There is No Such Thing as "On a Break"

Sometimes in life, you have to be able to pull yourself away from bad sitcoms and realize that these people do not live in the reality that we live in.

Today, I am talking about the hit show Friends.

Now, everybody knows by now that Ross and Rachel were together and then they broke up, and then Ross did it with somebody (I'm not even sure it matters who) and when he a Rachel got back together he told her that he was with somebody while they were broken up. Bully for him, manning up and admitting that to her.

When Rachel started going on about how he had cheated (?!), his response was that they were "on a break". This is where shit gets stupid.

I'm sorry, but in the real world, if you are with somebody and you break up with them, you are not together. Seriously.

So if you go out and do some stuff, and they come back to your door, however long after, you should probably expect they are going to have fucked somebody, a hooker, an ex, some girl that was drunk on the sidewalk, whatever. But just because you two mutually agree to try your relationship again, this does not give anyone the right to be offended by the other party's behavior while they were not in a relationship.

There is no way in hell that you can even justify getting mad over that. He was not your boyfriend when he got the booty! He did not cheat! There is no way that you can even misconstrue that as cheating!

Do you cheat on your grocery store when it's 2 am and you end up at the Kroger to buy milk? NO.

Do you cheat on your mechanic when you take your car to Jiffy Lube for an oil change? NO.

Do you cheat on your pet when you go to someone else's house and get other pet hair all over your sweater? NO.

"But Tia, you are being ridiculous." you say.

I am not.

When two people break up, they have ended the relationship, and therefore revoked their claim to the person they have broken up with. You have no right over their actions, and no right over anything else about them either.

So Rachel, go have fun at your job at Barney's and go fuck all the guys you want, but sure as hell don't break up with them if you don't want them fucking other girls ever again, because that's a fucking dream. Ross was totally within his rights as a human male to go out and get him some, and I hope it was good, or at least better than you.

I am doing a great service to the internet today.

Hello reader. Today's post is a service, not only to you, but to every art student, Van Gogh fan, and wikipedia editor in the whole world wide web.

Today! I went looking for this picture. So you know, it's Vincent Van Gogh's Woman on a Tree-Lined Road, painted in 1889. I could not find it. It does not exist on the internet, unless they are calling it something else.

So here it is, I took a picture of it with my iPhone, cropped it up all pretty in Picasa, and stuck it in my Power Point presentation. Well, I couldnt' scan it, because the book is too fucking big for my scanner, and it's on 2 pages, hence the crease. But it's here for you anyway, if you need it. If you actually do end up taking it for something or other, hit up the comment box, I'd like to know if I actually did the world a favor, for once, that doesn't require something they con only charge me with if I don't get away with it.

You're welcome world!
Tia

Election Day is Fucking Awesome

Today is the day! The Day for Voting!!!

As a loyal citizen who enjoys putting her nose in everything, I was excited to get up and go vote this morning. I already have my "I'm a Georgia Voter!" peach sticker, see:


One thing that I have noticed that is so different from past elections is the surprising number of Libertarian candidates on the ballot. This is extremely amusing. Now we have 3 choices, it's like choosing between a giant douche, a turd sandwich, and a 10 year old happy meal. On the outside, the Libertarian party is exciting, and promises a toy, but once you open it up, your fries are cold and stale and your toy is gone and it's basically the same as the other shit.

Campaigns are nasty. Campaigns ads are super nasty. Like, Snookie nasty.

Campaigns are brutal, ugly, and ridiculous. Here in Georgia, the race for governor has gotten disgusting and hateful. Nathan Deal (R) is apparently a bag of slippery snakes who loves rapists. Roy Barnes (D) supposedly wants to give licenses to illegal immigrants while making sure that child molesters are hanging out waiting to touch their illegal children. I'm waiting for ads that say things like "Nathan Deal: he eats babies!" and "Roy Barnes loves to beat up senior citizens." I mean, if we are going to get ridiculous, why don't we go all the way?

