Future Self

I had a vision of my future self today.

You know the bitter old bastards who start ranting and bitching about people who don't speak English? And everyone just kind of lets them be jerks because they'll probably die soon and nobody wants their final interaction with somebody to be lecturing about rude behavior? Yep. That's gonna be me.

"But Roz! Wasn't your Plan Z to be an English as a Second Language teacher?"

(Note: This must be pronounced in the British way, Plan "Zed" and not the American Plan "Zee." Why? Who the Hell knows. Something about over-exaggerating the amount of frustration that comes with having my life plans disrupted so often and having 26 back up plans. It makes it sound more fatalistic, doesn't it?)

Why, yes. Yes, it was! I considered graduate school for a TESOL program. I tutored ESL. I enjoyed it. I love helping people learn something they're interested in learning, and most of my ESL students were genuinely interested in learning English. I appreciated their enthusiasm. And I don't mean I'm going to be a racist old jerk. I'm not going to tell Indian people who speak English perfectly well to go back to Mexico. I mean the obnoxious people who were born and raised in the States and just refuse to respect language. Or the people they're attempting to communicate with.

My vision of my future self occurred tonight at work. Two twenty-something Caucasian men with Mid-Atlantic accents came in. I did not get the impression they were joking or attempting in any way to be funny during the follow conversation.
D-Bag One: Where you at, Brah?
D-Bag Two: I be here!
D-Bag One: I finded it!
D-Bag Two: Tits!

My future self then busted out my Old Lady cane and whomped them both upside the head.

Perfume/Cologne: Knock it the Hell Off Already!

I like things that smell nice. I think a man who smells good is incredibly sexy. I have some scented candles in my home. I have nice smelling shampoo and scented hand soaps. I even wear perfume most days (okay, cheap body spray, but whatever). Here's how I put that on. I get out of the shower. I dry off. I spray one spritz of body spray between my breasts, touch the area with my wrists, then touch my wrists to my neck and then the inside of my elbows. Then I wander about my home for a bit before I put my work clothes on. Ta-da! The scent stays with me all day without being overwhelming.

If I walk near you and can TASTE your cologne, you need to take your ass home and shower.

So let's say you go a store, such as Bath and Body Works. Bath and Body Works has a lot of fantastic products and a lot of great scents. Sometimes, I like to smell the various things they have. "Hey, Black Amethyst! I wonder how that smells!" So, I grab a little strip of paper that they provide, spritz the paper, and smell it that way. Or maybe I pick up the tester lotion and sniff that. Sometimes, if I really like the scent, I'll even put a little lotion on my hands - it's a sampler, that's why it's there!

The wrong way to go into Bath and Body Works, or any store that sells perfume/cologne/body spray/whatthehellever: "Oooh, Aspen! I wonder what the smells like!" Rip open bottle, dump over head. Yeah, that's right. Get your theft's worth out of it. If you give yourself and improvised cologne bath, it'll last longer after all. Oh, wait. It won't. Fail.

Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaames!!!!

Le Boyfriend and I went out to dinner with my mother the other day. It was mostly really nice. Le Boyfriend is wonderful; Mom is wonderful. Put them together, it's pretty much an automatic win.

Here's where dinner got stupid. Le Boyfriend and I walk into the restaurant and are seated by the host. Now, normally I create pseudonyms for people, but I just can't make up something more ridiculous than what was said to us: "Tequila will be your waitress."
Host walks away, and I lean over to Le Boyfriend. "Did he just say 'Tequila'?"
"Sounded like it. He couldn't have...."

We sit down, we start chatting with my mom, and our waitress approaches. "Hi, I'm Tequila. I'll be your waitress." And holy damn, her name tag said "Tequila."

At this point, I'd like you to picture me staring at my feet, pinching the bridge of my nose, and shaking my head in dismay.

Okay. Liquor is not a name. Do not name your child after liquor. (The major exception that I can think of to this is Brandy. If the alcoholic beverage shares a name with a region and is an accepted human name, go nuts.) Let's discuss other words that are not names.

Adjectives: Lacey, Blue, Precious
Fruits: Gwyneth Paltrow has more money than God and is from a fucking dynasty. She can name her child Apple. She can afford the therapy. If you can afford the therapy, go ahead and name your child Raisin or Apricot or Pomegranate.
Household Objects: Doorknob. Wrench. Spade. Definitely do not name your child Spade. Trust me. Just don't.
Barnyard Animals: If you ever thought, "Hey, I should name my daughter Pig!" just go punch yourself in the face.
Body Parts: Foot. Eyeball. Keratin. Sadly, I can see somebody naming their daughter Keratin. Please don't be that person.
Appliances: I love TV. LOVE it. I'm watching it right now. But if I were to name my son Television, I'd call social services on myself. Blender, Alarm Clock, and Nintendo Wii are also unacceptable.
Happy Concepts, but You're Spelling it Differently and Pretending It's a Name: Luv, Kumpanionship, Piece, Justys. No. It also doesn't work if you give your daughter a Happy Concept Name with an "a" on the end of it. "Dreama"? Nope-a.
Titles of Family Members: It's just weird when you name your infant son Uncle. Even weirder when you name him Great-Great-Grandpa.
Cardinal Directions: I dated a man with the last name West. I dig it as a last name. Leave it as that.
President's Names: I don't mean the first names. Most of the US Presidents had solid first names. I can even get on board with giving your child a President's last name as a middle name. But for the love of sanity, don't give your child the first name Garfield. Or Polk. Really. Not cool. And cool it with the Kennedies already. Fantastic last name. I can even dig it if the mother's maiden name is Kennedy and wants to carry on that name. But I listened to a woman discuss what she wanted to name her next child and say she wanted to stick with the theme of president's names. "I have a Madison, a Jefferson, a Kennedy..." Your children aren't a novelty. You don't need to collect the whole set!
Royal Titles: It's cute when you name your dog Duchess. Not cool when you do that to your child.
Super Heroes: Don't name your son Superman. Please. Just don't do it.
ADOLF FUCKING HITLER: There was some crazy ass couple who named their son Adolf Hitler. No, not a couple that lived in a cave and happened to have the last name "Hitler" and thought "Hey, Adolf is a good, strong German name!" Not Alois and Klara Hitler in 1889. A couple who intentionally gave their son the first name Adolf, middle name Hitler. They also gave their daughter the middle name "Third Reich." If you're a hateful, ethnocentric, Manifest Destiny-Loving bastard, then that's on you - don't saddle your child with that shit.

Some examples of names that are pretty awesome:
Boys: Alexander, Bradley, Charles, David, Edward, Frank, Greg, Hank, Ivan, Jerry, Kenneth, Leonard, Michael, Nicholas, Oliver, Paul, Quinn, Richard, Steven, Thomas, Victor, William, Zachary
Girls: Amy, Bethany, Catherine, Darlene, Elizabeth, Glenda, Hannah, Ingrid, Julie, Kimberly, Laura, Mary, Nancy, Olivia, Quinn, Rosalind (it's a good one!), Sarah, Theresa, Veronica, Wilhemina (unless your last name is Murray. That's a big role to fill).
Can you spot the common thread? THESE ARE NAMES!!!!!
Don't throw Scrabble tiles and make up a name. Pick up a damn baby names book. Reading won't hurt you.

Roz's Night In

I mentioned last night that I was sad and working on clearing out my bookcase. Well, still sad tonight. I took an excellent photo that I wanted to share on here, but there seems to be some issue right now that is preventing me from posting. So, let me paint you a word picture!

Three beautiful round items of varying size sit on the clean kitchen table. The largest item is mostly orangey-yellow, with small red objects arranged in concentric circles. The medium sized item is a gorgeous, golden brown with a slight orange undertone. The smallest in circumference is the tallest item. It's mostly black, with splashes of color. As you look down on this item, you can see letters on the top, written in a fun, groovy font. Upon closer inspection, you make out two of the most glorious words in the English Language. "Phish Food."

Pepperoni Pizza. Pumpkin Pie. Ben and Jerry's Phish Food ice cream.

If you'll excuse me, folks, I need to go discuss my feelings with some food.

Some Books or Something.

