Tried to kill myself tuesday night. I'm not opposed to talking about it, but it's not something I'm overly eager to do at the moment.
I won't be blogging/tweeting much for a while. I don't know for how long. I may never blog again, I don't know.
You can email me if you want.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
no guns at the table
Rules at my house growing up:
- no singing at the table
- no guns at the table
- no television after 10 pm
- no growing pot in the bathroom
- no growing pot in the backyard
- no growing pot in your bedroom
- no growing pot at all
- no parties
- no drinking my beer
- no sneaking out of the house
- no sneaking out of the house with my beer, goddamit
- go to school or they'll lock me up
- I said go to fucking school
- no stealing the car for midnight joyrides, you little shit
- you are grounded, young man
- I said you are grounded! No going out, no tv, no computer.
- did you hear me? GROUNDED.
From the age of about eleven until I left the house at eighteen, I was perpetually grounded. I was never ungrounded, either, just grounded more and more and more.
Should probably clarify that point two should read "toy guns", but the rule never really specified that. Had I been bringing toy guns to the dinner table at an older age, I could've argued that toy guns aren't real guns, and therefore are exempt from the rule.
- no singing at the table
- no guns at the table
- no television after 10 pm
- no growing pot in the bathroom
- no growing pot in the backyard
- no growing pot in your bedroom
- no growing pot at all
- no parties
- no drinking my beer
- no sneaking out of the house
- no sneaking out of the house with my beer, goddamit
- go to school or they'll lock me up
- I said go to fucking school
- no stealing the car for midnight joyrides, you little shit
- you are grounded, young man
- I said you are grounded! No going out, no tv, no computer.
- did you hear me? GROUNDED.
From the age of about eleven until I left the house at eighteen, I was perpetually grounded. I was never ungrounded, either, just grounded more and more and more.
Should probably clarify that point two should read "toy guns", but the rule never really specified that. Had I been bringing toy guns to the dinner table at an older age, I could've argued that toy guns aren't real guns, and therefore are exempt from the rule.
Monday, January 24, 2011
just jot me down on your to-do list under "put out like a fire"
Dude. The Bloodhound Gang. So bad. But so good.
Their song "Uhn Tis Uhn Tis Uhn Tis", the only one of theirs I own, came up on shuffle today and man . . . what the fuck? Like, this came out in 2005, when I was 21. There's no excuse for me listening to such shit music at that age, even if it is kind of awesome and filled with innuendo and just . . . generally classy lyrics. Like "make a season pass / to mount that ass/ bob hope that I might / one night stand a chance" and "cop a feel copperfield style / abracadabra that bra / do you think I could pull it off?"
Pure poetry.
I don't even know how to feel about this.
I wanted to share the video with you guys, but it's not on YouTube. (No wonder, right?) Instead, Wikipedia's summed it up for us:
Of course, who cold forget the highly classy "Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo"?
Eugh. Ham wallet makes me want to gag a little bit.
Banana car is hilarious.
Their song "Uhn Tis Uhn Tis Uhn Tis", the only one of theirs I own, came up on shuffle today and man . . . what the fuck? Like, this came out in 2005, when I was 21. There's no excuse for me listening to such shit music at that age, even if it is kind of awesome and filled with innuendo and just . . . generally classy lyrics. Like "make a season pass / to mount that ass/ bob hope that I might / one night stand a chance" and "cop a feel copperfield style / abracadabra that bra / do you think I could pull it off?"
Pure poetry.
I don't even know how to feel about this.
I wanted to share the video with you guys, but it's not on YouTube. (No wonder, right?) Instead, Wikipedia's summed it up for us:
Directed by Cousin Mike and Kevin Powers (of Mucky Pup).
The music video consists of a party in a club called the Wiper Room, a toilet-themed parody of the real-life LA Viper Room. Among the strange things going on in the various "stalls" are an Amish girl using a butter-churn, a woman spinning around on roller skates, the Japanese band Electric Eel Shock playing their hearts out (but with no sound), a sullen-looking gangster that holds up a chain of hearts, Clark Kent entering a stall to change clothes to Superman, what seems to be either Jim Jones (complete with Kool-aid drinking cultists) or a contemporary Jesus Christ giving out wine,Telly "Leatherface" Blackwood and the Executioner "Maurico Broadway" Wrestlers from Viva La Bam were wrestling, a man in a leather jacket (mimicking George Michael from his 'Faith' video, with the word "regret" printed on the rear) dancing, a robot choking a scientist (played by David Lovering of The Pixies) who is frantically trying to control the robot, and a man eating powdered sugar doughnuts (which previously make it appear that he is snorting cocaine).
Singer Jimmy Pop is the main focus of the video, as he is singing in a bathroom stall. An attractive girl enters the stall next to him and begins to dance. Pop spies on her through a glory hole in the wall of the stall, but happens to stop paying attention as the girl leaves and a dog enters the bathroom. One thing leads to another and before long, Pop thinks he is making out with the girl, but instead it is the dog, a fact which he does not seem to realize. In the dirty version of the music video, Pop lines himself up with the hole to receive fellatio, with the dog still on the other end. We then see him leave the bathroom and, at the end of the video, he is leaving the club with the dog and a trail of toilet paper coming off his foot. The remainder of the band appear in a few shots
Natasha Thorp provides the voice of the female singer, not to be confused with the woman actually present in the video. Remixes are included by DJ Tomcraft and Scooter.
The popular YouTuber Cory Williams can be seen in this video.
Of course, who cold forget the highly classy "Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo"?
Eugh. Ham wallet makes me want to gag a little bit.
Banana car is hilarious.
the universe and I are trying to tell you something
I can't believe I forgot to blog about this.
So about a week ago I had left the bathroom window open all day on accident, so when I went to take a shower the combination of the bathroom being freezing and the water being really hot meant that the bathroom filled up with steam. But but but, when I stepped out of the shower to get my face wash that was on the sink, I looked in the mirror and my body was steaming.
