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The Walking Mishap’s Guide to Whining on Social Media

29 May

Do it for your country.

We’ve all done it. Let loose a whine or complaint on Facebook or Twitter or Myspace (you know, way back in the day). Maybe we woke up late, or broke a heel on our way out the door, or spilled coffee on ourselves. Perhaps that red light ran a little too long, or maybe you didn’t get the phone call you were expecting. I get it… it sucks. What I’m addressing here is not the minor, occasional “bummer” post – I’m talking about those people who take to social media as though it were their shrink’s office or something.

I won’t lie to you, my dear readers. As I have mentioned before in previous posts, I am a reformed over-poster. In a former life, the first thing that came to my mind was almost immediately thrown up on my page. Until friends of mine pointed it out. I quickly became annoyed with myself, and knocked it off. In order to clear the air, and perhaps give some of you an idea of what is and isn’t social media rant-worthy, here it is… a guide.

First, a little persepective.

I can almost guarantee, no matter how shitty your day is, you probably do not have it that bad. Let’s dig a little deeper, shall we?

Here are a few questions to evaluate just how bad you have it:

  • Did you wake up this morning?
  • Did you still have all your limbs?
  • Do you have a roof over your head?
  • Clean, running water?
  • Food to eat?
  • Are you and your family in general good health?
  • Do you have a job?
  • Do you have a marketable skill you could use to find a job if the answer to the last question is no?
  • Do you have friends?
  • If no, is that by choice?

Now. If you were able to answer YES to 2/3 or more of those questions… I promise you, you really don’t have it that bad. Shit happens, we all go through rough times, but if your basic needs are met, well, honestly, it’ll be ok.

I get my personal perspective from people who have seen true hardship. My youngest brother, for instance.  That little dude fought – and beat – cancer. Diagnosed at the AGE OF TWO. He is one of the happiest kids I’ve ever met.  I feel like you don’t know what a hard day is until you have to go through something like that. One of my dad’s best friends passed away from cancer at around the age of 35-36, leaving a wife and three kids behind. All three of his children grieved, and still miss their father dearly (as do we all), but they are all happy and thriving in their own way. A few years back, a friend of mine lost all of his worldly posessions when his uninsured basement apartment flooded. He’s now one of the least materialistic and happiest people I know.  Sometimes, thinking about what others have gone through (or even what you have dealt with personally) really makes that stubbed toe or spilled coffee look like a walk in the park. I can almost guarantee for everything you’ve wanted to bitch about today, someone you know is probably going through something far worse – and you may not even know about it. Why is that? Because often times, it’s the people with the serious shit to wade through that don’t make it known. They buckle down and work through it.

 

To Bitch, or Not to Bitch?

I’ve kind of developed a system when it comes to deciding what I do or don’t put on social media. I often find, too, that if I put something up that I think was over the top, it’s typically deleted very shortly thereafter.

Here are a few questions to ask yourself when contemplating putting things on the internet:

  • Is it the end of the world?
  • Will bitching about it on the internet solve the problem?
  • Is this something I would text my best friend about and expect sympathy?
  • If I were to read this on someone else’s page, would I feel compelled to offer sympathy?
  • How strong is the likelihood I would roll my eyes at or make fun of a post like the one I am about to hit “send” on?

If you answered NO to most of those questions (and there is a STRONG likelihood to the last), save it. Feel free to type it out like you’re about to post it if it makes you feel better, but I’m begging you… PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, DO NOT HIT SEND. Delete it. Take a few deep breaths and remember, you’re not a dead, limbless, homeless, starving person.

 

xoxo

Baby, did it hurt? (You know, when you fell from heaven…)

20 May

You know, because we all want the creepiest guy we can find.

So, it goes without saying that most women get hit on by men that put up huge red flags at least once or twice. Getting attention from weirdos seems to be my specialty. In an effort to keep things a little light today, I’m just going to give you a quick round up of some of the most ridiculous pick-up lines I have heard over the past few years…

“I’m hammered. You’re hot. Wanna go do it in the alley?”  -No, no I don’t.

