And now I’m off with my homies to the the final bus demolition ever at Illiana Speedway, where I shall continue to drink accordingly and try to tempt fate with my push-up bra she says sarcastically.
How bad is it that my neighbor downstairs has asked me to help her highlight her hair because the stylist she went to fucked it up, and I said “Sure! No prob”?
How much worse is it that I’ve already pounded a 22 oz. Stella and half a Woodchuck because Stella doesn’t live at my liquor store?
This could be very, very bad, y’all.
*Highlighting Under the Influence
As if on cue to brighten my existential despair, the mail delivered my mix CD from my pretend Innernet boyfriend today. Gotta say, it’s much mellower than I pictured coming from the dude who endured ghost-writing Paris Hilton’s dog’s biography, but really, really good. (I, too, love Yello now.) Below, I give you the lyrics to “Make It Rain,” by Tom Waits—not as a peek into the window of my utterly defeated, foul mood, but because man, have you heard this dude’s voice? I mean, I know everyone has, but seriously. I forgot how ... odd it is. Seriously. Good song, though.
Took all my money
And my best friend
You know the story
Here it comes again
I have no pride
I have no shame
You gotta make it rain
Make it rain
Since you’re gone
Deep inside it hurts
I’m just another sad guest
On this dark earth
I want to believe
In the mercy of the world again
Make it rain, make it rain
The night’s too quiet
Stretched out alone
I need the whip of thunder
And the wind’s dark moan
I’m not Able, I’m just Cain
Open up the heavens
Make it rain
I’m close to heaven
Crushed at the gate
They sharpen their knives
On my mistakes
What she done, you can’t give it a name
You gotta make it rain
Make it rain, yeah
(insanely good and right on guitar solo)
Without her love
Without your kiss
Hell can’t burn me
More than this
I’m burning with all this pain
Put out the fire
Make it rain
I’m born to trouble
I’m born to fate
Inside a promise
I can’t escape
It’s the same old world
But nothing looks the same
Make it rain
if you’re screaming like a little bitch and telling me you really, really hate me when I’m apologzing to you for saying something that wasn’t called for, I’M not the one who needs therapy.
Just a thought.
Oh, and PS: If my own family doesn’t get to dictate with whom I can and can’t associate, what makes you think you can!!?
How someone who’s in the exact same boat as someone else a) chooses to ignore the irony of the situation, and b) would rather beat the first person with an oar and throw her off the boat to drown instead of, I don’t know, having some fucking empathy.
it really is all pr0n sites that link here or you just don’t want to admit you read me, because damn! What’s a girl gotta do to get some comment interaction up in this bizznatch!?? I mean, NO ONE wants to talk about what they hate in a potential partner!?? Or was I supposed to start with mine, and I’m just not doing it right? Don’t let the crickets chirp on me, man!
Or, since I found a ton of other amusing photos as I looked for my shot of bershon, how about I post another pic of me when I was young broad? This shot, taken in I’m guessing June of 1985, had to have been taken either right before or right after Dad came home from one of his yearly fishing trips in the Boundary Waters:
A few things stand out about this picture to me, namely 1) that’s my natural hair color, y’all; 2) even though I really loved the shirt and jeans I was wearing and they were really cool, they clearly aren’t cool together, especially with the pink socks; 3) I was six months away from losing my virginity; and 4) look how freakin’ thin I was. I had to have been between 110 and 115 at that time. Sick, sick sick!
Now I got Weird Al’s “White and Nerdy” stuck in my head. And I never even heard “Catch Me Ridin’ Dirty” before that.
Took the day off to take part in a market research study for Vox (another thing Zoot digs, so it’s all about Zoot today, it seems) and then took Mother to her post-op appointment for her second cataract surgery (which is fine, she’s fine, etc.). Gorged ourselves on faux Mexican, and then I came home to await my small brother’s arrival with the DVD player I bought off him. (Check it OUT, Tara! I’ve made it to the LATE ‘90s in terms of my viewing technology now. Woooooo!) He’s fine, if a little bummed right now because someone he considered a friend is being an asshole. It’s not like he’s losing tons of sleep over it, but still, it’s annoying. And he burned me his latest mix CD—he’s quite the mixer, much more talented with music than I ever was—so I need to pop that in the ol’ playa and see what he mixed up this time.
Since I’ve been
shamelessly ripping offinspired by topics Heather’s recently covered, I thought I might bring another one over here to perhaps draw out the lurkers (because those stats I see in my cPanel everyday canNOT be all pr0n spammers). Last week when she was pimping out her friend’s book on good blog topics, she asked her readers what they consider dating dealbreakers. So I pose the question to you: What qualities/habits are so offensive to you in another person that you would run from the room screaming, figuratively or literally?
[UPDATED TO ADD: For our purposes, cheaters and beaters are going to be classified as “understood,” since they should be, anyway, and I know few people who would be like, “Yeah! I WANT my man/woman to cheat on/beat on me!"]
Ok, so I’m jumping on this bandwagon a little late, but about a month ago, Heather over at Dooce posted a couple pictures of herself in her teen years as an illustration of the term “bershon,” which Sarah Brown describes as the following:
1. There is no smiling in bershon.
2. There are no babies in bershon.
3. There are no animals in bershon.
You are bershon as a teenager. It is not a facial expression; it’s an attitude. It’s a state of mind. It’s about being really pissed that you are trapped in whatever station in life you are currently trapped—family outing, school trip, Christmas, adolescence—and then some asshole has the gall to make you pose for a photograph. You silently seethe and act too cool and do not look cool at all, and plot your escape.
Your escape will not come for years.
At night, the wolves come.
