From December, 2007
One word people...Strippers.
Just for the record, I started this evening in a very innocent manner. I headed to the Ark for a couple (as usual) and wound up being completely annoyed because apparently it was white trash night. P arrives and after two beers says we should head to Marina Grille because some of his friends were there. Ok...I'm down.
Marina Grille...hmm...crazy tits girl is there from the Ark. She gets wasted and loves to flash people. Whatever, do what you want...but stop fucking cornering me in the bathroom and chatting me up. I don't really like you. It's becoming increasingly more difficult to pretend that I do. Anyway...hanging with P and K and D. Wives go home. We should go play guitar hero at P's house. AKA...I found out tonight guitar hero is code for strip club. After already paying a cover at Marina (are they serious with that shit by the way) and overpriced tiny drinks and shots...I've already spent a fair amount of money. Now for the ride to Delilah's Den. Ewww...
Of course we have to stop at a bar on the way...because obviously we're not drunk enough to look at slutty girls intimate parts. Another beer and shot. Then...$15 just to get in the door. Then there's a one drink minimum. $4 for water. Are you fucking serious? This also doesn't include the random slutty girls who expect a dollar for throwing their leg up on the bar. I have to say though, they were very eager to make change. i.e...19 singles back for a 20. How generous.
Now you know there's nothing that attractive about these girls....and of course my OCD kicks into high gear and I assume they all have various diseases I can catch just by sitting across the bar from them.
And for the high point of the evening...you know this involves me doing something really stupid...is when crazy blonde stripper pushes K out of the way to talk to D. As if he really wanted to spend an extra 20 to have this broad grind around on his lap. But...as she's chatting him up, K says, "I'm sure that's a real intellectual discussion their having..." and I find this to be the funniest thing I've heard all night. Unfortunately, as I'm finding this so amusing...I'm also trying to swallow some of my expensive water. Which I then proceed to spit and choke up all over the bar...
Things I've learned this evening:
-You can't be a stripper unless you have at least 4 tattoos.
-Strippers in Lakewood don't even bother to get implants.
-I should be more careful about laughing when I drink expensive water
-Strippers are not hot...except for that one brunette who didn't have a stripper face.
-And...last but certainly not least...I should pay more attention to which way the stall door opens in dirty strip club bathroom because my face and head kind of hurt where I slammed the door into myself.
Happy Freaking New Year!
Friday, May 23, 2008
NJ Transit and me, NOT so perfect together...
From February, 2007
I hate trains. I really do. And usually when I find myself on one, there's a problem. Especially NJ Transit. Always a problem…and they are never on time. It makes me crazy. So needless to say, I wasn't very happy when this snow and ice storm hit. Because for two days I had to take NJ Transit and then, even worse, I had to take the subway. Let me give you a rundown of my travels…
Tuesday Night:
8:45pm – I board my train to Manhattan in Point Pleasant. It arrived on time. A near miracle.
8:46pm – Some ghetto ass bitch sits down behind me on her cell phone. She's yelling at her friend about "…fuck those hoes. I'm gonna kick that bitch's ass when I see her. Who does she think she is…" so on and so forth. I immediately pull out the iPod and put it on extraordinarily loud. I probably have hearing damage cause of this bitch.
8:47pm – Mean looking Harley chick conductor approaches for my ticket. I have to buy it from her and she informs me that it's $19.50. "Did you say $19.50," I say. "Yeah," she replies. So friendly. She forgets that this overpriced ticket I'm buying from her pays her salary and keeps her in fresh tattoos…so an attitude adjustment might be in order bitch. Besides…you think she'd be happy to talk to somebody who speaks English and isn't screaming on her cell phone about what hoes she's gonna beat up when she gets home. $19.50…and that's not even a rush hour ticket. You've got to be kidding me. I found out these conductors make about $70,000 to $80,000 a year. All they do is open the doors when the train comes to a complete stop and punch holes in tickets to cancel them out. What a fucking joke.
8:50pm – We come to our first stop. Manasquan, NJ. It is now quite obvious why my ticket is so expensive. It's to pay for the Spanish lessons the conductors need to be able to communicate with the assload of Hispanic restaurant workers that get on the train. I suddenly feel like I've gotten on the wrong train. I didn't know NJ Transit went to Mexico. And it now smells like stale food and garbage. And for those of you who are now offended because you think I'm saying Hispanic people smell like garbage…don't be so quick to call the ACLU on me. I'm saying it smells like garbage because they just got done taking it out at the restaurant they work at. By the way…I really don't care if I offended you anyway. You weren't on the train. You don't know what it smelled like.
8:57pm – Belmar stop. The majority of the restaurant workers get off here. Ghetto girl is still yelling…but it smells a little better.
