I made a pie!

           So yesterday was the end of my week long hiatus in South Carolina.  Back to the grind for me, which included the plane ride home.
          I should have known I'd be in for a doozy of a day when we had to board, deplane, replane, deplane, and replane one final time before actually heading into the friendly skies.  Looking back now, that was the tame part of my flying experience.

          Upon arriving in Cleveland, my now 1 1/2 hour layover had been reduced to 8 minutes, which caused me to run like my ass was on fire just to make the flight.  
           I found my seat, and it soon became apparent that the little old lady seated next to me in seat C was flying with her daughter & son-in-law (seated across the aisle in A & B).  I thought it odd that the daughter didn't sit with her mother and let her husband sit next to a stranger.  I would soon learn why.

      During pre-flight instructions, she began flipping through the magazines from the seat back.  
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP.

      She tore a sheet out.  I saw it had a coupon, so I didn't think much about it except for the loud noise it made.
           
         While the flight attendant was still giving instructions, (including that these magazines were complimentary) a second RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP even caught the attention of nearby passengers.  Everyone except for her family I guess.  Or maybe they were just used to it.
          She proceeded to shred through the various magazines through the entire taxi and take-off, until she was satisfied with her pile of sheets.  She even tore out the Sudoku puzzles, which... were completed.

OMG.  This is going to be a LONG flight, I thought to myself.  

I had no idea how right I was.

          So after we approach cruising altitude, it becomes apparent that once her ears 'pop' she can't hear and now speaks in a volume so loud I'm sure geese outside of our pressurized cabin could clearly discern what she was saying.  Shit, the pilot could probably hear her with the cockpit doors shut and the headphones on.

          So she turns to me and says shouts, "I'm sorry I'm a little gassy today."  I smile with every ounce of politeness I could muster and politely say "That's okay."  What she didn't tell me, however, was that she would lean to the right & left every time she had to tear one loose and follow it with a verbal "Oh!"

         If I was seated out of the line of fire, I would have no doubt found this beyond hilarious.  However, given my current position, I was less than amused.  My only saving grace was that they didn't stink up the whole cabin. More bark than bite, if you will.

        After she made the announcement about being gassy to everyone around us, her daughter tried to intervene and whisper something across the aisle to her.  Several attempts proved futile as she couldn't hear a thing, so I think the daughter gave up.  The son-in-law just stared straight out the window the entire time, and I'd reckon to say this was completely intentional on his part.

         The statement "a little gassy" is like saying Cherynobl was a firecracker...  and I honestly couldn't decide if it was worse when she leaned into me, grunted, and shot it into the aisle, or leaned into the aisle & shot it my way.

           About 35 minutes into the flight, the little old lady leans over, as she had done countless times before, but instead of the staccato "Oh" that always followed, this one was followed by "Oh!...oh. oh. oh."  I knew this couldn't be good.  

        She wiggled around in her seat for about 15 seconds and then grabbed her daughter's arm across the aisle and shouted "I made a pie!  I made a pie!"  This statement completely escaped me at first, but once I saw the horrified look on her daughter's face, it soon became apparent just what kind of "pie" she had just made.  I heard her shout something about leaking, and her daughter told her to stand up.

I will spare you the details, but the seat next to me was wet.  And so were her pants. SOAKED.  And then the smell hit me.

OMFG.

        I wanted to jump out of my own seat.  I had been pondering the idea of asking for a parachute earlier in the flight, but now it seriously sounded like a good idea. 

        The daughter summoned the flight attendant, and was obviously explaining the situation because the flight attendant turned and gave me a sympathetic look.  I don't want sympathy, just get me the hell out of here!

         I think she read my mind, because she instantly offered to move me to a seat in first class.  While I was more than happy to do so, maneuvering past a dripping seat both tested my balance & agility and skeeved the living shit out of me.  No pun intended.

        I ran to the front, leaving everything behind.  I wanted to turn around and watch the conclusion of the freak show, but felt too nosy when I turned around to even peek.

I don't know what I would've done if that flight had been full.  

I will never look at pies the same way either.  
Next time, maybe I'll drive... even if its to Hawaii.

Shit that pisses me off.