Who believes this bullshit?! Why do I have to put up with it for an entire month before I go vote? And whose bad fucking idea was this anyway?!

I wish that the candidates would spend their money on ads that tell us in a straight forward and plain way what their stance on the issues is. Seriously.

So go to your Secretay of State website, and make your choices before you go to the polls. Find the Douche, Turd, or Stale French Fry that is right for you. Use the only real voice you have in our government and vote.

It's fucking important.

DO NOT let this hinder you in your quest for a shiny new voting sticker!

Also, if you check in at your polling place on Foursquare, you get a badge! Sweet!

Quote of the Day 10/18/10

So I called and said I want a 10 inch sausage, and the guy said 45 minutes, and I was all like Sweet! but when he showed up, all he had was a fucking pizza!

Convocation: Live Blog!!

Hi guys! Guess what? I'm in college now! Part of the college experience is this thing called convocation. Mine starts in 25 minutes. It's outside. In Georgia. And it's sunny. It's 87 degrees. The kid behind me who said the n word 17 times, also said it was mother trucking hot. Seriously?! You'll spout off the n word, but you won't say fuck?

1:38- ok, they moved our line over to the side of the building. A couple of Harry Potter cosplayers have walked by in the long black robes. They have handed out lukewarm water. N word guy says it's sahara hot.

1:42- here is the arch we are walking through:

2:12- we are finally walking through the arch! Sitting ahead! Oh, some girl just fell out from heat stroke!

2:23- ok, we finally got to sit down, in the fucking hot as sun. The smart kids have umbrellas.
There is a Harry potter convention on the stage.

2:33- I cannot hear the asshole talking on stage! Oh, and the unibomber is sitting behind me.

2:55- ok, we are supposed to have 20 minutes left. They are halfway through the program.

3:20- 5 minutes over, still only halfway through. The guest speaker sounds like he should be on sesame street. He says work hard and then play hard!!!!

3:30- oh my gods it's finally OVER!!! And I get a shirt!

I sat through your fucking convocation and all I get is this lousy t-Shirt?! It's not even one of the cool ones like they sell in the store! Fuck this, I'm out.

Farts are funny, until they happen to you.

Farts are just about the funniest damn thing ever. I love farts. They crack me up. They send me into hysterics that make people stop and stare.

I am so lucky to have a spouse who shares it this amusement. We can sit on the sofa and rip them off in turn and laugh about it.

When we decide to go to bed, it is a different story. He goes straight to sleep (I still can't figure that out) while I wind down from my day. This is when it begins.

I will be laying there, reading or playing with my phone. The stench hits me like a pimp that I owe money to. Lately it has gotten so bad that I have to leave the room. He is oblivious, because he's asleep.

I am a loving wife. I do what I can for my hubby. I put up with his stinky gas because I love him.

I found the better marriage blanket by accident one day. It looked like a miracle product. Until I realized it's one fatal flaw: BOB. He tosses the covers off of everything but his feet multiple times during his attack. Boooooooooooo!

A friend of mine told me to write beano on the shopping list. I may do that soon, because I am going nuts!!!!

Thoughts

Oh random guy in front of me, why do you have on so much cologne? I smell you from 10 feet away. No wonder you walk all alone.

Because I am still lazy

I am just sitting down to write. I am awake and it is 3:38 am and that is not good. I should be in bed. Why does my body do this to me?

My wonderful sweet loving husband can go to bed at 11pm every night, and when his head hits the pillow, he is out like Ellen.

I have never been like that. I have to sit in the bed, all covered up, and read until I can't keep my eyes open. There have been many times that I have fallen asleep with the book in my hand. Hubby usually finds me with the book in my hand, but sometimes I drop it on the floor as a reminder to turn off the lamp. It has proven to be very effective.

I know that right now, people on the west coast are in their beds asleep. People in Hawaii are watching the news before bed. People in Alaska are bitching because it's already dawn. I'm betting that people in Japan are on their way to Karaoke!

