Lance Bass Ruined My Life

A Bitchy Trip To The Movies

Okay. So I want to talk about something that has been bugging the ever loving shit out of me fir some time now. I had actually done the unthinkable and let something go but it was thrust back into my sphere of annoyance recently.

I was sitting at home the other day trying to recover for the sheer level of exhaustion that comes from chasing 4 year olds around all day. Not to mention the nasty head cold I got because they are all walking carriers of the plague. Since u was stuck in bed anyway I decided to use the time to partake in xfinity on demand and catch up on some Grey's Anatomy. It's been a while since I've done some good hating on Meredith Grey. And really. There is so much to fucking hate about her. Every little piece of drama in her live is her own fucking fault. She's like the fucking Captain Kirk of the medical professesion.

Anyway. On demand is doing this bullshit thing now where they won't let you fast forward through the program so you can't miss the crappy comercials. And during all the episodes I watched every single commercial was for that movie Real Steel.

Now I actually want to see this movie even though it's clearly the oldest story in the book. I mean how many times have we seen a movie about a man who falls in love with a robot that he found in a junkyard. I know. It's like they can't come up with original ideas anymore. And that's not to mention Hugh Jackman in some very tight fitting sweatpants. Yeah I'll sign up for a piece of that.

What really fucking bugs me is that someone in Hollywood had the balls to make this movie and not call it Rock'em Sock'em Robots. That's so what it is and I'm a little offended that they are acting like it's not. Did they think no one would make the connection? Well they obviously have no idea how my thought process works. Not that many people do.

But really a movie about fighting robots that are controlled by guys. How is that shit not Rock'em Sock'em Robots? And what's next? A movie inspired by Tic Tac Toss? And why does that idea sound like something I would totally watch?

Not Going To Get Them All

Okay. So there is an enemy out in the world that must be found, captured, tarred, and feathered immediately. Now there are a lot of people out there that I have a severe distaste for, but I don't really go out and condone physical and mental violence against them. One person has changed that. And that person's name is jigglypuff18. Hopefully that is not her real name, but after finding out a little bit about her, I can't be sure.

Now you may be asking yourself what could a simple girl who clearly has an unnatural love for a lame Pokemon character. Well lots actually. Because apparently the heifer is under the impression that Lance Bass has ruined her life. I'm not trying to say that I am the only person in this world who has had their life ruined by Lancey Poo, but I do call dibs on bitching about it online. That's my schtick. So jump the fuck back jigglypuff18 before I have to go all Bye Bye Bye all over your ass.

Now I am well aware that there are a million blogs out there, but I sort of believe mine is special. At least when I am able to post and not so dead tired from chasing after 4 year olds that I pass out the second I get home. So I don't really need someone getting all up in my shit. Especially when that person has decided to equate her Lance Bass horror with her love for Pokemon.

And that's not mentioning the poem that an entire post is dedicated to. Now granted I am like the world's worst English major and I don't get poetry for shit but after reading it, I'm pretty sure this girl is sexually attracted to her pen. And while yes all love is supposed to be cool, that just ain't right.

So I'm warning you jigglypuff18. Step off my shit. If you don't I am so not afraid to unleash some Pikachu all over your ass.

Not The Superpower I Would Have Chosen

So in one of our extremely inappropriate text message marathons, my good friend Hellspawn informed me of something both amazing and disgusting all at the same time. I'm not quite sure how we got on this topic and as has been proven on multiple occasions, I am far too lazy to scroll through my text logs to find out. And knowing us I probably don't want to remember how this topic came up.

And before I say what this topic is, I would like to preface this by saying once again that I am well aware that I am going to hell. I'm prepared for this eventuality and have come to terms with it.

Okay. So, Hellspawn informed me that there is this woman who died because some highly acidic sperm ate through her stomach. Now I don’t know if this is actually true. But if she did make this up then I am a little frightened about the way her thought processes work. Not that I'm not already.

Now the reason I know I'm going to hell, besides all the other reasons that have already been established, is that I laughed my ass of when I heard this. And that’s really not kosher at all. I mean a person died and that shouldn't be funny. But come on, highly acidic sperm. That's some funny shit.

And then I started thinking about this guy and his sperm. He's got to be the most fucked up X-man in the whole world. Like really, out of the whole array of superpowers in the universe that's what he landed. Sperm that can eat through shit.

And really how awkward must it be for that guy to access his powers in public. Like that just can't be very effective crime fighting.