Some days, I feel like the world is out to annoy me - that my entire ride on this rock is to test my patience with idiots and others who want to annoy the living fuck out of me.

Case in point, Example #1:

I am a female, ergo I get a period.  
They are suppose to last 3-7 days.  But mine are ALWAYS 7 days long and I bleed like a stuck pig.  The cramps are BEYOND painful, and it fucking makes me want to poke a sharp stick in my eye.  This wouldn't be a problem without the myriad of dumb bitches in my life who have repeatedly brought to my attention shit like the following:
"Oh, I never get cramps."
"My periods are only 3 days." 
"I barely know I have my period."

FUCK YOU BITCHES.  
SERIOUSLY. 
I'm curled up in a ball writhing on the floor knowing I have six more days of this bullshit - WTF did I do to deserve this kind of karma.  I am not responsible for the death of Christ, nor did I start the Holocaust.  In other words, how did I get buried so deep on the fucked up end of the period spectrum?   

Example #2:

The other night we were sitting around a campfire, with about 15 people and I'm the only one getting eaten alive by mosquitoes.  The fact that I purposely sat in the smoke and bathed in OFF! before going did nothing to deter those hungry, blood-thirsty mother fuckers.  Yet everyone was looking at me like I was crazy.  Everyone thought it was quite funny actually, until we went in the house later in the evening and they saw how many times I had actually been bitten.  I looked like a leper.  Like I'd been raped by an entire swarm of bees.   So - for shits & giggles - we counted the welts on my body.  

FORTY SEVEN FUCKING BITES.

One person had 2 bites, but then joked the mosquitoes must have misidentified him for me.  
The ire within me was indescribable.  WHY THE FUCK DOES THIS ONLY HAPPEN TO ME?  I get it, I'm a sweet gal, but REALLY?

Example #3:

It irritates the SHIT out of me when you're at the grocery store, and the person ahead of you unloads their cart and just stands there for the total.  Then - and ONLY then - they decide to get out their purse, dig through it, dig even longer for a pen (only to find it doesn't work & return to digging in that cesspool you call a purse in search of another pen), pull out the checkbook, and start to write a check.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

Did you think you might pay with cash?
Who the fuck uses checks anymore?
You forgot what store you were in?
Were you waiting for bells & whistles to go off and an announcement to be made that your groceries would be free?
You write like a turtle to boot, so pre-write EVERYTHING but the total next time...

Example #4:

People who drive BELOW the speed limit in the left lane, especially when there is a like-idiot in the right lane.  Somehow they become instantly oblivious to the 1/2 mile long caravan of cars behind them waiting for them.  Out for a Sunday drive.  
Its okay.  We get it.  You have all the time in the world and left any sense of urgency at home.  But the rest of the world is trying to get somewhere for fuck's sake.  We aren't just out driving around because its a new-found hobby of ours.
SO MOVE THE FUCK OVER.

Example #5:

People who smack their gum... NON-FUCKING STOP.  Try being stuck in a car with one of these people and you'll be begging to ride in the trunk in no-time.  It's like Chinese water torture.  And the more you try to ignore it, the louder and more obnoxious it gets.  I often wonder if the mental asylums in this country are full of people who took long road trips with these gum smacking idiots.  I can deal with the occasional crack, but chewing your gum like a cow chews its cud is just plain unnecessary.  And hateful.


These are just examples from the last 2 weeks of why I think the world is out to get me.  Not in a psychological sense, but in a Murphy's law kind of way.  So I think I will keep it open & add to it as more things piss me off.

These are the things that make me a bitch... SO FUCKING WHAT?

When Sliders Hit the 'Landing Zone'...

So it's summertime.  The short time of the year it's "acceptable" to wear white pants.  In my case, they were more like a muted ivory, but you get the picture.

I normally avoid fast food, but I was in between assignments, and was incredibly hungry.  It was a hot day, so on my way back to the office, I hit up the drive-thru at Burger King.  I was too busy thinking about all the shit I had to get done that afternoon, that I neglected to say the customary easy on the special sauce when ordering my Whopper, a move I would live to regret.  I did, however, remember to say with easy ketchup & mustard.

