Thursday, March 31, 2005

Killing Me Softly

Lots of folks seem intent on teasing the tiger today (not that I’m a tiger or can’t take a fair bit of teasing but it’s a saying). Either that or there is some sign hanging over my head that says “It’s Annoy the Ever-loving Shit Out of Floyd Day – Step Right Up, It’s Your Turn To Take A Poke!”

So, gentle reader, I submit for your consideration the following folks:

1. The “I’m Going to Tell You a Story that Has No Point or Redeeming Value Whatsoever” Person. You know the one – the one who wants to tell you that her daughter had peas last night for dinner. And so I sit here with a feigned look of interest on my face and wait for the point of this titillating legume drama to have a point and then it slowly dawns on me that whatever she last uttered was the conclusion of the story. Apparently, I, being a dumbass, missed that the whole point was that “precious [INSERT QUEER ASS NEW-AGEY NAME HERE] ate her whole plate of peas!”. I digest this information and not wanting the humorless twit to feel awkward (cause that would just be wrong even though by boring me to tears she is committing same said awkward atrocity against me), I then add some little pearl of wisdom like, “Peas are good for you.”

However, what goes through my mind is a little something more like this - Hey, dumbass, catch a clue. Story is not funny and has no point. It does not make your kid cute nor does it make your kid particularly clever. And the fact that you tell this story while chuckling makes me concerned for your mental health and overall well-being. Give me a call when you serve the kid peas and she says, “Suck it, Mom, I’m gonna use my peas as ben-wa balls on my Suzy Pees A Lot Doll”. Now, that’s a story I want to hear.

2. Mr. “Yeah, You Let Me Over In Bumper to Bumper Traffic But I’m Not Going to Give You the Thank You Wave”. Where has civility gone, people? When you are the recipient of a driving courtesy, you need to render the obligatory little thank you wave in your rearview mirror. That’s all I ask. Is it too much? Too much to throw up your little limp wristed, pussy whipped hand? Too tired from running errands for you wife? Well, if it is too much, fair enough but I don’t want to hear you complain when I yell “FUCK OFF” to you even when you seem to have a load full of little girl scouts with you in your minivan – they were late delivering my cookies anyway and their little green uniforms are creepy.

3. The “I Somehow Got Your Cell Phone Number” Bill Collector Guy. You know what, guy? Causing my cell phone to play Jay Z’s Brush That Dirt Off Your Shoulder ring tone in the middle of my quiet-as-a-crypt office does not make me want to pay you any faster. In fact, since you are too chicken shit to leave a message, I don’t even know which one of you jackoffs I’m supposed to pay. I realize in your little harassment manual it says to simply “don’t leave a message, keep calling - the deadbeat has to answer her phone sometime” but I am here to tell you that is simply not true. I managed to avoid the student loans folks for years and let me tell you – YOU ARE NO STUDENT LOAN PEOPLE. While I am a pushover in real life, I play the phone games like no other – I am the master and I have a little secret weapon I like to refer to as “caller ID”. This means suck it, Bill Collector Guy. You’ll get your money when someone dies and leaves me some.

And,oh yeah, family returns from spring break tomorrow....might have something to do with my crankiness today.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Smooth Talker

You ever have one of those conversations that starts to get a little uncomfortable or you just don’t know what to say next but then your brain, that really didn’t check in with you first, blurts out something completely obscure.

Let me give you an example, gentle reader.

Boss pops in to follow up on some work. Pleasant conversation (for once, thank god). He, being the nice person that he is and remembering that Princess of Darkness is in Florida this week, says “So how are things at home? Enjoying some time by yourself?”

Now, attempting to complete the circle of small talk, I say “Things are good. It’s been nice to be alone.”

But then in my “must analyze every single little statement death” freak out mode I start to worry cause I don’t want folks to think I don’t love the Princess, so I then say “But I miss her.”

