Posts Tagged ‘humor’

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Stop drawing the deer…

May 9, 2011

Somedays I wish I had money. Mad money. The kind of money where I never had to work another job that required me to wear a single piece of flair or answer a phone. Let’s be honest…I could walk into the light never having answered another phone call and feel my life was more than complete. What would I do with all that time I wasn’t spending on the phone awkwardly talking over someone or sounding like a short circuiting Speak-N-Spell with a shit ass cell signal? I’d photodocument one of the most fascinating phenomenon’s known to modern man: the vanity plate.

It’s hard for some people to imagine that anyone would have such a desperate desire to be heard that they would ask a jumpsuit-laden inmate to pound it into metal for them. I can respect that observation. If you’ve ever sat next to someone in an all day seminar and never so much as heard them breathing you’ll know there are those who walk among us perfectly content with going unnoticed. I am not one of these people. And judging by the number of times each week I rear-end, scratch, or ding the door* of a car that has a custom plate, we far outnumber the stealthy ones. The uneven balance of narcissists to clueless-about-themselves is fine by me since it gives me a chance to put the Psych degree I never took a single course in order to complete to work guessing what it is people are really trying to say.

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Let’s start with this guy. I had just left a grueling day of pushing pixels and trying to convince people who are not-at-all right brained that they should give a damn about user flow and typography and that not all designers are bubble-headed bimbos. Yes, my life is awesome. Brain fried, I pulled up behind this SUV. Immediately I was confused — was I in New York? Should I be in New York? It was gray and nasty outside and 3 people had spit at me that today so it wasn’t completely out possibility. Nope, that’s the ‘impossible to get into and out of QuickTrip’ on the right and the ‘please have a FREE FRYDAY McDonald’s’ on the left so I was most definitely still in Atlanta. It took me the entirety of the red light (which is far too long, by the way) to bring this thought process full circle I applauded this guy for his vanity choice. It’s good to keep people on their toes and remind them there’s a whole world out there far beyond the food processor most of us spend our day spinning in.

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I came across this spicy number on my way back from a little league baseball game. My mind boggled: what in the hell? Why would anyone openly admit to be a ho? Or a toy? Or sloppy seconds?? None of it made sense and no matter how many different ways I tried to get into the head of the driver, I just couldn’t. There were too many flithy magazine renewal cards and fifths of cheap vodka in there to have any elbow room. So I did what any half-conscience and fully functional adult would do. I assumed it was meant to be read together to make a clever word. Yes, that had to be it. HOTOYTWO. HOTOYTWO. HOTOYTWO. Son of a bitch – HOTOYFUCKINGTWO makes no sense and now I’ve wasted this entire red light making my mouth into Donald Trump butthole shapes in my failed attempt to force something that required no effort to begin with. It is what it says: HO TOY2. I can accept that. What I still can’t get over is why someone would call themselves a ho. Or a toy. Or sloppy seconds. And pay a premium tag fee each year in order to do so when carrying a bottle of Valtrex around would be so much cheaper.

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That brings us to me. Yep. Me. Shocking, I know – not just that I enjoying talking to myself on this blog (I actually really do a bit too much I think) but that I would have a vanity plate on my car. I’m just that much of an asshole with the burning piss and desire to get something out there. I’ve found it a very interesting study in human behavior having a vanity plate. Second only to the 3 years a drove a Miata and everyone at red lights, stop signs or strip club parking lots felt it gave them the right to ask me for directions, asprins, an extra pair of flip-flops or my ABBA CD. Hey dick-face, how about you download your own illegal music on your own ex-boyfriend’s computer and turn him into the Feds. Like I did.

*Before the police in my local area are called, please note that all of the outlined instances happen to my own vehicle at the hands of myself. Daily.

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As I walk away…

May 8, 2011

Let's do this thing.