After paying for & receiving said order, I rifled through the bag in search of the Whopper like there was a priceless diamond hidden in it.  I tore off the wrapper and proceeded to begin devouring my sandwich as I slowly drove back to work.

And boy, was it tasty.

I still am uncertain what precipitated the next event, but at some point I either wasn't pinching the sandwich hard enough, or the summer sun was what caused one of  the sneaky meat patties to slide out of the sandwich and facedown onto my lap.

FUCK.
ME.

It landed square on my crotch.  
Face down.

I was so horrified I picked up the patty & flung it into the bag and began going to town on the damage control. 

Ketchup?
Check.
Mustard?
Check.
Special Sauce?
Check.

All three were clearly identifiable and on my crotch.

So, naturally, I reach into the bag with the hopes of retrieving napkins I was praying they did not forget to put in the bag.  The napkins were there, but they were underneath the patty I chucked so haphazardly into the bag.

I pulled over and frantically started trying to use the clean portions of the napkins to clean the patch on my snatch.  

But all I really accomplished was to smear it around and rub it in more.

Fucking wonderful.

Now it looks like I killed something.  On my crotch.

I don't know why, but I felt with every passing minute the stain was setting in further, and baking into my crotch in the midday sun.  This gave me an urgent sense of purpose.  Get back to work AS SOON AS POSSIBLE AND GET THE FUCKING STAIN OUT.

Thank God I was not far away because seconds felt like hours.  

I'm sure I looked rather curious at stoplights frantically rubbing on my crotch, but at that point I really didn't give a fuck.

Walking back into the office, I made a bee-line for the bathroom and was sweatin' like a pregnant nun in church.  And lord was I praying no one would see me before I got there.

The elevator ride alone was mortifying.  M-O-R-T-I-F-Y-I-N-G.   "Please don't look at my crotch, please don't look at my crotch...." echoed through my head as I awkwardly tried to place my hands to cover the mess.

Once in the bathroom, I breathed the BIGGEST sigh of relief, even though the work was just about to begin.

I had not thought through the logistics of how this would be handled, and basically bellied up to the sink and started frantically splashing water onto the problem.  

Hot? or Cold?  FUCK.  One sets the other releases, but fuck if I could remember such intricacies under such pressure.  So I tried both. 

NOT helping.

Add soap, Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Now its just a blended mess AND it looks like I wet my pants, which were now see-through. I instantly regretted opting for heart sprinkled underwear that day.  Jiminy Friggin Christmas.

I had no choice, these bitches are gonna have to come off. 

So I check to see if there is a lock on the door.  Of course not.  Because there are 2 toilets, there is no lock on the damn door.  

Fuck it.  I'm standing at the sink in my dress shoes & socks & underwear frantically scrubbing away when in walks a co-worker.  Lovely.

But - as luck would have it - she happened to have a Tide stick in her purse.  

The clouds parted and a ray of light shone down upon me.  A savior to my rescue in this time of need.

Normally I would be all careful and mousy about using it, but I colored that shit like a kindergartener on crack.

At last, I was making headway coloring through the special sauce, and plowing through the ketchup.

But that mustard is a sunnovabitch.  And there was still a "grey patch" where I had smeared and pushed the shit so far into the fibers that a 6 month soak in bleach couldn't have got it out.  It still looks like my pubic mound barfed.

When I had scrubbed and scrubbed until no further progress could be made (and I was literally panting with exhaustion) I succumbed to the powers of the mustard seed.

Defeated, I put my pants back on, only to realize there was no power hand dryer in the bathroom.  Seriously?   So off they came as I whipped them up and down in the air as I was trying to send smoke signals.

Needless to say, I walked around the office carrying a very large notebook for the remainder of that afternoon.  

 The term sliders has new meaning to me.  I cringe every time I hear it.

I never did get to enjoy the rest of my fuckin' sandwich. 

Tame that furry beast you creeper!

Besides the fact that there are 2 ways to spell mustache...  or moustache... I am totally creeped out by them.  Something so creepy should not be given 2 different spellings, let alone one.

Some females find them sexy. 

Ew. Ew. Ew.

I, do not.   Never have. Never will.   I find them nasty & repulsive.