9:05pm – Asbury Park stop. Here's where it gets interesting. Asbury Park is where most of the derelicts of the Jersey Shore live. Crack heads, Ex-cons, pimps, hoes…you name it. And sometimes, these scumbags take the train. A wide variety of weirdo's boards the train and some of them sit in my car. My favorite is the guy who gets on and is on his cell phone…him and ghetto girl are now in some odd competition to see who can yell obscenities the loudest. Asbury guy wins. It's so entertaining that I actually take my headphones out very discreetly so I can listen. He's on the phone with his girlfriend. At least, that's the impression I get because he keeps calling her "baby." And he's pissed off at his parole officer because he wants him to get a job. How terrible. Seriously, I don't mind supporting you…no problem. The rest of it isn't really worth repeating. He was just so fucking loud and not even the slightest bit embarrassed about discussing his parole officer so loudly in public. I guess I'm just a prude.
9:20 - We arrive in Long Branch. This is where we have to switch to get on the train that goes into the city. This was oddly uneventful. Long Branch is very similar to Asbury Park and there's usually something entertaining going on here. The only thing worth mentioning was this random guy who had his bike with him and a bag full of clothes…and an I Love You heart balloon tied to his handlebars. How frigin cute. We finally leave Long Branch and I pass out and wake up in Penn Station.
11:00pm – This is when I'm due at work. Officially late. I exit the train and walk upstairs to the subway. The subway trains are now delayed. The express trains are running on the local track. Three different trains are all running on the same track and it still takes 15 fucking minutes for one to get there. Good job MTA…good job.
11:30pm – Starbucks on 67th Street. I order a Grande Fat Free, Sugar Free Cinnamon Latte. It's not the easiest order, but it certainly wasn't the most complicated either. I didn't need anything organic or soy or light foam or stirred gently like some of these other coffee snobs want. The broad working asked me 4 fucking times what I wanted. I WANT A GRANDE FAT FREE, SUGAR FREE CINNAMON LATTE…SOMETIME BEFORE MY SHIFT ENDS PLEASE. What happens to you in life when you can't even make a cup of coffee. Oh, wait, I know. You quit your job and they take 40% of my paycheck to support you and all of your children. I don't mind. As long as they replace you with someone who can handle making a fucking latte.
11:40 – I make it to work and apologize profusely to Travis about being late. And warn him that the subway is fucked up.
Thankfully my ride home was a little better. Oddly enough, my ride in the next night wasn't bad either. Until I go to get on the subway in Penn Station.
Wednesday Night:
9:45pm – Penn Station subway stop. Metro-card machine will not accept my ATM card. I tell the girl in the booth. "So let me guess, you ain't got no money, right," she says to me…giving me that ghetto head shake. I do have some cash…but fuck you sweetheart, now you're not getting it. "No," I respond. She nods at the gate and tells me to go through. A free ride on the subway. I look at it as payback from the cluster fuck I dealt with the day before. I get to work.
Thursday Morning:
6:30am – I put some money on my metrocard and get on the 1 train going downtown. I had to maneuver to another car at first because of some crazy homeless man dancing in the doorway where I try to enter. I finally get situated. We stop at 50th street. We just start moving again when the train slams on the brakes. They hold us in the train for a few minutes and announce there's a problem…they don't elaborate. It's just a "problem." We have to exit the train. Now I'm freaking. This is karma…for me screwing the MTA girl out of money the day before. It's getting late and my NJ Transit train is scheduled to leave at 7:01am. You know it's gonna leave on time the day I get there late. I run back above ground…jump on a bus. The M20. I don't know anything about buses, I check with the driver to make sure we're going to Penn Station. We are. We finally arrive outside Penn Station at 6:59. I shit you not. I run down the sidewalk to the entrance. I jump on the escalator…pushing my way past people standing. I have to run through the station…really running. With my bag slung over my shoulder, iPod on. I am actually bumping into people. I don't care about these people at all. I run to the track where my train is. 7:01…I see the conductor as I approach the nearest open door. She's just about to get on the train. Overpaid bitch. I jump on. I'm breathing heavy. Very heavy. I can barely catch my breath…"Bay Head train?" I ask…"Yeah." She responds. What fucking attitudes. Anyway…all of a sudden, instead of shutting the doors, she steps off the train. There's some sort of problem. We don't leave until almost 7:10. I didn't have to run like a maniac like I did. Hindsight is always 20/20. Slowly I make my way back home. 9:30…I arrive back in Point Pleasant. And I vow that even if we get a fucking blizzard…I am not taking any trains to work. I drive, or I don't go.
I'm really not as angry as I sound.
I hate trains. I really do. And usually when I find myself on one, there's a problem. Especially NJ Transit. Always a problem…and they are never on time. It makes me crazy. So needless to say, I wasn't very happy when this snow and ice storm hit. Because for two days I had to take NJ Transit and then, even worse, I had to take the subway. Let me give you a rundown of my travels…
Tuesday Night:
8:45pm – I board my train to Manhattan in Point Pleasant. It arrived on time. A near miracle.
