It's not me it's you

A rant:

If I am trying to be nice when ending things with you why can't you just except it? When it started it was just about sex, I was upfront about that. Why do you keep harping on it?

You tried to sneak a relationship on me a couple of times, which was really fucking annoying. I was never your girlfriend.

It's over, has been for awhile. Please don't ask me what you did or what you can do to change. That just confirms that you are way to in to the nonexistent relationship and that is not what I wanted. I never lied to you. But thanks for making things cluttered.

But here's what you did wrong:

• Too clingy
• You got jealous, what the hell?
  
• acted like we were in a relationship
• lost all your self confidence
• agreed with me on almost everything
• turned pathetic

Yes, chicks can have a no-strings-attached relationship. I wasn't sleeping with you because I wanted more, I was sleeping with you because I wanted sex, THAT IS ALL.

I don't want to be friends anymore I just want you to leave me alone!

end rant.

Sick relationships

It seems like all my relationships are changing lately, be they platonic, work or romantic. Nothing stays the same, I realize that but sometimes it’s a little jarring. So you can understand why the relationships that are constant are a comfort to me. And one that I don’t always say thank you to, but that means a lot to me is the one between my apartment and me.

I know that it will be there every day as long as I pay the rent (please Mr. Landlord wait til Monday to deposit that check). It lets me just lay there and zone out and doesn’t get mad when I blast bad music and sing in the shower. It also never judges me for the clothes I leave on the ground or the pile of dishes in the sink.

And every month my apartment will try a new way to murder me while I’m not paying attention. So maybe it is judging me for my slovenly living conditions.

It started off innocently enough with my apartment just trying to annoy me by locking me out or randomly turning all the power off while I was drying my hair. (OK, maybe I shouldn’t have tried to run the microwave, TV and hair dryer at the same time, and maybe I should have learned after the thirtieth time of blowing the circuit breaker, but I’m pretty sure it’s the apartment and not me.) I could live with this, I just gave out my keys to friends and kept my slippers near the door so I could quickly walk down the hall and flip the breakers.

It them moved on to trying to drive me insane with its thin walls and constant low battery beep from a neighbor’s fire alarm. For a good month, every two minutes a chirp would emanate from a neighboring apartment, and mariachi music would waft from lower levels around 2 a.m. on Mondays and Tuesdays. But these too, I grew accustomed to.

But lately my apartment has been less subtle; it has really stepped up the attempted murder. It puts wires out in the middle of the night for me to trip over. It randomly opens cabinet doors for me to walk into. My knees and ribs are a constant lovely shade of blue; I look like a crack whore.

But probably the most obvious attempt at murder is that the oven turns on late at night to kill me via carbon monoxide poisoning. I wake up to an apartment that is a little too warm. Then I have to run around and open all my windows and stick my head out trying to get some fresh air. This gives the guy across the way with the ’80s Sport Illustrated calendar on his fridge and the stained wife beater the impression that I’m flirting with him.

Sure, you may think that I leave the oven on after I make some of those ready made cookies late at night, but that is just not true and slightly libelous (slander really never applies, or at least it is much harder to prove). I’m not crazy enough to leave the oven on three times in one month.

Although I would like to think that I am not that flaky, that probably just isn’t that true. After all in the last week I’ve left my credit card at three different bars. You’d think I would learn after the first one.

But the truth of the matter is I’m very flaky about small things. I’m pretty good about keeping the more important things in my life in order, but the smaller things like not locking my keys in my car or turning off the stove kind of get looked over.

Damn, I’m gonna Darwin myself out soon.

Professional idiot

I have this impressive knack for embarrassing myself. I fall down stares, spill stuff on pants and generally just make an ass out of myself. But lately I have one upped myself; I’ve become a professional idiot I believe. I’m hoping to get sponsors so if you’re interested let me know.

