Lance Bass Ruined My Life

Fashion Choices Of The Stupid

Look. I am really not the person to judge people’s choice in fashion because I have no room to talk. But there are some people in this world who should not be allowed to choose for themselves. This is one of them.

 

 

Is it just me or is this the gayest Captain Hook ever?

 

But I can’t really blame her, when I go to the airport, the first thing I grab is my fur trimmed pirate hat.

Sometimes They Make It Way Too Easy To Be This Bitchy

Surprise surprise, I got into a fight with a lady at the airport today. These are becoming entirely too frequent. It’s seems like that as each day goes by, my bullshit tolerance gets lower and lower. This is not a good thing because it was already at the lowest point you could get too before.

 

So I’ve talked before about the level of terror that is the TSA security line. I am not exaggerating when I say that I would rather watch a 24 hour marathon of the Tyra Banks Show interspersed with episodes of the Wendy Williams Show (How you doin’? I’d be doing better if you’d stop asking me that and stop eating fucking Slim Jim’s on the fucking air.) then go through that line. But as an airport employee I have the honor of cutting in front of the regular passengers. Now because I’m nice (Shut up) I usually don’t cut. I be a good little boy and sit in that god forsaken line no matter how long it takes. But today, I just wasn’t feeling it.

 

When I got in line I, of course, picked the slowest one that is manned by the old guy with shitty eyesight so he has to squint at every bag for approximately eight minutes before letting us go through. Needless to say I was in no mood for the big bag of bullshit. Then I noticed that the other line was considerably shorter. This was because the lady with a million and a half carry on bags was pretty much holding everything up.

 

So I made a snap decision and decided to cut her. (In line that is. Not physically cut her. Thought I should specify that.) This was made easier because of the huge gap in the line between her and the x-ray machine. The following is what took place.

 

Bitch (not me): Please feel free cut in line, sir. (And she had that snotty voice that said she didn’t mean it.)

 

Me: Why, thank you, I had already planned on it. (Yes, that was bitchy of me. But sometimes you have to fight snotty with more snotty.)

 

Bitch: You can’t cut in line. I was here first.

 

Me: And I’m an employee. I can cut you in line.

 

Bitch: And what does that mean?

 

Me: That I’m an employee and I can cut you in line. There aren’t many interpretations of that sentence. (I have had this exact argument before. I did not enjoy having to have it a second time.)

 

Bitch: Just because you can cut, doesn’t mean you should.

 

Me: And just because you can go slow as shit and hold up everyone in line behind you, doesn’t mean you should. So I guess we’re even.

 

Bitch: What is your name? You are giving horrible customer service.

 

Me: Well then I guess it’s a good thing you aren’t my customer and I don’t have to give a rat’s ass about you, isn’t it?

 

By this time, I have already cut her, sent my bag through, walked through the metal detector, and am waiting for my bag to come out the other side. She is still on the other side, being stupid and calling shit to me over the railing.

 

Bitch: I’m serious. I want your name.

 

Me: And I’m serious. My name is Mind Your Own Business.

 

Bitch: I will be writing a letter. That’s why you won’t give me your name. You know you are wrong.

 

Me: I’d love to stay and chat, but you’re a total bitch. (I’ve always wanted to use this line in real life.)

 

I grab my bag and finish off with a one finger salute before heading off to catch the train. All the while, I can hear the bitch yelling about letters and names and rudeness. Still from the other side of security, so I win.

 

Now a couple things. I know damn well this woman hunted for me until the second that her plane took off so that she could find me to berate me some more. So it’s probably a good thing that I went through security in a different terminal than the one I work in and take the train there. Because I’m sneaky bitchy like that.

 

Also, why are people under the impression that I am required to give them my name if they ask for it? I have no obligation to do it. Yes, my security badge has my name on it, but if you want to be a bitch, I will totally hide that thing in my shirt just to piss you off. I’ve done it before. (And probably will again.) You can want my name all you want, it’s still not going to happen and the sooner you realize that, the sooner you can get on with your life.