8:46pm – Some ghetto ass bitch sits down behind me on her cell phone. She's yelling at her friend about "…fuck those hoes. I'm gonna kick that bitch's ass when I see her. Who does she think she is…" so on and so forth. I immediately pull out the iPod and put it on extraordinarily loud. I probably have hearing damage cause of this bitch.
8:47pm – Mean looking Harley chick conductor approaches for my ticket. I have to buy it from her and she informs me that it's $19.50. "Did you say $19.50," I say. "Yeah," she replies. So friendly. She forgets that this overpriced ticket I'm buying from her pays her salary and keeps her in fresh tattoos…so an attitude adjustment might be in order bitch. Besides…you think she'd be happy to talk to somebody who speaks English and isn't screaming on her cell phone about what hoes she's gonna beat up when she gets home. $19.50…and that's not even a rush hour ticket. You've got to be kidding me. I found out these conductors make about $70,000 to $80,000 a year. All they do is open the doors when the train comes to a complete stop and punch holes in tickets to cancel them out. What a fucking joke.
8:50pm – We come to our first stop. Manasquan, NJ. It is now quite obvious why my ticket is so expensive. It's to pay for the Spanish lessons the conductors need to be able to communicate with the assload of Hispanic restaurant workers that get on the train. I suddenly feel like I've gotten on the wrong train. I didn't know NJ Transit went to Mexico. And it now smells like stale food and garbage. And for those of you who are now offended because you think I'm saying Hispanic people smell like garbage…don't be so quick to call the ACLU on me. I'm saying it smells like garbage because they just got done taking it out at the restaurant they work at. By the way…I really don't care if I offended you anyway. You weren't on the train. You don't know what it smelled like.
8:57pm – Belmar stop. The majority of the restaurant workers get off here. Ghetto girl is still yelling…but it smells a little better.
9:05pm – Asbury Park stop. Here's where it gets interesting. Asbury Park is where most of the derelicts of the Jersey Shore live. Crack heads, Ex-cons, pimps, hoes…you name it. And sometimes, these scumbags take the train. A wide variety of weirdo's boards the train and some of them sit in my car. My favorite is the guy who gets on and is on his cell phone…him and ghetto girl are now in some odd competition to see who can yell obscenities the loudest. Asbury guy wins. It's so entertaining that I actually take my headphones out very discreetly so I can listen. He's on the phone with his girlfriend. At least, that's the impression I get because he keeps calling her "baby." And he's pissed off at his parole officer because he wants him to get a job. How terrible. Seriously, I don't mind supporting you…no problem. The rest of it isn't really worth repeating. He was just so fucking loud and not even the slightest bit embarrassed about discussing his parole officer so loudly in public. I guess I'm just a prude.
9:20 - We arrive in Long Branch. This is where we have to switch to get on the train that goes into the city. This was oddly uneventful. Long Branch is very similar to Asbury Park and there's usually something entertaining going on here. The only thing worth mentioning was this random guy who had his bike with him and a bag full of clothes…and an I Love You heart balloon tied to his handlebars. How frigin cute. We finally leave Long Branch and I pass out and wake up in Penn Station.
11:00pm – This is when I'm due at work. Officially late. I exit the train and walk upstairs to the subway. The subway trains are now delayed. The express trains are running on the local track. Three different trains are all running on the same track and it still takes 15 fucking minutes for one to get there. Good job MTA…good job.
11:30pm – Starbucks on 67th Street. I order a Grande Fat Free, Sugar Free Cinnamon Latte. It's not the easiest order, but it certainly wasn't the most complicated either. I didn't need anything organic or soy or light foam or stirred gently like some of these other coffee snobs want. The broad working asked me 4 fucking times what I wanted. I WANT A GRANDE FAT FREE, SUGAR FREE CINNAMON LATTE…SOMETIME BEFORE MY SHIFT ENDS PLEASE. What happens to you in life when you can't even make a cup of coffee. Oh, wait, I know. You quit your job and they take 40% of my paycheck to support you and all of your children. I don't mind. As long as they replace you with someone who can handle making a fucking latte.
11:40 – I make it to work and apologize profusely to Travis about being late. And warn him that the subway is fucked up.
Thankfully my ride home was a little better. Oddly enough, my ride in the next night wasn't bad either. Until I go to get on the subway in Penn Station.
Wednesday Night:
9:45pm – Penn Station subway stop. Metro-card machine will not accept my ATM card. I tell the girl in the booth. "So let me guess, you ain't got no money, right," she says to me…giving me that ghetto head shake. I do have some cash…but fuck you sweetheart, now you're not getting it. "No," I respond. She nods at the gate and tells me to go through. A free ride on the subway. I look at it as payback from the cluster fuck I dealt with the day before. I get to work.