“My friend likes you. He’s in my pants, would you like to meet him?” -Really??

“You look like that chick from that movie – I’m too drunk to remember which one, but can I have your number?” -Sure. It’s 867-5309

“Wanna come back to a party with me? You’re really hot… I  mean, you smell nice and you don’t even have a lazy eye or anything.” -Are you fucking kidding me? That’s not exactly a compliment. Also, why are you close enough to smell me? Back up.

“Baby, I wish that you were gravy and I were a biscuit so I could sop you up.” -Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. EW.

“Drink up and strip down.” -Yeah, not going to happen. You’ve got a better chance of getting pregnant.

I’m pretty sure this is going to become a series of posts, as the idiots of the world never cease to amaze and astound me…

XOXO

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Mini Mishaps

26 Apr

I often stray from the original purpose of this site… to highlight the ridiculous bullshit that happens throughout the course of my daily life. These things are not always huge, drawn out tales of shenanigans and tomfoolery – many times, they are simply bumblings and stumblings that make me laugh… and make everyone else in sight laugh with me (or at me, whatever).

So, for the sake of making fun of myself and/or filling you all in/staying true to the Confessions of a Walking Mishap premise, here are a few recent mishaps for your reading pleasure:

That time I walked around at work with a gigantic hole in my pants…

About a week ago, I realized, while washing my hands in the bathroom, that I had a gaping hole in my pants – right below the zipper… so, basically, I had a gigantic crotch hole in my pants. I saw it in the mirror. I have absolutely no idea how long I walked around like that, nor do I know whether or not anyone saw my goodies and didn’t tell me. The guys I work with say they didn’t notice… here’s hoping they aren’t just saying that.

That time I’m pretty sure my mailman saw me naked…

Okay, so I’m not always the domestic goddess I aspire to be – especially when it comes to laundry/ironing. I’m a menace with an iron. Instead of ironing things, I tend to throw them in the dryer while I’m in the shower (don’t judge). Anyway, this often leads to a dash down to the basement after showering to grab my clothes. Typically, it’s a race against the clock for me to get out the door on time. If my car is parked out back, I’ll often just get dressed in the basement, then off I go. On a particularly pressed-for-time morning, I knew my car was parked out back. I did my hair and makeup as per usual, then decided to forego the towel and just head down to leave. In the nude. Oops. I got down to the living room, and didn’t realize I had forgotten to close the curtains until I saw the mailman through my front window. He turned and walked away, and I made the rest of my dash to get out the door. He hasn’t been able to make eye contact since, so I’m fairly certain he’s seen me bareass. Awesome.

That time I called a Ma’am a Sir…

Sometimes, in working with the public, you run into awkward situations. A few of my coworkers have asked women what their due date was, when in fact, said woman was just a bit rotund. I had an individual come in the other day, and in my greeting, I made the mistake of assuming this short, rather husky individual with the extremely shorn crew cut, broad shoulders and cargo pants/flannel button up ensemble was a sir. Wrong. My “Welcome to ______, sir. My name is Dani, how may I help you?” was met with a VERY angry “My name’s Missy. Does that sound like a man’s name to you?” – OOPS. In my defense, Missy straight up looked like a dude.

 

I’m going to stop here, mainly because I’ve run out of steam and just wanted to make sure I got something posted since it’s been a few weeks.

 

XOXO

 

 

Weirdos, Creepers, and Tools… (I attract them. Don’t ask why.)

3 Mar

“It puts the lotion on its skin, or it gets the hose again…”

In a crowded room full of people, THIS GUY is the one who would try to approach me. Check out the mangina. Who WOULDN'T want that hitting on them??

