Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Harnessing My Amish Chi

And it sucks ASS.

i'm a loser. totally got cable shut off...thus, no tv, no internet, nothing...MEH!

so hubby and I have been reading. and moping. and complaining. and just generally being bored. yeah.  thank god for free wifi at this hell hole bar we are sitting at right now.  

unfortunately me writing this means he is not using the computer to do his job.  which likely means no money tonight. which more than likely means a trip to coinstar is in the works for tomorrow.   

i have a bachelor's degree and a decent job and he makes decent money yet we are so fucking broke we should be in a full on body cast.  fuck. me. running. backwards. blindfolded. with scissors. 

Monday, October 10, 2011


It's my favorite word.  A response to anything I am indifferent to, dislike, or maybe even like just a little.  It's a blanket statement that I frequently use, mostly to annoy people. So, meh.

Anyhoo, I can't even think of where to start this morning since the ADD is in full swing and the anxiety and OCD are competing with it as well.  Meds.  They can only do so much.  I feel like those people on the Bing commercials who just take a keyword and verbal vomit the fuck out of it.  It's frustrating and kinda funny.  For instance. It is 9am.  Why in the fuck is the neighbor mowing his lawn?  Gee, our lawn needs to be mowed.  Maybe I should mow it.  Do we have gas for it? Do I wanna get up and actually do that? Or should I focus on the inside of the house? Not really since my hubby is still asleep and I'd like to let him slumber a bit longer so I may enjoy some peace and quiet...but I can't because the fuckhole several houses down is mowing his lawn.  

Some thought process, huh? Well, MEH. 

Welcome to my life. 

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Middle of Nowhere

So, with it being Halloween season and all, hubby and I decided to take his kids to a pumpkin patch yesterday.  I know, I should have foreseen the endless amounts of stupidity that would abound with it being a weekend and all, but I am a firm believer in giving the benefit of the doubt.

We loaded up into the SUV and began a 20 minute drive over the state line which ended with a drive down a road full of cornfields.  "Daddy, are we in the middle of nowhere?" his 5-year-old asked.  I giggled.  And continued to giggle some more.  "Yes, son. This IS the middle of nowhere," he replied. 

Now, what you need to know is that my stepson is a card.  A total fucking card.  Bless this child.  He takes Concerta.  He's been on meds since he was 4 and the doctors are still adjusting them.  It doesn't help that his mother is a complete fuck when it comes to parenting so a lot of his issues is just that: his mother is an asshole.  That being said, he is also at the age where he has virtually NO filter on his cute little mouth so you never know what the child will say.  Most of the time it's random, useless shit.  Sometimes it makes me smile, sometimes I just look at him and think, poor you. Your mother has totally FUBAR-ed you.  

Our arrival at the pumpkin patch is uneventful until the kids state they would like to participate in the corn maze.  First, I DETEST cornfields.  I really do.  I fear that I will be attacked by some fuck named Malachi who wants me to worship he who walks behind the rose.  Second, see the first comment.  So there is a sign that gives prices.  Ok, great. It's gonna cost $10 to go through this asstastical corn maze of hell. Great. What happens? The kids and hubby stand there, mouth breathing, vacant look in their eyes.  I know we are all ADD, but really? Mouth breathing like a bunch of special eds in public? 

I make the suggestion to go to the little cashier chick and inquire.  An argument ensues.  I plant my happy ass on a bench while the kids and hubby embark on the wonderful world of corn.  Not even five minutes goes by when an old lady waddles over, wheezing, and sits next to me.  I think it best she doesn't talk as she is guppy breathing and probably having an attack of COPD.  

Her bratty grandson starts screaming.  "I DON'T WANT A SMALL PUMPKIN! I WANT A BIG PUMPKIN!" Holy hell. I think the majority of octagenarians had coronaries.  I was tempted to get up and scream in his face.  What happens? His fucking mother says, "Ok, well we can look over here at these pumpkins. "  Then his brother gets in on it.  I get up, begin walking away from Wheezer and her little devilish minions just in time to hear her wheeze, "Now boys, don't talk to your mother that way."  Are you fucking kidding me? I'd pack those assholes up and tell them they weren't getting a pumpkin let alone go trick or treating, the ungrateful ingrates.  Fuck. WTF is the matter with people? They let their kids walk all over them.  And they wonder why the kids act like they do.  