 

And finally, a letter? Really? That’s the worst you have? Like I’m scared of a piece of paper. And where are you going to send it? The airport. Yeah I am sure there is a staff of people at the airport whose sole job is to read customer mail. Seeing as you don’t know where exactly it is that I work, you are pretty much shit out of luck. And what exactly are you going to say. That the rude, fat guy was mean to you? Do you have any idea how many rude, fat guys work at the airport? Yeah, good luck with resolution on that one.

 

So while Lady McDumbass is writing a scathing letter, I will be quivering in fear. And writing shit about her on the internet. What do you know? I win again.

What Is A Customer

I get a lot of customer complains. When you work at a craptacular hotel, it pretty much comes with the job. But most of them I can handle because all I can say is there ain’t shit I can do about or talk to someone who gives a shit. (Many of my answers involve the word shit.) But sometimes I come across a complaint that just knocks me on my ass.

 

Like the other morning. I went to the bathroom to find that the water pressure was sort of low. This happens a lot because this place blows in so many ways. There’s just nothing I can do about that until someone who comes in who actually knows something about water pressure. I would learn how to fix it myself but I just don’t care that much, nor do they pay enough to actually do work.

 

Well when I was in the bathroom, there was a guy in there who was doing his very best to kill all living things in the vicinity with the stink. He’s always in there. Well he leaves and I go about my business. I’m pretty much just waiting for the complaints to start rolling in about the water pressure.

 

As I’m sitting there, trying to come up with excuse about why this place sucks so hard, I get a phone call. This guy tells me that he is a very frequent guest with us and he thinks I should know that he was just in there and there is no water pressure in the lobby bathroom and there hasn’t been toilet paper in there for like two weeks. The whole time I can hear he is on his cell phone because I can hear the background noise from his car. So I just had to ask him if he was the guy who was just in there who had something dying inside him. (These were not my exact words. I’m bad but not that bad.) And it turns out his is.

 

Okay. I already don’t care that much about customer complaints, can you even begin to imagine how little I care about random people complaints. Like I’m sorry. If this guy had been an actual longtime guest it would be one thing. But one of the requirements for being a long time guest is giving us lots of money. When you do that then I will begin to consider caring just a little bit.

 

To me, that’s just the definition of a guest. Just because you visit our hotel every single day to use the facilities because you obviously have some sort of bowel problem, that does not make you a guest. That kind of just makes you an ass. And then you don’t have the right to complain about anything.

 

There are plenty of other toilets in the world you can use. And this guy really should have considered doing that. And possibly seeing a doctor to remove whatever is rotting inside of him.

Gone To Pot

As I have stated many times before I spend an abnormal amount of time on Amazon.com. Like more time than is usually healthy for one person. But it’s the only website that I’m actually authorized to go to when I am at the bookstore, so I have to make the best of what I can get. And that means that I read the forums a lot, especially the ones under the gold box deals.

 

I don’t know if any of you frequent this forum, but those bitches are fucking crazy. Like they need some help. And it is a great deal of fun to fuck with them and intentionally pick fights with them. Oh it brings me joy when I can get them to attack, or better yet vote my posts unhelpful, like that shit is supposed to hurt my feelings or something. I’m sure a great deal of them have already tried to get my banned from posting.

 

But lately there has been a trend forming on these threads. The past couple days it has be all about the pot. Apparently there are a great deal of Amazon members who will not rest until pot is legalized. Because if there is one place where big political things are happening, it’s fucking Amazon.com.

 

Honestly, I’m sure I am going to sound like majorly square and all that, but I don’t get the big deal. I’ve tried pot. I’ve sat in a room with 4 people while they had a 4 hours smoking session. I did not participate in this, but I got the fucking contact high, which led to a frantic search for chili cheese fritos at 3 in the morning. Not my finest hour.

 

I have never been a big pro or anti pot person. Like most things in the world, I just don’t really care about it that much. Because since I moved to Houston and left most of my friends behind, I haven’t had to deal with the pot so much.