COOLEST
THING
EVER
I was just kind of like wwwwwwwoooooooaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh . . . and then I remembered what I was doing and where I was and hopped back in the shower.
I've been trying to replicate the experiment, as it were, but have had no success.
Anyway, I figure it was just the universe reminding me (and you) that I'm, uhm, steaming hot?
Not . . . not really.
That was an awful joke.
So about a week ago I had left the bathroom window open all day on accident, so when I went to take a shower the combination of the bathroom being freezing and the water being really hot meant that the bathroom filled up with steam. But but but, when I stepped out of the shower to get my face wash that was on the sink, I looked in the mirror and my body was steaming.
COOLEST
THING
EVER
I was just kind of like wwwwwwwoooooooaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh . . . and then I remembered what I was doing and where I was and hopped back in the shower.
I've been trying to replicate the experiment, as it were, but have had no success.
Anyway, I figure it was just the universe reminding me (and you) that I'm, uhm, steaming hot?
Not . . . not really.
That was an awful joke.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
good old nic
I have a friend that keeps me abreast on all the glorious Nicolas Cage news. We don't really talk much, unless it's about Nicolas Cage or . . . Nicolas Cage's hair.
One day he will be realised as the genius he truly is. That's not going to be today, though, or tomorrow or . . . any time soon, frankly.
But maybe one day.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
she wants me. she just won't admit it
Last night, Rachel and I celebrating me getting a new job:
We went to a bar and had some drinks, talked, got a little drunk, and then Rachel decided that the bar we were at wasn't cool enough, so we hopped on the bus and went to a "cool" bar. While there, we did some dancing, she told some guy that I was not her boyfriend but her gay friend and it turned out he was gay himself and wasn't, in fact, interested in her. He bought me a drink, and we got even more drunk. Rachel went to the bathroom about nine hundred times and got in trouble for taking off her shoes and going around barefoot, though the main offence may have been that she put her shoes on the bar and then when the bartender said to move them, she flipped them off and said "FUCK YOU." I believe this was a breakthrough in her character, or maybe she was just pretending to be me. Then again, they may be the same thing.
After the tiff with the bartender, and Rachel having decided that everyone at cool bars are "gays, assholes, and gay assholes", we came back here to my apartment. We put on some music, danced, then the people above me started banging on the floor so we turned the music down. We contemplated watching a movie, but ended up deciding that building a fort in the living room would be a better idea. Rachel had no plans of going home to sleep, it seemed, because when I was tying a sheet to the light above the couch, she was attempting to take my mattress off the bed and drag it into the living room. But she couldn't manage it herself, not with her lack of strength and the fact that she was still fairly drunk and had zero balance.
So I went in there and we struggled with the mattress, fell over a lot, giggled a lot, she hit her head on the bookshelf and bled a little bit, and when I was in the bathroom rooting around for the hydrogen peroxide for her cut, I found some Ambien and brought that out too. I asked her if she wanted one, and she decided that she'd try "doing drugs" with me.
We each took an Ambien, then I tended to the very small cut on her head which she was very concerned about, and then we went back to struggling with the mattress. We got it out into the living room, pushed the couch and coffee table to the side and finished the fort/teepee thing. By the time I had found and strung up the christmas lights (on the outside of the sheets, so it was all glowy soft from the inside) the Ambien was kicking in.
This is when we collapsed on the mattress and the pile of tangled sheets, blankets, mountains of pillows and sofa cushions to fall asleep, except we didn't for a while.
We cuddled for a while, and it got really [temperature] hot because I was under a mountain of blankets, intertwined with another person and still had all my clothes on. I didn't feel like doing anything about it though, becuase it was confusing. Everything was kind of distantly confusing, but not in a general way, like a feeling over the entire situation. Rather, each thing I saw or thought was confusing. Like, the feeling kept happening. So I just didn't do anything.
Rachel was talking to me about something, and then she was nuzzling close and started to rub my chest. Then we kissed really lazily, without much effort or movement, and it still managed to turn me on massively, so I decided to try and romance her. I told her I loved her a few times while trying to figure out how to unbutton her pants, but that was too much work, so I gave up and kissed her neck for what felt like a solid half hour while she ran her fingers through my hair. Then we fell asleep.
I woke up at about eight after fourish hours of sleep, completely confused as to where I was or why I was staring up at blinking christmas lights. Then I remembered, decided to take off my pants because I was really uncomfortable, and fell back asleep for three hours.
Rachel woke me up by shoving Boxie off of her and onto me. Then I shoved Boxie out of the fort because she was clawing me.
It was concluded that it had been an "interesting night". I didn't say anything more than that, and wasn't going to mention the lazy half making out until she sat up and I saw -- guess what?
I GAVE RACHEL A HICKEY.
I was kind of like "uhm, Rachel, you . . . should go look in the mirror." which freaked her out, like something was wrong with her face, and she refused to until I told her why exactly and what was going on and "you better not be fucking with me, don't fuck with me--"
I told her, she got mad, pushed me over and ran off to the bathroom to confirm it.
And she wasn't happy about it. But I apologised and now things are back to normal.
We had breakfast, watched some TV, and she went home.
With a hickey on her neck.
Ha ha. I am awesome.
We went to a bar and had some drinks, talked, got a little drunk, and then Rachel decided that the bar we were at wasn't cool enough, so we hopped on the bus and went to a "cool" bar. While there, we did some dancing, she told some guy that I was not her boyfriend but her gay friend and it turned out he was gay himself and wasn't, in fact, interested in her. He bought me a drink, and we got even more drunk. Rachel went to the bathroom about nine hundred times and got in trouble for taking off her shoes and going around barefoot, though the main offence may have been that she put her shoes on the bar and then when the bartender said to move them, she flipped them off and said "FUCK YOU." I believe this was a breakthrough in her character, or maybe she was just pretending to be me. Then again, they may be the same thing.