What’s funny is that like Heather and Sarah, I too had heard the term bershon before, but I don’t know exactly where I know it from or under what context. What I do know is that it took me a month to find the following picture, which I think illustrates the term quite rightly. Behold:
Yes, I have posted it on flickr and have joined the “I’m so bershon” group. And yes, I know what it says about “no babies,” but I’m interpreting that what she means by “no babies” is that babies can’t be bershon. And with the absolutely sour look on my face, it’s not like anyone can pay attention to the baby, anyway.
There’s so much wrong with this picture, I don’t even know where to start.
So the detailer guy calls me back today and tells me—get this—that even though Pimp (which, if it isn’t clear to y’all, is my car’s sanctioned nickname, as it has many secrets and doesn’t want to be identified by my tens of adoring fans) drives perfectly fine, the two inches of remaining standing water in it has the potential to ignite the electrical nonsense underneath the carpet. And I thought to myself, “Huh. That might’ve been helpful yesterday, when I was driving around the wasteland that is now my town identifying for the paper as many of the flooded areas as I could; they were the ones identified by cones set up by the Public Works Department to deter dumbasses from commanding their own U-boats.” Oh, and because the water not only got under the carpet, but was most likely sewer water to boot (ew), the detail is going to be waaaaaaay over the deductible; the whole interior is going to have to be completely removed and the padding completely replaced, and that’s before the mechanic gives it the once-over to make sure there’s no electrical damage.
But don’t cry for me, because lo! the detailer, he did redeem himself, as he secured for me a brand spankin’ new, 7-miles-off-the-lot, 2007 Corolla as my rental car for the next two weeks while Pimp detoxes. And? He did it at the cost my insurance would cover. And? The new Corolla is a HONEY of a car, with sweet pickup and smooth handling. Makes me really kind of want one NOW instead of in 16 years, when I’ll finally have Pimp paid off and will have likely driven him into the ground. Though, I’m not dissin’ on my car, because if it survived almost-submersion in Lake Woeisme without serious damage, it has to be a hearty vehicle worthy of respect. In any event, Farm Bureau’s getting its money first when I get paid tomorrow.
Speaking of respect, it seems that there are people out there who evidently either didn’t read my missive a month ago about why I blog and the rules to which I adhere when doing so, or they did but have no reading comprehension whatsoever, so Ima post a link to it again so those who need to can go back and read it, but more slowly this time, thanks:
If that isn’t clear enough, then I don’t know else what to say, except to not get yourself worked up by coming here. It’s really not healthy and makes you look kind of sad.
The good news: Despite being submerged in water 3/4 of the way up the tire, Pimp is running A-Ok.
The all-right news: Despite having said water up to my shin, the interior seems to have absorbed a good majority of said water.
The kind of sucky news: Despite the absorption, Pimp’s still carrying about 2 inches of standing water.
The sucky news: The detailer hasn’t called me back yet.
The really sucky news: Unless Pimp needs new carpeting, the cost of the detail likely won’t make my deductible.
As if it couldn’t be any suckier: I have a ton of clean laundry in Pimp that’ll need to be washed all over again.
The worst news: As I was going out to move Pimp from Lake Woeisme, my left Croc got sucked in by the submerged lawn and may have disappeared forever. And I paid $30-something for the fuckers.
[UPDATE at 7:15 p.m.: My left Croc was found safely nestled in the mud that used to be the parkway.]
This is my front yard oh, about 45 minutes ago:
And this is a little further down the block:
I was able to get The Pimp to higher ground (aka the back of the apartment), but there’s water halfway up my shin on the driver’s side.
Obviously hasn’t been placed on the RIGHT SSRI, because right now, I’m as twitchy with anger as I’ve ever been. Of course, if by saying “dulled emotions,” one means “being able to resist the urge to bludgeon something or someone with a baseball bat,” one has a point.
You Have a Choleric Temperament
You are a person of great enthusiasm - easily excited by many things.
Unsatisfied by the ordinary, you are reaching for an epic, extraordinary life.
You want the best. The best life. The best love. The best reputation.
You posses a sharp and keen intellect. Your mind is your primary weapon.
Strong willed, nothing can keep you down. Your energy can break down any wall.
You’re an instantly passionate person - and this passion gives you an intoxicating power over others.
At your worst, you are a narcissist. Full of yourself and even proud of your faults.
Stubborn and opinionated, you know what you think is right. End of discussion.
A bit of a misanthrope, you often see others as weak, ignorant, and inferior.
If you never listen to me about anything else, hear me on this: Never, EVER allow your mother to cosign a loan with you. EVER.
You will thank me for those words.
Info meme #1
Typelogic says I'm an INFP.
Check my weekly astrological groove here.
Give it to me, baby.
Pssst ... My birthday's Feb. 3, and I want this, and this, and this ...
The Make-Believe Oral Cancer Foundation (M-BOCF) is now accepting donations on my behalf. Won't you please help those of us who jump to hideous conclusions regarding our oral health and help me get a root canal or two!??:
/> Wanna make a bunch of money doing what you're doing right now?
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Broad said: Like I said, my feelings are complicated on the matter, so ... I’m interested, however, in Her Highness’ thoughts on… ...[go].
Caterina said: ARGH!!! Not to deny you your goddess-given right of reflections and wishing what might-have-beens, but this guy was straight up… ...[go].
Wholovesya? said: By the by, guess who was most nasty about the charitable giving? The frigging church. My church and my mom’s… ...[go].
Wholovesya? said: By the by, I’m not the only one I know. I have friends who work at soup kitchens because they’re… ...[go].
Wholovesya? said: As you know, I was a voyeur to the beginning of this, and I was loving your comment! I have… ...[go].
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script assistance by
This explains that large bit of type at the top.
Tagline by Ben F'in Mollin, talking about those times you wake up still drunk from the night before.
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