Tuesday, January 14, 2014

No. You DO NOT actually REALLY REALLY LOVE Books

I just saw this stupid fucking headline and clicked on it:

11 Incredible Bookcases For People Who Really, Really Love Their Books

It's stupid as fuck, like every "incredible" list of bullshit Huffpo & other shitty "news" & hack click-monkey page-view-driven sites concoct is. Let me explain three reasons why:
  • *People who really love books don't fucking waste space arranging them into minimalist flower and treble clef arrangements- they have entirely too many books for that kind of pinteresting bullshit
  • *People who really love books PUT THEM IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER, or have another system which works best when not forcing the books they love into ridiculously ornate geometric patterns on little tiny stupid shelves
  • *People who really love books usually know better than to write shit like REALLY, REALLY!!

But just for the record, I really love the reclaimed ladder the best. Though it's totally annoyingly impractical because the "shelf" isn't deep enough to line up the DIFFERENTLY-SIZED books (nobody who loves books has books that are all the same size) so that their spines are smoothly faced; you can't do that when the books need to touch the wall in order to rest normally rather than balancing just on the ladder. Also: tiny books won't work on that.

So yeah. Totally fucking STUPID. If I see this in your house, I will know you DO NOT, in fact, LOVE BOOKS. Not yours, not anybody's. Fuck off.

Try Saying Thank You, You Self-Absorbed Entitled Fucking Bitch

I just held the door open for a lady walking out of a store carrying a big box.

I did not hold the door open IN ORDER TO receive praise, I did it because it's the nice and right thing to do when someone has their hands full.

She acted like I wasn't even there. No eye contact, like I was put on earth simply to pave her way towards the smooth and easy life she deserves.

Even worse, she had two little girls following her so was teaching them how to be inconsiderate pieces of shit.

I know she is endowed with the gift of speech because I heard her finish a sentence to someone else. And it wasn't like her kids were talking a lot to her (they weren't talking at all) or she was multitasking or carrying on conversations with other people - she wasn't. There was plenty of time and opportunity and silence to fucking say THANK YOU.

*****

She was pretty. With long blonde hair.

I wonder if I'd have felt more or less disgusted if she hadn't been attractive, wearing glasses and pricey winter casual-country wear that seemed like movie props to make her seem crunchier when you know if she were in the city she'd have on a cashmere sweater and contacts. She was dressed like a character on Frasier would dress to go to the cabin with him and Niles, and she put her box and children in her environmentally-sensitive car.

I had a rebuke on my lips (a snotty "you're welcome - have a nice day!" or "don't even say thank you, huh?") but I didn't say anything. And I wonder about that, too. Was I intimidated because she looked "high class"?

Since we started living part-time in Seattle I've been struggling a lot as I see more frequently how fucking shitty people with money are. Like, seriously fucking subhuman.

I know I shouldn't get so mad about things like this, but THIS IS WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD! Isn't it? At least part of it?

Thursday, October 03, 2013

Shitty Receipts with USELESS Information

So we're in an era where
  1. we pay for things with plastic (and we have LOTS of different cards)
  2. STORES PRINT OUT "RECEIPTS" THAT ARE AS LONG AS SANTA'S FUCKING NAUGHTY LIST and you need a special trapper keeper to file the fucking things
So how is it that these fucking stores can spew a mile of tape with all kinds of info on it at you BUT NEGLECT TO INDICATE WHICH CARD YOU USED TO PAY FOR YOUR PURCHASE???

Seriously??? What the fuck is wrong with this stupid world? It makes NO MOTHERFUCKING SENSE.

I shouldn't need to log into every single one of my credit card and debit card accounts online to try to cross-reference every fucking purchase in an attempt to figure out which account was charged or debited for my motherfucking  tampons and new shoes and wart removal and what-have-you.

GAH!

I could throw a fucking ticker-tape parade with the vast quantities of yards of receipt-ribbons and coupon bullshit cashiers have handed me in the past month BUT I CAN'T GO TO THE PARADE. Because I have to sit here reconstructing every fucking shopping trip like a super sleuth just to balance my fucking checkbook.

FUCK YOU, stores.

Also: handling those receipts give you fucking CANCER.