That is the phrase I most often expect to hear come out of the mouths of the men (and occasional women) that choose to flatter (or scare) me by hitting on me. I attract more weirdos and creepy strangers than any individual I have ever met. My ability to catch the eye of the strangest person in a room is uncanny; my friends think it’s hysterical and my mother worries for my safety. In an effort to keep my content fresh, I’m going to highlight these winners in a new series of posts, similar to The Automobile Follies. Here’s numero uno, for your reading delight:

The Guy I Pepper-Sprayed on the Subway That One Time.

Super Classy Philly Public Transportation

 During my college years, I relied heavily on public transportation – known in these parts as SEPTA (or the devil’s asshole, whichever you prefer). The university I attended had a parking situation that was less than ideal, so I often commuted to school on pub trans. My route went a little something like this: walk to the trolley, take the trolley to the el, take the el to the subway. Getting home, this was reversed. I digress.

One spring afternoon, I decided to head to campus. I was going to crash with the guy I was seeing, simply to make my life easier (and I missed living on campus – I had moved back to the ‘burbs to save money). I went about my usual excursion. When I ride SEPTA, I typically have my headphones in – it’s normally a “small talk with strangers” deterrent. One stop after I got on, a rather odiferous gentleman took the seat next to mine… in a mostly empty car. If you’ve ever taken public transportation, you should be aware that proper etiquette is as follows: if there are empty seats that are NOT practically in someone else’s lap, you sit in those seats. As the car fills up, and it becomes necessity, THAT is when you sit directly next to someone.

Anyway, the man who smelled like a distillery not only sat right next to me, but once we were on our way, he put his hand on my leg. I politely removed said hand, and said “Please don’t touch me.” When he did this again, clearly ignoring my request, I got up and switched seats. He followed. I politely got up and moved once again, as I was thoroughly creeped out. Clearly not taking my hint, my new friend followed once again.

At the next stop, I got off the car, and moved to a different, slightly more populated car. Wouldn’t you know, at the next stop, he boarded my car. He sat down directly next to me, once again, and put his hand on my leg. I very loudly and very clearly said, “Sir, if you touch me one more time, I’m going to pepperspray the shit out of you.” I got up, and moved to a different seat on the same car. Within 20 seconds, he followed. I warned him once again, and once again, I moved. I was semi-shocked that not a single person on the car came to my aid – then I remembered where I was. Within moments, he was sitting next to me again, and attempted to put his hand on my leg. As we were pulling up to the next stop, I calmly pulled out my trusty can of pepper spray and used it. He screamed like a little girl, and called me a bitch, while taking a swing at me. Thankfully, I had already moved toward the door.

Once we hit the platform, SEPTA’s transit police ended up evacuating the car and arresting my assailant. I went about my day, and vowed to take regional rail from there on out.

 

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A Public Service Announcement: To the Haters.

29 Feb

Basically, I’ve hit a wall. By now, you’ve read my “Open Letter to My Anonymous Harasser” post (if you haven’t, catch up, sillies!).

I’m done. I’ve had it. Finished.

In what universe did it become cool to anonymously harass someone, simply because you view them as a threat? When did I time travel back to Jr. High, the land of bullies who are really just insecure assholes?

Here’s the deal. Calling me a slut, whore, tramp, bitch, harlot, whore-slut, a fat slut-whore, etc.? IT DOESN’T HURT MY FEELINGS.

What it DOES, however, is make me angry. It pisses me the hell off. It pisses me off enough to contact a lawyer, and a therapist, and the p0lice in two different states (the one I live in, and the one I suspect the harassment is coming from). It gives me a mission. What is my mission, you ask? To CRUSH the person who is interrupting my life like this. It motivates me to enter the lengthy process of pressing criminal and civil charges, and it motivates me to not give up on getting tangible proof of the harasser’s identity. Once I have proof, case closed. I will be taking no mercy in court, nor will I be taking settlements.

