I'm sorry for putting you in an awkward position last night by threatening physical violence on another passenger. I tried to self-monitor and decided a possible alternative behavior could be inhaling the sweet billows of nicotine & tar into my young lungs making some of my internal rage subside. However, you would not permit it. I apologize for bitching at you for not letting me light one up in your coach, further provoking you to exclaim back, "PATIENCE!" in your cute little Somalian accent.
Why am I getting high off the fact that I have a presentation due in 73 minutes which I have not done a shred of work for yet? Why do I like working under pressure? Why am I tempted to not start until the very last possible second so that I can finish without a second to spare before walking into class? Why do I feel like I should be in an action movie? Why is facebooking instead of putting together my thoughts making me feel like Lara Croft?
God, I'm Such a Badass...Or Maybe Just a Slacker...Whichever,
I just remembered you and am now dedicated to bringing you back into conversation as often as possible.
Stimulus: "Ma'am you haven't paid your comcast bill for the past two months. We're going to have to cut off your cable."
Response: "Get real...(click)"
Stimulus: "You're not going out for the 12th night in a row are you?!"
Response: "Of course I am. Get real".
Stimulus: "Adrienne, you're the most beautiful girl in the world, but I'm only 19, will you date me?"
Response: "Fucking get real".
Someone Get Real,
You are an amazing show and I have spent the last three days watching countless hours of you and getting sucked in. Nevertheless, I'm starting to get slightly scared that you are brainwashing me. I've caught myself having thoughts that polygamy could be fun. Like it actually might be a good time sharing one ween among several women. Or that becoming a Mormon would be something exciting I could do. There is something very wrong with this picture.
You are highly disappointing me. What happened to sweet little Frank that we all knew? Remember those days that you pined for Trishelle as she was moaning loudly from Stephen's bed next to you? You were too sweet. I hate that you are now sleeping with random girls a few nights a week, trashing the suite, and basically being a drunken sot with no regard for any of your roommates. I miss the old Frank, even though your whining did annoy me slightly. What will you mother think when she sees this footage? I mean... is anyone else feeling me on this one?!
Keep it in your pants,
If I were you, I would wait more than 3.5 seconds of knocking to barge in to a locked door with the key the complex provided to you. My apartment is rather large and that is simply not enough time to prepare myself for unexpected company. Sure, it would be a fair assumption that I would be dressed by noon, however, this morning I was not. It was a fun run-in we had in the hallway when I was pantsless and you became flustered. Did you like my new panties? I just got them at the semi-annual sale. I'm curious as to what you think.
Hoping There Are No More Silverfish In Our Showers,
Thank God the Simple Life is back on. Paris, when I was in court I was totally thinking about you. Whereas I didn't get my probation revoked forgetting a 2nd DUI, you were in jail for more than three weeks. Next time get a better lawyer, or a lower profile. I guess for once being a nobody actually helped out. Slash, Hunter is hot-- hit that! Nicole, I hope you really are pregnant so that you can stop being so foul to my lover Paris and gain some weight. Bye.
Ok, so I realize my tags expired as of a month ago. I promise to take care of that once I find time within my rigorous schedule of going out every night, sleeping till noon, and working on my tan poolside. My life has become a complete juggling act and it's really difficult being me sometimes. Please understand this is totally not like me. I would have taken care of this way sooner, but I've been under a lot of stress lately. Do me a favor and don't write me up.
First and foremost, let me tell you that I'm a huge fan of yours. As my friend, you always seem to be there when needed. The perfect post-work cocktail, a beer at the game, and you're even around in the holidays, hidden inside chocolates as you warm us when we're stuck in the midst of endless family gatherings. However, lately I've been wondering about your intentions. While I want to believe that you have my best interests at heart, I feel that your influence has led to some unwise consequences:
1. Phone calls: While I agree with you that communication is important, I question the suggestion that any conversation of substance or necessity takes place after 2 a.m. Why would you make me call those ex-boyfriends/girlfriends when I know for a fact they do not want to hear from me during the day, let alone all hours of the night?
2. Eating: Now, you know I love a good meal, but why do you suggest that I eat a taco with chili sauce, along with a big Italian meatball and some stale chips (washed down with WINE and topped off with a Kit Kat after a few cheese curls and chili cheese fries)? I'm an eclectic eater, but I think you went too far this time.
3. Clumsiness: Unless you're subtly trying to tell me that I need to do more yoga to improve my balance, I see NO need to hammer the issue home by causing me to fall down. It's completely unnecessary, and the black & blue marks that appear on my body mysteriously the next day are beyond me. Similarly, it should never take me more than 45 seconds to get the front door key into the lock.
4. Furthermore: The hangovers have GOT to stop. This is getting ridiculous. I know a little penance for our previous evening's debauchery may be in order, but the 3pm hangover immobility is completely unacceptable. My entire day is shot. I ask that, if the proper precautions are taken (water, vitamin B, bread products, aspirin) prior to going to sleep/passing out face down on the kitchen floor with a bag of popcorn, the hangover should be minimal and in no way interfere with my daily activities.
Alcohol, I have enjoyed our friendship for some years now and would like to ensure that we remain on good terms. You've been the invoker of great stories, the provocation for much laughter, and the needed companion when I just don't know what to do with the extra money in my pockets. In order to continue this friendship, I ask that you carefully review my grievances above and address them immediately. I will look for an answer no later than Thursday 3pm (pre-happy hour) on your possible solutions and hopefully we can continue this fruitful partnership.
Your biggest fan
I saw my parents today and decided to tell them about my misfortune of meeting you so they could laugh at my expense. Oh, and they know you. They decided to inform me that you lied and you are, in fact, not even twenty, but 19 fucking years old. I was receiving my college diploma when you still had a curfew. The fact that I drunkenly thought about all the things I could do to your teenage body makes me want to slam my head into a brick wall. Do me a favor and stop texting the shit out of me and go shop at American Eagle or something.
Kill Me, Just Kill Me,
You are the most precious and hysterical miniature human being I've met in a while. I like how after I told you I couldn't do something you asked me who my boss was...as if you would speak to them personally about it to rectify the situation(not even conscious of that fact that you didn't even hop out of the womb until after the millenium). I also like how you asked if I had a boyfriend and then when I told you "no" you decided to tell me about your girlfriend. What is happening to these kids today?!
