING. So, why, in God’s name, do you walk around, YEAR ROUND, in THESE:

  Dude, don’t lie. You wear them all the time! I hate these shoes. I hate them with an ever loving passion, and I am FLABBERGASTED, frankly, that you are wearing them in NOVEMBER, with a SUIT. A REAL LIVE SUIT AND NOT JUST ONE OF THOSE T-SHIRTS THAT LOOK    LIKE ONE! You, sir, are BATSHIT INSANE.

2. Ms. Asian. You are behind me on 76 EVERY MORNING. How is this possible? HOW? I HAVE WITNESSES LADY, so if you ever decide to run me off the road or some shit, everyone totally knows who to turn to. Plus, you are fucking scary looking. STOP LOOKING AT ME. You’re also mean and rude, with the frantic “elevator close” button pushing you do every time someone wants to get on.
3. Crazy man. Who are you, dude? Where did you come from? Why do you show up once a week or so and wonder around the second floor of a building in which you clearly do not work? I thought you were delivering something, but I’ve seen your entrance into the building several times now, and you’re always empty handed. You ask everyone the same damn question every week, and I guess you think we’re all lying to you, because the answer never changes and yet you keep asking. Also, where is the security guard (never mind he’s not a day under 75 and has bad gout) when you’re doing this?

• Fucking idiot. Just one. I hate you. You and your repetitive, stupid questions and your inability or unwillingness to figure anything out for yourself makes me want to stab myself in the eyes. You are a lazy, stupid, disgustingly filthy asshole, your shoes fucking SUCK, your hair is dirty and you fucking SMELL WEIRD. Oh, also? Writing “SEN!OR UNDERWR!TTER (edited for googlability purposes)” in front of your title on your email signature when we all know your official title is “Junior Clerk” is not fooling anyone. We all laugh at you.

And that, people, is my day up until now. I would thank you kindly to hold your “spoiled, miserable, bitch” comments to a bare minimum, but then I remember that none of you are commenting anyway, so, cool!

Saturday night is for lovers

Saturday night was my engagement party. The plan was to head downtown, pick a place, and then summon all our friends to buy us drinks and tell us we're pretty. Surprisingly enough, considering the scattered manner of the planning and the nomad-esque nature of our friends, almost everyone turned out, and it was a fabulous time.

We, meaning Nik, Lauren, Biggs & Rachael started at a bar called The Plough on Chestnut in Philly. It was massively crowded, overpriced and hipster-ish, so we only stayed for one drink. I was thrilled, however, because there were BAGPIPERS there, and how fucking awesome is that?

From the Plough we headed to The Khyber, which may have been the diviest dive bar I've ever been in, but it was awesome. We took over the top half of the bar, which was little more than a six foot bar, and like..one chair.

Highlights of the evening -

• The multitude of shots purchased for me. I was, ahem, supposed to be the designated driver (at my own damn party! The injustice of it!) but...yeah. That plan went out the window. We ended up taking a cab to our friend Greg's house.
• The bountiful and absofuckinglutely delicious margaritas that lovely barkeep made for me. Extra squishy points go to that bartender because he would always make extra, so it was like 2-for-1 all night. Score.
• Despite what I wrote here, touching Lauren's boobs multiple times. Squishy.
• Threatening to make out with Lauren, and then completely blocking it out five minutes later, until I was reminded six seconds ago. Disclaimer: I only did this to make her make out with someone else, which is, duh, totally less reprehensible.
• This picture, for which I totally do not remember posing:

I owe Lauren $3 for that shirt I'm wearing, which is sparkly and was purchased that evening at the Vanity Fair Outlet in my town.

• The Pringles Lauren gave me that saved my life. Dude, I totally thought my drinking was over for the evening. My stomach was threatening revolt, hardcore. Lauren shoved some cheddar cheese pringles in my mouth and I was all better.
• Using the Pringles to make duck lips, with which I'm pretty sure I tried to kiss everyone.
• Throwing Pringles at people from across the room, and being totally sure that they didn't see me.
• Trailing to hail a cab for six people. The following conversation ensuing:

Nik - You can take six people to Geno's?
Cabbie - Nah, man, I can only take four. State law, man.
Nik - So, uh, take six and pretend it's four.
Cabbie - ....Yeah, Alright. You drunk fool, you look like you need some Geno's.

• Geno's. For the first time ever. At 2:00 in the morning.
• Nik calling me a useless pig in his drunken, half-passed out stupor. Continuing to call each useless pigs every five minutes for the following week.

All in all, I declare the evening a raging success.

And hey, if you're feeling generous, and would like to bestoy me with giftys because I got engaged and it's Christmas and I should get to be almost as cool and pretty as you, you could buy me this! Or some of this stuff!

