On 2nd Thought...

I just came here to write a post shitting on myself about what a miserable bitch I am, but then I saw the last post I wrote here, and it made me laugh, and I thought ... I'm not really so bad after all.

Taking my own advice to heart: just like a whole year shouldn't be thrown away as 100% shitty just because it contains some notably terrible moments and bad vibes, you can't throw a whole person away because sometimes (or even often) they are a miserable bitch. Especially if that person is your own self. You have to give the good days some credit, too.

2020-2025 WORST Year(s) Ever?!?!? STFU

Here we fucking go again. People bitching and moaning and crying, throwing away THE WHOLE ENTIRE FUCKING CALENDAR YEAR because of bad & sad stuff happening.

ohhh god when will this year be OVER!

SO READY for 2020 to be OVER!

2024: WORST YEAR EVER!

This has been the WORST year! Can’t wait for 2024 to be OVER!

2025 just started and it’s already a dumpster fire crycrycry going down in history as the cruelest year ever I’m done with it already blah blah blah

I can’t be the only person noticing this trend.

Listen, I too am really sad David Lynch died and our new “president” started out his freshest term of raping squatting misappropriating and pillaging by demanding we all disrespect Jimmy Carter. I too am freaked out that the country and republic I live in is being shit on and flushed down a hateful greedy violent gold-plated toilet by a bunch of walking talking catfished truck nuts and fake not-really-Jesus freaks FOR NO GOOD REASON and setting us all adrift to cannibalize each other on dead oceans of fire on The Raft of the Medusa, BUT I’m not stupid enough to think buying a new calendar and throwing away every possibility and morsel of GOOD in a 365-day period that will happen and IS happening alongside everything BAD will change *anything*, except one single digit in these ridiculous melodramatic mopers’ sad sack social media posts.

Is this something dramatic motherfuckers have been doing since before pandemic and I just happened to notice it then and grow weary of it? Regardless of whether it’s a new this-century “post”-pandemic thing or a long-standing bitch-ass tradition I’ve only recently become aware of, I’m extremely sick of people who bemoan a whole 12-month YEAR as a diseased catastrophe, behaving as though a new date is going to provide some kind of fresh slate free of suffering, upon which they will be ready to trash another 365 days as nothing but another requirement for 12 refills of prescription anti-depressants.

Maybe the problem is that a really large number of people actually had GREAT totally suffering-free years prior to this, free of hardships, so the grief and fear they feel in recent years actually does stand out to them as significant and unusual in their sadness.

I DON’T KNOW.

But CRACK A FUCKING BOOK. LOOK THE FUCK AROUND YOU. There are and have been in my whole life people living and dying in FUCKING REFUGEE CAMPS. DETENTION CENTERS. PRISONS. Standing in lines for stale bread. Babies going hungry, tyrants being terrifying, air being filthy, water being stolen and poisoned and misappropriated, and inexcusable shit going down. And *long* before 2020, there have been so many fucking danger signs that allllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll of this would likely come to pass, but you crybabies couldn’t get your priorities fucking straight. And now? Now you think you can just request a do-over every year where some shit happens that you notice is deeply unpleasant. IT DOESN’T FUCKING WORK THAT WAY, DUMB FUCKS.

You don’t get a fucking do-over for the whole year. And why would you fucking want to because THIS IS WHAT *EVERY* YEAR IS MADE OF: LIFE AND DEATH AND SHIIIIIIIIT. SHITTY SHIT SHIT! EVERY FUCKING YEAR HAS IT, HAD IT, and *WILL* HAVE IT unless you are extremely fucking lucky and have your head stuck so far up your privileged fucking ass that you never fucking noticed or thought your luck OUR luck might most likely run out someday and we should fucking GET THE FUCK READY or at least show some fucking gratitude and try to protect and preserve allllllll of the good shit we’ve been rolling our oblivious asses around in in years prior. 

Is the shit happening now unprecedented here? YES. Yes, it is. I agree, these fuckers are taking things to a whole other unheard of level in North America in modern times with current technologies, and, even worse, a whole big-ass segment of the population IS COOL WITH IT, which is the worst part, and has been “emboldened”. The crazy train is gaining steam on mob autopilot and the people with brains appear to no longer have the numbers, the brawn or the bravery to stop it. But listen, kids — the ramp up and the buildup (and the taking-shit-for-granted in the meantime) has been going STRONG for *decades*. If you were alive and paying any attention at all, you can’t say this is *totally* unexpected  or coming out of left field. 

Anyhoo. There are 46 weeks and 6 days remaining in 2025. Don’t throw the babies out with the bathwater. Unless you suffer a truly debilitating personal loss and/or are under the thumbs of legal guardians and/or close-enough-to-touch neighbors that you cannot safely escape from, 2025 is not actually a year to just THROW THE FUCK AWAY or a number to blame everything on. So suck it up. Be specific in identifying problems. And be strategic by LIVING IN THE SOLUTION(s).

