....And then I remebered I was in Brooklyn.

My work neighborhood never really has much to offer me in regards to peaceful, scenic atmosphere. I do not get the warm fuzzies of safety walking to and from the train. I work in the Hood where people are aggressive, angry, and suspicious of any outsiders. It is a dirty neighborhood because the people that live here do not seem to care about the environment they live in and will dispose of anything (mostly used condoms and Chinese food) on the sidewalk or in the street. Don't get me wrong, I am sure there are many great people that live in this neighborhood, but lets face it, they live in a shit hole and don't seem to care. It is a neighborhood that the city does not send plows to in the middle of a blizzard, which I am convinced is because they will get their plows jacked. It is the neighborhood that is home to Jay-Z, Mos Def, Spike Lee, and The Notorious B.I.G. Need I say more?

Today I was taking a walk at lunch time, when I was stopped in my tracks by this little girl (about 5 or 6 years old) playing in the snow. I have never had the urge to stop and look at anything here, since Article 2 Paragraph 1 of "The Rules of the Hood Survival" state:

When you are asked a question on the street, the answer is ALWAYS

"I ain't seen nothin"

This rule is a lot easier to follow if you have in fact, not seen anything. So I stood on the corner with my back to nothing but a wall (This is also rule in the bylaws) and looked at how cute this little girl was. She was dressed in a cute little pink snow suit and looked completely content, working alone at building a snowman. She was oozing with childhood innocence and looked as though her parents hadn't messed her up too bad, yet. I stood and watched her as she methodically build her snowman. She seemed to think out ever step and would go back and correct anything she was not happy with. It appeared that she was a perfectionist building herself a perfect new friend. She finally finished and took a step back and appeared to be admiring her work.

It turns out admiring was what she APPEARED to be doing. By the time I could even process what was happening this "cute little girl" charged at the snowman, jumped in way she could land an elbow through the head of the snowman and then proceeded to punch and kick the snowman until he was a sad pile of broken dreams, all while screaming profanity at the snowman. It was like she was single handedly responsible for initiating Frosty into a gang. I realized it was time to get out of there when she spit on the pile of beat up snow. I walked away and pretended I had not seen anything (those are the rules after all) and thought happy thoughts that, no matter how bad the economy gets... I will ALWAYS have clients to work with.

=D vs :D

Me: She used colon D because she wanted to smile real big.
Matt: I like mine bigger. I use equal sign D, but you have to be careful because, depending on the font, it can look like a penis.... just a word of warning.

Welcome to My Wasted Life

Last night I discovered that the last 3.5 years of my life have been pointless. I wish I could say this is the first time that has happened, but there was that 5 years I spent in a horrible town called "The home of the bible thumping Baptists"or maybe it was called Lagrange, GA, it was definitely one of the two. I moved there for college since I assumed college was necessary if I didn't want to end up homeless on skid row, carrying the love child of a tranny hooker named Monique. (it is amazing what Catholic School will have you believing by the time it is over). There were also those 2 years of grad school that I only did because I was told I "would make more money and earn more respect". Too bad that advice came form a guy working with computers, who had little understanding that a M.A. in Social Services paid less than a tranny hooker named Monique makes turning tricks and offers about the same amount of respect. So yes, it seems that there is a certain established cycle here, so it should not shock me to learn that my entire existence in NYC is completely inconsequential, but somehow I find myself shocked and heart broken.

I moved to Manhattan more than 3 years ago with big dreams of doing something great with my life, and by that I mean, I have worked hard to for over 3 years to hail the cash cab. I wanted a red light challenge. I wanted a street shout out. Every time I get into a cab I put on the surprised face, that I have practiced for hours and hours in the mirror, then I look at the roof of the car where the lights are supposed to be going crazy and then I scream "OH MY GOD I CAN NOT BELIEVE I GOT IN THE CASH CAB". Most cab drivers ignore me and ask where I am going, but never once has Ben bailey turned around and welcomed me to Cash Cab. I am aware I may look stupid with my cab routine, but it is my main dream in life and I want to be ready when it is time.

This dream came to an end last night while I was watching TMZ. They were interviewing the only man that was capable of making all my dreams come true, Ben Bailey, and at the end of the segment the gallery of stoners on TMZ started talking about how Cash Cab is set up and they hold auditions for wannabe actors to get on the show. I was smacked with the reality that, once again, I have wasted years of my life working for something that was never going to happen in the first place.

Now not only am I not going to live out my dream but I also can't even watch the show anymore, because the way my life has gone I am totally convinced that it is only a matter of time before Ben pulls over and picks up Monique.

Sky Writing is Hard To Do Wall-To-Wall

I should start by saying, it is not MY guilt that is in question here. It may seem like I live in a glass house, since I will often sit on the couch 10 feet from Matt and start a chat window with him in Facebook (but in my defense the "what do you want for dinner" game gets on my nerves when it is done out loud) and I rarely ever call anyone anymore since I already know how they are since I can stalk them on FB and I may rely on my "friends" to post news stories so I know what is going on in the world and I spend my work day feeling like I am hanging out with old friends since I am constantly on my phone reading status' and I really enjoy the uncomfortable updates that so and so "has changed their relationship status to single" and getting to relish in the fact that I knew it would never work out from the start. So yes, it may seem like I live in a glass house with what I am about to say, and you may be right.

**sidenote**I should stop here and make it clear that I DO NOT think it matters what kind of house you live in, you should not be throwing stones, unless, of course, you are being chased by zombies, are at a Justin Beiber concert, or trying to deter kids from walking on your lawn.**over**

It makes me really sad that people have let FB replace the phone, the singing telegram, personal email, sky writing, blimps, and pigeons posts. Today I got an email, through FB of course, that let me know one of my good friends has been attacked by a body snatcher. (She used the word pregnant, but let's just agree to call it what it is) Don't get me wrong, I appreciate that I get the info before the big FB blast, that is no doubt on its way, right before the black and white photos from the parasitic growth inside her abdomen and the pictures of her naked belly with her defunct belly button, all of which are only meant to act as suspense builders to the day she posts the size of her womanhood for every to see (yes that is right ladies, for all of you that do not know, 'dilation' is actually the size of your woo woo).

I DO feel special that I was given this information before that guy on her friend list that she has not talked to since 5th grade, but I wish society has not instilled in us that all our communication has to be through FB. I am not trying to be high maintenance or anything, but it seems that when saying:

"Hey friend, I am going to the other side of the cold war. it's been nice knowing you",

you should AT LEAST send a singing telegram.

When I said "Everything", I meant salt, garlic and poppy seeds NOT vengeance, wrath and brutality!

It started off like any other morning... waking up 2 minutes before the alarm clock going off and getting pissed off because only old people do that and then spending my extra 2 minutes laying in bed thinking deep thoughts like "How much DNA could you find if you swabbed any street corner in NY?". Everything was familiar about the morning, little did I know there was a coup d'é·tat being planned. That's right, my ninja knives decided that today was the day that the bagel would win the fight. Needless to say, the knives are no longer allowed to hob-knob with the bread items, because they obviously can not be trusted not to start a revolution. The only victim during the uprising was my thumb (my other fingers that got grossed out and maybe the hard woods, any ideas on how to remove blood from wood floors?) I stood with rivers of blood streaming down my arm and grabbed a towel. I, being built of major toughness, continued to get ready for work thinking that I would stop bleeding eventually. About 30 minutes later, my plasma was still seeping out of the towel. I decided I needed help to wrap my finger. The only one that could help was Matt and he was asleep. I know he does not like to startled from sleep, so I went up to the bed and took the towel off and stood there as blood was dripping to the floor and screamed "OH MY GOD I AM GOING TO DIE!!!!!". Once I was convinced he was up, I told him I was joking (he plays it cool but I know he loves these games). He helped me wrap it and I went to work.