 

But there was one time that I did get a little overheated about the issue. I got into a fight with my sociology teacher in the middle of class one time over pot. I’m not quite sure how this topic came up in a class, but it did. And the teacher probably regrets it.

 

See, I’m sorry, but I don’t think that teachers should use their classrooms to promote their fucked up shit. Like she spent half the glass talking about pot. I don’t know if this was part of the syllabus or she had just taken a giant bong hit, but either way this conversation started. And I fucking ended it.

 

She went on to tell us how she finds it funny that only drugs that promote aggression and competiveness are legal, like alcohol and cigarettes and shit. (This might actually be a study somewhere because it would be just like that bitch to steal someone else’s idea.) And then she found it even stranger that drugs that promote mellowness and creativity and productivity like pot are illegal.

 

This was the point where I had to draw the line. I felt compelled to point out that she was full of shit and should probably be relieved of her duties of influencing college students. So I calmly (sort of) told her that I don’t know what pot she’s been smoking, because she clearly had been, but pot doesn’t promote mellowness and creativity. Seeing as I had just watched my roommates smoke a couple joints and then have a three hour  philosophical debate about the fucking Teletubbies, I had proof of that. Also, I don’t really think of two people trying to figure out the degrees of the angles of a fucking Dorito very creative. That’s just fucked up.

 

Obviously my old roommates were not the prime example for her theory. But I had others. I watched another set of roommates spend about an hour trying to fashion a bong out of an apple. While this could be considered creative, hardly productive. I mean really how does that affect society with the exception of a few less brain cells walking around?

 

After that, I really wasn’t her favorite student.

 

Now to completely contradict myself. I totally think pot should be legal. And they should tax the shit out of it like they do cigarettes. If I’m paying out the ass for cigarettes, they (or you for all I know) should be paying out the ass for pot. And just think of the shit we could do with that tax money. Free health care. Buy Mexico. Ship all the people I don’t like to the moon. Free monkeys for everyone.

 

I vote for the monkeys.

I Can Only Throw Up So Much

I would like to know when my life became one big porn. And, more importantly, I would like to know why, in this porn, I have been cast as guy behind desk. It just seems that everywhere I turn I am finding more people who are under the impression that the world is just one big porn studio.

 

I told you a couple of weeks ago about the naked party in the pool that I had to break up. Well that was only the beginning apparently. And I stupidly thought that naked, pale, old guys was pretty much as bad as it could get.

 

The bar inside the hotel is apparently not doing so well. Which is a big shocker, I know. When I think about going out, the first place on my list is the crappy bar inside the shitty hotel under construction near the airport. I don’t know what these other people want to go to regular bars for. All the shit is happening down by the airport.

 

So in order to boost their business, they have decided to do like every other crappy bar in the world and do theme nights. Because absolutely nothing screams class like a fucking theme night. It’s like being in a fucked up frat house without the hot guys. And it seems it was someone’s ingenious idea to make one of the nights lingerie night.

 

I can’t get behind this idea. It’s like giving ugly woman permission to come here in their underwear. And they do. And it makes me want to vomit. Look, lingerie is all well and good, but it should never see the outside. That’s like a bedroom thing. And for some of these woman it should only be a bedroom thing when the lights are off.

 

But that is nothing compared to the new bartender, Barbie. I don’t know if Barbie is her real name or just the name she decided to start using when she took up the pole but it’s pretty clear her last job involved tassels and some form of sequined underwear.

 

I do understand that bartenders have to use everything at their disposal to make money. Namely their tits and ass. But I think Barbie is taking it a little farther that necessary. When your shorts are so small I can see razor bumps on the top and bottom, it should be a sign that those shorts should be burned. And also, she should be made aware that shirts have buttons for a reason. They aren’t there just for decoration. So more of them need to be used instead of just the one that covers the fake boobs.

 

And while we are talking about the boobs. It might be a good idea to keep them a little more covered, like all the time. Those things were looking beat the fuck up. It was like they were just left out in the sun for too long and they started to dry up. No one wants to see that, much less my gay ass.