I'm sad tonight, so this somehow led to me cleaning the bookshelves. And man alive, are there a lot of books. There are, of course, the books I read. There are still some old books from college. And then there are all of the books people have given me for various reasons, such as "Oh, you like books? Here's the entire Danielle Steele collection for some reason!" So this then led to me going through my half.com inventory and lowering prices. So if you've ever read this blog and then thought, "Hey, what does Roz read? I wish I could buy her used books!" well, this is your lucky day! Also a great place if you want to pick up some 90s sci-fi on VHS!

http://shops.half.ebay.com/einkleinblitzfan_W0QQ

Jerk Tips for Cats Has Arrived

Hello, my lovely readers,

A while ago, I discussed the possibility of creating a separate blog for my Jerk Tips for Cats series. Well, I finally got my poop in a group and started that up tonight. If you've enjoyed the Jerk Tips for Cats entries I've made in the past, please check out the blog dedicated specifically to the series.  http://jerktipsforcats.blogspot.com/

Thanks for reading!

Roz

Step the Bloody Fuck Over and Scratch Your Lotto Tickets Elsewhere!

I used to work overnights at a gas station/convenience store. We sold Lotto tickets. Both the type where you pick your numbers and check the results of a drawing and the scratchers. It was a pretty excellent job, really. I'd go in, do about two hours of cleaning, sit down and read for an hour, clean a few more things. Deal with a customer here and there. I had some regular customers who were pretty cool who'd pop in and keep me company for a bit. I also had some regular customers who I wanted to do medical experiments on. Okay, maybe not exactly medical experiments, but things like "Can I fit this bastard's head in a coffee pot?" And those bastards were the scratcher ticket assholes. And the people who drove up to the store stoned off their asses, but they're not the focus of this rant. Although The Human Torch is a great story. I'll tell it sometime.

Most people work for their money and I don't give a rat's ass how those people spend their money. You worked 45 hours this week, are tired and in pain, and want to spend a dollar in hopes of winning ten dollars? Go for it! The Mega Millions jackpot is really, really high this week? Buy a couple of tickets. You saved all year to go to Vegas and want to play Black Jack all weekend? Have fun! These are not the people I want to choke.

19 year old kid walks into the store. He just sold some pot outside, so he has a good chunk of cash in his pocket. He asks for a $1 scratch-off ticket. Stands at the counter, scratches it off, leaving a neat little pile of silver shavings on the counter, even though there is a trash can literally six inches away from him. The ticket is a $1 winner. So, kid turns the ticket back in, and asks for another ticket. Okay. Takes his second ticket. Scratches it off at the register, shavings pile, etc. This ticket is a loser. So he pulls another dollar out his pocket. Repeat. Loses. Pulls out another dollar. Scratch scratch. Messy messy. Lose. Another dollar. Repeat entire process until kid has spent $30, plus the tickets that actually won that were turned in. This is really annoying because it has eaten an hour of my time. There's no patience with this person. I can't continue to stock cigarettes. Because apparently I'm a fucking vending machine and am only there to hand some jackass an entire roll of lotto scratchers one ticket at a time. However the super assy behavior here is that THERE ARE OTHER FUCKING CUSTOMERS and this asshole refuses to get the fuck out of line so another customer can check out.

My boyfriend ran into an asshole like this at the store today, so it's not just the one particular drug-dealing kid at one-thirty in the morning like I used to deal with. These people are all over the place, being pains in everyone's ass. Some of them have actual jobs and aren't just drug dealers. Some are adults. Some come out during the fucking grocery rush between five and six p.m.

I do not care how many lottery tickets you purchase. If you want to buy fifty tickets, cool. Buy them all at once and get the fuck out of my way. If you buy one and are disappointed and want to try again, fine. Get back in the goddamn line for your separate transaction. But if you're prepared to spend $30 on tickets, spend $30, go to your car, leave a shavings mess in your own car, then come back inside and redeem the redeemable ones. You know what? I don't even fucking care if you scratch off two or three tickets at the counter PROVIDED I DON'T HAVE A LINE. If there's a line, buy what you're buying and come back if you want. I frequently had to tell the drug-dealing kid to move so I could ring up another customer. And he'd get so huffy and pissy! "I was here first." Yes. You were. For the last motherfucking twenty minutes. You're obviously not leaving any time soon, just fucking move so the line can keep moving. Otherwise another customer WILL run you down with a buggy and the cashier will not help you acquire medical assistance. We might just pour those scratcher shavings in your mouth while you're on the floor with wheel marks on your face.

Manufacturer Coupons Are Not Magic

Well, dear readers, I know what you've all been thinking: Hey, Roz hasn't had a solid, coherent rant in a while! Just vague anger and some nonsense about cats. Well, we'll fix that!

This jerk walks into my store tonight. I'll call her Bonzo. Bonzo has stocked up on coupons, $2.00 off Brand Dentifrice (yeah, that's right, folks! We're using pseudonyms for general products now!). Well, our store happens to have Brand Dentifrice on sale for $2.00 right now! So, holy crap! That means it's free! Wow! That's so awesome! Hey, if you use TWO $2.00 coupons on one tube of Dentifrice, that means we'll just give you $2.00 out of the register!

FUCK YOU!!!!

No. That's not what it means. It means that Dentifrice has given you a voucher to use for their product. You bring that voucher to the store. You buy your Dentifrice, surrendering that voucher. We then return that voucher to Dentifrice, and they reimburse the store. Dentifrice wants their name out there. They want you to try their product. They are not giving you two dollars. They are giving you a voucher for a particular product. It's not a fucking gift card to be used as you wish, it's intended to offset some or all of the price of one specific item. If that product happens to be on sale when you choose to use that voucher, well, cool beans. You got the product for free.

So, Bonzo walks up to the register with one tube of Dentifrice and two Dentifrice coupons. And pitches the fit to end all fits when my cashier won't open the register and give her two dollars.

*sigh*

Okay. ... Okay... I...just...can't even.

Who's familiar with WIC? WIC is a United States government program to assist low-income mothers in being able to provide essentials for their children. I have never worked for the government and have never received these benefits, so I have no idea how the decisions are made, but somehow it is decided which vouchers are beneficial for which families. And these vouchers are really specific, such as one dozen large Grade A eggs or one large box of Cheerios. Somebody cannot come into the store with a voucher for a gallon of milk and instead use it on a gallon of orange juice. They cannot use the value of a voucher for a dozen eggs off of a carton of 18 eggs. If the dozen eggs are on sale for $1.99 down from the regular price of $2.49, you don't get fifty cents back after using the voucher on the sale item eggs. The US government is giving you a dozen eggs, no tradesies, no backsies.

Manufacturer coupons generally aren't as specific as WIC vouchers, but if you boil away all of the excess, the concept is quite similar. Here is a voucher for an item. You cannot use two vouchers on the same item. Got it? One coupon for $2.00 off your $2.00 tube of Dentifrice.

Not clear enough? Grab a manufacturer coupon. Any manufacturer coupon. On the top, near the expiration date, you'll see one of two things. It will either say "No cash value" or "Cash value is 1/100th of one cent." In the first case, acknowledge that your promotional voucher to encourage you to take a certain item home with you has no cash value; it is a fucking voucher. In the second, you want some money back? Give me one hundred of those bitches, and I'll give you a fucking penny. If you have the time and resources to obtain and carry around one hundred copies of the same coupon, I'll give you a penny. Out of my pocket, if need be. You've used $5 worth of ink and $2 worth of a paper (yes, as a matter of fact, I am pulling numbers out of my ass). You've earned a penny. Good job.

If you succeeded in using two manufacturer coupons for one item, it is the equivalence of theft. "But Roz, isn't that a bit of a stretch?" No. No, it's not. So, let's say you go to a store with an old, poorly programmed, DOS-y piece of shit register that doesn't know how to accept coupons and you get a cashier who doesn't understand how they work. Cashier takes two $2.00 coupons for your one tube of Dentifrice and gives you two dollars out of the drawer. The store is not going to be reimbursed for that second coupon, because the item was not sold and shit isn't going to match up on the reconciliation. So congratulations. You've stolen two dollars from a store. Or same scenario, bad register, unaware employee, "here's two dollars back." This time, however, the manufacturer of Dentifrice just blindly reimburses the value of all coupons turned in. Well, then, you fucking tool, good job, you just stole $2.00 from the Dentifrice company. If you're going to steal, do retail workers everywhere a favor and just steal the damn product. It's less paperwork for all of us. And, extra bonus, if we catch you stealing physical merchandise, we can have you arrested. And that's a good source of entertainment.

You Taking Advantage of Somebody Willing to Help You Doesn't Make that Person Weak. It Makes You an Asshole.

My intention for today's entry is to bitch about assholes who "borrow" money and how they need to be removed from our lives. I feel like it's going to get away from me and turn into a whole rant about bullshit "friend" behavior.