We are ALL going to die. Five or ten or fifty years from now, are you going to be on your deathbead moaning about how 2025 was the worst year ever and you couldn’t fucking enjoy anything or ambulate or mobilize because you were waiting to see if 2026 would be better? BITCH IT WILL NOT BE FUCKING BETTER!

LIVE NOW, STUPID!!!

What would David Lynch do? What would Prince do? What would Jimmy Carter do? What would motherfucking JESUS do?!? Because next year when you have fucking lunch* cancer or other COPD because of all that smoke and burn pit inhalation and you’re carrying around an oxygen tank and the power goes out while your portable tank runs out and your electric one has no fucking power because the grid is DONE because we handed all our resources over to the billionaire boys club and associated mafias, you’re going to think 2025 and 2024 and fucking covid lockdowns actually looked pretty damn good, when you are choking and tears are welling up in your eyes trying to say “I can’t breathe” but there’s nobody there physically kneeling on your neck, it is just you, complicit in so much of what has led to your own suffering.

I don’t want to hear any more about how THIS WHOLE YEAR IS RUINED! You haven’t seen anything yet. You all can shut the fuck up about that unless it is the actual year you got diagnosed with cancer and only had a limited amount of time to live, and/or a very close loved one(s) did and/or died or was rounded up by these fucking shithole DHS goons and/or insurance denied a lifesaving treatment. THEN you can say 2025 is a whole bonafide year of shit, if something like that happens to you/your mate/your dependants.  Like our friend whose truly too-young son just passed away - she can absolutely say this is the worst year ever if she wants to. But I am pretty sure she will not frame it that way, and that true grief and loss like this does not ever confine itself to a single year, even if The Thing happens on a very specific date that changes everything for you. Which is part of why I find this “throw-the-whole-year-away” type of social media bellyaching so offensively dumb; if you associate your current suffering with a container labeled with a year and you can neatly package it up within those 365 days? You’re not really fucking suffering that much yet.

The number of the year IS NOT the problem. And “next year” will bring no magic-eraser pain-relief solution to whatever is fucked-up, broken, and diseased right now.                                                                                               

My Limit: Print-on-Demand T-shirts

I do have a limit when it comes to what kind of fast fashion I will purchase, and it is a certain kind of graphic t-shirt.

First, I am super tired of everybody having "merch", and most of it un-unique and totally unnecessary. At the same time, though, I understand the appeal of tangible goods to fanbases that might not otherwise spend money to support your work, but will totally go for the tee (or hoody or hat etc). I have considered getting some of these things. Maybe I've even bought some.

Where I draw the line, though, are these printed t-shirts with just a rectangular image or photo on the chest or back. Just ... a big rectangle. It's like the laziest, ugliest, stupidest fucking thing to put across your boobs and such a shitty waste of money and sweatshop labor and materials and resources and body space.

The only exception to this is if it's a knockout print, like where the graphic is a rectangle BUT the background and many (preferably MOST) of the rectangle's edges are the (unprinted) color of the fabric of the shirt. Usually these are one-color graphics. I think these are called knockouts, but I'm not 100% sure and I'm too lazy to look it up. But I promise you, if I were to sell shirts and whatnot, I WOULD ABSOLUTELY VERIFY THE BASICS OF THIS KIND OF THING FIRST.

Obviously the "problem" is people using on-demand print and clothing sales platforms who do not have even the slightest concept of printing or style or JFC any basic good taste. But then I see people who absolutely do have enough of an eye and background in art and composition and shit selling this crap and OMG it's like fingernails on a chalkboard to me visually.

I'll admit, though, sometimes I'm fucking tempted to see how this shit sells. Just ... print a fucking picture I've snapped on a white fucking t-shirt and call it good. {{{shrug}}}

(NOT) Truly

Written on April Fools' Day last year, but not a joke; just publishing today:

Of course. The day after Easter Sunday. Sun shining warmly. Spring in the air. Birds singing.

AND THE SHITHOLE NEIGHBOR TURNS ON LOUD TALK RADIO OUTSIDE RIGHT ON THE OTHER SIDE OF OUR FENCE.

Without pausing to consider, I fumed out loud, "TRULY, DIE IN A FUCKING *FIRE*".

Immediately following saying those words, the radio was shut off.

*****

While I'm grateful their self-centered, insensate, inconsiderate noise ceased, I still felt stressed out. Why does one have to complain at all for somebody to stop and consider the unwanted negative SPREAD of their noisy disease and its impact on others, and choose NOT to do that?

I do not actually want to have confrontations with neighbors. I do not actually enjoy verbalizing and spreading unpleasant feelings. I just cannot comprehend how so many people do not see forcing noise on strangers or people living in close proximity as a deeply upsetting personal attack and openly hostile display of not giving a fuck about anyone around them.

