More butter please, and would you be so kind as to apply it directly to my ass.

 While I want my ass to be smaller, I do not feel like competing against my myself in what will become a mental triathlon.

 I  need to get myself all "juiced" up if you will, on weird shit like " man, if I stop eating Mike and Ike's for dinner my fingers will be just as skinny as Ashlee Simpson's and I will look SO thin when I use my phone!

 I start doing different, weird " healthy" things to my diet, like no more ice cream on top of my pudding covered sugar fried waffles. I  become a czar of nutrition. An absolute Nazi about caloric intake,  carbohydrate mandates are passed, and sugar stimulus plan get set into action.  Obviously, Fat free EVERYTHING. NO FAT EVER NOT AT ALL NOT EVEN ALLOWED TO  LOOK AT BUTTER.

 I then do a mental intake on myself and start doing some " real" work. I will  ask myself, " do you really want to go through all this just to make your ass look a little less like bag of potatoes and a little more like a a loaf of bread"? The answer will be, " More. Butter. Please."

Guess that means I am not ready to commit to a life of no sugar or deep fried butter sticks. No more tortillas dipped in butter wrapped in bacon covered in lard. Sigh, what is life even worth living at that point.What reason would I have to wake up in the morning if I knew everything I had to eat came out the ground, and had vitamins. No life at all. I know.

I tried the whole " holistic" nutrition thing. This woman I talked to every two weeks on the phone charged me $200.00 a month just to tell me vegetables are good for me and to not eat an entire pie in one sitting. Because entire pies are bad. Yep, you read that right $200.00. Sometimes we talked about "feelings" and how I felt when I ate something that was red, or blue. She would ask me questions like " When you eat a brown thing, do you feel connected to the Earth?" I found it very difficult to answer these kinds of things without laughing. I tried really hard to convince myself that I had made the right choice to go holistic and to talk about how the colors of foods and rainbows and dream catchers made me feel inside. I tried, but I failed.

There is no reason for someone like me who has issues with inappropriate laughter to be consulting with someone who says things like " Have you ever heard the wolf cry at the Blue Full moon., or ask the grinning Bobcat, why he grins?" It was just never going to work out. I could not take what she said to heart because my bullshit senses were in tune. I knew something was not right when she became overly concerned that if I feel "flighty" I should eat potatoes or squash because they would make me feel grounded. When I feel flighty, or stressed I want a fucking pop tart bitch. Not a spaghetti squash with no salt, butter, or taste. Come off it.

It was a weird time in my life to say the least. I spent so much money on fresh produce, and was basically at the grocery store every Goddamn day buying greens, and yellow looking plant things that were supposedly good for you. Some of the things I was instructed to eat I could not even pronounce, yet I had to "trust the program" and " listen to my body". Listening to my body was bad, my body says things like " this needs BBQ sauce, maybe you should have deep fried this bacon. have you considered putting icing on that pancake? I know me. I generally shy away from things that are good or healthy and tend to run full speed toward the path of self destruction and devastation . I like that path, I am familiar with it.

Needless to say, this program did not last, I gained weigh, lost money, and felt like a complete failure at the end of it. Well, I kind of quit it without really ever giving her notice because I did not want to outwardly admit that I was unable to commit to this lifestyle of good choices and red poop from eating to many raw beets. I just stopped going, as I do many things because I cant think of a good enough reason to continue but also can't justify a good enough reason to say "I  quit."

This brings me back to the whole wanting to lose weight thing now. I will eventually start losing weight again. I will also inevitably stop losing weight again because my need for self sabotage outweighs my need to achieve. Many therapists have said this to me. I think they might just be onto something. I

Basically, the only thing I learned from eating healthy was that I prefer pudding to yogurt and will take soda over water any day. I spend lots of hundreds of dollars to be instructed to "buy more Kale." I could have thought of that myself.  So, pretty much I bet that I am a success story on that lady's wall of fame. Under my "before" picture I'm quite sure it reads " Fatter than before."

Ever been on a boat filled with spider monkeys and glue?

Ever feel like turning into a big knife? Like your whole body would become a big ass blade of sheer terror and it would just wield so much power that everyone would stay the fuck away from you. I have? In fact, I feel like that now.

I wish people understood that when you break up, it means just that, you are broken. As in no longer together equaling one whole part. Meaning two separate parts that no longer need the other half they are separated from to function as a whole. Basically, stay the fuck away from the other part that you are no longer attached to. Why is this so hard to understand?

Its like very basic geometry. I was never very good at geometry other than, " this round thing is a circle, this square thing is a square, this long square thing is a rectangle and this pointy one is a triangle". That's all I got out of it. I do know however, that when you cut a square in half, or a circle, or a triangle it then becomes two separate  things and that means it is broken. Broken up if you will. It really is not that hard, it's not like calculus or advanced physics. There are no unsolvable equations and weird unidentifiable symbols. No, its fucking simple like, 1 parts coke 2 parts rum simple. SO EASY! Being that it is so easy, I do not understand why Mike's ex cant comprehend it. She does after all have an Ivy League education. She should at least be good in basic geometry.

Thing is, she's not. And this is why I need to cut her with something like a paring knife from Ikea. Because, she feels as though it is perfectly acceptable to over step her boundaries and try to stick her triangle on to Mikes square. NO. NOT HAPPENING. This disturbs me, do not e-mail and reference  When Harry met Sally.  Do not try to lure him into your web of filth and disgusting hair. Back it up son.