After watching The Voice rerun on E! in the bedroom while folding laundry that had been sitting in the basket for over 3 days ($100 to the first person who can pull the hat trick of ‘what a LOSER this girl is’) I came back later to find the Howard Stern movie on. That’s when it hit me. I’m miserable in my life and work because I care too fucking much about what other people think. Seriously. It’s like that chest infection that keeps getting passed around my office — I just can’t shake it. To be honest, I’ve never really cared about Howard Stern one way or the other but tonight it all clicked. He’s a genius. Love him or hate him the man has become the radio legend he is by doing it HIS WAY. Not giving a crap who didn’t like it or had their feelings hurt by it. I’ll admit that just typing that makes me feel badly and there in lies the problem. I need to get over this. I need to get over me. I need to get over this obstacle if I ever want to have a shot at living up to my true potential. Wait…..I need to figure out my true potential. I mean, I know I have the ability to communicate in a way that most people only dream they could. Hell, I’d trade that in a second for a pair of golden pipes. If my shampoo bottles could talk they’d say “man, it’s dark in her ass – oh, and she can’t sing worth a shit.”

Ok, back on track. Potential. I have found that over the past few weeks of speaking up when I feel something needs to be said has been quite liberating. No, I haven’t stopped wearing a bra to work (yet) but it’s most definitely a HUGE step for me. I’ve found that once I let go and stop thinking so much everything comes a little easier. I really do think the trick for me is learning to get over myself and ruffle a few feathers and tell a few people that yes – those pants make you look fat*. Clearly I’ll need to find the line between honest and hurtful but I’m sure in time I’ll get the hang of it.

*I’ve lost 30 pounds since beginning the great sugar embargo and have had no shortage of people come up to me and tell me how great I look these days. Sure it’s wonderful to hear and since my looks are fading a great ass is all I can hope to carry with me into my 40’s so I’ll take all the compliments I can get. Hard not to think that if these same people would have been honest with me back when I looked like a one of those water filled hand toys stuffed into size 8 jeans, I might have cut out sugar a long time ago. I’ll take the personal accountability on this one so as to not hurt anyone’s feelings. Wait. Damn.

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He looks freakin’ dead…

May 6, 2011

Once upon a time I couldn’t go to sleep without updating this blog. Now I go months ignoring it – treating it like the fat, ugly sister who tags along on a night out with my sexy friends. As much as I try to hide it, writing is my first true love. Sure I might pretend that I’m someone who doesn’t care whether or not you talk to me or give me the time of day but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I live to make people laugh and sometimes I go over the line into inappropriate to do it and this is why I’ll most likely end up divorced and dying alone.

I’ve found myself in a new place where I’m aware that life is short and no one is going to force me into being happy and fulfilled in my work. That is all up to me. I choose to walk into the building where they ID me to even get into the parking deck every morning. Like I’d ever want to park there if I didn’t have to, right? My car is so fucking banged up and shitty at this point what the hell do I care. Put it next to the dumpster and let’s see if someone will pick it up before the end of the work day. Doubtful. Man, I’m never gonna get the 350Z convertible I’d have to trade in one of my kids* for.

I’m venturing into the next chapter of my life and that means I’m facing a semi. No, I haven’t sprouted a small dick (not just yet anyway). A semi-mid-life crisis. What? That’s not a thing? Well too bad cause I’m making it a thing. I’m not quite 40 but I’m definitely old enough to be looking back thinking “fuck young people” and “what the hell do they know about life anyway?” in my jealousy that I now require 6 pounds of eye cream just to look like I didn’t get an Angry Buccaneer the night before. Sure I could just stop all the drinking but what fun would that be? I want to see just how long my liver was designed to last and my money is on long enough that I die before my mind is mush and I’m shitting in my pants. Oh god, please let that be the case. I’d rather end up hideous with a still-sharp mind than pooping in my underwear, lying on the kitchen floor waiting for the neighbor to come over and have to change my diaper. Hell, I’m 36 and never even borrowed a cup of sugar before so that would be reaaaaaly awkward.

*Ok so I’d never actually trade in one of my kids but I sure as hell would make them sit on top of each other in the fucking passenger seat. Strapped into the proper restraint seat, of course.

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Scenes from a Starbucks…

January 20, 2011

"Smells like fish in here."