Those crazy Karaoke people. I will never understand the whole concept of getting up in front of people and singing off key and thinking they will like it! Come on! There's a reason Brittany lip syncs, people. Why do you go up there and sing songs you obviously don't know? Your timing is off, and you are slightly off key.

Or, if you are really super bad, you have practiced in the car by singing along to the radio, and all you do on stage is harmonize with a voice that isn't there.

Is this really the kind of attention that you crave? Those people applauding, yeah, they're clapping because you STOPPED. You suck at singing.

This is why I do all of my singing in the privacy of my own home/car. I think I can sing, but I know that I'm probably just as bad, if not worse than the people who are being laughed at in the bar. And I am not half as bad as the kid that screams Linkin Park.

Ok, I have to go now. The zombie aliens are here to get me again. They like to stick worms in my head that sing "Bad Romance" by Lady GaGa (WTF her name is a baby sound) all fucking day and night. Ugh, please give them a vuvuzela!

The Spud and Dude Show

Back in the day, when I was at the ripe old age of 15 and still walking uphill to and from school, I made some interesting friends.

Two of these friends were Allan and Cory. Allan was the best friend of a guy that I dated for a month, and Cory was a friend that crashed at his place a lot. Subsequently, Cory did not have a wide variety of clothing, so he wore a work shirt all the time. The name on the work shirt was supposed to say "Steve", but it was in that curly ass girl font, and he became known as "Stove".

I could not remember Allan's name the first 5 times I met him, so I constantly called him "Dude", as that was the thing to call people in the 90's. Ahh the 90's.

I was nicknamed "Spud", for my lack of wanting to get off the couch. Seriously.

So I hung out with Allan for at least a year almost every day. It was like we were separated at birth. We liked similar everything. We spent our time doing all kinds of random stuff.

I met Asa on the bus home from school. He always had this beat to shit Walkman (hey, remember those?), and the only person he talked to was his best friend Derek. In the winter, they would walk over to my house and catch a ride to school with me. Asa started coming over after school, and later in the year after wrestling practice. I'm pretty sure he liked my house because I had a mom. Because he didn't. But that's ok, because it's, like, a million years later, and now we share my mom. :)

So summer rolls around, and my mom and step-dad get married, and everybody goes off for a week and comes home. Asa is on my front porch, and his asshole father has kicked him out. So he moves into the basement. Allan, seeing an opportunity to be lazy, also moves into the basement.

This turns out to be a summer like something out of a movie. Asa is obsessed with making things explode, so he frequents the hardware store for things like fuses and gunpowder. He spent three weeks cutting the heads off matches and stuffing them into a tennis ball. That was disappointing.

Allan also likes to blow things up, but in different ways. We spent an entire day filling old coke bottles with vinegar and baking soda. We'd put the cap back on really fast, and then run out to the street and toss the whole thing in the air. It made a nice messy BANG when it hit the ground. It was a total pain in the ass to clean up too.

They also introduced me to my first Chat room. I can't even remember where it was, but I know it was music chat, and I would sit on there for hours.

Allan could clear a room with a fart, even on the internet. He could also burp the entire alphabet, and the phrase "Oreo Cookie" after some practice. He said the hardest part was the K sound.

One day, Asa came home with a half gallon jug of chocolate milk, and a box of Raisin Bran. He drank half the milk and left the rest next to his bed. He then proceeded to eat the ENTIRE box of Raisin Bran. Allan and I were laughing our asses off. That night, before I went to bed, Asa finished off that last quart of chocolate milk. The one he had brought home and left out all day.

The next day he had the worst stomach ache ever and couldn't understand why. My mom still talks about that.

Both of these guys cared about me in their own way, and the best example of this that I can think of is a storm. I am sofucking scared of thunder it makes me want to cry. I do not like being alone during a thunderstorm, and if I am, I will turn the TV up and try my best to ignore it.

