Wednesday, December 10, 2008
So, let's review. What we really have here are a few new problems.
First, smokers at any company who already get an extra two weeks of vaca by smoking 3X a day for 10 minutes each time have now doubled that. Add the hike they now will have to put in to get within a legally far enough distance from their business entrance to comply, and we are looking at four extra weeks of vacation. I mean, holy shit! Get me to the nearest 7-11. Time to take up smoking.
Second, you have just sent Dallas club owners through the roof. Let's be honest - being a Dallas bouncer at most locations isn't exactly rocket science. But you have made it exactly that, and a friggin MBA is going to be a necessary qualification. Now every night at every club there is going to have to be a secondary line for those who already made it through the first by kissing ass & dropping names, but stepped outside for a quick smoke break or six. Figuring out how many people are actually in your club at any given time will be an act of Congress - and ironically may create a fire hazzard. Add the fourth douchebag, divide by 972, carry the one hundredth bitch in a skanky Forever 21 dress... and you have yourself a motherfucking logistical nightmare.
Third, you have officially set The Loon up for utter embarrassment.
The little guy has been truckin' along for so many years... so proud of his strong drinks and crowded, yet cozy spaces. Never really embarrassed by the gift of smell he sends every patron home with each and every night... the only gift, other than an STD, that keeps on giving with the same gusto as it originally had. And frankly, on any given night, you might come away with both.
But now, now you have taken away the variable that excused the wretched scent that could always be attributed to the cigs. And I am 100% confident that The Loon's walls, carpet, chairs, couches and concrete will all carry on the torch of disgustingness long after the new ban is passed... leaving him awkward and embarrassed for many years to come. Maybe they will compensate with stronger drinks? I do heart me some liver damage. Yummy.
Finally, what are all of the single "social smoker" bitches going to do now? When they get to the point of drunk rage when they HAVE to have a cigarrette - which also means they are too tee-tee gonzalezed to remember it's illegal when you tell them they can't... and will inevitably end the evening in utter shame & disaster, without the comforting taste of stale cig breath the next morning to remind them how drunk they were, subsequently excusing them of their other ridiculously inappropriate & embarassing behaviors. What are THEY going to do, Dallas? Did you think about that?
Again, hundreds of people all over the city are impacted every day by what you people vote on in positions of power such as yours. You are changing lives, making horrible habits that much more difficult to continue, putting ugly girls in awkward positions at bars without a cig to keep them company, and keeping alcohol - bless his little heart - all alone in the big bad world of legal late-night vices.
Thanks for nothin, assholes... or a few extra years of my life for all the second hand smoke I will now avoid. Whatever. Who really wants to live to 86 versus 82 anyways?
Monday, December 8, 2008
Isn't this kind of like me asking for an NCAA football national championship from Baylor this year? Or for John Wiley Price to give a speech at an upcoming Klan rally? Or for Ash & Marge (featured below) to 1) exercise via jogging versus purging and 2) come away from said jog without bruises all over their chin & stomach?
Seems slightly re-God-damn-diculous to me, Dallas.
Almost as ridiculous as this story about SMU's new 36-point plan to basically buy a "culture shift" to combat the recent OD deaths that just seem do gosh-darn peculiar to the administration. Flabbergasted, they are. Darn-it-all-to-heck. I'm just stumped silly as well. Aw-shucksy.
Here's a tip. Why don't we start by not creating a 36-POINT PLAN that any average SMU student will be forced to snort 100mg of addy just to make it past point seven? And seriously, what would SMU's b-school entrepreneurship program be without weekend basement coke deals at Suite? It's the foundation of Cox's notorious success, to be sure - not to mention the reason commerce is alive and well in this great city amidst a pitiful economy.
Don't kill that entrepreneurial spirit (and the future dollars that go along with it) that has built establishments like Urban Taco and Campisi's on foundations of white powder just to save a few lives, SMU... where do you think that $750M is going to come from?
And what a waste... what a waste. Because, damn it, that coke isn't going to snort itself.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Way to go, ladies. You are setting an example for all of us to look at the bright side of things in the crazy world we live in today... to cheer "Yay for boobies! #3" as you so eloquently have labeled this pic... to know that there is more to this life as the "#3" gives us just that much more hope knowing there are also a #1 and #2 out there somewhere... to remember that habitual behavior-dependent careers like stripping don't ride the same waves as the economy. You are truly an inspiration... and a staunch reminder that the upper arm squeeze on already over-sized tits is actually more blinding than helpful.
So yes, ladies. We DO appreciate you & the entertainment you are - as you must have already assumed based on posting your fake goods all over Facebook for the world to see. And you are soooo right, Marge. We can't HANDLE it.
Thank God some things never change.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Dear Jackie O,
Capitalism works better from every perspective when the economic decision makers are forced to share power with those who will be affected by those decisions.
Hangin’ Like a Chad,
Your BF for Life
Dear Barney Frank,
Gosh darnit, Barney. I want to believe you. I want to put faith in your vision, in your intelligence. I want to know that you are so concerned with the good of the economy that you no longer leave time for personal grooming and/or hygiene.
But let’s be honest here. How the hell am I supposed to have confidence in a man whose appearance is one malt liquor-in-a-paper-bag away from homeless with the voice of a lung cancer-ridden Tweety Bird.
All my love,
Dear Jackie O,
Did you hear about my genius appointment of Larry Throm, former CFO for Austin ISD, as the new CFO for DISD? Take THAT, Austin bitches.
This guy, he’s a game-changer, a revolutionary, a man who thinks outside of the box, someone who really knows how to innovate while facilitating the evolution of a truly collaborative environment, a leader who can take us from good to great, someone who can really get us to YES!
Feel free to pat me on my back and/or blow me at your earliest convenience.
Reveling in my own intelligenciosity,
Dear DISD Superintendent Michael Hinojosa,
After you put down your rousing copy of Annoying, Overused & Completely Bull Shit Business Phrases to Make You Feel Sthmart, let’s revisit the idea that this man is leaving AUSTIN to move to DALLAS.
This, my friend, should give you some insight into the kind of mind-numbingly awful decision-making abilities he is about to put to good use with the DISD. God knows the only way to go is up. Hell, maybe even throw caution to the wind & go left. You are game-changers, right?
All my love,
Dear Jackie O,
Tee-hee. Did you see how saweet we wewra to stwuggling home ownas fowa tha howidays? Don’t you just wanna snuggle up wid uws on a big puffy cloud fiwled wid gingaw-bwead houses and candy canes? Tee-hee. Oopsie! Time fowa weeeecess… and animal cwackas! Yay!! TTFN.
