The holidays always bring out the bitch in me

I hate people who are consistently late. It is the calling card of an inconsiderate and disrespectful person. What I hate more however, are people who are early. That is the calling card of an inconsiderate, disrespectful and completely self-absorbed person.

Fallacy Number 1: "Fashionably Late"

Fuck THAT! Unlike '40 being the new 30' Late is not 'The new on time'. Don't play the numbers game with me. Just be the fuck on time.

Fallacy Number 2: "I can show up early, they won't mind."

The fuck I won't! If I ask you to be somewhere at an appointed time, be there at the appointed time or your ass better be calling me and telling me why you won't. I don't do early. If I have enough decency to cut a last minute check for a vendor who could not get their bills in on time to me, they better well have the decency to show up at the time they say they are going to show up and not 15 minutes early only to stand around tapping a toe of impatience. I can go from road-runner speed to a snail's pace in the blink of an eye if I need to. It is not wise to fuck around with a Me.

Fallacy Number 3: "They know we will be late. They are used to it. We're family."

Not for long mutherfuckers. I swear to all that is above me I am going to start disowning family members one by one if they continue to brush off my time requests. The weekend they were down here I requested that they be at the appointed meeting place at 1:00 p.m. I understand that they were traveling from 4 hours away. That still gave them plenty of time to drag their lazy asses out of bed, get in the car and drive down here - with bathroom breaks! Did they show up on time?

Would I be bitching about it if they did?

Ok fair enough. No they did NOT show up on time. All because it was me. Because I am the youngest, the "baby", the "favorite". It's not my fault they suck and I am so cool.

My payback to them? Incessant calling asking them when they were going to be at the meeting place. Every 5 minutes. "Where are you? Are you *there* yet? What is taking so long? Why are you retarded?" And they can't NOT answer the phone. It is me calling. They are compelled to answer.

Moral of the complaint? Have some fucking courtesy. Pull your head out of your ass and realize for once that you are not Mick Jagger. Time is NOT on your side. Practice some diligence for once and when you say you are going to be somewhere at a specific time, be there.

Stupidity should hurt

Disclaimer: Repeat - but it is still just as brilliant this time around ;)


I am a procrastinator. That is why idle threats satisfy me. "I swear to god I will kick your ass [later]!" Contingency threats also seem to suit my personality because no one ever really believes said intimidation will ever be carried out, "If she says ONE MORE FUCKING WORD I swear to god I am going to kick her ass!"

I don't believe that I have ever used the term "So help me . . ." I rarely ask for help from others. I am usually all about "I swear to . . ." (see above). I swear a lot, honestly. A jaw dropping amount if we are speaking frankly. I think I said "Fuck!" about 73 times at work last Friday. Bump that total up to 79 if you count on the WAY to work. And those numbers only go higher if I count the combination curses, "FUCKING GODDAMMIT!" or "FUCKING ASSHOLE!"

But yesterday was Heinous, yes with a capital H. If 40 is the new 20 then Tuesday is the new Monday. And I haven't seen the dolphins in a while. Every morning that I see dolphins I know it is going to be a good day. Yes yes, Omen Schmomen.

So I'm sitting here looking down my own top (jealous? you totally should be, I have an amazing rack) and am realizing that I am a seriously freckled individual. I know when I go tan that the freckles REALLY show up, but they usually fade when I haven't been fake baking as much. Which has been the case for the past months. But these are chest freckles and apparently they are here to stay. And no, they are not cancerous moles, thank you very much. I know the difference between a mole and a freckle.

I was quite amused this morning as I saw the typical "feel good, do good, love the earth and all who dwell in it" driver with her "Think Inclusively" bumper sticker on her gigantic (do as I say, not as I do) SUV swerve violently to cut someone off while giving them the finger. It reminded me of the time I was at one of those drive-up mail box drop off areas outside of the local post office. There was a car in front of me and the girl had pulled up to the drop box a bit too far away from the curb. I was far enough behind her that she could have backed her car up and pulled closer so she could reach the mail slot, but instead she just hung out her window and kept trying to throw her several pieces of mail into the slot. One at a time. Her bumper sticker read, "Stupidity should hurt".

Indeed it should.

It all had to start somewhere

Once upon a time there was a girl who had some angst and a little bit of time on her hands. It's not a good combination, folks. I wouldn't recommend integrating both aspects into your life at the same time.

Blame Myspace. That silly 'social networking' site is to blame for everything that you will read here. Well, maybe I am to blame for some of it. But, believe it or not, I was actually inspired by Myspace.

No. That is incorrect. Myspace was a tool to release my inspiration.

Yeah, that still doesn't make it sound any better. However, what's done is done.

I had never fancied myself a writer. I am more of a bitcher. Not to say the two are mutually exclusive, but I will never be a Dickinson or Hemingway. Bombeck, maybe. Regardless, I started this neat little alter-ego page and said whatever the hell I wanted.

Long story, short: From Myspace, to Facebook to here, through all of my writing/bitching/observing what have I discovered about myself? I have come to the conclusion that I am basically an extremely tall, mature 7 year old with an obsession for correct word contraction and a wicked rack.

Stay tuned, something entertaining just might pop up on the screen . . .