It only took me about 5 minutes for work to get mad at me. Which I need to stop here and vent about how unfair this is. We allow clients to enter the building EVERY DAY that smell like 5 sumo wrestlers ate burning tires and then took a dump on them, they drool all over themselves, get their menses all over the chairs (the 3pt word is intentional since this is a classy page and will never again talk about period here), they piss and crap themselves, and when they are not dropping something out of their mouth onto the floor, they are dropping it on you. SO I was a little offended when people at work decided to complain about me dripping blood all over the place. I was sent home to go get stitches.

I went and got my finger super glued, seriously, they super glued it and after 4 hours of constant bleeding, it stopped instantly. If I knew being a doctor involved art supplies I would have totally gone a different direction. Then they gave me my tetanus shot which I only mention because it has the word anus in it which made my arm feel like it was burning from the inside until I went to bed.

So know I am stuck without the use of a thumb for a week. Here is a list of ways you take your thumb for granted:

• taking off pants (leading me to almost pissing my pants)
• typing
• showering
• double fisting my adult beverages
• Smoking meth
• unscrewing to cap on the flask I keep at work
• thumb war
• sing where is thumb-kin
• making a proper fist to punch people in the face
• -and so many more-

But the silver lining: With my bandage, every day gets at least 1 thumb up, and I have changed up my finger prints which I firmly believe may be useful one day.

You Look Like Little Birds Helped You Get Dressed

You may have noticed an absence here lately, and that would be because I have fallen madly in love with a trucker named Bubba I have recently been sucked into a black hole of suckage. I know, I know, you look at my life and say "hey, your life kicks a**, you got 432 multi-color, super bendy straws for you birthday which guarantees that you can use one straw a day and your friend Vodka will be delivered to your liver in the most funky way for the next 1.18 years (unless I decide to share with a guest, which is unlikely because in order to earn the right to one of my bendy straws you pretty much need to give me a midget that is comfortable living in a closet when he is not conducting dance parties and making tasty beverages to go with my bendy straws)".

Anyway, back to the suckage. There has been a whole lot of suckage going on lately, but today I woke up with a new outlook. I decided that I am not going to let the ill mannered boss, or the constant sewage smell at work, or the fact that Richard Simmons is stalking me bring me down anymore. I have tried everything lately. My tiara only offers moments of relief and, on average, I am having to do a 10 second dance party every 1/2 hour, which means last week at work I danced it out for a total of 800 seconds. I try really hard to hide my dancing secret at work, but lately I am running to my office, closing the door and coming out in 10 seconds with sweat on my face. People are starting to talk. Time has come, for me to get serious.


There is a well known fact, to people that know it, that Socks are a great coping skill. I only wear Mary Janes to work, so I have a good view of my socks everyday. Normally I am conservative with my neutral colored stripes that match my outfit, but on days when I need to perk up or when I have a meeting I do not want to be a part of or when I need to divert my inner rage, I will act out. Today I am wearing my rainbow socks, which I have already been told this morning do not match what I am wearing, which I find to be the most ridiculous thing since these socks have every color on them and I know for a fact my sweater matches AT LEAST one of these colors.

Just when I think i am alone in all my behavioral techniques, I get to work and start playing Scrabble doing really important work things, when I look down at my work friends' shoes and notice he is wearing these. I think it is his subtlety that makes us friends.

Porn and Grandparents, Do Not Mix

I was going through the new releases on Netflix..... oh, you didn't know? I will be 32 this weekend and, naturally, this means I start planning my wild weekends no later than Wednesday by pulling out the trusty whirl-E- gig laptop while sucking on my Werther's Original and filling my movie queue on Netflix. Anyway, as I was going through the new releases, I saw Lonesome Dove and was shot back into "Traumatic Memory Zone".

I have watched Lonesome Dove exactly 1 time in my life. I was a kid, about 7 years old, and I was staying at my grandparents house for a bit of the summer. They loved watching boring, crappy movies, in all their Technicolor glory. Staying with the grand'rents would always lead to a boring night where I would lay on the floor in my perfectly constructed blanket fort, built out of fleece and dining room chairs, in front of the TV and watch whatever my grandma would want to watch that night (because no one argued with grams, those were the rules). One night, her selection was a Western/tragedy/romantic flick called Lonesome Dove. It was a miniseries, so on VHS that meant a 2 NIGHT EVENT!!!! I sat and watched this movie with my grams and gramps for 2 nights, almost 6 hours, AND THEN....... there was a scene with a red headed woman where she was not wearing any clothes and there was a man on top of her.......

....and to this day, all I remember about this miniseries is that there is a sex scene with a red headed woman. I was so traumatized by this scene, that I didn't move until the credits rolled because even though I was young, I was smart enough to know that it is a bit awkward to watch porn with your grandparents. I must have amazing defense mechanisms, because I had blocked that memory for 25 years.

Boys Will Do Anything For Cookies.

Matt and I went out for lunch and had a few beers. On the way to the train we see a Blood Drive bus.

Matt: Hey want to go give blood and get all f***ed up?
Me: Will they take our blood if we have been drinking?
Matt: That is the game... we can't tell them that part.
Me: Well I am anemic and they won't take my blood, but do you think they still give free t-shirts, because I would get one for trying and that would totally be worth it.
Matt: We could get free shirts, feel light headed AND get free COOKIES!!

Pregnancy Changes Center of Gravity.... Is That Why Keg Stands are Inappropriate?

I got exactly 31 emails at work today and 17 of them were about parties. Apparently, every single person I work with is quitting, having a baby, getting married, or retiring. This not only means that I will now have to attend 5 parties that I could care less about, but that will be 5 hours of my life I will not get back. It also means that I need to give up between $25 and $50 for "presents" and I also have to make some shitty food dish, that no doubt will end like it did last time, when everyone got all upset that I used special ingredients to make my brownies or when I convinced everyone to drink the Jesus Juice. I have never been able to figure out why people get so uptight about making sure the mother-to-be enjoys the party as much as you do. I am guessing by the baby bump that it is because everyone knows what a slut she can be at a party. I still stand by my argument that I don't think it should be called a "Pot Luck" if none of the dishes are "Lucky".

After sitting here all day being copied on the party planning emails, that I am excepted to weigh in on, I find myself rather angry. I think it is mighty presumptuous of them to think I care about things that make them happy. Ultimately, they are asking me to celebrate someone that is quitting, which I interpret as "I am too good to be here with you guys, I have found better people to spend my day with", why the hell would I waste my special brownies on someone that feels that way. Then the one that really gets me is that everyone feels I need to be excited because you are getting married or having kids. I do not believe in either of these things. They might as well tell me I have to give $5 AND cook for god or Iowa.

Just another reason I hate work and feel like the gods are constantly pointing and laughing at me.

Mrs. Butterworth is Soooooo 2009

"A man's worth can be measured in how many trophies he has won."

