Complaints R Us

complaintsmy phone is acting wonky.
i can barely keep my eyes open.
i didn’t finish cleaning up my dining room.
the neighbors are making weird noises that sound like one of those old school talking dolls, but underwater.
the laundry pile is sitting there mocking me. i actually heard it laughing.
my emails are sitting there, waving.
i want to pull out my hair- which also is seriously in need of coloring.
so- i guess i have to add “I NEED TO ALSO COLOR MY HAIR”
i kind of want to go out tonite to watch RuPaul at the bar, but that would require changing out of sweats.
i reaaaaallllllly want to comment on someone’s blog that needs a good kick in the pants…….. but i won’t.
or will i?
i REALLY should go to the gym tonite.
i’m running out of things to complain about.
i don’t want to do anything but watch Downton Abbey.
i have the attention span of a kindergartener.

all of these things.
BUT! i did get enough stuff done last week so that no one has to throw me off a cliff! so there’s that!
plus i had a great fun-filled weekend. i only hope that i can finish my TO DO list in full this week.
here’s hoping.


Stereotypically Bad Neighbors

leavei always dreamed about living in a neighborhood with block parties, and pitchers of shared lemonade on the porch.  days of washing cars and warms summer nights filled with sparklers and barbecues.  now?  i’m just thrilled when i can walk out to turn my car on in the morning and not find nails in my tire or eggs on my windshield.  i unfortunately have douchebag neighbors.  like the worst kind too- non stop barking outdoor dog, parking space hogging, 400 noisy ill-mannered kids, constant obnoxious visitors…. the 2 bedroom duplex next door to me contains at least a dozen people, at any any given time.  and did i mention the barking dog?

there’s no sense complaining, but all i will say, is that if i had a taser-  i won’t finish that sentence. every night before bed, i get down on my knees and pray to all of the prayable gods and goddesses that they will just disappear overnight.  POOF!  gone!  just like when the last bunch of crappyawful neighbors got evicted NOT for selling drugs out of the apartment, or because they had TWO GI-NORMOUS pit bulls that clearly were rescued from dogfighting rings (NOT IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD, for the record)- but because they were behind on their rent.  good thing the landlord has his priorities straight.

i can dream about clam bakes and street long yard sales but intstead i have constant screeching, barking and obviously unsupervised teenager parties.  it aint no Cleavers or Bradys up in here on Oakley Avenue, that’s for sure.

It’s Your Job Now, D’ya Hear Me?

to doi’m not sure if it’s the three cups of coffee or just a week’s worth of pent up guilt, but i’m twitchy enough to get my ass in gear and start crossing stuff off of THE GI-NORMOUS TO DO LIST OF DOOM… i’d like to thank my friends for peer pressuring me into starting six more projects and this cold February weather for my incredibly flaky DEFCON TWO-level itchy dry skin.

i’m giving myself ONE WEEK to finish everything on the aforementioned GI-NORMOUS TO DO LIST.  one.  ONE.  that’s it.  JUST ONE GODDAMN WEEK.  i can’t take it anymore.  it’s me or THE DAMNED LIST.   if i don’t finish it all, you have my permission make that, THE OBLIGATION to pitch me off of the front of a boat,  Jack-from-the-Titanic-style…. just chuck me right off.  i’m not even joking.  i don’t even care if i’m on fire and running from a pack of rabid, poorly dressed drag queens, if by next Monday the 24, i don’t have every single thing on my list done- it is YOUR RESPONSIBILITY, dear reader, to throw me the fuck off a boat…(or cliff, whichever is more convenient for you.)


Well, it IS Monday.

