So I had a kind of weird weekend, I opened for a band in a warehouse, slept on a concrete floor and I'm pretty sure I got a boyfriend.
Let me explain. Since my last post many, many moons ago I got into stand-up comedy. And one of my friends decided to throw a party and thought hey lets have a comic open for the band. And um, trying to get everyone's attention at a Halloween party is an effort in futility. Some listened, most drank but it wasn't too bad. There wasn't dead silence as I delivered my jokes, some people laughed, others tried to talk over me ... so meh, I'd say I broke even.
But since the party was over an hour away I decided to stay the night with a couple of people. Now I'm 30 and that night sealed the fact that I can no longer recover within a few hours of getting hurt. After spending the night on a concrete floor with a small layer of sleeping bag insulating me I still hurt three days later. And some drunk chick decided to start bawling half-way through the night. I mean great big sobs. I probably would have gone and seen what was wrong if I hadn't seen her throw up on herself earlier (it was dark, I didn't want to step in that).
I also turned into a 16 year old who was making out with some random guy in the corner all night. But since I haven't done that since college I feel as though I deserve a pass this one time. It wasn't my fault, I swear. Although thanks to that my face is now peeling off do to an unfortunate case of stubble burn. Damn I'm hot.
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
A bad week
I started this blog to write about random things but lately it has just turned into me complaining about, well, everything. But I like the topic so I’m going to stick with it for a little bit longer.
You know a week is going to turn out bad when on Sunday you start your taxes and realize that you owe $1500, which I get to pay over the next 30 years and I believe the government gets my first born child and a pony.
Monday I managed to lose my wallet, which contained the credit cards I was planning on living off of till my next paycheck (yep, I’m super financially savvy). Sure this was my fault as I left my wallet on the bar after a couple of shots of tequila (I can’t say no to tequila, ever). And not a single one of my friends were surprised that I lost it, I swear even exchanged money as if they bets on it — bastards.
Tuesday my phone was turned off. I’ve signed up for direct withdrawal many times but it just never seems to take. This is the second time in six months that I have lost my phone privileges. But this time I didn’t have my credit cards to turn it back on. Later that night my friend tried to embarrass me by making me do karaoke (the Devinyls I Touch Myself) but I had enough alcohol in my system that it didn’t phase me, and apparently everyone loves it when a chick sings that song no matter how bad she is. Made a few more mistakes that night that I have decided not to elaborate on.
Wednesday wasn’t so bad, messed up a tad bit but nothing I wasn’t expecting.
Thursday was good if boring.
Friday I flew to Utah starting at 4am. Utah sucks and if it weren’t for family I would avoid that state like the plague.
Saturday I caught the plague. Well I got sick, my face got a blotchy red rash and I had a sore throat and a headache. And with my brother in-law, who is post bone marrow transplant, being really susceptible to illnesses I had to go.
Sunday I left Utah to fly back to California, which decided to turn on the heat. My dad took me to the hospital where $167 was wasted to tell me that I have a bad virus and should get some sleep. I then went back to my apartment, which had apparently moved to the surface of the sun.
The whole next week I tried, unsuccessfully, to fight off this virus and to stay slightly cool. I’m still losing that fight.
I think that my whole “ignore it till it gets better” philosophy isn’t working that great. That and when I stop drinking things just go to hell.
You know a week is going to turn out bad when on Sunday you start your taxes and realize that you owe $1500, which I get to pay over the next 30 years and I believe the government gets my first born child and a pony.
Monday I managed to lose my wallet, which contained the credit cards I was planning on living off of till my next paycheck (yep, I’m super financially savvy). Sure this was my fault as I left my wallet on the bar after a couple of shots of tequila (I can’t say no to tequila, ever). And not a single one of my friends were surprised that I lost it, I swear even exchanged money as if they bets on it — bastards.
Tuesday my phone was turned off. I’ve signed up for direct withdrawal many times but it just never seems to take. This is the second time in six months that I have lost my phone privileges. But this time I didn’t have my credit cards to turn it back on. Later that night my friend tried to embarrass me by making me do karaoke (the Devinyls I Touch Myself) but I had enough alcohol in my system that it didn’t phase me, and apparently everyone loves it when a chick sings that song no matter how bad she is. Made a few more mistakes that night that I have decided not to elaborate on.