Thursday Morning:
6:30am – I put some money on my metrocard and get on the 1 train going downtown. I had to maneuver to another car at first because of some crazy homeless man dancing in the doorway where I try to enter. I finally get situated. We stop at 50th street. We just start moving again when the train slams on the brakes. They hold us in the train for a few minutes and announce there's a problem…they don't elaborate. It's just a "problem." We have to exit the train. Now I'm freaking. This is karma…for me screwing the MTA girl out of money the day before. It's getting late and my NJ Transit train is scheduled to leave at 7:01am. You know it's gonna leave on time the day I get there late. I run back above ground…jump on a bus. The M20. I don't know anything about buses, I check with the driver to make sure we're going to Penn Station. We are. We finally arrive outside Penn Station at 6:59. I shit you not. I run down the sidewalk to the entrance. I jump on the escalator…pushing my way past people standing. I have to run through the station…really running. With my bag slung over my shoulder, iPod on. I am actually bumping into people. I don't care about these people at all. I run to the track where my train is. 7:01…I see the conductor as I approach the nearest open door. She's just about to get on the train. Overpaid bitch. I jump on. I'm breathing heavy. Very heavy. I can barely catch my breath…"Bay Head train?" I ask…"Yeah." She responds. What fucking attitudes. Anyway…all of a sudden, instead of shutting the doors, she steps off the train. There's some sort of problem. We don't leave until almost 7:10. I didn't have to run like a maniac like I did. Hindsight is always 20/20. Slowly I make my way back home. 9:30…I arrive back in Point Pleasant. And I vow that even if we get a fucking blizzard…I am not taking any trains to work. I drive, or I don't go.
I'm really not as angry as I sound.
Overeaters Anonymous
From February, 2007
Yesterday was Friday…which means I got home from work at 4am and woke up again promptly at 9:45am. Why, do you ask…would I do such a thing? Because it's time for my Overeater's Anonymous meeting. Every Friday morning Nanny (my 78-year-old grandmother…I know, she made it this far and she's gonna go on a diet, I don't get it either, but the company is nice. Especially considering crazy Nanny doesn't even make an attempt at keeping her comments to herself.) and I hit up the local fat girl meeting.
And what, may you ask is Overeater's Anonymous? Well, that's just Betsey Talk for Weight Watchers. I hate calling it Weight Watchers though. Sure, we're watching our weight…but the real reason most (and I say most for a reason) of us are there is because we eat like savages. We don't understand the concept of a handful of chips…we eat the whole fucking bag. And ice cream…why buy a scooper...we just dig a spoon right into the old quart. Let's not beat around the bush…it's AA for fat people.
Now don't get me wrong…I don't want anyone to think I'm bashing good 'ol OA. If you stick to the plan it really works. I've lost 20 or so pounds already. I do have my bad days…for instance, last night when I had some nachos, buffalo chicken tenders and numerous alcoholic beverages, but overall I stick to my points. And I am a bit predatory…in the sense that maybe one of these low self esteem chubby chicks will be so miserable with dating and men in general that I'll be able to swing her over to the dark side. It's certainly not my main goal, but hey, a little ass is a little ass! And no, I have no problem throwing a little flirtation out there in front of Nanny. She'd have no idea what I was doing. She's convinced that "those queers" don't live in her town. Oh Nanny, if you only knew…
I will however discuss some of the people that attend OA. It's quite an interesting character study. For instance…
Our team leader…or whatever the hell the meeting MC is called. They are always bubbly. Obnoxiously chipper. She's always got some little poem at the end of the meetings about not giving up. Overall she's not that bad…it all depends on whether or not you lost weight that week. If you lost some weight…you're all about it. If you didn't…well, you want to shove her poem down her throat. Mine in particular is always to the point. I like that…I don't want to turn this shit into a career. A little motivation, a recipe tip or two and I'm outta there.
Sunglass Lady…I haven't seen her in a couple of weeks, but when she comes, she always keeps her sunglasses on throughout the entire meeting. Of course I assume she has some sort of eye sensitivity problem or something and she needs the glasses on. Oh no. She happens to blurt out one day in the middle of the meeting that she leaves the glasses on because she cries. Because she doesn't lose any weight. And she thinks maybe, just maybe it's because of how medicated she is. Because she can't handle life anymore. What the fuck? Maybe, now I'm going out on a limb here considering I'm not a fucking doctor, just maybe, you need to get your emotional issues better under wraps before you try OA. We all got big asses sweetheart…aka, we have our own fucking problems. We're not here to talk you off the ledge.
Miss Motivation…I'm sure every OA meeting across the country has one of these broads. She's not the meeting host…she's just a regular member like the rest of us…yet she doesn't shut the fuck up. Everything the host says you see her sitting there nodding her head…it's like being at a gospel church…give me a hallelujah sister. She never forgets to tell everyone how great she's doing and she's always raising her hand with some sort of advice for everybody. She's like that annoying kid in school who would practically squirm out of their desk to tell the teacher the answer. You know, the one you wanted to fucking smack. I'm telling you…I'm just waiting for this bitch to show up in a cheerleader outfit with a WW across the front of it. And she'll definitely have matching pom-poms. She's just too much.
