Lord Of The Flies Was Supposed To Be Fiction, Right?

Yes, Virginia, there is a psychotic.
The world is full of weirdos and malcontents. I don’t mean the normal kind of malcontents, like me, my friends, my family.
No. I mean real live psychos.

And, I always seem to somehow attract them. I don’t know why. It’s just a gift, I guess.
It seems like our society is set up to not only breed psychos, but also to give them the excuses, the tools and the skills to indulge their alternate realities.
They are no longer the outcasts, they are the norm.
It’s crazy.

And, I’ve had my fair share of dealing with psychos and stalkers.
Hello-didn’t I ever tell you guys about that one stalker who brought a knife to the game?

He was a homeless guy, an ex-vet, who lived in his van and existed off his disability checks.
At that time, I was working in a convenience store and he would come in for a cup of coffee every day. I felt sorry for him and I would just give him his coffee and also something to eat.
I treated him with respect and dignity…well, as much dignity as one can muster when you’re giving away free hot dogs and buffalo wings.
I mean, it was all I had to work with, people. It ain’t like I had a turkey dinner on hand.

Anyway, eventually the voices in his head convinced him that I was under orders from the C.I.A. to poison him and he felt compelled to defend himself against me.
I mean, who can really blame him?

Well, maybe the waitress he stabbed to death for much the same reasons.
She would probably really blame him but we’ll never know.
Why?
BECAUSE HE STABBED HER TO DEATH BECAUSE THE VOICES TOLD HIM TO BECAUSE THE AUTHORITIES COULDN’T LOCK HIM UP UNTIL HE “ACTUALLY COMMITTED A VIOLENT ACT!”

Yeah, he was a good stalker. For me, it’s hard for any other stalkers to live up to that level.
He set the bar.

I’ve had the stalker ex, too. You know, the good ole constantly drive by my house, threaten me at my work, try to mow me down when I’m walking home, beat up the cop who served him papers, go on the run, get caught trying to hire someone to break into my house and kill me and take the kids, vow vengeance, blah blah blah.

It’s so predictable and trashy that I’m almost embarrassed that nothing “Lifetime Television”-worthy ever ended it.
He just got old and tired. That’s all.

I’ve had boy stalkers, girl stalkers, relationship stalkers and just random smatterings of weirdo stalkers.
After awhile, it’s like, eh, stalker schmalker.
I’m not changing who I am in order to stay under the stalker radar.
I’m not wearing anti-psycho underwear, I’m not carrying a lucky rabbit’s foot, I’m not looking in my rearview mirror when I drive down the road.

I carry myself through life on my own two feet. I don’t have a protector, I don’t have a defense system, I don’t have a fire in the butt can.
What does that mean?
I…don’t…know…, but I don’t think I like your tone, fucko.

I’m not easily cowed, intimidated, or threatened.

It’s not that I’m schooled in some esoteric ancient art of pummelling someone senseless. I’m not and I’m not even graceful enough to throw a punch without spinning myself sideways.
I’m 135 pounds and five foot seven. Not tiny and not large. Just an average female who works for a living, cares about my family and friends, pays my bills and gets through the day on my own steam.

I’ve lived long enough to be able to generally see through bullshit, to know when people are hiding something, to recognize that not everyone grows up to be well-adjusted or even semi-adjusted.
I’m smarter than some, not even in the same league with others, and I am content with that.

I feel that life throws enough curve balls that I don’t desire to seek out extra drama. People in my life do enough shitty things that I don’t need to include random strangers to throw into the mix.
I’ve been through enough crap that I don’t need to create another issue to lose sleep over.

My loved ones are beloved to me, as I am to them.
Everyone else can go screw the pooch.

So, yeah, there are psychos, weirdos, nutcases and crazies out there. Eventually, you’re gonna run into at least one or two.

You may even get drawn into their bizarro world.
But, my advice to you-as it is to myself-is to shake it off, to have some faith in karma, to realize that there is a greater good in people as a whole.

And, go get a gun.
A really really big gun.

I Knew You Hated Me, I Just Didn't Know You Were So Committed

Dear Universe,
Why are you against me? I just have to know, I have to ask.
I need to know.
Why are you always conspiring to knock me down every time I get up?
Is it funny? Do my panties show when I fall?
What is so stinkin’ funny about pulling the rug out from underneath me, pulling the chair out when I want to sit?
Why?
Why me?

I try to be a good person. I pay my taxes and I pay my bills on time. But, then you glitch my internet banking and the payment doesn’t go through.
Now it appears that I am two months behind on bills when I know damn well that I paid them as soon as I got them.
I know I did, because I am a compulsive and obsessive personality. I cannot stand to be late on my payments or have debt hanging over my head.
But, you screwed with me and somehow voided my payments and now I’m frantically juggling my paycheck to cover bills that I’ve already paid and now have to pay again, but double the amount…PLUS a late fee!
Ha, good one, Universe.

You also managed to erase me out of the computer system so my medical insurance showed me as terminated. TERMINATED!
Just what is that supposed to mean?
Terminated as in unemployed or terminated as in choking on a Mentos?

Was it really that funny to screw with my insurance so I had to spend an entire day faxing my corporate office, calling my dentist and doctor and rescheduling appointments?
Really? Is that the most fun you’ve had all month?
What have I done that is so bad that it is worthy of you screwing with my life on a consistent basis?

I try to be a good and helpful person. I hold doors open for people, I cover it when the old lady in front of me can’t afford to buy cat food AND Depends-I cover it without even making a face!-and I always let people in my lane on the freeway.

And, what do you do?
You wait until I go to Mexico for a nice relaxing vacation and you break out the Swine Flu.
The Swine Flu. Come on, Universe. Was that really necessary?
Now I’m the prime suspect as soon as it hits Washington.
My boss called me today and informed me that I can’t go back to work until I see a doctor and get checked. I need a note from the doctor stating that I don’t have the Swine Flu, and maybe one from my mommy.

Oh, but guess what? It’s hard to schedule a doctor appointment to get checked for Swine Flu WHEN YOUR INSURANCE HAS BEEN MISTAKENLY TERMINATED!!!
Well played, Universe. Well played, indeed.