Bestie Bwo & Sis Foweva,
Fannie & Freddie
Dear Fannie Mae & Freddie Mac,
Awesome. Now Americans can commit suicide over the holidays in the comfort of their own homes while you choose between a giwaffe owa a whino.
Biting off the head is always the hardest part… for some reason, though, you don’t strike me as though you struggle with that – more so troubling is likely your competitions to see who can fit more in their tummy without puking. Oops. You both lost.
All my love,
Monday, November 17, 2008
I get to work, log in, check FB. Go to annoying meeting number 1 where long-winded boss will yammer on about nothing to pretend his job is one worth existing to begin with, then finally give us "the gift of time" by ending said pointless meeting early, never realizing that the gift of time line was old after the first time he used it, and now has simply become a running joke along with him & his existence in general.
Then, scurry back to desk, check FB, run off to another meeting.
Check FB on BB mid-meeting.
Run down to lunch, grab food, run back to desk to check FB & read while cramming sandwich down the hatch.
Run to next meeting, hop on conference call at desk, check FB while on conference call... and now here I am.
And no... it's still not working... and now I don't know what to do with myself. I even Googled FrontBurner in many different phrases to see if someone else had posted about what is wrong with my baby, but alas, nothing.
I miss you, FrontBurner. Truly. Hurry back, or I might actually get some work done.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Unfortunately, my co-workers who ironically did get laid off didn't see quite the same level of humor I did when I sent many of them this e-card before things were announced.
Get pissed, guys. But really, I'm the one who should be pissed that I am so underpaid when compared to my peers I'm worth keeping. And now, once again, I get the dirty looks every survivor experiences in these lovely scenarios. Second time this year I've gone through this - I'm developing a thick skin, bitches. So, seriously, I dare you, push me too far and I might just have to make fun of you, loudly, the day your ID badge stops working. Or schedule a plethora of meetings every Friday afternoon from now until the day your unemployed ass is escorted out the door.
Am I insensitive? Maybe.
Jealous, however, is much more likely an accurate descriptor. Jigga, please. I could only wish I was unproductive enough & so incredibly untalented in the areas of maintaining an unnoticeable salary in addition to major ass kissing slash office politics to get handed a pink slip and a phat six months worth of severance pay, knowing full well once I returned from my six month jaunt across Asia-Pac, there would be another job ready and waiting.
So, Corporate America, come on and make my day. No, seriously... please do. Everyone hates a company that plays favorites.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
So, thank you, I say, to all of you lazy-ass SMU kids who likely weren't forward-thinking enough to early vote, and (based on extremely slow precinct turnout today) whose right to vote ranks right up there in priority of importance with where Maria the maid gets her uniform or what kind of stamp your parents use when mailing your monthly Rover payment.
Whatever the case, thanks. Your indifference has given me the gift of time this afternoon, and also afforded me the luxury to tediously draw perfectly-shaped hearts over the I's on my write-in vote for none other than myself.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Last night was one of many in my past when I stood in a crowd of the most randomly diverse group of people whose one common thread was the band of four dudes on stage.
From awkward lesbian lovers to the girl running through the crowd wreaking of disaster who most certainly pooped her pants, everyone had no choice but to cheer with the same vigor for the musicians who spent their youth traveling the country with their notorious former evangelist father. So much pent-up angst to share with the world, and so many who come together to watch have to fondly appreciate, under vodka-induced pontification of course, that shared love of a band.
This would be the point in the story where the music stops... and the records violently screech. And to be fair, the girl pooping her pants could have qualified for this reaction earlier just as easily.
Unfortunately, she was topped by the random douchebag in corduroy who legitimately shoved me out of his way and subsequently cut in front of me in the bar line I had been standing in for no less than ten minutes.
So, to you, Mr. Corduroy, I say please be a dear and go fuck yourself. Certainly under normal circumstances it might be no big deal to have to wait for an extra few minutes, but Jackie O has had one long-ass week of work, hadn't eaten all day, and was patiently waiting on her third much-needed double vodka/Red Bull. Without food? I'm cranky. Without alcohol? I'm a headcase. And when a dude seriously shoves a girl without a second look? I take a picture of what I hope to be a one-of-a-kind item.
I know what some of you may be thinking... that I turned into a complete vagina for not snatching his ass back into line behind me. To be fair, there was a very complex sequence of events that led to my decision, specifically based on the logistics of the ceiling fans, as well as proximity to the restrooms, as well as the unfortunate location of the dirty hookers seventeen feet to the southwest of his right shoulder... it just wasn't ideal.
Or I was a complete vagina. I think I'm okay with that, though. A fact of which I was certain as soon as I finally had vodka/mouth contact...
One thing I also had was impeccable hearing, so thank you & your tab, Mr. Corduroy, for that drink as well as my next two. You can shove me any time, baby.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
John Wiley Price's brand of advocacy and activism can be summed up in this way: John Wiley Price addresses real issues, advances real change, and achieves real results. He has earned the full respect of the constituents within his district and in the County at-large. Additionally, he has placed himself in the vanguard for those who have been historically locked out, especially for African-Americans. He campaigned initially as “Our Man Downtown”, and has proven himself as such over the years.
So... where do I begin. This man has always been and always will be a cartoon character to me. So much so that I think when some of the funniest of funny got bored in Dallas one day, they created the enigma that is John Wiley Price. The first few times I sat through some of the meetings where, quite frankly, popcorn should be served to accompany the show, I was kicking myself for not thinking of him first. And it is only fitting that his bobble-head was just released & can be yours for the paltry amount of $24.95, as FrontBurner & City Hall Blog both recently reported.
What I also want to express is how grateful this city is to finally see "real change & real results" from one of our political figures who has earned the "full respect" of his constituents. Dang it... my bullshit-o-meter is beeping at me again... I thought I took the batteries out of that thing last time I posted...
