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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.

 

I’m Pretty Sure I Suck At Vlogging… (but I’ll keep plugging away)

1 Oct

So, it’s 1:26am, and I can’t sleep. No surprise there… I’ll be getting a post up about insomnia sometime in the near future. Anyway, since I can’t sleep, I decided to give vlogging a shot. I don’t really have a solid enough video to post as a serious vlog/rant/video, but since I have no shame, here’s the first-ever blooper reel… that’s right, I’m posting the blooper reel before posting a real video because I’m curious to see the response it gets.

Don’t judge. Also, I apologize for the potty mouth.

 

I say “Fuck the Lemons and Bail” (when the going gets tough…)

13 Jun

One of my all-time favorite movie quotes comes from Forgetting Sarah Marshall. In the scene where Jason Segel’s character is getting a surf lesson from Paul Rudd’s character (Kunu/Chuck, the surf instructor), Rudd’s character imparts some wisdom:

“When life gives you lemons, just say ‘fuck the lemons’ and bail.”

I know this has some pessimistic connotations, but if you think a little harder, sometimes saying “fuck the lemons” is just what’s needed for a pick me up. Having gone through some pretty heady stuff in my personal life fairly recently, I’ve found that sometimes taking those lemons and making lemonade as the original saying goes is either impossible or not worth the energy. By “fuck the lemons and bail”,  I don’t necessarily mean go ostrich and bury your head in the sand – that just makes you a pansy. What I mean is move on. Get over it. Don’t whine, dwell, or play twisted “what if” games in your head. Additionally, don’t take those lemons to social media- chances are, no one cares.

Don’t get me wrong, my lovely readers. As mentioned in my post about Facebook, I am a reformed addict. If shit was hitting the fan, it was on Facebook (or years ago, MySpace). I’ve found, however, that by posting stuff like that online, you’re making it bigger than it needs to be, and likely pissing your friends off in the process. There are exceptions to this rule (death in the family, tragic news, etc), but day to day bitching about trivial issues should be kept to a minimum. Nobody likes a Debbie Downer, and let’s face it… that pity you’re looking for can only drag you down even further.

Recently, I’ve had some fairly emotionally trying experiences – none of which will you find mentioned on my Facebook or Twitter, or even here. Partially because said experiences are intensely private, and partially because I don’t want pity. I want to say “Fuck the lemons.” Picking myself up by my bootstraps (do people still actually have bootstraps? WTF IS a bootstrap?) and trying to move forward has proven to be cathartic in its own right. Does my mind still wander to the “what if” list that is a mile long? Occasionally, but I do my best to quell those thoughts.

When saying “Fuck the lemons,” I’m not saying “I want to pretend this never happened” or “I don’t want to deal with my problems.” I’m recognizing the difference between things I can control, and things I can’t. Pretty simplistic concept, right? It’s a goddamn shame it’s only taken me, oh, I don’t know… 26 years to finally get that shit through my head.  It’s amazing what a difference a little age, some lessons learned the hard way, and a willingness to become more positive can make.

Kunu may have a flaky hippie kind of dude, but I’ll be damned if he doesn’t make a great point.

 

 

An Open Letter to Sallie Mae

7 May

Dear Sallie Mae,

I wish I could be kind, but that is simply not an option here. You have effectively and efficiently secured your place in my life as “bane of my existence.” There is no bill I loathe paying more every month than yours. Your exorbitantly high payments are painful and cut me to the core. While I appreciate you financing my education (you know, for that Advertising degree I’m not really using), I did not realize it was simply a ploy to fuck me over in the long run.

On more than one occasion, you have screwed up my account – sending me notices that I am past due, when in reality, I made my payment early and for more than what was due. You keep me from squirreling away a substantial amount of money into my savings account, hindering me from saving for my future. When I call to discuss my account, I am met with speakers of a foreign language. They do not understand me, nor do I understand them. Your customer service is atrocious. When I call in with questions, it is generally because I need help with something so I do not further wreck my already recovering credit score. I certainly understand that outsourcing your customer support saves you money… however, I do not feel that you NEED to save money, considering the filthy amount you bleed myself and hundred of thousands of other college students for every single month.

Many of us went to college in hopes of not only bettering ourselves and learning, but to ensure that we could someday achieve financial stability. We got degrees because it’s been proven that people who have them make more in a year than people who don’t. What we didn’t expect, however, was to be up to our ears in debt the minute we moved our tassels to the other side of our cap. Your high interest rates and unwillingness to bend or work with your borrowers can be financially crippling for many of us, making us wonder why it is we went to college in the first place.

Rarely can I log into Facebook or Twitter without seeing a friend lamenting on their wall about your lack of concern for their financial health. You rape and pillage us for our hard-earned wages, while shipping our calls for help to India to force us to face a language barrier that is thicker than the Great Wall of China. It saddens me that the bulk of my educational debt is owed to you, because American Education Services (who hold a third of my loans) is always a pleasure to work with. They are helpful and friendly, and they speak my language (that would be English, in case it isn’t clear).

Your practices are unethical and cruel, and frankly, I can only hope you somehow get taken out. Other major financial institutions have collapsed in recent years. You’ll have to forgive me for hoping that you’re next.

With Disgust and Mistrust,

The Walking Mishap

PS – GO FUCK YOURSELF.