You remember that time that I found those letters and the compromising pictures on my work computer that were left there by the previous secretary, my mortal enemy? Remember that?
And, what did I do with the racy letter that she wrote to her married boyfriend? Nothing. I did nothing. I left it there. It’s still there, as a matter of fact.

And, the pictures of her that were taken in the room that I now occupy, those pictures of her hanging out her boobs and posing in her white panties that she uploaded from the company camera and left on the company computer? What did I do with those?
Well, okay, I showed a couple of the guys and made some jokes, BUT THAT WAS IT!
Don’t I get credit for that shit?
THAT WAS GOOD OF ME AND I DESERVE SOME CREDIT FOR THAT!
But, no. You don’t give me credit for good behavior, do you, Universe?
No.

You know what you do?
You make me late for my son’s baseball game because you put that stupid old man in front of my car at the bank.
He dropped his check, had to get out and get it, put it in the drive-up window tray, it blew out, he got out again…this went on for what seemed like hours! Hours!
And, come to find out, the guy was so old and feeble minded that he was putting a Hungry Man dinner coupon in the tray instead of his check, which was lying on his dashboard the whole time.
Yeah, funny, Universe. You’re a real barrell of laughs.

Then, I’m late to Mikey’s game and pull in and park where I can watch from my car and what do you do to me then?
You make that fat guy decide to stand right in front of my car. Right the fuck in front of my car.
Does he move to the side so I can watch the game? No, he does not. He ambles around, but always right in front of me.
Didn’t you see me bang my fists on the dashboard?
Didn’t you notice me grabbing the steering wheel and whipping my head back and forth, screaming at him to move his fat ass, screaming so loud and so hard that birds flew away in a flock?
Yeah, you saw me.
You saw me finally open my door, so livid and enraged-SO DONE-that words did not even fall from my lips.
All I could manage was muted animal noises as I gestured angrily at him to MOVE HIS FAT ASS OVER!!!!!
And, he finally moves so I can enjoy my superstar son’s ball game.

And, then what do you do to me?
What do you do, Universe?
You know what you do.

You make my period start.

At my son’s baseball game, sitting in my car, dried spittle on my face, wild hair, eyes brimming with tears, smeared mascara and fingernail marks clawed into my palms.
My period starts.

And, I frantically dig in my purse and there is a deck of Skip-Bo cards, a serenity card, a stack of bills that I already paid once but am forced to pay again-PLUS THE LATE FEES-, chapstick, lipstick, toothpicks, guitar picks, a bag of cinnamon bears, a bag of chocolate covered espresso beans, a broken ankle bracelet, a cell phone charger, a voice changer, twelve pony tail holders and, inexplicably, a pizza cutter.
No tampons.

Yes, Universe. All in one week.
Seven days of my life, and you have shortened my entire life expectancy by at least fifteen years today alone.
You have proven to be a worthy adversary.

Thanks to you, I am going to mow down a nun tomorrow while she is donating blood to homeless war veteran widows.

I hope you’re effin’ happy now.

I Do This More Than I Care To Admit

I just saw a news article that had the word “Biotech” and at first glance, I thought it said,”Beotch.”

I was ready to be all offended and write to the magazine about their lack of professionalism.
I was half-way through a mental rant as I pulled my laptop over and opened up Microsoft Word.

That’s the kind of people you have out there reading shit.
People like me.

Antithesis, Sweetheart

Dear Cockless Fuckmuppet,
I want to express my most sincere appreciation of your tremendous efforts to hack my MySpace account.
Seems that fourth grade education and relentless dedication to computer porn is really paying dividends eh?,
Your father and the goat he impregnated that blissful drunken night behind the barn must be overwhelmed with pride.

Seriously, brother, you need some help.
Fortunately for you, I be in the givin’ mood.
You know, ’cause I’m a giver and all that happy shit.

Here we go.

First, turn off your grandmother’s computer.
Yes, I realize this will mean a temporary interruption of your marathon ‘watching bestiality while rectally pleasuring yourself with the back end of a Mag-light’ session in the basement but bear with me here.
This is apt to contain words with multiple syllables so you’ll need all the concentration you can muster.

Now, close your eyes. (Ignore the images of the dark, rubber-gloved figure creeping up to your childhood bed to ‘tuck you in’ in ways you were forbidden to ever speak of. With enough therapy and an incredible amount of medication they will eventually fade out.)

Ok…now wait a minute.
Do you hear those words resonating somewhere beneath the suppressed memories and latent homosexuality?
Those words are called thoughts.
(It’s perfectly okay to be a little frightened, as these will be utterly unfamiliar to you but don’t sweat it, everybody has them.)

What you are doing right now is called THINKING!
Don’t worry, it becomes easier with practice. I’d stock up on Tylenol, though, if I were you.
(Were I you, I’d also stock up on razor blades and draino but that’s a whole ‘nother letter.)

Congratulations, that’s all there is to it!
Now armed with this newly found weapon, you should be able to (say it with me now) THINK of a more productive way to spend your time than phish for account passwords using internet spam.

Despite the recession, I hear the fast food industry is booming this time of year. You know, with a liberal amount of training and some good ole fashioned hard work, you just might be qualified to work the drive through!
How’s that sound, huh?
Drive through?
Huh, Buddy?
Huh?
In time, you could even move up as far as the french fry machine, but we’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves here.
One retard limp at a time, Tiny.

If all else fails, you can always pass the time seeing how many paper clips you can fit into the wall outlet.

And, while we are on the subject of thinking…ask yourself this-
Why can’t you think for yourself?
Or why can’t you let me think for you? That was a joke.

But seriously, can we at least agree on one thing?
Like the fact that I am a better person than you are.
You wouldn’t know that, of course.
Unlike you, I try to see things from the other point of view.
And this is what I see: somebody who could stand to bathe more often.

Don’t get defensive.
I’m not attacking you.
(Any of this sound familiar yet? Or do the words stick in your gaping gullet when they’re being slung back at you?)

I just want to understand your point of view, so that I can then file it with the rest of the mental festering fecal stew of useless knowledge that I have acquired in a lifetime of being surrounded by other worthless idiots like you.

But I can’t if you’re so insecure…that…you…keep…interrupting…me.
See? This is why I can’t talk to you.
You’re rude.
In fact, you’re attacking me.
Yes.
Yes, you are.