We’re all okay up to this point. Things are smooth. Appropriate pleasantries have been exchanged and if I just keep my mouth shut for 2.7 seconds, I can get out of this conversation and return to contemplating the snot that is dripping down the back of my throat.

But then in my usual “can’t leave any spec of dead air unfilled” obsession, my brain feels compelled to add one more little gem…..and WAAAAIIIIT FOR IT…..

“You know I miss her….kinda like a dog”.

Yeeeaahhhh. Boss just tilts head to the side, kinda looks at me oddly and walks out of office. I’m expecting a call from Child Services any minute now.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Elvis and I at Talladega '04
P.S. No breastuses were shown in the acquirement of these beads. However, I think Elvis got a few in honor of his gut.
Posted by Hello

So Enough About Me...How 'Bout We Talk About Me?

Okay, so in blogworld, everyone has done this "100 Things About Me" sort of project so I thought I would give it a whirl.

I will not be posting 100 outright as I do intend to keep my day job but I'll throw a few out there and then add on as we go along. I also intend to not count the basic facts so rest assured that you're only getting the more obscure issues of my personality.

So without further ado....100 Things About Me That You Probably Didn't Know (Or Don't Want to Know)

1. My fear of clowns is only surpassed by my fear of balloons (this despite the fact that I worked in a balloon store for three years in college for a guy that dressed up as a clown for deliveries).

2. I cry at each and every Extreme Makeover: Home Edition...and not just at the end...I weep through the whole damn thing.

3. I follow the rules. Hate breaking the rules. Never break the rules.

4. I think people who allow hairs to grow out of their facial moles should die a slow and painful death. ( do you miss a 4 inch whisker sticking out of your growth?)

5. I like peanut butter AND syrup on my pancakes. Don't knock it 'till you try it.

6. Despite the fact that I am a lawyer, I have little or no opinion on the following items and anything I'm telling you on these subjects, I'm probably pulling it out of my ass and saying them just to piss you off :
a. the Terry Schiavo case
b. O.J. Simpson case

c. prayer in schools
d. buring the flag
e. the lady who won a quadrillion dolllars for spilling McDonald's hot coffee in her lap

7. I used to have a serious addiction to Afrin nosespray....seriously....a serious addiction. Love that stuff.

8. I think the Beatles are overrated....yeah, I said it...sometimes enjoyable but OVERRATED.

9. I drink Bud Light. And no, I will not enjoy your Guatemalen Fruit Bat Beer nor will enjoy something you whipped up in the basement from some micro-brewery kit you mother-in-law gave you for Christmas. It tastes like donkey dung.

10. While I drink Bud Light, I occasionally visit my friends Jim Beam and Jose Cuervo. And if you're lucky, I won't visit them on the same night.

11. My mother, Captain Nutty, used to refer to Oprah (whom she worships with a cult-like reverence) as the "Big O" until I informed her that particular phrase has another meaning.

12. I dress like the bastard love child of JCPenny and Old Navy....with perhaps a little post-coital rubdown by Lane Bryant.

13. I think the only places you should be barefoot are in your own house or at the beach....never in the office....NEVER, EVER IN THE OFFICE.

14. I can recite all of the the lyrics to Beastie Boys' License to Ill album.

15. I know mountains upon mountains of useless trivia and if we are playing trivial pursuit, you want me on your team. (Please note: this in no way is any indication of my intelligence as all this information is completely unnecessary in the real world)

16. I'm good with babies and always a little shocked that my friends find this so shocking.

17. I have the handwriting of a serial killer.

18. I was kinda hit by lightning once so I am now petrified of it (and if you're following along, you know now my worst nightmare would be to be chased by a clown in an electrical storm with my only weapon being a bunch of overinflated balloons).