Take for example today. It was early, I was tired. I had stayed up until 4 am the night before*. So I’m in class, leading a discussion when I need to get something out of my purse. As I open it, out tumbles my Plan B box. And of course they don’t put these things in a normal sized Sudafed box, oh no, this thing is massive, about the size of that horrid Twilight book, and screams “SHE HAD SEX! And it was unprotected, how irresponsible of her, everyone should point and laugh.” I’m pretty sure my professor and all the others in the class saw it as well. So I wanted to die but kept going.

And I don’t understand the point of the size of the box. The two itty-bitty pills are the size of pinheads. It’s a waste of perfectly good cardboard; it’s reasons like this that we are in a recession. I think they do it on purpose to shame you. Those bastards.

*This was not actually the cause of needing the emergency contraceptive (Yep, that’s on the box too).

Hopefully dreams say nothing about you...

OK saratogajean mentioned dreams and it got me thinking about a couple of mine.

Lately I’ve been having the weirdest dreams. I mean I always have some strange ones but lately they’ve been off the scale weird, and there is even a theme.

The first one was about a week ago. I was on stage in a really pretty (but kind of tacky) ball gown with about fifty other girls on a show like Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire. This was obviously the beginning and everyone was saying why she was there and why she wanted to marry … my ex-boyfriend.

Now he is a wonderful guy but when I realized whom it was I kind of started to freak out. But I couldn’t get off the stage. It was getting closer and closer to my turn and I was starting to panic. Suddenly I was off the stage and running down this never ending red velvet staircase that was strewn with rose petals and pearls. So while I’m running full bent down this staircase I’m trying not to break my neck by slipping on the loose pearls (I’m also in four inch heals). I woke up in a cold sweat, but had no clue as to what this could mean, if anything.

The next one was last night. Apparently I was a contestant on Rock of Love. I had bleached blond hair and a skanky outfit to boot. It was my all-consuming quest to find out if Brett Michaels’ hair was real or not. I think I might have even got into a screaming match with another girl whose boobs were at least triple mine in mass. Brett and I had a date and I was so creeped out by him that thankfully, I woke up.

I have to admit I do watch Rock of Love. No matter how stupid I feel I always feel better watching these people, because I will hopefully never slip so low. But now I have to wonder what my subconscious is trying to say putting me in these situations?

Tests and stuff

You ever play that stupid game where you buy three random things at the market and see if you can get the clerk to react with a disgusted look or a giggle? We would buy zucchinis, condoms and a jar of mayo or whipped cream, lube and a bunch of balloons (what, we were easily amused).

I haven’t done that in years, possibly over a decade. When I realized I accidentally played the game last night (we should have given it some cool name, but I still can’t think of one). I finally got a reaction from the clerk, although this time I wasn’t trying. I laid down a bottle of bleach, a Tupperware container and a pregnancy test. I got a really weird look and suddenly felt really judged; it wasn’t like I was buying wire hangers with the pregnancy test. I didn’t want to jump the gun after all. I guess altogether it might have looked a little on the strange side. I'm pretty sure it was the Tupperware that put it over the top.

Thankfully, I failed the test. I can happily look forward to once again peeing on a stick, sweating for two minutes and praying to God that I will change my ways if only the test comes back negative, before seeing a negative sign and going out and having unprotected sex to celebrate.

Cat fight

I saw the sweetest thing on Saturday night. A friend and I were heading up a rather busy sidewalk in downtown at around 1 a.m., when about 50 feet in front of us rolls a mass of intertwined arms, legs and torsos. Upon closer inspection it did seem to be a group of humans rolled into a tightly knit ball. Well they hit some newspaper racks at the edge of the sidewalk and kind of exploded, in both noise and bodies. At the center of the cacophony was a slender woman in a tiny skirt and four inch heels. It was great, she kept trying to get at someone and random fights kept breaking out between multiple chicks. I wanted to sit and stare and this event all night long, it was so wonderful. I mean these girls were really going at it.

A small part of me thinks that alcohol might have had a small part to play in all this — maybe. One girl did seem to try to walk through a glass window but was sadly stopped by physics. She stared, confused at the bit of glass that stymied her passage to some desired destination.