So one night, we are having this storm. It's late, and I am in bed, trying to fall asleep. The rain is nice, and I am at that point of almost sleep. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM THUNDAR. It is so loud that my window panes are rattling. Thirty seconds later, Allan and Asa show up in my room. No knocking, just run in and make sure I am ok. They stayed through the storm, entertaining me and keeping me distracted, until the thunder stopped. I made a tape recording (blast from the past!) and called it The Spud and Dude show, guest starring Asa. Allan even stayed until I fell asleep.

We constructed many things that summer. Not all of them were combustible. Take, for instance, The Anarchopoly Table.

Sorry, lemme explain. We had an old Monopoly set that didn't have all the pieces. Why we still had it, I have no clue. So when I found a Sharpie in the basement, I decided we were going to remake Monopoly. We changed almost every space on the board. "Jail" became "School", the one place we didn't want to go. There was Oriental- no Chinese, The Pennsyltucky Train, Reading Rainbow, Leaky Faucet, Free Hand Job. Our ideas were insane and there was no sense of order to it AT ALL. This game was entitled: Anarchopoly.

Anywho, the table. So I told Allan that he totally needed to build a table so we had a place to put drinks, and an ash tray. This coming after I spilled my drink into the ash tray for the 3rd time that day. So we went into my step-dad's wood shop and found a bunch of wood. We found 2 pieces that were the same size, and thin and flat, and glued those together for a table top. Then we found 4 pieces of long skinny wood that were approximately the same length. We nailed those on, and PRETSO! We had a table.

It looked so plain, with it's half white, half turquoise top and really old colored wood legs. Then I found my markers. We doodled and scribbled all over this table. It was chaotic. It was poetic. It was the most awesome freaking table to ever be a table. I wish I had a picture of this thing, it was EPIC.

It was called The Anarchopoly Table, and we used it for everything. If we played a game, it was on The Anarchopoly Table. If we were making stuff to blow up, it was on The Anarchopoly Table. When the guys moved out, and I moved down into the basement, I inherited The Anarchopoly Table. I put it in the middle of the room. I did my homework on it, I ate my dinner on it. I sorted my laundry on it. I burned pictures of exes on it.

When I moved out, I was 19. I did not have a place for The Anarchopoly Table. So I left it in the basement, thinking that it would stay there like everything else I put in the basement anyway.

When I moved back 3 months later,The Anarchopoly Table was gone. It turns out that my mom totally hated it, and had wanted to throw it away for YEARS. I was totally mad at her. >:$

I don't wanna work

I don't like work. I will constantly go the extra mile to avoid working. For the past 2 years, I have been a housewife and part time babysitter. I am such a good housewife that my husband wants to hire a maid.

I hate cleaning. I hate it so much, I will make up excuses. My favorite new excuse: "look! I cleaned 4 hours of soaps off the DVR!".

So now that you know that, I cam give you an honest excuse.

Sorry, no post today, I am busy cleaning!

Another Letter

Dear Newcastle Brown Ale,

Why did you put blank stickers in my husband's 12pk? I am not so sure of other beer drinkers, but I know for sure that my husband does not like to color. I have asked him. On many different occasions.

I would however, like to thank you for providing me with a good use for some markers I happen to have. And and excuse to color like a 5 year old. Actually, those letters are kinda thin, and it takes some skill to trace around them.

Sincerely,
Me

PS- This is what resulted from your cleverly placed sticker madness. Hope you like It!

The beginning: Yes, those are my markers, and yes, they are kinda sorted by color. I am OCD about how my colors are arranged in the box, because I need to find the color that I want quickly.

Sticker 1: The St. Patty's Day



Colored in many shades of green, the St. Patty's Day Newcastle is both functional and refreshing! Don't worry, it doesn't taste green!














Sticker 2: NewCastle Throwback



With all the companies going back to their roots, Newcastle went back to the eighties, when they did a little too much coke and decided that neon colors would make the logo more noticeable. It worked, however, guys spotted drinking this Newcastle got the shit beat out of them and the word "POOFTER" written on thier forehead in sharpie.