I make it back to the truck, where I promptly texted my equally pissy BFF.  I'll call her Mama.  So we swapped stories about hating shit and whatnot.  

Actual text convo:

ME:  I fucking hate people. I'm about to go all headless horseman on these fucks.

Mama:  WTF are you doing?

ME: At a pumpkin patch.  In hell.

Mama: I so do not want to make this cake.  (For our other BFF's son)

ME: So tell him Spongebob took a shit and this is what you got.

Mama: It's Phineas and Ferb.

ME: So Ferb got hit by a car and this is what you got.

Mama: Funny you should say that... 

she sends me a picture of the figures she will put on the cake.  IT INCLUDES A CAR.  Now, I find this tragically hysterical.  I am literally sitting next to a ditch, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by fucks, and I am maniacally laughing.  Oh, this is fucking fantastic.


Further text convo includes how our hubbies can be complete marfs and whatnot.  I eventually begin to wonder if Malachi made an appearance in the corn maze and decided to gently persuade my family into joining he who walks behind the rose.  Not so much.  They come trudging over to the truck.  "That was hell," hubby says.  It's a cornfield.  WTF did you expect?  

We end up making our way home, in which I promptly develop a migraine.  Go me. Tramadol became another BFF for me.

Friday, October 7, 2011

people are phacks...and other anecdotes...

I should write a book.  I could have written several by this point of my life.  Instead I have my journals, my friends, and my husband.   Well what would you write about? I've been asked.  My life, I reply.  I have never read anything that comes remotely close to what I have experienced--the seriousness, the pettiness, the craziness, the shit in between.  I'd air out the dirty laundry.  Just throw the shit out there, call out all the shittiness and the shitty people I've dealt with.  But then I realized that would take up more volumes than Encyclopedia Britannica.  If any of you fucks remember what the fuck those are. 

In short, I pretty much dislike people.  Not just the fucktards.  They REALLY piss me off.  People in general drive me fucking crazy.  I do not have a filter when it comes to this.  I am overcome with temporary Tourette Syndrome and I have been known to shout obscenities at random people. If you don't know me, you'd think I was out on a day pass.  For those closest to me, they laugh and egg it on because I am balls to the wall brutal and say what most people don't have the cohones to say.  I don't look at it as being mean.  I look at it as being the harsh voice of truth.  Let's face it: if someone wasn't brutally honest with the douchenozzles I meet on a regular basis then they would not have a chance of recovery and attempting to turn into somewhat normally functioning beings.  That doesn't mean I still wouldn't bitch at them.  It would just be on a less bitchy scale.  

Everyone drives me nuts.  I drive MYSELF nuts.  Apparently the Celexa isn't doing it's job.  My doctor says I'm a misanthrope.  Those close to me say I'm just being me.  I say I'm beyond fucked and no amount of medicine will ever come close to curbing my outbursts.   

I have to stay bottled up all day due to the fact that I am a professional, with a professional license, working in a professional setting.  The only thing that keeps me going in a professional mode is good coffee and cigarette breaks, or as we in the healthcare field refer to them, breathing treatments.  By the end of the day, my inner beast is growling to get out.  The only outlet I have is the car ride home, blaring Slipknot, Devildriver, Lamb of God, or Disturbed.  If I get started on the thundercunts and cock biscuits I have to deal with at work, it becomes an hour long rant about the ineffectiveness of the human brain, and just tell me, how is it that I may possibly be the smartest most logical person on the face of this planet?

IDK.  I really don't.  It's a messed up theory, but I really do believe that it is true at times.  I can't believe the amount of assblows that leave the house on a daily basis that can actually function in a normal capacity and have fluid though processes.  You'd never know they were like if you saw them drive.  Really? You're in a 60mph zone and you are choosing to go 50mph? During morning rush hour? What kind of vagina juice face are you? You are hindering my progress in life. You are a fuck.  Plain and simple.

Oh, and let me just state that people without a sense of urgency or purpose are wastes of space.  I would rather stuff M80s up my ass and stand over a flaming hibachi than deal with most fucks of life.  

Mother fucking fucks.  All of them. Cocksucks.