I used to work with this girl, who we'll call CeeCee. CeeCee was awkward, but a nice enough person. We spoke on the phone outside of work a few times, but never once did we hang out socially. Ultimately, I left that job, taking a different job from which I essentially brought home no paycheck but secured health insurance for myself and my partner. Everybody knew this was why I was leaving. To reiterate, I was essentially taking our two income home down to a one income home. I was personally banking about $10 a week after the cost of insurance.

So I left the first job. I heard nothing from anybody from the old job for a while. Nothing on Facebook. No phone calls. No big deal. I accepted that this likely meant they were just not going to be a part of my life anymore. That happens with workmates sometimes. Well, after about two months, I got out of work and found I had a voicemail. CeeCee, from the old job, had called to ask me to loan her $40. Now, I'll admit, I was kind of a jerk this time and didn't return her call. Fast forward a few years, and I receive another voicemail from her. I can't discuss too many details without revealing who she is, but in vague terms, she told me about something bad that had happened and that she needed some help, financially. I expressly told her I was working two jobs and could barely make ends meet, so I personally couldn't help much, but I did organize some fundraising efforts for her in this difficult situation. I offered all sorts of friendship and emotional support. I offered to be with her at the "event" for which she needed this financial assistance. She wound up not telling me when the "event" was to occur and never having a conversation with me about it after. In fact, I didn't hear from her again until about a week ago. When she called to ask me to loan her money. Because she got a second a job. And was getting paid that very day. But needed to borrow money for gas to get to work? Um, no. Needless to say, this phone call was not returned and I have made no attempts to contact her since.

I also had this friend who we'll call Jerk Ass Man, or simply JAM. A little less than a year ago, while I was working two jobs IN ADDITION TO my freelance work and pet-sitting gigs and was having a hard time making ends meet, JAM fucked up, caused a minor auto accident, didn't report it, was arrested, blah blah blah. Well, JAM has some issues with depression, and so has a hard time in difficult situations. I was afraid JAM would harm himself if left in jail, so I bailed him out. He was considered a flight risk, so it cost over $750 to get him released. I told him at the time that I understood he wouldn't be able to pay me back in cash, but I absolutely needed restitution for this amount of money - chores, cash here and there, food when it was left over, etc. He reimbursed me for about $20 and spent about 10 minutes helping my mother with a task. After that, he told me he had no intention of paying me back any further. I've considered taking him to small claims court. I'm still thinking about taking him to small claims court. Is $700 going to be the difference between me having a home or not? No. Is that an acceptable fucking thing to do? HELL NO. He recently sent me a text message saying that he was sorry for comments he had made about my weight. My response was basically "You don't have the type of power over me that would make me feel badly about myself because you can't accept my appearance. But if you truly feel badly about it GIVE ME MY MONEY BACK!" Was I perhaps harsh with this? Yeah, maybe. But it shouldn't need to be said! If I can barely make ends meet, you shouldn't be taking three weeks' pay from me and running away! JAM's response, btw, was the unfriend me on Facebook. Yep. My feelings are really hurt. I see the error of my ways in asking for my money back. I'm clearly in the wrong. Oh, wait. The opposite of that.

So, basically, this gets me thinking about the nature of friendships. If I only hear from you when you need money, you really just need to get the fuck out of my life. I mean, way, way, far out of my life. This is not at all the same as me saying if somebody I love who is beneficial to my life hits a roadbump, I won't help. If my best friend, who lives on the other side of the country now, called and said there was a family emergency and she needed to fly home, but couldn't afford the ticket, I would absolutely help her get home. But she also does stupid/awesome shit with me like talking to me on the phone when I'm really tired and have a long drive. And I wouldn't expect her to pay me back the cost of the ticket, because I know she'll be there for me in the future. Can you, dear readers, spot the major differences in these scenarios? (Also, love you, Jocelyn!)

So, some basic tips for interacting with people, even if they are being expressed a little incoherently because I'm tired, in pain, and distracted by the delightful horror movie marathon on my television, are:

• If you want to keep somebody in your life, keep them in your life. Don't just call them when you need something. If you choose to be that type of person, don't expect to have people that want you around.
• Everybody needs something from somebody at some point. Good people understand that. If somebody helps you with something big, acknowledge it. You may not be able to reciprocate in the exact form of the help, but do something. Did somebody pay $700 to bail you out of jail? At least say "thank you." Collect cans on the side of the road and give them the change you receive from turning them in. Give them the JoAnn's Fabrics coupons you get in the mail. Don't fucking hack their Netflix account, rate the bullshit movies you watch to fuck up their taste profile, ask them to buy you lunch, and then clearly express you have no intention of paying them back.
• You taking advantage of somebody who is willing to help you doesn't make that person stupid or weak. It makes you an asshole. 
• Fuck this nonsense, I'm calling my attorney and taking the bastard to small claims court.

A Day in the Life of a (Bad) Freelance Writer

12:00 AM - Whoo-hoo! Only half an hour left until I can leave my "day" job. Wonder if it's still called a "Day Job" if you work overnights?...

12:30 AM - Whooooo! Up yours, work!

1:00 AM - Why is this drive so long?!

1:15 AM - Yay, home! I'm going to make dinner, then I'm going to get to writing!

2:00 AM - Just one more rerun of 30 Rock that I've seen several times, then I'm going to write

3:00 AM - ....Damn. Oooh, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia! I'll half-assedly do research during commercials.

3:30 AM - Ring! Ooh, boyfriend's on the phone. I'll just talk to him until he gets home, then work!

5:00 AM - Shit. We've been on the phone for an hour and a half. Eh, I have tomorrow off. I'll just write a lot when I get up. Time to knit while watching Doctor Who!

6:00 AM - Fall asleep on the couch.

2:00 PM - Hmmm....I should get up. Well, I don't get a lot of sleep on days I do work. Maybe I'll sleep for a little while longer....

3:00 PM - Discuss financial difficulties with boyfriend. Decide financial difficulties would be less difficult if I would just buckle the fuck down and write more. And if we got less carry out. Oooh, carry out...

4:00 PM - Write for about twenty minutes.

4:20 PM - Distracted by cat. Play with cat.

5:00 PM - Talk to Mom on the phone.

6:00 PM - Talk to boyfriend on phone while he drives to work

7:00 PM - Well, really, Chinese take-out makes more fiscal sense than cooking for one. By the time I buy chicken and rice and veggies, it costs more to make the one meal than the $10 take-out that I can get three meals out of...

8:00 PM - Yay, eating Chinese food!

8:30 PM - Fucking seriously, go write.

8:35 PM - I'll just look at the new health insurance information from work.

9:00 PM - Have a total fucking meltdown over how frustrating and confusing the new health plan is. Bitch at internet group.

10:00 PM - Yoga

10:45 PM - Damn, I miss having a gym membership.... No, you're not going for a walk right now. WRITE SOMETHING!

10:55 PM - Blogging? Really, dumbass?! You're fucking blogging?! YOU DON'T GET PAID FOR THIS SHIT!

11:15 PM - Good job! You've wasted most of an entire day!

Dear Peach...

Dear Peach,

My human came home tonight and lamented that she forgot to purchase paper towels but she could probably do without any until tomorrow. I promptly vomited all over the floor. Hahahahahahaha.

Banana

JERK TIPS FOR CATS!!

Day One

I don't know your name, but I liked your message. I think it is very funny the way you run out of your person's home and make her chase you down the stairs. I think you and I have a lot to learn from each other. I like to poop on the floor when I don't get the attention I deserve. That makes my person really mad. It makes me laugh. I mean, as much as I can. I don't think the people recognize it as a laugh. That makes it even more fun for me, because those idiots have no idea what's going on. Hahahahahaha.

Love, Peach the Cat

Day Two

Peach,

You can call me Banana. Your idea of pooping on the floor is quite funny. I'll have to try that some time. It was quite clever of you to jump in my person's laptop bag and leave me that message via pheromones. I didn't know that we could communicate such complex, intangible ideas in such a way! One of the things I like to do is scream. I just follow my person around her apartment, screaming. She thinks I'm trying to communicate that I want food, which I do. Food is good. But really, I just like to scream because it's fun. That might be another way we can communicate. When my person calls your person and they do that annoying thing where they both make their talking devices loud and talk at it without picking it up (I think I've heard your person ask if mine is using a "Speaker phone" or something like that), we can talk that way too. Even if we don't communicate that way, I highly recommend screaming at your person. All the time.

AUGH!

Banana Cat

Day Three
Ring
Man: Hello, sweetie!
Woman: Hi, honey.
Peach: MEOW!
Banana: MEOW! MEOW! MEOW!
Peach: MEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!!!!!
Banana: MEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!! MEOW!
Woman: I swear they're talking to each other....