Sticker 3:Girlcastle



Newcastle's early 90's experiment with label colors was to try and get women to drink more beer. Once again, it resulted in guys getting the shit beat out of them and the word "POOFTER" written on thier forehead in sharpie.











Sticker 4: Gothcastle




Oh come on. Everybody had a goth phase. Some people just forgot to burn the evidence.














Sticker 5: The Red White and Bluecastle



Designed for American Independence Day. It works in England too, because the flags are the same color! Too bad England doesn't have an Independence Day. They still have a queen and stuff!












Sticker 6: The Poocastle



What the hell did you expect?! Somebody was gonna actually use these things, and somebody was gonna turn it into something nasty. What do you want from me, I'm not DaVinci, I'm just a bored 27 year old with markers! I can only come up with so many original ideas before I say, Aww fuck it, lets make poo jokes!

Crazy dreams, pt 1

Ok, so last night I had this crazy dream that started out at wendy's. I wanted something light, and the waitress pointed out that theat had a marvelous buffalo shrimp salad that was light on veggies and heavy on flavor. Totally delicious.

So I meet up with some friends, and we go down to the beach. This particular beach is surrounded by small cliffs. In the middle there is a staircase up to an observation deck at the top of the cliffs. Off to the side is a wider space where you can drive you car down and unpack.

So we go down to the beach, and we jump in the water, and everything is awesome. Out of nowhere comes this HUGE tidal wave. It towers above our heads, then sucks us up as it races towards the beach. I start gathering air, and am then sucked under the water. I finally make it our of the water, and I'm on the beach, along with most of the other people. I make it up the stairs onto the observation deck. I can see out in the distance that another tidal wave is coming.

For about the next 30 seconds, I am Spiderman.

I use my web and grab as many people as I can. I pull them all up onto the observation deck, and the second wave crashes into the beach, shaking the cliffs we are on. All the people thank me for saving them, and then look out over the railing and see that everybody else is GONE. Another huge tidal wave is coming. I run away. This mask is itchy.

So I find this house, and change there. There are two girls and their parents who live here. The older girl is about 15, and she thinks she is a super hero. They younger girl is about 7, and very sweet. The father is obsessed with the TV. He refuses to turn it off and come to bed. The mom is tired and ready to go to sleep.

I hear screaming from the beach. I run to look out the window, and there is a police bot shooting at random people. This is really odd, as no one has done anything wrong.



Just so you know, a police bot is square, and has lots of options that you can choose by pressing buttons on it's front. It was designed to be used by anybody, so there are all kinds of pictures next to the buttons. It almost looks like a fast food menu board.




So, the older girl in the house decides that she has to do something to save these people from the police bot, so she pulls out this giant laser gun thing, and starts blasting the empty building across the street. Her plan works, now the police bot is searching the house. I try to hide, which is easy enough because the bot is not searching with it's heat sensors, just by sight.

It shoots the little girl through the bathroom window. The mother begs the father to come to bed. I see a good hiding place. I climb in the second bed and pull the covers over my head. I hear the bot shoot the father through a window, and then the older girl. The mother tells me to go to sleep and everything will be ok. I fall asleep to the sound of the bot hovering outside the window.

This is just one of the strange dreams I have had, and you will definitely be getting more of these.

Oh crap! I gotta post!

Sorry, I totally forgot to wake up and blog today. Turns out that I really wanted to start cleaning out my bonus room. I have been waiting all summer to wake up with that feeling.

My bonus room is horrible. It is full of everything. All the crap that didn't go downstairs. All the stuff that we have replaced. Like the old tv. The old video games.

It looks awful. It looks almost as bad as NOLA after Katrina. With less poop. And hopefully less water. It's true, here:


It is my goal to eventually clean it out and turn it into a rec room. I mean, we have all the stuff in there to turn it into a rec room. I just have to get all the crap out of there.