People who shit on others without shame are NOT TRUSTWORTHY. That is how I feel, anyway. But I know with my rational mind that many, if not most, of these noisemakers are not intentionally shitting on others. They are mostly oblivious, or careless, or do not process sounds and other stimuli the same way as those of us who hear and feel it like hammers pounding in our heads and guts. They do not care about birds, nor are they capable of enjoying sunshine in silence.

*****

I do not truly want our new shithole neighbors to die in a fire. If I saw them on fire I would rush to help them. I would even rush to help them if their house was burning even if I knew they were not in it.

Probably the worst I really wish for is the ability to blow up their stereo using the power of my mind and melt its surrounding container into a pool of angry lava without actually hurting anybody. Okay, maybe I do want a cinder or two to land on their crotch and singe their jeans and blister the head of their hipster needledick just enough to raise a single blister and leave a tiny scar.

Fuck Jordan Peterson's Podcast

FUCK Jordan B. Peterson & is stupid fucking podcast.

How can I get Amazon to stop showing me his smug-ass face?

Sweet Follows

It is amazing how seeing a new follower on social media who just posts sweet kind things and pics of their smiling face can deflate my bitch energy and refill me with calm love and happy vibes.

Not everyone can be that person and few actually are, so when authentic sweethearts cross your path it really is valuable. The instant mood alteration is noteworthy; I'm grateful for it, and those rare pure souls who show up with it.

House Rules: Justified or Just Bitchy??

Love this thread:

https://x.com/gunsnrosesgirl3/status/1878152966009463264

What do you think?  Are some of these house rules justifiable? Or are they all written exclusively by crazy controlling bitches?

It's NOT a Day Off

It's not a day off for me if it's a day off for other people.

Their days off and my days off are mutually exclusive.

Maybe this is why I never feel like I have a day off, and have such a hard time planning for and taking them.

Witches, Spells, and Bitch Habits

This fall I've been thinking a lot about the power of spell-casting: what it is and can be, whether you believe in magic(k) and witch/craft or not. And how much bitching and bitch energy is the casting of bad spells (and a counter-productive waste of energy).

Today I turned on a layer of "inspirational" sound in the form of Joe Dispenza talking all his (actually really useful) pseudoscientific bullshit and helpful guidance. I was reminded of his advice to break the habit of being yourself, and how much I've thought about that over the years since I first heard it and how it applies to me as a bitch. Do I want to keep being this bitch-ass self? Do I want to keep practicing being an asshole?

Think about it. Break the bitch habits. Cast better spells.

Wind Chimes

I really want to bitch about our cunt-ass neighbor's wind chimes, but the truth is ... they really don't bother me. I mean ... I might even actually kind of like them.

Still. Where do you get the fucking entitlement to fucking hang some noisy-ass clangy-ass shit up and FORCE ALL OF YOUR NEIGHBORS TO LISTEN TO IT DAY AND NIGHT?!?!? Like ... where do you get off?

She's probably using them to ward off evil spirits. Like the evil spirit she moved her self-centered ass in next to.

Me. The evil spirit is me.

I can appreciate the magic in it: using bells to dispel bad energy.

I'm not really an evil spirit. But I can see how other people might perceive me as such. And GOOD. *****GOOOOOOOD****** I'm glad you fucking think so. Stay the fuck away from me.

And maybe try not to be such bitch-ass self-wanking pretentious inconsiderate motherfuckers over there.

Throwback Thursday: Assistant Fantasies of 2020

A post I made then hid a few years ago near the beginning of the pandemic response / pre-vaccines: appropriately revisited today as I currently struggle to prepare and file our late-late 2023 taxes, and feel all-too-near incompetent.

June 17, 2020

I have this fucked up idea in my head that if I were succeeding at life & work, & that was evident to everyone, that I'd never have to feel guilty or try to articulate an explanation for why I can really only interact with people an average of 15 minutes a day (which means ZERO a bunch of days) without my whole being disintegrating into a pile of raveous, barbed MUSH-diarrhea.

Everyone would just be like ... "B’s very successful plate is full, no wonder she has ceased communication & time-spending with everyone except her wife." For an average of 15 minutes a day. Because I would have a personal assistant. The kind who picks out really great gifts, & nobody would think "oh, *B* didn't actually put any effort into that ... it's her poor underappreciated PA doing all of the loving effort". No, they would KNOW my PA couldn't have been so thoughtful on their own & sent just the right thing on time very time, not without me giving them all of the most loving pertinent info, and wads of my very successful cash, and generous wonders to people who didn't even know that I cared or even knew about their stupid fucking birthday.

My social anxiety is such that I really hope more people die of coronavirus AND SOON so I don't have to explain that all of the words in my word basket got dropped & scattered around & I can't put them in & take them out of my mouth in the right order so sorry I can't even *read* your messages because then you'll just be even madder when all I do is hit THUMBS UP & go back into disappear mode.