It’s monday and that only means one thing- trying to get my life back on track, again, cause, well, it IS monday.  time to play catch up. time to clean the house up from weekend destruction, write, errands, work on getting my son a new job, restart that diet, recommit to getting back to the gym (“for serious this time”), going into the week with a fresh and positive outlook, you know how you do, cause it IS monday.

and here it is.  almost 4pm, and i’ve done little more than some virtual farming, set up and Etsy shop finally, go with my boyfriend to get fingerprinted for his name change, and lots of dicking around.  a whole lotta nothing.

i did shower and get dressed, which, at this moment in time, seems like a miracle.  but i accomplished exactly NOTHING, and now that i’ve been sitting with a heating pad on my back, any sort of motivation  that i MIGHT have had- is floating out the door.  it looks less and less likely that i’ll be doing too much of value now.  we can only hope, BUT, i aint holding my damn breath.

gotta get out of my pajamas (i threw them BACK on the second i walked back in the door, nearly clotheslining the dogs with my bra in the process), go scrape the snow off my car, fill the car up with gas, hit the library, meet a friend for coffee and see what that does for my day.  right now- all i want to do is stare at the cobwebs on my ceiling.  guess i have to add that to my list too. great.

My Face Isn’t Red, But My Fridge is GROSS

  1. i unapologetically love The Bee Gees.
  2. i shovel the sidewalk, get the mail and scrape ice off my car in snowman pajamas.
  3. i have spent lots of time at “clothing optional” campgrounds and i am a big ol fat girl.
  4. i often eat cereal for dinner.
  5. i didn’t learn how to drive or get my license until i was 25 years old.
  6. i used to work at an “adult bookstore” and helped people buy vibrators and porn.
  7. i now clean houses for a living.
  8. i hated being pregnant. all nine months and didn’t think childbirth was beautiful or magical.
  9. i still have to look at the keys sometimes to type.
  10. i cry when i do my taxes because i hate math so much.
  11. i graduated from art school but can’t draw very well.
  12. i lie and say that i am paying attention to people when try and give me directions, when really i’m ignoring them and just go and google it.
  13. i despise shopping and would rather get my clothes from a thrift store, department stores make my skin crawl.
  14. i am openly bisexual.
  15. i don’t believe in ghosts even though my mother was an ordained Spirtualist minister, claimed to be psychic, and performed exorcisms out of our house.
  16. i tinkle when i laugh too hard on occasion. ok. i do it all of the time
  17. I LOATHE baby showers and wedding showers WITH A PASSION.
  18. i very rarely pay attention to names in books, so, a lot of times near the end, i have absolutely NO CLUE what is happening to people.  i’m like a toddler.
  19. i cuss like a truck driving-sailor.
  20. i hate my neighbors so much that i secretly wish bad things will happen to them when they park in our spots…. *giggles and hides from karma)

having said all of this, i am embarrassed by very little, however, that if you looked in my refrigerator right now, i would be horrified.

bee gees

Hey, I Just Met You and This is Crazy- Let’s Get Matching Tattoos!

i’ve been thinking a lot about friendship lately, like everyone does.  i have friends, good ones, and i think we all have those too.  but i want more, i need  more.  i’m a flaming disaster of an extrovert, an attention whore of the highest degree.  my days start and and with friends.  friends!  friends! friends!!!!!

friendsi make friends easily, i always have, but i’m VERY particular with who i keep in my innermost circle, so find myself alone more often than not.  but, i have to say, i’d rather have THE ONE, the PERFECT friend, than 519 Facebook-style surface friends.  i need people that can handle my obnoxiousness, loud cackling and oftentimes embarrassing antics.  i swear A LOT, have EXTREMELY strong opinions and there are no off-limit topics.  i think and live completely outside of the box and instead of black and white, i see the world in rainbow and greys.  although i can mix with really any kind of person or group, i don’t really belong anywhere, and this is probably why friend-finding is always so challenging.

verucabut i don’t want just ONE friend, i want ALL of the friends RIGHT NOW.  i want a herd of fourteen bridesmaids that are “totes my bffs”, and fight over who will throw me a shower.  i want a crowd of buddies that rent limos and go bar hopping or compete in weight loss contests, or sit around planning camping trips and vacations.   is it too much to want to frolic with a bunch of people in a fountain, for godsake?  but as it stands there are no pizza parties, jet ski rentals or fun runs planned. nothing.  but really, i honestly hate most of that jazz, (especially the herd of bridesmaids) and i’m happier surrounding myself with people that openly discuss bodily functions and find different ways to shock each other.