Every time I try to go to work in there, I get to a point where I have too many piles. I have a pile to throw away, a pile for Bob to go through, and several piles of my own stuff that I am trying to sort through.

So what am I ever going to do with those candle making molds? Seriosly, I have made all of 2 candles with this stuff, and they turned out awesome. Except I don't thing I will ever have a use for that stuff, unless there is an apocalypse. Then, with no electricity, we would need candles.

This is the logic I usually apply in order to justify keeping stuff like that.

What I should actually do is take the stuff that would be helpful in case of apocalypse, and put it in a box in the attic. I would then throw away all the crap that I know I will never actually use. This is what I hope to be able to accomplish over the next couple of weeks, so I can clean out my bonus room.

Then you have things like stuffed animals. I want to save them for my kids that I haven't had yet.

And then there are the boxes of stuff that you don't know what that is.

And once you hit 3 or 4 of those, you lose hope and give up.

Again.

Elections are total crap

Ok, I am willing to bet that this one will get me flamed, when and if this thing ever gets readers.

Before I go any farther with this, I refuse to divulge my political leanings, mostly because I have none.

I like elections. I like being able to have a say in who gets to fuck up the country and or state for the next 4-8 years. Every adult citizen has this right.

Sadly, a lot of people do not choose the exercise this right. They are idiots. Seriously, you're going to let a bunch of people you don't know make decisions for you?! What are you, like 8?

Mainly, I like voting because it gives me a right to bitch. When everybody was bitching about how Bush delayed his reaction to the Katrina disaster, I was right there in it. Hooray for being able to complain about the government! It seems like once you hit 25, that's your favorite new thing!

Some people think the best way to settle this argument is with one simple question: "did you vote?". This is meant to befuddle the person bitching, because if you don't vote, you have no right to complain about who you got, or what stupid thing they did at dinner with that foreign dignitary.

But they act all shocked and stuff, when I come back with "yes, did you?". Because most people I talk to do not realize that I like voting. Besides, you get a sticker! It looks like this!

I vote in primaries when I find out on time. I know where to go if I want to vote early (which I did last presidential election). I encourage my friends to vote. If I had a PA on my car I would blast "Vote or Die" every where.

I also do something else that freaks people out. I research my candidates, beeyoch!

That's right, I take the time out to examine their campaign sites, look them up on wikipedia, and google them. It helps to know who you are voting for and if they are a baby killer who hates educating tomorrow's working men and loves chromium tainted toys from China.

During the presidential primary in 2008, this process helped me pick a candidate who claimed (because all politicians lie, it's part of the job) to support a lot of the same things I do.

And by the way, I do not support ANY candidate who is for offshore drilling. I feel the same as I did 2 years ago, and it's nice to look at half the country and say "I told you that was a bad idea". But I am all for the baby killing. LOL this pic is just funny.

So basically, I'm telling everybody who reads this to go vote in your local elections, go vote in your national elections, just get off your ass and vote! It is so worth it, just so you can look at your mom and say "you voted for that asshole that choked himself with a pretzel, and told people about it?!".

I don't know what I am writing about yet

Hello! It is 9:15 AM and I am Awake. Again. Ugh.

You'll have to excuse me if I write a little bit groggy, but this is killing my schedule. I got used to passing out around 3 or 4 am, and sleeping until noon.

Imagine if you had to go do stuff at 3am! You'd be wiping your ass with hand towels and brushing your teeth with cuticle cream. Especially after a whole week of it.

This is why I don't go to Costco on Saturdays.



This is Friday. That's the picture of the line I was just in. Really.

Now I get to go to publix to grab a few things I need for the weekend.

Hey grammar Nazis!


Have a wonderful 4th of July!!!

Sorry guys

I can't think of anything to write about.

So, here's what I look like straight out of bed.



I promise that I will try harder tomorrow.