 

And I know I’m going to get a lot of shit for this, but Barbie does not have the right to claim sexual harassment because the customers were taking her picture. There is a difference between dressing sexy as a bartender for tips and dressing like a straight up whore. And really? All claims of sexual harassment go right out the window when the pictures come out and she is posing for them.

 

I might be being a little harsh, but I’m only looking out for Barbie’s best interest. I mean, if she doesn’t take my advice and she walks outside there is going to be a good chance that a cop will just assume she’s a hooker. I totally did.

There's Something Else I'd Like To Do With My Clock

I am to blame for a great many things in this world. For example, I am to blame for a great deal of the negativity in the world. I am also probably responsible for the dark cloud that looms over the city of Houston 98% of the time. And I am almost certainly to blame for the wake up call that you got in the middle of the night that you didn’t ask for. (Then you probably shouldn’t have pissed me off.)

 

But the one thing that I am in no way responsible for is Daylight Savings Time. Yeah I didn’t come up with the shit. I don’t even like it. My mind cannot even fathom why we change the clocks twice a year. (Yes, I am well aware that there is some supposedly valid reason for this, but I am in no way about to look it up. So I choose to believe that it makes absolutely no sense.) I do not endorse Daylight Savings Time, so therefore I do feel like taking the blame that it exists.

 

Apparently, these three women yesterday did not feel the same way. According to them, I am solely responsible for this phenomenon and need to be told repeatedly in a language I don’t understand. By the way, do you know how difficult it is to explain the concept of the time changing to a person who has no grasp on the English language? It was like the world’s most fucked up game of charades. That little bitch, Dora, is never around when you need her. (Hence why the need for deportation.)

 

When I finally got it through these ladies’ heads that they can sit here all they want, it still isn’t going to make it 5 o’clock in the morning, they start shaking their heads at me. Then in English that is not just broken, but fucking shattered, they tell me. “You bad. No good. Why you no tell us?”

 

Um…could it be possible because I don’t know who the fuck you are? Seeing as I’ve only known you for five minutes and before that I had never seen your badly permed head before. Was I somehow supposed to learn telepathy to inform you? That wouldn’t even work because even if I did know telepathy, I still don’t know Spanish. So what the fuck good would that do?

 

I just want to know why I am always getting the blame for shit. Like I give enough of a shit to do this fucked up shit to these people. All I want to do is be left alone so I can write mean shit and work on Nanowrimo. (Who’s ass I’m kicking by the way.)

 

The sad thing is, if you read this blog, then you know all the evil that I am actually planning against people, but this is the kind of stupid shit I get called out on. Yeah, these people don’t have a fucking clue what’s about to hit them when the Master Plan gets called in action. Don’t worry, I will give you people fair warning. But I would keep an umbrella handy.

It's Not A Rerun It's A Classic

So I was going to sit here and write this big long entry and then I realized that I am off tonight and that means that I could be a sleep in bed instead of sitting at my computer writing uberbitchy things. And while I love you all, I love my bed a lot more. So if you haven’t gotten all the way to page 8742 of this website, enjoy my old school hating.

 

So I've mentioned before that I used to be friends with this girl named Libby who turned out to be horrible bitch who thought life was just one big episode of Sex and the City. (It's not. There are ugly people here.) And I've discussed our falling out and my later wishes for her untimely demise. Since that time, I have not heard from or about her in going on almost two years. (It has been peaceful.)

 

So can anyone please explain to me why I got this call from a law firm in Baton Rouge the other day asking for personal references for Libby? It kind of caught me by surprise. First, I've never been called for a reference, ever. I guess people just don't trust me to say good things about them. In Libby's case, that's an impulse she really should have gone with.

 

Why would she leave me as a personal reference? Me? I'm the person who has, on many occasions wondered how good of a fertilizer you would make. I don't get it.

 

So there I was, presented with an awesome chance at ruining her and killing all her chances at this job, therefore killing her self esteem and causing a huge downward spiral, in which the end result is her living in a box down by the river. (I have rage issues.) This would totally be a perfect opportunity for vindication, don't you think?

