I Miss the Crazy Pills

I am one lazy piece of crap.

I don’t know how else to put it.

I swear, I didn’t used to be this way. I used to be psychotic about what I had to do, and when I had to do it, and I had to be 15 minutes early or I would never get the job, and I had to get straight A’s or I would never get into college, and I had to be a leader on campus or no one would ever offer me more money to stay in college, and I had to be skinny or no boy would ever look at me, and, and, AND!!! Then I met Trent, stopped popping the crazy pills, and realized, MY GOD! No one really gives a shit what I’m doing or how I’m doing it.

Trent is the exact opposite of me in this way. He is one of those people that can give the smallest amount of effort, and succeed. He’s Clinton, I’m Hilary. He’s Sonny, I’m Cher. OK, bad analogies, since Clinton was almost impeached and Sonny ran his ass into a tree and died, but you get my meaning. Trent’s so god damn smart he can sleep in until 10 in the morning and come home at 3 in the afternoon and still get a raise, a bonus, a personal note from the CEO and a swift smack on the ass. I, on the other hand, give WAY TOO MUCH OF A SHIT what others think of me, so I work my ass off, only to get absolutely NOTHING in return.

For example, yesterday The Bearded Wonder returned reaking of NY funk and stale airplane air. He wasn’t feeling too hot, so he napped all afternoon. I wasn’t feeling to hot either. I have one of those “God Damn Colds That Shouldn’t Exist Because It’s Fucking Summer And No One Should Have Colds In The Summer” colds, which is making me sleepy, grumpy, and an all around asshole.

*Small sidenote: I just spilled an entire can of Diet Coke with Lime down my shirt. I am now royally pissed and I look like I’m secreting Diet Coke from my breasts. This post will only become more of a rant from here on out.*

Moving on, I was a grumpy piece of crap, but instead of calling in sick for the afternoon and cuddling with my two hairballs (including Molly) I went back to work. Why? I DON’T FUCKING KNOW WHY!!! Could they fire me for not coming back? Yes, but Friday’s my last day anyway. Could they say they won’t give me my earned vacation pay? Oh, wait, THEY ALREADY DID! Would they not like me anymore? DING, DING, DING! We have our answer folks, thanks for playing.

Today, same senario. Woke up feeling like my throat had been sanded down and painted with scary toxic paint. Nose considerably stuffed, drool marks covering pillows from breathing through my mouth all night. Lips chapped. And adding on to my misery was the fact that not only do we have no water pressure in our shower, now there is no hot water either! But did I call in sick? Guess? What did you guess? Seriously, what? OK, I won’t tease you anymore. Let’s just say, the only time I’ve been writing on this page lately is when I have nothing to do AT WORK. Gee, it’s a good thing I came in today.

At least I’m getting back at the system by not showering in the freezing water two days in a row, now causing my office to smell like a subway station. Damn the man!

*Another small sidenote: I realize that the above post makes me sound like a giant-ass grumpy bitch who is extremely selfish and an all around pain in the rump. True. But if you read closer you’ll understand that in all other facets of my life I have to be “Super-Crazy Nice Please Let Me Help Girl” and this is my only escape. So deal with it! Or stop reading. But if you send me hate mail I will send my vicious Rottweiler to eat your children. Or she may just ask you to rub her nipples.*

Rant Again.

When you see a girl wearing capris (or guy, we don’t descriminate), please don’t say, “Oh, it looks like your pants shrunk.” It’s not funny. Seriously. Not at all funny.

Please stop cowaring in fear everytime I come home because you did something you know you weren’t supposed to do. Just stay out of the bathroom trash and stop chewing on the rugs, dog! And you absolutely must stop peeing when you see that I see that you’ve done something wrong. Peeing will not make me forgive you any faster!

When your giant german shepherd runs up to my dog at the park growling and trying to fight with her (as she rolls over and shouts, “Look, I have huge nipples! Please don’t hurt me!), don’t say, “Oh, he always does that to Rottweilers. It must be a defense mechanism. Get them before they get you.” Does it look like my dog is going to attack yours. Maybe after she wets herself and passes out.

Put your shirt back on. Seriously, no one wants to see that. No, I mean it. Put it back on or I’m leaving.

Yes, I am blond. Yes, I look nice today. No, you cannot touch my boob.

If you tell everybody stories about me peeing in the car whilst intoxicated, you better not be bitching about me telling the world you’re having a LAN party. It’s who you are! Be proud! I am a geek and my girlfriend can pee in a cup! I am not ashamed!