19. If you listen carefully and pay close attention, I will contradict myself on numerous occassions.

20. Deep, deep down, I am convinced that I will marry Dale Earnhardt, Jr. (or at least, Elliott Sadler).

21. I'm always checking my nostrils to make sure I don't have bats in my cave.

22. There is a distinct possibility that I am the laziest person you know.

23. I used to read a lot of books - then only magazines could keep my attention and now I'm down to catalogs with pretty pictures.

24. I am a Nascar fan and while I realize that you may not be, I do not have the time nor inclination to explain to you "what is so exciting about watching cars go around and around?". Guess what? You're not the first person to say that, it wasn't funny when they said it and it's still not funny coming from you.

25. I let my little sister, the Princess of Darkness, paint her room black and I actually kinda like it.

26. I really thought I would be famous by now....I don't know for what, but definitely thought I would be famous.

27. I cuss like a sailor, drink like a mick and my only words of wisdom are to suck my .....a little shout out to Kid Rock.

28. My favorites sayings are many but two top ones are "Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean someone isn't out to get me" and "Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, baby".

29. I have found myself listening to the easy rock radio station more and more lately and this frightens me on a deep and fundamental level.

30. When I was 8, I attempted to smell the bottom of the pool because my cousin came up out of the water and told me it smelled like strawberries. I almost drown.

31. Just because in your words, I'm "sooooo outgoing" does not mean I want to date your [INSERT - brother, brother-in-law, cousin, husband's old roomate, guy you work with, lawn man, kid's little league coach, guy you pass at the bus station every day who keeps asking you for change] "who is sooooo nice but just a little shy". NEWSFLASH - outgoing people don't like shy people. Shy people are beedy-eyed and creepy. You can't know what's going on in their heads since they don't talk so they're probably thinking about ways to slap a piece of duct tape over my mouth. Set the shy guys up with the ugly girls - they don't mind as much.

Well, on that note, I'll shuffle off to hell where after this little exercise, I'm sure I'm destined. I think I've scared myself a bit. If I haven't chased you off with my own pathology, please share a tidbit or two about yourself in the comments section. The more obscure, the better.

Thursday, March 24, 2005

For Those Following Along At Home...

So I went and added a little counter/statistics thingy to my little blog project and well, smack my ass and call me Sally but I had 74 hits today! Now, excluding the 58 times I checked in to see if anyone actually posted a comment (yes, loser friends, that is directed at you - post a comment, please!) and the like 8 of my pals that know about this blog, that still leaves at least a few folks that are new and complete strangers!

So a big shoutout to all my new internet pals! I thought I would help you out and give you a bit of a run down on this shitbag I am currently referring to as my life. You know - just to help you understand the bitterness and rampant cyncism. For those of you who already know me, well, just settle down, Skippy, we'll get back to new stuff soon.

I'm single. I'm 34. I'm bitter.

Okay, all done.

No, just kidding. Let's see - I find my profession a wee bit stifling (read: mind numblingly boring) but as yet I can see no way to make money whilst sitting on my ass on my couch all day yelling at the various talk shows- yet. So for now, I work. Okay, I go to work....actual output of quality product? Minimal.

You'll often see me refer to the Princess of Darkness or POD. POD is my 14 year old little sister that is currently living with me. She has a few little quirks and issues which are we dealing with as they pop up (you know - a little mental illness plus a little love of the goth life - what kid doesn't have the same thing going on?). Our parents live in the North away from our madness as they are focused on their own particular chess match with insanity otherwise known as my mother, Captain Nutty.

Cowboy Dan, Kitty and Fat Baby's Mamma are all my best friends even though they live in different cities. And no, those name aren't aliases - it's really what I call them. I'm a firm believer in nicknames since when drinking, I'm apt to forget your god-given name but will remember to call you something inappropriate and occassionally witty.

Hobbies....let's see....drinking, cussing and going to Nascar races. Aren't I a peach? I'm really not as redneck as that sounds but hey, you stick to your knitting and I'll stick to my drinking. Your hobby probably sucks since it doesn't make you puke on a regular basis.

