inappreciable, insignificant, little, nonessential, small, trivial, unimportant and unsubstantial

I just feel like it... cuz.

There are many activities going on around the home-front, which is why I haven't been writing lately.  Tonight I find myself with ample energy, energy that has no direction, so I will vomit my thoughts all over you and hope that you'll hold my hair back.

what random things have been taking up my mind space and time:

hallow'een, is numero uno.  I have been spending way too much time on our costumes, which are, as I speak (type) still not finished.

work, which seems to interfere at every turn.

getting drunk and doing fun shit, obviously

school, I have to actually do my homework and take my tests if I want to pass this class in order to reach a lofty goal. (I have an A so far)

cleansing my body before I indulge in all things disgusting and hedonistic.

this may not sound like a lot but when you factor in sleep and eating, showering, etc. it can take up most of your life.

getting ready for neverender and my road trip to LA with good friend John is also on the agenda, as well as planning for my trips to Mexico and Belize.

omg.  i just realized that this is all crap that is totally and completely uninteresting to outside parties.

eject.

over n out.

gay beef

I have been disgustingly truant, and for that, I apologize.

In my (semi) drunken state I have become increasingly guilty as time progresses and so I have decided tonight that I will confront the hilarious issue of man-love.

Now I am not in any way referring to the special kind of "real" man-love.  I'm talking about the ridiculous charade that goes on between heterosexual men, especially in the workplace.

This is something I observe on a regular basis, and to me it's become something of a quandary.

Every restaurant I've ever worked in is rampant in this arena, even if they no longer work together.  

excerpt:

*male co-worker gently caressing other male co-worker's arm*  "what are you doing later baby?"

"Oh, I was just waiting for you so I could give you a hot beef injection later tonight sweetie buns".

seriously?

Women do not engage in this ridiculous behavior.  We indulge in plain-speak, something men know nothing about.  We say what we mean, and this is somehow something that men consider to be in another language.  

You say. "please vacuum the floor today".  

He hears, "please go to the titty bar and come home drunk".

maybe there is something lost in translation.

But if a man says, "Hey baby you would look hot in a mini, lemme rub your thighs..."  This somehow means, "We're buddies dooood, can you please pick up the slack while I drain the lizard?", and his fake moan thereafter is a resounding YES.

hm.  somehow I think that if I said this to my girls they would either slowly back away towards the door or laugh hysterically in my face.  

The latter being the more probable.

wiggin' out

omg wigs.

they suck,  and yet every year (almost) I insist on wearing one for halloween.

they make me unbearably hot because lets face it it's still 100 degrees in october if you happen to be unfortunate enough to live in california.  (YES!  I said it).  they itch, they get caught in shit, they slip off and they never look quite right.

but I MUST wear one of these ridiculous things because I just don't feel that my transformation is complete without one.

This year i have to wear one because the costume dictates it, but as god hates me I couldn't find the right one, even though I've seen the exact one I need every year for the last 10 years at the halloween store but now that I need it, it's not there.  

I found one that was perfect, except that it was the wrong color.  I thought to myself that I would simply dye it.  But I am retarded because you cannot dye nylon yarn.  It simply will not do a god damned thing to it.

big fat waste of time.

so a friend suggested I use that colored hair spray stuff on it, which I tried but it just didn't go very far.  at $3 a bottle, by the time it was finished I would've spent 4x what I spent on the fucking wig.

So since I am a genius, i decided I would simply spray paint it.

stop laughing.

It actually worked pretty well except that it smells like shit and I'm not entirely sure that anything I do to it will change that.  Even if I do get it just right I'm still gonna have to add a bunch more of the correct colored yarn.

fuck it.

I think I'm just gonna make my own...

Hallowe’en

Whew! *wipes arm across sweaty brow*

After two days of braving the elements (I have chapped lips to prove it!), I am finally done decorating Vicki's and my own front yard for Halloweeeeeeeen!!!  EE hEE hee hEE

It just so happens that my lovely friend also has the most lovely halloween decorating tool known to man or beast.

This tool, is... (drum roll please...)

a webcaster gun.

This handy dandy little tool of wonder is essentially a hot glue gun that you hook up to an air compressor.  

hm... curious.

This contraption makes the coolest, most realistic spiderwebs I have ever seen.  Oh my fucking god (omfg), I went ape-shit on my house with that thing.

I spent yesterday putting up my tombstones for my cemetery.  

The tombstones that you buy always come with the flimsiest, most retarded little plastic nubs that are somehow supposed to not only make it through the concrete-like clay soil in my front yard, but withstand winds of up to, i don't know... 1 mile an hour.  It fails miserably at both of these tasks.

This year I took a note from V's book and used wooden stakes and then just glued the fuckers to them.  This works fantastically.  It also filled the flesh of my hands up with an infinitesimal amount of tiny angry splinters.  Add that to wind-chapped and over-washed hands and you have bloody stumps that explode little satchels of blood and spit putrescence out at you as you pass.

After getting this all set up I move onto to the painstaking, but totally kick ass, process of web-slinging.  The house looks ghoulishly spooktaculer, and my stubs o' meat also have fucking boils on them now from the hotter than hell ever wanted to be glue gun from hell.  

Did I mention it was a filthy angry bastard from hell?

rip my eyelashes out one at a time and then punch me in the va-jay-jay

I'm ready to light myself on fire and then punch myself in the face.

I'd say I'm ready to rip my hair out but I feel it just doesn't get my point across well enough.