You'd be mad squishy if you did. 

In which I decide a lot of things, none of which make sense.

[edit] Title: Otherwise known as the post that should have happened Wednesday [/edit]

I got done work at noon today, which would normally mean nappage of the highest degree. But today, because my house was a filthy cess pool of horror, I had to go home and clean like holy Martha Stewart and make enough space to put up a tree.

I got home, and in my cleaning fervor, I decided that furniture needed to be rearranged. I decided to take several large, bulky pieces down to the basement, and otherwise shift stuff around to make room. Somehow, in my deluded brain, I decided that moving things before cleaning things was the best course of action. This was...unwise, as I lost my mojo midway through, and then found myself facing a cleaning task that was worse than it had been when I got home an hour before. So I decided to fortify myself by pouring a glass of the completely full jug of pre-made, Cuervo Gold margarita.

This is a "BEFORE" picture of my living room. Well. Actually. It's a slightly-after-before picture, because the TRUE before picture is completely horrifying, and even I have enough shame not to air 17 loads of dirty laundry in public.

And this, this is the diary of events that occurred after that picture was taken.

12:45 Bring 2 of the 29384203 empty boxes I compulsively kept from the move up from the basement.

12:47 Pack up desktop that has some type of glitch that renders it incapable of connecting to the internet, therefore rendering it entirely useless.

12:49 Contemplate selling computer to some geek who can fix it, and get some use out of it.

12:50 Compulsively decide that "No! I may need it some day, possibly as an end table. Who knows?"

12:53 Get twisted up in a jungle of keyboard, speaker, and mouse (mice?) wire.

12:53:30 Fall

12:54 Wonder why I have 3 mouses (mice?)

1:00 Consider doing the responsible thing, which would be taking the box of computer parts down to the storage closet in the basement.

1:01 Shove it in the coat closet instead.

1:02 Drape coat over box to hide it.

1:03 Attempt to pull lightweight, albeit bulky computer desk from corner to door, to take down to basement.

1:10 Make it halfway across room.

1:11 Give up.

1:12 - 1:30 Attempt to move 237498279 lbs TV and stand to other side of room

1:30 Fail

1:30 - 1:45 Push TV back to where it was to begin with

1:45 Am tired. So tired. Need sustinence! Check out fridge. Fridge is also filthy but, ah, who looks in there anyway? See Margarita. Totally acceptable sustinence.

1:46 - 2:15 Drink margarita. Realize margarita is far more enjoyable when eating Mac-n-Cheese and reading Harry Potter.

2:15-3 Eat Mac-N-Cheese. Read Harry Potter. For the millionth time.

3:00 Realize Nik will be home in two hours and acknowledge that you promised him (third time this week) you'd have everything cleaned up, finally, God, you lazy piece of shit.

3:15 Half-Assedly shove some dishes into the dishwasher

3:19 Pour more Margarita

3:25 Decide You! Are! Getting! Serious! About! This!

3:25 - 3:40 Take trash bag and starting throwing away anything in your reach. You're pretty sure you can get a new checkbook any time you want.

3:40 Vaccuum.

3:50 Actually do dishes

4:10 Pour more margarita. Cleaning is strenuous, yo!

4:15 Make sure DVR is set to record "Gossip Girl"

4:16 Realize Gossip Girl is a rerun tonight.

4:17 - 4:20 Curse the Heavens.

4:21 Pour more margarita. Cleaning is fun, yo!

4:22 - 5:00 Clean like a mad woman.

5:01 Realize house, is actually, pretty clean. Dude, you rock.

5:02 Pour more margarita.

5:05 Lift last bag of trash from can.

5:06 Watch helplessly as bag splits and spills all over the floor YOU. JUST. DAMN. MOPPED.

5:07 Pour more margarita. Add more tequila to it.

5:08 Weep, slightly, alone in the dark.

After picture:

Blame T-Mobile

I wrote an entire post the day before yesterday chronicling my cleaning adventures, and it was even mildly funny. However, it doesn't work without the pictures that go with it, and T-Mobile has decided that 3+ days is a perfectly acceptable amount of time to send pictures from phone to email. So I'm still waiting on that one.

At any rate, I figured that I would wish all a belated Happy Thanksgiving, and tell you that this:

Just about made my whole year.

Also, I'm seeing the page hits..I know people are out there, but the comments belie this fact. Show yourselves, maybe? Please? It would be like..all in the holiday spirit, and shit.

Because I am snobby and elitist, and, also, lazy.