One of the best things about my job is that I sometimes get the opportunity to change up my schedule and work on projects that take me out of my element. For the past two days I’ve been working with an agency downtown and have had a little extra time to spend in the morning enjoying my coffee while catching up on emails. Since I’ve had a few Starbucks gift cards floating around in my wallet and there’s one just down the street from my house I figured, “Why not stop?” and see how the other half live. You know, the half that wakes thumping a vein and cuts you off in your own neighborhood trying to beat you to the Starbucks to get their ‘fix’. It turns out the stereotyping isn’t too far from the truth in most cases and I’ve seen some very interesting people and behaviors these past couple of mornings.

The following account is based on real events. No names were used since no one would give me the time of day.

8:09 AM: The parking lot is looking a little more crowded than it was at this same time yesterday. I wonder if I’ll get a squishy ass-friendly seat or will have to set up shop at a hard tailbone-killing chair. I can’t believe I’m thinking this. Am I becoming a ‘regular’ already? What in the crap do they slip into their brew?

8:12 AM: I forgot this location doesn’t have a drive-thru so most of the cars were to go orders leaving a couple of open chairs. Pour that Pike’s Place already so I can snag my seat.

8:13 AM: What is it about the half and half? It’s almost always empty. Do they never fill this thing to full capacity? I’m thinking it must be some kind of cheap Barista entertainment to stand and watch all the unrefined schlubs who order non-whippy-frothy-plain old coffee to drink wrestle with getting the few remaining drops from the carafe.

8:14 AM: Finally. All set and ready for ass to meet seat. And lookie there, one’s waiting for me tucked into a quiet corner.

8:16 AM: Burned my tongue. Fuckers.

8:23 AM: There’s a pair who do not at all look to be a couple sitting together and talking while looking all around the space. It’s as if they’re casing the joint. I’m thinking they won’t get much. A few spent gift cards, egg sandwiches that have been on display for what looks like over a week, yesterday’s half-stolen AJC newspaper and the tip jar which looked to contain $3.78 and a Terminex business card.

8:25 AM: The odd couple just walked over and lifted up the newspaper rack next to the seat I’ve made home and intently studied the floor underneath. Not sure what they’re looking for but they didn’t pick up the quarter. Safe to assume now they aren’t here to rob the place.

8:31 AM: Lady in track pants just walked in and noticed me sitting in the squishy seat. She looks pissed. I didn’t see a name or ‘RESERVED’ sign hanging on the arm so I’m going to ignore her and pretend I’m not completely enraged at how amazing her ass looks in those pants. I suppose if she’s really that upset, I can offer she sit in my lap. I’ve always been an ‘ass woman’ anyway.

8:37 AM: Track pants took her coffee and plain bagel to go. Damn.

8:51 AM: The odd couple just gave the lady behind the counter a half-melted-down-golfer-topped statue that she’s awfully excited about. She keeps saying “I didn’t think I was gonna make it! I didn’t think I was gonna make it!” I know what she means. Playing golf is painfully boring.

8:58 AM: Justin Bieber’s older brother is chatting up another lady behind the counter. Just heard him tell her he’s gotten an agent here in town and hates New York because the winters are too cold. Judging by the large tears in his jeans, he’s only just arrived in town and has no idea he should have kept driving south for another 600 miles.

9:06 AM: The next wave of regulars are making their way in: 3 retired guys, a stay-at-home mom and what looks to be her personal trainer, young, hip business woman in knee-high black patent leather boots and mid-life man in baseball cap. I think this is my cue. Time to get some new boots.

9:11 AM: Giving up my seat to the scone crumbs and a stray blueberry. Good thing I wore black pants and enjoy the smell of blueberries.

9:12 AM: Hey, look at that! I just found a quarter.