Public Restroom Decorum

I can think of nothing that tempts to punch strangers in the face harder than encounters in a public restroom. I mean, goddamn, people are disgusting and obnoxious.

First off, I think it should be illegal to not wash your hands after using the restroom. I think this should be regarded an act of bioterrorism. Because seriously, what do you call it when someone rubs biohazardous substances with a thin sheet of paper with their bare hands then walks around touching common surfaces, spreading the biohazard all over? Seriously, Mandy Patinkin, get on this shit.

A lot of people realize that things in the loo are disgusting. The paper towel dispenser is not an exception to this. Different people have different tactics for getting their paper towel without resoiling their freshly washed hands. I, for example, use the lever on the dispenser to roll about two inches of towel out, wash my hands, rip off that short bit of towel, use it to dispense some more towel, throw out the first bit, dry my hands on the second portion of towel, turn off the sink with the towel, use said towel to open the door, then throw the towel in the trash. Sound pedantic? I'm actually skipping steps. I should dispense, wash, dispense, dry, dispense, turn off sink, dispense, open door.

So, here's the silly set up in the ladies room at work. There are two sinks. One sink has these lovely, long handles that you turn on and then, gasp, turn off when you're done. We'll call this Good Sink. The other is one of those monstrosities that you push the handle down on and it pops up whenever it damn well feels like it, so you have to keep turning the water on. And if you're OCD like me, that's fucking horrible, because you can't adequately wash your hands when you have to keep touching a dirty sink handle. Good Sink is on the right. Horrible Bacteria Time Loop Disaster in on the right. Next to the paper towel dispenser. So, here's a common scenario. I pop into the washroom to wash my hands, roll down the two inches of towel, start washing my hands. Some nasty, dirty person comes out of the stall, goes to HBTLD, splashes some cold water on her hands, takes my towel, and leaves without rolling more down for me. Or nasty, dirty person comes out, splashes cold water on her hands, then stands directly in front of the paper towel dispenser, poking at her eye makeup with her unclean hands, essentially just rubbing her ass all over the clean bit of towel I have hanging down. Incorrect Behavior. Correct Behavior: Step out of the stall, see somebody washing her hands, with a bit of paper towel hanging down from the dispenser. Common sense dictates that she's going to use that bit of paper towel to dispense more towel in a quasi-sanitary method. The woman in front of you was already washing her hands, so logic dictates she's probably almost done. Stand the fuck back, wait your goddamn turn, and don't touch her stuff. It's already awkward enough that you and this stranger were likely peeing at the same time, four feet apart. Don't impede her hand washing. Or, say she is particularly obsessive-compulsive and is taking five minutes to wash her hands instead of one. Hop onto HBTLD, wash your hands, use the towel, and ADVANCE MORE FUCKING TOWEL.

If you happen to be the person washing your hands whilst somebody is behind you waiting, leave the water running for them. It saves you having to figure out how to touch that disgusting faucet and acknowledges the other person's welcomeness to join in the fun that is handwashing.

Sometimes, people accidentally get some urine on the seat. There is a quite simple solution to this problem. Take a piece of toilet paper, and wipe the seat! When you piss all over the place and don't bother to clean up, you're basically just screaming "I'm disgusting!" And seriously, fuck you, disgusting people. I would hate to step foot in your home if you're so lazy and gross you can't even wipe up something that came out of your body. How fucking dare you suggest that somebody else clean up your bodily fluids? Pig bitch.

Ladies, your period sucks. I've been there; I get it. However, the situation sucking does not make it okay for you not to dispose of crap covered in your blood in an improper fashion. Yes, I'm not a moron. I do know it's not really blood. But I don't want to repeatedly type "Discharged uterine lining" so fucking deal. So, let's go over a list of gross stuff nobody should ever see in a public restroom:
-A tampon on the floor
- A pad that somebody has attempted to flush down the toilet
-A pad on the floor
-A pad/tampon sitting ON TOP of the trash can in the stall
-Blood. Anywhere. Ever.
-A pad/tampon sitting on top of the toilet paper dispenser
-A bloody pad/tampon in the trashcan, but unwrapped and at the top of the trashcan, so there's no possible way to put anything else in it or even change the liner without an extreme likelihood of touching some strange cunt's blood.
The proper response to the unfortunate situation of having to change your feminine hygiene materials in a public restroom are to remove it, wrap it in either toilet paper or a wrapper, and place it in the trashcan. Assuming the trash can has a hinged lid, close the trash can. Then wash your hands.

It's like kindergarten. Pick up after yourself, be considerate of others, and wash your fucking hands.

Stupid Laws are Stupid

I live in a state in which it is against the law to not use a seat belt while in the front seat of the car. Adults are not legally compelled to use a seat belt in the back seat. Does everybody understand this? It's not just that it is highly recommended to wear a seat belt; it is a ticketable offense. Because seat belts save lives. Seat belts hold a person to the seat of their car, which is almost always fully enclosed (silly convertibles) so that they do not become a human projectile and fly through the windshield. As a state, we grew tired of people dying from such a silly act of negligence, and made it a law.

However, the stupid fucking state I live in recently made it legal for motorcyclists to not wear helmets. A person on a big bike driving 70-plus miles per hour, with no encasing to catch them should something happen, with a high likelihood of becoming a human projectile, is not required to wear or utilize any protective equipment.

Driving to work today, I saw one of the men who chooses to ride his motorcycle without a helmet. Zipping down the expressway at 80 miles per hour. No helmet. Shorts and T-shirt. Dude. I mean. C'mon. Let's say your bike just falls over. You're going to burn the shit out of your leg. Let's say your bike falls over and slides a ways. Goodbye, ALL of your skin. And Science forbid, you do go flying off your bike...

I...just...no. Just no.

Some Commercials That Need to Be Punched in the Colon

Fucking commercials. Seriously, fucking commercials.

There's a series of commercials about dental products designed to reduce acid erosion. There's a pretty women with a drinking vessel, usually with a group of people. She's pretty, she's smiling, she's laughing. Then the narrator pops in with something moronic like "Jillian loves soda. But she doesn't know that it contains acid. Blah blah blah. Acid erosion of dentin. Blah blah blah. Protective mouthwash!"

If you don't know that soda contains acid, you don't deserve your fucking teeth. Not saying "Don't drink soda." Soda's awesome. Drink all the soda you want, because I sure as Hell am going to. But seriously. SERIOUSLY. You gotta know that shit contains acid. There's another advert in this series, "Becky loves coffee. But she doesn't know it contains damaging acid." Really?! Really, Captain Obvious Commercial Whore?! Does it contain acid?! Is it slippery? Does it smell like fucking bleach? Hmm, must not be a base! Does it have a neutral PH, no taste, and no smell? Must not be water! Does it produce carbon dioxide when it has MOTHER FUCKING CARBONATION added to it?! BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Acid, bitches!

The other commercial I want to punch in the cunt is a diaper commercial. It's kind of a before and after scenario of a mother with a young child. Part One: First time mother is breast-feeding her new baby in a restaurant. She's hiding in the corner, has a breast-feeding tent, looks all ashamed and nervous. Narrator says something like "You want to do everything right for your baby as a first time parent." Part Two: Same mother has a second baby; the first one is about three. In this scenario, the woman is sitting in the same restaurant, this time at a table in the middle of the dining room. She has her breast pulled out the neck of her shirt and is openly feeding her baby. The waiter comes over, looks surprised by what's going on, but doesn't say anything. Bitch mother snaps her fingers at him, points at her face, and says "Up here." Narrator says, "By the second  one, you have things figured out. Live and learn and get our brand of diapers."

Okay, first off, I have nothing against breast feeding. At all. It's awesome that mothers breast feed. I mean, all the biological coolness of it aside, there are so many studies and so much evidence proving how beneficial breast feeding is to your child, developmentally and emotionally. This is a beautiful, natural thing, and there shouldn't be any shame about it, because it's not a shameful thing. I think it is indeed a damn disgrace that women feel they should have to hide in a corner or under a drape or, worst of all, in the restroom, to feed their child. You don't tell the three year old to sit in the corner in the bathroom and eat his grapes or whatever children eat. Babies deserve to eat in a clean environment, too.