 

I weighed my options for a couple of seconds, realizing that I could do one of two things. I could be a petty, little bitch or I could be the bigger person. "I really shouldn't be the one to give you this reference. I'm sure Libby wants you to talk to someone who will tell you about her fine moral standards and strong work ethic and the fact that she is an all around good human being. I just can't pull that many lies out of my ass."

 

I'll be the bigger person tomorrow.

 

Update: I recently found out that this bitch got married. That’s right. Apparently, her boyfriend made enough pizzas to cough up that Tiffany’s ring that she demanded he buy before she would even consider marrying him. Yeah this bitch got married and I can’t even get a date. That’s so not fair. I don’t even need Tiffany’s. I don’t even need Walmart jewelry.

Books Everywhere Are Hanging Their Heads In Shame

In the words of Sue Sylvester, when I saw this first, I was aroused and then disgusted. (Yes, it’s another Glee reference. What did you expect?) Except there was no arousal part. Just pure, unadulterated disgust. And I’m pretty sure you will feel the same.

 

 

WTF? Did we really need a Bella and Edward Favorite Book Edition of Wuthering Heights. Oh and don’t worry. There is a version of Pride and Prejudice sans zombies and Romeo and Juliet. With their very own Twilightesque covers. It makes me want to be sick.

 

Okay. I have read Wuthering Heights. Honestly, I only read like 162 pages of it. This shit was atrocious. I’m not going to lie. It made me want to build a time machine just so I could go back in time to break all of Emily Bronte’s fingers so that she would be unable to write this. And just in case she had thoughts of dictating it to someone else, I would sew her mouth shut. An added bonus is that perhaps if it never existed Stephanie Meyer would never have been “inspired” to write her grand sparkly vampire opus.

 

But just because I hated the book doesn’t not mean that it deserved to have this shit happen. It is now being endorsed by fictional characters. Crappy fictional characters at that. I imagine that Emily Bronte is down in hell vomiting. (Oh yeah that bitch is in hell for the torture that she put me through.)

 

I can just see it now. They are going to give Bella the credit for bringing reading these books back into style. Like she’s fucking Oprah or something. And does anyone realize now that little girls are talking about how smart and well read Bella is because she’s read three whole fucking books. That must have really gotten in the way of all the hard work she put into being pale and clumsy.

 

Could someone pass me a stake, or some garlic, anything that I can use to vanquish this bitch?

Random Blogginess

I’m suffering from a tad bit of writer’s block tonight. I am finding it difficult for a topic for today’s blog. I have no idea why because there has been no shortage of douche trolls in my life, causing me to want to hurt myself and others, but I just can’t seem to focus long enough. I blame this on the fact that I am trying to read A Separate Peace by John Knowles. I have no idea why I suddenly got the urge to read classic literature, but I’m really questioning my sanity. I mean that was cool when they put zombies up in Pride and Prejudice, but there isn’t even a vampire up in this bitch. What the hell am I supposed focus on?

 

I am also not really focused because I decided this year to do the whole NaNoWriMo thing. I’ve been wanting to do it for a while, but I never thought I would be able to write a whole book in 30 days. But I decided to do it because now that I am finished with my book I need something to keep me on writing. Besides there is other stuff that I want to write, so I figured why the fuck not, right? So if any of you are doing it this year, feel free to like friend me or something. I feel like a NaNoWriMo loser or something with no buddies or nothing. I am of course lancebassruinedmylife on there.

 

Anyway since I am having such trouble focusing on one topic I figured I would give you another one of those lists of shit that is bugging me that is too short for an entire blog post, but too long for twitter because I am rather long winded and like to curse.

 

So number one, would anyone be interested in signing a petition that I am planning on starting so that we can deport Dora the Explorer. That little bitch is getting one my nerves. Every time I hear “Hola, Dora,” I just want to scream, “Sayonara, Dora. See, bitch, I know other languages too.” And she can take her little gay cousin, Diego, with her.