They remind me of 70's porn...

If you have a mustache, trim that shit and trim it tight.

If you don't, any conversation we have will consist of me watching the wayward hairs on your mustache bounce in different directions when you talk.

I will also be inspecting for crumbs or various other pieces of GOD only knows what - furtively hidden within the confines of your hairy upper lip.

Many times, I will try to figure out what it was you had for lunch, because the remnants are boppin around in the hairy nest below your nose.

Disgusting.

This is only aggravated by the fact that I work with a lot of males that have them.  My fiance has NOTHING to worry about.  Instant deal-breaker on so many levels.

One guy keeps a mustache comb in his desk.  While this weirds me out, at least it keeps his unruly hairs in line and, as a result, is far less of a conversation distraction for me.  However, watching him whip out his mustache comb multiple times a day still grosses the shit out of me.

I don't know why adding a goatee makes a difference, but lone mustaches just give me the eebie jeebies and force me to question your taste.  If you think that looks cool or sexy, you are far more misguided than I want any part of.

Unruly, unkept beards aren't hot either.  And I mean the crazy Walt Whitman, Unibomber beard.  And the older I get, the more tolerable beards become.   But NOT the mustache.  

Creepers have mustaches.
Weirdos have mustaches.
Wanna-be macho men have mustaches.
Molesters (at least in my mind) have mustaches.

Blech.

Side by side - there is no comparison.... it NEVER looks better with a mustache.  NEVER.

November 2012 was a HORRIBLE month for me because of "Mo-vember"... where it became a trend for guys to grow out their mustaches for some kind of cause started by someone in Australia.  Someone who wanted to skeeve me out for a month straight.  Turning clean shaven men everywhere into monsters with mustaches.  Please, Lord.  Do NOT let this become a yearly trend.  I truly cannot handle seeing mustaches wherever I go.

Stop the insanity.  I wish I could walk around with razors as a public service.

But then you get the occasional female who say they like them.  They probably like back hair too?

Just googling mustache gives you a shitload of images of mustache cupcakes.  WTF!  Who wants to insinuate having a furry mound of hair atop a cupcake would be a tasty thing?

No thanks.  Seriously.  

Seriously.

Pirate for 1/2 a day

I've learned many things during my years on this spinning blue rock, but perhaps one of the most important is this:
           The only day it is good to own a white cat, is probably your wedding day.

That cat has shed enough hair to make about 22 more cats of his large size & stature.  Knowing this, we decided to rescue another kitten.  But this time one with long hair.  God we're smart.

So which one do you think sheds more?

Anyone with an appreciation for irony will realize just by posing that question the answer is the short haired cat, which - as it turns out - is not so short when it's on your clothes & furniture.  It gets into places that are beyond explanation.

Enter: Friday morning.

Alarm goes off, I sit up.  Cat jumps up to greet me.  Still in my morning fog, I pet him a few times as I'm emerging from my foggy groggy morning stupor.  I rub my eyes, stretch and prepare to take on the world for yet another day.

BUT WAIT.

There is something in my eye.  So I rub it more in case my contacts are just being funny.  While its nice to have the contacts you can sleep in, sometimes they roll in and out of place creating minor issues in the morning.  Little did I know this would be no minor issue.

It soon became apparent that the more I rubbed it the redder & more swollen it got and it was not an eyelash or my contact.  So I summoned my he-man to the bathroom to check if there was something in my eye.

So I lift my lid and my eye is blinking and blinking and blinking.  Fucking reflexes.

So he says, "I'm trying to see, but you won't keep your eye open."
Brilliant.

Anyone who has ever had anything in their eye knows it waters uncontrollably and begins to override your ability to voluntarily keep it open.  It wants to shut.

So after about 5 minutes of us bickering back and forth, he finally gets a long enough look and says "I SEE IT!  You've got a cat hair in your eye."

Fucking great.  That cat hair has plagued me since the day he entered my life, and now its found a way to the deep crevasses of my eyelid?

Now what?

Of course my response was to yell at he-man to get it out, so he proceeds to tell me to hold still and... wait for it... keep my eye open (GUH) as he attempts to manually remove it with his fat fingers.