Oh well. I guess let's take a look at how that should read:
John Wiley Price's brand of pent-up hatred & Go F yourself approach to the political arena can be summed up in this way: John Wiley Price finds a way to screw up real issues, underachieves on most issues in general, while guising bottom of the barrel priorities, likeKwanzaaFest as a revolutionary success, and advances change in the form of disorderly toddler-tantrum-esque conduct on a weekly basis. He has made most who voted for him lose all respect for their own political & personal judgment, while fervently striving for the Political Dumbass of the Year award distracting most in every meeting with more over-acted, poorly-scripted drama in five minutes than an entire season of The Hills. Additionally, he has placed himself in the vanguard for those who have been historically locked out, and to be politically correct will throw in the caveat of "especially for African-Americans," when what he really means is "the white man can go fuck himself." He campaigned initially as “Our Man Downtown”, and has irreparably damaged our district's confidence in the political system, as well as the overall hope of the County at-large that Dallas isn't actually run by a bunch of retards who shouldn't be allowed to cross the street, much less run a city.
You're welcome to the JWP campaign manager - you can use that copy free of charge because, gosh darnit, that's just the kind of unselfish, generous vanguard for advancing real change in our community that I am.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Anyway, I myself find it odd that this is my second post out of only 100 or so that covers the topic of greeting cards, but I have recently discovered what a large source of stress and anguish this topic is in my personal life, and I’m guessing it’s no different for any of you.
On a recent trip to the Walgreen’s on Oak Lawn, after charging my way through the sea of “I need some spare change to take a cab to the bus to my car that ran out of gas 96 miles away from here where my dying mother-in-law is waiting for me to drive her to the emergency room because she is paralyzed… and so is my puppy” requests, I proceeded to the card aisle in need of a folded piece of birthday-centric paper for a friend.
The whole idea of cards is still 100% asinine to me, but whatever. Even though none of us would never again miss receiving a card on special occasions if we stopped that practice altogether, everyone is afraid to be the asshole who stops first. So, back to shopping for my shitty waste of $3.25.
Something witty would be ideal, even though people tend to fly through greeting cards with the same disinterest & lack of attention to detail Tony Romo likely throws his hotdog down Jessica Simpson’s proverbial hall. But unfortunately for Hallmark, witty is no longer in their vocabulary & their proverbial hotdog rarely touches a side. Their best days of the funny came Circa 2006… and they are still schlepping those same cards in convenient stores across America hoping people either forget they gave that same card last year, or that it’s just funny enough to give twice. "Pay no attention to Stephanie," or the "Obey the birthday monkey" card, or the "You’re a legend in your own mind" have all be gifted, and re-gifted by me multiple times.
Now, I just need a new friggin' card I'm not completely mortified to give to a friend. Doesn’t even have to be funny. Slightly amusing will do. And one would hope that for a company whose job it is to write a couple of funny one-liners ONCE A YEAR, this request would not be too much to ask.
Apparently, it is.
It seems as though instead of spending these past couple of years dedicated to coming up with that one great idea, that one unforgettable series of cards, Hallmark has gone down an entirely different path.
This path is one I would LOVE to have sat in the ideation meetings on... it reminds me of some of the piece of shit ideas my company comes up with on a daily basis, many of which are now full-fledged products because someone sucked the correct dick at some point. This product extension from Hallmark, one that has repeatedly given me the urge to jump out of a window, seems to have birthed from the same scenario.
Music & motion cards. Both equally cheesy. Both horrifically stupid and unfunny. Both sucking up an entire row in Walgreen’s that could have contained cards actually worth purchasing. Both equally embarrassing for the observer & receiver. Both a complete waste of time, effort & money.
These cards are the Sarah Palin of the Republican ticket, the message of Change for the Democratic ticket… they are all meant to take advantage of the initial positive response we give to bright lights & flashy sounds, but for Hallmark the distance from selection to checkout is much shorter. The amount of time one has to spend in a stupor of stupidity is so brief that the likelihood of a purchase made on over-eager excitement & false pretense is much, much greater.
Maybe they know it sucks. Maybe they are aware these cards are likely the foundation of many a contemplated suicide. But maybe they also have figured out that the average time-to-checkout with a card still leaves them with a lovely profit. It's like marketing the 19-burrito deal at the Taco Cabana located next to the "tobacco" shop... until you have eaten the burritos, and subsequently regurgitated them, everybody is happy - everybody wins.
So, with that said, if someone could point me to the Libertarian birthday card section, that would be awesome, because if I hear the .wav version of Hannah Montana singing Happy Birthday again or Lucille Ball's monologue of Vitametavegamin (well actually, to be certain, I Love Lucy kicks a lot of ass... just not in the form of an audio birthday card),
I may have to move to a country where birthday cards don’t exist at all… and homeless men don’t have to beg for spare change to buy their precious elbow grease – they can even afford the flavored kind, and frankly that warms my heart.
God Bless America.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
It poses the question, what on earth would prompt you to search for not only a pirate hooker, as if that isn't a shameful enough costume on its own, but a dirty pirate hooker at that?
What, the peg leg, eye patch, and corset making those small Bs look like full Ds isn't enough? You have to add the dirty, guaranteeing the inclusion of super-glued nipple patches & crotchless pirate booty-branded undies.
You people truly crack my ass up... as I'm sure you will experience yourself in the literal sense this hallowed of Halloweens. Enjoy.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Ginkgo Biloba, ladies. I swear by it. And I’m sure it has saved me from many an embarrassing moment such as this one was for you. My heart goes out to you since I myself am also embarrassed easily. But hey, look at the bright side… you will look back on this someday and laugh. Laughter, my sweet dears, is healing for the soul. And thanks to your pic as well as my recent vaca, my soul is the picture of perfect health.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
5:17pm. Holy shit. I actually stood & applauded as I watched those precious minutes tick by... as House Financial Committee Chairman Barney Frank (shown above) pressed on into the wee minutes of post-5:15pm work because the American people, gosh darnit, deserve it. They deserve for those extra couple of painstaking minutes to be put in, discussing one of the most monumental decisions that will ever be made about the U.S. economy & one that will impact our children & their children for many years after we are all long gone. I mean, look at him - he even skipped brushing his hair this morning likely to give those additional precious minutes to the current economic plight of the American people. What would we do with out you, Mr. Frank. What would we do.
And monumental this decision is. I wish I could just give everyone in that room a big squishy hug for the hard work & long hours they are putting in to make this thing happen, while stocks in just about every sector crash and/or bottom out while we await their decision. Sure, I may have lost 45% of my securities' worth today. But small price to pay for those dedicated members of our government to truly work through this plan & give it their all. I know they will get a solution in place as quickly as they are possibly able.
And just think... if they continue to put in those extra minutes every darn day, we just might have a decision reached by early 2023. Reason #913 I love my country.