the friends that i do have text me throughout the day and we occasionally get drunk together at each other’s homes, and i’m actually very cool with that.  but i definitely need more buddies after the last big Friend Exodus of 2013.  those were some sad times indeed.  i have had the experience that once my friends start intermingling, they tend to start sleeping together, or at least seeing each other more than me, and i’m all but forgotten.  it’s best to keep a good and overflowing pool of people, so that when a few start to migrate, i’m not stuck going to pottery class solo, or forced to eat the Super Loaded Fries for Two by myself.  cause i will!  i’ll do it!  JUST WATCH!

harry ron hermioniebut how do you find these people?  how does a person amass large groups of friends at one time?  i want to be back in kindergarten where everyone at your table was your friend.  you didn’t have much choice, this was your main social circle. you just were friends because, well, just because.  or in first grade, your friends were assigned to you alphabetically, and if you were lucky enough to not move every couple of years like my family, the kids that were assigned seats near you JUST based on last names alone, continued to be your friends for a long long LONG time.  second and third grade you were force-sorted into interacting with “Good Readers”  or “Bad With Math” which is where i spent most of my days.
heathersthe years went on, and you meshed better with kids that were in the same activities as you, or carried Star Wars lunchboxes, and this was before anyone cared that you were a GIRL with a Star Wars lunchbox.  and college you hung out with people that liked the same music or had the same art posters on their walls. the point is, it wasn’t hard to meet people- you just migrated to people that liked the same stuff.  now you have to worry about political affiliations, religious preferences, intolerance based on sexual preference, income, status, your favorite football team….  it’s definitely not easy and i have tried it all, meet, online groups, bars, local clubs- and there are just as many people out that that want the same thing- to meet other people- but what is it that bonds them together?  what do you say to take that next step to “friendship” without looking creepy?  how do you get people to actually get off their couches, out of their comfort zone and into wearing matching outfits and tattoos with you?  you wanna be my friend?

thelma and louise selfie


Message in a Bacardi Bottle

i would have to think that if i was laying on the beach and a bottle washed up that the ONLY possible reason i was there would be working as a maid at some swanky resort in the tropics.  so basically, this scenario sucks ass.

i clean for a living, the disgusting crusty remains of dirty dishes, unspeakable toilets, endless pet hair, constant stuff everywhere, every day.  it’s like not leaving home. it’s like picking up everyone’s bath towels and putting the toilet paper ONTO the dispenser- about thirty times a week and it’s wiping ramen noodle spice packet dust and coffee residue from six or seven counters weekly.  countless shoes and pillows put in their correct places, endless crevices to be vacuumed, cobwebs galore, constantly and all week.  so, it might seem that moving all of this “fun” to someplace seaside or tropical might be nice.

pina coladai imagine, i’m there in my hawaiian print shirt and turquoise cotton work pants, wandering the beach side cabanas, cleaning up after honeymooners and spoiled people that don’t know how much i’d like to break one of the resorts hurricane glasses and shank them with it.  these lovey dovey couples don’t realize just HOW CLOSE they are to me bashing them in the head with the bar’s novelty coconut shells. they are making out and dropping drink umbrellas, cherry stems and condom wrappers all over the place for me to clean up.COCONUT

i can hear them giggling and grunting and groaning, not hidden by the bamboo “privacy screens” as i fold the seven thousandth bleached beach towel into yet another fucking swan.  i pick up trays of half eaten strawberries and pretend these jerks aren’t sucking each other’s faces like an octopus sucks mollusks from their shells.  i walk quiety by leathery brown tourists snapping their fingers for more champagne and fruit platters, squirting each other with cocoa butter and KY like NO ONE has to clean that crap up.  i replace the newly folded swan towel next to a dry-humping, drunk couple that are feeding each other chunks of pineapple, and the couple immediately picks up the towel to sop the runny juice from their faces, giggling, only to then drop it to the ground to  possibly later to use a rag for their “love juices.”  yuck.

the heat is getting to me as well as the squeals and ecstatic giggling, so i wander away from the cabanas and notice trash in the water.  i walk towards it expecting more condom wrappers or even the usual bikini bottom and realize that it’s just a bottle.  from as far away as i am, i can’t tell if it’s an empty bottle of lube or booze; either way, as “Housekeeping”, it’s my damn job to pick up litter like i’m some golden garbageman in paradise.