The Lazy Housewives…I hate these bitches with a passion. They make me crazy. I would love nothing more than to be a housewife. And these broads always think they have the toughest life. So let me get this straight…you have a husband who goes to work everyday and gives you free reign over HIS paycheck and you have a couple of kids, who, after a few years go to school all day. All you have to do is clean the house and make dinner. Occasionally you have to drop the little fuckers off at little league. You have plenty of time to go to the gym. So needless to say, I go borderline crazy when I hear these bimbos complain about not having any time to make healthy food and it's just easier to swing through the Mickey D's drive-thru. I work 40 hours a week or more and I have a 3-4 hour commute every day. Guess what, I find the time to eat healthy. Stop complaining or I'm calling your husband and insisting that he make your lazy ass go back to work. I feel so bad for that poor bastard.
The I Don't Understand Girls…These are the chicks that habitually gain weight or it stays the same. And they just can't figure it out. Crazy Nanny falls into this category. She seems to be under the impression that she can eat macaroni and cheese and pasta and sausage the majority of the week, and then spend one day eating a little salad and a tiny piece of fish and all the crap she ate is just cancelled out. It's one of two things ladies…You're either not attributing the correct amount of points to what you're eating or you're hiding in the closet with a large pizza and a bag of Doritos and pretending like it didn't happen.
And now, last but certainly not least…And this is why I said "most of us" above…
Old Trophy Wife/Skinny Woman (not to be mistaken with the other skinny women who are there because they've actually lost upwards of 60lbs and continue the meetings and the plan to maintain their weight.)…I love this chick. She's about 55 or so and she's not fat at all. Not even a little. She's definitely that woman who was gorgeous when she was younger and whose weight never went above 125 lbs. her entire life. But now, with a few decades under her tiny little belt, age is starting to affect her and she has ballooned up to a whopping 135 lbs. Jesus, Oprah should do a show. It's an atrocity how out of control she's gotten with food…it's become like an addiction. Shut the fuck up and go have a sandwich at the country club. At the end of the day her problem is that she's a.) never worked a day in her life and b.) she doesn't look as good as the new addition of trophy wives that her husband's young law partners are bringing around. Another one that really just needs to talk it out with a therapist. I have to admit though…I do like Old Trophy Wife…she cracks me up. She better watch out though. If she keeps complaining about how hard it is to stay thin in front of the other fatties, they're gonna jump her and stuff a Snickers down her throat.
Well…I feel like I've been mean enough for now. Tune in next week, same bat time, same bat channel for my theory on gym bunnies. Seriously…who the fuck is supposed to look that good when they're running on a treadmill.
Yesterday was Friday…which means I got home from work at 4am and woke up again promptly at 9:45am. Why, do you ask…would I do such a thing? Because it's time for my Overeater's Anonymous meeting. Every Friday morning Nanny (my 78-year-old grandmother…I know, she made it this far and she's gonna go on a diet, I don't get it either, but the company is nice. Especially considering crazy Nanny doesn't even make an attempt at keeping her comments to herself.) and I hit up the local fat girl meeting.
And what, may you ask is Overeater's Anonymous? Well, that's just Betsey Talk for Weight Watchers. I hate calling it Weight Watchers though. Sure, we're watching our weight…but the real reason most (and I say most for a reason) of us are there is because we eat like savages. We don't understand the concept of a handful of chips…we eat the whole fucking bag. And ice cream…why buy a scooper...we just dig a spoon right into the old quart. Let's not beat around the bush…it's AA for fat people.
Now don't get me wrong…I don't want anyone to think I'm bashing good 'ol OA. If you stick to the plan it really works. I've lost 20 or so pounds already. I do have my bad days…for instance, last night when I had some nachos, buffalo chicken tenders and numerous alcoholic beverages, but overall I stick to my points. And I am a bit predatory…in the sense that maybe one of these low self esteem chubby chicks will be so miserable with dating and men in general that I'll be able to swing her over to the dark side. It's certainly not my main goal, but hey, a little ass is a little ass! And no, I have no problem throwing a little flirtation out there in front of Nanny. She'd have no idea what I was doing. She's convinced that "those queers" don't live in her town. Oh Nanny, if you only knew…
I will however discuss some of the people that attend OA. It's quite an interesting character study. For instance…
Our team leader…or whatever the hell the meeting MC is called. They are always bubbly. Obnoxiously chipper. She's always got some little poem at the end of the meetings about not giving up. Overall she's not that bad…it all depends on whether or not you lost weight that week. If you lost some weight…you're all about it. If you didn't…well, you want to shove her poem down her throat. Mine in particular is always to the point. I like that…I don't want to turn this shit into a career. A little motivation, a recipe tip or two and I'm outta there.
Sunglass Lady…I haven't seen her in a couple of weeks, but when she comes, she always keeps her sunglasses on throughout the entire meeting. Of course I assume she has some sort of eye sensitivity problem or something and she needs the glasses on. Oh no. She happens to blurt out one day in the middle of the meeting that she leaves the glasses on because she cries. Because she doesn't lose any weight. And she thinks maybe, just maybe it's because of how medicated she is. Because she can't handle life anymore. What the fuck? Maybe, now I'm going out on a limb here considering I'm not a fucking doctor, just maybe, you need to get your emotional issues better under wraps before you try OA. We all got big asses sweetheart…aka, we have our own fucking problems. We're not here to talk you off the ledge.