Okay, so there's your update! I'll eventually copy this into my profile once I figure out how to do shit on this shit (see that? random, pointless cussing - I'm all about random, pointless cussing).

I don't know how to list my favorite blogs on the side in a neat little category yet but these are the folks that make me laugh every day. (And no comparing how funny they are compared to me - bat rastards)

Deborah (my new friend, Deborah, who might not know she's my new friend)
Bad News Hughes (funny as all hell)
Pixie (my other new pal)

So guess who learned to put a link in her blog today? You're damn skippy, ME! (see? more random, more pointless)

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Forgive My Absence As I Was Celebrating A.S.S.

Hello, gentle readers. I have missed you. Sorry for my absence but rest assured I have spent the past few days wallowing in the beer filled paradise that is my life – in other words, I’ve been bogged down with the details of functioning and couldn’t find time for you, gentle reader, but have no fear, I’m back and semi-sober to boot.

Spent the weekend at the Atlanta Race with Cowboy Dan, Kitty and my father. That’s right – my father accompanies us to all Atlanta Races to ensure I do not besmirch the fine family name….but he’s rarely that successful at it.

We managed to worm our way into the Victory Lane celebration after the truck race and generally made large, loud redneck asses out of ourselves by telling Ron Hornaday (winner of said truck race) to move his little victory party over so we could get a picture of ourselves with a cell phone camera. Please note – carting around all your beer goodness in a little cooler on wheels does not garner the respect and admiration you may initially think in Victory Lane.

On Saturday, we celebrated A.S.S., the new holiday known as Anal Sex Saturday. Now, let me be perfectly clear, by celebrating I mean I used the phrases “he clearly took it up the poop shoot last night” or “her’s is soooo NOT an exit only orifice” or “he’s got an ass for loving and a face for the pillows” on several occasions. I find if you really want to get a party rocking and get the folks a movin’ – mention a little ass play and watch the mayhem ensue. Please note - I in no way support or condemn folks’ interests in the anal arts – your backdoor, your choice – I however do not practice such tomfoolery as I am not married and am therefore still a virgin (that one’s for you Daddy!).

I tried to kill myself with a new drink concoction made be a track friend of ours – it’s called a Whopatoolie or the Whatoosie or the Whopapoolooza…depending on stage of drunkenness and general feelings of wittiness the drinker enjoys. This elixir is made of tequila and sugar….and frankly, that’s about it. Like Lucky Charms, it is magically delicious and may cause you to see elves. Please note – the amount of Whoppaponoosies I consumed may explain my invention of A.S.S. and the fact that I felt the need to carry Anal Sex Saturday over into Anal Sex Sunday.

As usual a fun time was had by all. There was some racing – hats off for Carl Edwards, Mr. Horse Teeth himself for pulling both a Busch win and a Cup win out of his hat – and there was a lot of drinking and appropriately, even more laughs.

So, let me just say a big “thanks for the memories or drunken lack thereof” to Cowboy Dan and Kitty….and next time, the dinette set is all mine.

Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot

P.S. I have returned home where Captain Nutty is visiting for the week and is thus driving myself and the Princess of Darkness into general “in need of a straight jacket” land. Next week, Captain will be taking the Princess to Florida for spring break and I will be enjoying a return to single, childless land. To celebrate, I may just have to break out a Whapparoozie.

Friday, March 11, 2005

Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid

Seriously, it’s all just too much pressure. Feel the need to post something and say something amusing but I’m concerned that all my thoughts are not humorous but really quite alarming in that “she’s gonna get a pistol and take out her neighbors” sort of way. But then I think, “hey, gentle readers can’t REALLY know me unless I share”….so I think I’m going to share.

Here are some thoughts that literally, all joking aside, have gone through my head today. I think I may be in need of some medication:

Is it just me or does “pistol whip” sound dirtier than it actually is?

Why don’t we say “bat whipped” or “lead pipe whipped”?