Maybe if you redirected the energy you put in to assaulting my character and trying to hack into my life, you wouldn’t be in such debt.
I’m not judging you. That’s what YOU do – you lash out.

Quid pro quo, I’m merely making my own friendly observation on your behalf: You’re always broke, living beyond your means, spending an inordinate amount of time pointing out the faults and flaws of everyone around you, all the while ignoring the vast wasteland of your own personal history and if you can’t take responsibility for your own messy little useless life, then how can I take you seriously?

Especially when you viciously come at me, stabbing me with your ignorant pointed comments, sodomizing me with your impotent phallic remarks, and spearing me with your self-inflated harpoon of superiority.

See, I’m sensitive. I have a poet’s heart, you cum-guzzling spazztard.
I cannot abide a bully. I won’t be intimidated into agreeing with your inane opinions. I refuse to intellectually castrate myself, which is your prerogative.

Yeah. I said it.
You got a problem with that?
Mr. Frisky wants to rumble?
You want a slice of this, because I got a whole pie of kick-ass baking in the oven.

Cocksucker, I will fist hump your grill if you so much as step, so bring it on.
I mean, it’s already brung, but that’s beside the point.
So what are you going to do?
I’m giddy with anticipation.

You know, I would also like to express my relief that the chances of your actually having children are about even with Stephen Hawking’s odds of choking out Chuck Norris.

Though I’m sure your immense collection of inflatable sex animals is a tremendous aphrodisiac, nothing short of knocking an elderly hooker unconscious with a sack full of rocks is likely to get you laid.
Darwin wins again! Hooray!

So, stay out of my email, stop trying to hack into my personal information, stop thinking you are so secret-stealth with your keyboard and whatever knowledge you picked up from watching War Games and Maguyver.

In closing, I wish you nothing but dick cancer,
-B-

“When there is need of silence, you speak, and when there is need of speech, you are dumb; when present, you wish to be absent, and when absent, you desire to be present; in peace you are for war, and in war you long for peace; in council you descant on bravery, and in the battle you tremble.”

Holding The Wheel

So, I’ve been working a lot. I work a lot. I do a lot of work. A lot of the time, I am working. I’m a lotta worker.

Basically, I needed a break.

I spent a month and a half working in Elko, Nevada. Elko, people. I mean, really, do I have to say anything more about that?
And, while I was working in Elko, I was feeling forlorn and depressed. Blue. Down. I was feeling forgotten and lonesome, out of sorts and in a funk.
Elko will do that to a gal.

I was working long days, sleeping in short spurts and when I had a few moments to reflect on things, I realized that none of it really mattered.
I mean, nothing really does, if we’re talking existentially.
Which we are not.
We’re talking pity party whiney girl. We’re talking me and how I felt.

I had some sappy moments, some mushy minutes and a couple of long sobs.
Luckily, I am too shallow to be sad for long.
Plus, I am always amused at how pathetic I sound when I cry. I start out crying sincerely, but it never takes long for me to make my way to the mirror so I can watch myself cry and then I wrack my brains to think of more sad things to see how hard I can cry and before you know what hit me, I am cheered up by how truly pitiful I sometimes am.
What are ya gonna do with such a loser like me, eh? I can’t even commit to a good sincere sad cry without effin’ it up with absurd faces and ridiculous noises.
Oh, well, I guess that’s just more stuff I can cry about the next time I need some good material, am I right?

Anyway, I left Elko, got to spend exactly four days at home and went to work in Alaska.
Let me just cut to the chase right here and say that I do not work in a luxury environment. It’s not a nice little warm office with all the fixin’s.
Where I work ain’t for pussies.

It takes a lot out of a person to exist in the conditions that I work in.

By the time my month in Alaska was up, I was long overdue for some good old fashioned “ME” time.

I had to go to San Diego for some classes anyway, so I decided to make a Freedom Run.
My Freedom Run consisted of taking a couple of extra days after the classes were over, renting a car, and driving the California coast.

Sheer bliss.

Nobody knew where I was, I never opened my lap top, I rarely carried my phone.

Instead, I cruised the interstate, stopping at the ocean and sticking my toes in the sand. I sat and watched sunrises and sunsets. I threw bread to birds, I ate fruit from roadside stands and I chilled the eff out.

There is something intoxicating to me about driving down roads in the dead of night, with not another soul on the road, anonymous in the misty darkened highway, radio turned up, windows rolled down and all the world is asleep.

It’s empowering to me. It reminds me that I am the girl who can do this.
I can drive from ocean shore to light house to farmer’s markets to haunted houses.
I can.
I do.
I am not the girl who sits by the phone, waiting for phone calls, who waits around for someone to be there, who waits for life to drop into her lap.

Not me.

I don’t have to be that girl, because I am this girl.

And, it’s two a.m., I am done with my drives for tonight, all of the world is asleep again, nobody knows where I am, nobody cares where I am, nobody knows who I am and I can think of nothing that I want to cry about now.

Humanity Is Going To Hell In A Handbasket. Not That I Care.

Someday, somebody is gonna punch me right in the mouth.
One of these days, Goddess, POW! Right in the kisser!
And, I will wholly deserve it.
We all know it.
I’m just waiting for the day to come.

And, you know what I’ll do when that day arrives?
I’ll be all like,”Whaaaatttt??? What the hell? Why did you do that? What did I say to deserve a physical assault? Geez. Sheesh. Gosh. Huh.”
And various emotive noises that I am well known for emitting in lieu of actual words.

Because I’m a shit.
I am.
I know it.

But, I can’t help it. It’s not my fault that I’m this way.
It’s probably someone else’s fault. It’s probably because I’m left-handed.
Or because I was an only child.
Right?
It’s probably left-over trauma from childhood and shit.
I’m probably this way because it’s hereditary. It’s probably genetic.

Like I can control that. How am I supposed to control genetic DNA?
Even Peter Parker couldn’t control DNA, could he? No, he couldn’t and he just had to live his life being half disgusting spider and half Pants-Up-Your-Ass dork.