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I tumble for you…

April 18, 2010

"The Dumping Place for the Working Man"

There are few times of the year I enjoy more than mid-Spring.  Sure the pollen is so bad it makes you want tear your eyes out with grapefruit spoons and serve them to a little-f*cker-just-tore-through-your-trash raccoon.   But everything else is so wonderful about it, you find yourself not missing them so much.  For me, it’s not just the removal of our trailer-style window film or the fact that we can lock the kids out on the back porch for hours at a time that makes me feel so high — it’s the freshly warm breezes and crinkling of young tender leaves.  The sight of little boys peeing freely in the neighbors bushes and unleashed dogs humping park benches.  The energy that once again returns after the long months of frigid air and darkness.  Good or bad, illicit or illegal, I take it all in with the eagerness of Ronald Miller on his first day of Senior year.

I have found this year to be particularly enjoyable as I’ve been able to celebrate not just the glorious “Open Season” weather, but the return of Mayor McChaise to her deliciously trendy furniture blog.  Oh how I’ve missed her and the constant reminder that no matter how many layers of ‘double the toddlers’ are embedded into our couch cushions, there are plenty of people out there who make my décor look [almost] ready for Park Avenue – crusty fluids and all.

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Water flowing underground…

November 10, 2009

The Rican Suave says it all — without saying a word:
rican

I have lots of fun photos and commentary all sliced up and ready to go, but I find myself only wanting to point out two things tonight.  Oh come on now…don’t do that.  I’ll come back with all the other goodie-gumdrops I have saved up for you.  I’ve had some time alone and believe me – when I haven’t been locked up at my office, I’ve been watching.  People watching.  And let me tell you — there are some real treats out there.  Never mind that I just got around to indulging in the almost-pregnant fiasco that was “Temptation Island“.  Bless Fox Reality Channel.  Just when I thought they couldn’t give me anything better than “Househusbands of Hollywood“, they run an all-day-Sunday (the answer is yes, I do see the irony in that) marathon of this tasty little cream pie.  The only thing that would have made that one-spin-around-the-lineup better was to see some actual hook-ups.  A kiss here.  A flirty touch there.  Please.  I did more with —-

— it’s a good thing for all of us that I’m learning how to stop myself before I take a thought into ‘that place’ and inadvertently induce more vomiting than a bottle of ipecac.  I’m sure my —-

— damn.  I’m getting good at this.

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And for our main feature – this guy:
Not foolin' anyone jackhole.

Seriously.  I cannot figure this parking situation out.  Some might say that I need to “let it go” and “get a life” and “who really cares?” or “why does it bother you so much?”.  Let me be clear: things that make people look like they’re either freaks or weirdos or dead or mooching free, covered parking fascinate me.  I make up all these wild stories in my mind about why that car would have been planted in the spot directly behind mine (it might not be assigned but I always get there first) for over 3 weeks to then suddenly move 50 feet and be planted over there for another 2.  What gives?  And before you all start telling me that the person might actually be getting there before me and leaving after me I’m telling you — that is IMPOSSIBLE.  How do I know?  For one, I’ve been working a stupid amount of hours in the absence of my family being home these past 2 weeks.  For the other?  I stick leaves on the tires to see if they move.  Who’s the freak now.  Huh?  HUH??  That’s what I thought.

Monday’s FRIENDS Challenge:
I found myself quoting Joey’s famous line “…and that’s Wednesday.” while telling someone in my office about the same conversation that seems to come up week after week after week.  I don’t care that it was really Monday.  This clip is too funny to pass up.

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On the dock of the bay…

November 4, 2009

6-Degrees of FRIENDS: Day 1

Turns out my little “experiment” about whether or not I really would be able to put-my-fanny-where-your-mouth is and link an event in my day back to a specific FRIENDS episode was a success.  At 1PM ET I was offered a leftover sandwich during a staff meeting.  Free food is something I don’t take lightly and once the score is made – no one better mess with my find.  As a coworker leaned over in a half-funny attempt to snag my sandwich, a classic Ross moment immediately came to mind and I couldn’t help but blurt out “MY SANDWICH!?” right there at the meeting table.  Go ahead and sigh out loud at my stupidness in the office space…I don’t care.  It’s all worth it knowing no one will ever dare touch this wanna-be-fat-girl’s food*.

*I easily could have made this a double-dip into the funny FRIENDS pool by including a clip of Joey.  Ah hell.  I’ll just go ahead a blow my load.