How pathetic must one’s life be to spend MONTHS harassing someone? To feel that threatened by someone who lives in an entirely different state, two hours away?

How sad is your life, that instead of emailing with friends during work hours to keep occupied like a normal person, you spend your time calling someone names and telling them they have AIDS (yes, she went there)? Do you not have friends to let you know that this behavior is completely unacceptable?

Keep hating, bitch. I may annoyed and pissed off, but that will pass. What won’t pass is your insecurity. Your low self-esteem. Your pathetic, unfulfilled life.

To my lovely, supportive friends who have been listening to my venting and rants about this – thank you, I love you all.

XOXO

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On Today’s Episode: An Open Letter to My Anonymous Harasser.

8 Feb

This one goes out to anyone who’s ever had someone harass them anonymously. It goes out to anyone who has had to deal with unfounded, undeserved, immature bullshit. It goes out to anyone who has handled that unfounded, undeserved, immature bullt

Dear Whomever You May Be:

Thank you. Thank you for being pathetic. Thank you for being a coward. Thank you for not having the cajones or ovaries to confront me about your issues like an adult. Thank you for annoying the ever loving shit out of me on a near daily basis. Thank you for demanding I stop talking to a particular individual.  Thank you for calling me the vulgar names that you have called me, for trying to break me down, and for attempting to break my stride. Thank you for pissing me off.  Thank you.

I know thanking you makes me sound, well, just as crazy as you are, but allow me to continue before passing judgement. There’s a method to my madness.

I thank you for being pathetic and weak because it shows me how strong I am.

 I thank you for being a coward because it’s a reminder to face things head-on, instead of burying my head in the sand like an ostrich.

I thank you for not having the cajones or ovaries to confront me about your issues like an adult because it reminds me how far I’ve come; it reminds me that five years ago, I would have stooped to your level and tried to retaliate.

I thank you for annoying the everloving shit out of me because it’s taught me how to brush simple annoyances away, as though they don’t even exist.

I thank you for demanding I stop talking to that individual because in light of all this, it’s taught me they may not be as good a friend as I had once thought. It has reminded me that I DESERVE BETTER.

I thank you for the vulgar names that you have called me, for trying to break me down, and for attempting to break my stride because it shows me how small you truly are. It shows me that you view me as a threat. It shows me that you’re more insecure than even I was at one point in my life, and it makes me feel sorry for you. It also shows me how far I’ve come, that I’m able to hold my head high and know that your harassment truly has nothing to do with me, and has everything to do with your own low self esteem.

I thank you for pissing me off because it drives me to be a better person. It drives me to be stronger. It drives me to continue to brush you off like the nothing you are.

Your serve, Bitch.

XOXO

The Mishap

  

Things I’m Wicked Bad At (Shocking, right?)

7 Dec

I know, I know. You’d think I would be good at everything and anything I attempt. Truth is, there are a few things I’m simply AWFUL at. Ladies and gentleman, the things I suck at:

Hiding My Emotions

While I am a killer poker player (for real), you’d never know it by my complete inability to keep what I’m thinking/feeling from showing up written all over my face. The guys at work bust on me frequently because I struggle to hide my thoughts when a customer is being stupid/disrespectful/a jagoff/a pain in my ass/whatever. Smiling through it all is one of my biggest challenges, especially when my inner monologue is going off on a wicked diatribe. I cannot tell you how many times a day I have to smile through gritted teeth while thinking “You’re a fucking asshole, please go directly to hell.”  I’ve gotten better at this while at work, but in general, it isn’t pretty.  I scoured my photos on Facebook and on my computer to try and find some candid examples, and didn’t seem to have any. You’ll have to take my word on it.

Being Patient

That’s right, I just linked a GnR video. You’re welcome.
 