The hubby rolled and subsequently sprained his ankle with possible tendon damage, we spent all morning in the ER.  He's hobbling around on crutches now with a swollen foot, so I'm trying to help him as much as I can.

I'm starving but am so goddamn irritated that I can't even bring myself to think about food, let alone actually make some for myself.

The bipolar voices in my head are positively screaming and the cat just took a giant dump in the cat box, which smells divine, and then puked all over the kitchen.

On top of it, my quiz link for my online class is broken and my professor, via email, insists that it's not, even though I'm sure he hasn't bothered to check it or he would find that I am 100% right and that it's inaccessible.  

On top of that it's the last day to take the damn thing and I wasn't able to take it before because the lecture video was fucked up all week and no one could watch it to study what was going to be on the quiz.  I also have to work very soon, and I need to shower.  By the time I get off work, the quiz definitely will not be available so I am effectively fucked right up the goat ass.

Tomorrow morning bright and early I have jury duty.  Promptly following this I will have a very annoying wine tasting at work which will be closely followed by my shift.

I hate everything and I want the whole world to burn to the fucking ground right now, but I'd settle for a giant delicious meal and a whiskey.

god hates me

o i got jokes

I cannot help but notice that my last few yammerings have been utterly fucking snooze-a-rama.

bo-ring.

I apologize for that.  I will try to liven things up a bit.

how about a joke?

okay, okay... haha, this one is my favorite.

what's the difference between a hooker and an onion?

I don't cry when I chop up a hooker.

murky meditations

I hate it when I go out and have a great time, and then wake up hung over.

Maybe not even hung over, not sick or anything, but tired and fuzzy and like I can't focus on anything quite intently enough.

Hence, my day is wasted, at least in the sense that I can't do anything truly productive that requires my brain.  Also I feel like I cannot remember the prior evenings events as clearly as I would like to.  I know what I did and everything, I just don't remember it clearly and maybe little bits are missing... like leaving the bar.  

hm... don't remember that part, but clearly I did.

this is as annoying to me as the night was fun, so obviously I cannot be expected to give it up but I wish there was another way sometimes...

fuck.  why does whiskey have to taste so good?

measure my days

my schedule this week has been, well, wonky.

I already keep strange hours and have the tendency to forget what day it is. But now my boss wants to really fuck me up by changing my work schedule and it's been kind of exciting.

no need to point out that it's altogether pathetic that I find this turn of events exciting.

but it has been.  I feel like I haven't really worked this week at all, when the truth is that I'm working the exact amount of days and hours that I always do.  this mix-it-up spicy thing is quite the pick-me-up.

so now after working all week when I've felt like I haven't worked at all, I have another day off tomorrow.  yay!

I will spend it with friends watching front men puke on their fans and catching up on some reading.

that's right... after agonizing weeks of not being able to buy comics I finally went and spent my whole allowance (ugh, budgets suck) on some comics I needed.

observe...

Watchmen, something that's been on my to-read list for ages

last two issues of Amory War, a total staple and necessity

latest Dark Tower.  lovely

and last but definitely not least, the new comic out based on Stephen Kings, The Stand.  issue 1 of 5, Captain Tripps.    this makes me so goddamn happy... and one of my favorite things about Flying Colors, after you spend 25 bones they give you a free mixi-pak o' comics.  I haven't even looked to see what's in it yet.

o!!  I can't forget that Haas loaned me 2, 3 and 4 of Preacher because I only have the first one and every time I go to the comic shop they never have 2!  I simply CAN NOT read 3 or 5 or any other issue before I read 2.  It is just impossible.

I'm sorry but I do not make the rules you know.

Peter Roget and the Thesaurusbrontus Rex

who ever created the thesaurus (peter roget) is a goddamn genius and it's time I shouted my love for him from the mountain tops.

Painful gropers the world round will testify to it's usefulness even though they probably won't because the whole purpose of a thesaurus is to make yourself look as though you don't need one.

"Thesaurus stands somewhere between pornography and Brodie's Notes on the embarrassment scale. Possession implies use. Use implies need. Need implies deficiency, whether of sexual partners, revision time or words. In the case of Roget, no one wants to admit to being dumb."
this is what "they" say. whoever "they"is...

I will admit. the thesaurus is, and has been my indispensable tool since college. once I discovered that there were words out there to describe what I really meant I swooned.

fucking beautiful.

rub together noisily

sometimes I grind my teeth.
mostly when I'm sleeping but I find myself doing it while I'm awake sometimes too.

My mouth, and particularly my teeth are displeased with my choices and behavior.

Last month I chipped my back molar, and the month before that I felt something weird on my tooth so I scraped it off because it wasn't coming off easy and it was a piece of my fucking tooth. all this because I can't control my anxiety and fervor. even when I'm sleeping.

It's like the Cat Williams stand-up. The part where he talks about nuggas being hard. "damn nugga, you angry at breakfast?"
yup. that's me. well, my mouth anyway.

It makes my jaw hurt too.

I was doing good for awhile but now it's back in full tilt boogie. I should probably start wearing my tard-guard again but it's uncomfortable and it makes me drool on myself, or my husband if he's unlucky enough to be in the orbit of my slaver.

truly, what is to become of me?

am I to live an empty life of fashion, pique and salivation?

will I be accosted by the reality of my pathetic life without the aforementioned disturbers?

yikes.
I wish slobber was gold.. haha, then I wouldn't have to worry about the stupid piece of paper that stands in for the bullion.