Can I Hold You?
P.S. I'll give you Matt The Baseball Player's number...maybe you guys can set up a playdate.
Thank you for putting into song what I always want to say but can never fully explain. 95% of the time when I am out on the town I'm there to have fun with my friends, not to meet some strange man who will no doubt put a damper on what could've been an excellent night out by wasting my time and excellent conversational talents. "U and Ur Hand" is truly a piece of art and I am totally feeling you. It is true, I am always "looking tight, feeling nice" and all I want to do is sing this song in its entirety to every douchebag in the bar that is relentlessly trying to pick up Mrs. Right Now. For the record "Don't touch, back up, I don't give a fuck." Essentially I believe the point that P!nk is trying to get across is... GET OFF ME.
Good thing your hand thinks you're hot,
Hey sexy pitcher, it was nice meeting you last night. I was excited to hear from you tonight. What failed to excite me was when I asked you how old you actually were. When we were talking at the bar, I realized you were still in college and my impaired judgement and your hot body allowed me to momentarily ignore that. Upon further inquiry this evening I figured out that you are not only an undergraduate, you just exited your teen years in April and would still be considered a minor. I don't care that your ex-girlfriend is my age, ideally I would like to date guys who don't need to use a fake to buy me a Miller Lite.
Oh, and small world to find out you know my younger brother...because you were in little league with him...when I was in high school.
At Least You're Legal,
P.S. This is a picture of you buying a parakeet...do you really think it's a good idea for anything more to be in your care at this point in your life? I hope this means you're substituting your children with a bird and giving them up so that they still stand a chance in this world.
P.P.S. God, I still love you. Please take care of yourself.
It seems you were working at the office last night, after I had already left. Well good for you! But let me ask you, in the time that it took you to write out a long note to me, asking me to fax this paper to this number, and then this other paper to the same number but as a separate fax, and then mail out this file to this address, could you not have actually done these things yourself? Way to make yourself feel like you're still important even though you no longer have any kind of authority.
You're Not The Boss Of Me,
It was a pleasure to meet you at the pool today. It's impressive that you are an entrepeneur and own several different companies. Unfortunately, I lied to you when you asked if I was seeing someone. You seem to be a very amiable person with a very nice body. Truthfully, I'm sure I would love to ride you like a cowgirl. But, let's not kid ourselves. I'm smarter than you and we both know it. Our conversation was simply not intellectually stimulating enough and I need someone to match wits with and challenge me. You are not up to that task, therefore, I will not waste your time.
See You Around,
Thank you. Thank you for loving me so much that when I said I was moving to be with my boyfriend you let me start up an office by myself when I'm only 24. Your trust is inspiring, and yet somehow – not motivating. Do you even realize that I don't come in anymore? I watch Top Chef. I go on vacation, and you pay for it. Wtf… I must have been really fucking good when I was there. Oh PS – I'm at home right now. And I kinda want to quit soon.
This is Why I'm Hot,
As I have stated many times before, you're not exactly a disease I ever thought I'd be friends with. As far as what I said the other night, its true- I am glad to have Aids- you're my favorite incurable disease. I hope everyone gets a little bit of you. You're a hott mess.
Infected by you,
7 years! Did you hear me? How's living in your mom's basement and bangin a different cougar every night working out for you? Don't even think for a second you have a chance with me, I am a lady, a L-A-D-Y. But, you do look pretty good in those tight Sevens mixing martini's all night, so maybe we could…..wait no.
Closing my tab,
Thanks for taking the time to have a campaign worker click a button and send a generic response to my e-mail. Also, thanks for notifying me that if the bill I was speaking of gets passed through Senate, you will not be supporting it...with no further explanation. I appreciate your extreme open-mindedness and unabashed vigilance to the community.
Gotta Love Those Righty Tighties,
P.S. You're probably like best friends with that dumb bitch, Elisabeth Hasselbeck.
Why you gotta hate on the boy? I know he's not perfect. I know I bitch about him not calling, wearing bad shirts, and telling me he's at one bar when he's in another part of town entirely. So we have issues. That doesn't mean you don't have to be friends and blindly support me through this. Jenn - I hate your boyfriend, but I've kept my mouth shut for two years now. (Where is that ring, btw?) Plus, I am way more attractive than every man you have ever set me up with. Your credibility is shot. Kelly - Stop being bitter because you're not getting laid.
He's going to prove you wrong. He's going to call, sweep me off my feet, and we will live happily ever after. So there.
Or not. You still have to support me through my bad life decisions. Step up to the plate.
At least I'm living my so-called life,
I get really excited for you every six months. Why? God knows. It's beyond me because all you do is equate to a several hundred dollar bill in the mail from my *angels card* (they sucked me in) and about 12 new really cute bras in colors/patterns (lime green, leopard, hot pink, etc.) which are nonfunctional under most outfits and never get seen by anyone but the overweight workers of my apartment complex who hang out in the parking lot outside my bedroom window or fortunate truck drivers on nights when I'm wasted, occupying a passenger seat, and amusing myself by flashing them.
Credit Card Ready,
While I do appreciate your recent efforts to turn off your truck so as to not let all the exhaust fill up my office when you come by, I do NOT appreciate you staring at me or talking to me like we are friends because we are not. JUST BECAUSE I saw you at Wal-mart and was nice to you, does NOT mean that we are friends, k, red beard? I'm sure you are a perfectly nice person, but you were wearing jorts that day and I bet you own mandals too, so get off me.
P.S. SERIOUSLY, is there THAT much paper in our office that you have to come by EVERYDAY? Didn't think so.
You know, as much as there was to hate about my old job, I will admit that I always enjoyed the times when I got to work with/talk to you. You always seemed reasonably intelligent, good-natured, and hey, I could always count on you for an inappropriate-length hug in front of everyone along with a casual greeting of "Hey cutie/sexy" for my much-needed random ego boosts. You were fairly frequently either inviting me somewhere or making the vague "we should make plans to do something" comments, and because I am no fool, I took you up on it just often enough to keep you interested and score a free beer now and then. You took the fun out of the game by admitting at my farewell-soirée that you were glad I was leaving because you didn't wanna date a coworker, and you wanted to date me. Needless to say, I've been slightly avoiding your phone calls ever since.