I think it was God that said that, but it may have been me, I can't recall right now. It is an important statement for my friend Lucia. She made it public knowledge that she has never won a trophy IN HER ENTIRE LIFE. How is this possible? I have stolen won tons of trophies in my life, most of them my mom sold at a garage sale, along with my Snoopy Sno Cone Maker (which is just another mark on the list "Things I May Never Forgive My Mother For"). Anyway, while all the dirty kids shopping at my moms garage sale were buying up all my trophies, so they could pretend their life was worth something, I saw my self worth going down the toilet. You see Lucia, it was at this point that I was worthless, just like you. This lasted for years, until March of 2010.

I was on a cruise where I had mad skill in a Roulette Tournament and Fred entered my life, fair and square. Fred is my most prized possession.Whenever I get upset or have a bad day , I can come home and talk to Fred. He is incredibly superior to Mrs. Butterworth, who I used to have to rely on before I had Fred, and let's face it, she is a Bitch. I thought I would take this opportunity to make Lucia feel even worse about not having a Fred encourage Lucia to go out and find something she can win.

Meet Fred.

He is always the life of the party. He likes to spin me mad beats to cheer me up or when it is time for a 10 second dance party.

He even gets along with Matt.... here he is helping Matt build a mobile


He helps encourage me to exercise.


He always gives me options when making me a drink.


and he always passes out first so I don't have to feel like the biggest alcoholic at the party.

Lucia, if you can't find something to win at, I would suggest going to a kiddie pageant and kicking the little princess over as they come out and stealing their Fred's. It will be worth it!!!!

Commune, Party of 9, Your Table is Ready.

There are exactly 8 people on this Earth (no more, no less) that I would want hanging out with until I die. (for the rest of you, don't get your panties in a wad, I like you too, just not THAT much) These people are from various phases of life starting in preschool and ending in professional life. Some I have spent tons of time getting to know and some have moved away before that could happen, but not before I could realize that you belong on the short list. The one thing they all have in common is that they live all over the US; far, far away from me. California, Arizona, Washington, Georgia, etc. I am hoping these 8 people know who they are because I am about to propose an offer.

I would like for us to move to the same neighborhood and hang out with one another until we die. It really can be this simple. I would prefer that we all live next door to one another but as long as we can walk to each others house, I will be happy. Now I am not one to be COMPLETELY selfish, so here is what I am offering in return:

I will vow to make Matt grill out Farmer's Market Sausages at least once a week. If you ever get sick I will bring you Toy Story DVD's with Banana Popsicles. If you have a bad day at work, I will invite you over to eat Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls for dinner and even let you help ice them. I will always be there to punch you in the face when you are stupid. I will bring you Justin Bieber CD's and porn and promise not to tell anyone that you asked for them. If you gain weight, not only will I still like you, I will go shopping with you at Old Navy to buy new "fat clothes". If you get too drunk, I will bring you Saltines and Gatorade so you don't die. I promise to initiate 10 second dance parties and not get upset with you, when you do not want to attend. When it rains, I will help you make "water angels" in your front yard. I will come over and hook your house up with a living room fort so you will have a place for alone time. If you ever have a big project to complete, I will let you use my Sharpies. I will bedazzle all of us friendship hats so we will have a clear sense of community. And, lastly, I promise to be your friend until I die.

Are you with me?

Ever Wonder Why There Are Not Bars in Toy Stores?

In my defense, I should start by saying that the world would be a better place if more people had my sense of humor. With that said, I had out of town guests this weekend that were full of awesome ideas. There were a few really great ideas but the best one (as judged by me) included sitting outside at Rockefeller Center in the ice rink area and drinking for the better part of the day. There is something about sitting on an outdoor patio that can make you forget how much you are drinking or how loud you are talking. We sat there long enough for my friend Lucia to request sand in her drinks because she was pretending she was at the beach. We realized that if we were going to make it home we should continue on with our day and leave the bar. This could only mean one thing.... it was time to go to FAO Schwartz. My guests wanted to go to the Muppet Workshop and make muppets of themselves, so off we went.

We arrive at FAO and proceed to the Muppet area where all the 20 something employees are standing there with various puppets. One of them is holding a muppet that looks a little like this....
We were wondering how to get started, so I told Brad he should ask the guy holding the "whore puppet". I was not trying to be rude, I just really thought the puppet looked like a whore. Apparently, the employees are a bit rude, because this is when I realized that the employee was eavesdropping on my conversation and I was corrected that it is not a "whore" it is "a princess". I might have responded by whispering to Brad, "if she is not a whore why is he fisting her". I realize that it would be best for me to go play with the lunchboxes and let my friends build their puppet. I quickly got bored and lonely and went back over the my friends were I realized that all the puppets had whips. I asked if they all came with whips and I was once again corrected and was told they were not whips, but it was the hand control to move the arm. This final correction was when I first noticed "THE LOOK". This may surprise you, but I am pretty familiar with "THE LOOK". It is the type of look that one shoots me to let me know I have possibly crossed over the line that most people find comfort on the other side of. It is the kind of look that says "I have very low tolerance for anyone that wants to make a joke ". It is the type of look that lets me know that this person is working in a toy store not because they need the money, but because they love kids and care about the well being of these kids and I might be a bad influence on them. Ultimately, it is the kind of look that lets me know my time is limited in whatever establishment I am in. That is when I looked around and saw that not only was the guy holding the whore puppet giving "THE LOOK", but so were the other 4 people trying to pimp their puppet. I like to think that we were all just as inappropriate but my 2 friends were actually purchasing a puppet so they got away with their shenanigans. I did not want to ruin the magical moment when "Lucia Puppet" was born so I went away.

Finally, Lucia Puppet was ready and she came out wearing a hippy dress and....YES.... she came with her very own whip.

Moral of the story is when in a toy store, even if a guy has his whole hand up a puppets butt, there is no time when it is ok to use the word "fisting" in a toy store..... and that alcohol makes it easier to deal with all the kids in a toy store. Now I know.

If this isn't the American Dream, than I am not American

I don't know about you, but I am constantly 2 thoughts away from being Steve Slater. I fantasize about exploding and causing a huge scene about every 15 minutes. I constantly have a running stream of cuss words ready to go at a moments notice. I even have a nickname picked out for everyone I work with, should a situation arise that they piss me off. I sit in every meeting visualizing myself standing on top of the table and addressing each person on why I find them to be so stupid. These are things I just THINK about.

My new Hero ACTUALLY went on a PA system, cussed every out (they no doubt deserved it), deployed an emergency slide (who the hell doesn't love a slide), stole some beer (becuase the first thing you want when quitting your job is a cold one) and cruised down to the tarmac at 9.8 meters per second squared and hurried home to his girl where he engaged in celebratory "I just lost my shit and ruined my future" shag. (Of course, that was cut short when the cops showed up).

Mr. Slater picked an interesting time for his display. I had a pretty decent interview yesterday and the reality of potentially walking in and saying "I am fed up with this crap and I am outta here" has become more than a passing a thought.

If I do choose to change jobs, I will be in a position to pull a Slater. I admit, it will not be easy!! We have no glass ceiling at work I can jump through. I work in a basement so rappelling out of my window is not an option. I am not a guy so it is not as easy to spell "I QUIT" in piss on my boss's desk. On top of this, my normal level of "crazy" at work is something the staff has become quite accustom too. I could sit on the floor in the corner and eat Campbell's Cheddar Cheese Soup out of the can and only reply to questions in the voice of Beaker from the muppets and they would not even think twice. I will need to reach to new levels.