Buffing up for my audience

I am fat. I know this. My pants are really good at reminding me of this. So is that bitch in the mirror. I'm gonna cut her, one day.

A couple of months back, I joined a gym. Go me! Being proactive about getting down to a reasonable weight! Yay! So as I learned my way around the gym, I began to notice some interesting quirks. Not quirks like, the water tastes bad, or the treadmills are always full of running dudes. I'm talking crazy stupid stuff that happens all the time.

When you get to the gym, you have to park your car. Which you think is normal, but it's not. You would think it was a mall parking lot 2 days before Christmas. People will creep along behind you as you walk to your car. They will turn around and speed back down the aisle you are on, just to get a spot close to the door. Hi, people, this is a GYM. You came here to exercise, so why not walk an extra 20 feet to and from your car?! Seriously! No wonder you are so GD fat!!!

Racket ball?! Go in a room and bounce balls off the wall where the whole gym cam watch you? Show off. My mom used to yell at me to cut that shit out. Grownups suck ass.

Everytime I go upstairs, I feel like people are watching me. This is because said stairs are in the very middle of the gym, where almost everybody (except the dicks playing racket ball at 4pm) can watch your fat ass struggle up those stairs. Then, you have to choice of watching the dude in joggings shorts that are so baggy you fear their failure, or being watched by the 50something in camp counselor shorts. It's all watch or be watched.

As always, there is always a gaggle of trainers running around, and one of them is waaaay more enthusiastic than all the others.

Of course, no gym experience is complete without a locker room. This is not the ugly green lockers and mildewed tile from high school. These are the nicest fucking lockers I have ever seen. They are the best looking thing in the whole locker room. It is full of naked ladies, all of whom are older Asian ladies, with saggy boobs and even saggier panties.
Also, never get into the hot tub by yourself, and never ever when there is a man twice your age stewing in there already. Ewwwwww.

Oh, that's awesome! My phone added extra w's to my Ewwwwww.

Apart from some people who don't know about the new miracle product that is deodorant ignoring the unspoken "leave a treadmill between you and your neighbor" rule, I kinda like the gym.

Especially when I go with Bob, because that is when I spot Really Hot Guy.

OMG the traffic!!!

I live in a suburb of Atlanta. I sometimes have places to go in the morning, or maybe early evening. I don't like having to do these things, because it means that I have to sit in traffic. This is what it looks like:




Ack!! This has got to be the worst traffic in the whole world. I can leave my house at 8:30 am and it takes me over an hour to go 30 miles! Over an hour!!! And I'm not even riding a camel!!!

I have tried taking back roads, and they shave off 5-10 minutes. What you make up for in movement, you get held up by red lights. That, and all the other people who also tried back roads. Also, there is inevitably a school along your route that is having a function. Or a church. Or both.

This translates roughly into: I spend a lot of time in my car. I spend a lot of time singing off key and memorizing songs. I even tried to learn russian once. That dent go so well.

I don't know why, but ever since I got my first car, I have been driving every freaking where!!! I've almost always worked too far to walk or bus, and in Atlanta anybody will tell you that takes hours.

I figured out that I would have to leave my old job at 5:40 in order to catch a bus that would take me to a station to get another bus, and then ride it down to the Marta train station, then ride downtown so I could get on another branch, and from there get on the last bus to a bus station 8 miles from my house, and then ride on yet another bus and I would get home around 10. Marta is only "smarta" if you live ITP and near the train.

So bravely, I continue to fight the traffic. I let people over, I don't cut people off. I try to make sure that I am not an asshole to anybody. I didn't rear end the guy who decided to come to a complete stop on the highway in front of me. I just wish some drivers would return the favor. Or at least get off the road.

Passion Parties. Better than Pampered Chef. WAY better than Tupperware.

For over 50 years, the party plan marketing scheme has been targeting lonely ladies in their late 20's to early 50's. First, it used a really neat new way to store food in your refridgerator without using up a plate, a bowl, and stinking up your fridge. This sweet new trick was called Tupperware, and every lady on the block WANTED IT.