My friend eventually managed to tear me away (the girls were still going at it when we moved on). But we didn’t end up anywhere better. I mean the guy next to me asked if I wanted him to draw me a picture. No, I don’t want a picture, and now I have to leave the bar because of creepy artist guy.

Oh well at least the fight was good times.

Fuck you 2008!

Most of the time it has always sucked to have my birthday on New Year’s Eve. But this year I am so glad of it. I have heard that 29 is the worst year of your life so that you can look forward to 30, dear god I hope that’s true. Twenty nine, or the entire year of 2008, has sucked some huge donkey balls, and because I’m in a whiny mood I will go through it just so I can get it out.

I’ll start off with wrecking my lovely little Mini Cooper (I loved that car). I was going about 75 when I hit a wet spot and spun the shit out of it. Thankfully the wall dividing the two lines of freeway was kind enough to stop me. I had to take the train home and I could barely walk the next day. OK this happened in 2007 but was so close to 2008 that I’m throwing it in there.

I had to drive my dad’s convertible Saturn roadster that screams midlife crisis.

So I bought a used Honda Civic, those are reliable cars that can go for years with no problems. The next day the check engine light goes on, and I swear the guys at the dealership just started laughing.

My brother in-law came down with a very rare case of leukemia, we still don’t know if he is going to be OK.

I dumped my super-sweet boyfriend of eight years on the day he proposed.

I followed that up with two of the most soul draining, pathetic excuses for relationships in the existence of mankind (OK, they weren’t that bad but you get the drift).

Some guy in Chili stole $600 out of my account.

I got stranded on the freeway with no cell phone, and had to dodge traffic to get to the emergency phone. Later while waiting for the tow truck a police officer mistook me for a prostitute (I was wearing business casual the bastard).

I had to move back in with my mom. (Thankfully I was able to move out two months later, but it still sucked, and to be honest she does feed me so that’s always a plus.)

I almost burned my new apartment down due to a misunderstanding between me, the stove and a carton of free-range chicken eggs.

My car got rear-ended. Nearly took the bumper off, and of course there was no note.

I locked myself out of my apartment twice. The first time I had to call the very expensive locksmith, then I made copies of my keys and handed them out to everyone I ever knew.

My phone got turned off due to lack of funds.

Guy I went on three dates with, 6 months ago, won’t stop calling.

I still haven’t finished my thesis (totally my fault I just don’t want to do it anymore).

I threw my back out the day before my birthday/New Years/trip to Vegas.

Though I’ve bitched I had a lot of fun this year they just weren’t a memorable as the bad times.

But there is a bottle of champagne waiting to ease me through the last little bit of this year and into what will hopefully be a much better next one. It's weird but I really am looking forward to 30. Oh wait I am officially 30, this sucks.

Damn I'm getting old

Ah only one day until I turn thirty and my body has already decided to give up on me. Stupid body.

Since the holidays are almost over I decided to get a jump start on the exercising so I could give up on it earlier this year. So Sunday night I went for a run. Thankfully it was super cold so I was able to keep running because all I wanted to do was get back into my nice warm apartment. About a block from house was a little silver Chevy Cavalier sitting in the middle of the intersection, the idiot driver had run out of gas — thirty feet from a Chevron.

No one was stopping so I said I would help push (I’m 5’7” and a staggering 107 lbs so I don’t know what I thought I could do). But I think people began to feel bad when they saw me doing my best impression of a broom trying to move a car, and so some strapping lads came over and actually got the car moving and into the gas station. (Ok, I moved it a bit but then we hit a small incline and lost all momentum and the dumb chick could not figure out how to steer and push at the same time.)

Anywho, the next day I was a little stiff but nothing too bad. Today I can barely move. My back is in so much pain I’m almost in tears. I didn’t even run that far, it had to be that stupid Chevy, see if I’m ever a good Samaritan again (on a side note I did play the Good Samaritan in the school play in high school, also the Wise Virgin, of which I am neither).