After the tiff with the bartender, and Rachel having decided that everyone at cool bars are "gays, assholes, and gay assholes", we came back here to my apartment. We put on some music, danced, then the people above me started banging on the floor so we turned the music down. We contemplated watching a movie, but ended up deciding that building a fort in the living room would be a better idea. Rachel had no plans of going home to sleep, it seemed, because when I was tying a sheet to the light above the couch, she was attempting to take my mattress off the bed and drag it into the living room. But she couldn't manage it herself, not with her lack of strength and the fact that she was still fairly drunk and had zero balance.
So I went in there and we struggled with the mattress, fell over a lot, giggled a lot, she hit her head on the bookshelf and bled a little bit, and when I was in the bathroom rooting around for the hydrogen peroxide for her cut, I found some Ambien and brought that out too. I asked her if she wanted one, and she decided that she'd try "doing drugs" with me.
We each took an Ambien, then I tended to the very small cut on her head which she was very concerned about, and then we went back to struggling with the mattress. We got it out into the living room, pushed the couch and coffee table to the side and finished the fort/teepee thing. By the time I had found and strung up the christmas lights (on the outside of the sheets, so it was all glowy soft from the inside) the Ambien was kicking in.
This is when we collapsed on the mattress and the pile of tangled sheets, blankets, mountains of pillows and sofa cushions to fall asleep, except we didn't for a while.
We cuddled for a while, and it got really [temperature] hot because I was under a mountain of blankets, intertwined with another person and still had all my clothes on. I didn't feel like doing anything about it though, becuase it was confusing. Everything was kind of distantly confusing, but not in a general way, like a feeling over the entire situation. Rather, each thing I saw or thought was confusing. Like, the feeling kept happening. So I just didn't do anything.
Rachel was talking to me about something, and then she was nuzzling close and started to rub my chest. Then we kissed really lazily, without much effort or movement, and it still managed to turn me on massively, so I decided to try and romance her. I told her I loved her a few times while trying to figure out how to unbutton her pants, but that was too much work, so I gave up and kissed her neck for what felt like a solid half hour while she ran her fingers through my hair. Then we fell asleep.
I woke up at about eight after fourish hours of sleep, completely confused as to where I was or why I was staring up at blinking christmas lights. Then I remembered, decided to take off my pants because I was really uncomfortable, and fell back asleep for three hours.
Rachel woke me up by shoving Boxie off of her and onto me. Then I shoved Boxie out of the fort because she was clawing me.
It was concluded that it had been an "interesting night". I didn't say anything more than that, and wasn't going to mention the lazy half making out until she sat up and I saw -- guess what?
I GAVE RACHEL A HICKEY.
I was kind of like "uhm, Rachel, you . . . should go look in the mirror." which freaked her out, like something was wrong with her face, and she refused to until I told her why exactly and what was going on and "you better not be fucking with me, don't fuck with me--"
I told her, she got mad, pushed me over and ran off to the bathroom to confirm it.
And she wasn't happy about it. But I apologised and now things are back to normal.
We had breakfast, watched some TV, and she went home.
With a hickey on her neck.
Ha ha. I am awesome.
Friday, January 21, 2011
cynic or asshole; it's all about perspective
Before I go out for one of my biweekly booze ups (tonight with RACHEL IN ATTENDANCE because I got a swanky new job and she's decided to be supportive and come along and drink and it's going to be awesome because she can't hold her alcohol and she thinks I'm sexy when she's drunk) I wanted to share this with you.
They're pointers from the Cynic's Guide to a Rich and Full Life:
If everything goes as planned tonight, we may have a bit of that last one there, the good old sneaky back rub oh no my hands are on your booooobbbss!
They're pointers from the Cynic's Guide to a Rich and Full Life:
- Compliment three people every day. Insult four.
- Instead of driving to work today, quit your job.
- Take a kid to the zoo. Then leave him there.
- Overtip a breakfast waitress. Then walk the check.
- Help a child plant a garden. They have no idea what pot looks like.
- Street musicians are a treasure. Make a small donation, then tell them they suck.
- Greet the mailman. With a pitbull.
- Dance like nobody's watching. Then apologize to those who were.
- Give someone a backrub, then feel them up.
If everything goes as planned tonight, we may have a bit of that last one there, the good old sneaky back rub oh no my hands are on your booooobbbss!
Thursday, January 20, 2011
they're not even actual fireworks, so I don't know what the big deal is
You know those little popper things that are kind of like fireworks? Not the streamer poppers, but the ones that you throw on the ground and explode?
Well, guess who found some of those in his desk at work?
And guess who got in trouble for "setting off fireworks in the men's room" at work today?
SAME GUY.
What happened was:
1. I found the poppers.
2. Remembered that Kyle, my cubicle mate, had just left to go to the bathroom.
3. Casually made my way to the men's room with a few poppers in my hand then--
4. Slammed open the door, threw them on the ground where they exploded, sounding kind of like a gun being shot.
5. Kyle, pissing, screamed, and I ran off, laughing.
When boss lady called me into her office to discuss my behavior and how I nearly gave Kyle a heart attack while he was pissing, she told me that if I pulled another "stunt like that" I'd get myself fired.
But that's when I got to pull out the "Actually, I have a job offer with another company." I'd been sitting on all day and BAM--I PUT IN MY MOTHERFUCKING TWO WEEKS.
That's right. I interviewed with this unbelievably awesome and chill design company, and they want me to work for them.
It's pretty similar to what I do, graphics for websites, but I think they've worked with Nike or something? Like, this is big stuff and I'm going to be making a shitload more money.
I wouldn't say my coworkers were sad to hear that I'm leaving, but that's fine.
My boss, however, did confiscate the poppers. And sent out a memo about having fireworks in the office.
But, really, will that stop me?
NO FUCKING WAY.
Well, guess who found some of those in his desk at work?
And guess who got in trouble for "setting off fireworks in the men's room" at work today?
SAME GUY.