Oh god you fuckers please SPARE ME the bullshit about how fucking thankful I should be about how much shopping we get to do and I'm so LUCKY to have so many worthless receipts and there are children starving in Detroit who'd give ANYTHING for my binders full of receipts. SPARE ME. If  you want me to do penance and mortify myself before the blessed virgin saints of poverty FINE but this is NOT the way. I'd rather go make cheese out of monk-smegma in a monastery, and that's saying A LOT considering I'm lactose intolerant.

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Your Friend Lost Your Customer

I spot an AWESOME quirky fantastic magical-looking little fortune-teller's cart. It's the end of the summer tourist season, so I go to ask her how long into the future I can find her here.

She's great and magical-fantastical-looking herself,  personable, and answers my question saying, "for sure today and tomorrow but I'm having problems with the city issuing me a permit . . . "

:: insert her friend or sidekick or whatever looking bored with me and steampunk-stylish beside her, fiddling with phone, and trying to get her attention, prodding her with the phone ::

"Oh wow," I say, "they should totally issue you a permit! I've been wondering . . . "

:: friend or sidekick or whatever keeps nudging her with phone and trying to make her look at the phone ::
 
" . . . for years why there isn't an old-fashioned fortune-teller or psychic with a sign up or shingle in town."

:: distracting phone nudging continues ::

As the fortune teller encourages me to write a letter to the editor or something I am pretty much backing away and trying to just leave before I say something to the friend or sidekick or remark on the whole phone business. Knowing that walking away now IS actually a remark on the whole rude phone business.

Seriously. TOTALLY FUCKING RUDE! It's not like I was standing there wasting her time for ten or even five or even two minutes. Not more than thirty seconds and this asshole was basically telling me to go away, and/or couldn't figure out how to say, "I'm sorry to interrupt but you have an important call/text coming in" or "I'm so sorry but you told me to tell you when it's blank o'clock" or "shuttup lady because we have an amazing dick pic to look at". It was like I walked up to the popular exclusive snobby goth table at lunch in junior high to talk to someone cool while her insecure cunt of a friend glowered at me and pantomimed my unimportance. I would far rather she just SAY something rude or tell me to go away rather than having to endure that bullshit.

It's possible the person just has no clue how behavior like that comes across / is perceived and/or is mentally not up to the challenge. I hope she learns to cut it out if her IQ allows for such growth. It really spoiled the magic for me, and I'm glad I didn't have my heart set on getting my fortune told because that rude presence would have totally wrecked it.

One possible explanation that occurred to me as I was walking away was that maybe rude girl recognized me from my porn site or a dating site ad or something, and really wanted her fortune-teller friend to be able to compare the picture to the person (me) standing before her. That's a long shot, though. And still a super rude way to handle it if so.

Sunday, August 25, 2013

YOUR Feces in MY Garbage?

I commend you, asshole, for picking up your dog's shit. But it's not okay to put it in a stranger's garbage can, you brainless, selfish jackass.

I guess this is the punishment I get for not immediately bringing the garbage can in from the side of the road on garbage day. A bag of FECES at the bottom of the can that we have to pull out, set aside and save to put on top lest the weight of OUR garbage smash it leaving a stranger's feces to soil and stink up our garbage can.

Who are you? Why are you such a fucking asshole? Where's your car? I'd like to shit in a plastic bag and put it in there.

There is no such thing as civilization. I'm telling you. People think nothing of littering the world and other people's spaces with feces. You're disgusting!

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

A Midnight Clear NOW WITH ADDED CHEMICALS!!!

Just after midnight. Christmas day comes to a close. Nearly-full moon.

I step outside to enjoy the stillness of this night, AND SMELL YET AGAIN THE HORRIFYING SCENT OF LAUNDRY CHEMICALS PERMEATING THE ENTIRE NEIGHBORHOOD. Like I walked into a giant chilled box of dryer sheets.

I cannot fucking live in a land of vaporized douche powder. It's disgusting. I hate people. I want to get away from them. I don't want to smell you. You sicken me.

The lack of appreciation for clean backyard air, the inconsiderate freedom people have to needlessly, unproductively pollute each others' outdoor homes perplexes, alienates, depresses, poisons and angers me.