Miss Motivation…I'm sure every OA meeting across the country has one of these broads. She's not the meeting host…she's just a regular member like the rest of us…yet she doesn't shut the fuck up. Everything the host says you see her sitting there nodding her head…it's like being at a gospel church…give me a hallelujah sister. She never forgets to tell everyone how great she's doing and she's always raising her hand with some sort of advice for everybody. She's like that annoying kid in school who would practically squirm out of their desk to tell the teacher the answer. You know, the one you wanted to fucking smack. I'm telling you…I'm just waiting for this bitch to show up in a cheerleader outfit with a WW across the front of it. And she'll definitely have matching pom-poms. She's just too much.
The Lazy Housewives…I hate these bitches with a passion. They make me crazy. I would love nothing more than to be a housewife. And these broads always think they have the toughest life. So let me get this straight…you have a husband who goes to work everyday and gives you free reign over HIS paycheck and you have a couple of kids, who, after a few years go to school all day. All you have to do is clean the house and make dinner. Occasionally you have to drop the little fuckers off at little league. You have plenty of time to go to the gym. So needless to say, I go borderline crazy when I hear these bimbos complain about not having any time to make healthy food and it's just easier to swing through the Mickey D's drive-thru. I work 40 hours a week or more and I have a 3-4 hour commute every day. Guess what, I find the time to eat healthy. Stop complaining or I'm calling your husband and insisting that he make your lazy ass go back to work. I feel so bad for that poor bastard.
The I Don't Understand Girls…These are the chicks that habitually gain weight or it stays the same. And they just can't figure it out. Crazy Nanny falls into this category. She seems to be under the impression that she can eat macaroni and cheese and pasta and sausage the majority of the week, and then spend one day eating a little salad and a tiny piece of fish and all the crap she ate is just cancelled out. It's one of two things ladies…You're either not attributing the correct amount of points to what you're eating or you're hiding in the closet with a large pizza and a bag of Doritos and pretending like it didn't happen.
And now, last but certainly not least…And this is why I said "most of us" above…
Old Trophy Wife/Skinny Woman (not to be mistaken with the other skinny women who are there because they've actually lost upwards of 60lbs and continue the meetings and the plan to maintain their weight.)…I love this chick. She's about 55 or so and she's not fat at all. Not even a little. She's definitely that woman who was gorgeous when she was younger and whose weight never went above 125 lbs. her entire life. But now, with a few decades under her tiny little belt, age is starting to affect her and she has ballooned up to a whopping 135 lbs. Jesus, Oprah should do a show. It's an atrocity how out of control she's gotten with food…it's become like an addiction. Shut the fuck up and go have a sandwich at the country club. At the end of the day her problem is that she's a.) never worked a day in her life and b.) she doesn't look as good as the new addition of trophy wives that her husband's young law partners are bringing around. Another one that really just needs to talk it out with a therapist. I have to admit though…I do like Old Trophy Wife…she cracks me up. She better watch out though. If she keeps complaining about how hard it is to stay thin in front of the other fatties, they're gonna jump her and stuff a Snickers down her throat.
Well…I feel like I've been mean enough for now. Tune in next week, same bat time, same bat channel for my theory on gym bunnies. Seriously…who the fuck is supposed to look that good when they're running on a treadmill.
Lesbians need to do a little more manhunting.
From January, 2007
So I started this new job in September and there are quite a few gay boys that work there. Considering I normally can't stand gay boys it's a near miracle that I actually like all of them. (It's not that I don't like gay men, but I'm a lesbo...so what do we have in common. Straight girls and me...we're both girls. Straight men and me...we both love girls. Gay men and me...nada.)
Anyway...these boys have introduced me to a website that I had never heard of before. It's manhunt.net. I am completely and utterly fascinated. And more importantly, I don't know why there isn't a girlhunt.
This website is great. Guys can go on there and do a little search and have some ass on its way over in less than an hour. Oh sure, they can go on and look for a real relationship...but who cares about that when you can have a hot looking lay come right over with no strings attached. Strings are a pain in the ass...all they ever do is get tangled. All of these guys I work with have been on it. Even some of the "straight" ones. I even asked one co-worker if he's ever used it, for a one nighter...his response, "Everybody does a little manhunting every now and then."
I really want there to be a girl version becasuse I don't like strings. So...I did a little research. The closest thing I could find was on craigslist.org. You can find some, but most of them don't have pictures up and God only knows what you'll wind up with. And the ones that have pictures are gross.