Bacardi_Light_Rum_1_75_L_1_75Li make my way  through the honey colored sand, littered with bits of shells, ground up pieces of old hotel guests’ credit cards, and porsche glass, and stop to pick up the bottle, ready to chuck into the jewel encrusted trash bucket i’m carrying.

“what’s this, i ask to myself,  “a cliche’d message in a bottle?  who’da thunk?  how novel!”  i glance around nervously before i open the dirty old bacardi bottle, wondering what hotel protocol is for “lost beach articles.”   i chomp-pull out the crammed in cork with my teeth like a pirate, uncaring what people might say if they saw.  i pull out the rolled up note and park myself on a nearby lounge chair, figuring it will be some gag from one of the local kids.  as jaded as i am, i’m still excitedly curious and unroll the note, expecting a Target receipt, an expired Dunkin Donut coupon or at best, a menu from Polly’s Tropicano Pizza Hut.

i slowly read the note, and then read it again, this time, out loud, not believing the scrawly inky words that are in front of me.  it is a will.  “Last Will and Testament of Sir Bubbaloo DePaulo“, the island’s richest resident and he has written that he will bestow the entire island along with all of his riches and money to the finder of this note.  !!!!  i cannot believe it!!!  some luck for once! i dance through the sand, kicking up waves lapping my feet.  i am ecstatic!  i turn and head towards one of the vacationers that is yelling at me for more Rum Runners and dump the ice bucket right on his pretentious asshole head.

“FUCK THIS SHIT!  I’M RICH! and i am OUT OF HERE!”  i yell to his startled and sputtering wife, who just happens to be the color of a bucket of extra crispy KFC. i tear off my uniform, hideous turquoise scrub bottoms and all, leaving me in just my hole-y zebra print underpants and matching ill-fitting bra to run like hell back to the hotel.  i can’t believe my luck, my new fantastic life is about to begin!

“I OWN THIS FUCKING ISLAND, YOU DIPSHIT OVERPRIVELEDGED SNOTTY ASSHOLES!  so get the FUCK off my beach and get real jobs!”   laughing, i grab a pitcher of pina coladas off of serving tray and chug the whole damn thing!

i jubilantly run and run—- (A SPLASH!) a bucket of ice water is dumped onto my head, snapping me back to reality.

“Hey! Lady?  are you okay? ” someone asks.

i look around and see that i’m laying in the sand, probably drunk off the pitcher of pina coladas.  no matter, I’M RICH and drunk on the pina coladas from the ISLAND THAT I OWN, mother fuckers!!!!  a circle of people are gathered and staring at me as if i was a rabid animal and worried that i might strike again.

i look down and someone hands me a towel to cover up my nonsensical and unsexy zebra print under-garments.  i start to yell at everyone to get away from the new queen of the island when my boss wanders up, looking super pissed.

he starts yelling at me in his broken english “Mister Morales say you make fun of wife and dump ice on head. You are fired, yoong lady! get OUT!”

i pull myself up and start to yell at him about the newsflash he obviously missed, about me being the new SUPREME RULER of the island, when i reach up to touch a horrible swelling spot on my forehead.  looking down i notice a bacardi bottle, the note missing, just as a plate of crab claws, shrimp tails and lemon wedges rains down onto my head, courtesy of Ms. Bucket of KFC, Extra Crispy.  cocktail sauce oozes down the side of my face as my coworker explains to me that i suffered some sort of heatstroke and flipped out on Mr Morales and his fried chicken-colored wife, so he cracked me in the head with a bacardi bottle and i passed out.

soooooooooo apparently, i guess, it’s back to cleaning toilets in pittsburgh, no thanks to Sir Bubbaloo DePaulo, which may or may not be the name of my friend’s pomeranian and NOT the richest man on an island somewhere.