I don't want to be near any of your shitty all-night bright lights, your noisy leafblowers and lawnmowers, your desires to febreeze every inhabited tract of land. Fuck off. Go pitch a tent in the detergent aisle of your nearest discount or grocery store if that's what you want your world to smell like and be lit up by a thousand migraine-inducing fluorescent lights. I hope you sanitize yourself until your skin melts off.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Breaking Down

It's a beautiful day in November - the gloom is gone, making way for bright sun. But I know it won't last long.

While I'm washing the dishes I smell a dead oily fish smell. Something by/near/in the sink smells fishy. It's gross. The opposite of clean-smelling. Where is it coming from????

A month or two ago we cleaned out the fridge. Very thoroughly. That was awesome. And then right when we had a couple of weeks under our belt of preparing food in advance and being very healthy and efficient (which relies upon the fridge), the fridge stopped working. Yes, we rent, so don't have to BUY it or pay for the fixing ourselves, but it's this weird off-brand fridge, that is the biggest thing that will fit in a weird, custom pantry-hole slot thing, so despite calling an appliance-repair place they couldn't help us and is going to require a lot of calling and looking around and even if someone else were to do it all for us, it would suck because that would require being IN OUR HOUSE bugging the fuck out of us. So I've procrastinated on following up on it. The freezer still works and we borrowed our landlord's mini-fridge for the rest of it.

Before that my partner fixed a problem with the washing machine. She also fixed a problem with the sink. TWICE. But anyway, back to the washing machine. So it turns out it's not really fixed. When draining, It ejaculates water all through the laundry "room"/closet, wetting the wood floors, making everything smell of mildew, potentially causing electrical problems as it sprays onto outlets. She thinks it's got a clog in the pipe.

Somehow it's really hard for me to tell our landlord ANOTHER thing is wrong, that some OTHER person will have to fix . . . all the calls, all the management, all the people swooping in but never telling you EXACTLY when, trying to manage and plan everything (that's already hard to manage and plan) around it for work and nakedness and privacy and cleaning up. So I haven't told her about that and am planning to just do laundry at the laundromat so I don't have to think about it, to give some space between the THINGS GOING WRONG, to just do one thing at a time. Except I don't really have time to go hang out at the fucking laundromat. On the other hand: HOT WATER. Even when our washing machine is useable, we don't have hot water in it. Which sucks. Don't ask . . . it's a weird homemade house, which is mostly awesome but sometimes stupid.

*****OMG my long nails are so annoying trying to type and trying to housework ALSO so annoying because of trying to preserve the long nails so annoying just want to cut them off AND not do housework and not try to exploit every interesting thing about my body but still I want to what the fuck gahhhhhhhhh *******

And then today our pilot light on our propane fireplace went out. Twice. And has just been going out for no reason. SIGH. This is too much stuff. I'm sick of it. I hate it.

My phone needs to be charged WAY TOO OFTEN. We have two chargers. BUT WHERE ARE THEY?!? I have to climb way too many stairs and ladders to HOPE to find them.

I'm hungry. But I had to stop and bitch.

*****

And then I felt better after doing this bitching and organizing my medicine cabinet and doing the dishes. Even though it sucks with my long-ass nails. And my back hurts from it. And there's still so much to do. And and and. Fuck it.

OH. And in spite of having bleached/washed out the fridge? There's something new and stinky growing in the clear produce drawer in bottom!!! WHERE DID THIS COME FROM??? Not even using it and it's making a mess.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Dirty Attitude

My butthole is dirty because I pooped four times today (plus a wet fart) and haven't had time to take a shower or do a million other really important things. I tried, but I just kept having to POOP! And the special things take time and I don't just want to plop them out. So I've been a grouchy asshole all day.

I got a fucking SLIVER in my ass from sliding across our wood floor to get under her to take hot pics. IN SWEATS I still got a sliver! I'm afraid it's going to get infected and ruin my life.

The drawing and the romance and the personal importance of it all, the fear of not presenting it carefully enough. The guilt of not presenting anything at all as a wrestle with trying to make it special. The guilt over sharing feelings but not ENOUGH of them so then I feel I've misrepresented people I care about.