Thank you, House Committee, for leading by example. It's leadership like yours that truly makes my 65 hour weeks all worth it - because I know you are working just as hard to make my life just that much better... and because you, my comrades, lead by example.
One thing though. After listening to your oh-so-eloquent committee members stumble over their words & not actually form complete and/or coherent sentences all day long - many of which were laughed at by Paulson & Bernanke for being so fucking stupid slash the classic example of state representatives looking for their 15-minutes of fame on CSPAN - I believe it is my duty to request that you don't actually let anyone speak tomorrow, or maybe even get within 500 yards of the building, who falls into this category... or who isn't capable of using proper grammar. Is that too much to ask?
I mean, call me crazy, but I would hope that the people making decisions about my financial future don't actually use the word (and I use the term 'word' loosely) "Yous" when intending to say "You." Or I might expect that they would know Paulson & Bernanke already know the most fundamental investment principal about diversifying risk - but those viewers out there that are under the age of 9 thank you for teaching them something new today while listening to yourself talk in circles, Congressman Meeks. When all of you finally get kicked off of Capitol Hill, you would make an excellent Economics 101 teaching assistant at Brookhaven or Northlake... but then we get back to that whole issue of knowing what the hell you are talking about, and sometimes they require that of professors. Not always, but sometimes. We can still hope for the best, right?
Okay, time to go throw up all over my portfolio losses for the day. But you guys go get some rest, you will need it for your marathon of a FULL EIGHT hour day tomorrow. Drink some fluids, no sugar after 8pm... and be sure to eat a good, hearty breakfast. You'll need your strength.
And as that notorious hour of 3pm approaches... far enough away from lunch for you to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but still so far away from 5:15pm you want to jump out a window... here is an inspirational quote to carry you through:
"Endurance is one of the most difficult disciplines, but it is to the one who endures that the final victory comes."
Good luck and Godspeed, my friends. Godspeed.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Since no one in the media is so much as mentioning this topic, other than the Biz Journal, I’m curious where all of the Dallasites are who have been impacted or know someone impacted by the numerous cut-throat layoffs I have been hearing about across the Metroplex over this past week?
Even my shady-ass company announced its 917th hiring & promotion freeze yesterday, sending yet another wave of rumors around our campus about more pink slips.
I say bring it on, bitches. I’d love to see any one of the lazy-ass middle managers or VPs at my company try and figure out how to even work my computer, much less do my job. They are lucky if they hunt and peck fast enough to respond to more than 5 emails in a day, so frankly, with the amount of work I cram into my 60 hour weeks, I think I’m as safe from being let go as an intelligent thought is from Josh Howard's mouth.
But really, I’m more so annoyed that no one is reporting on all of these occurrences in our city that is supposedly ranked as the #3 “Hot City for Jobs” this year. I have four friends from grad school who have already received notices this week from four different large Dallas corporations… so, what are you all hearing?
Monday, September 15, 2008
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
I’m not sure if we were going for the visual illusion of making people feel like they were completely surrounded by concrete no matter whether they were inside or outside… but if so, A+. I've been inside of insane asylums with more appeal. Grey tile, grey walls, grey holes into the abyss of what today is home to the most frequently tardy airline in the world… which really is the point of Jackie O’s crankiness today.
My business trip this week to the one city that is even more disgusting weather-wise than Dallas showed me nothing different than what I usually experience… delayed flights, both ways, due to mechanical failures… and pilots whose announcements sound something like a 3 year-old apologizing for pooping his pants – just less sincerely.
“Hey folks… well, we sorta apologize for the delay… this plane was late getting here because we had to put duct tape on the engine to ensure it didn’t fall off on the way to Dallas… and we could figure out where the darn tape began. Don’t you hate that?... Well, it worked just barely enough to get us here, so that was good. Damn it... has anyone seen my Funions?
Anyway, where was I… Oh, now we are just waiting for another roll of tape since our piece of shit operations team can’t seem to figure out what the hell it means to keep planes in the air. Johnny Mechanic just ran to Home Depot and should be back any minute.
BUT because we are such an incredible airline and you are honored to even be sitting on this plane, we are going to hand out headphones for FREE and put on a FREE movie, which should more than make up for our complete inability to do the one thing you pay us an astronomical amount to do – fly. Instead, here are some headphones that usually are sold at a 2,000% markup in-flight. Crazy thing is, it actually costs us more in fuel to haul these things around on our plane than the sweatshops in China charge us at 8 cents a pop – but we will certainly take every opportunity to swindle your sorry ass even more so than our gate attendants did on your $15 baggage fee.
You can, however, thank us for giving you the experience of a lifetime – not many people can say they know what it feels like to get raped – you, however, have been granted that priceless opportunity. Wait a few days, however, and we will start charging you for that as well. Because at American Airlines, we know why you fly.”
So, thanks American. Hugs & kisses. And you can, in the most loving way possible, eat a dick for all of the work I now have to catch up on thanks to your scheduling & mechanical ineptitude that seem to resemble a retard trying to conquer a Rubik’s Cube.
Can't wait for next week.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
This is like playing a game of Would You Rather... like would you rather lay down in a container full of snakes or be raped... or would you rather eat a meal off of the floor of The Slip Inn bathroom or live in the suburbs for the rest of your life... or would you rather have kids that are having premature sex or are attending the Dallas Anime fest & doing this shit:
I rest my case.
Monday, August 25, 2008
This weekend at Joyce was no different, and for anyone to describe it as ‘getting the cream from Suite’ would be setting some trusting reader up for a severe letdown. Emphasis on severe.
The chandeliers in this place are worth a second look – but that would be the only thing that is, other than , of course, the fake IDs of the rampant jail bait throughout this place on Saturday. This is basically the ‘classier’ version of a Walrus crowd, the owner’s former endeavor… and is also the nightlife representation of putting lipstick on a pig.
Call me crazy, call me biased, but while numerous mediocre bar owners in Dallas try and move into the club scene with the hope of capitalizing on the wave of success Mr. Giese has seen with his endeavor just a couple of Octobers ago, they continue to create the end result of what it might look like if Dallas itself got a tummy ache and puked up Affliction tees, silver chains & Fedoras all over the place… hmm, I may have just stumbled upon the next shitty club name… Affilvora. Nice.