I would like officially to go on the record saying..... Thank you Mr. Slater, for throwing the gauntlet down. I ACCEPT your challenge!!

Week in Review: Conversations

On Me:

Friend: "I got you something"
Me: "Seriously, I know you like me but you do not have to bring Frankincense and Myrrh EVERY TIME you come to see me!"
___________________________________________
On Kids:

Matt: "you need to go to showusthecow.com"
Me: "Did you seriously just send me to a site with a bunch of stupid kids dressed up as cows?"
Him: "Someone sent me a funny picture.... I realize that is what I was sending you to, sorry about that"
Me: "uh huh... Are you trying to tell me you want to have a cow"
Him: "Maybe, but preferably one without a baby growing out it"
____________________________________________
On Religion:

Friend: "That's whats good about being an Atheist, you don't have to worry because in the end you are just going to rot"
Me: "I try to not be purely evil, for example I wouldn't eat baby"
Friend: "But I could if I wanted to, and that is my point."
____________________________________________
On Dating:

Me: "OMG, He FINALLY got a girlfriend?!?!"
Friend: "I don't know how he did it but he found a chick that has a thing for big Asian men and swords. He needs to hang on to her"
____________________________________________
On Homosexuality:

Client: "My residence hates me because I am gay"
Me: "What do they do to make you think that?"
Client: "They tell me that I can not write letters to other guys anymore"
Me: "Give me an example of a situation where they said something like that"
Client: "I wrote a letter to another guy that lives there and ALL it said was 'I want to see you naked in the locker room at the pool'"
____________________________________________
On Music:

Matt: "How do know about Slipknot?"
Me: "I have dated a lot of drummers that made me listen to horrible mousic, and I know that the only reason people listen to that shit is because the 'DRUMMER KICKS SO MUCH DAMN ASS!!!' or some something stupid like that"
Matt: *uncontrollable laughter because he knows I am right*

William Hung-1, Failure (formally known as Me)- 0

As I was setting up my Countdown Application for 2012 for my vacation on my phone, I became hyper aware that my birthday is in about a month. I will be 32 years old, and I was hit with the sobering feeling that I am a complete and utter failure at life. (Maybe "sobering" is too strong a word since I am referring to "reality", and let's face it, I haven't felt "Sober" since 1995). I have had 27 years to accomplish certain goals (don't judge me because I squandered away my first 5 years doing nothing). Not only have I not meet any of these goals, but I have not even started working on them.

~I was supposed to be training whales and dolphins by now. The only progress I have made on this is that I finally figured out who lives in the damn pineapple under the sea.

~I was supposed to be an Alligator Wrangler and at this point I don't even have a cowboy hat, much less a bone necklace and tribal tattoo around my bicep.

~I was supposed to be a Ice Sculptor. Once again, NOWHERE CLOSE TO ACHIEVING THIS!!!! I can't even consistently refill the ice cube trays in the freezer. At this rate, I will never get around to carving all 4 Horsemen for outside my door so when the apocalypse finally gets here and the Horsemen divide and conquer, they will see that there are already Horsemen at my door and skip it.

~And finally, the one I feel the most remorse for, is that I was supposed to be an astronaut by now. If only I had not procrastinated for so long, I might have been able to go to Pluto and find that Walt Disney is actually frozen there and convince the world that Pluto not only DESERVES to be a planet but is the happiest planet of them all.

It sucks to wake up and realize that you are a failure, but a little advice, in case you find yourself in a similar situation: Banana pudding with nutter butter cookies and rainbow sprinkles will make you feel like the best loser in the world!!!

May Teddy Ruxbin haunt your sleep if you ever leave me out of fun again!!!

I just picked up on the fact that there is a new game being played at work. If I wasn't always so busy playing on the Internet and looking for Narnia in my file cabinets doing tons and tons of really important, awesome work, I may have noticed sooner that there are still 2 doors in my hallway that has Christmas Cards hanging on them.

I thought maybe you wouldn't believe me so here is proof. (yes that is even a hand made snow flake on the top)It would be insane to think that someone walks through their door every day and does not realize they are still celebrating a season that was over 7 months ago, so I am left to believe that the staff started a game of "Who Can Be More Out Of Date?" and left me out of it.

(which I need to state for the record that this is bullsh*t, since I invite everyone to play ANY game I start, including "Where Did I Put My Phone?", "Whose office did I hide the rotten eggs in?, "Who can name 100 reasons I am the greatest person in the fastest time?", and "Office Chair Roller Derby")

So after I got over the hurt of not being included, I got my game face on and started getting busy. I think I have a good mix of all things old. Kimmy Gibbler and Boo Berry cereal have never let me down before.

I am not sure when the judging panel takes place but it better be before December or I will be the hands down winner.

This is your brain, This is your brain in skinny jeans going *SPLAT*

This weekend I went to a Ska show, like I have done hundreds of times in the past, only this time everyone got younger but me. It was like time stopped and I grew older and no one else did. All the concert goers were looking at me like I was there chaperoning one of the other tweens. It was so bad I saw kids hiding their joint when they saw me standing there. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed having the entire bar to myself and never having to wait for a drink, but it is a lot of responsibility to be solely responsible for the tips the bar tender takes home. (I am fully aware how UN-punk rock it is that I worried about the bartenders tips, only more proof I was too old to be there).

While I was there pondering how the country will function when everyone is 17 year old... I looked down and saw a kid about to lose his lunch/pills/40 oz/whatever. He was sitting on the ground with his head in his hands looking pretty miserable. I could not help but notice the wall of skinny boys in their uber trendy tank tops, skinny jeans and bad hair cuts that surrounded him. They literally formed a wall so that no one would trip over him. One kid was even rubbing his back telling him that he would be fine. I don't know about you, but the code in my circle growing up was that if you couldn't handle what you ingest, you deserve to be left. I could call any of my friends right now and they would say "I would maybe have put him in the corner but hell no am I babysitting him all night". This was the code we lived by and if you didn't want to be deserted in your time of need, then you made sure you could handle whatever it was you felt like using.

I started feeling a little sad for the world. It is not that I wanted to see the kid get left by his friends (or maybe I did), but it is more about the lessons our friends teach us. All that kid learned from that experience is that when he f*cks up, someone will be there to rub his back and tell him that things will be ok. This is not a lesson that will take him far in life. My friends taught each other some serious life lessons that our parents didn't have a chance at teaching us. Our methods were effective and it generally only took 1 bad experience to change your negative behavior.

• If you act stupid, you deserve to have no friends.

• If you say "take your best shot".... brace yourself to get fully punched in the face.

• If you fall asleep first, on the only couch to sit on, be prepared to have a penis Sharpied to your face in the morning.

• If you are too messed up to realize that you are not wearing any pants, it is not my job to tell you.

Just as I was mourning the toughness of our nation, the concert started and some kids rushed the stage and dived off. When the 3rd kid took his leap of faith, the crowd parted and he ate it, face first into the concrete. My faith was finally renewed that at least some of these kids would walk away having learned a big lesson.

Before taking a risk, hope for the best....but be prepared in case you hit the concrete and have to wipe the blood off your face with your Ed Hardy tank top.

The Wheels on the Bus Make Me Drop it Like It's Hot!