My problem with this horrible fucking commercial is what a rude, nasty bitch this woman is. She shouldn't be ashamed of breast-feeding, but it's not out of line for somebody to have a moment of surprise when seeing a breast out. The waiter in the commercial wasn't going "Ewww! Gross!", "That's inappropriate!", or even "Whooooo! Titties!" Just a brief moment of surprise, and apparent contemplation of "Should I stay and ask for her order or should I leave her alone?" And the woman's response to this moment of surprise is to snap her fucking fingers in his face and snap "Up here." "By the second child, you have things figured out." What do you have figured out? How to be disrespectful to waiters? How to be rude in general? How to teach your children that you don't need to be polite to strangers? "It's okay, Johnny, he's just the waiter. You can always snap your fingers in the waiter's face." Hope that baby bites your nipple off, fictional bitch.

Rene Descartes Walks Into a Bar...

Last night I posted on my private Facebook account that I felt unsafe in my home at that particular moment. Not that anything was seriously going on, just one of those uncomfortable feelings and some weird sounds down the hall. Then somebody I knew if fucking middle school commented on that status, essentially saying "That's stupid and invalid, because I willingly went someplace unsafe and there are actual things to be scared of here."

Okay. You know nothing about what's going on in my life. You know nothing about what has gone on in my life. You don't know if I'm up at 5:00  in the morning freaking out because:

- I have acute intermittent porphyria and am having an attack

- I have a really severe anxiety disorder that goes out of control when it's silent and my mind can wander

- I'm slowly turning into a cricket

- I was sexually assaulted in my bedroom at night as a child

- My dog is barking at a strange orb outside the window

- I consume too much caffeine to live

- I was raped in my own bed in this very apartment

- There are gunshots outside

- Two years ago, I abruptly lost my partner, my family, and my home in the middle of the night and I sometimes panic about the aspect of abruptly losing everything else that is important to me

- Shit's going on at work and I'm terrified I'm going to get fired

- I watched somebody climb up the outside balconies and into my neighbor's apartment the other day

- My neighbor has a history of setting her kitchen on fire

- I can see a demon sitting on top of my bookcase staring at me

- I have a tendency to wear my mind on my sleeve

- I have a history of losing my shirt

- Oops, those last two were Barenaked Ladies lyrics.

You don't know if some of these are true, all of these are true, or none of these are true. You don't know a single damn thing about my situation. Because I haven't had an actual conversation with you in five years because every conversation we had in the five years before that you've been increasingly condescending? And not in a "Haha, that was a dumb thing to do" way, but in an "I don't think your feelings are valid, so watch me belittle you as a person" way. And the stupid thing about this is, I care. I care what you think about me. I mean, if you don't agree with everything I do, whatever, nobody will ever agree with everything anybody does. If you see I've made a mistake and call me on it, okay. Disagree with me on politics or religion? Neat, tell me your thoughts, I want to know why you feel the way you do. You won't sway me, but I care about your point of view. But when you suggest my feelings aren't valid, that's not cool. That's tantamount to you thinking I'm just a worthless excuse for a human being.

I'm now just going to go off in a tangent. If you understand how I've come to this point, I will totally give a cookie.

Rene Descartes walks into a gin bar. Bartender says, "Hey, want a martini?"

Descartes says, "I don't think--" and disappears.

No. Just No. So Very Fucking No.

So, my ex-boyfriend called me last night. He told me he wants me back. I'm going to call this guy Dwight.

Dwight's sweet, he's just a child. No, not literally. He's, like, three months younger than me. He just doesn't have or want adult responsibilities. And he tends to be a little narcissistic. I don't know, read old entries if you want to hear about it. One thing never mentioned is that I paid for something really expensive to help him out of a bad situation, because I'm stupid, and he had no intention of paying me back and made no attempts to pay me back. And yes, that was a major part my decision to end things. So when we broke up, I thought it was really the most mutual break up ever. I went to his house (well, the house his friend owns that he's renting a room in) to end it, and he greeted me with "So, this is hard..."

I cut him off. "Nope. It's not." We hugged, I took my stuff back, the end, yay!

So last night he calls me, saying horrible, stupid shit like "I made a mistake. I changed my mind."

You changed your mind? That's nice. It's so fucking nice to know that I'm a passing fancy for you. "Eh, I thought I wanted you to go away, but I changed my mind. Come back now." Um, no. I'm not a book that you posted for sale on Amazon.com but decided, no, you didn't really want to sell it and have the ability to unlist. I'm a person and so very not your property.

"I made a mistake." Yes. Yes, you did. Several of them. However, darling, our break up was not entirely your decision. I was on my way to break up with you. Remember how I told you the night before I wanted my keys back? Was that your decision? No.

Now that we have the "Here's why you treating me like property is offensive" out of the way, let's move onto why I wouldn't take you back if you paid me.
1) You owe me so much money, Bill Gates couldn't afford to dupe me back in after paying me back.
2) We broke up for a reason. You. You were the reason. Can you provide me an itemized list of the things about you that you have changed about yourself? Can you show me proof? Do you have character references?
3) I want to get married. Not to you. To an adult. Who can function in reality. And isn't a narcissistic asshole.
4) That time you were mean to my dog.
5) That time you were mean to my dog. Yeah, I know I just said that. Really, really not okay.

Please Get Out of the Dating Pool.

I'm not sure what I want more - the be out of the dating pool myself or simply to get rid of the prevalence of assholes.

The following is mostly about an acquaintance of mine, who we'll call Ignar. Now, Ignar has a lot of truly wonderful qualities, but for the sake of this entry, I won't be discussing a single one of those qualities. 

So, Ignar cannot hold a job for shit. He gets hired, keeps a job for about six weeks on average, then gets fired, luxuriates in unemployment for a few weeks before searching, gets another job, keeps the job for six weeks, you get the gist of this cycle. Because of this cycle, and a lack of motivation to be a productive adult, Ignar still lives with his parents and is in his thirties. So on paper, even, Ignar is not a desirable mate. Yet he's out there. He's trying. He's on all of the dating sites and inexplicably, he gets dates. Consistently. And he's totally fucking insane about it. He gets really, really possessive, really, really quickly.

Ignar recently was paired with a friend of mine from college on one of these dating sites. I have no idea why the site would allow this match. My college friend, who I'll call Alex, is a tremendous person. Extremely attractive, going to law school, works three jobs, very nice, great taste in music. All around good person. When Ignar told me they had gone on a date, I had to fight every instinct to not call Alex and scream "RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!"

So, Ignar and Alex talk on whichever site they met on. Ignar adds Alex on Facebook. They go on their date. Then Ignar proceeds to text Alex about a dozen times a day, getting mad when Alex doesn't respond. The texts basically go as follows:

Ignar: Hi, what's up?

Alex: Hey, I'm at work. Can I catch you later?

Ignar: When are we going out again?

Alex: Let me check my schedule and get back to you after work.

Ignar: When's your next day off?

(At this point, Alex doesn't even waste time by responding. After about five minutes, Ignar gets mad and texts again, every five minutes)

Ignar: When's your next day off? 

Ignar: When are we going out again?

Ignar: HELLO?!

So then, Ignar gets mad and goes to Facebook (remember, folks, he has added Alex as a friend on Facebook). After a series of posts about "Dating is dumb", the following pops up (of course, it has been edited to protect Ignar's true identity. It was rife with spelling error, lack of punctuation, and some incoherent words):

Ignar Dingleberry: It's been a week and a half since what I thought was a good first date. I have sent texts and made all attempt to get together for a second time. Am I expecting too much or should I just give up and move on to the next person? 

The following day, Ignar makes another Facebook post.

Ignar Dingleberry: On to the next. Wanted one good partner. Scared little children need not apply.

::facepalm::

Then the following occurred in comments, between Ignar and my friend we'll call Perri.

Perri Socially Acceptable Behavior: You realize by texting him a bajillion times and posting these things for him to see, you pretty much made sure you have zero chance of ever seeing that guy again, right?

Ignar Dingleberry: I'm just being me. If a guy can't handle it, that 's his problem.

Perri Socially Acceptable Behavior: But if you can in a way that doesn't let a guy get to know you, it becomes your problem. There are certain forms of dating etiquette that if you follow, allows your personality to come through so guys can really get to know you. And when that happens, you will find a guy who super likes you because he will get to see who you are.

Ignar Dingleberry: We met on Particular Dating Site where we answered a tong of questions for each other, so much that we weren't sure what to talk about on the first date. I guess I figured if you're on a site like that, you are ready and wanting the real thing. And not to mention you have time for someone.

Okay. I assume that if you're not in a mental institution, you're more sane than to believe it is okay to get that fucking scary and possessive so quickly. Or ever. It's not okay to get that scary and possessive EVER. At now point in your relationship is your partner EVER your property. Your partner is always a person and is always allowed basic freedoms to do shit like go to work. Perri put it about right. When you're that fucking possessive, why would anybody ever call you again? Oh, you're intense so your date is wrong for going to work and actually doing their job? Great. Are you also just intense when you break into their fucking bedroom window at night? This is PPO behavior, not "We've gone on one date" behavior!

