Blog

You know what I noticed? Crappy diaries beget crappy diaries.

Which leaves me wondering what category this blog falls under.

Are the spammers reading my diary now, too? They sure know the three magic words to get me to click through: "Big. Penis. Colon." Clicky click

Red Lobster is putting seafood in everything now. There's even lobster in the mashed potatoes.

I... I...

I've actually started liking... "Frasier".

Ack! Ack! Ack!

The $2.50 rental fee was better spent on this than on two tickets to Daredevil.

Today I accidentally aired static instead of "Boston Public." No one seemed to notice.

When I use your product, am I supposed to get that "BRRRrrr! Clean!" feeling on my skin? You know, from all the tingles on my face, where it's deep cleaning the fugly out of my pores? Aren't I supposed to dance around, giddy from the tingles, chanting "Clean! clean! my face is so clean!," etc?

That doesn't happen for me.

You know what are the worst three minutes in the world? The three minutes when you wait for one pink line, or two. You should really put a crossword puzzle or a Jumble on the backs of those boxes.

TODAY I AM WEARING A FLEECE PULLOVER AS THE ONLY OUTERWEAR THAT WILL PROTECT ME FROM THE ELEMENTS, AND I AM UNCOMFORTABLY WARM IN THIS ELEMENT PROTECTING OUTERWEAR.

God bless you, Global Warming.

• Skinny girls! Why are you all so ugly? You're skinny! You should be cuter! Do something with that!
  
  
• Fat girls! Why do you wear such tight pants? And such small shirts?
  
  
• Trendy bitches who wear hip huggers! So you have the $55 to spend on low rise jeans! Whoopee! Do yourself a favor and don't get the ones that cut off your circulation. Try like, one or two racks over from where you found the pair you're wearing. Blood clots! BAD!
  
  
• Seriously. What the fuck is up with the Mardi Gras beads? This is St. Patty's day, not Fat Tuesday. Get your goddamn holidays right.
  
  
• Women. Why does it take you so. Long. To pee? Why? WHY? I HAVE TO PISS, get the FUCK out of the stall! I don't care WHAT anyone says, it does NOT take that long to change a tampon. Furiously, let's go here. There are girls with full bladders lined up two deep all the way down the hall.

A few drinks before last call, this guy approached me, and successfully made a quarter disappear. Then he asked "Where do you think it went?"

"Probably down to your demon land, Devil," I replied.

He stormed off. You'd think people didn't like being called the Devil or something.

Why must every fucking hippie woman on the fucking face of this fucking earth fucking wear a fucking flowing fucking skirt and fucking birkenstocks and a fucking ratty ass cardigan and have fucking curly hair? Why?? Why fucking why??

I know I have successfully fooled my co-workers when they compare me to "Funshine" or "Cheer Bear," and not "Grumpy" or "Devil Eyes" bear.