David Banner couldn’t control DNA, either, and he was hot. You think he liked turning into a big green troll whenever his heart beat sped up?
Huh?
You think he liked not being able to have sex, not being able to run in the breast cancer marathon, not being able to watch Fight Club?
Do you?
No, he did not like that and if you think he did, then you are a fuck face.

I tried to go buy groceries today. I was just being a normal citizen, out buying groceries with my hard-earned money. That’s all I tried to do.
I was stimulating the economy, people! I was stimulating the economy, trying to be a decent American and live my life because that’s what I do.
That’s how I am.
I’m all like that.
I’m totally all like that and shit.

But, these other fuckers in WalMart kept getting in my way!
Frick!
I was pissed as soon as I turned into the parking lot because there was absolutely nowhere to park. Nowhere, nohow. Don’t these people work? Don’t they have homes to be in? Do they really need to be at Wally World at the exact moment in time that I need to be there?
Really?

As I strolled through the aisles, my mood deteriorated at a rapid rate.
I tried to stand in one spot and weigh my options on toilet paper.
Did I want a 24 roll that claims to be the same as a 48 roll?
How is that even possible? What does that even mean?
I just want to know is it 24 or is it 48? That’s all.
24? Or 48?
What the hell is it?
What’s so fucking hard about that? Why you gotta make me break out the calculus and figure out how many yards of cushiony softness are in the goddamn plastic wrapping?
Am I really living in a world where you have to solve the riddle of the sphinx in order to wipe your ass?
Holy hell.

It got even worse when I tried to buy butter. Did I want butter or butter-ish substance comprised mostly of vegetable oil? The vegetable oil crap or margarine? Margarine with trans fat? Spreadable butter or cubes? Cubes or blocks? Blocks or spray?
WHAT THE HELL DO THEY NEED SO MANY BUTTERS FOR?
I just want yellow soft shit to spread on my frickin’ toast! At this point, I don’t care if it’s made out of cream, lard, pulverized livers or melted plastic.

At least when I got to the cracker aisle, I knew I would be fine. I know exactly what kind of crackers I like.
I like saltines and I like melba toast, even though I don’t like the name “melba toast.”
It makes me feel like I’m eating somebody’s grandma.
“Yeah, that Melba Toast, she sure was crunchy. A little stale, but I like that in my Melba Toast. Good ole Melba Toast.
I like my Melba Toast with some fava beans and a nice chianti. A bit crumbly but Melba Toast is perfect with ‘cottage cheese’. Yeppers. Ole Melba Toast dipped in cottage cheese.”
Barf.

Anyway, I was reaching for my blue box of melba toast when this gal insists on standing right in my way. She moved into my standing space. She did.
She thinks that she needs to read the nutrition panel on Wheat Thins versus the nutrition panel on Cheez-Its. She thinks she needs to do that right now.
Right as I’m trying to reach good ole melba toast.

She’s doing that half-bent spine stance and squinting at the little squares of information printed on the boxes. She’s looking at this one, and then she looks at that one. Sometimes, she holds them side by side and looks at both of them at the same time.
Wow. Impressive. This could go on for hours.

Meanwhile. Hello? I’m clearing my throat in a very polite way. She doesn’t even look up. She doesn’t step to the side, she doesn’t do shit that is helpful to me in any way.
I have my lips pursed together and I breathe in very deeply.
And I blow it out on the back of her head as hard as I can.

She jerks around to see what that wet gust of air on her neck was, drops her precious crackers and has the nerve to look at me like I’m the rude one here.
I smiled but not really and said in a very dainty voice,”Excuse me. You’re blocking the entire row of crackers because you’re fat.”
And I got my good ole melba toast and we strolled on down the aisle.

People. This shit went on for hours. I was elbowing pregnant women out of the way in the pickle aisle, drop-kicking matrons who got in my way in front of the brownie mixes, kidney punching elderly women who were aimlessly milling around in front of the canned goods.

This man gave me a raised eyebrow look when I threw 12 frozen dinners in my cart and I said,”What? Like it’s any of your business if I like the mashed potatoes in this one and the desert in that one and the chicken fingers in the other one and I throw the rest away. What do you care? They’re 87 cents each. Go cry about it to Gandhi and save the whales somewhere else, Mr. Greenjeans.”
Can you believe the nerve of some people?

I swear, you see the worst of the worst in the grocery aisles of WalMart.
As I was pushing my loaded cart up to the clerk, this amped up little gal sped right in front of me and pushed her cart in at an angle as if she could call dibs on the check-out stand.
Right the fuck in front of me.

I looked at the clerk and I looked at the little gal. She was about the size of my upper arm.
She thought that she could just nerve her way in front of me! I could tell that’s what she was thinking.
She was thinking that because she’s little and I’m normal sized, that I wouldn’t make an issue of it. She was thinking that because she had a third of the amount of groceries that I did, that I would acquiesce to her and be all gregarious and philanthropic and shit.
I could totally tell that’s what she was thinking.

Oh how now brown cow.

I stared her down, I stared down at her, I stared, I downed.

Very slowly, yet excruciatingly deliberately, I backed my cart up and then rammed it into hers as hard as I could.
She stood there in stunned silence, looking between me and the check-out girl as if WalMart would call security and the whole situation would somehow end with me being goose-stepped off the premises between two hulking Wally World bouncers.

Puhlease.

I shook my head at her and said,”Not today, Crack Head. I’ve just shopped in WalMart, my nerves are shot, my mood is black and it’s never that great to begin with. This is not a good day to fuck with me.”

She whipped her basket around and raced down to another check-out stand as if I were going to leap upon her back and give her a sobriety test.

Anyway, it was an epic adventure, as most of my adventures in WalMart usually are. I guess it’s just a rule or something.

But, the highlight of the day was discovering the 20th anniversary edition of “Dirty Dancing”, on sale for the bargain price of nine bucks.

Tonight, I’m curling up with good ole melba toast and waiting with breathless anticipation to say everyone’s most favoritest movie phrase,”Nobody puts Baby in the corner!”

Without a doubt, there’s nothing like “Dirty Dancing” to make the whole WalMart debacle worthwhile.