What happened was:
1. I found the poppers.
2. Remembered that Kyle, my cubicle mate, had just left to go to the bathroom.
3. Casually made my way to the men's room with a few poppers in my hand then--
4. Slammed open the door, threw them on the ground where they exploded, sounding kind of like a gun being shot.
5. Kyle, pissing, screamed, and I ran off, laughing.
When boss lady called me into her office to discuss my behavior and how I nearly gave Kyle a heart attack while he was pissing, she told me that if I pulled another "stunt like that" I'd get myself fired.
But that's when I got to pull out the "Actually, I have a job offer with another company." I'd been sitting on all day and BAM--I PUT IN MY MOTHERFUCKING TWO WEEKS.
That's right. I interviewed with this unbelievably awesome and chill design company, and they want me to work for them.
It's pretty similar to what I do, graphics for websites, but I think they've worked with Nike or something? Like, this is big stuff and I'm going to be making a shitload more money.
I wouldn't say my coworkers were sad to hear that I'm leaving, but that's fine.
My boss, however, did confiscate the poppers. And sent out a memo about having fireworks in the office.
But, really, will that stop me?
NO FUCKING WAY.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
the big issue here is the couch
I spend way too much time worrying about my age, which is weird? I'm turning 27 in like four months and two days, and am already extremely frightened because 27 is super old and I have no idea how to act like someone who is 27. I didn't know how old I was, I'd say I was about 22.
What else? Oh yeah, Boxie decided to shit in the middle of the living room earlier this evening, so that was nice. Considerate. Despite being unable to express her wrath with me in ways that do not include her shit, I'm still looking into figuring out how to turn her into a human because I'm convinced we'd be perfect for each other. Plus, we already live together, so that'd be super convenient.
And, yeah, it's been a while (and now one girlfriend ago), but I was really missing Sadie earlier today. Not in a heartbroken pining "I want to die if I don't have you" way, but . . . she was my best friend and it's just fucked up that we're not together anymore. I still haven't seen her since we broke up. I just wonder how she's doing.
I saw a picture on someone's tumblr that reminded me of her. That's all.
I'm at the point now where I wish I hadn't deleted all the photos of us.
Also, yes or no, should I buy a new couch? One that is from this century and decade? Because I could totally handle having a swanky couch, I'll tell you what. This one just looks depressed.
What else? Oh yeah, Boxie decided to shit in the middle of the living room earlier this evening, so that was nice. Considerate. Despite being unable to express her wrath with me in ways that do not include her shit, I'm still looking into figuring out how to turn her into a human because I'm convinced we'd be perfect for each other. Plus, we already live together, so that'd be super convenient.
And, yeah, it's been a while (and now one girlfriend ago), but I was really missing Sadie earlier today. Not in a heartbroken pining "I want to die if I don't have you" way, but . . . she was my best friend and it's just fucked up that we're not together anymore. I still haven't seen her since we broke up. I just wonder how she's doing.
I saw a picture on someone's tumblr that reminded me of her. That's all.
I'm at the point now where I wish I hadn't deleted all the photos of us.
Also, yes or no, should I buy a new couch? One that is from this century and decade? Because I could totally handle having a swanky couch, I'll tell you what. This one just looks depressed.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
things I need to do:
- top dickgn around the internet so much
- stop saying 'dick so mch
-stop talking about dick and how i need to stop saying 'dick so cmhc
-seriously sotp it
- stop smoking so much
0 stop thiking about sex so so so so much
- stop fantaisign about neol fielding so much
- stop smoking weed and watching david lynch
- stard drawing again
-read books
- be less lazy
-be less of a dick
0 I mean an asshole
- landry
- do the fucking dishes already I mean come on
- remmbe rto feed the cat rregularly
- stop stayign up past 3am, especially on wweekdaysys
- better make that 2am
- stop writing posest for my blog when im drunk
Things I will probably do:
- eatthis delicious pizza
- stop saying 'dick so mch
-stop talking about dick and how i need to stop saying 'dick so cmhc
-seriously sotp it
- stop smoking so much
0 stop thiking about sex so so so so much
- stop fantaisign about neol fielding so much
- stop smoking weed and watching david lynch
- stard drawing again
-read books
- be less lazy
-be less of a dick
0 I mean an asshole
- landry
- do the fucking dishes already I mean come on
- remmbe rto feed the cat rregularly
- stop stayign up past 3am, especially on wweekdaysys
- better make that 2am
- stop writing posest for my blog when im drunk
Things I will probably do:
- eatthis delicious pizza
Saturday, January 15, 2011
I'm back to being Seattle's most eligible bachelor
Yup, my girlfriend broke up with me this morning. That's right, she dumped me. I figured I'd be the one to break it off.
Anyway, a bit odd. Not really sad about it, just . . . it almost feels a little insulting. In a way.
But there you have it.
Anyway, a bit odd. Not really sad about it, just . . . it almost feels a little insulting. In a way.
But there you have it.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
chicken salad
I TOLD YOU.
Photographic evidence of the chicken salad in the bathroom that I was talking about earlier.
Photographic evidence of the chicken salad in the bathroom that I was talking about earlier.
the return of the king (of the emos)
Am I in a good mood? Am I in a bad mood? Do I know what a mood is?
My cat is officially constantly stoned, confused by everything, hearing voices, staring into the miraculous void, chasing her own tail, going apeshit one moment and then lying catatonic and happy as a clam (what does that even mean?) the next.
Abigail was over last night. Left at about two in the morning. I don't know what she does during the day. I think she's in college?
Rachel finally commented about me having a girlfriend. Said -- "So, uh, you and Abigali are dating, huh?"
Rachel was instrumental in giving me the courage to tell Abigail to take a fucking hike last november when the whole thing was going sour. Rachel knows way, way more than she should about that situation. But I had to tell her. Because I had to get out of that relationship.
That worked. Right?
All of my friends are getting married. Already have three weddings to go to this year. They're all younger than I am.
I pretty much hate everything right now.
I'm king of the emos.
My cat is officially constantly stoned, confused by everything, hearing voices, staring into the miraculous void, chasing her own tail, going apeshit one moment and then lying catatonic and happy as a clam (what does that even mean?) the next.