And since nobody will prescribe me benzos I will just go prescribe myself ice cream & salt & vinegar chips & cured meats & fizzzzzzz & chilibowls & tacos & that over-the-counter lithium that hasn't been properly tested & probably destroys all of the kidneys that eat it.

But I do want an assistant. One whose feelings never get hurt & ALSO prefers the efficiency of no pleases or thank yous, and would never write a passive-aggressive Nanny Diaries Wear Prada book via twitter & would sign that NDA like she really means it, and winkingly dish out gold stars even when I barely deserve them. And respond to texts & messages & VMs on my behalf in such a way that I would never, ever have to decline any invitations myself or wonder how to say the right things. I could just not say anything.

BUT KNOW THIS: you're going to love the extravagant doohickies I have custom-made & sent to you very special delivery with the most elegant hand-tooled keepsake gift boxes. And the next thing you know, in 7 years I emerge on an elevated platform with a protective forcefield of light as a very pink but still bearded more (spiritually & ethically, not raci...omfg) evolved Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh who would never let those e-coli murders get so out of hand. Because if I'm going to feel this drained, I should at least have all the money & spiritual followers of a J(iz)Z Knight.

“It Costs Nothing To Be Kind”

I am so fucking sick of seeing this shit “it costs nothing to be kind.” “It costs nothing to be nice.” “It costs nothing to be a decent human being.”

I wouldn’t trust a dumb fuck with a dollar who says some dumb shit like that. You think being nice is FREE? You think there is an abundance of effortless zero-cost kindness TIME and energy just there for the taking? You wouldn’t know what to do with a calculator and you have no idea how to add and subtract debts. Do not give this person a line of personal credit because they’ll be overlimit in no time. DUMB AS FUCK.

You know the worst thing about these stupid dumb shit sayings making it sound like kindness is effortless and done without any kind of costly energetic expenditure? IT FUCKING DIMINISHES THE GIFTS OF PEOPLE WHO *ARE* KIND. IT MAKES IT SOUND LIKE ANYBODY COULD DO THE KINDNESSES OTHER PEOPLE HAVE DONE WHEN THEY ABSOLUTELY COULD *NOT*.

Most recently seen on a post about the recently departed and absolutely mythological Kris Kristofferson when he stood up for Sinead O’connor: “The time Kris Kristofferson consoled Sinead O'Connor after she was booed mercilessly for telling the truth on SNL in 1992. It costs nothing to be a decent human being. “

LMAO YOU DUMB SHIT MOTHERFUCKER(s).

This ranks right up there with “you got this!” in my book of barfworthy WRONG-ASS inspo bullshit sayings.

Stop devaluing acts of kindness.

Stop making the love and hard-won decision-making-abilities of people in extraordinary and challenging circumstances with extremely checkered and difficult pasts and brain wiring sound easy, because they rarely are or we’d live in a much kinder world.

Love and kindness AREN’T actually free. They are quite often costly, effortful, time-sucking, and/or noteworthy for their exceptionality.

If we had all this sweetness in overstock, your counterproductive inspo posts featuring acts of kindness  (while simultaneously diminishing their worth) wouldn't be so valuable (and people wouldn't be running around STAGING the shit, as social media influencers all-too-often do). It is only because genuine kindness and being nice is the exception and not the rule that it is worth mentioning to your followers.

It's like masking; when folks run around saying "putting on a mass is the least you can do" and "it it's easy", I want to SCREAM because it is NOT easy, and it is NOT the least one can do. It is actually quite difficult, to the point of being a handicap, to many many many of us, or at least takes some practice and adaptation to get to the point where it feels easIER. My point is that you are not going to encourage somebody to do something that is actually a challenge or hard or time-consuming or unpleasant or costly or does not come naturally or that they have a resistance to, for whatever reason, BY SAYING IT IS EASY &/OR COSTS NOTHING. When those of us who are neurodivergent, for example, ABSOLUTELY KNOW THIS IS NOT TRUE AND YOU HAVE JUST UNDERMINED YOURSELF COMPLETELY AND DEMONSTRATED YOU ARE STUPID AND/OR NOT TO BE TRUSTED.

Seriously. I am ALL FOR KINDNESS (and very pro-masking, too), but you're dead fucking wrong about either of them being free and easy. It makes people feel badly, angry, AND/or DISEMPOWERED, INCAPABLE AND INCOMPETENT when you say stupid-ass shit like this.

If you think that the reason people are not kinder is because they can't afford another debit appearing in their checking account, you are being willfully ignorant and insulting.

Neurodivergence & Bitches: Post on Hold

 I just started writing a post about neurodivergence in women being mistaken for being a bitch (and/or maladaptive workaround attempts and burnout etc manifesting as bitchy behavior). 