It Takes One To Know One

Okay, this is a funny thing that happened while I was working in Nevada.
My company put me up at the Red Lion Hotel & Casino.
My friends always think it’s funny when I go to work in Nevada because 1. I don’t gamble and 2. I don’t drink alone and 3. I do sleep alone.
I so don’t fit into Nevada standards of a single white female.

Anyhoo, one night I got off work a bit early. It was too early to go to bed and too late to go eat supper.
I figured, “Hey, I’ll shake things up a bit and go down to the bar and have a drink. I will. I’ll do that. I’ll have an adult beverage at the bar and scope out the action like they do in the movies.”

Right? In the movies, the lady from out of town goes to have a drink, meets a dangerous misunderstood sexy man who is wrongly accused of a government assassination, and they exchange a couple of flirty comments, laced with sarcasm and mysterious innuendo and then a couple of menacing goons appear and he grabs her hand to run from the hail of gunfire and she gets pulled into the drama of helping him figure out who framed him and in the end, they fall in love and her lipstick is perfect the whole time.
Yeah, I was up for that.

So, I perked up (Physically, yo. Sorry, it ain’t a pretty visual, is it?), freshened my make-up (Because I’m always ready for my close-up) and headed out of my cave-like room.

As I left my hotel room, a door opened across the hallway. I didn’t pay any particular attention to it, as I had a single-minded focus to be leaping across rooftops and dodging helicopter spotlights with my imaginary fugitive whom I had yet to meet.

It registered dimly in my mind that it was a guy who had left his room at the same time that I left mine.
Just a coincidence, naturally, and I continued on my journey down the effin’ long hallway to the elevator.

But, as I was walking, I became acutely aware that the guy was matching my stride. Not in a furtive way, he was also headed to the elevator, but it started to annoy me.

Like if someone saw us, they would think we were walking together, which we weren’t.
That kind of shit bugs me, people.
Seriously.

So, after a couple of feet down the hall, I stopped and turned to face him.
He gave me a look that said,”Uh, what?”
Like I was going to ask him what time it was or something. I can read faces, people. I know what people are thinking even when they don’t.

I said,”Hey. I am walking down this hallway. I am. Not you. Any guy in the world should already know that it is not cool to skulk behind a girl who is walking by herself down a deserted hallway.”
He said,”I wasn’t skulking. I was just headed to the elevator.”
I said,”But I am headed to the elevator. I am. I am headed to the elevator and I don’t need some dude to be headed to the elevator at the same time.”
He looked around, like he was trying to spot someone who would help him out of this situation.

In a very careful tone of voice, he said,”But, I want to go down to the casino. I just want to get on the elevator and go downstairs. I wasn’t trying to follow you.”
To which I replied in a very patient manner,”But, you did. Even without trying to follow me, you did and now you are getting on my nerves, Buddy. Now, I am going to continue to walk to the elevator and you are going to stand here until I do. Don’t be a creepy guy. Just be a normal dude standing around the hallway until I get down the hall. Okay?”
And, he blinked a couple of times while he digested my words and then slowly nodded in assent.

I spun on my heels and resumed my solo walk to the elevator.
He slowly started walking again, stopping to look into the air and whistle tunelessly every time I stopped and whipped my head around to check his progress down the hallway.
If it appeared that he was closing the gap, I would stop and point at him with my eyebrows raised and say in a loud stage whisper,”CREEPY GUY!” as a reminder to him that I had already explained the rules once and my patience only goes so far.

When I got to the elevator, I stepped into it and started repeatedly punching the “Close Door” button. It didn’t close.
The guy was now upon me, even though he had resorted to dragging a foot along behind him like Igor to slow his pace. He had a bemused expression on his face as he saw the scowl on mine, especially when I kicked the wall of the elevator in frustration over the doors standing wide open to let any creepy guy in the whole frickin’ hotel into my elevator space.

As the doors closed, I blew out a breath in annoyance and said out loud,”Great. Now I’m stuck in the elevator with the creepy guy and he’s sucking in my personal air. Wonderful.”

He was looking at me with one eyebrow cocked…cocked.
Yeah, I said it.
Anyway, he looked entirely too pleased with himself for my liking and I stood there in huffy silence. He stepped over behind me, stood about an inch away and breathed in my hair and said,”Uh, is this too close?”
I crossed my arms, and did my best Clint Eastwood impression,”You wanna make my day, Creepy Guy? Huh? Do ya, Creepy Guy?”
He laughed and stepped back into the accepted elevator personal space zone that we are all born instinctively knowing.

As we descended, he said,”I feel like I’m in an episode of Seinfield.”
Which, made me laugh. Because I’ve been told that before and I suppose there is some truth to it.

When the doors opened, I held them back and turned to look at him.
He was actually a cute guy and had put up with my attitude in a good natured way, so I felt a bit benevolent towards him.
I said,”I’m going to step out of here first. I am going to walk down this hallway to the casino and I am going to have a drink at the bar…ALONE. Do you know what you’re going to do?”
Very solemnly, he nodded and replied,”I am going to stand here and wait for you to get off the elevator. I am going to let the doors shut in my face and give you time to walk to your destination. And then, and only then, will I even dream about stepping foot out of this elevator. I will go to the casino and if I want a drink, I will walk all the way around to the other bar, not the bar that you are going to. Right?”
I beamed a smile at him and said,”Keep it up, Tiger, and we might be engaged by the end of the week.”
And, I let the doors close on my new Creepy Guy boyfriend.
It was the most perfect relationship I’ve had in years.

In fact, I was so pleased with the whole episode that I turned the corner and walked up the stairs back to my room, foregoing the drink with my imaginary government fugitive pretend boyfriend.

After all, the elevator adventure was going to be hard to top, I had to get up to work in the morning, my lipstick was still good, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s knowing how to quit when I’m ahead of the game.
Who says I don’t gamble?

Angsty And Free Is The Way To Be

Dudes. I’m totally all angsty today.
I’m full of angst. Over flowing with an angsty miasma.
I got angst oozing out my ying yang, know what I’m sayin’ over here?

I think I’m just burnt out. I just worked fifteen hour days for thirty-four days in a row without a day off. I get to come home for four days before I go back to work for another month.
It’s exhausting just thinking about it.

I flew in today and my ex picked me up at the airport.
It’s a sad statement of my life when the only person I have to call for stuff like that is my ex-husband. It’s even sadder that he’s always available to do it.