Because, you see, the problem is summed up as follows: this evening you sent me a text message invite to your 40th birthday celebration. I knew you were older than me, but 40? Dear God. I try to make it a policy to not date anyone who could be my father, and considering that I very well could have been the result of your teenage fumblings in the back seat of a Chevy with your junior prom date who was drunk off a case of cheap beer acquired by your older brother, and a shoddily-worn condom that had been sitting in your wallet ever since your father had "the talk" with you back in the Carter Administration, well... you're too old for me. Not only that, but I suspect that you probably voted for Mondale in one of those Mock Student Elections; ergo, you're also too liberal for me. When you were born, it was the friggin' Summer of Love and the Beatles were releasing Sgt. Pepper, and by the time I was born, John Lennon was cold in his grave. You're closer to my mom's age than my own, and if that's not a deal-breaker, I don't know what is, but the thought of hooking up with a guy who probably asks his urologist about the difference between Viagra and Levitra comes pretty damned close.
So, unless you are actually Harrison Ford and I'm drunk as shit, you better stop trying to rob the cradle, and even Indy himself is getting pretty fucking old.
The Depends are on Aisle 4 across from the Just For Men,
You have the smallest nipples I have ever seen. They look like skittles.
I Wonder If Anyone Has Ever Tasted That Rainbow,
you are the worst summer lip balm *ever* and after a whole winter of me turning nine of my friends into salve believers. you used to keep my lips all plump and smooth. i loved you. i would shout your wonders at the sephora and have random strangers purchase you. i would buy you to give to friends just so they could see how great you actually are.
and now all you do is melt and leak, making it impossible to open your vintage 1960s tin container. i literally haven't been able to open you for two weeks.
i hate you,
It really creeps me out that you are so insanely forward. You want to sleep with me. I get it. No need to remind me on a daily basis. Also, please don't overconfidently ask me questions like "Do you want to get on me?" expecting me to slip into some elaborate fantasy I hold about our coitus. Word on the streets is you're hung like a well-endowed horse. That's pretty cool, however, I still have zero desire to get freaky with you. Just because you want to hump someone, doesn't mean they want to be humped by you.
I've never been to hell, but I'm pretty sure it would be a lot like you. I remember the days when I was so incredibly awkward that I made Richard Simmons look normal. I didn't know how to dress myself, socially interact, or make my hair not look like a homeless person's. It's a rough life being a tween, but just because I sympathize doesn't mean I like them.
Being the new kid in 7th grade really sucked, but it sucked even worse when some prepubescent bitch made up a rumor that I was a lesbo. How could I possibly be a lesbian at the age of 12? I was so incredibly asexual at that age that holding a boy's hand scared the shit out of me. There is no way I would have been able to lez out then. Sheesh, it took me a good 6 years after that to even sack up enough to let a boy kiss me (i'm a late bloomer).
So yea, that little slut ruined my life for a good year because NO ONE would talk to me and I would go home crying everyday. I think she is where I get my disdain for tweens (especially the ones with Dooney & Burke purses). Too bad karma's a bitch and she is now busted and I got the bangin knockers.
Who's The Regina George Now, Bitch?,
Dear Hispanic Guys Who Live In My Neighborhood,You really turned me on that time that you licked your lips and called out "Mama Sita!" as I walked by your stoop the other day. But you didn't stop there, you continued speaking to me in Spanish, most likely telling me how beautiful and special I am. I don't speak Spanish myself, but I just assumed from your sweet tone of voice that you were saying really nice things. Especially`after your friends burst into laughter and gave each other high fives, I figured you`must have said something so romantic that they mistook your self expression as some sigh`of weakness. Shame on them.
You also made me feel really special by continuing to call after me, even when I had already`given you several dirty looks and walked at least 2 blocks down. This shows me that`you really care about me and that you don't want to just let me go, as some guys would. No, you don't give up on true love and that's what I like about you.
I did notice that you called out in exactly the same manner to that 300 pound black lady, the`one who was wearing the super short shorts and tight tank top that hugged all of her curves so well. But I'm not jealous because I know that I hold a special place in your heart. Please,`don't let the fact that I ignore you and try to walk by you as quickly as possible every time fool you. I am totally into you, and I really do want to go on a date with you. Its just that I don't want to rush into anything, you know what I mean? I'm glad you understand.
Gracias for the many compliments,
Was it really necessary to keep asking me questions about my usual aesthetician at another salon? It made me feel really weird when you kept throwing in, "well, does she do THIS?". What am I supposed to say to that?! Here's the deal, Helga, or whatever your name is...I think she's great. I think YOU'RE great. I think you're BOTH great. You made me feel really guilty because a.) I felt like I was cheating on her and b.)I started having similar flashbacks of giving my ex-flame the 3rd degree about his previous relationship. I love how I can dish it out but I don't know what to do with myself when spa professionals hand it back to me.
Thanks For Making My Waxing Experience An Awkward One,
P.S. I'm in my twenties now, and it's natural that other people have waxed me before. It doesn't mean I don't think you're special and I promise I'm not thinking about them when you're waxing me.
I feel like I will probably see you tonight at my favorite pizza hang-out. That could potentially be awkward considering you have called me several times now to no avail. I think it's sad that I actually just had the thought, "how can I make myself look like NOT me?" and for a second, legitimately thought I could come up with a good solution to that problem.
You Will Not Deter Me From Having A Good Time Tonight,
Man, you've really had some poor luck with your lovelife. First that tween, Aaron Carter, dumps you for Skankels Lohan (love her). Then, the love of your life, Joel Madden, breaks it off with you only to impregnate Nicole Richie. If you didn't have tons of money, a hit prepubescent TV show, several albums, and great veneers, I would say you had it pretty rough.
I Feel For Ya,
Stop piercing your babies' ears.
That really bothers me,
Last night I had a dream that I was called into a meeting at work with 10 supervisors and my mother. They all accused me of being drunk, however, I was completely sober. No one would effing believe me. I kept saying, "I'm 23! I'm a GROWN UP! Is it REALLY NECESSARY that SHE be here?!", with my mom forcefully interjecting "Yes" in her scary voice. This was not a particularly cryptic dream, but it just proves I still think my mother is trying to control my life and that everyone thinks I have a drinking problem. Here's my response: You can get off me, Mom. And pass me that shot glass.