Then there is the whole code name situation. I'm trying to imagine how fucked up that meeting was. I think that he would be called Spermicide, but Hellspawn thinks that he would be better as Master Blaster. Either way you know the guy is getting shit in the locker room.

But I think we can all sleep a little safer at night knowing that he's out there taking out super villains one blowjob at a time.

Clearly This Is A Sign That The Four Horsemen Are On Their Way

So, apparently, turning thirty makes you really fucking tired. That plus working 40 plus hours a week, not to mention going to the gym every chance I can get because I have decided yet again that I need to do something about my fat ass. So that’s why it has taken so much fucking time to post this entry. Every time I started to write I would fall asleep and then by the time I woke up it was time to go to work again. So that’s why I have been absent recently and not because I have gone and killed myself out of despair for turning thirty.

This was going to be another story about my trip to Dallas and the subsequent bitterness that happened there, but something else popped up that I must put out there in public.

As I mentioned in my last story of Dallas, I met my friend’s sister in law, who has asked to be referred to as Hellspawn. It was really like meeting a long lost twin. Clearly, when we were born we were attached at the attitude. And now we are making up for lost time, as seen by the fact that in the first ten days of knowing each other we have exchanged 150 text message, the first being about her husband’s flatulence. So yeah, it’s pretty much a match made in hell.

So the other day, at her insistence, I watched Sex and the City 2. I told her that I would rather shove my head up my own ass, but she was very persistent. So I did it. And I decided that if I was going to suffer, then she was going to as well.

What follows is a transcript of the texts that were sent as I was watching the movie.

(Warning: If you have not seen Sex and the City 2 yet, I am saving you from yourself.)

Me: 2 minutes in and flashdance Carrie makes me want to die.

Hellspawn:  Buckle up, buttercup.

Me: This wedding is he reason gays should not be allowed to get married

Hellspawn: Am surprised you have not been sucked straight into the TV/gay heaven

Me: Oh my holy fuckballs!!!!!

Hellspawn: Liza?

Me: It’s like Liza with a vomit.

Me: You made no mention about the braless wonder having an accent. And apparently all she does is jump.

Hellspawn: I couldn’t spoil everything. There are more little turd piles for you to uncover.

Me: And we have nipples.

Me: Ok. Not being a woman I don’t know how these things work but do most women spread vagina cream on while in a glass office?

Hellspawn: Everyone in nyc has seen her vagina by this point anyway. I think she’s looking to save time.

Me: Oh fuck Carrie and her fucking sparkle.

Hellspawn: She is such a giant, gaping, leathery twat.

Me: Ah yes, when my life gets a little hum drum I like to just drop everything and go to Abu Dhabi.

Me: And you can’t forget to strap on your butt ugliest hat for the trip.

Hellspawn: Apparently, being a critically lauded and financially successful writer with a grillionaire hottie husband and beautiful apartment in nyc is for the birds

Me: Yeah. It’s a rough life. Oh and when your husband asks for two days a week just to be away from you. Bitch, the problem is you.

Hellspawn: She is clearly expressing her latent self hatred through her clothes.

Me: Oh fuck. The turban is just as horrific as you made it sound.

Hellspawn: Oh that’s just the first one

Me: Abu Dhabi do. Really? The bitch ain’t Scooby. WTF

Hellspawn: So…much…mockery…brain is…overwhelmed

Me: It’s Samantha’s MC hammer pants that are hurting my brain muscles

Me: I’m sorry for short circuiting your brain. But it was you who insisted I watch this cesspool of suck. You obviously were unprepared.

Hellspawn: There’s not a single screen shot without something to mock! It’s a gold mine! It would have been criminal not to make you watch it.

Me: Oh god. The opera sunglasses!

Hellspawn: I TOLD YOU! I screamed!

Me: Hahahahahaha. She just slo mo walked away from her passport. Hahahahahaha. Suck it bitch.

Me: Ok. Soccer boys in speedos. One thing in this movie is redeemable.

Hellspawn: Austailian rugby team I mentioned earlier. Or is it soccer? Who the fuck cares?

Me: The most important part of that was speedo

Me: Could you possibly buy a plan ticket to Houston and come chop my head off. I’ll never be able to forget this karaoke song.

Hellspawn: If I have to suffer you can fucking well suffer with me

Me: You know what would make this movie like a million times better. If they made Carrie wear a burka.