 My best comparison is this: It makes me feel like I am in the ocean and Mike is the raft I am floating on. The raft is the thing that makes me happy and keeps me safe from all the sting-y bite-y things waiting to get me in the big bad deadly Ocean . I float along happily until the raft starts to be rocked by big annoying curly waves. I have to hold onto the raft and simultaneously fight off all the sting-y things with my oar and then kick all the bite-y things with my legs and this takes so much effort and makes me so mad that I can't just enjoy the mother fucking sunshine on my raft.ALL I WANT TO DO IS FLOAT MOTHER FUCKS.!!!! NO, the big curly freak waves want to rock the shit out of my raft and try to throw me into the ocean to drown and die and get attacked by stingy-stab machines of death. Stupid waves are trying to suck my raft into their ugliness and turn it into a yacht that floats the Philadelphia Phillies around. I manage to secure my raft to a rock though, because I am resourceful and a survivor so the wave can go fuck itself. I love the raft, I am keeping the raft. Fuck off.

I have lost a lot of stuff lately, mostly that stuff is people Pretty much I hate feeling like people are trying to take things away for me, I should be entitled to have a few things that make me happy, so I hold on pretty tightly. Like a little spider monkey with glue on it's paws. So, that's pretty much what this situation has come down to. Oceans filled with rafts filled with Spider Monkeys who were playing with glue. Makes sense now doesn't it?

why living in an amusement park and owning a cotton candy machine basically is like being in Heaven and Disney world all at once.

Within the next two weeks I expect to totally break my pancreas and become Diabetic.

Mike and I bought $120.00 in candy. Bulk size. Now and laters, whoppers, 5 lbs of watermelon Sour Patch kids 3 pounds of Bavarian cream in a tube. It's what I imagine Caligula's kitchen would have looked like. Decadent yet accessible. As you can see, we are both very pre-occupied with healthy eating. We also both know a lot about "limitations"

Fuck it, I love candy. I would shank a baby for some skittles.I am not even ashamed of that. If I ever win the lottery, or some money at a Casino, first thing I am purchasing is a Cotton Candy machine. Think about it, I would be able to stick my entire face into the whirl pool of spinning sugar and just inhale mouthfuls of it. It would be the ultimate act of gluttony. I would sell my TV and buy a deep fryer, I would set all of this up in my front yard and it would be like a year round carnival that only Mike and  were invited to. If we were feeling generous and giving we would maybe give some of the funnel cake we could not eat to the neighborhood children. Not for free though, first rule of business ethics " Charge for everything, even if it says it's free, charge anyway" No one ever ran a successful business by giving shit away. Thats called charity, and charity wont buy us a 60' flat screen TV with a Bose surround sound. Plus, paying for things makes people feel important and worthy. Like they are contributing to society by purchasing carnival food out of someones front yard. It also makes them feel a little less poor because " hey we can afford this!". Basically we will be like two  GREAT,MAGICAL samaratins. Doing good, and fighting hunger one cotton candy at a time.

Something tells me this might be the best idea I have ever had. If I could, I would live in an amusement park. It would have to be empty though, except for the workers. I would need people there to maintain vigilance about ride safety and park cleanliness. I said I wanted to live in an amusement park, not die an unnecessary death in one. So, pretty much I would choose to live in Busch Gardens because I have never been there and it looks like the epitome of awesome. It's like if the Boardwalk and Richard Simmons had a baby, that baby would be Bush Gardens. Shiny and so much fun it makes your brain misfire electrons which run into some neutrons that then leak down into your spinal column causing you to be momentarily paralyzed with extreme excitement and a little fear. That is exactly how it is like.

Now, entrance into my amusement park home would be by invitation only. I would not want filthy people taking up space and making me have to wait in line to go on the Tilt-OWhirl, because everyone knows waiting in line for the Tilt-O-Whirl is just about the most devastating thing you can ever have to do. It just really tortures your soul to see other people in front of you who are not nearly as big of fans as you are of spinning in circles that make you feel like you are going to throw up that deep fried snickers bar and Mountain Dew you just ate. No these people are pigs. They are just trying to hold you back from realizing your dream of the "spin puke" puking in a full 360 degree spin. These people want to ruin your life. They will not be allowed into your park. 

I have thought about it a lot, and really it just makes so much more sense than living in a regular boring house with boring things and only 1 bathroom. Why do that? Why when instead of only have one stupid toilet you could have 37 of them and  urinals! If I wanted to be a bad ass and pee standing up, I totally could! Also why be, woken up by a boring, ordinary alarm clock, I could be woken up by the sounds of splashing and having freezing cold water drenching me from going full speed down a log flume! Not only does it wake me up it also serves as a shower.  Thats two things in one! My clock at home can only do ONE THING! I really do not see why I am even still living in a house. Because my house does not have a log flume, or the Musik Express, and when I am bored and want to spin in circles I have to do it manually and use my legs, and I can never spin fast enough so I get frustrated and disenchanted with life because why the FUCK cant I spin FAST! DAMNIT ALL I WANT TO DO IS SPIN AND HAVE SOME FUN, ALL I WANT TO DO IS HAVE SOME FUN UNTIL THE SUN COMES UP OVER SANTA MONICA BOULEVARD!