Anyway… Patience may be a virtue, but it’s one I don’t possess. Waiting is something I’m awful at. I get irritable and cranky, and GOD FORBID I have to wait for something I’ve been looking forward to. I become a rammy, ornery, obstinate five-year-old when having patience is required. This probably classifies me as an asshole, but I think I’m okay with it. This is partially because I know, try as I might, this is a character trait that is unlikely to change. Leopards don’t change their spots, and I don’t wait if I don’t have to.
 

Peeing in a Cup

Yeah, this one’s probably TMI

Okay, so… if you’re a female, and you’ve ever been to the ER for any reason, you know they will inevitably make you pee in a cup to make sure you’re not pregnant. They do this even if you tell them you’re NOT and that there is NO WAY you’re pregnant. If you’ve ever worked for corporate America, you’ve probably had to pee in a cup for a drug test. If you’ve ever suspected you may have a UTI, you’ve had to pee in a cup. Everyone has had to do this at least once in their life. Given my propensity for injury and my job, I’ve probably had to do this more than most. Here’s the thing, kids… I’m awful at it. Here’s how:

 
- The inevitable missing of the cup. Without fail, I cannot seem to hit the cup first try. This usually results in a wet hand, which is fucking gross.
-Dropping the cup. I have done this more than once… the cup lands in the toilet – also fucking gross.
-PEE BOMB. This is my most recent peeing-in-a-cup mishap. I was at the ER to have my dislocated knee checked out. I managed to NOT miss the cup, and feeling rather accomplished, I hobbled to set the cup on the sink so I could put the lid on it and wash my hands. Fate, elegant, cold-hearted whore that she is, decided there was NO way I was getting off easy. I lost my grip on the cup, and in what can only be described in a slow-motion moment of catastrophe, it dropped to the ground like a brick. Needless to say, a huge mess and my endless mortification followed.
 
Now that you all know far more about me than you’d ever care to, I’ll move it right along…
 
 
Doing Any Sort of Household Chore in a Timely Manner
I’m aware this is not a picture of housework. It’s a picture of a hot maid. You’re welcome. Again.

Okay, so check it out. If there is a way for me to put off laundry, dishes, vacuuming, etc without my house looking like a mess, I will find it. Housework is something I loathe. If I know I am having company, I generally wait until the last possible minute to get any general straightening done -you know, pillow fluffing, spot-dusting, blah blah. This fact probably leads you all to believe I live in  squalor, but this is the farthest thing from the truth – my place is clean. I just HATE cleaning it. I’m great at cleaning… I just prefer to procrastinate in doing so. I need a housekeeper.

 
 
Okay, so I know there is a shit ton more I could put on this list… I just don’t feel like it. I don’t need to give any of you lovely fuckers more of my shortcomings.
 
XOXO
 

An Open Letter to Men Everywhere (listen up, fellas)

14 Nov

Dear Men,

First and foremost, I’d like to preface this letter with a bit of a mea culpa for us chicks. I’m breaking chick law by doing this, but I want to make it clear that neither gender is innocent or pure. So here’s the truth about us women. We’re crazy. We get moody for no reason, we change our minds at the drop of a hat, and we get cranky when you point this out to us. We expect you to read our minds and know when something is bothering us. We get jealous of other girls, even if they are no threat at all. We have insecurities that sometimes rear their ugly heads, and when we say everything’s “fine,” you better get to guessing what’s wrong, because everything is most definitely NOT fine. We take too long to get ready, and many of us talk too much. Get used to it, men. These are small sins you should probably get to forgiving.  A small sub-sector of our gender gives us a bad name for the following reasons: being high maintenance, gold-digging, behaving like a whore, walking all over you, using our “assets” to get what we want, and being an all-around wretched bitch. I will not defend these women, as I pretty much hate them as much as you do. Now, getting on with it…

Y’all are infuriating. As of late, my Twitter feed seems to be full of my female friends lamenting the wrongdoings of the guys in their lives. Yes, there is just as much moaning (not the pleasurable kind) coming from those of you who have penises, but based upon personal experience, you’re just as guilty as the ladies, if not more so. Here it is, men… what we women long for you to know.