Sweet little housewives would spend all day in the kitchen making finger foods, clean their house and send the kids out to kill Daddy when he got home. That game was great, because it took them hours to bury the body. Wifey would open a bottle of wine, and her friends would start to show up. Finally, they lady with the tupperware was here! I can use my hostess gift to store the leftovers! Wifey thinks excitedly. The ladies spend hours oohing and aahing over the plastic storage containers that you have to burp. Yay! it's better than a baby, because I don't have to change it's diaper!

Fast forward to present day. Wifey comes home from her job, pops open the plastic on the party platters that she bought from Publix. She secretly hopes that her friends make pigs of themselves, because she is running low on Gladware. The kids are at friends' houses for the night. The husband is out playing poker with the boys, and will come home reeking of Gin and cigars. Ooh boy, whiskey dick. So much for getting laid. Oh! I can use my hostess gift to remedy that situation!!! Do I have batteries?

The doorbell rings, and it is the lady of the evening, the most awesome woman in the world. It's the Passion Party lady. She carts in 3 large plastic boxes full of "toys" for you and your friends to giggle over. Your friends stumble in one by one. The Party Lady gives you all clipboards with a piece of blank paper on each. She tells you to put it on top of your head, now, you have 30 seconds to draw a penis! The best Penis wins a prize! (Just an FYI, this actually happened to me at one of these parties, and I TOTALLY won!)

Some of the guests get to try out different creams. Always interesting to watch your friends squirm! The Party Lady came up with a neat new game, where you pass a double ended toy around between your knees! The hostess even gets to try on a strap on!


After we all settle down and feel more comfortable with a room full of strangers, we start passing around the things that vibrate. From rabbits to dolphins, the people who come up with these toys think that either:
A: women really like animals and things that have animals on them,
-or-
B: women are into bestiality
Because every one of these things has got pearls inside and a top that rotates and a vibrating animal form near the base. The one with the butterfly was really cool, I almost bought one.

Then all the women go into a room and close the door, and all kinda of secret kinky things happen.

Just kidding, she takes your check and in about a week you get your stuff. She tells you that you have a great personality and gives you a brochure telling you all about working for Passion Party, and then you walk out and tap the next sucker.

I don't know exactly how we went from Tupperware to Sex Toys, but I am SOOOO not complaining. If you really want to make things interesting, invite a couple of your raunchiest friends, we will spice things up for you. I made the party lady blush, and she was the one who kept whipping out the bigger and better toys!

So thank you, inventor of the Tupperware party, for we have bastardized your idea and made it more awesome than you could ever have imagined.

I hate smart people....

Dear Smart People,

Why do you guys have to be dicks? Especially when it comes to the internet. I mean, if there wasn't some jerk out there who wanted to have his character grinding xp while he was at work, there wouldn't be things like programs that automatically do stuff. Which means that there would be no reason for people to try to stop them from doing that. Which means that if I want to post a link on Facebook, I never ever have to type in 2 words that are totally unrelated to each other.Ok, maybe not always.

I hate you Smart People, who had to go and cause things like "Capcha" to be made. Because that is the stupidest thing in the world, and sucks for people who are dyslexic. I really hate you, because I am always foiled by things like this, at least twice, before I can accomplish what I set out to do. The ones that use numbers are the worst though, because I can't tell if that fourth number is a 4 or a 9. If I type in 4, then it will most certainly be a 9. Even though it looks like a 4.

Please stop being lazy, just because you have the brain power to do things us normal people can't, doesn't mean you should.

With great power comes great responsibility.

Your very first Public Service Announcement!

Hi Everybody!

(Hi Dr. Nick!)

This is my shiny new blog! It is meant to entertain you. It will be stupid. It will be lewd. It will make no sense whatesoever.

Are you ready?


Oh no! You are being attacked by a bunny! ACK! Run Away!