It makes me so angry that I start screaming Sheryl Crow lyrics in a Bobcat Goldthwait voice. Except it has a hint of a Cookie Monster undertone to it. That is some serous ass anger. * It's really fun to sing that last part up top in the Bobcat Cookie monster voice, you should try it*. Anyway, all this anger at not being able to achieve my desired G Force has only reiterated to me even more that I need to make this dream a reality. It will be mine.. Oh yes. It will be mine.

If it is not mine, I guess I will have to suck it up and live in my boring house that is to small to fit even one stupid roller coaster. I mean, really, how is it even adequate at all if my house can not even accommodate even one little baby sized thrill ride? Why even have a house? It's so unfair to be confined to such a small unmanageable, unimaginative space. Sigh, life is hard. 

How becoming an alcoholic could change my life for the better.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I took up drinking full time.  Probably pretty awesome is my guess. Every day I would down 2 six packs of Smirnoff Ice and a bottle of Friday's Bahama Mama mix. Pretty much I can't see how this lifestyle would not work out to my advantage, I mean, who doesn't love a successful closet alcoholic? No one, thats who.

I imagine it to be something like this; I wake up in the morning a little shaky. I can't tell if it's from dehydration or Delirium tremors. This would be kind of exciting, I would be in a constant state of surprise not knowing if I was going to be able to get out of bed or not. Awesome right? I would probably then stumble into the bathroom, vomit up some cheese fries I ate at the bar the night before. I would be partying hard and eating a lot of greasy bar foods.  This daily vomiting would be really helpful to my figure though  and help me stay in shape. Everyone knows obesity kills. See, the alcoholism is working  for me.

Immediately I would reach for a drink as soon as I was done puking up the lining of my large intestine. No one ever said being an alcoholic was sexy.  Obviously being the organized and prepared person I am, my night table would be turned into a mini bar. I would have tons of tiny "pick me ups" lined up according to what gave me the quickest buzz. The bottom cabinet would house a decent variety of wines and Swedish Vodkas. Just because I am a drunk does not mean I no longer have a discriminating palate. There would also be two Waterford crystal tulip goblets to drink my finest Merlot from. I would stay on the classy side of drunk.

Once enough alcohol had saturated my blood. I would then get ready to go to work. I would  never ever be stressed out about going to my job again. Drunk people don't give a fuck. That's how I imagine I would be. After getting dressed, and pulling what appeared to be some leaves, and hunks of dried blood out of my hair, from my previous nights antics. I would be ready to take on the day! Work might notice that I maybe had a drinking problem. They would be sympathetic due to the current recession we are in. My boss would ever so delicately decline my presence at meetings, request that I have my own private office due to mid afternoon "naps." Also, I would be given only menial tasks to do like lick envelopes and drink coffee. They would totally be supportive and give me virtually no responsibility at all! TOTALLY FUCKING AWESOME!

It would just get better, I would get promotions for " trying", my family would see that I was struggling with day to day activities like bathing and cleaning up after myself so they would hire me a housekeeper/ nurses aid. They would make sure I did not aspirate vomit into my lungs when I passed out, and would also be able to administer local anesthetic for the stitches I would need, because I would fall down a lot. They would also keep the house in mint mother fucking condition, because it will be of even more importance to keep things in order when I'm drunk. Trying to navigate through piles of filth looking for something that will seem at the time of the utmost importance, something like a Ziplock bag filled with rocks, will be impossible when I have double vision and a gut full of Absolute and generic cola. Like the saying goes cleanliness is Godliness. That will be even more true for me.

Let's not even start on how bad ass it is going to be when my family see's I stopped paying my bills. They see me as helpless, like a kitten who only has one eye and three legs. I try , but I can only do so much with the hand I was dealt. Like the Little Engine that could. Only I can't. Naturally they take over my finances and make sure to deposit enough money into my bank account so that I can buy things like food, and clothes. What they won't know is that I'm buying liquor and taquitos from 7-11. Life is so fucking sweet! I mean who does not dream of a life where they can do nothing all day except drink and eat knock off Mexican food. If you answered no one, you win! So basically becoming an alcoholic is like, the best decision I will ever have made for myself. It will be a win win for me either way I go. Even if none of the above things happened and I lost my house, job, respect, and was left to live on the streets destitute and had to hold up a sign I made that said " Will warj fer MONEAY" (Note: I will have made this while drinking heavily) People will feel  bad that I am illiterate and smell, and give me money .I still win! Impressive huh? Because in both of these scenarios I have managed to avoid ANY responsibilities whatsoever. Fool proof plan, I bet you wish you would have though of it.

How my boyfriend came back from the dead!

I have an extreme fear of people I love dying. This and home invasions. I don't know when this started, or why my mind decided to become completely obsessed with them. But it goes through periods of not sleeping because of worrying about one or both of these happening simultaneously.