So I started listing just a few reasons why I know I am a diagnosable weirdo, following a few up with cursory google searches to verify the connections between the behaviors/traits/experiences/symptoms/comorbidities and autism … and I started crying.

Anyhoo … I couldn’t quite wrap up the original post due to being faced with another gentle reminder that maybe it actually *would* be helpful to have a diagnosis.

EAT (comma) SHIT and DIE

Every so often — TOO often — I find my mouth forming this curse: EAT SHIT AND DIE, motherfucker(s).

And just as often I find myself wanting to take it back. To reel it in just a bit, even though nobody heard me say it. In fact, the people I usually aim that curse at are, most of the time, not even aware I exist, let alone listening to me or even within hearing range. So why do I feel guilty about it?

Even in my bitchiest moods and full of most-righteous fury, I’m aware that “eat shit and die” is pretty fucking harsh. Like, you could write off the “EAT SHIT” part as a colorful figure of speech not meant to be taken literally, but “DIE” is so explicit. Succinct. Final. And, almost all of the time, I do not actually wish death upon the people I hurl this curse at in my head.

Most of the time in recent years, I catch myself when I venomously mutter “EAT SHIT AND DIE”. I catch myself in full awareness that even if someone could stand to be, like, reprimanded or issued some kind of citation, the punishment of eating shit and dying is going WAY overboard and pretty much uncalled for.

The thing I’m usually really mad and frustrated about is that there is unlikely to be any reasonable consequence or learning or positive change that will take place. A huge portion of my ire and extreme cursing are at the state of affairs that will allow some person’s shitty behavior to continue unchecked or even acknowledged. It’s that frustration and hopelessness that leads, I think, to just wanting to completely eradicate the source of the behavior after illustrating in the most cruel and obscene way how filthy their actions are. It’s a defense mechanism that goes further than merely blocking an arrow, but driving a whole entire homemade tank over the perceived shooter.

The more I listen to the Daily Stoic, the more I’ve found myself halting before the entire “eat shit and die” curse gets out of my mouth. In fact, I started modifying the curse into a “mememto mori”-inspired reminder to myself. A reminder that I am in charge of one person, and my job in life is to stay right-sized and in control of mySELF. I did this by adding adding a comma to the curse, and turning it back around on myself:

Eat, shit, and die.

These are my priorities. These are what I should be concerned with.

I need to concern myself with eating, shitting, and being aware that I am dying. We all are.

It is not my job to mete out punishment, especially for what are usually extremely petty crimes relative to how many people are struggling to eat (or to restrain ourselves from eating too much / the wrong things). How many people do not have access to food, running water, a place to shower or a place to even shit and wash their hands afterwards. How many of our bodies are so busy with bullshit and/or pampered with not enough physical movement and too much food that’s bad for us that we cannot shit right ourselves, even with our own private bathrooms and access to healthy food, clean water, and opportunities to unbind ourselves.

How many times have I been angry at people for something that doesn’t tangibly interfere with my ability to eat or shit? Too many times. So I’m bringing myself back to these basic human-animal needs. Bringing myself back to check on how well or how poorly I am taking care of myself to insure AND RECOGNIZING THAT THIS PERSON I’M MAD AT IS NOT MY PROBLEM. This person I am mad at hasn’t done a single fucking thing to stop me from eating or shitting, while I myself continue to lack the discipline, clarity and control to be healthy in my body even with all of the advantages and privileges and good fortune I have. And that my intense emotion directed at strangers and people who are not doing measurable or intentional harm to me is totally upside-down relative to the gratitude I should be feeling EVERY FUCKING DAY for my good fortune. My indoor plumbing and privacy. My ability to procure food almost whenever I want it from a mind-boggling array of luxurious tasty choices inconceivable to the vaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaast majority of human beings who’ve lived on planet earth at one time or another. HOW CAN A BITCH BE SO FUCKING MAD WITH ALL OF THIS GOOD FORTUNE?!?!?

How can I justify wasting a morsel of energy cursing people to “eat shit and die” — wishing ANY harm to anyone, no matter how fleeting, unintended, or ineffectual — when I have a cornucopia of resources available to make not only my own life so much happier and healthier and GOOD, but other people’s too? How can I pretend I’m making anything better by inflicting MORE SUFFERING (primarily on myself) in the uncomfortable and ignoble moment of making this curse?

Instead I should take each of these opportunities when I habitually wish for someone to “eat shit and die” to look at myself and what I am or am not doing to live life fully, present to alllllllllllllllllllllllllll of the amazing lucky awesomeness I’ve been given, and am cushioned and fed by. Look inward and what I can possibly do with my bounty and aliveness to be fruitful and multiply happiness and peace and sensitivity to all of the amazing sweet things that are going RIGHT all around me, all of the time.