So, I met this guy who we'll call Bob. Because that's actually his name. I'd talked to Bob for a bit, stupidly gave him my phone number, he asked when I got out of work yesterday so he could call me. When Bob called me, I was on the other on a rather important call that I wasn't going to terminate. Before I finished said call, I received a text message from Bob, reading "Are you available to talk right now?" Um, obviously not, Douche. If I were, I would have answered the damn phone. I finish my call and check my voicemail. The voicemail irritated me so much that I deleted it, but in retrospect, I wish I had saved it so I could copy it here. It was basically, "Hey, Roz. This is Bob. It's 5:00, and I'm calling you, like we agreed on. So, call me back so we can talk. Like we agreed on. It's Bob." I'm annoyed by this and opt not to call him back right away. I hop online and see an email from Bob, reading (this is not edited. Note the different font? Direct copy and paste): Did you think when I meant "tomorrow" that I meant Saturday? Don't want to bombard you with phone or text messages. Message here, text or phone.

• 
  

Oh, Bob. Guess you will never be hearing back from? I hope you enjoy pursuing your restraining order from some unfortunate woman in the near future.

So, when I venture out a date, I'm left asking myself "Is it safe?"

What in the Name of Sanity Just Happened?!

Sadly, the following is a completely true story. There is genuinely no hyperbole involved.

Quick backstory: My dog likes cats. My dog really likes cats. Like, will sit at the door and whine if he hears a cat meowing outside because he wants to bring it inside and cuddle with it. My dog, by the way, is a St. Bernard.

Proper Story:

I came home from work tonight, ran upstairs and got my dog to take him out for a walk. As we're coming back up on the entrance of my apartment building, I see a long, skinny as all get-out, pure white cat sitting outside my downstairs neighbor's window. My dog, who we'll call Lenny, because if people get fake names, he can too, runs at this cat. Cat doesn't respond at all. Lenny literally licks the cat's back. Cat doesn't respond at all. And then the most ri-goddamn-diculous thing I've ever seen happened. LENNY PICKED THIS STRANGE CAT UP IN HIS MOUTH. Like a mama cat, by the scruff of the neck. CAT DIDN'T RESPOND AT ALL. My dog has this strange cat slightly off the ground, and the cat is still just chilling, like it's still sitting undisturbed on the ground. After some sharp scolding, Lenny puts the cat down, but starts whining. Not like one sad little whimper. Like, eardrum shattering, devastated whining. If he could say words, they would have been, "But Mom! Kitty! Look at the kitty! Kitty is so skinny! He needs a home! Let's take him home! PLEASE MOM PLEASE MOM PLEASE MOM!" I unlock the door, drag my enormous dog to the door, get him halfway in, and he stops. While he's stopped, with the door propped open by his giant frame, the strange cat ran past his legs and into the building. Fucking brilliant. 

I try to catch the cat, but Lenny is going apeshit, chasing this cat up and down the halls. Need I remind you, readers, this is still a St. Bernard, crashing down the halls of an apartment building at 12:30 a.m. I decide my best option is to wrangle the dog and get him into my apartment. As I'm running up the stairs with the dog, the cat is running back and forth on the floor beneath mine. Lenny is trying to break away to go play with the cat. I get my apartment door open and shove Lenny inside, as my own cat, Banana, bolts out the door, into the common hallway. So I scream, "Nononononono!" and chase after her. Banana gets to the top of the stairs, and I hear this super loud, long, drawn out "MMMRRRRRRRRRREOOOOOOOOOW!" Banana is terrified and turns around and runs back to me. I grab her, get my apartment door open, block the dog from getting out with my own body, all but chuck Banana inside, and then a white blur streaks between my legs, and into my apartment. Lenny starts jumping up and down, again virtually screaming "Kitty! Kitty! Kitty! Kitty! Kitty!" Seriously. Jumping straight up and down. So, White Cat is terrified and makes a beeline for under my sofa. Lenny takes off after him and tries to get under the sofa with White Cat. WC is totally fine with this. Giant dog? Whatever! However, Banana is unhappy. She's growling and hissing and approaching WC. I have no idea what the deal is with the random cat and I don't want my cat anywhere near him, fearing he'll bit her and give her some horrible disease. So I jump in between them, which scares WC, who bolts from under the sofa, jumps on my end table and jumps on the back of my sofa, and runs across the back of my sofa. At this point, I grab WC from the back of my sofa, grab my keys and run out the door.

White Cat starts out totally fine with the fact that he's in my arms and being run down the stairs, but around the first landing begins to wig out and start squirming. He jumps from my arms and runs back up the goddamn stairs! Thus starts Benny Hills, Round Zillion. I run up the stairs, WC freaks out, runs across the hall, and runs down the back stair case. At this point, I'm thinking about just leaving it in the building, but figure my neighbors are already pissed. Then, Lenny starts barking. Loudly. Because, y'know, St. Bernard. Lenny is barking and jumping against the door. WC is scream-meowing in the hall. It's a lovely cacophony of BARKBARKBARKBARK SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! MRRRREOOOOW! BARKBARKBARK! SLAM! MREOW! SLAM! BARK! I recapture WC and successfully get him outside. I get back to my apartment and Lenny and Banana are just chilling on the couch, like nothing ever happened. Right now, Lenny's sleeping on the floor, dream running and Banana is chasing a bottle cap. 

The kicker is, I was on the phone with El Zacho (of elzachorocks.blogspot.com fame) the entire time. His experience through this was "Lenny. Lenny! Lenny! NO! Lenny, come on. Come on! Inside! GODDAMMIT, NO! SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT! Come here! Come here! Get back here! LENNY! Get inside! Get inside! INSIDE! SHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT! NONONONO! NONONONONO! Come back come back come back!" MRRRRRREOOOOOOW! "BANANA! Get in there! No! Stay in there! Fuckity fuck fuck, not you! Get out! Oh God no!" MRRRREOOOOOOW! BARK! BARKBARKBARK! Bang bang bang! HSSSSSSS! 

BLACKWIDOWBLACKWIDOWBLACKWIDOW!!!!

A few years ago, I was working in a theater in middle America. I use the term "theater" loosely here - it was a barn that had been converted. Poorly. It still had the architecture of a barn, but now had a stage shoved in the middle of it, some seats, and wires. It was still a very flimsy, very flammable, very wooden building. While working in this theater, most of the crew was living on campus at a local university, so the vast majority of us lived in the same small, two story dormitory.

I was working on the lighting crew. One day I was cleaning lighting instruments with our master electrician, who came from the deep south. Theater lighting instruments are pretty large and generally quite heavy. In addition to the normal elements you would find in a light, theatrical lighting instruments have steel shutters that you can adjust to alter the size and shape of the beam. After spending a year in a closet in a wooden barn, these instruments were quite rusted, so the Master Electrician, who I will call Mark, and I were scrubbing the steel shutters with rubbing alcohol and steel wool. Mark went into the closet to get another instrument and I suddenly heard him screaming. Like a little girl. I jumped up and ran to him, fearing something had collapsed on him. I arrived to find Mark pointing at the ground, still screaming.

"Mark?! What's going on?!"

"BLACKWIDOWBLACKWIDOWBLACKWIDOWBLACKWIDOW!"

"Mark, that's not a black widow. It's just a little house spider."

"IT'S A BLACK WIDOW!"

"Okay, Mark, calm down. I'll kill it."

So I go to step on this tiny little common spider. Now, I thought Mark had already lost his shit completely, but he got worse. "Roz! No! Oh my God! Nonononononononononono! What are you doing?!"

"I'm going to kill it for you. It'll be fine."

"It's not going to be fine! You're going to step on it, it's going to hide in the treads of your shoes, it's going to come back to the dorms, it's going to get in my room, and it's going to kill me!" (Note: I lived on the top floor, at the far east of the building. Mark lived downstairs on the far west.)

Before I can explain to Mark why this is stupid, I see the dumb son of a bitch, our master electrician, grab a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and start shaking the bottle, trying to splash rubbing alcohol onto the spider. Then he takes his motherfucking lighter out of his pocket. So I tackle him. "Mark, you fucking idiot! We're in a barn! Don't set anything on fire!"