The crazy thing is, there is a market for this place. Its over-capacity crowd of douchebaggery & Forever 21-clad, parentally-funded vagina/Future Jobless of America proved that fairly soundly. However, if you compare it to any place that put a little more effort into ambiance than cheap-ass white curtains, chandeliers and pink lights, then you might need to get your Deep-V Clubdar checked.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Monday, August 11, 2008
Really? That's your message? That's the one thing above all else you wanted everyone who sees this truck to remember? Not that He walked the earth as the Son of God performing miracles and healing the sick, or that He died on the cross to save us all. Nope, your message is that 'Jeeysuys Chriyyst is Lawrd... nawt a swaayer wurd' yews crayyzy heeethuns.
And as I watched you pass by, my mouth hanging wide open at the hilarity of what was in front of me, you proceeded to blatantly run a red light, and then another, and finally a third... almost hitting a pedestrian who too was blinded by your truck. Thank God for China's sake that they are as far removed from this country as possible, because I have a feeling if they observed our version of religion a little more closely, communism wouldn't look so bad.
For Christ's sake.
UPDATE 9.03.08: Apparently, there is a fleet of these trucks rollin' all over the country this summer... because this blogger saw the same thing I did, except it was in a different font on a different truck... as was this one. And this Dirty Catholic also had the pleasure of viewing one of these rolling pieces of eye-candy as it was being pulled over by an officer. Keep up the good work.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
But today, I found it. There is finally one younger than I… and apparently more where that came from. A survivor, no doubt. But a dumbass, nonetheless. As I sat through the two-hour meeting, calmly observing, I noticed the tendencies that are likely the catalyst to put the final nail in the coffin of my generation’s promotion-potential in a corporate world that is so very un-Gen Y, no matter how many corporate training programs are put in place to combat that theory. So below, my ode to my sweet, cuddly, ‘just wanna pinch your little spoiled cheeks’ Gen Y who make me look bad every damn day.
The simple fact is, we haven’t learned to fake it yet… fake intelligence, fake respect, fake listening, fake everything necessary to survive in corporate America, just as other survivors before us have learned and have succeeded because of… and frankly we don’t see the need because we are who we are – and adjusting to others is not what we do – that is what they do for us. Our parents taught us that fact by verbally abusing coaches, teachers and whomever else might hold back or discipline their precious future professional athlete or Harvard graduate, and we have yet to see that theory proven wrong in any capacity of our short lives.
We like to boldly proclaim our independence through the use of colorful Blackberry covers that shout “I couldn’t possibly do any serious business on this phone” and smiley faces, l8rs, & BFNs in emails… through our trendy style of work clothes that no longer need a day/night variation. They scream club, 24/7.
And nightlife is now not only part of the weekend, but also part of the week. So don’t you dare give us 2 much work on Friday – we are hung over, and our friends taking their 6th & 7th college victory laps on their parents’ dimes don’t have class on Fridays, so go F yourself.
We don’t seem 2 think that smacking gum during meetings is annoying or inappropriate… or that propping our feet up on a conference table is slightly disrespectful because, well, we want 2.
We believe that despite what salary.com says about the overpaid nature of our current positions that we are grossly undervalued and underpaid… and that the people before us who paid their dues for years and years are simply not nearly as talented as our pinky was at the mere age of 13. The waiting line for us is non-existent. Our parents showed us that. We deserve the world, and if we want it, we will have it, so fuck U if U tell us otherwise, because U are obviously a moron.
We believe we are entitled 2 a job we don’t just sorta like, but that entertains us nonstop – and if we become slightly disinterested with a position in a couple of months, we deserve to move on to the next, and the next, and the next and the next. But don’t U dare ask me if I have trouble committing 2 something… I didn’t like those jobs. They were stupid and the people managing me were stupid and U are stupid, stupid.
We believe that emails are the best possible form of communication because honestly, we are terrified to talk to you over the phone, and Holy Moses we will never approach U in person. Our people skills are at true shit levels, but we are incredible at confrontation and/or pissing U off via the written word.
We are certain we are geniuses in the gr8est nation in the world, and the old skool workforce that came b4 us is simply inept. Globalization is the key 2 the future, only second 2 us. But don’t U dare ask us if we speak more than one language because that would have required effort, and our parents taught us that effort is indeed unnecessary. Plus, what the hell? U move to America, U learn 2 speak our language or else I’m not doing biz with U b/c I don’t have 2, so there.
Lastly, we deserve. Deserve what, U might ask? U name it. Our parents taught us exactly how special we are and exactly how U other idiots in the world will try and bring us down, but we know the truth. We know U need us. We know we are a superior generation and the systems set in place b4 us that have made companies billions over the past 100 years are simply shit. The world is changing and we are on the cutting edge of, well, everything.
We know this may piss U off, which is fine. Whatev. But U just don’t get how hard we have worked 2 get where we R 2day. We actually had to get up in the morning and drive 2 class (in a car our parents paid for) at college (that our parents paid for) every once in awhile. And these days? Shit. We wake up B4 8am to get ready and go to work, which is ridic. You honestly have no idea what we go thru and what our gen has 2 put up w/… don’t even get us started on actually having 2 physically go pick up our adderall prescription at the doc’s office every month.
N E Wayz, if U have a problem with the harsh realities of the workforce these days & my generations’ future dominance, suck it. B/c guess what… U treat me badly or don’t give me the promotion I want? I’m telling my parents.
Enjoy getting fired & the prospect of a less-than-luxurious nursing home.
How ya like me now, geezer bitches? GEN Y RULZ!
Now, someone get me a match so I can see where that gas smell is coming from.
Friday, August 1, 2008
I love it when someone else does my job for me... what's the point of trying to write a funny headline on purpose when The Dallas Morning News can write this on accident? Here's to hoping they accidentally start doing some other things just as well... like reporting... or circulation statistic compilation... or simply not sucking in general.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
My blind ambition and can-do attitude in this here forest of printer paper, politicking and penny-pinching executives were likely refreshing at some point… and assuredly reminded each of my cube neighbors of the same day they had walked in the door many years, or decades ago.
Now here I sit, with a bulls-eye on my forehead, typing furiously to keep up with the four jobs that have been piled on my sole plate. Cost maintenance, they call it – not layoffs like the rest of the world. I call it the demise of the high-potential, Gen Y employee & shitty management.
I’ve been given a laptop, an unlimited supply of Diet Sunkist, headphones, and a customer support team nine worlds away from me to survive. I tried to fashion a surrender flag out of the Sunkist label, but no one seems to get it… or just too frantic themselves to acknowledge it. Plus, it's sort of orange. That can be confusing. Regardless, my office humor these days seems not nearly as humorous to those who share this jungle with me.