I sometimes ponder why we ever got married.
We were never one of those couples who are crazy about each other. We were never mired in the festering fecal stew of love.

I think we just kind of met at a time when we were both looking to settle down and try out routine.
I have since learned that anytime you settle, well, you settle.
And, settling does not settle well.
Settling wears you down.
And, routine gets to be routine.

It seems so obvious now, but at the time, I think I was just looking for a human experiment to try out some great crock-pot recipes on.
Eh. I shoulda volunteered to host candle parties instead.

But, I married him, mainly because he asked me to. The writing was on the wall from the get-go. For one thing, I ended being two hours late to the wedding.
It wasn’t really my fault. I wanted to stop for an espresso and then I got lost.
Sorry, Fate. You were trying to be there for me and in my caffeine induced stupor, I just ignored the signs.

Then, as a consequence of me being late to my wedding, we were naturally late to the reception.
Meanwhile, the guests who were waiting at the reception because they didn’t want to drive to the chapel where we got married started drinking to kill time.
One of them was showing off a brand new gun that he bought and ended up accidently shooting himself and one of the guests.
No. You didn’t read that wrong.
That’s right.
One of our wedding guests shot himself and a fellow celebrator.

When I found out, I was hoping that it was the fucker who gave us the salsa machine that he received from the salesman who made his rounds in town the week before. The guy was selling vacuum cleaners and if you let him in to vacuum your living room, he gave you a choice of free gifts: a salsa-making machine or a cheese grater.
Almost all of us in town chose the salsa-making machine.
I had already received four from my cheap ass “friends” as wedding gifts.
In all honesty, I can’t really complain about that, though, since I’m infamous myself for giving out purloined airline blankets for Christmas to my loved ones.
Sometimes, I sneak over to their homes a couple of weeks before Christmas, steal something from their home, take it home, wrap it up and give it back to them for Christmas.
It’s not necessarily that I’m cheap, it’s just that I am not creative enough to think of new things to give people. Plus, I hate shopping and crowds.
And, I don’t like to spend money on people who aren’t me.

Anyway, two people were shot at my wedding and I think that right there could probably be considered a big blinking neon sign from above.
Not to mention, it was the most exciting thing that happened in our whole relationship.

Our divorce was just as benign. We decided to get divorced, I filled out my paperwork, he asked my best friend, Sherri St. Whoreface to fill out his, we drove to the courthouse together and got divorced.
On the way out of the courtroom, we stopped to look at each other.
I mean, we had been married for ten years. TEN YEARS!
You would think that we would have something heartfelt and emotional to say about this failure of ours to maintain a relationship after being together for so long.
Nah. Not so much.

He actually punched me in the arm, like a slugger, and said,”Well, thanks for the marriage.”
And I punched him back and said,”No, thank YOU for the divorce.”

Sporto.
I mean, WTF?
And, then I said,”Do you think we should punch each other out every year in celebration of our divorce anniversary? Or, fist bump, or…?”
Did I already say WTF?

Since we’ve been divorced now almost eleven years, we actually spend more time together than we ever did married. The subject of reuniting has never been brought up.
We prefer to be the way we are. Two people who have known each other for a couple of decades, who knows how each other thinks, who are comfortable being ourselves around each other, and comfortable being ourselves without each other.
He would probably name me as one of his best friends and I feel good about that.
I wouldn’t name him as one of mine and he feels good about that, too, believe me.

So, sometimes I assess my life and I see that I keep existing with this empty space where a companion should naturally go. A partner, someone to lean on, someone to be coupled with.
You know, the natural yearning for an opposite, to love with, fight with, make up with, LIVE with.

But, then I spend two hours driving home from the airport with my ex-husband, trapped in a moving vehicle with him while he yammers about his day, yaks about his work, maws about his problems, points out my emerging grey hair and asks to borrow forty dollars and I think,”No, I’m all good just the way I am.”

So, sorry, guys, if you think I’m the girl for you. Because I am so not.

If you think that I will be supportive in a relationship, open to communication, or yearning for a loving connection and you want to be that special someone in my life, well, I already have one ex-husband and I’m not looking for another one any time soon.

But, thanks for the nomination, Sluggo. I’ll save a chest bump for you.

It's Just Art, With An F

We have a fart machine.
And, we know how to use it.
And, we love to use it.

When my worst best friend, Sherri St. Whoreface was single, she and I used to plan our nights out to revolve around the fart machine.
We would get all dressed up and hit the town with our fart machine.  We wanted to use it to our best amusement advantage.

In this way, we could be assured that we would be approached by studly men with their shirts half-buttoned and chest hair waving in the breeze. They would be wearing skin tight pants and manly brown cowboy boots and have belt buckles so big that they actually chipped the wood from the bar when they bellied up to order a beer. A lot of these types of guys have their best Nascar jackets on or cheesy faux leather coats.
You’ve seen these Romeos around.

They typically go out to bars, spot the one table of women who have no interest in any of the so-called eligible men.
These women are generally sitting at their table, heavily involved in conversation with each other, just wanting to have some girl time without the interruptions of kids, husbands, boyfriends.
This is just a group of gals who want to have a few drinks, tell a few stories, share a few anecdotes about whatever is going on in their lives with other women to get some “I know exactly what you mean!” support.
We aren’t there to pick up a slickster, we aren’t even paying attention to the rest of the room.

That’s when the space invaders arrive. They saunter over, ignoring our looks of consternation, oblivious to the fact that they are not welcome to invade our table with pick-up lines like,”I love every bone in your body-especially mine!”, or my favorite,”I ain’t no Fred Flintstone, but I can make your bedrock.”
Thanks for the visual, Tiger.
Excuse, but I have to throw up in my mouth a little bit.

But, this time, we wouldn’t have to resort to insults or snide brush-offs. No.
We were armed and dangerous with our super advanced technological instrument-the state of the art Fart Machine.

Imagine seeing two hotties in a bar. You do the requisite male gesture that consists of eye scan and chin thrust. The two girls, amazingly, smile back in a very come-hither way.
That hardly ever happens!
You send over a drink, figuring that your chances on a bad average are fifty/fifty.
On a good average, one for each arm.