It's just past 1 PM, and so far today I have: awoken several times to stress dreams about work; finally gave up the hope of sleep and brewed coffee at 5:15 in the dark, leading to an overflowing coffee pot; forgot to pack a spoon to eat my yogurt; had to rewrite (twice) the contract I wrote last week; remained uninvited to lunch by those coworkers who are closest to my age (and whom I walked right by as they were all getting ready to leave); spilled ice cream on my white pants; almost got hit by a car rolling down the parking lot with no driver (wtf?); and missed the start of the Kenny Chesney song of the day, meaning I couldn't call in to try and win tickets for the sold-out show. Look. I know that none of these are that big a deal, but throw in a crying jag from last night that's kept me in a crappy mood all day, and I'm really irritated. And the girl who won the tickets is adding insult to injury by saying she's taking her boyfriend to the concert.
So, if you could start to improve, I'd really appreciate it. I know you're a Monday, and if my childhood years of reading Garfield taught me anything, it's that Mondays suck. But just a little extra effort? I really am worried that, at this rate, I'll *actually* get hit by a car on the way home tonight.
Ugh. At least I'm having a good hair day.
Would you cry if I picked you up and put you in my pocket to keep forever and ever? You would have to promise to never ever grow, let me blow strawberries on your baby belly, and let me squeeze you and pinch you until I grew tired. Which would be never, btw, so get in my pocket.
You were right when you said you were a bad dancer. I've seen worse, but it should have been obvious when I was grabbing your hips, trying to halt you, and whispering to you to slow down over and over again that you needed to get a hold of yourself. This is not a rave. I feel sorry for whoever gets stuck with you in the sack because something tells me your ineptitude translates.
When you approach me at a bar and strike up a convo your cue to leave is when I'm looking around at everyone but you searching for someone more entertaining to talk to. I appreciate the fact that you actually told me in midconversation that I looked bored. At least you aren't as ignorant as I origianally thought. When I replied by saying, "I am" you still didn't leave me alone. What gives? I have no patience for people less attractive and entertaining than myself and thought that by me putting zero effort into our conversation that you would take it somewhere else. Guess I'll just spell it out for you...
Get off me.
Sorry I haven't shaved/trimmed you in a while. It's just that it depresses me to do so when I'm not getting any play. Sorry its been so long. I still think you're cute.
Why are you a pedophile? More importantly, what does the fact that I dated you say about me? My trash-detector is pretty flawless, yet you're one hell of a big piece of trash. I always said that I would never get played because I'm too smart. Evidentally smarts don't get you through good acting. Bust. Everytime I turn the corner I learn something even more horrific about you. If I wasn't in the story, it would be pretty effing entertaining. I guess the outrageous movie scripts really are based on real-life experiences. Bust again. I gotta go get checked for herpes now.
I know you were simply notifying people on the floor about the complaint received. Thanks for not pointing fingers. Too bad it was me they were talking about. Whoopies?
I don't know who your wife is, but she is one lucky bia. I almost asked you if you had single friends you could hook me up with today. I'm pretty sure next time I will. I have no shame anymore and hot guys are friends with other hot guys, right?
You Are So Nice To Look At,
Despite what the haters say, you two babies are really friggin' cute. Stop it. It makes my uterus whine impatiently, and I've had less than a week to rejoice in the emptiness of said uterus (Hey, it had been far too long since good ol' Aunt Flo came to visit... that's right, there's no such thing as an over-share).
I chose you over going to the zoo with Mr.Nice guy. Every bite was worth it.
I love you,
Sometimes, when I see some of you in public, I hide or pretend I don't see you. I'm sorry. It isn't that I didn't like you in school, it's just that I don't like you now. I'm not interested in hearing about your 6-month marriages or how you dated/hooked up with Mr/Ms Popular and they turned out to be psychotic. And if I DO talk to you, I am SO gonna spread gossip. And then, when you say "We should totally hang out!" and scribble your phone number down, take the hint that when I don't give you MY number too, it means I don't want to hear from you. I'm going to "lose" that paper you've just given me in the parking lot, anyway. Yes, I'm silly. Yes, I'm kind of a bitch. But, whatev.
Hiding in a clothes rack,
You are a grotsky little biotch. Remember in high school when we were nice to you and took you under our wings? Yea, you didn't know it, but EVERYONE ELSE made fun of you. Your rayon printed outfits from Rave, chunkyass mary janes, nappy hair, and lack of ability to apply make-up were completely overlooked by us because we thought you were nice. Turns out, we were wrong. You kissed our asses to be friends with us, finally got other people to realize you existed and then turned into the biggest narcissist that ever lived. we're talking about how you were constantly posing, staring at yourself in the mirror, and making people take pictures of you. kinda odd. Maybe if you took a second to stop talking about how amazing your ass was you would realize that you had B.O. that could permeate a 4 bedroom house. Which it did. Adrienne said after you moved out, her mom said she could still smell you there for WEEKS. Also, we always thought it was weird that your tits seemed to rest on your shoulders. Everyone wants perky boobs, but jesus, that shit just didn't look right. So after all the high school drama I decided I didn't hate you enough to not live with you, so I did. I really didn't appreciate the cockroaches/maggots/fleas/flies that took over our apartment because you refused to clean your dishes or do anything following proper hygienic decorum. Also, didn't appreciate the milk you poured down the back of my 27" TV because you are not only NOT CUTE, you are a fucking psycho.
Never doing charity work again, Bitch,
P.S. Oh and nice myspace pics of you doing promo modeling. You do realize they recruit people at the mall and would tell someone with cystic acne they were gorgeous just to get people in their ads, right?
You are preggers and that is hot.
P.S. I like how yesterday I was talking about how gross it is to be knocked up and now you do it and i think it's bangin.