Me: Yes I too keep my condoms in my passport.

Hellspawn: It was at this point that I was throwing things at the tv

Me: Oh finally they put a veil over that beak

Me: That was emotionally draining. I need to drink so rubbing alcohol and a therapist.

Yeah, so that is what goes on between us. We are even worse in person. The world is just not ready for the shock and awe that is our combined bitchiness.

On This The Day My Life Is Over

I have been giving this a lot of thought tonight, since the time has come that I will be needing it. Here is what I would like my tombstone to read.

Here Lies Sean. He Was A Bitter Old Coot. He Was Not Happy For Anyone That Includes, But Not Limited To, Married People, People With Kids, People Who Have Found Their Soulmate, People Who Have Their Career Mapped Out, Or People Who Are Generally Happy With Their Lives. Naturally He Died Alone. Luckily His Potential Died Long Before He Did. And He Was Fat. (Yeah it’s going to be a big tombstone.)

In other words, Happy Fucking 30^th Birthday to me.

Fuck.

My Trip To Bittertown Part The First

Okay, so this weekend I took a vacation from work. I know I didn’t go to work for like 4 days, it was the strangest thing in the world. Apparently there is a life that doesn’t involve going to work 7 days a week. Why didn’t any of you bitches tell me this?

Anyway, I had to take the weekend off because one of my nearest and dearest friends decided to get married. Normally, I would be against this because of my hatred for all things marriage, but I was actually behind this union because these two people are so nerdy, they definitely needed to get married because the perfect storm of geekdom that is this couple needed to be recognized. Why she wanted me there, I’m not quite sure because it’s not customary to invite a walking, talking, cloud of doom to your wedding, but she requested my presence. And by requested, I mean threatened my life if I was not in attendance.

So I spent the weekend in Dallas. And a great many things happened there. The first is that I met my number one fan. My friend’s sister in law is apparently a glutton for punishment and has been a long time follower of my blog. BTW, she’s crazy. But meeting her prompted us to make total asses out of ourselves in public. It was comforting to meet another person who has an unhealthy love for Chick-Fil-A that rivals mine. And this may have lead to quite a few threats of strapping her down and eating a chicken sandwich in front of her. This is pretty mean because she lives in Vegas and they don’t have Chick-Fil-A there, which is a criminal offense. They have legalized hookers but not a fucking chicken sandwich. For shame Vegas.

Anyway, on my first night in Dallas we went to the restaurant that I don’t particularly care for, but demanded that we go because of the fact that they make this wonderful banana chocolate chip cake that I would sell my mother to eat. I have been dreaming of this cake for months. And the thing about this cake is it is only appropriate to eat after the midnight hour, which of course we did. What we did not expect was the waiter from hell who apparently keeps his brain in his ass and is severely brain damaged from sitting down too much.

Forty minutes it took for the order to get there. Now we had a relatively big table, but there were only four of us who ordered and nothing that involved cooking beyond a microwave. What took forty minutes is beyond me. So he brings out everyone’s brownies which looked lovely, but they were no chocolate chip banana cake. So I’m sitting there waiting, literally bouncing in my seat in anticipation at the arrival of a cake that I would actually consider marrying.

It doesn’t arrive.

What does arrive is Senor Stupid coming back to tell me that they have run out of the cake. I have never wished for the power to set someone on fire with just my stare before I did in that moment. I don’t think he quite understood the relationship between a fat, bitter homo and cake. So he sits there and tries to tell me about all the other glorious cakes that they offer. None of which hold a candle to the gloriousness of the cake that I ordered.

I usually try to have some patience with waiters because I was one for one not so spectacular week, but I just couldn’t do it with this one. I hated him and he needed to be destroyed. If he had gone right after I ordered and told me that they were out, I would have been okay, but not forty minutes later after he delivered everyone else’s shit. If he hadn’t been so worried about sucking cock (oh yeah, he was a total homo) then maybe he would have done a better job.

So I basically interrupted his spiel about an inferior cake and told him to “Go away.” He didn’t. So I had to repeat myself. And for the rest of the evening he came back constantly to offer me refills on my soda. I really needed on because it was quite watered down after sitting for so long, but he didn’t quite understand that he was dead to me and I did not want him near me. My ignoring him didn’t quite get through to him, so I had to keep telling him to “Go away.” These were the only words I spoke to him for the entire visit.