“You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.” -Marcus Aurelius

I want to remember that I am going to fucking die, and it’s likely to be before I’m ready. Before I’m finished sucking the marrow out of life. Do I want to waste even a breath of life wishing suffering, disease and death on strangers? Do I want to quit the jobs that are actually mine to do in order to serve as 24/7 self-appointed judge and executioner in my own imaginary small claims court of trivial offenses? NO.

So I am practicing reminding myself to just eat, shit, and die. And once I’ve mastered those tasks (if that’s even possible), to make better choices with my time, energy and spirit than cursing my fellows.

Some Noises I *LOVE*

 I complain about noisy people a lot: people’s noisy machines, people’s noisy dogs,  people’s noisy fucking phone calls, and people’s useless fucking alarms. I fucking HATE that shit. It’s distressing, distracting, rude, self-centered and tyrannical.

But I don’t actually hate *people* in general or even all of the noises we people make. Even though I might say I do, that’s usually an exaggeration made in defensive frustration.

FOR INSTANCE:

I love the sound of church bells - any time of day or night.

I love the sound of a clocktower bonging on the hour. 

I love the sound of people fucking.

I love our town’s weekly tsunami “siren” test that sounds like a Close Encounters of the Third Kind alien communique.

And (this may come as a big surprise, but) I actually love the sound of children at play.

FOR INSTANCE:

We live near a daycare. Run by an old-fashioned woman who DOES NOT ALLOW THE KIDS TO SCREAM. They make a lot of jolly noise, but none of those piercing emergent injury or stranger danger types of blood-curdling bullshit contemporary breeders seem to encourage and/or ignore while they’re busy on instagram and texting their polyam prospects.

So the other day as the garbage truck was making its rounds through the neighborhood, I heard it down at the end of the block HONKING … followed by the daycare kids CHEERING and LAUGHING. BEST SOUNDS EVER!

I could picture exactly what was going on: the kids waving maniacally at the garbage man, begging him to honk the horn … and the garbage man waving back and making the merry foghorn blasts they requested, and them being so delighted to be acknowledged and honored by the neat-o garbage truck man.

LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE  LOVE 

Small Dog Yapping

Our other new neighbor must have just moved in for real. His lights are on at night for pretty much the first time.

It is Labor Day weekend. The Sunday night before the actual holiday. about 9:30 pm.

The whole neighborhood, for once, is actually very peaceful. Except for one thing:

HIS FUCKING LITTLE YIPPING LAP DOG. It just. Won't. Stop.

I don't know if it's a situation where the dog is not used to the new neighborhood or if the people are just not home and left the dog outside with the lights on inside. Or if it's a situation where people just don't fucking care about anybody around them OR their dog.

It's the end of the summer and quite warm, so we need to have windows open to keep air circulating, not get overheated, and be able to sleep. HOW LONG IS THIS PIERCING YIPPING GOING TO CONTINUE? It's fucking INSANE.

I hate people.

Fuck The SUN

:: the beginning of August, 2024 - western Washington state ::

Fuck this fucking SUN. Give it a fucking rest, already! Can we have some fucking clouds??? Some motherfucking clouds that release RAIN?

Oh yeah ... we *have* had some nice foggy, overcast mornings. Today, for instance. So much like yesterday. Where you wake up and think, "finally some PEACE ... some light diffusion ... some softness." But by the time you spend the best of your energy doing chores and dealing with fucking BULLSHIT, that beautiful grey layer of safety is YANKED AWAY and that cuntface fire fuck is blasting daggers of sizzling bright cook-your-eyeballs energy right at your poor aching migraine head, and making it too hot to lay down and take a nap.

I want to fucking puke. I want to tell everybody to stop saying it's a nice day. It's not a nice day. It's a shit day of too much motherfucking sunshine. Stick the sun up your fucking stupid summer-vacation asses, buttcunts.

This light is KILLING ME.

Royal Pain in the Match

Why I won’t ever play the popular free game “Royal Match”.

WARNING: this gets a bit dark and deeply unpleasant, and may be triggering.

Save the king in Royal Match puzzle game before he DROWNS!

I hate that sniveling grotesque quaking king in the game ads. The sound of his quivering warbling fear disgusts me.

Other people apparently have fun saving him, but I just want the fucker to hurry up and die. Drown, get eaten by the snake, burn yourself up … I fucking hate him. I hate seeing him, I hate hearing him, and nothing about him makes me want to play that game.

I don't think I realized how much the Royal Match King in the ads upsets me until I was making temporary friends with someone on a cross-country train ride. We were talking about apps and games we enjoy, and she brought up Royal Match. I could see the look of horror on her face as I suddenly morphed into a raging spitting bitch, declaring how much I hate The King. I know my entire visage melted into monstrous ugliness as I expressed my vehement disgust with this cartoon character guy that apparently other people think is cute?

This guy is not worth saving, let alone hurrying to help him.

I say this as someone who loves a lot of match3 games (obviously, if I’ve seen so many Royal Match ads that I’m this annoyed by the king in peril - I’ve got to be seeing these ads for the game somewhere).