Needless to say, that didn't go over so well, and the retrieval of the hair was thus-far a failed endeavor.

I explained that this was my eye, and I will need it for future use...

Miraculously, he was able to remove it - with his fingers.  How?  I don't give a fuck.

He mumbled something about being late for work, and I thanked him as I started to rub my eye again to make sure it was debris-free.

Uh oh.  It felt like something was still in my eye.
Him:  Just blink - it'll take a few minutes for the swelling to go down.
Me: Um.  Okay...

Five minutes later, he's about to walk out the door, and I tell him I'm pretty sure there is still something in my eye.  I can feel it.   But GEEZUZ.  WTF else could be in my eye?  Everything but the kitchen sink?

So I direct him to look again - this time at the left side of my left eye... and there it was.
Another. Fucking. Cat. Hair.

Son-of-a-bitch.

He tells me there is no way he can get to that one with his fingers, and gives me a cap to try an eye flush with. He's a MacGuyver, my honey.  Except MacGuyver's shit usually worked.

At this point I'm starting to panic, because I'm going to be late for work.  WTF am I going to do?  He looks again and says "The only way I'm going to be able to get it is with a tweezers".
A TWEEZERS?  IN MY EYE?  The idea sent me into instant panic.  I've seen him miss with a hammer.  And I'm suppose to be chill with a tweezer in an eye that won't stop blinking uncontrollably?

What other option did I have?

So... in he went and out it came... but I must say, THAT is trust.

As soon as my eye is cat hair-free, it instantly felt better.  So I thank him and send him on his merry way.  It felt better, but holy shit - it did not look better.

My eye looked like I'd been punched by Mike Tyson.  The eye was so red, a gallon of Visine wouldn't have put a dent in it.  It looked like one of my eyes had been smoking joints all night, and the other was perfectly normal.  And the entire area around it was big and puffy and red.

Wonderful.

I had little time to wallow or whine about it though, as I was about to be late for work too.

It wasn't until I physically stepped out into the bright light of the morning sun that I realized how sensitive my eye had become.  Not only was it red & swollen, it watered in light.  I don't work in a darkroom, so this was going to be a problem, as was driving 17 miles with one eye.

Where is an eyepatch when you really need one?

Needless to say, I drove to work and spent the whole morning walking around with my left eye shut.  A fucking pirate. This wasn't helped by the fact that I was filling in for someone and working with a bunch of people I barely knew. Nice impression.

Around noon the swelling went down, but the red eye stuck around til about 230.

You don't even wanna know how many people asked me if I was okay, or if something was the matter.  I couldn't help but wonder if they thought I'd been crying or if they thought someone was beating the shit out of me at home.

I have the feeling that no one else in the office had ever had ONE cat hair stuck in their eyelid, let-alone-TWO.   Who does this shit happen to?

Me, my friend.  ME.

Operation Fluffy Eyebrows.

I hate very few people, but many things.  I figure that's allowed since they aren't human. 

And one of those things that I detest more than life itself is plucking my eyebrows.

I'd rather be fucked by a hot curling iron.  Well, maybe not.  But you get the picture.

It makes me sneeze, my eyes water, and it's painful as hell.  One.  By.  One.
That's the equivalent of torture to me.

But what's the alternative?

This?

I think not.

Or you can have them waxed, which is a pain in the ass for many reasons.

1) It costs money. (Which I'll gladly pay just to NOT have to pluck them, but tally another bullshit thing that chicks have to do that men don't.)

2) You have to make an appointment. (Usually).  I work a job that on any given day I can be there for 24+ hours.  Doesn't make for easy planning.

And finally - the one that REALLY kills me...

3) Those bitches tell me tell me "for best results" with waxing you should let them grow out a bit.

WTF?  WALK AROUND LOOKING LIKE A BUSH WOMAN WHO'S BEEN IN THE JUNGLE FOR 3 MONTHS?  ISN'T THAT WHAT I'M TRYING TO AVOID?

Those bitches make it look so easy.  Apply.  Pull.  Apply.  Pull.
Seems easy enough.  
I can do that.

Those are words I would soon live to regret, and regret I would for some period of time.