Abigail was over last night. Left at about two in the morning. I don't know what she does during the day. I think she's in college?
Rachel finally commented about me having a girlfriend. Said -- "So, uh, you and Abigali are dating, huh?"
Rachel was instrumental in giving me the courage to tell Abigail to take a fucking hike last november when the whole thing was going sour. Rachel knows way, way more than she should about that situation. But I had to tell her. Because I had to get out of that relationship.
That worked. Right?
All of my friends are getting married. Already have three weddings to go to this year. They're all younger than I am.
I pretty much hate everything right now.
I'm king of the emos.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
yes, my boss eats chicken salad in the bathroom
This is me trying to be a more diverse blogger
So, let's talk about something that's not my favorite three or four letter word.
Okay.
I have one. I go there most days. On average, I go there 4.5 days a week. (I get to work from home sometimes.)
I show up there at about 8:15 and leave by 5:45, though sometimes I don't get out of there until 6 or 6:30. I'm allowed one fifteen minute break before lunch, and one fifteen minute break after lunch. But of course I take tons of cigarette breaks, which, if not for being addicted to cigarettes, would be the only reason I still smoke. I hate doing shit for other people. Which basically entails work of every single kind.
I share a cubicle/workspace with a guy named Kyle, who is . . . 30ish and pretty okay. He's married, has a toddler named Emily. He has a jar of skittles on his desk that I am constantly feeding from.
CONSTANTLY.
Thing is, he doesn't know this. They're for other people, so I'm not stealing. He just doesn't know that I'm the one eating all of them.
I've been working here for about three years, and I have been doing this also for three years. He will never find out because I'm hella clever. You could put a tail on me and call me a weasel.
My boss is a middle aged woman who always smells like baby powder. A few months ago, when the men's bathroom was out of order, we all had to use the women's, and I found the remains of one of those chicken salad and cracker lunch things. I've seen her eat those before, and assumed that it was her that had been eating chicken salad in the bathroom. I didn't say anything.
At any rate, my boss does and does not like me, like most middle aged women (see: all of my ex's mothers. Well, no, Sadie's mother plain old didn't like me at all. But there's a very good reason for that. Story for another time, kids.) My boss thinks I'm much younger than I am, and she thinks it's okay to tease me about being short. She called me Radar once and I gave her the stink eye for the rest of the day.
Every month she pulls me aside to talk about my "vulgar language" and I say I'm sorry, and that I'll try to make sure I don't mumble expletives under my breath when I fuck stuff up on the computer.
There are currently three pregnant women in the office right now, so there's way too much baby talk, and because of this, I am now pretty much an expert on the first and second trimester of pregnancy. I'm serious. Go ahead, ask me something.
One of the ladies brought in ultrasound pictures the other day. Boy oh boy where those exciting.
Okay, I shouldn't be mean. I'm sure someone cares. I just don't get the whole baby thing.
As for work attire, we are . . . I'm not really sure what we are. We have casual fridays, which usually aren't that casual. Even though I don't see "the general public", I still have to wear a tie, and this is something I'm super okay with. I've been able to manage a really awesome work wardrobe and look classy as fuck. I spent a lot of money on clothes, actually. More than I should admit. But it's quality over quantity; I don't have many clothes, actually.
As for what I actually do at my job? Well, I'll put it this way: I spend my time doing something, working really hard to get it just right, and then people come around, tell me to redo it, I redo it, and then they realise their idea was shit and I was right the first time.
Oh, fuck it, I'll tell you. I'm a graphic designer. Duh.
What the hell did you think I do? I mean, I majored in history. The fuck do you do with that degree? Thanks a lot University of Washington.
I should note that I am wrote this while at work. Tee hee.
So, let's talk about something that's not my favorite three or four letter word.
Okay.
MY JOB
I have one. I go there most days. On average, I go there 4.5 days a week. (I get to work from home sometimes.)
I show up there at about 8:15 and leave by 5:45, though sometimes I don't get out of there until 6 or 6:30. I'm allowed one fifteen minute break before lunch, and one fifteen minute break after lunch. But of course I take tons of cigarette breaks, which, if not for being addicted to cigarettes, would be the only reason I still smoke. I hate doing shit for other people. Which basically entails work of every single kind.
I share a cubicle/workspace with a guy named Kyle, who is . . . 30ish and pretty okay. He's married, has a toddler named Emily. He has a jar of skittles on his desk that I am constantly feeding from.
CONSTANTLY.
Thing is, he doesn't know this. They're for other people, so I'm not stealing. He just doesn't know that I'm the one eating all of them.
I've been working here for about three years, and I have been doing this also for three years. He will never find out because I'm hella clever. You could put a tail on me and call me a weasel.
My boss is a middle aged woman who always smells like baby powder. A few months ago, when the men's bathroom was out of order, we all had to use the women's, and I found the remains of one of those chicken salad and cracker lunch things. I've seen her eat those before, and assumed that it was her that had been eating chicken salad in the bathroom. I didn't say anything.
At any rate, my boss does and does not like me, like most middle aged women (see: all of my ex's mothers. Well, no, Sadie's mother plain old didn't like me at all. But there's a very good reason for that. Story for another time, kids.) My boss thinks I'm much younger than I am, and she thinks it's okay to tease me about being short. She called me Radar once and I gave her the stink eye for the rest of the day.
Every month she pulls me aside to talk about my "vulgar language" and I say I'm sorry, and that I'll try to make sure I don't mumble expletives under my breath when I fuck stuff up on the computer.
There are currently three pregnant women in the office right now, so there's way too much baby talk, and because of this, I am now pretty much an expert on the first and second trimester of pregnancy. I'm serious. Go ahead, ask me something.
One of the ladies brought in ultrasound pictures the other day. Boy oh boy where those exciting.
Okay, I shouldn't be mean. I'm sure someone cares. I just don't get the whole baby thing.