Last night, Mike came home from work really late. I feel asleep close to 1:00 am. Despite my valiant efforts at trying to outlast my bodies need to rest. When you sleep, you are vulnerable. So rape-ishly vulnerable. Like a genetically engineered pocket sized lamb. There is no defending yourself. I woke up at 2:15, I look around and sense something is missing. That something is Michael. I immediately go to the bathroom. Not because I thought he was in there, but because I really had to pee. I come back to bed and slowly feel the adrenalin starting to surge through my veins.  It dawns on me."OH MY GOD HE IS NO LONGER ALIVE! I WILL HAVE TO CALL HIS DAD AND TELL HIM HE IS NOT HOME BECAUSE HE IS DEAD AND THEN I WILL  HAVE TO STAY IN THIS HOUSE ALL ALONE FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE KILLING MICE AND BEING TORMENTED BY SPIDERS. HOME INVADERS WILL BREAK IN EVERY NIGHT AND HIDE IN MY CLOSET AND UNDER THE BED STABBING ME WITH THINGS THAT ARE SHARP BUT NOT DEADLY. I WILL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN, I WILL NEVER GET MARRIED, AND I WILL HAVE TO PAY ALLI THE BILLS BY MYSELF . FUCKUCKFUCK.

I tried to remain calm, despite my adrenal medulla working twenty-six times faster than is called for. I could not calm down, I tried to tell myself " he is probably alive, I bet he is on the bus." My adrenalin soaked brain however was all " FAT CHANCE! HE IS DEAD. HE IS AS OF THIS MOMENT, EVEN DEADER THAN HE WAS 20 SECONDS AGO." My mind was not able to tolerate its own torment so I did what I usually do in situations I cant handle. I pretend it is not happening.I tried to fool myself into thinking I could sleep, however the cocktail of "flight or flight" chemicals my body was drenching every cell membrane in, would most definitely not let this happen. I laid there for all of 30 seconds when my magical thinking set in and I though if I looked out the window long enough I could summon him to appear alive and not mauled by a Serial Killer. 

I did this, I thought it worked because a cab drove down my street and I thought " oh this must be him, thank God for me looking out this window which now I associate with having magical properties. It was not him. I slipped back into panic mode. My adrenalin induced high subsided a little and I was able to lay my  head down. I couldn't shut my eyes, I think my pupils were still too dilated to be able to close. I decided if he was not home by 3:00 that this meant he was absolutely in the first stages of rigor mortis somewhere in an alley in Kensington. It was now 2:30, my hopes of ever eating "nacho eggs", ( a new recipe I had concocted while in the shower one morning) with Mike would never come to fruition. 2:35, the bedroom door bursts open. My first thought is, HOME FUCKING INVASION ITS HAPPENING!  The only plan I have for this scenario if I am alone is to jump out of a window. It does not matter what floor I am on. I would rather die of a heart attack free falling to my death than at the hands of a murder-y burglar rapist.Then I see him, like a shining beacon of alive-ness. HE'S NOT DEAD! 

I wanted so badly to run up and attack Mike with breath shortening hugs. I resisted though, because I wanted him to think I was calmly, and peacefully sleeping. I feigned sleepiness and instead said " hey, your home late". He was like "yeah". Then he turned out the light and got into bed. I then had to hug him. I imagine this was something like the Apostles felt when Jesus came back and was all " hey whats up, sorry I couldn't call the reception in that cave you guys stuck me in was really crappy, and man was it dark.' All of the Apostles cheered because, JESUS CHRIST, that dead guy just came back to life!. That is how I felt when Michael walked through the door.  He was all " lets go to sleep now" He did not realize I had just been through the five stages of grieving in the past half hour and the multiple chemical cocktails my brain churned out were still coursing through me.  I kept hugging him and shut my eyes, got a solid two hours of sleep. I was pretty pumped when I woke up the next in the morning. Not because I felt rejuvenated, but because Mike was still alive! and I was not hacked to death in my sleep. I WIN!

I really should tell him not to let me read, or even look at the news because it just fuels my insane fear of us both being stabbed up then shot then raped a little while we are sleeping.  I just cant handle it. 

what never to do when you are in a relationship:The six steps to ruining your chance at happiness.

"Here is a list I am compiling of things you generally want to avoid doing while dating someone. I think you will find it to be thorough and detailed.

1) Talking to you'r ex is like sticking your hand in a bee hive. Fucking dangerous.

If you want a sure fire way to piss off your current significant other and make them doubt that they love you. TALK TO YOUR EX!! A LOT! There is not a surer way to guarantee that your current lady or guy will develop an inferiority complex so devastating ,that the only way they will be able to calm themselves down is by eating their own hair.

2) Keeping all of the little things, like photos, postcards, Christmas stockings, emails, conversations you had over the internet. You know, the important things. This a big no no. It says " I care, but not about you"

This is a great way to show the person you are currently in a relationship with that you are completely obsessed... with your ex! They will appreciate that you are holding onto your past so dearly. They probably will just tell you "Fuck this, me and my life. Go back to him/her because I am tired of you trying to get me to wear  the skin suit you made out of your ex girlfriend." You obviously are unable to shed the leftover "skin" of your last relationship and it is smothering this current one like saran wrap over a Koalas face. Please, go ahead and be with the person who ripped out your heart cut it open and filled it with liquid nails. Then decided to pawn it to get some extra cash for Wawa's Hoagie fest. Yes, you would be doing us both a favor by doing this.

3) Calling your significant other by your ex's name. This probably will clue them in that you don't give a fuck and clearly are not even thinking of them while humping the shit out of them every night in bed. Bad move. Don't do it.