Writing this post made me google a bit about the Royal Match game. I quickly found out via this post at OldCynic.com that the king-in-peril isn’t actually featured all that much in the game at all! He says,

… the Royal Match app is just like the ads; in that you can rescue the King! But, it’s rare. It’s only on Special levels called the King’s Nightmare.

The old cynic goes on to say that you can even SKIP the save-the-king levels. Phew!

So having read that, do I now want to install and play Royal Match to fuel my match 3 game addiction knowing I do not actually have to see or hear the inept King moron?

NOPE.

Because I don’t just hate the king. In fact, I think the whole entire game is UGLY.

Yup ... even a droopy-brained dog is better at chess than the nose-picking king.

The colors are ugly. The shapes are ugly. The whole look of the Royal Match game is gross and depressing. Compared to other popular match3 puzzle games like Candy Crush, Bejeweled Blitz, and Empires and Puzzles, the design and the sounds are just fucking ugly. Nothing about it is cute or dazzlingly-illuminated or joyful.

I think one of the main problems I have with the game that is not about aesthetics is the message to “HURRY UP”. Hurry up and save this incompetent man with a lazy face who clearly doesn’t even possess a sense of urgency to suck up his own drool in time before it falls and drips down his royal vestments. Have empathy for this king who doesn’t deserve his throne and is going to get the whole kingdom in trouble. I don’t want to be told in ugly bubble letter words to hurry when I’m relaxing, and I don’t want to think about a story where I’m supposed to empathize with anyone, let alone this swollen-lipped stooge. That is not a fun escape (for me, anyway).

Telling me to HURRY UP to save this dumb shit motherfucker doesn't sound relaxing.
Just drown already and let me play a game that is actually pleasurable.

It’s possible that the ads are the problem, not the game itself, and they’re just pitching it to people who are not at all like I am. But of course I wouldn’t know, because the ads are so extremely off-putting to me I will never ever try this game even though it’s possible I might actually enjoy it. I am a person who cannot even bear to have photos of people I love on my desk or hanging on my walls because it’s so stressful and distracting and confrontational, seeing faces and smiles and eye contact. Even when it’s just a flat static image and not an actual human. Like what do you want from me now?!? Oh my god you’ve got feelings on your faces and I’ve got to do something about your feelings and respond to them and I am sure to fail can I not just concentrate on my work for a while? Please leave me the fuck alone with my naturally-flat facial affect!! Who the fuck let you in here?!?

Seriously, the king is almost like my fucked-up stepdad and I’m being told how bad I make him feel by not being more loving towards him. “Help me! Help me!” It’s gross and terrible. I don’t want to save him or be more loving, I just want him to fucking disappear and never open the bathroom door on me again when I’m on the toilet or naked on the precipice of showering.

Royal Match doesn’t look or sound like a charming addictive pleasurable escape into a rainbow bright grid of sweet electric magic with music and sound effects carrying you along on a rewarding easy magic carpet ride. Instead it looks like a second-hand dungeon of seventies furniture. It’s so ugly you can almost smell the mustard and brown plaid couches with the king leaking stale fried chicken and gravy out of his royal ass in a nightmare that takes place at the sadly-run-down Excalibur hotel and casino in Las Vegas.

Royal Match seems like a free buffet in a dingy basement with diarrhea dripping down the walls mixed with the smell of watery overheated green beans all mushing around out of a can, where every metal tub of food reeks of e coli and salmonella and is served by greasy-haired minions wearing unruly sticky comb-overs and filthy aprons with shit under their fingernails.

In the nightmare that is Royal Match’s buffet of kingly peril, you’re invited to load up your plates trying not to slip and crack your head open on cheap steaming moist tiles grouted together with black mold and feces before you try to choke down this absolutely diseased blended-squash-and-rotten-liquified-meat-and-green-peas mush, on the verge of vomiting but being forced to try to swallow it as fast as you can in an act of fealty to this worthless thumb-sucking motherfucker the king.

All the while the king is stuffing his face at the head table making the most pathetic obscene noises as his gastrointestinal distress increases and threatens to explode in a b-movie’s special effects version of a burst colon. What, is he about to cry now? Snot dripping down into his smelly-ass thick facial hair where it will congeal and broadcast an aroma of rotten teeth and stale man-breath?

It’s deeply unpleasant how writing this made me realize how much the king in this stupid game’s ads triggers a morass of extremely yucky feelings about my stepdad. I never made the connection before, but I can see now that it stirs up so many conflicted distressing messages and feelings I received as a child and teen, and memories of actually empathizing WAY TOO MUCH with people like my stepdad who were big gross self-serving unhinged babies and not to be trusted or forced to live with.

I just want to put this nasty bug-eyed fucker out of his misery. The king is beyond saving. I’ll play almost any match 3 game but not this one. I don’t care if it doesn’t have ads. You’d have to pay ME to put up with grotesque nightmare of unfun.