As for work attire, we are . . . I'm not really sure what we are. We have casual fridays, which usually aren't that casual. Even though I don't see "the general public", I still have to wear a tie, and this is something I'm super okay with. I've been able to manage a really awesome work wardrobe and look classy as fuck. I spent a lot of money on clothes, actually. More than I should admit. But it's quality over quantity; I don't have many clothes, actually.
As for what I actually do at my job? Well, I'll put it this way: I spend my time doing something, working really hard to get it just right, and then people come around, tell me to redo it, I redo it, and then they realise their idea was shit and I was right the first time.
Oh, fuck it, I'll tell you. I'm a graphic designer. Duh.
What the hell did you think I do? I mean, I majored in history. The fuck do you do with that degree? Thanks a lot University of Washington.
I should note that I am wrote this while at work. Tee hee.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
shit that went down today
1. Managed to put my sweater on not inside out. See twitter feed from yesterday:
2. Got around to taking a shower. That was my only plan for Saturday, and I didn't do it, so it turned into my only plan for Sunday and guess what?
I showered like a motherfucking champ.
3. Talked to my girlfriend on the phone, who is very bad at understanding when I'm being sarcastic. After making a fool of herself by reacting normally to something I said sarcastically, she said:
"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, you know."
My mouth said:
"Uhm . . . you're the lowest form of wit."
Then she got even more angry.
Mainly because I was like "I'm not sure if we should be, like, an actual couple."
She was like, "Why not?"
"Because we don't have much in common."
"But I really like you."
"Yeah . . . well . . . I mean, we don't really hang out."
"Well, you never invite me over."
"Uhm . . . yeah . . . so . . . but, we don't really have any . . . like, we're just really different. You know?"
"How are we so different?"
And it went on and on and on.
I still have a girlfriend, though. An angry one.
5. We're talking about naming dicks on twitter. I don't know how this happened and I don't know why dicks are all I talk about anymore. I'm an intelligent, inquisitive, rather hilarious young man, and somehow all I have to offer is . . . dick banter. I mean, I'm an artist, I have a great appreciation for music, I'm a goddamned expert on the Tudor dynasty (hello history major) as well as the middle ages, I speak about 2.5 languages, and this is what you get out of me.
Dicks.
That's it. And I'm totally sexist about it, too. You don't see me going on about vaginas now do you? Nope.
So, should I remedy this? Should I stop talking about dicks or at least offer equal opportunity and start talking about vaginas as well?
Also, why is my blog suddently a huge pit of TMI about my sex life? How did that happen? If you told me when I started this blog I'd be mentioning watching gay porn, I wouldn't believe you. Hell no, that's none of your business.
But--guess the fuck what? It's hella your business now.
WHAT THE FUCK.
6. The faucet was making scary noises last night/early this morning--okay, technically it was Sunday, but it was about two/three in the morning, so this counts as today.
Anyway, faucet was making demonic gurgling noises as I was washing my face and I almost shat myself. Mainly becasue I'd been watching Fire Walk With Me which has some super fucking creepy distrubing stuff in it that's beyond David Lynch weird, and I was paranoid.
I was also a little bit high, which was probably played a big role in being scared/paranoid that Bob was going to come get me.
But it was awful. I remember seeing some Twin Peaks as a kid, and Bob terrified me. Hell, I'm twenty six years old and I'm still afraid of Bob.
And Ray Wise . . . he's just . . . he's a little creepy, too.
Mares eat oats and does eat oats and litle lambs eat iiiiivvvyyyyy . . .
read it from BOTTOM TO TOP YOU IDIOT
I showered like a motherfucking champ.
3. Talked to my girlfriend on the phone, who is very bad at understanding when I'm being sarcastic. After making a fool of herself by reacting normally to something I said sarcastically, she said:
"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, you know."
My mouth said:
"Uhm . . . you're the lowest form of wit."
Then she got even more angry.
Mainly because I was like "I'm not sure if we should be, like, an actual couple."
She was like, "Why not?"
"Because we don't have much in common."
"But I really like you."
"Yeah . . . well . . . I mean, we don't really hang out."
"Well, you never invite me over."
"Uhm . . . yeah . . . so . . . but, we don't really have any . . . like, we're just really different. You know?"
"How are we so different?"
And it went on and on and on.
I still have a girlfriend, though. An angry one.
5. We're talking about naming dicks on twitter. I don't know how this happened and I don't know why dicks are all I talk about anymore. I'm an intelligent, inquisitive, rather hilarious young man, and somehow all I have to offer is . . . dick banter. I mean, I'm an artist, I have a great appreciation for music, I'm a goddamned expert on the Tudor dynasty (hello history major) as well as the middle ages, I speak about 2.5 languages, and this is what you get out of me.
Dicks.
That's it. And I'm totally sexist about it, too. You don't see me going on about vaginas now do you? Nope.
So, should I remedy this? Should I stop talking about dicks or at least offer equal opportunity and start talking about vaginas as well?
Also, why is my blog suddently a huge pit of TMI about my sex life? How did that happen? If you told me when I started this blog I'd be mentioning watching gay porn, I wouldn't believe you. Hell no, that's none of your business.
But--guess the fuck what? It's hella your business now.
WHAT THE FUCK.
6. The faucet was making scary noises last night/early this morning--okay, technically it was Sunday, but it was about two/three in the morning, so this counts as today.
Anyway, faucet was making demonic gurgling noises as I was washing my face and I almost shat myself. Mainly becasue I'd been watching Fire Walk With Me which has some super fucking creepy distrubing stuff in it that's beyond David Lynch weird, and I was paranoid.
I was also a little bit high, which was probably played a big role in being scared/paranoid that Bob was going to come get me.
But it was awful. I remember seeing some Twin Peaks as a kid, and Bob terrified me. Hell, I'm twenty six years old and I'm still afraid of Bob.
And Ray Wise . . . he's just . . . he's a little creepy, too.
Mares eat oats and does eat oats and litle lambs eat iiiiivvvyyyyy . . .