Why body would you do this to me? Couldn’t you wait until I got back from celebrating my birthday and New Years in Las Vegas?

No matter I will have a good time in Vegas even if I have to drink my weight in alcohol to numb the pain.

Of course this is kind of a fitting ending to what has had to be the worst year of my life. I really can’t wait to kiss it goodbye.

Sick

I guess my life has become rather pathetic. I was moved to tears the other day because I got a little space heater — and it worked. Seriously, just the act of warming up my room 10 degrees above freezing has made this a stellar week for me. If anything else goes right I’ll probably have to kill myself because I’ll know I’ve reached my peak and it just can’t get any better.

Last week I got sick. I hate being sick and living by myself in a freezing little closet of an apartment. There’s no one there to whine too and when you open the fridge and realize that all you have is a can of tuna fish but no can opener (why I bought this can without this all-important accessory in my possession is still a mystery to me) and some mustard, you have no one to go get food but yourself.

I bundled myself up and headed out the door. Sure, I looked like I had ebola and I’m pretty sure that fluids were dripping out of not only my nose but my eyes and mouth as well, but I was on my way. The market was only two blocks from my apartment so not too bad. Except I went when I was starving so I bought way too much and overestimated my arm strength. I had to stop and rest about five times on the lengthy two-block return trip. By the time I had returned home I was so exhausted that I had to take a nap before I was able to make any food.

But I wised up. Not wanting to go through this rigmarole again I headed to my mom’s place for the weekend where she fed me and turned her heater on.

Hanging out with other bloggers

Well I hung out with Ms. Puddin on Saturday night and I was highly amused. I was also offered $1,000 to give a blow job so I can definitely say things were interesting. (No, I didn’t take the offer, I’m a lady I’ll have you know. Anyways I’m pretty sure I could have gotten more.)

I swear I was planning on having only a couple of beers and then heading home. But one thing lead to another and I ended up scraping up my palms and bashing up my knees on the sidewalk when the girl who was giving me a piggy back ride took a nose dive. I wasn’t hurt but the other poor girl got a little cut up. Probably didn’t help that I was rolling on the ground laughing.

I was a little sad that there was no fence jumping, and when I left Ms. P’s panties were (I think) still firmly on her ass. But I realize I am just a pathetic drinker who can’t actually keep up with a five-year-old. Well at least I’m a cheap date.

Useless talent 52

I’ve been super busy with work and school so therefore I haven’t been posting much. Oh also I’ve been incredibly boring and having nothing interesting to tell. So this is me trying to pull something together to try and keep up with the writing.

So the building I live in is a little over a hundred years old, and I’m pretty sure the carpets in the hallway have not been cleaned in that amount of time.

But anyways I was coming home late one night with a big basket of laundry. On the second flight of stairs I manage to twist my ankle and then fall up the stairs and then rolled down the stairs. All my clean clothes fell out onto the disease-infested floor and I think that I got covered in the ebola virus.

So after throwing up a bit in my mouth, I collected my now dirty clothes and limped into my apartment.

That will teach me to try and get all my laundry done at my mom’s place and save $2.25 — it’s just not worth it.

City Hall shenanigens

I skipped over to City Hall. I was in a good mood. I had just registered to vote and after I bought my downtown parking permit, I would have no more bills to pay for at least two days.

But sadly, City Hall was aware of my euphoria and ready to crush my spirit with the weight of bureaucracy.

I walked through the glass doors of this fairly new building that screamed efficiency, but whispered, "but not for you." And I was hit with a wall of sage, which I think is the new beige.

A plasma screen told fellow citizens what was going on and a soft female voice randomly came over the P.A. saying that everything would be OK. Well, that's not what she said. She was usually looking for someone, but I felt that the subliminal message was that everything was fine.