 

Number two, why the fuck do I have to wait until next month for more Glee? Why must Fox do this too me? It’s like their only good show. Why would they take away the only reason I tune to their stupid network anyway. It’s like you are begging me to go to the CW. And really I don’t want to do that. I’m sorry. I’m pissed at them for remaking Melrose Place. You just can’t do that. There’s no way that you will recapture the drama of psycho Kimberly. Though Assee Simpson comes extremely close.

 

And C, can someone come up here and tell the Commandant that it defeats the purpose of having front doors if the don’t close. That’s just like inviting the outside weather to come in. And is not helpful to me when it’s fucking cold. (I’m well aware that it is much colder in other places, but I don’t care. I’m not in those places. I’m here. I’m used to Texas-my-skin-is-melting-into-my-car-seat heat here.) I swear if I catch the swine flu like I did last time, I am coming up here and sneezing on ever single person who works here. If I’m going to die, so are they.

 

Now I’m going and try to force my way through this book. I swear if a sparkly vampire doesn’t show up soon, I’m going to be beyond pissed.

My Kind Of Debate

Let’s talk about politics. Okay. No. Scratch that. Let’s talk about talking about politics. If there is one thing that I hate more than politics, it’s people who feel the need to force their political views on people who just happen to be standing there. It’s like that person decided to have a political debate and they are the only ones attending. Or that care for that matter.

 

For some reason this is a big hot issue up at the bookstore. Some people feel that this is the perfect place to voice their opinions, and more often than not, to me. I’m not pleased with this trend. I just don’t have an interest in politics. You would think I would seeing as it is the perfect place for backstabbing and name calling and just bitchiness in general, but not so much. And until I can figure out how did get them to legalize man/iPhone love, I probably never will give much of a shit.

 

So even after that, I would like to point out that I don’t care what your political view is. You are more than entitled to have it. I may not agree with it, but it’s not really my place to tell you that you’re wrong. (I know. When do I ever feel it’s not my place to tell people they’re wrong?) But at the same time, I would appreciate it if you would do the same. This seems to be too much for some people. So I usually keep my mouth shut on anything thing I actually do care about.

 

Okay. Now that I have set this up. I’m going to confess something. While I don’t care about politics, if you come up to me and start spouting whatever it is you believe in, I’m going to disagree with. Just for the fucking fun of it. I really am. I will argue with you to the point where you want to slap me in the face, because trust me I was at the point when you started talking.

 

For example. If you are very adamant Obama supporter. I am so pro Bush. I will sit there and talk about how that man was a genius and he should have bronze statues on every street corner in America. And while we are at it, we need to add every single one of those words he made up to the dictionary.

 

Now if you are a Bush fan, well then Obama is the second coming. Praise Obama. I’ve been thinking about starting a religion with Obama as the figurehead. It will be just like Scientology only better because Tom Cruise won’t be there jumping on the furniture. Would you be interested in become a disciple of Obama? No, well then clearly you are a racist.

 

And if you are like this person who walked in the store and started scoffing at the fact that someone actually had the nerve to write a book about Obama because he’s evil and the head of the Illuminati and he is leading the wave of terrorists that are about to infiltrate the country (I shit you not. Actual person. What the fuck does the Illuminati have to do with anything?) I am going to look at you like you are stupid, which is a look that you should be quite familiar with.

 

And you should really know that I really don’t care, I’m just saying it to piss you off, so you will storm out of the store disgusted and I will never have to see you again. Because it’s fun for me

 

P.S. This is not an addition to the bitchy or anything. I just need to make an announcement. I know that there are several Amandas who check out the blog (and I love you all) but I need the one with the hotmail account.(I don’t want to post the actual address because that would be rude and if there is one thing I try to do in this world it is not be rude. Oh chill out you aren’t going to get struck by lightening.) The one who commented the other day about being disappointed. Email me. I’ve been sending you emails about the contest for a while but you never answer. I think my emails go straight into hotmail’s spam folder or something.