For some masochistic reason I decided to go shopping today. Not only do I hate shopping but it is also 102 degrees outside. I was on my way back and was standing at a bus stop in the heat about to die, when bus pulls up. My overwhelming feeling of relief was cut short when I looked up and saw "OUT OF SERVICE" on the top of the bus. Apparently, I am too good looking to pass by I looked as if I was about to die, because the bus door opens:

Bus Driver: "get in, it is too hot out there for you to be standing around"
Me: "You are my favorite person on the Earth"

** I get on the empty bus and remember that there is a rule for this. Anytime, I, and the people with me, get on an empty subway car or bus, a dance party MUST be called**

Me: "Since you are so awesome I will now have a dance party and you are invited, if you so choose"
BD: "well if I must, I must"

We proceeded down 1st Ave to my stop, while jamming out. A few blocks later he dropped me off and we parted ways. As far as best bus rides, this one is SO much better than when I saw the bus driver beat up the 9 year old in the Bronx.

Just when I think I left the crazy at work..... I meet the ketchup

I went out for 132 a few drinks after work tonight with a coworker. As we are sitting there drinking, engaged in completely mature and appropriate adult conversation about the Holocaust, Labradoodles and the crucifixion (the Jesus one), the ketchup on our table decided to commit suicide. No, it was not a respectful suicide, it didn't eat a bunch of pills or run away to jump off the Manhattan Bridge (oh haven't you heard... the Brooklyn Bridge is SO last year, and the 59th St bridge is too groovy for all that death)... NO, our ketchup decided to be completely dramatic and jump off the table onto the sidewalk. Luckily, there was a crazy dude hanging out on the curb that was apparently "triggered" by the pile of red splat and loud noise, because he was able to start screaming about his 19 y/o friend that died yesterday which totally took the attention away from the gory scene of the pile of dead ketchup.

The waitress drink lady came over and saw the horrific scene and sent a guy with a broom over. While he was sweeping up ketchup, with a broom, on the sidewalk, I looked at him and said "I am so sorry for your loss". The sweeper looked up at me and said "no problem, this happens all the time". Shocked that this was a regular thing at this bar, I got a little upset and started my screaming at the sweeper "YOU SHOULD LEARN TO TREAT YOUR KETCHUP BETTER AND MAYBE THEY WOULD NOT ALL BE TRYING TO KILL THEMSELVES". He looked a little confused, and looked at me as if to say "what the hell is wrong with you". I took this opportunity to point out he was the one SWEEPING ketchup with a broom on the sidewalk.

If you want to see me cry, call me Jane

There are some things that I live in constant fear of becoming. I know, I know you are going to try to tell me it is unlikely that I will become a crack whore slinging tricks on the corner, a midget, a cast member of Jersey Shore, or Gary Busey's love child but I assure you, life can take quick turns and *BOOM* you find your self offering a trucker named Bubba a choice between purple or green condoms. I try to not discount that we are ALL just a few life decisions from being what we promised ourselves as children we would never be. (i.e. I made one wrong turn and now I am a therapist). There is a list of things I fear, but this weekend I left home without my wallet and my biggest fear of them all became a very real possibility.

It was the most stressful 4 hours and 32 minutes of my life. Not having an ID means that if I get kidnapped and tossed in the park like bag of garbage, I will become a JANE DOE. Can you think of anything sadder? There are all the normal reasons that this is saddest thing ever:

• It means you have most likely had a REALLY BAD day
• Your family has no idea where you are
• You are probably dirty
• Your favorite jeans are most likely ripped
  
• Your entire name only has 2 syllables
• If your bruises heal and you go out for a much needed beer, you may not get served without an ID
• Even though you may have done nothing wrong, you get a police sketch that gets printed in the papers so when your college professor is flipping through to find the Sudoku puzzle they catch a glimpse and think you are wanted for some horrible crime and mouth "I always knew it" to themselves.

These are all good reason for not being a Jane Doe, however, there is one, more terrifying possibility. It is totally possible that if you leave home without any ID and get kidnapped and your skull gets crushed in before you are dumped in the park like a bag of trash, the police may need make a clay model of your skull to recreate what you look like so your family may recognize you and claim your remains.

I challenge you to tell me there is something worse than having the last images your family and friends will remember of you looking like this.

Tell me who you are... you have a minute and a half... GO!

Last week was Kid week on Jeopardy. My favorite week! I am able to lay the smack down on those snotty little know-it-alls. This week I find myself back to the grind of sitting on the couch at 7:30 watching 3, socially awkward contestants fight over who knows more about 750BC or the government of Djibouti. As I sit here, feeling like less of a person because after 31 years, I still do not know what the damn Potpourri category is about, I am left only to wonder about the mini interviews Alex does after the first commercial break.

These people have 1.5 minutes to tell the world who they are. This is their big chance to make their friends and family proud and to make themselves look like they might not be the nerdy, socially awkward person we all know they are. I find it hard to believe that EVERY SINGLE PERSON that goes on Jeopardy freely gives the dumbest story they can think of, so I am left to think that they are given a formula they, no doubt, HAVE to follow. After much Vodka research, I think I have cracked the code.

topic that is randomly chosen by looking at some ink blots
+
story from at least 10 years ago (since all the recent years are only stories about how you have sold your soul and no one find that funny)
+
from a time in your life that you felt you were much hipper than you actually were
OR
a moment of trauma that you feel you can laugh at now
=
1.5 minutes of complete senseless stupid story that makes me lose IQ

I am willing to admit, that my dreams of going on Jeopardy are as far gone as my virginity, however, I still want my 1.5 minutes to tell my most important story utilizing the Jeopardy Formula.

Alex: It says here that you owned a 2D bird?
Me: HaHa, yes Alex that is right. When I was a child I had a bird that my mother got me for my birthday. My sister and I were laying on the floor one night watching TV and the bird was walking on her back when we fell asleep. I woke up to my sister screaming and looked at the floor and saw the flattened bird that my sister had apparently slept on.
Alex: I bet that was the last bird your mom bought you.
Me: No doubt, that bird sucked!

--Cue inappropriate audience laughter--

Just Another Reason Falkore is Cooler than Brooklyn Dragons.

There are Dragons that live above the elevator at work. I try not to talk about them because the staff freaks out at Bed Bugs, I can only imagine what they would do if they knew we worked with dragons. I know they are there because I am smarter than anyone I work with I hear them all the time when I am in the elevator. They make a lot of mechanical sounding noise, they breathe fire explaining why it is always so hot and sometimes they get pissed and decide they do not want to elevator to work anymore.

I got to work today and get into the elevator, at which point I hear all the dragons going nuts. I have always had suspicion that they have raging parties that start the moment we all leave work on Friday. Naturally, I thought that they partied so hard this weekend that they forgot to settle it down by Monday morning, but by the time I got down to the Basement, I realized that they were not partying at all. They were pissed, and it was going to be one of "those days".

