Regression of Civilization

We are not becoming more civilized. With alllllllllllllll of the advancements, all of the access to information, all of the TOOLS ... we are becoming LESS civil. Accomplishing less. Squandering more. Advancing not towards more beauty, more kindness, higher qualities, more wisdom, better health, more wealth FOR ALL ... instead we're advancing into dark, stupid, hateful, ugly territories of decayed values, inconsideration, disrespect for ourselves AND others, and absent morals. Missing a sense of responsibility to be WORTHY of pride,

I already knew it, but ... I didn't really want such ugly proof I was right.

It's NOT 2016 Yet, Assholes

I live on the WEST COAST. The PACIFIC NORTHWEST coast.

It's only fucking 9:03 PM here and some shitholes have been blowing up fireworks for the past three minutes like they don't know where the fuck they're at.

Go back to the fucking east coast if that's the way you want it, dickstains. And you better pack up all your fear-of-nature noise-polluting New Yorker bullshit and take it home with you. I don't want to hear it, and I don't want to see you wearing ballcaps and jerseys supporting your fucking east coast sports teams, either.

Happy fucking new year, assholes.

Barking & Bitching

I'm *really* excited about the dog barking in our neighborhood. At THREE O'CLOCK IN THE MOTHERFUCKING MORNING.

Oh ... nice. It just stopped AFTER, LIKE, FIVE MINUTES or whatever as soon as I typed that. I guess five minutes isn't a really long time. UNLESS YOU WERE FUCKING SLEEPING.

I wasn't. So it just gave me something great to exuberantly bitch about!

*****

I've got a lot of bitch drafts in the hopper, just waiting for the right time to post them.

One of these days ...

Splurging on Dinner Out with YOUR FUCKING BABY

Dear assholes who take your fucking babies to fancy restaurants: PAY FOR EVERYBODY'S MEAL.

When you bring your crying infant or noisy child to an expensive restaurant YOU ARE EFFECTIVELY RUINING PEOPLE'S NIGHT OUT. One they may have saved for a month for. That they are not paying $17-$50 a plate to eat accompanied by the sound of you trying to baby-talk your child out of screaming, or train them how to sit in a high chair ("sit your bottom down :: sit your BOTTOM down :: SIT your bottom down :: SIT your BOTTOM down! :: SIT YOUR BOTTOM DOWN!") or endure the drama of your precious toddler choking while you throw it over your knee and whack it repeatedly in the spleen.

What kind of a fucking asshole are you? You're a shitty self-centered fuckwad with too much money. I'd be happy to relieve you of all of it minus cab fare to get you the fuck home and away from everybody's else's grown-up dinner.

There is a difference between The Old Spaghetti Factory or a family diner and a pricey restaurant with walls lined with drugs (aka alcohol). Your little fucking child does not belong there. If the average price of an entree is over $15, YOUR BABY SHOULDN'T BE THERE. *****ASSHOLES*****

This is for you, mouthbreathers at The _____ Grill on this Friday in Seattle tonight. I don't know if it was the parents' choice, or the grandparents perhaps insisting NO IT WILL BE *FINE* KIDS! OUR TREAT!! LITTLE FUSSY HONEYPANTS WILL BE JUST FINE THERE!!

Actually I really blame restaurants for this. You have no fucking business allowing barefoot people, dogs, folks with their dicks hanging out of their pants or wee ones into a restaurant where you charge those kinds of prices. Your food is delicious and worth it, but you should comp everyone or give the whole house deep discounts if you compromise the entire dining experience by letting morons in with their noisy little creatures.

Now that I think about it, I would MUCH rather sit next to a barefoot dog with its dick hanging out of its pants in a nice restaurant than a baby, okay?

FUCK PEOPLE IN RESTAURANTS WHO BRINGS THEIR BABIES AND/OR TALK ON THEIR PHONES. FUCK YOU. FUUUUUUUUUCK YOUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!

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?

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!!

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!!

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.