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.