I went to my office and saw on my calendar that I have one of the most dreaded meetings ever today. I decided to make these two unfortunate things work for me.... because when it comes down to it, I AM a Silver Lining kind of girl. So I proceeded to ride the elevator up and down over and over again for 3 hours. I have learned that the dragons enjoy when I do Kung Fu Fighting while alone in the elevator, so I resisted the urge today, because ultimately I was there to piss them off. Instead, I opted for the Macarana to pass the time. I knew I was on the verge of seeing the dragon's true rage when I had to go to my meeting. Not 10 minutes after I left for my meeting, the dragons finally felt the rage and shut the elevator down trapping a client in it. DAMN YOU DRAGONS THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ME TRAPPED IN THERE BUT INSTEAD I SPENT 2 HOURS IN POINTLESS MEETINGS WHEN I COULD HAVE BEEN SITTING IN AN ELEVATOR WAITING ON GOOD LOOKING FIREFIGHTERS!!!!! Falkore would have never let me down like that.
I only tell you this story because tomorrow is "Embrace your Geekness Day", and if you are looking for a way to cheer me up after my horrible day..... I offer you this FANTASTICALLY AWESOME IDEA!

Please don't tell Vodka!!!!

Dear Absinthe,

Every night as I go to bed, I spend a few moments going over the topics that I consider to be approved dream topics for the nights entertainment. You know like zombies, becoming president of the vampires, the four horsemen finally wanting to hang out with me, space camp, Jenny Jones vs. Sally grudge match, escaped convicts, or running through the food court arm in arm with Kirstie Alley. Last night, you snuck into my sleep movie without being invited. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed watching as I was attacked by a Komodo Dragon while all my friends sang Sweet Caroline and sipped you, but I feel that you are coming on to strong.


I only bring this up because we will be hanging out tonight and I do not need you getting the wrong idea. Sure, it is true you make me feel prettier than my tiara does and I really like the warm fuzzy feeling you offer, but I need to be very clear: I AM HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE WITH POTATO JUICE!!!! I have no room for another full time relationship. I know this is hard to hear and you are going to try to change my mind but I think we should make a deal before things get out of control. So I am going off the record and suggesting that maybe you if play your cards right, we could be friends with benefits.


Tootles,

Subliminally Incognito

Welcome Summer

On my way home from work, I broke the monotony by eavesdropping on a couple on the subway:

Girl: "My panties are SO wet"
Boy: "That's hot"
Girl: "Not really, my ass cheeks are just sweating a whole lot"

I almost asked her to be my friend.

Goofus knows that Gallants art sucks... so he pisses on it

My favorite day of the month at work is when we get the new Highlights Magazine, mainly because I OWN SO HARD at all the games. I am honestly waiting for the world championships to get started on the Hidden Pictures so I can become an instant thousandaire. The one thing that really pisses me off is when I turn to the pages where children send in "poems" and crappy art work.

I was so offended last month by a kid from WV, that I couldn't sit by and do nothing.

First, when have you seen a deer that was 4 shades of crayon vomit.

Second, I find one deer using the other deers antlers as "handlebars" while they engage in whatever it is they are doing to be a bit remnant of college costume parties where I wore pigtails something this kid is much to young for.

Third, judging by the antlers on both animals, I find it interesting that this 5 year old used 2 male deer to pose in this manner.

So I did what any concerned adult that was worried about the future of our species would do, I emailed Highlights Magazine to tell them of my concern.

From: Subliminally Incognito
Sent: Tuesday, June 1, 2010
To: eds@highlightscorp.com
Subject: Devil Children

Dear Highlights,
I fear that you are encouraging kids to suck and this makes me sad. I am requesting that you start highlighting (ha ha did you see what I did there) only talented children in the "Your Own Pages" section of your magazine. I hate to think that these kids are getting a false sense of self esteem when you "Publish" their work as if they have made a true piece of art. I would be willing to bet if you went back in your archives you have art work that was published from a young Gary Busey only furthering my point that you are setting up loser children to think they are capable of more than cleaning toilets.

Cheers,

Subliminally Incognito

I never got a reply, but I think they heard me based on this months issue. They have now started publishing pictures of talentless children being executed by firing squad.

My job here is done.

Grab my WHAT and double click?!?!?

My job includes working with people with disabilities to help them learn a higher, more independent, level of functioning. This can mean anything from helping them go to work, helping them not punch each other interact appropriately with others, how to shower daily, how to cook without burning the house down or even teaching them to keep it in their pants them why masturbating is a "when you are by yourself" kind of thing and not a "I am bored in the middle of group" kind of thing.

Last week I was talking to an Autistic client who expressed interest in going to the Pride Parade. I check in with him this morning....

Me: Did you go to Pride?
Him: I WAS SO DISAPPOINTED!!!!
Me: What happened?
Him: I was told there would be naked people and there were no naked people, there were partially naked people but I wanted to see fully naked people. Why was I told there would be naked people and then there were no naked people? I WAS SO DISAPPOINTED!

Something tells me as I plan out his treatment, I need to consider getting him some computer training, because anyone that is waiting once a year to see naked people is in dire need of learning how to use the Internet.

First Grade: A Tale of Love, Lust and Girl Crushes

In honor of the 41st anniversary of the Stonewall Riots, I have decided to come clean about my very first girl crush. To this day it is the proverbial chicken/egg question. I am not sure if my first girl crush influenced my "type" as an adult or if I already had a "type" that she fit nicely into at age 5. You decide:

I have always had a thing for people that were too smart for their own good. I tend to gravitate toward the computer geeks of the world. Penny Gadget was one of those girls. Not only did she like books, but her book was actually a laptop!!!! She was able to solve all types of problems by hitting 3 buttons in her book and suddenly her uncle was out of danger. She was even smooth enough to let him take the credit. She also had great style. She sported pigtails, messenger bag, ripped up pants, and a calculator watch.

So now looking back at all the guys I have dated, I can see a piece of Penny in all of them, whether it is their functional watch, dirty ripped jeans, retarded care givers or a dog cool enough to call Brain.

As far as the chicken and the egg, I am going to move forward thinking that Penny is the model for the perfect human being. I only hope she did not grow up to be a fatass living her uncles basement playing Dungeons and Dragons all day and night.

Depression hurts...... so your knives shouldn't.

I have worked with drug addicts, schizophrenics, and the homeless. None of these populations are known for their healthy lifestyle. If the dental hygiene of my clients is indicative of how they care for themselves, then I would like to use my client with one snaggle tooth that occasionally emerges from her mouth with food wrapped around it. I do not mean to say that only one of her teeth is Snaggly, but that she only has one tooth and it happens to be snaggly. She is a regular Baby Herman, if Herman was a a grown, hairy, schizophrenic woman. I have often prided myself on the fact that my immune system is superior to at least 75% of the population due to the intense training I have put it through. Last week it failed me. Somewhere toward the middle of the week I brought home a tad case of the sad. I guess Matt got worried that if it continued on then I might try to OD and use up all the Hydrocodones he would have to do his own laundry, so he got me a present that came in the mail today.

Which leads to my confusion.......
I am not sure if the most sensitive gift to get someone that hates life, is a shiny set of Shun knives. I guess if I am going to take myself out, he figures I should do it with some pretty awesome precision knives that are so sharp I won't even feel it. If this is not love, I don't know what is.

*I approve the govenment to steal this idea*

Last night during a covert operation, in which my army men were duct taped to my Roomba and waged war against Matt's feet, I realized that the government should try to Duct Tape the oil pipeline closed. Everyone knows if you can't Duct it, F*ck it.

Who needs heroin, anti-depressants, and speedballs?!?!

I have a NEW FRIEND. I should start with some back ground story. 5 1/2 years ago I lost a great friend. I have copied the obituary below.

