Three.

Three.

That is the number of times I've shoved my toes up my dog's ass tonight, because the little fucker won't stop from laying under my desk, just out of eyesight, with his butt right in front of my feet.  STREEEEETCHHOLYSHITTHAT'SYOURANUS.

And he doesn't even flinch.

Makeup. I got it.

With a WHOLE day to spend doing whatever the fuck I want (well, I should be cleaning and trying to sell some the mountains of junk around here that Teh Geek and I seem to secrete, but whatever), I ended up cleaning out an old makeup bag.  Which resulted in me spending half the afternoon sitting in front of Dr. Phil (Seriously, never watched that shizz before, but he was talking about mail-order brides, and our new neighbor down the street's getting one and I'm all like "maybe I'm jumping to conclusions here and completely misinformed about this whole process, so PLEASE DR. PHIL-- FILL ME IN ON THE INFORMATIONS!")

So, yeah, never watching that shit again.  Not my thing.  Is he even a real doctor? 

Back to the story, though.  Watching Phil, and was like "I haven't done full makeup in forever!"

I usually do minimal eyes and lips, screw foundation and heavy shit.  I suck at it, and it just looks goofy.  So, with overstuffed bag in hand, I plopped down to goth out while 65-year-olds claimed they were 45 and truly, madly in love with these 22-year-olds they'd never met, but they must be wonderful because they're eastern european and ALL eastern european women are perfect.  DAMMIT, I NEED TO MOVE TO TRANSYLVANIA OR WHATEVER SO I CAN START BEING PERFECT!!

Right as I'm putting the final touches of eyeliner around my cheekbones, Geek calls.  Turns out the office is going out for dinner, and he's picking me up soon.  Oh, and I'm also in a bridesmaid's dress that I'll be shredding for a zombie ball this weekend, but that's another story.  Shit.  Want to be all "Surprise!  I'm gothy and pretty!" but he'll probably be in a hurry.  Well, DEAL WITH IT, GEEK.  YOU'LL JUST HAVE TO WAIT WHILE I TAKE OFF MY MAKEUP AND BECOME PRESENTABLE, that way  I can jump out and surprise you with how lovely I am today.  And remind you why I should be a stay-at-home wife.  Dammit, I really need to move to transylvania.  And then I can be a trophy wife, rather than the consolation ribbon I am now.  At least he entered the contest, folks.

Anyone else have days like this? 

ok, but where do the arm holes go?

HOLY CRAPULATING POO BUCKETS.'
LONGEST.  DAY.  EVAR.

It probably would go by faster if I actually did work, but that's sooooooooooo boooooooooooooooooooring.  We're raising a nation of fucking pansies, why can't I be one from time to time?  A pansy, that is.  Not a nation.  My ass may be ginormous, but not *that* big.  C'mon, people!

Because I've never raised a single human offspring, I'm totally qualified to criticize America's parenting skills (collectively, of course.  What kind of generalizing monster do you take me for?!)
These purple mountain magesties SUCK- they should just start shipping tykes off so they can build me some comfy-ass shoes, because that's really what I need- SOME DAMN MOTHER FUCKING COMFY SHOES THAT LOOK AWESOME.  You know how hard it is to find 10W shoes that are cute?  Yeah, thought so.  They don't exist! 

So, I guess the moral of that story is start popping out kids so they can become cobblers that work for free.  And grow shoe-making material, because I'm a cheapass who isn't about to start providing it.  Maybe we can genetically engineer these kids to just grow shoe material off their elbows or something?  Kind of like an extra fingernail, but more useful.

Well?  Get on it!

Cute, but watch out in the boob area

Confession time: the title of this post is what my browser wanted to put in.  Firefox, wtf?!  Apparently I wrote that at some point in time, but I have no fucking clue when or why.  Must've been drunk. 

Moving on: How to impress your date, volume 1
Around our forth or fifth date (or as I like to call them, "hang out sessions"  Dating's such a WORD), Teh Geek turned to me and asked out of the blue, "Have you ever heard of Asperger Syndrome?"

...


(note: I'd worked at a camp for special-needs kids one summer to help pay for general fuckery school.  Yes, very familiar with Asperger's)

Me:  ....why....?
Him: Well, don't be offended or anything, but I was a psych major, and you may want to see someone, like a specialist.
Me: Wait, you think *I* have Asperger's?
Geek: Don't get all riled up!  I just meant that sometimes you're, well, uh, you know what, forget I said anything.


Aaaand I proceeded to guilt trip him over it for the rest of the night.  And bring it up whenever suits my needs, because hey, I'm female.  I'm pretty sure it's physically impossible for anyone of my gender to actually let things go, especially when it comes to someone ELSE fucking up.


Yep, that's pretty much how it went down, more or less.  Then again, that was a few years ago and my brain's pretty fuzzy and honestly, most shit is an exaggeration on here but YOU GET THE IDEA .

BTW- I married this man.  Who thinks I have mild autism.  Holla!

Thank goodness I got that damn intro out of the way

That shit suuuuuucks.


Know what else sucks?  Jobs.   I currently get paid to hide out in the dark, playing on my phone and reading blogs monitoring expensive equipment and doing super-important things like tweezing my eyebrows and fixing shit when it inevitably hits the fan because I've neglected it (that eyebrow hair won't groom itself, people!!).  Thankfully, my company employs people to take complaints from customers who realize someone's been fucking around and gone and let something dumb break.  Darn dumb things, always breaking and ruining my blog-reading sessions!

Which is why I've decided- rather than pay me to be at work doing nothing, why not pay me to be at home with my pants off, drinking wine (or vodka...shh- don't tell my mom!) and gaming?!  That way at least I can neglect everything at my leisure, and let's face it- I'm much more pleasant to be around when I've been boozing it up.  At work I'm just a grouchy bitch (what's with this "sober in the workplace" attitude, anyway AMERICA?)

So, dearest company, I humbly request you pay me to stay home and the heck away from your shizz.  And possibly drunk-dial you on occassion.  You can totally drunk dial me back, that's cool.  We could have phonesex later or something.

Also, what happened to my pants?

Whelp, let's give this a go.

Ever  have one of those days when you realize you're in a place, becoming a person you hate?  Yep.  Finally hit that.  So, without further ado, here's my attempt at digging myself out.  No negativity here, only subjects that 1.) make me laugh, 2.) might make others laugh (at my expense, but that's totally fair game...I'm pretty much an idiot, after all), or 3.) brings forth a simple smile.  Or encourages thought and all that bullshit.  Whatever.

There are some pretty brilliant people out on the interwebs writing their hearts out, and I'm not about to become one of them.  This is just going to be a forum for me to work through some of the insanity I've got going on, as well as a chance to hopefully make someone else laugh.  Oh, yeah.  And I've got to write at least 3 times a week.  No guidelines, and I'll be ditching this faster than that 8-am calculus class freshman year (what kind of person even CONSIDERS creating a class like that at that hour?!)

[/bullshit obligatory intro]