This manhunt website and the lack thereof one for girls drives me crazy. Lesbians, and most girls in general make it so complicated to have carefree sex. Unless you hook up with drunken slobs like I usually do, it's hard to get a girl to put out. The old joke about what a lesbian brings on a second date...a U-haul...is kind of true. We have to start out as friends and then you have to get along with their cats. And then your couch has to match their living room motif. You have to have the same political views and like the same food. And you both have to want the same number of children and you have to decide right away whose last name they're going to have. All these freaking promises just to get a little action.
And now Jersey has made civil unions legal. People ask me if I'm happy about this. Fuck no...It's just one more damn thing I have to promise I'll do so I can get laid.
So I started this new job in September and there are quite a few gay boys that work there. Considering I normally can't stand gay boys it's a near miracle that I actually like all of them. (It's not that I don't like gay men, but I'm a lesbo...so what do we have in common. Straight girls and me...we're both girls. Straight men and me...we both love girls. Gay men and me...nada.)
Anyway...these boys have introduced me to a website that I had never heard of before. It's manhunt.net. I am completely and utterly fascinated. And more importantly, I don't know why there isn't a girlhunt.
This website is great. Guys can go on there and do a little search and have some ass on its way over in less than an hour. Oh sure, they can go on and look for a real relationship...but who cares about that when you can have a hot looking lay come right over with no strings attached. Strings are a pain in the ass...all they ever do is get tangled. All of these guys I work with have been on it. Even some of the "straight" ones. I even asked one co-worker if he's ever used it, for a one nighter...his response, "Everybody does a little manhunting every now and then."
I really want there to be a girl version becasuse I don't like strings. So...I did a little research. The closest thing I could find was on craigslist.org. You can find some, but most of them don't have pictures up and God only knows what you'll wind up with. And the ones that have pictures are gross.
This manhunt website and the lack thereof one for girls drives me crazy. Lesbians, and most girls in general make it so complicated to have carefree sex. Unless you hook up with drunken slobs like I usually do, it's hard to get a girl to put out. The old joke about what a lesbian brings on a second date...a U-haul...is kind of true. We have to start out as friends and then you have to get along with their cats. And then your couch has to match their living room motif. You have to have the same political views and like the same food. And you both have to want the same number of children and you have to decide right away whose last name they're going to have. All these freaking promises just to get a little action.
And now Jersey has made civil unions legal. People ask me if I'm happy about this. Fuck no...It's just one more damn thing I have to promise I'll do so I can get laid.
Things that make me crazy...
From October, 2006
I make no apologies...I don't care if I offend you. Don't read it if you don't like it.
1. PEOPLE WHO STOP AT EZ-PASS
It's not called EZ-Pass for nothing. Why, why do you people do it? The whole point of it is to pass through the toll easily. Stopping isn't passing through. Get it together.
2. NYC CAB DRIVERS
Why do you find it necessary to NOT drive in the lane. I guess in India, or Pakistan or wherever the fuck you're from, they failed to teach you that we stay in the lines here. We DON'T drive down the middle of them. And then you get pissy with me when I drive up next to you and swerve at you. I'm just trying to teach you how to drive.
3. PEOPLE WHO DO 70 IN THE LEFT LANE.
I know, I know...you're a real bad ass for going five miles over the speed limit. But, in reality, I'm behind you TRYING to do 20 miles over the speed limit. Who's the bad ass now. Get the fuck out of the way. I don't get in your way...why do you insist on getting in mine? Besides, I have to get past you before the toll both...cause I'm sure you're one of the assholes who is going to stop in the EZ-Pass lane.
4. JOE BUCK
Why does FOX have to have the baseball playoffs. I can't fucking stand him. Every time he opens his mouth, nothing but inane bullshit comes out. I miss Michael Kay.
5. PEOPLE MINDING MY BUSINESS
I know I do a lot of stupid shit. That's part of my charm. And I don't mind when people get a laugh out of it. That's fine. No problem. But, I am starting to have a problem with people talking shit behind my back. If I do something stupid and I want you to know about it, I'll tell you. And once you know what said stupid thing was that does not give you free license to broadcast it to everyone else. Especially when certain stupid things that I do need not be repeated.
I make no apologies...I don't care if I offend you. Don't read it if you don't like it.
1. PEOPLE WHO STOP AT EZ-PASS
It's not called EZ-Pass for nothing. Why, why do you people do it? The whole point of it is to pass through the toll easily. Stopping isn't passing through. Get it together.
2. NYC CAB DRIVERS
Why do you find it necessary to NOT drive in the lane. I guess in India, or Pakistan or wherever the fuck you're from, they failed to teach you that we stay in the lines here. We DON'T drive down the middle of them. And then you get pissy with me when I drive up next to you and swerve at you. I'm just trying to teach you how to drive.
3. PEOPLE WHO DO 70 IN THE LEFT LANE.
I know, I know...you're a real bad ass for going five miles over the speed limit. But, in reality, I'm behind you TRYING to do 20 miles over the speed limit. Who's the bad ass now. Get the fuck out of the way. I don't get in your way...why do you insist on getting in mine? Besides, I have to get past you before the toll both...cause I'm sure you're one of the assholes who is going to stop in the EZ-Pass lane.