They are all too busy looking for a job… or figuring out a way to screw up their transition documents so badly I can’t help but fail. Based on what I have seen so far, I’m confident it’s the latter. My dog could have eaten an ink cartridge and shit out clearer instructions onto paper than what these people are leaving behind. So it goes.
Back to the jungle, for now. More to come.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
1) To the guy in the Jeep on the other side of 35, thanks for flashing your lights repeatedly, thus saving me from a ticket & a possible physical attack against a cop amidst my deferred adjudication probationary period.
3) To the friend who accompanied me to said bar & blindly encouraged drinks 4 & 5, thus leading me to one miserable, headache & nausea-filled day of segmentation analysis meetings, you suck… in a loving way, of course.
4) To the bitch in the grey Lexus who cut me off today out of nowhere, go fuck yourself. And your car is ugly. No argument necessary, just ugly.
5) To my neighbors whose trashy friends forced my apartment complex to start limiting the number of guests allowed at our pool on the weekends, I repeat, get a job, and maybe some professional help.
6) To these people, stop making me look bad. I like being lazy – love it, actually. This is the only job I have that doesn’t involve, well, work. Let’s keep it that way.7) Last, but certainly not least, to sweet little pasta bowl lady at Eatzi’s with lipstick so perfectly applied even Mary Kay herself would be in awe, you rock my world – and my tummy. Your culinary prowess scared my hangover off so fast I was actually able to enjoy my afternoon nap in the health room at work.
Friday, July 11, 2008
What is it, guys... do you really think you have outsmarted Apple? That they are the morons for selling such a fine piece of equipment for a measely $200? Or is it that they are pure geniuses who held on to their high price point for just long enough to where they have fooled you into believing not only is it a good idea, but a steal at $200.
Even funnier is the anger they exhibit as you snap their photo... with a BlackBerry. "What the fuck are you doing?" the angry Apple-lovers ask. Laughing at your bitch-asses, I think to myself. No, buddy, I'm not emailing this to your boss to whom you will be calling in your sick day tomorrow (from my MacBook Pro, no less, that I bought for a steal at $3,000 - on which I've already had to replace the logic board... twice. Thank goodness for the deal that is AppleCare @ a chintcy $300. I use coupons at Whole Foods & avoid McKinney Ave. gas stations so I can wipe my Apple-loving ass with $300. And so do you, apparently). I know you need that job to pay those credit card bills for all of those necessities you purchase... those items of true need versus want.
Hope 3G is everything you dreamed - and if not, I'm sure Apple will have your next need ready & waiting for a deal... thank the Good Lord for consumers like you, without whom I would not be employed.
UPDATE: I'm sorry, but what? When did free time become as worthless as a guest list as Suite?
Monday, July 7, 2008
Alright, fair enough. They both look like they are about to crap their pants - I think Herb just legitimately might have been constipated.
Nevertheless, when interviewed recently, Gerard Arpey (pictured above), CEO of American Airlines, was quoted discussing increasing flight fees & costs stating he does not think we (AMR) necessarily have done a good job in explaining the impact of high oil prices.
He then went on to explain how 1+1 usually equals 2, that swimming within an hour of eating is bad for your tummy, that Tila Tequila is a dirty pirate hooker and that the earth really is round.
"Holy shit, I had no idea," no one was quoted after reading the interview.
$4.83 & counting, kids. Bankruptcy filing ETA: Aug 31, 2008. Sunday, Bloody Sunday.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
Either way, I find some semblance of comfort knowing I'm not the only idiot up this early... until, of course, we cut to Greg Fields, WFAA weatherman, whose voice cracking every time he uses descriptors like "a leeeeetle bit cloudy today" or "a tiiiinnnny bit of sunshine peeking through" make me want to punch my TV, and whatever God-awful hue of lipstick Alexa Conomos is wearing that day, a leeeeetle bit too aggressively.
Regardless, today was different. Today we were talking about covert ops. The coolest two-word phrase you can ever use - and one that will get heads turning and ears perked no matter what environment you use it in.
Today, I was suckered in. Then, as I stood there and listened, perplexed, Good Morning America reported on how the U.S. is increasing its investment & efforts on covert ops in Iran. Really turning up the volume over there - so shhhhh, America. This is top secret stuff.
So, I apologize for my ignorance on political affairs, but by their nature, aren't covert ops supposed to be, well, covert?
My natural inclination is to believe yes, they are. And an increase in their breadth & depth in Iran would also be classified information if those same operations were actually REAL and/or CURRENT. Don't make me feel like a casino security extra in Ocean's Eleven, bitches.
So, my next thought naturally turned to annoyance, and then anger. No, not out of disgust for my soon-to-be ridiculously & inappropriately long jaunt from my humble abode to the highway, thanks to what has to be a conspiracy by civil engineers to take as long as God-damn possible to finish the road construction between Maple & 35 on Oak Lawn. No, not angry because of that.
My anger stems from the fact that we, unfortunately, are complete dumbasses. At least that is what news outlets like this have to assume for this story to be worth telling. And the fact that it is fed to us as though we are being told the truth is even more embarrassing.
The dollar may be down, the economy may be in the crapper, but one thing is for certain - it will take a lot more than a few shitty days on the stock market for the general population to all of a sudden get the truth, on-time, and in-context. Opposite-day in a DISD budget meeting this most certainly is not.
And it will likely take even more for our government & propagators of its public relations efforts to stop using network news as a soap box and/or indirect communication channel when all other channels have already been destroyed by us, or the more likely culprit - Alexa Conomos's favorite shade of lipstick.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Hope you all are enjoying my lifetime savings. Here are a few additional words of encouragement for you... you cute, cuddly P/E ratios. Just wanna pinch your lil' cheeks.
- You’re on the right track now!
- You’ve got it made.
- That’s right!
- That’s good.
- You’re really working hard today.
- You are very good at that.
- That’s coming along nicely.
- GOOD WORK!
- I’m happy to see you working like that.
- That’s much, much better!
- Exactly right.
- I’m proud of the way you worked today
- You're doing that much better today.
- You’ve just about got it.
- That’s the best you’ve ever done.
- You’re doing a good job.
- THAT’S IT!
- Now you’ve figured it out.
- That’s quite an improvement.
- I knew you could do it.
- Not bad.
- Keep working on it.
- You’re improving.
- Now you have it!
- You are learning fast.
- Good for you!
- Couldn’t have done it better myself.
- Aren’t you proud of yourself?