If I ever have a bachelorette party, nobody, and I mean FUCKING NOBODY, better make me wear any sort of veil made of streamers or tell anyone I’m getting married soon. How am I supposed to make out with the bartender if everyone knows I’m getting hitched?

My car’s oil should be changed automatically. And whoever broke into my car at the dog park should be drug out into the street and shot. But next time buddy, make sure you look in the envelope with the $100, then remove the cash, then leave, instead of just throwing shit around and emptying my swim bag.

A special shout-out to Matt Lauer for circumcising Tom Cruise on the Today show.

I still may need the rum.

Quick rundown of last 12 hours.

Went to volleyball game where we actually WON A SET using our never-fail technique of just hitting the ball over the net without setting up any kind of play. I tried to instill a new method of actually playing like all the other teams do, but then we started losing and I was overuled. Then we drank several (5???) pitchers of beer. Then I got very drunk, ordered massive amounts of greasy food and went home.

After my triumphant return home, I decided, once again, I am a mean drunk. I got home, got bitchy and Trent & I got in a rather large screaming match about me being drunk and bitchy (my defense was “you shouldn’t call me a bitch!” while waving my gun in the air). Luckily, no one was hurt, except for the dog who thought she was the bitch of the house and was deeply offended by the accusation that her position would be taken by anyone. She’s still not speaking to me.

After I STORMED OUT IN A DRUNKEN STUPOR, I went for a pleasant walk where I was, thankfully, not obducted by aliens or rapists. At least I don’t think I was.

Then I passed out. I believe Trent had to put the newly washed sheets on the bed while I was sleeping. Not a small task, but he is an incredible man.

Then, when my fucking alarm went off at 5:45 IN THE MORNING, I attempted to walk, and obviously, failed miserably. Spent most of the morning in the bathroom (not showering) and trying to speak real words outloud so that I wouldn’t be talking to this company CEO at 7 a.m. going, “Well (small pause while I vomit) , I think that I would be the biggest slut at your company. I mean assface. I mean asset!”

I guess all stories have a happy ending. She called. I didn’t say assface. I got the job. A bit less money, but much higher quality of life and I won’t want to cut off my big toe on a daily basis. At least, not because of work-related business. Also, I may be the first person to accept a job offer while sitting on the bathroom floor trying to decide which end this demon in my stomach is going to come out of.

Now I just have to figure out how to quit my other hell. I mean job.

$20 Drinks and Being Rejected.

So, there was obviously no late-night, drunken blogging last night. Truly, we would have, but we felt like such losers we had to come home and drink more before stuffing our faces with PB&J sandwiches and Easy Mac. Oh, and fruit snacks.

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After several hours of attempting to pre-drink (Abbie barely drank and Mara was getting a bit annoyed with my lack of drunken behavior) we headed out to swanky bar central, The Plaza. After hearing Abbie bitch the whole way because her feet hurt, we stopped at a certain swanky bar with a swanky Red Room where we went to order swanky drinks. $20 freaking dollars!!!! Love of GOD!!!

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At this bar, the long held mystery of woman was finally revealed. Though when boys are caught staring at us and trying to pick us up, we get extremely pissed, we get much more irritated when we are not picked up. AT ALL. NOT. BY. ONE. FUCKING. GUY.

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And it’s not that we are looking to pick up guys (Luke and Trent, don’t fret), but damnit, if I’m going to get all pimped out for a night of swanky barness, there better be some glancing in my direction. At the end of the night, we finally realized we were either the biggest lame-o’s on the planet (or quite possibly, the universe) or we are just so fucking hot and gorgeous and awsome and funny and exciting and intriguing that we are unapproachable. I’m going with option number 2. Because I am that vain.

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10 hours!!!

For the love of all things holy, when I’ve been working for 10 hours strait, and have to muster up some energy to go play/drink at sand volleyball, please don’t come up to me at 5:03 and say, “Um, do you think maybe you could stay for a bit. I have, um, some typing.” in a rhetorical question manner, which really means “Sit. Stay. Type.”

And if anyone asks me to get them beef sandwiches again, I may just burst a blood vessel in my eye.

And also, I don’t need to see pictures of your granddaughter in her wedding lingerie. She probably meant it when she asked you not to show it to anyone, and I really don’t need to be seeing her wedding-night thong! Sooooooooo not appropriate at work!!!!

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