For some reason, City Hall feels like some futuristic bus station. I could imagine the soft-voiced woman telling everyone the next train was arriving: "Southbound bullet train with a final destination of hell with stopovers in purgatory and limbo leaves in five minutes."

Crap, that's my train.

Anyway, there was no line for turning in my parking pass, and after about three minutes, I was approved to park three blocks from where I live.

But I had to go to a completely different line to pay for my sparkly parking pass - the cashier line.

Now, this was a line. It snaked past the cubicles and into an open area. Finally, I felt like I was in a building staffed by public servants.

For this gargantuan line there was one harried-looking man trying to appease everyone. Sadly, judging from the growing volume level of the woman at his window, he wasn't accomplishing this goal.

But still I was in a pretty good mood, just growing increasingly bored. Thankfully, the woman in front of me talked for a good 20 minutes about different friends of hers and how they were horrible people. She then went into great detail about their faults, their horrible style (this from a woman in an orange-and-yellow-striped, blue turtleneck) and about how her friend Mandy (names have been changed to protect the badly dressed) was pretty but not really pretty.

The harried man was still with the loud woman, 15 minutes had gone by and the friendly city workers behind lineless windows I swear were laughing at us in line.

Another five minutes crawled by. I started imagining my escape route in case there was some catastrophe I kind of wished would have occurred.

After staring at the harried public servant, I realized that there was a good chance he had a slight case of OCD. All of the objects on his desk were precisely lined up, and with this information, I started plotting my revenge. I had big plans to move around all of his stuff once I made my way to his window.

I finally got to the front of the line, my petty revenge in the forefront of my thoughts, when a woman sat down in the seat next to my nemesis and said, "Next please."

Oh hell no, I waited in that long ass line so that I could mess with this man, and she would not take away my one little shining light of joy.

"Next please."

Damn it, could I play off the deaf thing?

I felt a tap on my shoulder; I turned and glared at the impatient soul behind me who also let me know there was a window open.

I moped over to the lady who had foiled my plans, hating her for making the line go faster. But, City Hall beat me again because this was obviously her first time at this window as my quick transaction took another 10 minutes as she asked everyone around her how to take my money for my parking permit.

I guess you really can't fight City Hall.

Exercising and other lame stuff

Well for the last two months I’ve been working out a lot more. This is the first time since high school that I have actively tried to get in shape. And I’m really proud of myself because I’ve been pretty consistent about it.

When a friend asked why I was all of the sudden so gung ho about getting in shape, after years of a happy sedentary life, I thought about all the answers, wanted to be healthier, sleep better, feel better, but I realized that although I would give those answers out that wasn’t the real reason.

Nope, as a newly (kind of) single gal I want to look good naked.

Yes, I realize that is kind of shallow but there you go. And I do get all those other benefits so that’s a plus.

Yuck … I’m mature.

Gang warfare

I got of work kind of late the other day. So I was walking downtown around 10:30, well past the hour when respectable people had already gone to bed (it was a school night). The only people out and about were hooligans, and other ne’er-do-wells, so obviously all my senses were on heightened alert.

When across the street headed toward me I saw them. The only label that fits for this group would be gang. That’s right, me, a lone woman confronted by her worst fear.

And this gang was obviously hardcore. The guys were wearing baggy jeans and either a wife beater, or the classier ones decided that no shirt was best. And you could just tell that these guys had had a hard life. They were giving stares to other guys across the street, I was getting nervous.

But the biggest give away that this was a group not to mess with was their rides. That’s right they were on razor scooters.

I had to duck behind a tree, because I could tell that they would just as soon kill you as look at you.

I mean there is nothing scarier than push, push glide. It’s mesmerizing in it’s deadly rhythm. Much like a shark one could say.

Thankfully that night they passed me by. But I don’t know if next time I’ll be as lucky — pray for me.

Braiiiinz

So today is starting out rather bad.