- One more time and you’ll have it.
- You really make my job fun.
- That’s the right way to do it.
- You’re getting better every day.
- You did it that time!
- That’s not half bad.
Why is my initial reaction to almost all of these "Ehhh, go F yourself"? Corporate America & stocks that do what these are doing today might have something to do with it. Happy Thursday.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Regardless, cheers to you for style points.
The more perplexing thing to me, however, is this line:
“When officers arrived, two men fled – one in the backhoe and one in a car, police said.”
Last time I saw someone travel at a speed in a backhoe that could be defined by policemen in cars that travel up to 140 MPH as 'fleeing', I had just finishing bathing my unicorn in the sea of goody goody gumdrops. She gets sooo dirty sometimes.
Kudos, though, to the DPD for those cat-like reflexes and their lightning-quick speed. I'll be sure and remember that next time I need a handle of Kettle One.
Monday, June 16, 2008
While this isn't exactly Dallas-specific, this city has bored me lately, so as I trolled through my token holiday card default store this past week, my alter-ego Cruella was in full mental swing.
She is the “evil” part of me that can turn any pure, innocent idea into something monetizable - like Father's Day, and she's also the part of me that can go from calm to headcase in about 3 seconds if someone is wasting my time.
Nevertheless, my big money idea this day wasn’t genius – couldn’t possibly be unique or even that profitable, but where the hell are the cards for the dads who aren’t lazy sons of bitches... the dads whose idea of a Father’s Day isn't to sit in a recliner with a beer, belly peeking out of a too-small T-shirt while getting off on having control of the precious remote for one day of the year.
I spent 45 friggin' minutes looking for the one card that actually had my father in mind. I didn’t find it. Because you don't make one, assclowns. So, I did your fucking job for you & wrote my own card.
Maybe I’m naïve, but I have a hard time believing that 98% of dads in this world have raised successful, ambitious children by scratching themselves while napping in a velvet, Coors-stained recliner with the flicker of a football game in the background... or that the majority of daughters purchasing a card for their fathers can find humor in a joke about credit card bills or asking for money.
Hell, Hallmark, maybe I've been wrong for all these years. Maybe there's no better way to say Happy Father's Day than "Thanks for never teaching me to stand on my own two feet, or never conveying the value of a dollar & a hard day's work, or never correcting my idea that credit card bills really don't get paid by the credit card fairy."
Call me crazy, but I needed a card thanking my white collar, non beer-drinking father for his dedication to showing up for thousands of sporting events throughout my childhood, for pushing me by asking “What happened to those three points?” when I brought home a 97 instead of 100, for challenging me to dream big and to dedicate all of myself to my passion in life, for teaching me that this is very much a run-on sentence, for giving me the tools I needed to make it in my career, in this money-washed & value-stripped city, in this life.
He is not a man of transparent connections, or of schmoozing, or of ass-kissing. He is a big thinker, a tough negotiator and a competitive sonuvabitch. He is an entrepreneur – a man whose every minute is precious and who gave many more of them to my family than he ever did to a beer or a recliner.
So, Hallmark – who the hell raised you? I want my 45 minutes back. And you are welcome for purchasing the blank card & doing your job for you – that’ll be $225. Yeah… I forgot to mention, I’m not free. And my hourly rate increases for morons. Daddy didn’t raise no fool.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
And based on this wholesome pic and the myriad of strange you have left behind in your hayday, your game's synonymity to Magic's likely doesn't stop at the court.
To each his own, however. All I really need is to get a few more good years out of you... so, Vitamin C, my friend. Vitamin C.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Dear Jackie O,
Did you see my sexy new headshots? They are H.O.T. Black Noir magazine, here I come.
Sluttin It Up While Layin It Down,
Dear Random Barely-Clothed Girl In My Pool Yesterday,
Sweet Lord Almighty. I’m not sure what was worse – you on all fours on the limestone waterfall while I tried to keep my dinner down, or the fact that I am 100% officially not stepping foot in my pool for the rest of the summer.
And I know you were hot on the trail of finding them, but the keys to the shame box surprisingly were not near your crotch – as your hands suggested many times. I’d check with the guy who convinced you to pose first, actually.
All my love,
Dear Jackie O,
We stand firmly behind our recent decision to charge $15 per bag. Not to mention, we are quoting all over the press that this change “would affect fewer than one in four customers this summer and won't lengthen lines at boarding gates.”
So, nothing to worry about!
Blanket ‘AA Representative' Not Actually Naming Any Real Person to Avoid Responsibility
Dear AA PR Department,
We aren’t that stupid. Seriously. Give me a little credit. The wait times won’t increase? Oh really.
Soo… more people will be carrying on bags now than previously, correct? And even before your piss-poor attempt at getting the entire industry to instate these new fees, it took for frickin’ ever to board a plane thanks to the slow-ass people in front of me trying to fit a circle into a overhead compartment square.
"It doesn’t fit, assclowns!" Keep moving. Yet they keep trying. And wasting my time.
So, where was I… Anyway, your assumption must be that if the lines don’t get longer, then people would have to get smarter.
Somehow, thanks to random aspiring-models who taint my pool & pictures like this, I don’t see that coming… ironically, though, this picture shows our world may be much more genius than we ever might have thought. The pool bitch, however? Still in the shame box.
All my love,
Dear Jackie O,
Did you hear our computers were down all morning? We couldn’t check for warrants, previous tickets, or any gosh-darn thing. Sounds like a morning off to me! Thank God I don’t need navigation to make it to the Burger King on Lemmon.
Havin' It My Way,
Dear Thorns in My Side,
I’m aware. And you’re welcome. I was running a little late. And I’m on probation - as you know. To make it on time I needed to go 94 – and as Officer Philips so bluntly told me in May, you tend to not like that. If I have to get a little creative to snag a few extra minutes of sleep – damnit, I will. See you on my way home, beetches.
All my love,
Monday, June 2, 2008
This is the scene I was so pleasantly able to witness on Friday as I worked from home – kicking myself for having chosen a unit so damn close to the pool. As I tried to hide in my closet while presenting my new strategic plan via conference call to VP of my department, my ability to muffle the spring break-ish noise from his ears was somewhat lacking.
“What is that?” he asked. “Are you in a stadium or something?”
As I hang up the phone, my first inclination is to open my balcony door, and scream expletives including “Get a ?#@*ing JOB & get the ?#@* out of my pool, assclowns.”