I'm not an enormous fan of memes or surveys or the like. (Everytime I go to type 'survey' I type 'survery' and have to backspace a million times. I may have backspaced 19 times writing that sentence.) I'm pretty sure you don't care whether I prefer pepsi to coke, or what coitus position I find most enjoyable. But as it is the day before Heaven in an Oven, also known as Thanksgiving, and I get out of work at noon today, I will indulge myself and make up my own damn meme. This way, it almost looks like I wrote an entry, and I get to entertain my narcissism in a delightful, numbered fashion. Hoozah!

5 Things I Can't Live Without.

1. Chapstick and moisturizer. I am a fucking spaz about these things, and I am honestly terrified of a day when I don't have any chapstick or an ability to find any chapstick. The idea of it alone makes me feel jittery and anxious. If I had it my way, I'd have at least 3 chapsticks (plain original, none of your fancy shit) within an arm's length AT ALL TIMES. I am not kidding in the slightest, I swear to all that is Holy.

2. Food that tastes good. My inability to diet stems directly from my complete refusal to eat something that is not delicious. Is this spoiled and self-indulgent? Yes. Do I care? Not in the slightest.

3. Harry Potter. God, don't even make me justify this, because if you don't understand why, you are not worthy of life, or my time. You are the weakest link, goodbye.

4. I Can Has Cheezburger. My life is brighter and happier for having found that site.

5. There is no five. I am easy to please, as you can see.

4 Websites I love with an almighty passion and if you take them from me or tell me I can't obsessively read the archives at work I will stab you in the eyes.

1. Amalah

2. Miss Doxie

3. Dooce

4. Rockstar Mommy

3 Reasons Why Being Engaged Sucks

1. Completely useless and unsolicited wedding advice. I do not want your opinion on centerpieces, I do not want to know why it is horrible, terrible, no good, very bad luck to get married in March. Or May. Or ever, because omg, did you know that like, in Wiccan culture they think that weddings are truly a clever disguise for kitten sacrifices OMG. Shut up. I hope someone sticks a pair of tweezers through your eardrum. Or writes mean things about you on the internet. Besides, don't you think I'm racist? Don't give me advice on my wedding, the Klan is already planning it.

2. Telling the same damn story, over and over and over again. IT WAS AT THE GODDAMN EAGLES GAME THAT IS ENOUGH. I may wear a sign.

3. Hearing "He's making an honest woman out of you!" A million times. From the same person.

2 Reasons why my son rocks the party that rocks the party

1. He knows all the words and dance moves from "Chicago". Velma Kelly is his idol. Call this what you what, have whatever suspicions you want - regardless of its implications, it's still just plain awesome.

2. He quotes Good Will Hunting. Specifically, he comes up to you and asks if you like apples. If you say yes, he starts "rough-housing" and says "HOW DO YOU LIKE THESE APPLES!" It probably came from something else, but it's way cooler if you say he learned it from Matt Damon, because GAH.

1 Reason Why I Started a Blog

1. So I could do shit like this. Duh. 

A surprisingly pleasant turnout.

The weather yesterday morning did not bode well for a good day. When I woke up at 7:30, it was dreary and wet and just this side of freezing. I dragged myself out of the comfort of my deliciously warm and soft bed anyway and started getting our shit together for the game.

We got down there around 11am, and walked 20837452938 miles to meet up with Tara, who was there with her boyfriend and his friends. We ate their food while I drank margarita straight from a Cuervo jug. After a bit we went to the entire other end of the lot (another 8924758923745 miles) to meet up with Nik's friend, Bobby. As an aside, Bobby is adorable. Dead ringer for a fairer Matt Damon. Gah.

Eventually we headed up to the stadium. After another 892745897234 miles and 9082758934759834753947 stairs, we found our seats. I was surprised by how easily I could see everything on the field from that high up.

The Eagles made a pitiful showing in the first half. The only good play - a beautifully executed flea flicker that sent a t-d into the endzone - was destroyed by a stupid holding penalty on the part of one, LJ Smith. Bastard. Three interceptions were thrown and the Dolphins immediately scored on an eighty-some yard kick return. I was disgusted.

Aside from that, I was freezing my ass off. I was heavily layered up top, but woefully underdressed on the bottom in simple long johns and jeans. As I looked around I could have kicked myself - it never occured to me to bring a blanket. Nik had a stomachache all morning that was progressing badly, we were both miserably congested and freezing, and the Birds were making us near suicidal. At half time, we decided to call it quits and head home.

Of course, immediately after we left the Eagles started playing something that actually resembled good football, and we took the game back to win, 17-7. It was ok, neither of us minded too badly, since the day had still been a major success, due to the fact that right before we began to climb the stairs into the stadium, Nik went down on one knee, presented a diamond solitaire, and asked me to be his wife.

I said "Yes."