I am flattered you think i am a hot mess and kept attempting to make out with me saying I had a hot bod. Sick me out- i am not your girl next door to lez out with. Next time you decide to put your phone in your two-sizes-too-small bra, maybe you should put it on vibrate so that you arent walking around a bar for two hours accusing every chick in there of stealing it. Oh and by the way, telling me to make out with you to make my friend jealous does not turn me on.
i like the dong,
It's been 5 full days since I had one of you and I just want to say... I miss you. I miss your company when I'm stuck in traffic after a long day's work, trying to forget the idiots that make me hate waking up in the morning. I miss how on a really bright, sunny day, I would go outside during my lunch break and sit in the grass and puff away at your smooth and delicious tobacco, instantly taking me away to marlboro country. I know we went through some rough times, like when you made my lungs whistle loudly every morning, or when i would cough and hack disgustingly every time i got even just a little sick, and the dirty looks that non-smokers would give me every time i brought you along on an outing. And sure, every time I go jogging, I get so out of breath that I become temporarily blinded and feel like my lungs are going to explode...But, really, weren't all the good times worth it? What about when I would tell everyone at the bar that I was going out for a cigarette with boy-that-i-was-crazy-about but instead we would just make out like crazy for like an hour, and then come back to statements like "that was a really long cigarette!". Wasn't that fun? Or what about when I was really upset and I would just smoke you one right after another, until I was feeling so nauseous from my nicotine overdose that I couldn't feel any more emotional pain? I'm just saying, think about it. This patch means nothing to me, I swear.
I still love you,
Yesterday, I was talking to my best friend (the married one). We were talking about the changes happening to her body due to her second pregnancy. I couldn't help but intermittently throw in an "ew" or "GROSS!". That probably made her feel bad, but that's what best friends do. Make each other feel bad. She also didn't seem to like my reaction to her recent purchase of a 1999 beige oldsmobile mini-van with a VCR player in it. That's probs the worst possible purchase I could think of. I made a point to tell her so. But I digress, the point of this missive is to tell you that I will not be forsaking you anytime soon. While I was having this phone convo, I was staring down at you thinking about how I could never consent to destroying you merely to bring children into this world of ours. You play such an integral role in who I am and I would hate to let you go. therefore, I have decided that I will not be having children until I'm 38. You know, like Julia Roberts or something.
I don't care that you look like an anorexic robot, I want to be like you major. Your husband is bang-bang. It doesn't even matter that he sounds like a version of Oliver Twist that just got kicked in the balls, he looks fly in a speedo and that's all that matters.
Keeping Being a Hot Bitch,
You are an ultra conservative who doesn't believe in a God and prefers to maintain a certain decorum in public. We simply will not work. Stop trying to charm me with flattery and that cute smile of yours.
Heard mom and dad found your empty fifth of whiskey in your teenaged room. Thanks for taking the heat off me for once. Dad has managed to completely forget about what he was mad at me for. It's nice to be "the good child" even if it lasts for a day.
Thanks For Taking One For The Team, It Doesn't Even Matter Since You're Out Of The Country,
Heard you were talking about me the other day. Heard you said "That's a tree I'd like to bark up". That's pretty fuggin funny. Especially since the thought of you anywhere near my tree makes me want to choke on my own esophagus.
And I Still DON'T CARE That You're In Med School,
if you really cared about how i felt you wouldnt have torn my heart out, spit on it, only to continuously harass me through email and text message. where do you get off thinking that breaking it off via myspace for another chick would make me still want to be bff? Get off me already, you vag wanna be.
You want to move out of your house because your apparently schizophrenic girlfriend is driving *you* crazy? Think for a second how much it must suck to hear and see things that everyone else insists aren't there. My sympathy factor for you is nonexistent, and I feel even worse for your girlfriend because not only is she actually going crazy, but her boyfriend is telling the whole office that he'd rather play video games at a friend's house than be at her side to offer love and support.
It seems like that's sort of like breaking up with someone who has cancer, and that just makes me sad.
Learning that good men really don't exist anymore,
I think you need a good laugh...
Mother Superior called all the nuns together and said to them,
"I must tell you all something. We have a case of gonorrhea in
"Thank God," said an elderly nun at the back. "I'm so tired of chardonnay."
Still laughing at the word gonorrhea,
Whenever you behave the way you did this morning, it makes me want to snatch you up and send you straight off to hell or the pound (whichever is closer). I do not have to stand for your antics. I understand that when my hands are full of random crap as I head out the door at 7:45am you see it as a prime opportunity to bolt past me and escape after the giant garbage truck that has recently passed. However, if you were good you would sit and stay like I asked.
I just feel sorry for the unassuming elderly man down the street that you targeted as he was trying his damnedest to keep you from licking his bare legs.
Also, when I finally caught you I was not intimidated by your growling and showing of the teeth so you can just stop trying that little act. And in all of your squirming you muddied up my work outfit and for that I am pissed off.
When I get home tonight, don't even look at me. Don't lick me. Don't jump up on me.
You're in the doghouse now,
I want to be (on) you. You are bangin hot in your new video, "Stranger". You are a tween transformed in a belly dancing sexpot. I have to admit, I still picture you walking off the set and putting on your slap bracelets and sitting on the ground with your Lisa Frank sticker collection.
You're Not The Person That I Once Knew,
I enjoyed our extended conversation last night and thank you for favoring me over the rest of the crowd enough to let my boyfriends bypass the entire line of people waiting outside. I was impressed by your vocabulary which seemed to be much more extensive than the average law enforcement officer. You said I "inundated" you with big words. Inundate is one of my favorite words on this earth. However, you used "ameliorate" completely out of context. Your credibility was lost.
(Sometimes) Law Abiding,
P.S. I think it was slightly inappropriate to ask if you could frisk me because I forgot my I.D. inside (after you'd checked it 2 other times).
Thank you for providing me with an intellectually stimulating alternative to writing on my blog 24/7. I'm actually excited for your seemingly manageable workload. I'm enjoying reading pieces of literature with something more to offer than what drugs Mischa Barton was last caught with. You're almost worth the $3,000 because you remind me that I have a brain which may be utilized for something more productive than sardonic commentary.
You people amuse me greatly, so it saddens me that I'm going to have to self-impose a moratorium on reading this blog at work. My back is toward the opening of my cube with the computer screen facing out, and I would have no way to explain it were my boss to wander in behind me while I'm reading a hot pink page with ... well, everything y'all write, instead of getting this million dollar contract signed. "My bad" probably wouldn't cut it.
Checking over my shoulder,
Where do I even begin? Oh yea, I don't give a flying rat's ass if I am on your "shit list" or that I have "two strikes". My idea of fun IS NOT the two of us going to the Roller Derby. I didn't call you to go see Knocked Up because it was a whim decision and roommie bonding time. That, and I have to put up with your constant complaining and whining every fucking work day. Do you not realize that we are in CUBICLES? Shut the fuck up and stop talking to yourself while you look at credits. Maybe you hadn't noticed, but you don't have a door. And btw, you look like Mimi from the Drew Carey show. Going to the tanning bed does not hide the fact that you are morbidly obese.