I both want to do my job more and do it less. Just when I feel like things are BURSTING with excitement and potential, the next day I feel like quitting. I don't feel like I can do a good enough job and be fair to myself and to other people.

Friday, March 23, 2012

Spring & the Scent of Dryer Sheets

It's a beautiful fucking morning with birds and freshly cut green grass in our backyard.

I'd be out there eating breakfast and enjoying it, except when I step outside I'm assaulted by the noxious mucous-membrane-piercing chemical burn smell of a neighbor's nasty fucking drying laundry being blown out of her house and broadcast throughout the neighborhood.

The smell of fake poison spring has sprung.

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Oscar Night

I don't understand all this love for Angelina Jolie's leg when all I can see are her scary skinny bony fucking concentration camp arms.

We're not actually watching the Oscars, I just am noticing all of these raves for her plunked-out leg posing.

I hate being a bitch like this. But the good thing is I decided NOT to tweet this, and instead am filing it here. In its proper place.

I like lots of things about Angelina Jolie, but HORRORS!!

Saturday, January 14, 2012

Free Shipping

If I see one more email subject line advertising FREE SHIPPING! only to discover it's only free if you spend $50 or more or order the special white elephant product or whatever, I'm going to freak out!

Good Vibrations and Babeland: you are the worst for this. If there's a caveat, put it in the subject line. I need some lube but I don't want to buy $50 worth of it to get free shipping. Gah!

Saturday, November 05, 2011

Sick of Trying

I'm totally fucking sick of trying to be a fucking Pollyanna every time something goes wrong. "Oh! THIS just went wrong / broke / fucking interrupted my flow, but let's look on the bright side . . . I can still switch gears and do THIS other thing!!"

Yeah, while trying to fix the broke thing, while plan B goes up in smoke too, while I have five different things I'm trying to juggle and not-a-fucking-one will work.

So utterly fucking sick of it. Going to throw all six computers out the window and go work in a warehouse boxing dildos or something. And have insurance and when shit goes wrong it's like, "AWESOME . . . a great excuse to sit around scratching my ass while the fucking COMPANY has to pay for it."

Sometimes I just want a brain-dead job where nothing's my fault or my responsibility and I don't need to try to be so fucking awesome because I'm fucking not, I'm fucking stupid and easily frustrated and I cannot put up with this motherfucking bullshit anymore.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Old Lady Perfume Stink

Ahhh, FALL! We have a fresh wind and damp ground, orange maple leaves against blue sky . . . and the hideous stench of old-lady perfume coming from one of our neighbors' dryer vents. It's FILLING our entire backyard.

That should so totally be illegal, being able to blow noxious nerve gas stink all throughout the neighborhood.

I don't want to hear you, I don't want to see you, and I definitely don't want to fucking SMELL you and your scary haunted-mansion talced-up dusty-pot-pourri underwear scent.

Friday, April 08, 2011

Take the Plank out of your EYE!

I find myself really irritated when a customer writes a nitpicky hypercritical email and then I waste a whole SHITLOAD of time replying to the guy who doesn't appreciate us as much as the members who are HAPPY with our work who I rarely spend as much time writing to. Then what really REALLY annoys me is when their fucking email addresses are wrong or they have some stupid-ass email service or internet provider that refuses to deliver the email.

SO. FUCKING. LAME.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Discontinued: Redken Blonde Glam Pure Pearl

WHY did Redken discontinue their Blonde Glam Pure Pearl treatment? It worked, it made my hair feel good, and it SMELLED LIKE HEAVEN IN A SEXY TAN COCONUT.

I'm not the only one who's pissed and bitching about it being replaced; check out these reviews on "Pure Platinum":

Horrible replacement: This product is so bad in comparisson with PURE PEARLE. I don't understand why it was discontinued. Unlike after using pure pearl you now need to use the conditioner. I am not buying this one any more. It is horrible.