As you slide into the table, you are amazed at your luck.
Not only do these girls laugh at your lines that you plagerized from ‘King Of The Hill’, they are scooting even closer to you in order to hear every brilliant phrase that drops like steaming turds from your lips.
Total score, right?

But, all of a sudden, something disturbing happens.
What was that noise?
What the hell was that?
Could that massive flatulence have come from one of these girls?
And then, another one?
So soon?
WTF?
It sounds like her butthole is expanding every ten seconds. Oh my God!
What have these girls been eating?

It’s non-stop constant farting! And these disturbed girls never even acknowledge the huge fart bombs.
They sometimes giggle and say,”Whoops-’scuse me.”-but that’s it.

And one of them even lifts up her leg and scoots back before the sound of flatulence fills the air, a cacophony of wind breaking, a veritable cornucopia of ass horn.
What a couple of freaks.

So, yeah, we got dressed up all full of hotness, took the time to change outfits seven times, put on make-up and fix our hair, and then we went to bars so men would hit on us and then we spent the rest of the evening convincing them that we had really bad gas.

And don’t even ask about going to the ladies room with the fart machine.
You don’t want to know.

Ask Me Anything, I'll Tell You Nothing

1) How has your day been?
I’m already visualizing the duct tape over your mouth.

2) Where is your boyfriend right now?
Probably at home with his real girlfriend.

3) Are you a deep thinker?
I think sex is better than logic, but I can’t prove it.
Ha.

4) Have you ever lost someone close to you?
Losing a husband can be hard.
In my case, it was almost impossible.
Har de har.

5) Do you still get wild and crazy?
All of my wild oats have turned to shredded wheat.

6) Have you won many awards?
I’d kill for a Nobel Peace prize.

7) Are you an opiniated person?
Give me ambiguity or give me something else.
Do you think blondes are dumb?
I think all generalizations are false.
Including this one.

9) Have you ever fought with an ex over stuff?
Whatever is not nailed down is mine and whatever I can pry loose is not nailed down.

10) What would you do if you won the lottery?
If I ever get rich, I hope I’m not real mean to poor people, like I am now.

11) How long does it take to make you mad?
Usually, I can last until noon before I’m tempted to spit on my hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.

12) Do people say your too serious?
Comedy is simply a funny way of being serious.

13) Do people tell you that you need a reality check?
Any similarities between your reality and mine are purely coincidental, Fuck Face.

14) Are you more attracted to looks or brains?
Better an empty head than an empty bed.
Wonk Wonk.

15) Do you consider yourself a success?
I live by the motto that if at first you don’t succeed, blame someone else and seek counselling for validation.

16) How is your life going so far this year?
So far this year, I have only 2 things to worry about-
That things will never get back to normal, and that they already have.

17) Ever done something that you really regret?
Not really.
It’s true that I am an agent of Satan, but my duties are largely ceremonial.

18) Have you learned any lessons in life so far?
If you’re going to rape, pillage and burn, be sure to do things in that order.

19) Do you like going out to bars?
Happy hour is supposed to be a nice gesture, not a challenge.

20) Do you tan or burn?
I’m actually pale blue.
It takes me a week of sunbathing to turn white.

21) Are you a planner or a spontaneous person?
I am all in favor of spontaneity, providing it is carefully planned and ruthlessly controlled.

22) Do you know the Boy Scout pledge?
If I had a Boy Scout, I could make a fire by rubbing his hind legs together.

23) Has anyone ever written a song about you?
No, but I wrote a book about me called,”You Cannot Live as I Have Lived and Not End Up Like This: The Thoroughly Disgraceful Life & Times of The Goddess of Glee”.

24) Do you ever have nightmares?
Nightmares suck.
If only there was some magical liquid that could erase bad memories…

25) What are you afraid of?
What if, at this very moment, I am already living up to my full potential?

26) What acheivement are you most proud of?
I’m alive, occupying space, and exerting gravitational force.
That’s about as good as it gets, people.

27) Do you believe in marriage?
Why buy the pig when you can get the sausage for free?

28) Do people ask you to help solve arguments?
Yes, all the time.
I don’t like to brag, but I’m quite infamous for my sage advice and preternatural wisdom.
When I am asked to step in and mediate disputes, I usually like to stand up, bang my fist on the table and yell,”The time for action is past! Now is the time for senseless bickering!”
And, it always seems to get the job done.

29) What is something that you can’t tolerate?
Well, I’m against picketing, but I don’t know how to show it.

30) What do you miss most about your childhood?
You know, nostalgia just ain’t what it used to be and probably never was.

31) Are you a good listener?
Hey, just because I have a short attention span doesn’t mean I

32) What is one of your pet peeves?
People whose vocabularies are as bad as, like, whatever.

33) Is there anyone you are longing for?
Yes, but the reason for my longing is because we have been separated by cruel fate.
We are star-crossed lovers racing across the grassy field towards each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m.traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m.at a speed of 35 mph.
And, we all know that I’m no good at mathematical relationships.

34) What is the most important thing to you in the opposite sex?
I want someone who will fall for me like his heart is a mob informant and I’m the East River.

35) What was something that really bothered you about your ex?
He was as lame as a duck.
Not the metaphorical lame duck either, but a real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine or something really sharp.

36) Do you ever read the graffiti on bathroom walls?
What are you looking at the bathroom walls for?
The joke is in your hands.

37) Do people tell you that your attractive?
Beauty is only a light switch away.

38) Do you support the war?
Fighting for peace is like screwing for virginity.

39) Do you wish you could go back in time and change things?
What would be the point?
Things are a lot more like they used to be than they are now.

40) What is the best advice you’ve been told?
You tried your best and failed miserably.
The lesson is “Never Try”.
My road to success is always under construction.

41) Do you take criticism well?
Everyone is entitled to their own opinion.
It’s just that yours is stupid.

42) Your age?
My birth certificate has expired.

43) What’s the last thing you think about before you go to sleep?
“It’s eleven p.m. Do you know where your pants are?”

44) Do you smoke?
Only when I’m burning rubber.
Wonk. Wonk.

45) Do people say that you talk a lot?
When I was born, I was so surprised that I didn’t speak for a year and a half.