4. JOE BUCK
Why does FOX have to have the baseball playoffs. I can't fucking stand him. Every time he opens his mouth, nothing but inane bullshit comes out. I miss Michael Kay.
5. PEOPLE MINDING MY BUSINESS
I know I do a lot of stupid shit. That's part of my charm. And I don't mind when people get a laugh out of it. That's fine. No problem. But, I am starting to have a problem with people talking shit behind my back. If I do something stupid and I want you to know about it, I'll tell you. And once you know what said stupid thing was that does not give you free license to broadcast it to everyone else. Especially when certain stupid things that I do need not be repeated.
Tourists on Scooters
From August, 2006
So I had to go to the city yesterday for a job interview. Which meant I had to get my tired ass up early in the morning and get dressed up appropriately and spend a lot of time in my car driving through New Jersey into Manhattan. I know, it sounds like a ton of fun.
Not to mention that I had a fairly annoying night before this and at 4am, shortly before I had to wake up I was drunk dialed by a bunch of people, who amazingly enough, knew I had the interview and obviously didn't care. And out of the whole group, there is only one person I can really tolerate and I'm sure she's reading this...so she needs to know that paybacks are a bitch. And unless it's a booty call, I don't care to hear from anyone at 4am. I can wait until morning to find out that "you're really wasted and you love me."
Plus, when I get into the city, of course I can't find any legal parking down town (is down town one word or two?), so I now have to pay to park. And, of course it's only $12 for a half hour, but more than is $20. I don't even need to tell you that of course I wasn't done in under a half hour. Why would anything go right?
Anyway, I digress...the interview goes well and I leave. I get my car out of the garage that just stuck it completely up my ass and I head down Varick Street to the Holland Tunnel. I have to go home immediately because the bank messed up my checking account and none of my bills were going to get paid and I certainly didn't want to wake up next week to a tow truck repossessing my truck.
Now, as I'm going down the street I see something that strikes me hysterical. A group of tourists (they were all wearing matching T-Shirts with their tour group name on the back) and they were all about to go for a ride on little Vespa type scooters that they just rented. There was about 15 of them. And I thought it was so funny because I knew at least two of them would wind up in the ER. Is this mean of me? Seriously though, Manhattan is hard enough to drive a car in sometimes and I've been doing it for years now. And I drive like a lunatic. So how was this poor bunch of people, probably good churchgoers from Montana or something supposed to navigate in between crazed cabbies, buses and trucks? I wasn't hoping for it. I swear. I was just amused by the inevitable. For as funny as I thought it was I've been worried that I'm really just a bitch. Am I?
Oh well, it couldn't have been that bad of me cause my karma's ok. I found out I got the job tonight. And I'd still bet there were a couple of decent injuries. Some stitches needed, maybe a cast or two.
So I had to go to the city yesterday for a job interview. Which meant I had to get my tired ass up early in the morning and get dressed up appropriately and spend a lot of time in my car driving through New Jersey into Manhattan. I know, it sounds like a ton of fun.
Not to mention that I had a fairly annoying night before this and at 4am, shortly before I had to wake up I was drunk dialed by a bunch of people, who amazingly enough, knew I had the interview and obviously didn't care. And out of the whole group, there is only one person I can really tolerate and I'm sure she's reading this...so she needs to know that paybacks are a bitch. And unless it's a booty call, I don't care to hear from anyone at 4am. I can wait until morning to find out that "you're really wasted and you love me."
Plus, when I get into the city, of course I can't find any legal parking down town (is down town one word or two?), so I now have to pay to park. And, of course it's only $12 for a half hour, but more than is $20. I don't even need to tell you that of course I wasn't done in under a half hour. Why would anything go right?
Anyway, I digress...the interview goes well and I leave. I get my car out of the garage that just stuck it completely up my ass and I head down Varick Street to the Holland Tunnel. I have to go home immediately because the bank messed up my checking account and none of my bills were going to get paid and I certainly didn't want to wake up next week to a tow truck repossessing my truck.
Now, as I'm going down the street I see something that strikes me hysterical. A group of tourists (they were all wearing matching T-Shirts with their tour group name on the back) and they were all about to go for a ride on little Vespa type scooters that they just rented. There was about 15 of them. And I thought it was so funny because I knew at least two of them would wind up in the ER. Is this mean of me? Seriously though, Manhattan is hard enough to drive a car in sometimes and I've been doing it for years now. And I drive like a lunatic. So how was this poor bunch of people, probably good churchgoers from Montana or something supposed to navigate in between crazed cabbies, buses and trucks? I wasn't hoping for it. I swear. I was just amused by the inevitable. For as funny as I thought it was I've been worried that I'm really just a bitch. Am I?
Oh well, it couldn't have been that bad of me cause my karma's ok. I found out I got the job tonight. And I'd still bet there were a couple of decent injuries. Some stitches needed, maybe a cast or two.
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