           So I thought I'd get a do-it-yourself kit from Walgreens.  That way whenever my eyebrows got unruly I could WHAP! 

          So I perused the aisles looking at my options.  I decided to pick the one that looked like even a dipshit like me could not screw up.  What sold me was the "eyebrow templates."   A template?  For eyebrows? Of any shape & size?  
SOLD.

So I took the box home and was pretty excited to test out my skills.

Sally Hansen can screw herself.

         It came with the equivalent of two pieces of duct tape, taped together that you're supposed to rub between your hands to "heat up" the wax.

Oh shit.  This was gonna be so much more work than I had anticipated.

         Those handy dandy "templates?"  Eyebrow stickers.  I'm dead fricking serious.  Eyebrow fricking stickers.

        I think the "idea" was that you'd put it over your brow (after you've made your "brow" selection) and use it as a guide.

But the thin one was like trying to put sticky dental floss on your brow.  
What a joke.  

          Never mind the fact that with my bushy ass eyebrows there was no way the adhesive was making any contact with skin to hold its place.  Too much floof.

Yet still, I carried on.

I was on a mission.  "Operation Fluffy Eyebrows".  
The objective: PARTIAL Elimination of said "fluffy" eyebrows.

        After thoroughly reading the instructions - TWICE - I felt ready to conquer the task before me.

So I began rubbing the little wax thingys in my hands.  

           I looked like Mr. Miyagi doing that magic shit in the Karate Kid - without the dramatic background music or sound effects.

          I applied it, pushing on the parts that I wanted removed.  It didn't say that in the instructions, but I've seen them do that at the salon so I felt like I was lending my expertise to the instructions.  

Bad idea.

          What I didn't realize was that the "wax" on these pieces of tape were more akin to Super Glue... you know, the kind when you get a microscopic portion on your finger and you can pick up shit with it for days? 

Yeah. Super Glue.
Super.
  
           After I was satisfied that I got all the hairs pushed down, I got prepared for the big pull.  Instructions said to go in the opposite direction of the hair growth, which took me more time to figure out than I'd like to admit.

Never-the-less.  I took a deep breath, and pulled as fast as I could.  

           I felt my skin literally lift up from my skull as I did this, and could help but think I'd never felt that at the salon.

But, if it did the job, who fuckin cares.

And then I looked in the mirror to admire my handiwork.

            My eye area was so instantaneously swollen & red, I didn't see my eyebrow.  So I felt for it with my finger... 

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

I didn't see it because it wasn't there.  

There was a small chunk next to the bridge of my nose.  The rest was..................... gone.

And my face isn't the kind you can easily "pencil in" brows.

          I immediately started freaking out and googling how fast eyebrow hair grows, trying to figure out how I was not going to leave the house for that period of time. 

           But now I had another problem.  I was TOTALLY lopsided.  So I got the genius idea that maybe if I didn't have either eyebrows, then it wouldn't be as noticable.  I was a little more conservative this time  But it looked a little something like this.  Without the chunk on the left (her right).

Me & my 1/2 centimeter eyebrows.

Me & my bright eye-deas.  

The moral of this story is leave it to the damn professionals.  

          The funny thing is, while I still HATE plucking my eyebrows, I think the incident activated something in my brain that somehow made it a TINY bit more tolerable.  Perhaps because I know all too well the consequences of the alternative.

           You don't fully appreciate how much our eyebrows help convey various facial expressions and how hard it is to look surprised or puzzled without them.  Don't know what you've gone, til their gone... literally.

           I would have a picture to show you, but I refused any be taken of me the entire time, although my fiance thought it was funny as hell and tried regularly to take one.  Finally I told him with a straight look on my face - if you take a picture of me like this I will castrate you in your sleep.

I think he knew I wasn't kidding.

Satan's harness

So... we have a very fat cat that likes to lay outside.  He whines like a little bitch to go outside, but I get bored as fuck sitting out there with him getting eaten by mosquitoes.  

Then I got a not-so-bright idea.

We'll get him a harness so we can tie his fat ass out there.

Like a dog.

So upon returning from the pet store, I wasted no time barreling through the packaging and strapping that puppy on.  The only instructions attached was 1/2 a diagram showing how to put the damn thing on and I must confess it was confusing.