If you really want to let the cat out of the bag that your feelings are for someone else other than the person you are sleeping with. Call them by another name! You will be so surprised how offended and murder-y the person becomes. They may even resort to violence. What a fast solution to ending a relationship you don't even want to be in! Nothing says " I never loved you" like a Protection From Abuse order.

4) Becoming overly excited about anything your ex says or does. This means having an abnormal expression of emotions at little things like finding out they cut their fingernails to "sporty" length , became Pre- Diabetic, whining about their current state of unhappiness, or  hearing through the grapevine they started using a new brand of razor.THAT MOTHER FUCKER!

This can be tricky. You need to really flip the fuck out for this to work. Pull out some of your molars, then set something on fire, Roll around on the floor moaning a lot and  muttering about how you used to be the only one who could talk *ex* into switching razor brands. How are you going to go on living knowing that your judgment  no longer impacts their life? How will you ever wake up in the morning knowing that they no longer need you to tell them what brand of toilet paper to purchase? This will most definitely signal to the person you are with that you are not really interested in them and would much rather bitch and whine about why your ex stopped using your face as the background on their desktop than spend time with them.

5) Cheating. This is always bad and generally makes the person you are with really angry. Basically if you do this you are fucked. I'm sure both figuratively and literally.Of course if you do this it means you do not give a fuck about being fucked, so to hell with it. Why even bother wearing pants when on public transportation at this point. It just hinders the process really. You could be so much more effective in your cheating if you just stopped wearing clothes all together. Why waste time?

Being cheated on sucks. It sucks more than the Flowbee. This is an absolute way to say " Fuck you" " I never loved you, I will never love you, in fact I hope I gave you herpes and the clap because that is how little I love you" It also says " You are a little dumb because I was able to bone someone else behind your back". This is not cool at all. Pretty much, this just sucks balls. It is mean and only shitty bitch assholes do it. This is yet, another perfect way to say " I don't want to date you anymore.

6) Never quote Ol' Dirty bastard in an argument. Some people just cant handle his brutal words and will take them as you being threatening and unnecessarily aggressive. For instance if you were to say "First things first, man / You're fuckin' with the worst / I'll be stickin' pins in your head like a fuckin' nurse ". This could be taken as you meaning to cause this person bodily harm. They may get scared and try to " come at you" like a bitch. You could try to diffuse the situation by quoting Michael Phelps. "I always thought, it would be neat to make the Olympic team. " This would most likely put your partner into a general state of confusion. Especially if you have never expressed interest at being an Olympic Athlete, or at sports in general. Take this time to run away to safety. Go to Diary queen. Buy a blizzard. Problems solved.

This move can only be used by the very cunning. It is also advised that quoting Ol' Dirty Bastard is only done by those who are physically fit. You might need to run away after saying something like "I kill all the government microchips in my body; I'm that paranoid nigga, at ya party; I kill all my enemies at birth; SHUT THE FUCK UP, bitch " You might need to exit the room after saying this though.


Basically if you complete steps 1-6 you are guaranteed  to kill any relationship in less time than it takes for you to microwave a burrito. Choose wisely.

Laundromat:: a story of survival

Not having a washer and dryer in my house is maybe the mot ineffective thing ever. I could buy them but my basement harbors far to many spiders. I blocked access to it with a huge plant and a bookshelf. There is no need to go down there at all, ever. This means I cant have a washer. Dryer maybe, but it would have to go in the living room which would really throw of the aesthetics of the room. However, after spending the last three hours of my life at the laundromat, I would be willing to sacrifice aesthetics.

I decided to go to the new laundromat that is conveniently closer to my house. I figured I would save money on cab fare and maybe it turn out to be a more pleasurable experience than I have at my usual laundromat. As it turned out, nothing was ever less pleasurable than this experience. Upon entering the place where I would lose three hours of my life, I see children, lots of children. Normally this does not bother me but they were running, and screaming. Loudly, it sounded like a fleet of firetrucks, ambulances, and police cars all blaring their sirens in unison. If you can imagine what that sounds like, you probably just shuddered violently.

Nevertheless, I had just paid $9.00 to be dropped off at what was apparently a portal to Lucifer's wash n fold. I might as well just commence with my laundering. I see that most of the tables and chairs are occupied and that the washers are most definitely more expensive than my other laundromat. I begin to slowly lose faith in humanity. After selecting a "super giant size" washer, I spot an empty table and dash for it. I feel slightly better having procured my own booth. This was much better, now I could read my book in peace and wait for my wash to be done.... or so I thought. A man comes over to my table, he looks like the type of man you would try to avoid having sit next to anywhere ever. He says " Is it okay if I share this spot with you?" My brain was saying NO! NO! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WOMAN SAY NO! But what came out of my mouth was a weak, defeated  " sure." I try to avoid making eye contact and continue reading my book but I can feel his eyes set dead on me. I look up to see his goofy, big toothed grin smiling at me. I try to be polite, even though everything in me says not to and I smile back.

This would be the biggest mistake I have ever made. He receives my smile as in invitation to talk. " So, what are you reading?" I sort of mumble " a bookaboutlaos" and show him the cover. He is all " I never read that, I have 7,000 books at home and I read the entire Harry Potter series 10 times." I guess that was my cue to be impressed but instead I just said " that's nice" and continued to try to read. He did not care. " So have you ever seen the movie 10,000 BC?  I sigh. "no." " He kept going. " I heard it was so good, I haven't seen it yet though, but I want to". I just smile, and then hold my book closer to my face so he cant make eye contact with me, I thought this maybe would get the point across that I did not want to talk to him. It didn't.