Wednesday wasn’t so bad, messed up a tad bit but nothing I wasn’t expecting.
Thursday was good if boring.
Friday I flew to Utah starting at 4am. Utah sucks and if it weren’t for family I would avoid that state like the plague.
Saturday I caught the plague. Well I got sick, my face got a blotchy red rash and I had a sore throat and a headache. And with my brother in-law, who is post bone marrow transplant, being really susceptible to illnesses I had to go.
Sunday I left Utah to fly back to California, which decided to turn on the heat. My dad took me to the hospital where $167 was wasted to tell me that I have a bad virus and should get some sleep. I then went back to my apartment, which had apparently moved to the surface of the sun.
The whole next week I tried, unsuccessfully, to fight off this virus and to stay slightly cool. I’m still losing that fight.
I think that my whole “ignore it till it gets better” philosophy isn’t working that great. That and when I stop drinking things just go to hell.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Doughnuts
I can't be expected to write coherently at 5am. I can write at 2am but only if I stay up till then, If I wake up at 4 there is no possibility that whatever I file is going to be even remotely sane and it shouldn't be expected.
You know what I want to be doing now? I want to be sleeping, or eating a doughnut. But none of the doughnuts here look even remotely appetizing. How do you mess up doughnuts? Damn I've been spoiled by the tasty tasty Psycho Donuts with names likes cereal killer and cookie monster, that are covered with fruit looks or oreos. I think I could write sonnets to Psycho Donuts, they would be horrible but I think I would be willing to give it a shot.
And I should probably be angry at the tasty doughnut because it has gotten me in trouble with not one but two guys. How they both discovered this weakness is beyond me. (Of course maybe the t-shirt "I get slutty for doughnuts" was a give away.) Not that I regret any of it, I mean I still got doughnuts. And I'm not going to stop eating them just because I have no self control, of course I do believe that is the problem.
I think doughnuts might be in my top five for food. I'll have to give some thought to the other four but doughnuts gets a spot. Now I'll be craving Psycho Donuts all weekend long, and me stuck in Utah.
I got a whole baker's dozen of doughnuts (or donuts) in this post, yay me!
Coherency can go fuck itself this early in the morning.
You know what I want to be doing now? I want to be sleeping, or eating a doughnut. But none of the doughnuts here look even remotely appetizing. How do you mess up doughnuts? Damn I've been spoiled by the tasty tasty Psycho Donuts with names likes cereal killer and cookie monster, that are covered with fruit looks or oreos. I think I could write sonnets to Psycho Donuts, they would be horrible but I think I would be willing to give it a shot.
And I should probably be angry at the tasty doughnut because it has gotten me in trouble with not one but two guys. How they both discovered this weakness is beyond me. (Of course maybe the t-shirt "I get slutty for doughnuts" was a give away.) Not that I regret any of it, I mean I still got doughnuts. And I'm not going to stop eating them just because I have no self control, of course I do believe that is the problem.
I think doughnuts might be in my top five for food. I'll have to give some thought to the other four but doughnuts gets a spot. Now I'll be craving Psycho Donuts all weekend long, and me stuck in Utah.
I got a whole baker's dozen of doughnuts (or donuts) in this post, yay me!
Coherency can go fuck itself this early in the morning.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Romeo
“Juliet, the dice were loaded from the start
And I bet,
And you exploded into my heart.”
-Dire Straits
You know I always felt for Juliet, yes she was young and rather stupid, but she seemed to actually love Romeo. Whereas Romeo just seemed like one of those guys that just loved being in love. He was deeply hurt by the fair Rosaline and his unrequited love, but then quickly moved on to Juliet and another thought was never given to Rosaline.
A good relationship is worth mourning.
And I bet,
And you exploded into my heart.”
-Dire Straits
You know I always felt for Juliet, yes she was young and rather stupid, but she seemed to actually love Romeo. Whereas Romeo just seemed like one of those guys that just loved being in love. He was deeply hurt by the fair Rosaline and his unrequited love, but then quickly moved on to Juliet and another thought was never given to Rosaline.
A good relationship is worth mourning.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
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:
I don't want to be friends anymore I just want you to leave me alone!
end 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
I don't want to be friends anymore I just want you to leave me alone!
end rant.
Friday, March 06, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
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).
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).
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