First off I had to exit my building the back way. Down, what I swear are, decaying stairs down to what can only be described as the bog of eternal stench. It’s like someone took a body rolled it in feces, added both Mexican food and sushi to it and then let it ripen a couple of weeks. I gag a little every time I go down there (I’m pretty sure other people did more than gag down there). Top it off with an impressive amount of used condoms and latex gloves and that’s my back alley. (On a side not I’m not really sure why but latex gloves give me the creeps. I always think whoever is using them has some nefarious plan running around their head.)

Then I have to wear full zombie makeup to work today because I lost a bet to my sadistic boss. (Yes, I would have made him wear it too but that is not the point.) But I don’t have any zombie makeup so I kind of look like a gay zombie because I had to use my own make up and my darker eye shadows apparently all have a shimmer to them. So I’m a kind of disco-esque zombie. And I have to play it straight all day too, so now I just look and sound like a deranged ass. The advertising dept already thinks the editorial dept is a bunch of freaks, glad that I could prove it.

And I meeting my friend downtown for lunch, and yes I will be shuffling through the streets screaming for brains, because that’s just funny.

At least I was able to scare the crap out of one coworker.

What not to do in the locker room

Old people in the locker room please put your pants on. Yes I’m very happy that you are so comfortable with yourself that you can walk around naked for hours and do squats (ewwww), but you’re making the rest of us uncomfortable.

I mean I understand that everyone has to get naked in the locker room, that’s fine we all do it. But lady if you had time to put your top on please put the rest of your clothes on. For some reason it’s worse than if you were wearing nothing at all.

Also no one appreciates it when you take off your clothes and then bend over and stick your ass in our face. I just threw up in my mouth a little.

Oh and to the mom in there that brought her kid in and then proceeds to go on a lecture about how little worms were going to crawl up through the dirty mat and get into her blood, burrowing through her feet if she didn’t wear shoes, what the hell is wrong with you? The little girl was like 4 years old, and now traumatized for life, I practically jumped on the bench as she was going into really graphic detail.

And what’s with that random chick eating her lunch in the locker room? I mean people are getting naked and you’re enjoying a pb&j? There’s a time and place lady, and this isn’t it. Way to creep out everyone here.

Perforated things blow

For some odd reason I can take even the most innocuous situation and make an ass out of myself. I think its part genetics, part awkwardness and a dash of obliviousness.

Take for example Friday. When it was my turn to bring in food to work for the editorial department. Well I completely forgot about it until halfway there, and already 30 minutes late, so I stop off at a local bakery. Even though there was no line they had a little number thing lit up, stating which number would be served next. So I go to the red number thingy and try to grab the next number. But instead of one number coming out, half the roll spits out at me.

I try to be smooth about it and hide the extra numbers. I look around to see if I got away with it and the guy behind me looks at me like I have a third nipple and I’m trying to get him to talk to it or something. And the woman behind the counter rolls her eyes and asks me what I want. Had she done that in the first place I wouldn’t have ruined numbers 91 through 168.

Then tonight at the supermarket I had a small issue with the bags in the produce section. I mean first of you can’t just rip those things off because it sends the whole reel into a spin and it never winds back up correctly. The old lady behind you tends to sigh really loud, a sigh that conveys both annoyance and a “those damn younger people” attitude. And second the freaking bags are welded shut. It takes me about 27 minutes to get one open so that I can buy all of three apples.

This is why I try not to go to the supermarket that often. Actually it might be best if I stay out of public places altogether.

Pool etiquette

I had grand plans to get in shape and get tan this summer. (I am usually a very impressive shade of clear.)

Well neither of those two things happened. But these last couple of weeks I have been going to the university pool more often, and actually swimming. And there are two things I learned today that I thought I already knew but apparently I was wrong.

First off, you really should tie your bathing suit on as tight as you can; being in a hurry is no excuse for missing this vital step. Yep half way down the lane I realized that my top was coming off and I had kind of slipped out. There is no graceful way to get out of this in a public pool. It didn’t help that I started laughing and then started drowning.

Thankfully I was able to right everything, I think the guys next to me might have seen something, but meh oh well.