Just when his questions had finally subsided my nostrils detected something unusual. It was like a combination between burnt licorice and mold. It was HIM. Jesus, if his mouth was not going his stench was hugging me. I could not get away. There was no where else to sit. I checked. This was more horrible than having my hands stapled to  Kangaroos face. If he could at least be quiet maybe, just maybe I could get through this.

He could not. " Your laundry isn't done yet is it?" obviously genius I am still sitting here. " No, but it's almost done?" " Young lady, YOUNG LADY"  I had no choice but to answer him at that point." "What?" "Did you ever see this movie, it's good." referring to some movie with Mark Walburg in it. " No I have not" I was willing the dryer to dry faster at this point. He was now leaning with his entire body all the way across the table into my personal zone. This was not okay. I felt dirty and frightened. I did not know where to go. Finally the dryer was done. I began throwing the clothes into the cart at a meth addicts speed. I just could not get away form him fast enough. Unluckily enough for me, the only free folding table was the one right next to where he was sitting.

"Can I squeeze by you young lady". This means I have to move my cart, shut my dryer door and halt my getting the hell out of here process. "Sure" why, he had to make me do this rather to go around the other side of the table which was clear of any obstacles, I do not know. He went to pick up a sock. " Really, all of that for a sock that the woman to which it belonged to knew it had dropped and was about to pick it up. Not on his watch. He was going to pick up that mother fucking sock. He then needed to re squeeze by me. " Still not done huh" ' Nope" as I stand there folding. Really sir, why so many questions. " Now I can put my feet up on on the bench, it would be nice if I had a pillow here too" " I need a stool like this at my house but I am to cheap to buy one" WHAT THE FUCK! leave me the Jesus Christ hell alone. I did not respond to this, I just kept folding in my adrenaline induced haze.  HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!  Was all I kept thinking. He then asked me if I needed helped folding. NO bitch no. I said " I am good , thanks." Mold man just kept watching me daring me to drop a sock. He was ready to spring into action.

I finished folding all of my clothes and then promptly moved to another table. Naturally by the tine I was ready to leave all of the other tables in the laundromat were then free. I felt him staring into my soul as I moved to a table free of his existence.

My cab finally arrived and I hauled ass out of there. I had SURVIVED.

And that, was my experience at the laundromat.

SHUT UP BEAR.

Remember when the blue M&M's came out. Everyone was all " Oh wow! they are blue, they taste like awesomeness and children's smiles". I do. And it was a wonderful time in my life. This is of no real importance I was just eating m&m's and got very excited

Tonight I am going to bake Mike a cake. I want to make him a chocolate bear cake. Why a bear cake you say? Because, last night we got to watch  The Bear Whisperer, and it was a very intense mind altering reality show.! Although  I think they should consider revising the name of the show to  The Authoritative Bear Speaker. The whisperer, Steve Searless ( awesome last name, conveniently rhymes with fearless, which you have to be when working with bears) is much less a whisperer and much more an authoritative talker. He would at times, just,speak to the bears, like he was talking a future suicide victim off of a buildings edge. Calm and soothing. Bears however, don't give a fuck about calm and soothing, so he had to resort to his corporal punishment voice. There was a bear peacefully eating bird seed ( he referred to bird seed as the "crack cocaine" for bears) and he is all " BEAR, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!! "YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE EATING CRACK SEEDS IN PEOPLES BACK YARDS'. 'GET OUT BEAR GETOUGETOUTGETOUT'.The bear not being of the English speaking variety chose to stay and eat his crack seeds. Steve was rather indignant about the whole thing and decided rather than to talk rationally and come to a compromise with the bear, to pepper spray it in the face instead. This worked, and the bear ran away because no one likes getting pepper sprayed in the face, not even wild bears with face ripping off capabilities. 

I was really impressed with this mans interpersonal skills. It was obvious he had worked in human resources before and was very good at negotiating. Most of all, Steve was able to simply gain control of the situation by  just screaming. There was a black bear chilling on some grass and Steve was all ' GETOUTBEARGETOUTTAHEREBEAR" Like that. The bear, being a bear was all "GROWWWWWWWL" and Steve being Steve was like " SHUT UP!". That made the bear recognize who he was dealing with and go run to another patch of grass somewhere else. I was imfuckingpressed.

I wish I harbored the ability to scream things that were fucking with me, or not even, just thing that were bigger than me, into submission. "YO ELEPHANT, GO SIT THE FUCK DOWN BEFORE I WRECK YOUR LIFE" The elephant would be so afraid of having it's life wrecked it would immediately sit down and stop being scary. I would perform that same tactic on my creepy neighbor who likes to stalk my windows to see if I am maybe running around the house in the nude. " FUCKING OLD MAN, STOP CREEPING UP IN MY WINDOWS LIKE YOU KNOW ME, SHUT UP AND STOP SEEING WITH YOUR EYES BEFORE I SET YOUR LIFE ON FIRE." I have never told anyone I would set their life on fire before, I am not entirely sure how that works. I do imagine though, it being a very satisfying and useful method for controlling others.