Saturday, January 8, 2011
I don't even know, just -- the internet
Look at this cocksucking bullshitting piece of car shit:
My internet isn't working very well. I mean -- come THE FUCK on. It was juuuuuuust starting to work again and then I watched some porn and now it's back to wallowing around, giving me error messages and being a massive COCK.
Like, goddamnit.
What am I even doing watching porn if I have a girlfriend, anyway? What the fuck is she for?
SERIOUSLY ALL WE DO IS HAVE SEX. I am not being an asshole, that's just the only part of our relationship.
I've got to get this straightened out.
(a screencap from my own goddamned blog)
My internet isn't working very well. I mean -- come THE FUCK on. It was juuuuuuust starting to work again and then I watched some porn and now it's back to wallowing around, giving me error messages and being a massive COCK.
Like, goddamnit.
What am I even doing watching porn if I have a girlfriend, anyway? What the fuck is she for?
SERIOUSLY ALL WE DO IS HAVE SEX. I am not being an asshole, that's just the only part of our relationship.
I've got to get this straightened out.
why? why the fuck not?
Oh my god my girlfriend and I have nothing in common.
Yeah, so I have a girlfriend. See last post. I ended up calling her and the consensus of the call was, "why the fuck not?" as in "why shouldn't we officially be a couple?" and . . . yeah. I got talked into it. But why the fuck not?
Actually there are a few good Why Nots, now that I think of it. Mainly that opening point, though. That's the big one. We have nothing in common.
Then again, we're only "official" on facebook. Other than that, I don't think you could be more casually dating than we are. Like I said, we were more or less on again off again fuck buddies a few months ago, and . . . not much has changed. Just now everyone knows that I'm sleeping with a twenty year old.
We've never actually just, you know, hung out. Like, we've never just sat around talking and . . . I don't think we've ever even eaten together.
This is just abysmal.
But the good part is that we both know exactly what we want out of this relationship. At least, I think I know what she wants out of it. Maybe she does want an actual boyfriend, not a dick.
Ha--that's not really what I meant, but it works both ways.
A douchebag boyfriend is what I was getting at. Maybe she doesn't want to be dating a douche.
Actually, we do have some things in common. We both like drugs, sleeping with each other, and really foul language. She's got a mouth on her, she does. Ha. And she has a tongue ring . . .
ANYWAY.
Uhm.
Yes.
Girlfriend. I have a girlfriend now. I don't really know why, but there you go.
I'll try to get a picture of her for you.
Yeah, so I have a girlfriend. See last post. I ended up calling her and the consensus of the call was, "why the fuck not?" as in "why shouldn't we officially be a couple?" and . . . yeah. I got talked into it. But why the fuck not?
Actually there are a few good Why Nots, now that I think of it. Mainly that opening point, though. That's the big one. We have nothing in common.
Then again, we're only "official" on facebook. Other than that, I don't think you could be more casually dating than we are. Like I said, we were more or less on again off again fuck buddies a few months ago, and . . . not much has changed. Just now everyone knows that I'm sleeping with a twenty year old.
We've never actually just, you know, hung out. Like, we've never just sat around talking and . . . I don't think we've ever even eaten together.
This is just abysmal.
But the good part is that we both know exactly what we want out of this relationship. At least, I think I know what she wants out of it. Maybe she does want an actual boyfriend, not a dick.
Ha--that's not really what I meant, but it works both ways.
A douchebag boyfriend is what I was getting at. Maybe she doesn't want to be dating a douche.
Actually, we do have some things in common. We both like drugs, sleeping with each other, and really foul language. She's got a mouth on her, she does. Ha. And she has a tongue ring . . .
ANYWAY.
Uhm.
Yes.
Girlfriend. I have a girlfriend now. I don't really know why, but there you go.
I'll try to get a picture of her for you.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
I'll probably end up flipping a coin
In . . . in a bit of a situation here. There's this girl I've kind of been seeing . . . well, we were sleeping together last august-october and then I broke it off, because she wanted a little bit more out of it than I did and . . . basically I was being a douche and the whole situation was making me feel like shit.
Now, because lessons are something I don't learn, only think about learning and then decide not to, I ended up having sex with her last night. And the night before and . . . also on New Year's Eve.
But guess what's happened? No, no she's not pregnant. I can't get anyone pregnant, you know this. Do you? I dunno.
What's happened is, I log into facebook and what do I see? I have a request to confirm that I'm in a relationship with Abigail F-------.
Evidently, if you sleep with someone enough, they think they're your girlfriend.
So I've just kind of been sitting here staring at it for the last few hours. The way I see it, I could do one of two things. I could:
a) call her (like a responsible adult would) and talk to her
or
b) delete my facebook account so I don't have to deal with it in any manner and then throw my phone into the Puget Sound so she can't reach me
Of course there are variants to both of these options; a could be enhanced by drunkness and, frankly, so could b.
Drunkenly enhanced or not, I'm going to have to do something.
Shit, the phone just rang and I thought it was her. But it was Rachel telling me she got my missed call and will call me later.
I'm supposed to be in love with her, right? Fuck if I know anymore.
My life is a complete mess.
Now, because lessons are something I don't learn, only think about learning and then decide not to, I ended up having sex with her last night. And the night before and . . . also on New Year's Eve.
But guess what's happened? No, no she's not pregnant. I can't get anyone pregnant, you know this. Do you? I dunno.
What's happened is, I log into facebook and what do I see? I have a request to confirm that I'm in a relationship with Abigail F-------.
Evidently, if you sleep with someone enough, they think they're your girlfriend.
So I've just kind of been sitting here staring at it for the last few hours. The way I see it, I could do one of two things. I could:
a) call her (like a responsible adult would) and talk to her
or
b) delete my facebook account so I don't have to deal with it in any manner and then throw my phone into the Puget Sound so she can't reach me
Of course there are variants to both of these options; a could be enhanced by drunkness and, frankly, so could b.
Drunkenly enhanced or not, I'm going to have to do something.
Shit, the phone just rang and I thought it was her. But it was Rachel telling me she got my missed call and will call me later.