  • The headgames have got to stop. Maybe you don’t even realize it, but you play them. We all do, whether it be intentional or not… but I’ve been the victim of this more than I care to admit. Whether it be the guy you were once in love with who keeps throwing you little tidbits here and there to string you along, making you think a chance at reconciliation could perhaps be on the horizon somewhere or the new guy who engages you in a weird power struggle in which both of you try to play it cool – so cool, in fact, that one or both of you loses interest and isn’t willing to make an effort anymore, it seems male/female interactions are hard pressed to not become riddled with psychological landmines. Here’s a thought. If you aren’t interested in a woman, don’t continue to do things that make her think you are. If you are interested in a woman, stop playing hard to get. I’d love to know the reason why being straight with someone has fallen to the wayside.
  • Don’t say things or promise things you don’t mean. This goes hand in hand with the game-playing. Believe it or not, generally within the first few minutes of meeting you, a woman has already made the decision as to whether or not she will sleep with you if the opportunity arises. Therefore, telling her you love her when you don’t, telling her you want her to have your children when you don’t, or essentially feeding her any bullshit you want to hear when trying to get those panties to drop is unnecessary. It’s grimy, it’s cruel, and it makes you an asshole. Additionally, making promises you have no intention of keeping is shitty. Really shitty. If you promise us a romantic evening, please deliver. You wouldn’t like it if we promised you a blowjob then didn’t deliver, would you? Didn’t think so. You wonder why leagues of women are quick to label all men as pigs? The propensity of some men to do whatever it takes to get a piece. Not all, as I refuse to generalize – I have many a guy friend who treats women with respect and who are genuinely good guys. Don’t bullshit us, and we won’t bullshit you.
  • If you want to break up or end things, don’t just disappear. Be a man. Tell us it isn’t working out anymore, and allow us to go our separate ways like grown ups. Years ago, a guy I was involved with just disappeared. He had someone else answer his cell and pretend that he had changed his number, and fell off the face of the earth. It wasn’t until almost a year later when we ran into each other on campus that we spoke again; he and I are friends now – believe it or not. He admitted that he fucked up and should’ve had the balls to just end things… his admission was the only reason I even considered talking to him again. This scenario happened before I was even 20 years old. A few friends of mine are going through this now – they were dating a guy, then BAM! He is either distant, disappears completely, or is overcome with such apathy that he can’t even ask “why?” when she cancels a date. Have the common decency to explain why you don’t want to be involved anymore. Women are overly-analytical creatures by nature, and will drive themselves crazy wondering what they did wrong to drive you away.
  • Don’t talk shit. We find out. We always, always find out. Don’t make shit up about us, don’t make lewd comments, and don’t tout your opinions on who we are or are not sleeping with if you don’t expect it to get back to us – it always does, and it pisses us off.
  • Own up. Take Responsibility. If you fuck up, just say so.  I have been involved in so many arguments with men during which they refuse to acknowledge any wrong-doing. Here’s a hint, boys. If you say, ” I was wrong,” or “I’m sorry. I fucked up,” us women don’t have much ammo to argue against that with. I know you feel admitting your wrong is a sign of weakness, but really, it’s probably a solid way to get out of that argument and move on to the makeup sex.
  • If you turn us down for sex, we will be hurt. Maybe you’re tired. Maybe it’s been a rough day. Maybe you just jerked off before our arrival to your home. Maybe you pulled a hamstring. Maybe you just don’t feel like having sex. We women tend to be in the habit of thinking men are up for getting down and dirty anywhere, anytime. Having spoken with many of my male friends about this, that is apparently a myth. Here’s the thing, men. If we take the initiative to make the first move in getting your pants off and you’re not in the mood, be gentle. Our occasionally insecure female brains will likely think you think something is wrong or unsexy about us and that whatever flaw that may be turns you off. Reassure us that this isn’t the case… and make sure to make us feel like a sex goddess later on when you’re in the mood. I promise, it’ll pay off.
  • Sometimes, we all have to be grown-ups. A recent complaint of many of my female friends is that the guy they are seeing is some sort of partially developed man-child. You know, that dude who has no sense of when the time to be an adult arises. The one who can’t get his shit together long enough to keep his commitments or have a serious conversation about anything. Personally, I love a guy who can find humor in any situation and make me laugh… even if he’s making me laugh at myself for being ridiculous. What I also love, though, is a guy who can get serious and handle business when necessary. Burying your head in the sand and being unwilling to face a situation head-on makes us question how you’ll handle things with us when they get serious.