Even as we were leaving, he tried to talk to me. And since he just didn’t get it, I just gave him the hand and walked out. Oh yes, that bitch talked to the hand. He is really lucky I wasn’t the one who was paying the bill or he would have gotten screwed.

And he’s really lucky that the bride kept getting text messages from the best man about the groom’s need for a hooker, a helmet full of cream cheese, and naked pictures of Bea Arthur or I would have had nothing to distract me from my rage and I would have ended up dragging him into the kitchen and cooking him into a tasty treat that I would have sold as Stupid Homo Soufflé.

More stories to come.

How Do These People Manage To Find Me

Holy fucking Popeye’s Biscuit, y’all, the most disturbing thing just happened. I am really scared and am thinking about calling the police to see what my chances of getting into the witness protection program are. Because I really need to be protected from what I just witnessed.

So I’m at work right now. And since I am getting paid to do absolutely nothing right now, I have been farting around on my computer and watching cable. We don’t usually have the cable connected so this is an extra special treat for me. The only thing that could make this job any better is if I could smoke inside. But sadly, I cannot so I have to go outside. This is an act that I am now regretting and I may never be able to smoke again for fear of having flashbacks of the dreaded incident that will leave me and everyone around me scarred when I freak out.

So I just went outside for a cigarette. The house that I work in is in this pretty nice neighborhood, so it has a sweet backyard that I went to smoke in. Though I was getting pretty pissed off because the next door neighbor had his back porch light on full blast and it was blinding the fuck out of me. I was prepared to forgive him because he was sitting outside smoking a cigarette too and he was kind of cute. The fence between yards isn’t high at all so I could see him clearly so I could check him out.

And that’s when things took a turn for the fucked up.

It took me a few minutes of checking him out before I realized that he was not, in fact, smoking a cigarette, but something a little more recreational. Now don’t get me wrong, while I do not participate in the mind mellowing substances (no matter how many times I have been told I should just so I would chill the fuck out), I don’t have a problem with people partaking in it. It was just a little weird that this guy was sitting in his fully lit backyard doing this when he knows I am standing right there and can totally see him.

And then, as I am standing there in full view, he proceeds to drop his pants and start handling his business. Please tell me you understand what I am saying here, so that I don’t have to go into further detail. I have been traumatized enough as it is.

If he didn’t know I was there before, which he totally fucking did, he knew I was there after because I started choking on my cigarette and had a coughing fit that almost made me shit my pants. Now I am in shock, coughing up a storm, about to die, and he doesn’t even stop. So I have no choice but to drop my cigarette, run inside, lock the doors and turn off all the lights. That’s where I am right now, sitting in the corner with the laptop as the only source of light in the house.

What kind of person feels the need to handle their junk in their backyard at 2:30 in the morning? Especially when he gives the person standing there absolutely no notice that he’s about to do that. Now granted, he was cute, but there is just not enough cute in the world to make that okay.

The worst part is that since he lives next door, there is a very good chance that I am going to run into him during the daytime. I don’t think I am going to be able to drive away fast enough without hitting a pedestrian.

Drop Dead What The Fuck

I really need something explained to me. I have stumbled across one of life’s mysteries that I just don’t have the brain power to comprehend. So I turn to you, dear readers, to rack your brains and solve this mystery. What the fuck is up with that show Drop Dead Diva?

It’s pretty bad right. I mean the whole shallow girl being zapped into a new body where she is supposed to learn that life is not all about boobs and makeup. Isn’t that a bit eighties for anyone else? And then there’s the whole thing about her waking up in a big girl’s body, so that she can learn the lesson that beauty isn’t always on the outside. Gag me with a donut. That whole thing doesn’t really work when shallow girl gives big girl’s body a complete make over.

And how in the holy gay hell does no one notice that big girl goes from serious lawyer to giggly makeup hound just like that? Aren’t these people supposed to be lawyers? If that’s the case, I think I will just represent myself in any future court proceedings. (It’s bound to happen one day.)

Now comes for the even bigger mystery. Why the fuck can’t I stop watching it? I literally just sat there and watched like five episodes back to back. It was a whole new low in my life. I mean I have hit some lows before, but this is like hitting rock bottom so hard that I crashed through and found a whole subbasement of shame that I didn’t know existed before.

I really think it might be time to get Lifetime blocked from the cable box. You know I completely blame Lance bass for this sad turn that my life as taken.