How does a guy shoot 3 people on the 8th floor of the freaking courthouse and yet still manage to avoid capture and continue to run rampant through the city?

Did he ride the elevator down?

Did he not encounter several other deputies with guns?

Did they not know he was in the elevator? Someone should have told them that he was either in the elevator or in the stairwell. Would have made for an easy capture.

God, I need a beer.

What are the odds that I will spot said crazed courthouse gunman on the expressway and have to drive my car into his thus resulting in a horrifying car accident which would wreck my classic good looks but would surely save humanity from further death?

Wonder if there would be a reward for such a selfless yet disfiguring act?

Perhaps a marble bust put up in some town square in my honor?

Would the bust be of me pre- or post- disfiguring accident?

Wonder if my plastic surgeon would fall in love with me…

If I went crazy, who would I shoot? (No need to actually warn the FBI or anything, I’m just curious as to who would bear the brunt of my frustrations...several candidates pop to mind)

I would shoot this ass munch in front of me who thinks 46 miles per hours is an appropriate speed in the fast lane.

God, I need a beer.

I really, really hate riding in elevators with strangers.

I really, really hate riding in the elevator with the woman who regularly stinks up the bathroom on our floor.

I bet people living in Rhodesian mud huts don’t have to deal with people who have poor public bathroom etiquette.

God, I need a beer.

I’m still unclear as to exactly all the word “sodomy” encompasses (and no, this is not a request for you to fill me in on this topic).

This time next week, I’ll be drunk at the Atlanta race.

Wonder what size Michael Jackson’s weiner is.

Wonder if it’s white.

Wonder if he’s had plastic surgery on it.

God, I need a beer.

Hmmm…I wonder if the receptionist has noticed how many times I’ve hit the candy dish.

Has the boss left yet?

Hope there’s not traffic between me and the bar.

Hope there’s not a crazed courthouse gunman between me and the bar.

Hope I don’t have to skip drinking because I’m in a disfiguring accident with a crazed courthouse gunman.

God, I need a beer.

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Why You Want To Be Me - You Really, Really Do

Alas, I realize that it has been quite some time since I last posted which does not really bode well for the readers participating in Reader Participation Day 2005. But to know me is to know my chronic procrastination and general empathy of all things pressing.

Without further ado, I have to give a shout-out to Cowboy Dan who correctly pegged the “Despite all my bitching and moaning, I’m still a corporate attorney” as the most annoying factor of my life on that particular day. So, a big whoop-whoop to Cowboy Dan. Despite her relative youth, she is oddly in touch with the bitterness that is the inner me.

Honorable mentions must go to Kitty and Fat Baby’s Mamma who spotted the close runner-ups of dog dying and kid I babysat getting married. Note to all concerned – dog is not dying, he is merely diabetic meaning no more twinkies for him and a lifetime revolving around giving him insulin shots for me.

I apologize for the delay in posting but it has been busy this past week or so. I have spent my time attending to the following:

1. Keeping Princess of Darkness away from the darkness…..go to the light, Princess, go to the light!

2. Trying to convince Captain Nutty that the best way to help was NOT by moving down here to live with me and thus driving me insane as well. My family has a need to make everyone around them mentally unstable. If you dare to stop smiling, my mother will calmly suggest that you need an anti-depressant….and then she’ll throw in a “it will help with your weight as well” which is really just the same as saying “hey, fattie, some pills might help that obsessive love affair with French fries that you’ve got going on so why don’t you fake a little mental illness and belly up to the pill bar with the rest of the family”.

3. Been keeping my job. Have become somewhat paranoid considering all the articles that seem to be popping up everywhere about people losing their jobs because of their blogs. Thus no references to job will be made and the threats on the health and welfare of Anal Coworker’s family will herein be restated – I know where you live and I know how to take a hamster and rig an Easy-Bake Oven to make it all look like an accident.