R.I.P.
Friend, confidant, and all around great tiara
You brought happiness to many.
October 31, 2003- Jan. 1, 2005

How Tiara was abandoned when I was trying to figure out where I was, what the guys name was and how to get home the morning of New Year's Day is not as important as talking about the joy he brought me. Tiara made me feel pretty during times of non-prettiness. I would call on Tiara whenever I had to do something less than favorable (i.e. vacuuming, drinking tequila, doing dishes, having sex with French men in red bikinis or cleaning the bathroom), or if I was feeling down it was good to have on Tiara when I walked by a mirror so I could laugh at how stupid I was and I would feel better.

I thought I had fully mourned this loss but I was wrong. Last night I went to a birthday party and stopped to find the perfect gift for the birthday girl. Of course, this meant I headed straight to CVS. As I walked in, I noticed a beam of light in the back of the store. Curious as to what is so important at CVS that it needs a spot light, I made my way to the back of the store to find my old friend. Since I was in a hurry, I mentally noted that I needed to return tomorrow to get myself one and skipped out of the store with the best birthday present of all time.

It was a pretty typical night: met people, drank a lot, caught two people in our party having sex in the bathroom *which I mention for pure fact of the evening because I am in no position to makes judgments on this*, convinced some guy that Iowa doesn't exist, and past out on the train, missing my stop on the way home. But while all the fun was going on I could not stop wondering how severe it would be if I kicked over the birthday girl and took the tiara back.

This morning I woke up smelling of broken dreams and bad decisions. Something had to be done, so I went back to CVS and when I got there I realized I that I had actually given away the last tiara that they had. As I was laying on the ground in fetal position and crying while muttering about how I should have beat up the birthday girl and stolen my gift back, an employee came over and I told her I would die if I didn't get a tiara. She went to the back and looked for me and came back empty handed. She told me to come back Wednesday because "the truck come on Tuesday night". My first thought was "HOLY JESUS.... THEY HAVE A TIARA TRUCK", and my second thought was to ask the lady if she knew where the Tiara Truck delivered on Saturday's. She must have been new because she just looked confused.

I decided I could not give up so I went to the second fanciest store I know. As I went down the escalator at K*Mart, I had a good feeling. I walked around the aisle and there it was, MY NEW TIARA!!!!!!!

Welcome to my life!!!
I promise you will never be the victim of a one night stand.
P.S. I love you.

Loser is a four letter word

I got home from work today and realized I am embarrassed. This has not happened in years since I was born with very little shame and "embarrassment" is generally a foreign feeling. I took my computer to work to give my story on "Crazy Crippy" and when it was over, a coworker took my computer and started looking at my desktop files, which are mainly photos. I didn't care much since I had recently removed all midget porn from the desktop, so I let him explore. After I got home, I realize that there is a picture labeled "Dad".

******Back Story*******

I had a friend in another life time that would feed my need to play stupid games and had no problem following me when I left reality.

Me: "Wow look, everyone on the interstate has a ladder. There must be a midget convention going on."
Her: "let's stop and get a Creative Loafing and find out where. We can probably get a $10 midget."

We lived in a crap town at the time that only had a Wal*Mart and 2 bars (one for when you were in the mood to get beat by a pool stick and one for when you were in the mood to watch redneck women with 4 kids dance half naked on the bar). We had a game we would play called "There's your dad". There was a man that we would see anywhere we went. No matter where we were he would show up. He was our real life Waldo, if Waldo was a very round 5'5" man that looked like a bowling ball in the Jewish mafia. The game consisted of who ever saw him first to call it by announcing it very loudly "There's your dad".

So now I sit here realizing that after over 10 years I am the ultimate loser of "That's your dad" because now my co-worker thinks that half my genetic make-up comes from this man.

If I have to work at home... this is what they get

Not sure why I thought it would be a great idea to drink an entirea bottle of wine AND THEN put together a PowerPoint on Disability Etiquette to present tomorrow. I might have some slides in here that could be considered inappropriate. I am going to lead with this:...and it is possible instead of taking the time to type out informative slides on how to talk nice to disabled people People Living with Disabilities I might have actually written a story called "Crazy Crippy, the Retarded Midget gets a Brain Injury and wakes up a Gimp".

Bathrooms aplenty in NYC!!!

This was not my favorite work week of all time. I will spare you the details of 3 angry schizophrenics, one that wanted to follow me around the building while walking 1 inch form my back, and one telling me what a "Thick Girl" she thought I was. Like most good stories it is only the ending that really matters and puts things in perspective.

So I find myself sitting at work at 6:30 on Friday night due to a renegade client that decided to freak out and run away instead of hanging around to be hospitalized. I stop getting paid at 4:30 (arguably, for the amount I make, if calculated fairly, I stop getting paid at 11:00, which is why I generally sit in my office and surf the Internet and clean my belly button from 11 - 4:30) so I normally choose to go home by 4:30. The client was eventually found, not in the traditional way, with the 2 cop cars involved helping us and actually doing their job, but because our nurse went to her house and found her drinking Kool-Aid and having solo dance parties. So finally at 6:30 I leave work with my co-worker, who we will call AvidDay to protect his identity.

So we get almost home and we are standing in the dirty train station waiting for the train having normal conversation: "so if I jumped down there could I lay under the train as it comes or do I need to lose weight" and "would you rather be a sadist or a masochist?" We are one train from home and it seems like the world is starting to align again and the horrible week is finally washing away. UNTIL..... the train comes and we get in. AvidDay sits down and I look at the ground. I take off away from him and he looks at the ground and gets up and comes to where I am and says "that's not chicken". AvidDay was referring to the pile of human corn filled turd on the ground in front of his feet that he initially assumed was fried chicken that someone dropped. AvidDay looks at me and say "What the hell, YOU ARE A MAGNET FOR THIS SHIT!" and he is right....

***side story****I have reported 3 instances where I have gotten on the train right after someone has "lost control". It has been horrible every time. AvidDay has lived n NY for 20+ years and has never seen this, which leads to him think I am telling tall tales every time. ***side story over****

I decide that I am SO done with this week that I will get off the train and walk the rest of the way home. Right before the doors open I decide that there are too many tourists on the train to not take advantage of this. I pull out my phone and walk over to the pile of turd and snap a picture. The tourists were completely horrified and now I will forever be in the story they tell their grand kids about the time they were on the subway and some crazy person took a picture of the pile of crap. Here is the picture, just in case I am ever accused of telling tall tales again.
The sign in the train technically says "no radios, no spitting". Looks like it is time to set some new rules.

Moral of the story... I had a shitty week.

Howie Mandel is my office pet

There is a mystery file cabinet in my office that I refuse to open. It has been next to my desk for year and a half and I have never opened it. It would be natural to assume that it is filled with stuff from the previous owner of this office, however, I do not buy that for a minute. I am convinced that if I open it I will be sucked into monster world where I will not be able to stop myself from asking Howie Mandel...er... Maurice, as he is called by his friends, how he managed his germphobia when he lived with a bunch of monsters and technically I am a mental health worker and and asking mental health questions would fall into the category of "work" and I try not to do that when I am at work.