He starts weeping and shrieking about the black widow and I pry the bottle of rubbing alcohol out of his hand and smash the spider with it, grinding it a little bit. I can see the spider's legs have detached. Mark is still shrieking as I lift the bottle to reveal bits of spider exoskeleton falling from the bottom of the bottle. Bitch is clearly dead and all sorts of torn apart. At this point Mark begins screaming about the bottle of alcohol being contaminated and what if the "black widow" secreted poison onto the bottle and whine whine scream scream. I threw the bottle away.

And people wonder why I chose not to work in theater for the rest of my life...

Holy Shit, You MUST Be Employee of the Month

A few weeks ago, I got this report of an incident that occurred on my day off from my retail job. As always, the names are made up, but the story is, sadly, real.

Nate, Samantha, and Anne were closing the store. Samantha was running the main register, and therefore stuck up front. A customer was being creepy and harassing Samantha, so Anne, as closing manager, was up front, keeping an eye on this guy, preparing for the possibility of throwing him out. Nate was straightening up the store when he heard two girls giggling and screaming in the ladies' room. Anne and Samantha were both trapped up front, so he couldn't ask either of the ladies to see what was going on and wasn't about to walk in himself. Finally, the harassing man left and seconds after, two teenage girls ran out of the ladies' room, past my workmates, and straight out the door. The crew all looked at each other, locked the doors because it was closing time, and walked back to the ladies' room together. Anne opened the door and they discovered human feces EVERYWHERE. The floor, the walls, even the ceiling in places. So Anne, again in her capacity as manager on duty, told the others not to worry about the mess, that they don't get paid enough to literally deal with shit. So, Anne went to deal with the cash so the others could leave on time. Nate verified the deposit, and Anne went to the ladies' room to clean up the mess...and found Samantha was almost done taking care of it. Way to go, Samantha.

So, Samantha was showered with accolades for going so far above and beyond what is required of her. Anne was grateful, Nate was grateful, even the staff members who weren't present were grateful. Thank you notes were posted all over the breakroom. So, in my capacity as a manager, I mentioned to my boss how far Samantha went and how much we all appreciate her. My boss responded with "Yeah? So?"

And that, bitch, is why you have people requesting to transfer out of your store all the time.

SAWs Attempting to Flirt

I just blocked some jackass on Facebook.

I belong to a Facebook group for a certain science-fiction fandom in my local area. I know many of the people in this group personally, in real life. The few people I don't know are usually friends with some of my friends. So when a member of this group, who we'll call SAW (Super Annoying Wanker), sent me a friend request, I thought, "Sure, he's probably friends with a lot of my friends!" Nope. And, he's a super annoying wanker.

Mostly, SAW was a super annoying wanker because of the non-fucking-stop annoying posts and sharing. Okay, dude, you've known me for, like, two minutes on Facebook. Stop sharing shit to my wall like you know me and we have inside jokes. Even after I changed what should show up from him on my newsfeed, he was still managing to clog up my newsfeed with his stupid crap. I mean, okay, it's your Facebook, you can do whatever you want. If you really like pictures of cats, share however many pictures of cats you like. If you want to post new status updates about wanking to coffee every twenty seconds, go nuts. But really, you don't need to tag me in every damn cat picture/fandom picture/thing vaguely related to fandom/Muppet bullshit you post, especially when there's 80 posts a day!!!!!! The admins of our common group even sent him messages asking him to calm the fuck down and stop sharing every about this popular fandom that pops up on the internet on the group page.

This is just backstory. Time to get to the specific stuff. SAW sends me a friend request that I foolishly accept. I haven't even lifted my finger from my mouse after clicking "accept" and I've got a Private Message from him. So I talk to him a bit, and I'm not digging him too much, but okay, sure, whatever, we'll chat. He then ends the message with "Okay, cutie, I'll talk to you later."

Oh, SAW. "Cutie"? For real? Let's start with the stupidity of YOU'VE NEVER FUCKING SEEN ME! Do you know what I look like? No. You've seen a picture on the internet. The picture is actually of me, but you don't know that. I am cute, but it's still ridiculous of you to assume that. Also, why do you think it's okay to start out making comments about my appearance? We're having a conversation, not fucking and not having a photo shoot. You're asking me questions, I assume this means you want to know about me as a person. This assumption is shattered by your saying "I don't care about who you are, I'm bringing focus back to your appearance." Thirdly, you didn't make a comment about "I think you're pretty." You have taken away my name and replaced it with a term of condescended, pseudo-endearment that one would use for a child. You know who I called "cutie"? My three week old nephew. You know what I usually call him instead? "David."

So, SAW shared a comic with me on Facebook and this was about my last straw.
You know what? I'm going to be lazy here, and just copy and paste my replies from Facebook.
Comment One: Well, let's start with the fact that it's Negging. If any of you are fortunate enough to not know what "negging" is: this is when one person (frequently a male talking to a female, but not necessarily, but I'll be going with this scenario to avoid wanting to punch a pronoun in the theoretical face), trumps a minor compliment with an insult, i.e. "I really like your bangs. Most girls with a nose that big can't pull off bangs." It focuses on a negative, a likely point of embarrassment, and is meant to damage the self confidence of the woman. It's like saying "You have this flaw, but I can forgive it. Never expect anybody else to though! All anybody else is going to see is that big nose." It's manipulative and terrible, but it is a ploy to achieve casual sex. So salsa's response is dead on, even though I think she should have included "Fuck off" and breaking off the corner of his chip head.
Comment Two: Also, "Don't be shy; here's a comment on your appearance." Because I don't fucking care about you as a person (or an anthropomorphized jar of salsa). It doesn't matter who you are. You have a physical quality that I like. For example, I like men with dark hair and olive complexions. This is like me saying to a guy "Yeah, it doesn't matter to me what you say right now because I'm not paying attention to your personality or your opinions, you have a physical attribute I like and that's the only reason I'm here."
Tonight, SAW sent me some more private messages, to which my answers were becoming increasingly curt and snarky. This culminated in him saying "Your fun to talk to" (oh, yeah, no attempts at proper usage of your/you're or abbreviation is TOTALLY the way to win the heart of a nerdy girl!) and me replying with "Yeah, well, you're not."
Could I have handled this better? Certainly. Could he have? Definitely. 'Bye-'bye, Wanker.

While I'm on the topic of SAWs, let's discuss a few more of them.

I went on a date with this guy a few weeks ago. Partway through, he starts telling me his life story. Not like, "I went to college here, I do this for a living." Like "When I was 8 my mother died in front of me, and my father tried to get custody of me but couldn't because he had been married to somebody else when my mother got pregnant so she didn't list him on the birth certificate. So I went to live with an aunt and uncle who beat their autistic son who in turn tries to beat me up. Yeah, I still live in their basement and am 30. I just don't want to look for work more than two miles from home. Well, my brother offered to let me live with him in this area where jobs are good and plentiful, but I don't want to do that. Where are you going?" I mean, people go through shit in life. It doesn't make them bad people. It frequently makes them stronger and better people. However, when you tell me that you're in a bad situation but are making no attempts to make it better, you're fucking ridiculous. I don't want to deal with people who lie, but you're supposed to try to sell yourself a little bit on a first date. If I can bother to put on mascara, you can wait until a second date to tell me all about your defeatist views on life. Actually, you know what? Scratch that. You can tell me about your defeatist views on life before asking me out. Save me some time. And seek therapy. Seriously. You need help with that shit.

I once went on a first date with a guy who told me a story about his being dick to some kid. He then actually used the phrase, "Yeah, because I have really high self-confidence, I'm okay with telling people when they're wrong." Nope. That's not self-confidence. That's narcissism. It is not an attractive quality. Stop talking.

Went on a first date with another guy. We had fun. He paid for my chai tea, we talked, we laughed. He boasted a little bit about how he's young (younger than me, incidentally) but has a good job that he really likes and owns a house and such, but never said "I own a house at 25 because I'm fucking awesome." More in terms of "It's important to me to be independent. I really like my job, because it's meaningful to me and I think I'm good at it. It doesn't make me sad that it's good money." Good job, sir. You've presented yourself well. Please give lessons to your peers. Did it work out? No. But at least he wasn't a SAW about it.

The Best Date Ever

I went on the best date ever today.

We had a quick lunch, then went for a nice, long walk on the beach. After that, we went for a long, relaxing car ride. We got Chinese takeout and came back to my place. I ate my Chinese food, he had some cereal and an egg. We watched "A Nightmare on Elm Street" and took a little nap together. I'm awake again, but I haven't woken him up. He's extremely cute and somehow even cuter when sleeping, even if he does have his butt on my pillow. It's been a great day.

Too bad the human man I had a date scheduled with today postponed and I wound up on a "date" with the dog today...