The Curious Case Of The Overly Judgmental Cashier

A very interesting thing happened to me this morning. I got called into work last night to work the graveyard shift because my coworker is a total douchebag and moron. (A doucheron.) I know she managed to get her ass suspended from work, and I think she might be fired, so there might be quite a few overnight shifts in my future. That’s just fine with me because it gives me time to write, read, and do my laundry using someone else’s water.

Anyway, that’s beside the point. When I got out of work, I had to stop because I was out of cigarettes. This was a very bad thing because I had been up all night and without nicotine to fuel me, I can be very, very grumpy. Like much grumpier than I am on a normal basis. Now combine that with morning traffic and you have a recipe for severe homo rage.

Well, while I was picking up my cigarettes I decided to have a healthy breakfast. So I picked up a coke and a Slim Jim while I was there. (Yes, I am thinking about writing my very own cookbook.) It was just a pretty much normal occurrence for me. Sure, I always get the looks of judgment and people asking me what kind of person eats a Slim Jim at 7 in the morning. Me, I’m the kind of person who enjoys a good meat adjacent product in the morning hours.

Today was a little different though. My cashier was a new person who was not familiar with my purchasing habits. She was an older woman, who bore a striking resemblance to Peppermint Patty. I was a little taken aback when I first saw her and had to fight the urge to call her “Sir”.

Well, Peppermint was more than just a little judgmental about my Slim Jim purchase. She actually picked it up and smacked my hand with it. I was a little shocked by this because no one has ever hit me with a Slim Jim before. Now I can’t say that I’m not the type of person who would never hit a customer because at one point I totally did when I was working at the casino. In my defense, he totally deserved it because he wouldn’t listen when I told him to stop touching my shit. All I was trying to do was buy a snack. How does that warrant getting hit with said snack?

It’s just not cool. I would have filled myself with some of that homo rage I was talking about earlier, but I was in such a state of shock that I just walked out. And it totally did ruin my Slim Jim eating experience. Well played, Peppermint Patty.

For future reference, unless we are on intimate terms, I don’t particularly enjoy getting smacked with meat first thing in the morning.

Hell Is Empty And All The Douchebags Are Here

So today has been one of those days that has completely validated my argument that napping is completely awesome. After my day of complete naptitude, I actually had to join the real world and go back to work. For a whole three hours. I know. I absolutely exhausted myself. Now before you throw shit at me, I should explain that the reason I had to go in for only three hours is because I worked so many hours so far this week that I couldn’t work a full shift without racking up more than the approved amount of overtime. So don’t hate, bitches.

Now a while back I talked about how there is one constant in life and that is that there is always going to be an episode of Law and Order on any time you turn on the television. Well, I wasn’t quite right about that. There is another constant in life. And that is that no matter what or where I am, I will work with a completely inept human being. And that is no different at this job.

When you work the graveyard shift at this job, the only thing you really have to do is be there. You don’t even have to be awake. Yeah, that right. We get paid to sleep when we work the graveyard shift. So really the only thing you have to do is set an alarm to get up on time to make breakfast for the people we help. Well, my coworker can’t even do that. I showed up this morning to find her still asleep. I, at least, have the decency to be the fuck up when my relief comes in.

So I proceed to look at her like the moron she is. She responds to this look by saying, “I haven’t done anything yet,” and going back to sleep. So I basically had to do everything. And she had the nerve to get pissed off at me when I woke her up and random times for no reason whatsoever.

So she left and the rest of the shift went by so much better. It’s amazing how much easier things are when the stupid people go away.

Anyway, after work, I decided that since my coworker is such a moron, I deserved some pancakes. So I went to Denny’s. While I was there I ordered the much sought after pancakes and got a craving for some seasoned fries. What else was I supposed to do, but order them? I mean there are certain cravings that must not be ignored and seasoned fries are one of them.

Now I just want to say that pancakes and bacon with a side of seasoned fries is a completely acceptable breakfast. The look of judgy that the waitress gave me was completely unnecessary. Okay, so maybe seasoned fries are the most normal thing to get at 9:30 in the morning, yet I just don’t care. That’s the thing about being a fatass. You don’t get this waist size without being creative in your food choices. So don’t judge on me, especially when a tip depends on it.

See, this is why getting out of bed is just a bad idea and should be discouraged. In fact, I may never get out of bed again. Just as soon as I win the lottery, get a rich husband, or discover a delivery service whose sole purpose of existing is to fetch me shit, I am going to look into taking up permanent residence in my bed.