Stop Ruining My Day With Your Nonsense,
P.S. Overweight people, I'm sorry for any offense I have caused, this girl just drives me f'ing bonkers. That and I don't have sympathy for people that don't like being massive but do nothing to lose weight.
Probably not the best idea you've ever had.
I bet you were pissed when I chose not to react to you one bit as you were flailing your arms and cursing. Life is too short to get upset over someone going out of turn. I knew it wasn't my turn, I just went because I didn't have time to waste waiting for a tool like you to come to a complete halt and then slowly but surely proceed. You see, I made a judgment call on how slow you pulled up to the intersection in your wagon and I went with it. I don't regret it. Everyone knows stop signs inside apartment complexes don't even count. Sorry you didn't get the memo.
Count Backwards From 10 And Maybe You'll Feel Better Next Time,
I'm sorry, I can't here you over Young Buck.
Love Ya, Mean It,
I have the opposite problem. I wear a large top for my tig ole bitties. bahaha. BUT, I have to wear a small for my nonexistent ass. sometimes I really wish I had more of a ghetto booty so I could at least feel more justified about the music I listen to.
The Grass Is Always Greener On The Other Side,
P.S. I hate how dresses run like 1,000 times smaller than normal clothes. The other day when I went to get measured for a bridesmaid's dress they told me my hips were a size 4(offended), bust size 6(more offended, but kinda ok about it), and waist size 10(give me a noose). When the lady insisted i try on the 10, I walked out with it falling off and told her to hand me something smaller and go fuck herself.
i think you are hot. most people do. yet, when i was trying on bathing suits an odd thing happened. the small fit my boobs, but the small did not fit my ass, neither did the medium. are you fucking kidding me? i have a SMALL chest and a LARGE ass?? thanks a lot. no wonder people called me ghettobooty in highschool.
I Still Think You're Hot,
Fat Ass Anna
Things weren't weird right after our jaunt. Yet now when i see you, i want to throw up all over myself. you, sick me out. please stop asking me to makeout with you when you are drunk. it will never happen, so let it go.
Wish I Didn't Have to See You Everyday,
P.S. did you know you have straight pubes?
Thank you for blocking me on AIM. I feel that was the very mature of you and extremely necessary considering I have never IMed you. Thank you also for constantly informing me about your guy/job issues whenever I happen to be within earshot, even after I have told you that I dont care. Lastly, I truly appreciate you posting pictures of your scary looking niece all over the apartment. Its my fault really, I secretly want to have nightmares of a tiny Irish baby stalking me. FYI.......How do I get it through your tiny little head that I DONT GIVE A SHIT!!! Please, go do me a favor and go get laid, trust me when I say it would make you a lot more fun. Maybe then you will stop obsessing over a 35 year old overwieght policeman from Martha's Vineyard!!
P.S. please stop telling people that you graduated from Notre Dame, thats like me saying I went to Duke because it was only 40 minutes away!!
That was us dirty texting you. God, you were clueless. And yes, we were giggling at you showing your entire table the lewd messages you were receiving. Actually, there is no woman on this earth who would sanely tell you they get wetter than Niagra when they think about you.
Thank for Letting Us Wickedly Laugh at Your Expense,
A.) I don't remember ever meeting you. B.) My beer goggles must be worse than I thought.
This City Is Too Small,
I hope you get in some gruesome accident with your weed whacker that involves the dismemberment of your (probably teensy) penises. This is my wish for you. That, or for your wife to have a temper comparable to Lorena Bobbit.
Have Fun Burning In the Fiery Flames of Justice Served,
Tween pages who sit outside my office all day,
I understand that you think you are a big shot now that you intern at the general assembly. News flash: this is the state government. Bush isn't #1 on my speed dial and Pelosi is not my home girl. However, I am still more important than you and I do not want to hear you talk all day long about the cool new color of your braces or how Tommy checked "yes" and you are now bf/gf. I have more important things to do…like check this blog and people.com hourly.
Wishing I was on the beach with a big drink instead of near you,
I see you stopped by my apartment (unannounced) whilst I was at work today. I also see you opened my desk drawer to find a pen to leave me a note. The same drawer with my vibrator in it. Awesome.
I get bored, ok?
P.S. All I have to say is I'm glad my giant black dildo is currently in the laundry room.
It's too bad you were 14 when I was born or I would have taken you home. Plus you're short and I discriminate against men shorter than 5'10. But it was kind of cute on you. Your geriatric-ness reminds me of my dad who was 25 when his "trophy wife" was born. Sick fuck!
Sleepless in Seattle
I am so petrified that you, my model for God, are, one day, going to die.
Thanks for providing me a means to keep up with my menstrual cycle via the internet.
I think you may be in for a real shock. In the "real world" people are no longer impressed that you have the biggest bong on the block. I think you're going to be really upset when you find out no one wants your autograph just because they've never seen you NOT in a raging blackout.
Good Luck To You,
You're empty again. In fact, you're overdrawn.
You're smothering me again. You're cute though.
I Guess I'll Keep you Around,
Thanks for accusing me of being immature then hanging up on me twice in a row.
I know you are not an inanimate object, but you are part of life. you're actually two individual lives. in case you were wondering, thank you for fulfilling my dream of finding friends in nashville that are not as fake as dolly parton's breasts. not saying that all of my friends are completely made of silicone, but i am merely blinded by all your goodness. and in return for all of your sillies and b.f.f.ness i promise that i will not turn into a large set of upper torso augmentation. And may i remind you that when i dont remember something and uh...seem to be full of what some people refer to as sheee-ot, its just my obnoxious case of ADD and there is a possibility that any marijuana consumption may have intensified this pro(enjoy)blem. dont sketch out.
faithfully your beotch
sica aka tink aka jes
P.S. please tell dear life that I truly enjoy spewing out the thoughts that enter in my mind which would otherwise go unheard
I find it quite hilare that while i am sitting on the floor applying mascara to my infection infected eyes- you are too dumb to realize that while you're taking a whizz your ass is not in the litter box... its actually poking out the mini kitty litter door. as i continue to laugh my ass off at you - you attempt to clean up your mess by dumping litter on top of it.