Satisfied with my handiwork, Buddy & I headed outside to try it out. I tucked the end under the leg of the patio table leg and sat back to admire my innovative stroke of genius.

I could barely contain my excitement.

Over a cat harness.

Ridiculous, I know.

And for about the first 2 minutes all was well with the world.  '

And then it happened.  

He maxed out his tether and it gave him a jerk he wasn't expecting.  

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWR!

That portly fucker went airborne in a way that defied gravity in every sense of the word and immediately upon landing he took off in the opposite direction...

Until he again, hit the end of the tether.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWRRR!

And again, I got to see the fatass fly.  Literally fly.

I watched him go back and forth like I was watching tennis, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on.  And then it dawned on me.

He thinks something is trying to grab him.

Oh.  Shit.  

WTF do I do?  If I just let the leash loose, he'll be halfway across the country in no time flat.  This cat is so freaked out he might never stop running.  

So I got the leash out and tried to soften the next blow.  Didn't help.

So on his next pass I positioned myself to intercept his path.  Thanks to my own cat-like reflexes, I was able to snatch him as he was flying by.

But by grabbing him, I was doing the exact thing he was freaking the fuck out about & trying to avoid.

He instinctually locked down on my right hand, at which point I dropped him and then immediately tried to pick him back up and he bit through the finger nail on the other hand.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

There was blood EVERYWHERE.  On me, on the patio, and all over my now red & white cat.

The culprit

What it FELT like the culprit was

Somehow I was able to gain control long enough to throw him in the house.

Blood was gushing everywhere, and the cat was still freaking out because he still had the leash attached to the harness & felt like something was following him.  Off to the emergency room we went.

Day 7 post injury

I later learned from Jackson Galaxy on 'My Cat From Hell' that harnessing a cat with a leash requires a lot of acclimation.  

It said nothing of the sort on the wrapper or instructions.

He still freaks out whenever he sees any kind of thick cord, rope or anything remotely resembling a leash.

I think we're both scarred for life.

Scarred for life.  The aftermath.

ugh.

Jeanius peeple's branes. An educashunal lessen.

Nothing grates on my nerves more than people not knowing how to use elementary level English, misuse of words, and the annihilation of spelling.  I'm not talking about your standard shortcuts, either.  I'm talking about shit that gets fucked up all the time that screams "Hey, I flunked out of 3rd grade, but they gave me a high school diploma anyway."  I get it - English class was a snooze, but for the sake of sanity don't advertise being a half-wit.

For example:

Bold-faced lie.   Its not a ball-face lie. Unless you are trying to enhance the gravity of the lie by throwing balls on a face, I'm not sure that's the correct avenue to go.  It's bold-faced lie.  As in - a lie in bold typeface.  An obvious lie.  For fucks sake people, get it right.

"Loose" - it rhymes with noose & goose but DOES NOT MEAN the opposite of win.  I see this shit all the fuckin time on posts. (i.e. I'm gonna loose more sleep tonight).  NO YOU'RE NOT.  "Loose" means 'not tight', for fuck's sake.  (yes - apostrophe s, as it the fuck owns its sake).  A whore is "loose", and I suggest you don't ever use that word referring to yourself in any manner - unless you're a slut.    LOSE - to not win, to be unable to find something, etc.It's basically lost - drop the t & add the e.    ONE FUCKING O.  It's not that difficult people.

You're/Your/ & There/They're/Their are going to drive me to an early grave.  Apparently the trifecta of options is too much for people to handle.  So let me break it down:

NEARLY EVERY TIME THERE IS AN APOSTROPHE IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, IT IS IN REPLACEMENT OF A LETTER.  So.... If you are saying 'you are' or 'they are' it would be you're or they're.   If something belongs to them it's theirs - if it belongs to you it's yours.  If its not here, add a 't' and it's there.

I don't give a shit if you're a Democrat or a Republican, you should still know how to spell the name of our Commander-In-Chief.   Apparently upgrading from a 4-letter last name (Bush) to a 5-letter one has thrown the population for a loop.  Some have decided to make our first African-American president Irish by inserting a random apostrophe in his name.  WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?  O'BAMA?  REALLY?  It's 5 letters - stop trying to get fancy for crying out loud.