And

BRING BACK PURE PEARL: Why discontinue a product that was so good and replace it with something sub-par. BRING BACK PURE PEARL. If I knew it was going to be discontinued and replaced with this I would have stock piled.
And
Terrible compared to the discontinued pure pearl: I started using this after Redken discontinued the Blonde Glam Pure Pearl Color Activating Treatment, which was phenomenal. It doesn't make my hair feel nearly as soft or shiny as the Pure Pearl, and the smell of this compared to the Pure Pearl - sucks!
 You don't even know how fucking hard life can be for blonde bitches. SO FUCKING HARD and full of product disappointments. I'm about to shave my head. But don't worry, I'm leaving the rest UNGLAMOROUSLY HAIRY!!

Friday, July 02, 2010

Queen Size THIS, motherfuckers!

One of the biggest petty banes of lower-middle-classdom has got to be ill-fitting "fitted" sheets.

Dear Target & JC Penney: we're sick of being woken up at night by the "thwunk" of elastic as the corner of the sheet by our heads comes loose off of the mattress and bounces into our faces. Pulling and tugging TO NO AVAIL because YOUR FUCKING SHEETS ARE TOO SMALL.

I can live with sleeping on cheap sheets that feel like burlap sacks -- we aren't asking for softness when we buy low-price sheets -- but DON'T FUCKING CALL THEM QUEEN SIZE IF THEY'RE NOT. Do not skimp on the AMOUNT of fabric.

Man, I hate your fucking guts motherfuckers. Pulling and tugging OVER and OVER. I wish every time we tried to pull the corners back over the mattress that whoever is responsible for this cheapness would feel the same tugging on his or her tongue and/or balls and/or hemorrhoids.

Thursday, July 01, 2010

Enjoy nature AND GET OFF YOUR FUCKING PHONE!!

Taking a walk on a woodland path -- no power lines, no electricity, supposedly peace and quiet -- some fucking bitch is YAPPING ON HER FUCKING CELL PHONE. Why the fuck don't you stay home and get on a treadmill? The sight and sound of you disgusts me. I know that's a hideous thing to say and even worse to truly feel, so I'm working on it and trying to be kinder.

Then we encounter a cunt who is not only talking on her phone, SHE HAS IT ON SPEAKERPHONE!! So *EVERYBODY* gets to hear some damned fool yapping in that electro-microwaved amplified lo-fi way. YOU INTRUSIVE INCONSIDERATE CUNT!!!

I hate people and I hate their out-of-touch device addictions. Get in touch with your surroundings and the people present in your physical space and GET OFF THE FUCKING PHONE, shitholes!!

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Out of Sale Items

GodDAMN it!! I hate it when I go to the store for ONE THING that's on sale -- only going to the store to stock up on that one thing BECAUSE it's on sale -- and they're fucking low on it or out of it so I invested time and gas in the journey for nothing!!!

STOCK UP ON YOUR FUCKING LUNA BARS, ASSHOLES!!!!

Same goes for motherfucking emergen-c!!!!

I won't even go into detail about the tragedy of a month-long sale that suddenly DISAPPEARED mid-month and I waited around to talk to a manager to found out why. Her answer gave me no satisfaction, let me tell you.

And rainchecks seem to be a thing of the past that only annoying old ladies ask for, apparently.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

The 5th of July???

Who celebrates the fucking FIFTH of July? Cinco de Julio? What the FUCK? Never heard of it.

But the post office is taking that day off. Give me a fucking break. The holiday is on Sunday, not Monday. SUCK IT. Do you think credit card companies are going to call it a holiday? No, they'll just say our payments are late.

I guess I should have planned for this in advance, but seeing how it makes NO COMMON SENSE, I thought the mail would be delivered as on any non-holiday on Monday the 5th of July.

I was wrong.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

More Bitching about Neighbors

I even feel bitchy about our mostly-GOOD neighbors. Because the truth is that I do not want to have visible neighbors at all.

I don't want to see my neighbors, I don't want to hear my neighbors, and I don't want them to see or hear me.

I don't want to see their dog, or see/smell/step in their dog's shit, especially in our own fucking yard. I don't want to live close enough to a neighbor's yard that wherever they throw their dog's shit or direct their dog to squat that the smell of it drifts over to my life in my yard. Especially if they have a black lab or large dog with soft, wet, giant shits.