Your Loving Mother of Sorts,
Glad we ran into a mutual friend who told me you once shoved her into a bathroom and forced blow up her nose. Also, glad to find out you are notorious for putting yayo on your dick and then sticking it inside women. Cute.
Let's Hang Out Again Real Soon!
I cannot even explain to you how bummed I am that I missed your call from across the world today...for the second day in a row. Yesterday, I seriously thought God was punishing me for screening the unrecognizable # bc I thought you were this sot i met the night before. I actually cried when I realized it was you and I was a huge bitch. I hope you are having an amazing time and I hope you are not terrorizing that poor 60 year old woman you live with. Please refrain from getting blackout enough to let a gypsy child talk you into stealing your identity. I love you.
I Wish I Were You,
P.S. That random guy from Amsterdam asked me about you the other day on facebook. I wanted to be like, "Dude, if you want to ram my bro's ass, just ask him", but then I didn't.
By "wrong" I mean right.
I don't care that you saw me eyefucking you. You know what may provide excellent UV ray protection? Me on top of your sweaty body.
Wanna Skinny Dip L8rz?
P.S. Can I take bite out of your pecs?
What's the deal? It's mid-2007, mobile technology is supposed to be far more reliable than the old analog service for dinosaur-sized phones of my youth, and yet... nothing but disappointment. I'm trying to break up with a guy who told me he's too busy to be able to have a one-hour long phone call with me, his girlfriend, but yet mysteriously not too busy to spend three hours driving roundtrip to Maryland for dinner with the blonde whorebagger that he invited home to Texas for wedding. And yet, you've repeatedly delayed this long-overdue turn of events by rendering any form of live verbal communication impossible by having no service at my house and not manufacturing cell batteries that have any charge life.
Improve or I'll get a satellite-phone,
I was 50 minutes late to my first (hour long) meeting at my new job today. I couldn't even be embarassed for myself because all I was doing was concentrating on not ralphing up those Cape Cods on the desk in front of 4 people I just met.
This Giant Water Bottle Is Rehydrating My Soul As I Write This,
you taste so fuckin good i ncould die right here.
You are the best purchase I have made in quite some time. You have enabled my dance parties which have been occupying me and helped me pay attention long enough to clean my room. Frankly, I think my neighbors appreciate you too, not because of the noise you produce, but because I've taken up dancing in my panties to the Ying Yang Twins with the blinds open. Call me an attentionwhore...it passes the time.
Grinding to You,
P.S.Is it narcissistic that the possibility of the residents of the assisted living facility next door seeing me flaunting my bare 23 year old body excites me?...Yea...You like these, Grandpa?!
P.P.S. It's official. I'm a sick, sick individual.
Today I heard the cutest effing story and I have to share it. I cried when I heard it, but then again, I cry at anything remotely touching.
So I heard/read about this dog named Kiwi. Now Kiwi is not just your typical dog, she is a service dog to this lady with multiple sclerosis. One day this poor woman is trying to open a drain cleaner, has an allergic reaction to the fumes, and seizures. She falls out of her wheelchair and spills the shit all over her legs. So THE DOG, the awesome freaking dog, OPENS the apartment door and barks all up and down the hallway. Then when no one responds(bastards), Kiwi gets the phone and brings it to the chick to dial 911.
Kiwi, does not stop there. Oh no. Despite the owner's command to get away from the caustic chemicals, the dog pulls her out of the puddle by her nightgown burning her poor puppy paws in the process(cut to me bawling). The chick starts asphyxiating in the ambulance and the EMTs tell her that had the dog not pulled her out, she would have died before they even got there.
I don't like people who don't love dogs.
Kiwi's Biggest Fan,
It is good to hear from your face. I miss you, bitch. I, too, I'm guilty of relentless celebrity blogging. I find myself more vigilant to Britney's anticipated comeback than my own life.
On another note, I've told you time and time again this "boyfriend" is a fag (pardon my derogatory term-I couldn't think of anything more biting). This guy is basically the biggest douchelord I could possibly imagine and you should be glad I've never met this cockmising whore. His behavior is so horrendous that I would hold no reservations about telling him just how much he wastes oxygen for the rest of us. I would feel mean saying that, but I love you, and I just don't. Next time he calls I recommend you respond with "I'm sorry, but girls with asses like mine don't talk to guys with faces like yours...(click)".
The new hobby search continues, however, I have taken it upon myself to teach the secretary in my office GRE words to expand her vocabulary. Today, I taught her apathy, anomaly, antagonize, and credulous. I'm quizzing her tomorrow to make sure it stuck. As the summer progresses we will move to more difficult words.
I'm also thinking this summer will be a good time to rekindle my relationship with binge drinking. Last summer, I was performing at a much more impressive level and I'm looking forward to raging like I once did. I'm expecting a fat check from financial aid which I will use to supplement the fact that I've been going out every single night including the sabbath.
Things are beginning to look better and better. Especially since this evening I befriended a man with sweetest moustache I've ever seen.
Keep Being a Wino, Bella,
Sadly, I have no suggestions for hobbies to take up, because if I did, I'd be doing something productive myself rather than reading about Angelina and Brad's bath-time chats on people.com and wondering just how big a bathtub they have. Is it a jacuzzi? Or maybe one of those old fashioned tubs with lion feet? Does Brad join Angie in the tub, or does he lean back against the sink and gaze soulfully across the room at her? Okay, let's be real here: I don't really care, I just think it's awfully insensitive of Angelina to be out parading their love life for all the world, and Jennifer Aniston, to see, what with the way Brad totally committed emotional adultery. And sure, I might be a little sensitive because my "boyfriend" flew halfway across the country to go home for a wedding this past weekend, and didn't invite *me* but instead invited that blonde slut to fly home with him. I mean, at the very least you'd think I could work up a decent anger and go run a couple miles, burning off the pie I ate for dinner and working up some endorphins so that if/when he calls me tonight, I can cheerfully tell him to go fuck himself.
So no, no hobby suggestions for you, but in rereading this missive, I think my hobby might become working on my Dear Life letters so they better achieve that wicked level of sarcastic superiority you do so well.
Air kisses for you, none for that slutty wedding-going bitch,
PS If you get really bored, just start drinking. It makes everything, including lying on the couch, more interesting. Worst case scenario, you'll pass out, and who doesn't love naps??