Then I realized the folly in my plan. I would be saving them a great deal of thought & time in deciding where to target a barrage of raw eggs.
The issue here, really, is who the hell are these people? Homeless people with access to Trina Turk swimwear? Recently laid off sales people? Or are they simply 25-year-olds still managing to suck college education money out of their parents who they have convinced an undergrad degree takes 8 years. Who knows, but the syphilis remnants likely left floating in my pool are the only telltale sign of any kind of activity involving hard jobs. Pun intended.
So as my day began to wind to an end, and I was so glad to have made it through yet another week of hellishly-busy work disallowing me from even thinking about blogging recently, I came across yet another sight to behold in my parking garage.
‘Is that girl …?’ I thought to myself. No. Couldn’t be.
As I got closer, and watched the puddle grow, her drunkass friend walked toward me on a cell phone complaining about being lost on the property, in the big bad scary world of McMansion apartments.
I sat there. Shocked. And what I thought couldn’t possibly be true, was. That bitch had just peed in my parking garage – not ten feet from my car.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I asked. Her lazy drunk eyes communicated her disinterest in me or my question, as she pulled her bikini bottoms back up and stumbled toward her friend.
At that point, I threw my hands in the air and called it a day.
And as I drove off to pick up my Potbelly Wreck, hold the oil, I thought about the lucky recruiters all over Dallas who are probably dealing with candidates like the Parking Lot Pee Bandit I had just encountered. What a treat.
Get excited, Dallas corporations. We are training up leaders here in this fine city. Elite education, I think they call it. True game-changers. Your HR departments have a lot to look forward to in the coming year, so Pony Up. Coors Light, 50K graduation-present cars & $1,000 allowances just ain’t cutting it any more.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Let's take for instance the 28-year-old manager who sits next to me. He rolls in to his perfectly hidden cube most days around 10:15am without making so much as a peep, pretends he is going to work verrry very late, makes overt comments about how huge his pile of work is that he has to get done that evening, but rolls out about five minutes after the last person who can ever have a hand in deciding his fate leaves. Genius.
Maybe this is all just telling me I'm a huge idiot. That basically 98% of the people at my company are much, much smarter than I, because my dumbass is actually working. In theory, though, that would make the board much, much dumber than I, becuase that means they are paying 98% more in operating costs than what it takes to actually run the company.
Whatever. All I know is that work is a royal beating. And Eve's conniving bitchass can suck it.
I'll be back soon. De-lame-ified.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
All I'm asking is for Uchi to ScUchi its way up to the DF-Dub. Gotta love those horribly cheesy Tuesday morning puns. Clever obviously hasn't quite kicked in yet for the week, or the year for that matter.
Regardless, I need this restaurant in Dallas, please. This old house has turned in to one of the top restaurants in Austin, and I fell in love right away. I promise it would thrive. We have plenty of pretentious people in Dallas willing to pay $16 for an appetizer requiring you to cook your own beef. Hell, charge us $20. We'll gladly pay it and snicker at the bill while whispering to one another about how cheap our night out was.
So what are you waiting for? Rolling hills? Gorgeous trees? An actual scene that wasn't created by concrete & credit limits? All the things that enticed you open your doors in Austin in the first place? Hmm. Well... I hear DeSoto has some property for quite a deal. Or maybe Grand Prairie? And are you sure you really need trees? I could fashion you one out of concrete if this really is a deal breaker...
Saturday, May 17, 2008
UPDATE: Pics below. Blurry, yes. But I didn't major in photography, assclowns, and I hope Perez Hilton & every other celeb blog out there won't care while they rip off my pics. Oh, I feel so used. (Use me, please. Use me.)
That bitch can move. Fast. She has perfected the art of flying by a camera at 100mph so the final shot looks like, well, this. And as the ladies behind me snapped a shot as well when the crew walked in, she mouthed a sweet little "WTF" to her new beau, Lance. I mean, really, Kate? Let's see. You choose maybe the most popular spot to dine in Austin on the Saturday of the UT's graduation ceremony and are shocked when someone snaps your picture upon arrival? Yes, we read celebrity gossip in Texas, too. And no, we haven't forgotten how loudly you cheered AGAINST the Mavericks in last year's short-lived playoff run. So you are lucky I didn't bum-rush your ass on the spot.
Kate seemed to be kissing ass like it was her job with Lance's kids, as she patted them on the head while helping them to some of Hula Hut's famous salsa & chips. Cheers to the soon-to-be former happy couple.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Dear Jackie O,
My stock is soaring so, so high!! Tee hee. Can’t you just feel the excitement all the way from up here in Plano? I heart HP. Tee hee.
E to tha D to tha S
Dear EDS/Worst & Most-Overpriced Tech Support Provider in this Great State,
Does this mean HP will take over our IT support? Thank GOD. Now pack up your shit and get the hell out.
All my love,
Dear Jackie O,
I heard you calling us a nasty word that rhymes with duckers behind us as we got on the plane this weekend. Totally unnecessary, and we had every right to be there. Just so you know.
Big Huge Giant Seat Stealers
Dear Annoying Identically-Dressed Couple from My Southwest Flight Home Sunday,
Let me explain. B18 is B18. Not B1. I’m sure you probably missed the 8. I get it. Really, I do. Like when I get a tab for $18, sometimes I accidentally only pay $1. Or when I turned 18, I thought my mom screwed up on the cake and was celebrating my first birthday. Totally understandable. But for someone like myself who woke up early on a Sunday to check in online, and beat your ass to the punch, I find it ridiculous of you to think everyone was dumb enough not to notice, other, of course, than the gate agent scanning your ticket whose only job IS actually to notice. Thanks, Southwest. Me and B3-C60 who rode in the biotch seat all the way home ‘preciate it.
All my love,
Dear Jackie O,
So, when are you quitting your job to have behbies? I mean, I know you aren’t married or anything, and obviously will need countless hours of help not sucking at being a mom, but I’m perfect in every way, so I’ll gladly help you out.
Dear Most Annoying Girl in My Bunco Group (yes, I play bunco. I like to drink, so suck it.),
#1 In the words of Whitney Houston, Hell-to-the-No
#2 If you so much as think about bringing up different sizes for breast pumps you tried last week or other ridiculously gross topics such as what your placenta looked like, I will, without a doubt, punch you in the face. And after that, I’ll gladly entertain you with a single gal’s version of that convo.
“So I gave this awesome blow job last week. Did you know there is something called the R Spot on a guy?”
All my love,