Basically, this show changed my life. I now have a massive amount of respect for people who are able to control and confront wild animals using cherry bombs and their big scary voices. I will be brushing up on my bear scaring skills. 

Mountain Dew: a story of epic importance.

Mountain Dew should stop fucking with it's formulas. The "throwback" is such for a reason, because no one likes it. My taste buds can not acclimate to this "real" sugar bullshit. Give me back my high fructose corn syrup please. Michael and I bought two entire cases of throwback shit dew and I cant drink it because it tastes like rusty nails and hopelessness. I know high fructose corn syrup is bad for you because they have commercials trying to promote how good it is for you. That means it generally causes cancer. Maybe they have a partnership with the Cancer causing people. Maybe the Cancer peoples numbers are down or something. They are all " start using real sugar so people will realize high fructose corn syrup is better. People cant live without it even though it causes tumors the size of Hulk Hogans Biceps". So then Mountain Dew is all, ok whatever you say we will make our once delicious chemically soft drink with REAL sugar, just stop pressuring us." Now everyone realizes how great high fructose corn syrup is and they are all "this is so worth maybe getting cancer one day." " Fuck real sugar, I never want to be without my corn syrup." I mean it worked on me, other people have to feel this way too.

I love the shit out of chemicals. I tried to do the whole organic thing but I was just not buying it. Why try to outrun time by being super healthy and not ingesting pesticides. You cant even see pesticides so I mean, whose to say they are even on my non organic Granny smith apple. No one that's who. I am going to die anyway, I might die later this afternoon, who knows. Eating organically is not going to save me from getting hit by a car or mauled by a starving deer. I'm sorry it's just not. Organic food is also not going to stop a serial killer from breaking into my home and raping and murdering me for fun. He would not break in see a bag of organic oranges on my table and be all  'shit, she eats organically I better get out of here, organic eaters have super powerful strength. I am just a little baby serial killer with a knifegun combo. I cant possibly overpower her." That would never happen, if anything it would probably piss the serial killer off more because he HATES organic everything and would then murder me twice for bringing back painful childhood memories of not having fucking waffles in the freezer one time when he was 5.

See basically it comes down to; organic bad. Chemicals good.

I hate mice. I hope they all die. in fact I cant wait to kill them with lots of snacks that are secretly POISON.

There is a mouse running around my bedroom that is the size of the fucking Mouse King in the Nutcracker. Mike left a half eaten cookie on our nightstand and the fuzzy little fuck was all 'NOM NOM TIME". It sat there mocking me as I clapped loudly and boisterously at it. I then started yelling at it stuff like " GET DOWN RIGHT NOW DO YOU HEAR ME MOUSE?, I SAID GET DOWNNN!" My serious tone of voice was used, it still didn't care. Instead, it ducked down behind one of my books and was probably twittering to its filthy friends to come on up because there's good eats and a fucking real live comedian.


There is a serious mouse infestation happening and I am unable, and ill prepared to handle it. They took over the kitchen first. Shitting all over the microwave and counter tops like their feces was spun of pure gold and I would be delighted if not honored to find it. I was not. They ripped up bag upon bag of oriental flavored Ramen noodles. Bars of granola were destroyed, egg noodles, my sense of self preservation. It is making me insane and extremely paranoid. I feel like a  Schizophrenic on PCP. Every noise I hear I am jumping up and banging on tables and walls to scare the "mice". I read that you can smell them, a musty, oily homeless kind of smell.  Now every time I breath in I am all " THEY ARE HERE I SMELL THEM!" I am pretty sure Mike thinks I have lost what little sanity I have manged to retain over the years. This shit is intense though. You have no idea how fierce they are. Little flea ridden hantavirus infested warriors. Nothing seems to deter them, they see their family members squealing for help on glue traps with pieces of potato chip hanging out of their mouths, their black little eyes saying "  Don't go down my path...it 's not worth it". Yet they march on determined to make my house their breeding ground.

Last night I lulled myself into a false sense of security. My bed I though, was a "safe zone". I was wrong. I heard it under the bed scratching trying to find a way onto my pillow top mattress so it could dominate the situation and gain control of the bedroom. I was not happy. All I wanted to do was watch a fucking Michael Cera movie and I could not pay attention because I had to keep stopping to jump up and down on the bed to "scare" the mouse. I must have looked like I used crack as a motivational substance. That way I had TONS of energy to fluff out the feathers in the mattress pad for hours on end. I was not ok. Nothing about last night was OK. Every time I drifted off to sleep I would hear its dirt bag feet skittering across my floor just, daring me to close my eyes. Because when I did... there would be blood. Oh yes, there would be blood. Mice bite, I have been bitten by them, they also harbor a long long list of both pulmonary and digestive diseases. I do not really need that in my life right now because my health insurance does not kick in until October. And even if I did have it now, it would not matter because when something serious is wrong I refuse to acknowledge it and wont go to the Dr. My coping skills apparently can only handle little things like burning toast, or forgetting to turn the lights out. Anything above that level of stress my brain shuts down and goes into "safe mode". Safe Mode has very limited functions. Those functions being breathing and going to the bathroom. This is no good seeing as I have a job and responsibilities to attend to.