I don't want to HEAR my neighbors' dog(s), and especially do not want to hear that low, persistent woofing for sometimes hours without ever once hearing my neighbor say "shuttup" to the pesky motherfucker. I also don't want to hear any neighbors' tiny dogs and their chirpy, anxious yip-yip-yipping.

I do not want to hear my neighbors at all. Not his daughter's boyfriend parked in the driveway talking on his cell phone like a little bitch, not his worker bees, not his friends, not his cunt of a lazy ex who honks when she pulls up instead of hauling her fat ass out of the car.

I do not want to hear my neighbors' power tools or hammers or engines starting up or car doors slamming or VOICES. I don't want to hear any of that EVER.

I don't want to hear my neighbors' engines revving or cars warming up. And I don't fucking EVER want to hear the sound of a large vehicle's back-up warning system, those brain dead beeps you can hear from blocks away. I am glad that I learned this because now I know never to ever live within a mile of any place any sort of dump truck, loader, pick-up & delivery vehicle, or garbage truck visits regularly. No carpet store, no nursery with landscaping materials like bark, no city facility with large mounds of gravel.

I don't want to see my neighbors' friends. I don't want to know who they are, and I certainly don't want them thinking they can cut through my fucking yard to get to his.

I don't want to see or hear my neighbors' kids or even know they have any, whether they be screaming infants or sullen teenagers. I don't want to wonder whether or not I should call them cops when they have a party or a fight. I don't want to fucking KNOW if they're having a party or a fight. I want no auditory or visual or olfactory evidence of those things to penetrate my peace and quiet in the center of my property.

I don't want my neighbors animal shit or dead-car fluids or septic tank seepage or lawn and garden chemicals to sully any of my own groundwater or picturesque streams.

And if a cougar ventures into my yard I want to be able to kill it. With a gun. I guess that's a little off topic.

I don't want my neighbors to know whether or not our lawn is mowed or whether or not we even HAVE a lawn. I don't want them to know whether or not there's moss on our roof or if I'm standing paralyzed in the morning dew feeling wet grass tickle my ankles. I don't want them to know what I'm wearing or not wearing when I'm inside or outside. I don't want them to gawk when my girlfriend absent-mindedly sticks her hand in her bra and fondles her breast while standing at the kitchen window.

I want to be able to shoot anybody who trespasses, and for it to be obvious what is mine and how you should fucking keep out. I don't want any fucking public trails inviting strangers to mosey on by or through, way too fucking close for comfort. I probably wouldn't ever shoot someone, but I at least want to be able to look at them with extreme hostility and tell them they're not welcome, not now and for their own safety, not ever again.

I need a buffer. A deep, wide, green, dark buffer no one can see through. I want to make believe that I am untouchable by people surrounded by a thick denseness of forbidding nature. I want to have chickens, but I don't know about roosters because they are loud, and they are loud in the morning, which is the worst.

I understand how mean and unsociable it is to not want to get to know your neighbors. To pretend they don't exist and avoid making eye contact with them. I do think that is missing out on something good. But I feel in my bones that I'm missing out on more by not having quiet wet growing places all around me to explore and get to know intimately, like I and my closest family are the only ones to smell and touch and investigate and hear them in all the decades that I live there.

I'm sad that the possibility of having this kind of freedom from others and privacy is nearing impossible. IS impossible if even a small percentage of the people in the world demanded it. That this place is just overrun with people and their sounds and their dog shit and their own shit.

I feel sort of petrified by the fear and likelihood that I'll never have this. That there will always be neighbors in my peripheral vision. That I'll never be able to melt into green invisibility.

Even if you're able to afford a few acres out in the woods or country, sound carries farther where it's quiet so you just need more. And you have to be constantly vigilant everywhere now for where they'll put the next landfill or development or resort or border patrol station. People are everywhere and most of them show no regard for maintaining a big space cushion between each other. They show no shame over their sounds and growling oversized useless pickups and stupid fucking mobile phone conversations. I SHOULDN'T KNOW THIS MUCH ABOUT YOUR STUPID LIFE!! Not without using stealth, anyway. Or reading your stupid blog (like this one).

I don't want to see the headlights of the cars pulling into my neighbors'. I don't want them to be able to penetrate the gloom that should surround me.