Again, I’m not feigning innocence for the fairer sex here. If you check back a few posts, you will see I called the ladies out on their own list of unacceptable behaviors.

I think that’s all I have for now. Please take the above into consideration, and maybe we’ll try to stop driving you as crazy as we do.

XOXO,

The Walking Mishap

 

I Have a Problem (But it’s so, so delicious)

6 Nov

First of all, HAPPY NATIONAL ORGASM DAY!! That’s right, National Orgasm Day is a real thing. So, my darling readers, don’t forget to take  care of your special someone today (or yourself, if you’re unattached – everyone deserves a Big O today).

Anyway, I thought I’d fill you all in on this addiction that I’ve been battling for most of my adult life. Some people smoke, some drink to dependency. Others inject God knows what into their veins. I suppose my addiction is nowhere near on par with any of those things, however, it’s an expensive habit. It’s energy drinks.

SWEET, SWEET ENERGY.

ROCKSTAR. RED BULL. MONSTER. AMP. I can’t get enough of this shit. My initial addiction began my freshman year of college when I was waitressing at Bennigan’s, working at CelNet selling phones,  and going to school full-time. I was often going from class straight to one job, only to head from there to the next job. At that point in my life I hadn’t yet acquired my love of coffee, so I sought an energy boost elsewhere. I would drink a Red Bull on my way to class to help myself wake up, sip a Monster while selling phones, then chug a RockStar or three while waitressing to keep moving until our 1am closing time. I’d get home at 3am, sleep til 7 or 8am, and start it all over again. I kicked the habit a few times, much to the dismay of my family, friends, and coworkers, as I am a wretched bitch if I am not properly caffeinated by 10am.

Now that I’m out of college and on a fairly regular schedule, you’d think I’d get over it. Nope. Not so much. My bouts of insomnia and/or sleepwalking leave me unrested more often than not, and when I am at work, I have to be chipper and able to face the public. Enter my addiction to get me through the day. The problem is, moderation isn’t exactly a part of my extensive vocabulary. Every damn time I decide to quit these things because I’m back on a solid sleep schedule, something happens to knock me back off track, and I’ve got that stupid caffeine monkey on my back again. I’m pretty sure this vicious cycle will be the reason my heart explodes one day.

It always starts innocently enough… I get back on coffee. Then I start drinking roughly four to five cups a day. Who doesn’t love a great cuppa joe? Next thing you know, my ass is drinking energy drinks back to back, always knowing in the back of my mind that I’m going to end up feeling like a strung-out crack fiend within the hour.  I zip around like a fucking nut job, talking way too fast, completely unable to stand still, and annoying the ever-loving shit out of my coworkers. At least some of them think it’s funny.

I really should cut back and not be so goddamn impatient when it comes to letting the caffeine do its trick. However, patience is something I was born without, so instead, I OD on the regular. It looks a little something like this (yes, it’s another Jenna Marbles video. Get over it.):

So, kids… any recommendations on how to beat this one once and for all? For my own sanity, and the sanity of those around me, I really need to get over this chemical dependency… no matter how delicious it may be.

Yes, I AM Capable of Being a Lady (Sometimes), and YOU SHOULD BE TOO!