A New Something Awesome!

Jerry Bradshaw has the most beautiful tenor voice I have ever heard. When he writes comedic songs, they are hilarious. When he writes serious songs, they are incredibly deep and meaningful. Either way, I love listening to his stuff.

This tremendous singer has established himself as "Ned" from The Village Idiots on the Renaissance Festival circuit, but he is still working on getting his solo career off the ground. His CD is on sale for $10, plus nominal shipping and processing fees. I encourage you all to at least check out the preview here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zVVQl4npFbk. If you like it, and would like to purchase the CD in its entirety, follow the link provided on the YouTube page.

Just for funzies, here's a link to Jerry Bradshaw doing a cover of Bob Seger's "Hollywood Nights." Great opportunity to hear what this man can do with a full song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c5c1EVoVON4 Enjoy!

I Would Have Bit Her in the Face, Too

Several years ago, I worked as a bather in the grooming salon at an inexplicably popular pet supply store. My first day there, the idiot girl training me told me that she will never work on pit bulls. Ever. I asked her why, and she told me that she had been attacked by a pit bull at work. I asked, "Well, what did you do to the dog?" half-joking. Holy shit, did she fuck up.

This girl, who I'll call Megan, was a bather. She took a pit bull into the back to bathe it. As will happen when you tie up a dog and spray water at it, the dog got scared. This dog broke the grooming loop (it's like a short leash that exists for the purpose of keeping the dog tethered to the grooming station), and, being scared, ran and hid under one of the elevated tubs that small dogs are bathed in. This stupid bitch got down on her hands and knees, stuck her face in the dog's face, then grabbed the dog's front legs and pulled it out from under the sink. Of fucking course it bit her. It doesn't have shit to do with what type of dog it was. I would have bit her if I'd been in the dog's place. When she told me this, I literally looked her in the face and said "You're a fucking moron; I want a different trainer."

I hope I don't need to explain to anybody why this was so stupid and why this girl was absolutely, one hundred percent at fault for this dog attacking her. If anybody needs clarification, leave me a note in the comments and I can elaborate. Basically what it boils down to is a small creature was scared, escaped from one form of perceived attack, then was pursued and attacked again and OF COURSE it defended itself.

The cherry on top of the idiot sundae? The moron was off from work on medical leave after she attacked this scared dog (which is fair, I suppose). Not only was she not terminated for attacking this dog and exhibiting overall poor judgment, when she returned from medical leave, she was promoted. The company promoted her because they were afraid she would sue for her own pathetic lack of judgment and stupid actions.

Not related to Megan's particular brand of stupid, but this also infuriates me, so I'll tag it on. One of the managers was believed to be homosexual. He was fired. The overall environment became extremely hostile against me when a good friend - who is flamboyantly gay - popped in to say hello one day. I thought this was just the store I worked at and that the individual store manager was an intolerant, discriminatory asshole. I have since met somebody who worked at another store, several hours away from where I worked. She was fired when it was discovered she was in a romantic relationship with another woman. She successfully sued. They did not reinstate her or promote her to make that lawsuit go away. That type of special treatment was reserved for dumb bitches who assault the dogs in the salon.

I won't name this particular company, but I will say I will not take my dog there for any grooming services. I will not allow them to cut his nails. They will not bathe him. No ear cleaning. No teeth cleaning. We go to PetCo for his nails (I do everything else at home). Shortly after I left that company, I went in to buy my dog a brush while it was on a super sale. The managers were rude to me, in my capacity as a customer. I did not buy the brush and have not purchased anything from that company since.

*EDIT* For some reason, I'm having difficulties replying to comments. So I wanted to address El Zacho's comment and point out that it's a "Simpsons" quote, not a true story. :-)

Thanks for Your Commentary on my Weight, Random Stranger. Bitch.

I needed help moving my old couch down three flights of stairs yesterday, so I bribed a friend with a homemade lasagne. This resulted in a hectic trip to the grocery store to purchase the items needed for a homemade lasagne. This is a 24 hour store, so I usually manage to avoid the busy hours and go around midnight. However, last minute need for lasagne items meant pre-evening trip to the grocery store.

So, I'm walking my fat ass around the grocery store, gathering the necessities for lasagne. In the pasta aisle, a woman approaches me and asks "Can I interest in a coupon for a free weight-loss smoothie?"

Now, I'm not as off-the-wall, screamy and aggressive as this blog may make me seem. So all I said was, "No, thanks, I'm good." But I was so mad about it, I honestly was hoping she would ask me again so I could feel justified in screaming at her. Some of the thoughts that went through my head are as follows:

Yeah, bitch, that's why I'm purchasing carbs and milk fat. Cause I want to lose weight. Clearly my concern with my weight is showing and I am obviously your key demographic.

Oh, I see you have A cup breasts. Can I interest you in a coupon for a push-up bra? You know, your ears stick out quite a bit. One of my co-workers is married to a plastic surgeon. Would you like his card? No? What? Is this rude? Is it rude of me to tell a stranger "There are things about your body that I personally find less than desirable; you should go change them"?

Or maybe just a solid "Wow, it's really rude for you to approach me with your stupid shit while I'm shopping. If I was interested in your bullshit rip-off products, I would do a Google search and find your company on my own. But thank you for judging me. You're sure to not alienate people by deliberately offending them. Piss off."

Or possibly just a silent face slap.

BUT YOU WORK HERE!!

So, this asshole walks into the store today. "How do I use your store's mobile app?"

"Let's look at it together."

"No! Just tell me what to do!"

"I don't know the app terribly well. I need to look at it as we go."

"But you work here! What do you mean you don't know the app?!"

"I work in a store, not in web development. I don't have an iPhone. If the store provided me with one, maybe I'd know the app. However, it's a different part of the company, and I'm actually not obligated to know it. I will gladly look at it with you, though."

"But you work here!"

"Where do you work?"

"I'm a receptionist at Blargity Blar Orthopedic Office."

"Oh, cool! So you know how to do custom fittings for prosthetic limbs?"

"No! God, you need to listen! I'm a receptionist! The doctors do the fittings."

"Oh. So you work for a company but don't know the details of things that aren't your department? That's weird. Why don't you know how to do everything?"

"I don't have the training to do fittings!"

"And I'm not an app developer. Would you like to figure it out together?"

The point of this, kids? Don't be that asshole who yells at somebody for not knowing every stupid detail of a company, especially when it comes to something like somebody in the store not knowing shit about the website, which is almost always a completely separate part of the company.

How to Walk Your Dog Without Being an Asshole

This should come as a surprise to nobody: I like dogs. Okay, that's underselling. I really, really like dogs. Dogs are the best thing in the world (don't tell my cat!). Yay, dogs! I am particularly fond of big dogs, but I have nothing against little dogs. I was looking for a Jack Russel at one point...and wound up adopting a St. Bernard mix. Ten times the size is ten times the fun!

I take my giant dog for walks on a regular basis, LIKE ONE SHOULD. He loves it and I love it. My giant dog isn't really aware of how big he is. He is kind of scared of big dogs and he loves cats and small dogs. The cutest thing in the world is watching my dog play with my mother's next door neighbor's shih tzu. So, we'll go for a walk in my neighborhood when I get home from work and ultimately, we'll pass somebody walking a small dog (4 out of 5 times in my neighborhood, this is a young woman, so I will be using a generic "she" for the small dog walker. Men with small dogs, please don't take offense. A man with a dog is sexy, regardless of...well, anything. Men with dogs are always great). My dog sees this little dog and gets excited. His tail starting wagging hard, he gets a little panty, he starts sniffing the air, and he starts pulling, because he wants to go make a friend. Unless the Little Dog Woman says something like, "Oh, he looks sweet" or "Aw, look who wants to be friends!" I take my dog across the street. I know he's sweet, I know he wants to make friends, but he's also about 115 pounds and I can see where this could be absolutely terrifying to somebody with a 10 pound dog. So out of respect and decency, I take my dog across the street so as not to scare/upset Little Dog Woman or the little dog. My dog doesn't understand this. He gets upset and still wants to go back across the street and make friends with the little dog. Because Little Dog Woman is standing there, texting or lighting a cigarette or picking her ass or doing anything other than keeping her dog moving. I have a responsibility to move my dog and not allow him to be intimidating, but Little Dog Woman has a responsibility to keep moving and not stand there teasing my dog.

I feel like there's not much else I need to say about this, so I'll just recap. If you're walking your dog and see a dog you don't want to play with, KEEP MOVING. Oh, the other dog crossed the street? KEEP MOVING.