46) How is your sex life?
It’s about as spectacular as a magician on the radio.
I’m probably the only girl you know who has had an anti-climax.

47) what is your lucky number?
Applying the word ‘luck’ to me in any form is proof that you’re an oxymoron.
When you look in the pot at the end of my rainbow, you can be guaranteed to find it full of shit.

48) Have you ever saved anyone’s life?
Everytime I stand up a date.

49) Tomatoe or tomato?
You say tomato, I say go fuck yourself.

50) Do you like feet?
Some of my best friends have feet.

51) Something unusual about you?
There is nothing unusual about me at all. Why do you ask?

52) Do you sing in the shower?
I sing all the time.
It’s the reason nobody wants to get into the shower with me.

53) Six things you CAN live without?
Money, food, clothes, love, friends, and Paula Abdul.

54) Six things you can NOT live without?
Toilet paper, coffee, chapstick, clean towels, The Reverend Horton Heat, and an athletic cup.

55) Ever get so drunk you don’t remember what you did?
That’s what God invented camera phones for.

56) Have you heard any good news today?
I heard that your mom was rated “E” for everyone.

57)Do you have a lot of close friends?
I’m a stranger with benefits.

58) What’s your favorite color?
Golden like silence, silver like duct tape.

59) Is there anyone who doesn’t like you?
Hey, don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.
Hate me because I have huge boobs.

60) What ended your last relationship?
Addictions, arguments, miscommunication and explosive diahhrea.

61) What if your ex wanted to get back together?
I’d tell him to save his breath because he’ll need it later to blow up his date.

62) Do you fall for pick up lines?
Charm will only get you so far, Boys.
After that, you’d better have a big dick.

63) What are the three little words you say when you are in love?
“Hi, you’ll do.”

64) Will you ever find your true love?
Probably not because I bring nothing to the table.
I learned my lesson after that time that I decided to bring sexy back.
It was a real disappointment because by the time I brought it back, sexy was two sizes too small.

65) Are you happy right now?
I was until I realized that I needed more cowbell.
And, really people, who the hell doesn’t?

66) Are you single or taken?
I’m a singleton.
Go figure.

67) Are you a social person?
Some people have a way with other people.
Others have not way.
Me other.

68) Do you like to be the center of attention?
Not really, but without me, everything is just aweso.

69) Are you sensitive?
I have thick skin, a hardened crust and a tough demeanor.
Fortunately, I am glistening pink in the middle.
I’m like an M & M.
I melt in your mouth-not in your hands.

70) Do you like watching the Discovery channell?
Television taught me that all of the dinosaurs died because you touch yourself at night.

71) What would you like to change about yourself?
Well, I’m not perfect.
But, I am so close that it literally scares me.

72) Do you feel that people respect you?
I just wish that for once someone would call me “Miss”, without adding,”You’re making a scene.”

73) How do you feel about your job?
Some days it’s not even worth chewing through the restraints.

74) How do you feel about same sex marriage?
I don’t really care if you’re straight or gay, I just don’t ever think it’s a good idea to poke a snapping turtle.
What does that mean?
I…don’t…know…, but I don’t think I like your tone, fucker.

75) When was the last time you were really sad?
Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.

76) Have you ever worn Mardi Gras beads?
Not where you could see them.

77) When were you at Mardi Gras?
Never, so the whole bead thing is still a looming mystery.

78) Right or left handed?
Left handed, right brained, middle of the road, upper lip, lower class, and below the belt.

79) What is something you are obsessed with?
Molecular bonding.
I mean, really, who the hell isn’t?

80) Would you rather be in a room with Micheal Jackson or a rattlesnake?
I dare you to kiss either one on the nose.

81) What’s the last thing you said to your best friend?
I said,”What was that one thing that one fat lady said?”
And, she said,”What one thing?”
And, I said, “You know, that one thing that she said and then I was all like ‘what?’ and then she said something else. What was that about?”
And, she said,”I can’t remember what got said, only that you said ‘whaaaat?’ in a funny voice and then something else. But, it was funny, whatever it was.”
And, I said,”Gawd! Don’t you ever pay attention? Frick. What good are you to me?”

82) Where did you go for your first date and who was it with?
I’ve never been on a date in my life.
But, if I did, it was probably with your dad.

83) Who is the first person you call when you have a bad day?
MySpace, who always answers.
Now, tell me again why I need you in my life?

84) Who’s wedding were you in the first time you were a bridesmaid or groomsman?
I’ve never been to a wedding in my entire life.
Not even my own.

85) What is the first thing you do in the morning?
Mentally shut down as soon as I physically wake up.

86) Fall or Spring?
It’s really more of a hobbling gait.

87) How long was your longest relationship?
It was really more of a “reverse cowgirl” manuever than a relationship.

88) How long was your shortest relationship?
It was really more of a “venus butterfly” manuever than a relationship.

89) Favorite TV show?
The good CSI where everybody has lip gloss and shiny hair, not one of those stupid spin-off CSI’s where everybody wears sunglasses and brown shoes.

90) What was the last thing you lost?
My grand illusions.
I’m hoping that they’re not really lost but that I just forgot to take them out of my pockets when I was washing my jeans.

91) Favorite Flower?
One time, I smelled some dandelions and then I unwittingly walked around all day with yellow on the end of my nose and nobody told me.
Fuckers.

92) If I were a doll, the accessories packaged with me would be:
A realistic plastic vagina, an assortment of fruit and a blind fold.

93) What sea creature scares you?
Sponge Bob Axe Murderer Pants.

94) What color hair do most of the people you are around have?
I am so self-absorbed that I haven’t even noticed if the people around me have heads.

95) What object have you broken most recently?
My spirit, some wind and the bank.

96) Can you use chopsticks?
Yes, and it just takes me about half an hour before I finally manage to stab the waiter to death for not bringing me a frickin’ fork.

97) Who is probably talking a load of crap about you right now?
Nobody talks more crap about me than I do.

98) What’s the most confusing to you?
Well, your question is a good fucking start, Dumb Ass.

99) What were you doing before you filled this out?
Knowing me, it probably something wholesome, patriotic and good.

100) Do you like to travel by plane?
Only when I’m hurtling through the air.
Buh bye, now.