And what do YOU wanna be when you grow up?

I want to be a DINOSAUR!  RAWR!*

Actually, I want to major in Physics and Art.  Yeah, I know, what a great way to become independently wealthy.  But at least I won’t have to be a starving artist, like now, working at some dead-end job and spending all my money on art supplies and praying I have enough ramen noodles to last until next payday.*  I can go work for NASA and spend all my money on art supplies and pray I have enough ramen noodles to last until next payday!  How much more exciting would that be, eh?

But actually, those are my two passions, and that’s what I would like to do, go to school for Art and Physics.  I keep trying to misspell “Physics” as “Physicalics”, which, thankfully, isn’t as bad a Freudian slip as, say, “Phallics”.  I think if I were to start typing “Phallic” all over the place I’d just shoot myself because, honestly, if things were that bad, I’m obviously either too psycho to even qualify for a desperate one-night-stand, or too ugly.  But thankfully there is porn and I’m okay with that.  Porn doesn’t tell me to not drink so much, clean up that mess, do the dishes, or scream at me because I didn’t buy the right brand of toilet paper even though I saved $3 fucking dollars by buying the BETTER quality toilet paper and I really don’t give a fuck about “toilet paper” lint being left on my ass because, HELLO, it’s better than having SHIT left on my ass because the MORE EXPENSIVE BRAND you INSIST upon using doesn’t wipe NEARLY as clean as the stuff I grew up with you stupid, ignorant, bitch! Whew, sorry, flashback to a prior relationship.  I should really get some help with this whole PTSD thing from her, but, meh.

And, yes, that actually WAS a real argument I had with someone I date and it actually lasted for a good solid month before I finally explained, “FUCK YOU I HAVE MY OWN FUCKING BATHROOM AND WILL USE THE TOILET PAPER I SO CHOOSE TO WIPE SHIT OFF MY ASS UNLESS YOU WANNA LICK IT OFF OF ME YOU FUCKING WHORE!” and it was settled.  And there might have been about twenty more expletives than that in the actual argument but my memory kind of fails me because I was black-out drunk at the time and that was about the point I came to and then I said something about being hormonal and horny and having low blood sugar and to not cross me anymore when it came to my bunghole because that was my own personal space nobody messed with and the last person who tried wound up in Guatemala and nobody’d heard from him for the past two years.  That’s also kind of a true story.  The Guatemala thing.  The toilet paper thing is TOTALLY a true story.

*RAWR means I love you in Dinosaur.  G-d, don’t you people, like, read and stuff?

New car, fresh cash, gotta steal!

So, if you follow me on Twitter you might have heard me complaining over the weekend about the jackass who stole the beer.  He was driving a pretty new Chevy Malibu, had his whole family in the car, and stole an 18 pack of Coors Light.  That pissed me off.  I mean, it pisses me off when people steal bear, anyway, but the sheer audacity to steal it with your whole family present, kid and everything, and put it into your SHINY NEW CAR pissed me off to no end.  If you wanna steal a loaf of bread or milk or some such, cool, go for it.  I’d probably applaud you for your survival skills.  You steal a candy bar, I’ll tell you to choke on it and have a nice day.  But you wanna steal beer in front of your family and drive away in your new car…motherfucker, just stay two feet away from me and you might get lucky and I’ll just spit on you.

In other news, life at that store is boring.  The crew is quite the cast of characters, however.  Like the chick with the pink hair.  Pink hair is awesome, I’m not gonna lie.  I just wanna know why I can’t have blue hair and still have a job.  I mean, hell, I get harassed and threatened and get sent to Hell, where we have to bag ice with a fucking scoop and bucket.  I feel like the coal shoveler on the steam engines, which is, of course, the job I always wanted.*

One of these days, though, I’m probably gonna snap and kill somebody, or at the very least cuss them out but good.

Like the bitch that decided I’m not good enough to ring her up because, G-d forbid, I asked her a question.  Apparently no one really likes her, though, so I don’t feel bad.  And I’m sure as fuck not gonna feel guilty when I tell her, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not allowed to turn the pump on for anyone unless they prepay as it’s our corporate policy to help maintain low gas prices and defeat the felony of drive-off’s, whether they be accidental or otherwise.  Will that be cash or charge?”

This bitch is so anal she makes us check the dates on her cigarettes before she buys them.  Apparently she even had the audacity to open a pack before checking the date and then, upon realizing they weren’t the freshest possible cigarettes she could have purchased, had the gall to demand she be allowed to exchange them.  Um, sorry, how about NO, YOU STUPID, FAT, CUMGUZZLING CUNT!

Whew, sorry, she just really irks me, and I really wish I could say that to her.  Oh, wait, if I’m outside, off camera, and there’s no witnesses, it never happened.  I’m such a bad boy.

*Note:  This is, in fact, a true fact.  That has been my dream job since childhood.  Do not judge me.

I’m not nearly THAT big of an asshole

So I don’t have much time on my hands to get out and meet people, thus my turning to the Internet. I’ve posted before about meeting people online and how well it doesn’t work. Sometimes I meet someone interesting, mostly they’re flakes, but occasionally they turn out to be far above the level I’ve lovingly titled “Douche Yacht”.

Case in point:

I went over to Craigslist (likely my first mistake) to check out things for sale (still in the market for a new fridge/freezer combo) and made my way over to strictly platonic. Usually I don’t like these things and tend to laugh at many of them, but sometimes one will catch my attention and I’ll reply. This chick was just looking for a friend, or so she claimed.***

I emailed her and was like, “Yo, wassup” and thus began what I thought was going to be a strictly platonic instant messaging relationship. As anyone who’s read more than one post on this blog knows, my life has been hectic these past couple months. I’ve been working anywhere from 50 to 60 hours or more a week, have been struggling with insomnia and panick attacks, etc, etc, bitch, moan… You get the idea, I’m sure.

So, I log into Yahoo messenger and was like, “I haven’t had the opportunity to speak with this chick in a while, so I’ll see what’s up”. So I send a message along the lines of “Wow, it’s been a while, how’ve you been?”

Apparently this makes me an asshole that deserves to be told off. Somebody has some inferiority issues they need to work through because, sorry bitch, I have a life, too. Being the mature guy I am I quickly apologized for bothering er and wished her well.***

I can’t, however, keep from being upset because this cunt seems to think she’s just oh so important after we had a total of maybe three conversations before my life turned to shit. So, to all those self-important bitches out there, just get over yourselves already.

***Oh, how I wish this story could have ended with the makings of a great story for a new porn, but, alas, thus is not my life.

***And if you believe that, I’ve got a great condo right off the Arizona bay you’ve just gotta see to believe.