Mike had to work a double shift last night and did not come home until 1 am. I was forced to deal with the mouse all alone. I was not ready. I was however,  really ready not to be ready. My night consisted of me sitting on the bed surrounded in pillows for protective purposes, randomly jumping on the bed and yelling things like " AH AH AH AH AH BAHHHHHH" to make sure that they knew I meant business. By the time Mike came home I was exhausted and angry. Angry at him for leaving me alone all night with the mice and angry at the mice for being born. I was also angry with the house for being so shitty and old and having so many fuck face cracks that it allows everything to get into our home. Instead of being a personal haven and a place of comfort it makes me unusually nervous, jittery, anxiety ridden, and stab-y when I am here. Especially when alone.

Tomorrow is Judgment day. We are going to the Home Depot to purchase as least $200.00 in mouse murdering materials. I am very anti hurting animals but at this point, I want all the traps we buy to hurt as much as possible.That way when the other mice see their friends dying they will think twice before invading my Ramen noodle stash and go inhabit someone the fuck else's house. NOT HERE MOTHER FUCKERS!!!!!!!!!!!!! BRING IT!

Ex marks the spot.

Running into your ex is always a weird thing. I kind of feel like my life sometimes is over run with ex's, some mine, some not. Sort of like a big bowl of Ex Soup. I don't like it.

My ex: He came to drop off some of my belongings this week. Strange seeing someone who I spent every day with, then abruptly stopped seeing, then saw again also rather abruptly. I would like for those things to stop happening. I am not one for handling extreme emotional stress. My brain is all " HAHAHAHA NO! I AM SHUTTING DOWN NOW!" And the rest of my body soon follows my brains implicit instructions to cease all functioning and to go into "self protect mode". Self protect mode can only do one thing, and that is to stare at the same spot on the floor for hours. This is why I try to avoid seeing ex because brain does not seem to be able to handle it.


 We had a weird break up, he was all "hey, I have something to tell you, I no longer love Vagina's" and I was all " This sucks I have a vagina."  We broke up and I was super sad because I wanted to do the marrying thing with him but was unable to rid myself of my vagina so, we called it quits. I would not be able to be his BFF because I know this would be the ultimate bad idea. It would be so bad. Bad. BAD. There is always an ulterior motive behind ex's being "friends". Mostly to me it is because you still want to be with that person but can't so instead you just stop banging and everything else stays the same. NEVER works. It actually works less than trying to jump start a car with a can of Dr. Pepper and some chopsticks.


In conclusion: I am a champion at moving on. I am also a champion at using chopsticks.


This was a weird post but my brain was all doitdoitdoit. So I did.

Gimmie a baby or I'll shenk you.

I am having " I want a baby" syndrome lately. No idea why this is happening, because it is really not a good time for me to have one Plus I am actively trying to prevent that very thing from occurring. I have no car, no marriage happening, not much money,  and a lot of times babies just scream when I hold them. Its like they know I'm not ready so they try to be helpful and alert me. My brain is all " Go get married, do it now, no, really, NOW, and where is that baby hmmm". I would like my brain to slow its roll a little. My age, I suppose is partly to blame for this, I am on the cusp of 30 and all of my grown up genes are starting to turn on and want me to do things like buy cribs and eat granola. Plus all of my friends are either already married or halfway down the aisle, so I feel like I have catching up to do. If I do not catch up I worry that I will become like one of those people on that show Animal Hoarders. That is not ok, not anything about that will be ok at all, ever. I do not want a menagerie of exotic birds and dogs in various stages of disease all over my house. I would however like new furniture from Ikea and a Toyota Prius.

I don't know that any of this will ever happen, because what I want and what actually happens usually are two different things. I will get a slightly skewed version of what I want to happen.. Like my house for instance. I wanted to move out. I moved. My house is continually trying to kill me with plagues of insects and mice which I most definitely did not want. If the spiders that are always trying to bite me, don't wind up causing some sort of necrotic fasciitis then I am bound to contract the Hantavirus  from sweeping up so many mouse turds. I got what I wanted, but also did not at the same time. See, that's how just how things work. This is sort of what I am expecting to happen if I have a baby. It could go one of two ways. First way being; Baby is horribly deformed and has at least 13 diseases and only a few semi formed limbs. It could also be born being a "red baby". Red baby is horrible, Red baby is so red it looks like it was stapled directly to the sun.  This type of baby would mean I could not take baby out of the house until its skin calmed down and learned to be of a normal pigment. I do not want this. Second thing that is a strong possibility is: Baby is adorable, lovely, smart but bad. Bad like, setting fires, bad like peeing on furniture when it clearly has been potty trained, bad like  sticking its hands in the blander just to scare me. Things like that. It would be uncontrollable and I would be left alone with it because the rest of my family would shun me because no one wants to be responsible for the destruction it would cause.

This is how things work out. Always.

My life is sort of like a coin toss. Unpredictable and sometimes landing me face down. Really, I just want a life that is beyond awesome, and where I can afford a kitchen aid mixer and a vacation in the same year. Marriage is such a big deal, and I do not know why I have suddenly become obsessed with it. But, really it is like my new number 1 thing I want to do now. I wish my number one thing I wanted to do was ride a bike better, that would be a lot cheaper and a lot faster to accomplish. I am no good at waiting. I hate lines, and I hate laundry, and baking because they all involve waiting for things to be finished that I want available to me immediately . Instant gratification is my biggest downfall. As is getting obsessed with things I cannot immediately have. One day maybe I will learn to find that middle ground everyone talks so much about.