I'm supposed to be in love with her, right? Fuck if I know anymore.
My life is a complete mess.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
just part of the crazy, I guess
I have a peculiar and very sensitive sense of smell. Sometimes I smell things that aren't there, or mis-smell things. Usually this just happens with the cat. I spent a lot of time with the cat near my face (her doing, really) and usually she just smells like cat and/or ham. But sometimes she smells like really weird shit. Like:
I also have very sensitive hearing. Just part of the crazy, I guess.
- chocolate chip cookie dough
- hot dogs (just her ears)
- Michael's (the craft store; floral section)
- ham and dirt
- a bookstore (specifically the art section, where all the books with glossy paper are)
- pineapples (canned, that have been put in a tuperware and have been sittining in the fridge for a few days) and marijuana
- dial soap
- burrito with hot sauce
- a freshly pam-sprayed bundt pan (that specific bunt pan, yes)
- raw potato
I also have very sensitive hearing. Just part of the crazy, I guess.
Monday, January 3, 2011
new year's eve
So much messier in real life.
So much prettier in real life.
This is Rachel, but you probably figured that out.
oh yeah
I got my driver's licence. Yeah, you're right, it's a bit late. Like, ten years later than most people, but watch me care.
So I drove myself up to the mountains for New Year's Eve. That's what I did, spent it in a cabin with some old friends. Normal shenangians. Did some shit, did some drunk shit, but at least I remember most of it.
As for the driving thing, I'm not going to buy a car. No fucking way. Car insurance? Breaking down? Having to fill up all the time? Forget about it.
I don't have the actual physical liscence yet, but that'll come in the mail eventually. Might be another ten years, knowing the DMV, but . . . whatevs.
That picture up there is one I took while driving to the cabin. That's good old Warshington for you.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
2010
number of cigarettes smoked (low average): 4,380
number of illnesses: 5 or 6
number of illnesses (mental and physical) I thought I had, but didn't: probably about 50
number of crosswords attempted: 156
number of crosswords solved: maybe like 5
number of alcoholic drinks consumed: I honestly have no idea, but it's a fuckload
number of times I blacked out from drinking: 9
number of times I told someone "I love you" (while drunk): every time I got drunk
number of times I told someone "I love you" (while sober): 2
number of times someone told me "I love you": 0
number of times I "accidentally" touched Rachel's boobs: probably like a dozen
number of times she caught me: probably like a dozen
number of times Rachel picked me up when I was having a really bad trip from doing shrooms: 1
number of times Rachel spent the night while taking care of me from illness/breakdown/the evil consequences of drink/drugs: 4
number of times I watched A Clockwork Orange: over 20
number of toes broken: 2
number of people I slept with: 6
number of people I made out with, but did not sleep with: fuck if I know
number of times I found chicken salad in the bathroom at work: 1
number of times I stole candy off of my cubicle mate's desk: 200+
number of times I said "fuck", or some variant thereof (low average): 1,825
number of times I called someone or something "a dick" (low average): 730
number of (new) books read: honestly probably about 8
number of times I talked to my ex girlfriend: 0
number of times I almost called my ex girlfriend: 20 or 30 or 9,000
number of times I cried over my ex girlfriend: dude, I don't even know
number of times I threw a rock at her car when I saw it in a parking lot: 1
number of times I watched porn: about 60
number of times I instead used the dirty pictures I have of my ex: probably only about 5
number of times Starbucks employees fucked up my name: 40+
number of Starbucks I got kicked out of/banned from: 1
number of electronics Boxie ruined: 1
number of days I got to work from home: 36
number of times I played dirty Scrabble: 1
number of times I got LAST FUCKING PLACE in dirty Scrabble: 1
number of times I almost quit my job: 2
number of times I tried to kill myself: 0
That last number means that 2010 was a success. Here's hoping I can keep that one resolution--don't kill yourself, Paulie. C'mon, man, it's too much work anyway.
number of illnesses: 5 or 6
number of illnesses (mental and physical) I thought I had, but didn't: probably about 50
number of crosswords attempted: 156
number of crosswords solved: maybe like 5
number of alcoholic drinks consumed: I honestly have no idea, but it's a fuckload
number of times I blacked out from drinking: 9
number of times I told someone "I love you" (while drunk): every time I got drunk
number of times I told someone "I love you" (while sober): 2
number of times someone told me "I love you": 0
number of times I "accidentally" touched Rachel's boobs: probably like a dozen
number of times she caught me: probably like a dozen
number of times Rachel picked me up when I was having a really bad trip from doing shrooms: 1
number of times Rachel spent the night while taking care of me from illness/breakdown/the evil consequences of drink/drugs: 4
number of times I watched A Clockwork Orange: over 20
number of toes broken: 2
number of people I slept with: 6
number of people I made out with, but did not sleep with: fuck if I know
number of times I found chicken salad in the bathroom at work: 1
number of times I stole candy off of my cubicle mate's desk: 200+
number of times I said "fuck", or some variant thereof (low average): 1,825
number of times I called someone or something "a dick" (low average): 730
number of (new) books read: honestly probably about 8
number of times I talked to my ex girlfriend: 0
number of times I almost called my ex girlfriend: 20 or 30 or 9,000
number of times I cried over my ex girlfriend: dude, I don't even know
number of times I threw a rock at her car when I saw it in a parking lot: 1
number of times I watched porn: about 60
number of times I instead used the dirty pictures I have of my ex: probably only about 5
number of times Starbucks employees fucked up my name: 40+
number of Starbucks I got kicked out of/banned from: 1
number of electronics Boxie ruined: 1
number of days I got to work from home: 36
number of times I played dirty Scrabble: 1
number of times I got LAST FUCKING PLACE in dirty Scrabble: 1
number of times I almost quit my job: 2
number of times I tried to kill myself: 0
That last number means that 2010 was a success. Here's hoping I can keep that one resolution--don't kill yourself, Paulie. C'mon, man, it's too much work anyway.
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