5 Nov

It has come to my attention, that we, as females, have managed to perpetuate giving ourselves a bad name…

This comes as no surprise, given the number of celebrity sex tapes and reality shows springing up left and right, highlighting just how scandalous women can be. Whatever happened to being sexy without being skanky?? At what point did self-respect and confidence morph into some dire need for attention, and seeking that attention in ways that make the rest of us look bad? Additionally, WHAT IS WITH ALL THE SHIT TALKING? Perhaps this post could be considered shit-talking, but I’m the one in charge here, so I’m saying it isn’t. This post is going to be blunt and honest, and it could possibly hurt some feelings. Get over it.

Ladies, here are my grievances:

  • Sex Tapes Gone Public. If you want to record what goes on in your bedroom, hotel room, hot tub, backyard, etc – that’s your deal. I’m not going to judge you on that point. HOWEVER, I will shake my head when you seem shocked and appalled if/when this tape somehow goes public. From Paris Hilton to Kim Kardashian to local girls who shall remain nameless and everyone in between, there have been tears and lawsuits and claims that it is NOT them in the tape. Bitch, please. Deal with the consequences and move on. There is no way to gracefully handle a sex tape scandal. Own up, apologize, and keep it movin’.
  • Drunk Bitches. Pot, meet kettle. My ass has been guilty of this one, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve certainly calmed it down. Rather than go on a long rant to prove this point, I’m going to let my favorite YouTube poster and hetero-girl-crush, Jenna Marbles. I think the hits this dead on, with no need for elaboration.

              That’s all I’ve got to say about that.

  • Girl on Girl Hate. I’ve found that many females refuse to acknowledge when another chick is hot, pretty, beautiful, etc. Instead, they will find flaws – tiny, minute, irrelevant flaws. “Her eyes are three millimeters too close together.” “Her ears are weird.” BLAH BLAH BLAH. Not me. I’m secure enough in myself to recognize when another woman is beautiful.   I will straight up announce when I think another woman is pretty. If the guys I work with are drooling over a customer, I usually get a look of shock when I say “she was really pretty” when she leaves. In fact, there is a list of women I have hetero-girl-crushes on. For your viewing pleasure:

Gorgeous.

Why won't my hair do that??

Major Hetero Girl Crush

Simply Stunning

Ladies, knock it off with the criticisms and focus on the compliments. No one likes a bitch.

 
  • Creepy, Stalker Bitch Behavior. As a recent victim of anonymous text messages demanding I stop talking to a male friend of mine, I can say this: KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF. Texting, leaving notes on people’s cars, calling and hanging up, and any other form of harassment is OBNOXIOUS. Not only is it obnoxious, but it’s ILLEGAL. That’s right, there are laws against it. And don’t be surprised if/when the gloves come off while you’re anonymously messaging me – I WILL put you in your place, make you cry, and essentially destroy your self-esteem (which is probably already in the toilet since you’re coming at me as a nameless, faceless entity). Back in the day, my ex (who was my current boyfriend at the time) had this crazy ass ex girlfriend who went so far as to send me emails pretending to be someone anonymous broad who was sleeping with him. The immaturity it takes to pull some shit like this is astounding, not to mention the amount of free time one must have. She also left notes on my car, sent me harassing MySpace messages (yes, it was THAT far back in the day), and send people into my place of employment to call me a whore. So to all you insecure ladies out there who like to get a little psychotic now and again… KNOCK IT OFF. It isn’t cute, it’s sociopathic.

 

  • CYBER-THERAPY.  Your Twitter followers (for the most part) are NOT licensed therapists. I’m okay with some bitching here and there (we’re all guilty of it) but when your feed details your relationship problems and you’re using it as a sounding board to “show him who’s boss,” it’s time to grow the fuck up. For real.

I think that’s all I’ve got… I’m sure this will be expanded upon later.

 

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