I’m thinking I might have to go purchase a new bathing suit, this one seems to have lost some of its elasticity, maybe three years is too long with the same suit.

And the second thing is: remove your makeup before getting in the pool. Because the makeup will run, but it will stay on your face, just not where you originally put it and you will look like a sad tranny.

So those guys might have gotten a free look but if they saw my face it would have scared the previous image from their mind. So I win.

Also as I was almost done the usually crowded pool seemed to clear of all other swimmers. There was no one to my left or my right. So naturally, I rationally assumed that somehow a freshwater, chlorine-adaptable shark had gotten loose in the pool and everyone else had gotten out and now I was the only one left to be eaten. Bastards could have at least screamed a warning at me.

I hit the wall and quickly turned around scanning the pool for a tell tale fin. But apparently I was wrong, there was no freak shark in the pool at all, instead all the swimmers were just lazy and hanging out on the other wall.

A shark would have been cool.

Ingredients for insanity...

Well hell I’ve been kind of lazy these last couple of weeks, and now I feel bad because Ms. Puddin gave me a shout out. So I guess I’ll have to step up my game. Well I’ll try but sadly I’ve been incredibly boring and all I do is work.

But thankfully I have horrible neighbors so they always give me something to talk about. Like these last two weeks I think a few of them have gotten together and tried to think up the most effective ways to drive me insane.

And they have come up with a few good ones.

The first is creative assault from a neighbor (I haven’t figured out who he is yet) is the fire alarm. Not the normal pulling of it, like some freshman dorm prank which leaves you out in the Arizona freezing desert nights wearing a very thin tank top and shorts, but where he has let the batteries run down and now every minute and thirty-two seconds there is a loud chirp.

It’s been going on for over a week. I toss and turn a rip out more and more hair every time that happy little fuck chirps. How this doesn’t bother anyone else in the building is beyond me. I’ve called the landlord, the maintenance man and I’ve screamed out my window, all to no avail.

Soon I’m going to have to buy some batteries and go door to door. And then I will have the reputation of the insane neighbor, which might be a good thing.

The other thing is that my neighbors all play different music. Most of which I can live with, it’s mainly rap and mariachi music, which I think meshes quite nicely. But the other morning as I was getting ready for work I hear, from somewhere beneath me, a techno Frosty the Snowman. It’s freaking September, and it’s Frosty the Snowman. What is wrong with these people?

They were also kind enough to repeat the song 37,000 times, so that when I finally left for work I was ready to grab a butcher knife and kill just about anyone. (Maybe there was a subliminal message in that evil song.)

Other than that my neighbors are just your run of the mill, weird looking, creepy old men. Sadly about three apartments have a direct view into my apartment, so I keep my blinds shut all the time. Which is sad because I so enjoy my view of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit calendar on my neighbor’s fridge. Those chicks are hot.

Ageless

OK so I’m 29, and four months away from the big three oh. What I’ve come to realize is that most people seem to think that 30 years-olds (and those hovering around that age) in general have aged very badly or have been disfigured in some freak accident.

I come to this conclusion because every time I mention my age I get, “really? You don’t look 30.” But I hang out with a bunch of 30 years old and they get the same thing. So I think that most people just think that after 27 people get a shit load of wrinkles, age-spots and grey hairs.

Well I’m here to tell you that this is not true. We look just like everyone else. We’ve integrated seamlessly within society and now you can’t tell us apart. I think I look my age. And I’ve earned my age, many times I probably shouldn’t have lived (mainly stupid decisions while inebriated, because oceans and alcohol really don’t go well together, throw fire into the mix and you realize you’re probably slightly retarded), so I’m proud to have made it to 29.

I blame TV. You get high school shows with 30 year olds playing teenagers and people get a warped since of age. Which is good for me, but I’m always like, well what did you expect, some evil hag with a hairy mole on her chin?

Then next statement I hear is, “You look really good for 29.”

But what, I look like ass for a 25 year old?