GRATEFUL:  Its not greatful, you ingrate.  Think gratitude.  And - not to confuse - but the same applies for ungrateful.  It's not ungreatful.

of course/coarse:  Course = something you take in school, "of course" if you agree, and coarse is just thick.  Corse is NOT an option.

By/Buy/Bye - By - near to or next to something
BUY - to purchase
Bye - short for goodbye

To/Too/Two:   To - from here to there, the catchall for to
Too - if you've had tooooooooo much of something, you need an extra o, also means also - as in 'I love you too'
Two - the number between 1 & 3.  There are 2 V's in the W that goes into two.

Eye spose we culd jus bern tha dikshunary an spel evrything funetticly.  Butt than haff tha tyme yoo mite knot no whut peeple wur akshully sayne.

Think I'm crazy?  Search twitter for any of the following words (just to name a few) & you'll be amazed.

Coulden't/Woulden't
"Rasing" used for raising AND racing.  Ugh.
pitcher instead of picture
scense instead of sense or scents
oppourtunity instead of opportunity
tammarow instead of tomorrow
confortable/comfurtable instead ofcomfortable -
sware instead of swear
champaign instead of champagne
branes instead of brains
normel instead of normal
yooth instead of youth
tryed instead of tried.
presant instead of present
hole instead of whole
waisted instead of wasted
stake instead of steak
hurricayn instead of hurricane
samwitch/samwich instead of sandwich
goodbuy instead of goodbye
conchus instead of conscious or conscience
contious/uncontious instead of conscious
reasin instead of reason
reel instead of real
soonami or sunami instead of tsunami
Verticle instead of vertical
nickle instead of nickel
sellphone instead of cell phone

I seriously worry about the future of this nation and am hoping to be dead and gone by the time this generation of fuckwits takes over.  If I'm not dead by then, the stupidity just might kill me.


*this post will be updated on an ongoing basis as more fuckery & tomfoolery is discovered.

Snorting tampons

About a week after I bought my new car, I was driving down the street minding my own damned business on my way to work when I felt something tickling the inside of my nose.

WTF is that?

It was immediately clear that it wasn't your standard run-of-the-mill booger.  

And then it happened.  

<PLOP> right down the front of my white shirt. 

FUCK.  

My nose is bleeding.

NOW what?  I scrambled to the glove compartment knowing I wouldn't find the napkins that I hoped would somehow miraculously appear.

NOTHING.

The funny thing is, I could have cared less about getting blood on ME... JUST NOT MY NEW CAR. 

It was then that I felt it.  
In my pocket.  
Thank GOD for Aunt Flo (believe me that is one of 3 times in my life that very thought came to pass.)  
My saving grace.
A tampon.

Not wanting to roll into work with a shirt on that made it look like I wrestled a grizzly bear on my way in, I didn't even stop to think about it.

I unwrapped that rocket & launched it up my nose with such ease & precision you would've thought I worked for NASA.    I didn't even have time to think about what I was doing.  It was like some kind of animalistic survival instinct kicked in.

Ah.  Disaster averted.

Not so quick.

As I neared work, the hot guy that works upstairs that I made an effort everyday to intentionally run into pulled up next to me.  

GEEZUZ.  I ducked & kind of hid my face but it was too late.

My dumbass had shown him my new red car, so I was tragically difficult to camouflage.  

HOLY SHIT.  Is this light broken?  HURRY THE FUCK UP.

I saw something moving out of my left peripheral & there he was - waving at me.  

FUCK IT.

I turned my head, tampon up my nose, string dangling precariously in the wind with blood on my shirt and waved back with a crazy-psycho look on my face as if to make a joke of the whole thing.

The look of fright & confusion on his face was priceless.  And then the light turned green.  I sped off & saw him still sitting there with a look of disbelief as I turned into work.

Of course my crush on him died that day, and nothing more was ever said about it.  In fact, I rarely saw him after that.

Sometimes I reminisce about what might have been... had I not be forced to snort tampons on that sunny Tuesday morning.

Oh fucking hell.  At least my car remained untarnished.