These Goddamned HAIRS

I fucking can't stand HAIRS. Especially my own long strands of bullshit: on the counter, in the sink ... getting wrapped around my fingers.

It drives me crazy: the sensations, their menacing wispy omnipresence. Their motherfucking DEFIANCE.

There is something so fucking gross about them all curled up in slimy wet kitchen moisture when im trying to wipe up the counters.

They are like inanimate ninjas. Tiny tickling ghost zombie legions borne of my own stupid fucking head and its relentless SPINNING SPINNING SPINNING and shedding. Trailing long thin poltergeists of death everywhere I go.

Pedestal STINKS: II

As I try to get the last bit of toothpaste out of the tube and onto my toothbrush, I am reminded again how fucking much PEDESTAL SINKS SUCK!

It's painful enough trying with all the might of my tiny fingers to squeeze any lingering remnants of toothpaste out of a spent tube, but INFURIATING not being able to keep the wee bit of toothpaste extended far enough AND STAY THERE long enough to apply it to the bristles.

It's comical, really. Squeeze with both hands and EMERGE! Let go with one hand to grab toothbrush and ... IT DISAPPEARS!! SQUEEZE! EMERGE! GRAB! DISAPPEAR!

If I had a reliable flat surface to set my fucking toothbrush on and didn't have to HOLD it, THIS WOULDN'T BE A FUCKING PROBLEM. But oh ... PEDESTAL SINK. How fucking ELEGANT and shit this is, half-useless as fuck. There is not enough room to set the toothbrush down without it falling off the edge onto the dirty fucking floor, or just tipping over right at the critical moment because of those soap-holder bumps.

this shit is precarious as fuck, no?

With the house we live in now I'm less likely to totally blame the dude who built it. It's a unique and beautiful creation and we've been lucky to inhabit its spaces for years  He made it with a lot of second-hand and discarded materials, so it's likely the pedestal sink I'm complaining about was salvaged at low or no cost. Aesthetically, it's nice in the super-tiny bathroom space, too.

But from a practical standpoint? Dude ... it would have been fucking helpful to maximize the extremely limited space in this tiny bathroom with a sink with some built-in storage, or just one where if you set your toothbrush on the edge of the sink it wouldn't fucking fall straight into the fucking toilet, which is right next to the stupid sink.

Maybe he even intended to replace it with something better, because it's not even properly attached to the floor. Like, we can just rock it from side to side. It could be lifted clean off the floor, if someone were to be in the mood to pick up a pedestal sink. And I am often in the mood to pick up a pedestal sink, if only to THROW IT OUT THE FUCKING WINDOW, but there is only a skylight in this tiny bathroom, and I"m not quite strong enough to lift the sink above my head AND break the glass. Besides, it would lack dramatic catharsis and would probably not even fly off the roof, but would just land on its side and stay there ... a sink on a roof.

There are a lot of unfinished details in this house ... loose ends of wiring and switches and shit that didn't quite get connected up to actually function. But again, the house is uniquely beautiful, even if a lot of practical things are not fully-functional.

It's a small house, and compromises had to be made for him to fulfill his vision, I guess. Like this one tiny bathroom? It's the ONLY bathroom in the house, and it's UPSTAIRS. Up a beautiful, space-efficient, terrifyingly-steep and dangerous little winding set of stairs. There is no bathroom on the ground floor. It is the furthest thing from accessible for guests with balance issues or limited mobility, let alone anything more challenging. But I guess that's a nice excuse to not be able to host my elderly mom at our place? She's been known to sleepwalk, so even if she can get upstairs to sleep in our bed, I'm petrified she will plummet down the stairs and crack her damn head open if she toddles down the hallway to go pee (in this one bathroom located at the top of the stairs, where one who is unfamiliar with the house in the middle of the night could, even if not somnambulating, mistake the open bathroom door on the left for a closed bathroom door on the right, leading in actuality, when swung, TO THE DEEP DARK DEATH FUNNEL STAIRCASE OF DOOM).

But I digress.

The point I'm trying to make is about PEDESTAL SINKS, and how they are the most pretentious aesthetic dysfunctional insults to the civilized contemporary human with sanitation and storage needs.

If you have space in a bathroom for a fully-functional sink and surrounding surface, but instead choose to install a piece of shit pedestal, AT LEAST install a flat surface and storage adjacent to it. These could come in the form of a period-specific chest of low drawers with a tray placed atop it to be able to set a wet toothbrush whilst protecting the antique wood. I mean, that's just one idea. You fuckers are the ones with the money to "custom build" so you *should* have a superior intellect and problem-solving capabilities but OMG nevermind we all know that is not even remotely true how did you get so rich assholes not talking about our home-builder but like the people selling their homes for the bazillions of dollars with these POS sinks in them.