A Few of My Least Favorite Things

There are some truly horrible things about life that can not be avoided. Some examples are Go-Gurt, Cereal straws, wedgies, Macaulay Culkin, wet socks, bugs crawling in your ear, the fact that the ninjas in the dark don't ever respond to my questions at night, not being able to own a midget, best friends named "Booby the Spaniard", the fact that the princess in Mario Brothers has Stockholm Syndrome and keeps going back to Bowser, Taco Bell serving fish, having one sweaty armpit, working across the hall from someone whose sole diet is corn and milk, being kidnapped and having a picture of you wearing a Muumuu splashed on news channels all over the country, playing the "what's for dinner" game, walking through the cloud of piss smell every morning in the subway, and Carnie Wilson constantly showing up everywhere you go.

All of these things make life almost unbearable, but none of them are as bad as having to walk down a NYC street in the rain. It is not the cars splashing puddles on you that sucks so bad or trying to carry everything while using an umbrella or the getting soaking wet or having to walk over mounds of wet trash..... it is the fact that New Yorkers are not responsible umbrella users. It doesn't help that I am a foot taller than all New Yorkers (seriously, why is everyone so short here), but having to share the sidewalk with 8 million other umbrellas and having the corners of all 8 million of them aim straight for your face in am attempt to impale your eye while they are dumping rivers of water on you sucks. It's hard to say if I would rather eat Go-Gurt but I would definitly take Carnie Wilson stalking me over commuting in the rain any day.

Friends tell friends when they noticeably crap their pants at work

...too bad we are just co-workers.

I wish my lawn was emo so it would cut itself.

I am spending my Sunday sitting on the couch and watching a Vampire Diaries marathon. This may sound pathetic to most but I have made the decision not to have children mainly so I can spend Sunday's like this for the rest of my life, and as far as my baseline for pathetic goes, watching teenybopper shows on Sunday soars high above baseline. In fact, I could do my makeup like Baby Jane and watch teenybopper shows from my living room fort while wearing a prom dress and eating popcorn and drinking 2 bottles of wine by myself and still be well above my accepted baseline for pathetic. But that is not my point.... While I am enjoying my time with this show, I am having to put up with this whiny emo soundtrack. I truly hope one day when the CW decides my life would make a better show, I will not have to sell out and use this crap music to narrate my life. I would hope the executives at the CW would honor my wishes and only use music from the Smurfs All Star Show and Disco Duck and, of course Jem so the viewers always remember how truly truly outrageous I am.

What do you mean you don't keep panties in the pantry?

So I was thinking about starting a revolution today, but then I remembered how I tend to vomit when I turn around too fast. So now I am on to brainstorming other things to do today. I was thinking about making confetti out of Fruit Roll ups (or edible panties, cause when it comes down to it, I can not tell the difference). But alas, looking in the cabinet all I see is are gold fish crackers, and those are for biting their heads off, not making confetti.

Looks like there will be no revolution or confetti today, just a sea life massacre. (just call me BP) Why does my life have to be so hard?

Holey Productive Day, Batman!!!

I have not had a Sunday this productive in a long time. I showered, ate AND saved 3 galaxies, ALL BEFORE NOON!!! Of course, I am getting hungry again and the princess is still trapped in Bowser's Castle, so I still have plenty of work left for this afternoon. My boss says that she works harder at home than she does at work, using today as my example, I would have to agree with her.

Here are some other ideas next time I am feeling productive on Sunday Mornings:

1. Bedazzling all of Matt's suits before he wakes up
2. Making yeti outfits of all of his suits before he wakes up
3. Flowbee'ing Matt's hair until he woke up.
4. Printing labels for EVERYTHING on is desk, so he is sure know where everything
5. Water torture with by slowly squeezing ShamWOW (those things hold a ton of water)

Looks like I need to go shopping.

RULES: *Brought to you by THE MAN

It is not a secret that I kinda sorta like my job a little bit. Here are a list of policies that get in my way of actually LOVING my job.

1. You are prohibited to have Margarita lunch hours (even if it is Margarita Monday)
2. You must complete all paperwork on time and neatly (and writing F' You on all papers is not considered complete no matter how neat it is)
3. You must work 8 hours a day (in a row)
4. You must wake up before the sun to get here on time
5. You must be here 5 days a week (even though there aer only 7 days in the whole week)
6. You must be nice to people (this includes having to hold the elevator door for people)
7. You must talk to clients and listen to them (even if all they want to do is whine)
8. You are responsible for decorating your own office. (If I could do that I would be an interior decorator, instead I now work in cold white cell with nothing on the walls)
9. You will be fired for doing keg stands in your office
10. You can not put a couch and TV in your office
11. You can have a computer, but we will be blocking any website worth going too.
12. Any activity involving spreading oil in the hallway is strictly prohibited.
13. You can not steal a clients motorized wheelchair for joy riding (Even if you do have to walk 2 WHOLE BLOCKS for lunch.)
14. You must wear the most uncomfortable clothing to work (even though you get spit on by clients all day)
15. Your lunch break is not 7.5 hours long
16. We will not tolerate making pot brownies for the staff.
17. You may NOT, under any circumstances, use a taser on clients or other staff.
18. Crossword puzzles are not a productive use of time.
19. You will not require staff to stop in every hour to tell you how pretty you are.

If only my job cared about my happiness, maybe I would like being here more.

1,2,3,M+,4,M-,.234326457657856

You would think by by age 31 I would be able to accidently press "M+" or Mrc" buttons on a calculator without freaking out, pressing all the buttons, crying, losing my entire calculation and having to start over. Why is it that I went through 20 years of school (private school at that) and not one responsible teacher pulled me aside to teach me what these useless buttons on the calculator are for? I will tell you why.... They are like Iowa!!! We were taught that they exist but in the reality of grown-upedness they really don't.

From now on, I will include the belief in Iowa and the ability to use the 3 useless buttons on my calculator as a diagnostic criteria for delusional thought.

How low can I go.... you don't even want to know

So I just got back from walking 217 steps to the liquor store....Why does my life have to be so hard? I mean, I get that you should have to work for your alcoholism, but 217 STEPS!!!! And now that my only friend I have my bottle of wine (we will call him Fred) I thought I was ready to curl up on the couch and watch really awesome tv. So naturally I searched Netflix for Little House on the Prairie. (which I need to point out is the stupidest word ever. Prairie should be embarrassed!) Just to make my life even harder than it already was, Little House on the Crappy Word is not on "watch instant." I might have reached a new low for even doing a search for Little House, and then a further low by being totally bummed I can not watch it right now, but I will never go as low as wait for Little House in the mail. I guess I will never know if

***possible Spoiler Alert***

Ma and Pa Ingles put Nelly in charge of the Sex Den in Season 9.

If I owned a midget, he would live in a pear tree

I am home alone for a week and this means one thing. I need to get this place clean so there is room for me to build the Fort To End All Forts. The only problem is I feel cleaning is for suckers. Just another good reason to own a midget. So this leaves me sitting on the couch talking to myself , wearing yesterdays clothes (because showering on Sunday is also for suckers), thinking about how I should go to the gym while picking the chex out of the chex mix and wondering why there is no ice cream in the freezer. Some may look at this pathetic display laid back display and ask, "what is wrong with her?" After some serious thought, I am pretty sure I know where my life took a turn. It was when Breaking Bonaduce got canceled. I would like to talk about the massive negative impact this had on society as a whole, but we have to remember that this is all about me. I was never given the chance to have closure with Danny being snatched out of my life so suddenly.

So with this new sense enlightenment, I think I will spend my day looking for a midget to clean this place up so I can build my fort which I will do as a shrine to Danny Bonaduce.