So now I would like to interrupt this recap of last week to share with you, gentle reader, the phone conversation that I just had with the Princess of Darkness ("POD"):

POD (in general funeral dirge mode) : “hello”

Me (in admittedly annoying peppy mode): “Hi!”

POD: “oh hi”

Me: “How was school?”

POD: “why?”

Me: “because I want to know how your day went”

POD: “why?”

Me: “because I love and care about you”

POD: “why?”

Me: “IT’S CALLED SMALL TALK – GET OVER IT. now, how was your day?”

POD: (heavy sigh) “fine”

Me: (and here you can just see me begging for punishment) “what are you doing?”

POD: “why?”

Me: “because I love and care about you”

POD: (heavy sigh) “watching tv”

Me: “do you have any homework?”

POD: (heavy sigh) “why?”

Me: “screw this. I know monkeys with better conversational skills – clean the kitchen”

POD: “fine” click

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, envy me….envy me.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Reader Participation Day 2005

Well, gentle reader; it’s time to determine how well you know me. That’s right! For shits and giggles, it’s reader participation day. I’m going to list a few things that are currently bugging the crap out of me. Your job is to see if you can rank the top five, in order, and then you will win a nifty prize (to be determined later but don’t be expecting more than a shoutout cause I’m thinking it’s gonna be a shoutout).

So without further ado, welcome the Reader Participation Day 2005.

Please rank the following in order of overall "buggin the crap out of me":

- Hey, ABC, it don’t take no 3 freaking hours to tell me Jen dumped both Bachelors, you rat bastards! Jen deserves to be in a disfiguring automobile accident and I think old weak-lipped John Paul may be just the guy to do it.

- The Princess of Darkness is still….well….dealing in the darkness.

- If it’s true that money can’t buy happiness, then why do I have savings accounts? DAMMIT!

- People who have to use exclamation points in order to get their point across. We get the goddamn point! Stop being so fucking excited!

- Captain Nutty is still….well….dealing in the nutty.

- I think my dog is dying or else he’s just faking it so I’ll leave his old ass alone - which would mean I’ve now been officially rejected by the only male in my life that hasn’t run screaming from me. *This excludes Daddy as he don’t run much…or scream much.

- Hey, Tracy Chapman, I got a fast car and it’s fast enough so we can drive away….. but I still ain’t got no better life, you lyin’ bitch!

- I hate people who aren’t creative enough so they use song lyrics from the late ‘80s to make their point.

- Hey, Fox, it don’t take no 3 freaking days to eliminate a couple of lounge lizard singers, you rat bastards! You can take your text message voting and shove it up your crack pipe.

- Despite all my bitching and moaning, I’m still an attorney….or as Billy Corrigan likes to say “despite all my rage, I’m still just a rat in a cage.” True words, Billy, true words.

- So I’m driving by this pasture the other day and this Holstein cow sees me and goes, “hey fattie, lay off the cheese products”.

- I’m not recycling so I’m surely contributing to the downfall of the environment….oh wait…I don’t have kids so why do I give a fuck?!? Go hump a tree, you patchouli smelling grapenut.

- A girl I used to babysit when I was a teenager is getting married in the Hamptons this fall…and unless some sort of nuclear blast that disfigures the whole world except for me occurs and I am the only remaining female with viable eggs (which let’s be frank – we’re not all too sure of that NOW)… I will most likely not beat her to the altar…..hell, odds of me finding a date prior to September? Nill.

Please submit all answers to my email. Have fun gentle reader as I must stop now before the temples in my head explode leaving an unsavory mess on the office walls.

Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot

P.P.S. Anal Coworker has informed me that it is not Billy "Corrigan" so much as it is "Corgan"...clearly Anal Coworker is focusing too much on the literal meaning and not so much the overall picture conjured. His youth must have been spent banging his head along with various other malcontents at Smashing Pumpkins concerts. Name change, duly noted