We'll get our shit together soon enough. Maybe I will get this job in Nashville and we can start another E-club. That always used to cheer us up.... right?
I miss you like Yoko misses John... except reversed... I guess, but with the same passion,
Post Script: Strawberry fields forever.
Post Post Script: Your boobs rock!
I'm depressed as shit that you no longer exist. Cool concerts aren't coming to Nash because they have no place to go. What will this summer be like without the coined DMB concert with random oldsters passing me j's? God, I'm so bummed. Coldplay was possibly one of the best nights of my life. Last summer, I raged at Dave, was barely conscious at Sister Hazel, and passed out off of 40's at Counting Crows in a cloud of drunken joy. This is not a real summer. I don't know what to do with myself.
I miss you. What are you like between the hours of 7 and 5? I don't even get to see if you are rain or shine, cold or hot, mild or balmy. Maybe I can tell by the demeanor of my boss who seems to be as moody as mother nature herself (or a woman constantly experiencing pms, whichever you prefer). Since you, Mother Nature, seem to have something against the hours after 5, with the heat bearing down on my body as I run, I have written a haiku.
Weather I miss you
Rain, shine, cold, hot, temperate
Corporate life sucks.
Stop being such a betch,
I'm still baffled as to why you stopped me today in the middle of the sidewalk to ask me where you parked. Moreover, after I told you honestly that I had no earthly idea, you continued to rephrase the question for several more minutes. Next time you lose your automobile, asking pedestrians for hints may be a dead end road.
I'm really feeling like I need a new hobby, some alternative use of my time which is equally enjoyable and productive. I would say like knitting or something, but then I realized it's me and I refuse to do that shit. Maybe I could research Amish life. Maybe I could learn to make inappropriate origami. Maybe I could more intentionally use every conversation with friends, family, and strangers as a tool for psychoanalysis. Maybe I could make it my mission to bring back pogs. Maybe I could nurture relationships with vagabonds. Maybe I could pose as an unsuspecting tween in a chatroom and bring pedophiles to cold hard justice. Any suggestions?
Til My Class Starts I'm Sofa King Bored,
The other night we thought a group outing to you would be fun. It is alarming to me that I found myself bored looking at the silicone genitalia. I'm hoping this twenty-something melancholy subsides soon. My apathy scares me and makes me less entertaining to others.
Everything is Blah,
I need you to understand my need to buy designer jeans. If you do not get that me spending $100 on jeans is a need, not a want, then I'm pretty sure our relationship will never work. They fit better, last longer, and make my ass look nicer. They are worth it. Don't judge me for my choices. And buying yourself a nice pair wouldn't hurt either, Abercrombie boy. And for the love of God, make sure they are dark wash.
I can't believe I actually called you out on your poor texting skills the other day. Sometimes I think my word vomit is abnormal. I told you to start proofreading from now on before messaging me. You blamed it on T9. A greeting is not a 15-pager due in 10 minutes and you havent even cited your references yet. There really is no excuse. Today you sent me two facebook messages and both of them were written hastily. I'm not trying to be picky here (ok, I'm extremely picky), but half the time your missives are so ridden with mistakes that I can't even figure out what point you are trying to get across. You hail from such a prestigious university, yet have poorer grammatical composition than myself.
Work On That,
My dear friend, what is this lesbo phase you are going through? I don't know why I find it so incredibly humorous that you are delving in the vag. I think it is so laughable because I've known you for so long and I know you heart boy-dong. Sometimes I think you just lez out to shock people. It does not shock me. Frankly, nothing shocks me about you anymore. Threesomes?..meh. Arrested for assaulting your boyfriend?...big deal. Another possibility is that you are being queer because you got tired of only guys paying attention to you and you felt you needed to secure it from all. Regardless, I love you and you provide me with a continual source of entertainment, however, I'm still partial to weens.
Love you BITCH,
P.S. I promise to still talk to you even if you turn into a raging bulldyke who enters drag shows, wears do-rags(sp?), and draws on fake goatees with eyeliner.
That was a sneaky move pretending like we were hanging out as friends and then forcing me into a corner and then convincing me to let you take me to a $30+ a person brunch. Was I not coming off unavailable enough?
Flattered, but You Don't Excite Me,
P.S. Nice style mentioning how expensive it was.
I love your rugged, weathered good looks. Your sexual deep voice turns me on every time I flip to the Discovery Channel. I do not care that you were born in 1962 and could be my father, I would do you anyway. I've always been attracted to beer-drinking, risk takers and you are the epitome of all that is good and holy in this genre of men. Lets make really outdoors-y babies, and conceive them on the Bering Sea somewhere. Until then, I will continue to drool over your mug on channel 38.
Don't ever shave your stubble,
Thanks for enjoying your day. also, thanks for inviting that raging cunt to the party. its nice to know that after a dinner party and cake baking and gifts and entertaining, you show me your friendship by regularly talking to a girl bent on becoming my kryptonite.
oh and that inside info you passed her, almost as good as the frosting i made for your cake.
pulling the knife out of my back,
It was my mistake for haphazardly answering my phone without screening today. I lied when I said I would call you back.
Going to Hell in a Handbasket at Lightning Speed,
Your new song is so hot that it makes me want to be in your video as the token hussy sitting next to one of you on a couch in V.I.P. whispering in your ear in slow-mo with my perfectly applied lip gloss highlighting every syllable. Either that or the girl sliding down the pole while you make it rain with dolla bills on me.
I'ma Buy YOU a Drank,
Amidst 5 days of exhausting work, 2 hours of driving every morning and afternoon, 19 idiots who not only could care less, but they also know less, and a last-second margarita visit we find a conversation of laughter, connection, understanding, deep intellect and coy sarcasm abound. Where did you come from? Right about now I need that poem about 'Footprints' and lasting marks on our lives...damn Internet, can't find anything when you want it...
Thanks to the participants/friends that helped make this "comet sighting" a reality. You all rock and deserve the best out of life.
Thanks especially to the newest of friends, A! There's something about you that is simply unexplainable yet absolutely wonderful! Remember to be as picky as you want to be because you are the only one who knows what you truly want and need.
Gotta go shave my toe knuckles and watch the primer on the next door neighbors' house dry ;),