Happy F*cking Valentine’s Day, bitches! (Being single just ain’t that bad)

14 Feb

Valentine’s Day is for suckers. I’m not saying this as a single woman, but as a pragmatic and perhaps mildly cynical individual. I have NOT ONCE in my 26 years had a Valentine’s Day that goes down on the books as “most romantic day of my life”… not even close. Have I had V-Day dates? Yes. Were they spectacular? No.

Here’s the thing with Valentine’s Day. It is so built up and so overwrought that by the time the planning is over, everyone is too stressed and anxious to enjoy it. Why do we need a particular day earmarked each year to express our love for a significant other or sweetheart or boyfriend or girlfriend or husband or wife? Honestly, most people I know who are in relationships want out. They stay for the convenience or the faux companionship being able to say “I’m taken” comes with. Couples stay together for years longer than they should for all the wrong reasons. Don’t get me wrong, there are couples who are happy and in love and who still lust for one another after years of being together… couples who have found a way to make it work while still actually liking each other. My mom and dad, for instance, have been married since 1989, and they are more in love today than they were when they got married. They love each other unconditionally. Do they argue? Yes. Do they disagree sometimes? Absolutely. Do they find a way to work it out and come out on top each time? Damn right.  They are the standard to which I hold myself and my relationships – why stay when you’re not happy? Sure, breaking up is hard to do. Yes, it sucks. Yes, it’s usually harder on one person than it is the other, but them’s the breaks. If you’re not happy, chances are, they’ll eventually catch on. If they do, and they don’t end it themselves, then they’re not worth your time – anyone worth their salt wants the one they love to be one thing: happy. If they’re completely oblivious to the fact that you’re unhappy, then perhaps you’re not as ”in tune” with one another as you’d like everyone to believe. Here’s another favorite:  Stay together for the kids? No thanks. Had my mother and biological father stayed together for my sake, I’d be one fucked up individual (more than just mildly dysfunctional).

I seem to have gotten off track here. I won’t go into the complete commerciality of the holiday known as Valentine’s Day – we all get that Hallmark and 1-800-FLOWERS are in cahoots to suck the romantically inclined dry of all funds. I’d rather go into the superficiality of the holiday. Don’t mistake this post for bitterness, or think it’s me hating  on love. Being in love is the greatest feeling in the world. Being in love has made people travel across the world for one another, donate vital organs to save the life of the one they love. Shit, Romeo and Juliet died for one another (we won’t mention the snafu in THAT plan). I love being in love. There’s a quote that I feel sums it up perfectly:

“We are all a little weird and life’s a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.”

I have no idea who is responsible for saying this, but I’d like to shake their hand. That mutual weirdness is seriously the best feeling ever. Why do we need a holiday to mark that? Valentine’s Day is a day every year when people like to put on those rose-colored glasses and pretend that love isn’t flawed. That relationships are perfect and hunky-dory and that for that one day per year, all issues go out the window. What I’m trying to get at, dear readers, is that if you love someone, SHOW THEM. TELL THEM. DON’T LEAVE ANY QUESTION IN THEIR MIND THAT THEY ARE THE ONE YOU WANT AND DESIRE. It shouldn’t take a holiday for us all to go out of our way now and again for the ones we love, to make them feel like they are the only person in the world.

I’m not a sappy kind of chick. Romance to me doesn’t always equate to picnics in the park or candlelit dinners or sunsets and roses. Sitting on a bench people watching while drinking coffee and just shooting the shit is more my speed. Laughing about everything and anything (and sometimes anyone) is more romantic to me than awkwardly sitting across a table from someone in a poorly lit room making googly eyes at one another while secretly plotting how to get them out of their clothes. Having FUN (true, genuine, “I don’t want this to end” FUN) with someone is sexier to me than the typical definition of “romance.” Who says a Valentine’s Day date can’t be to an arcade or a dive bar or a bowling alley or even in your own living room if you are in the company of someone you genuinely enjoy being around, someone you crave being close to? Don’t mistake this concept of mine for naivety or idealism. I know that even the person whose company you want most, who you adore and who you want nothing more than to spend time with them isn’t perfect. I know the circumstances involving that person may be flawed as well. I know that no one’s perfect, but I also know that if they seem perfect, it could be too good to be true. Yet another quote to back up my point:

“There’s no such thing as the perfect soul mate. If you meet someone and you think they’re perfect, you better run as fast as you can in the other direction. ‘Cos your soul mate is the person that pushes all your buttons, pisses you off on a regular basis, and makes you face your shit.”  -Madonna

Yes, I realize I just quoted Madonna. That crazy bitch has quite the valid point, though. If the person you’re spending all that Hallmark money on isn’t going to call you on your shit or be there for you when the rest of the world is walking out, you better find someone better. If you insist upon making a big rigmarole out of Valentine’s Day, do us all a favor and make sure it’s with someone worth it. I don’t know about all of you, but I want someone who is going to be there for me when the shit hits the fan, no matter what, without question.

Am I a single 26-year-old woman on Valentine’s Day this year? I sure am. Would it be nice to perhaps be in a relationship with someone for this most insipid of all holidays? Sure. Am I going to sweat the fact that I’m not? Hell no. Why is that, you ask? Because I know damn well that I’m one hell of a catch, and I’m not going to waste my time on someone who doesn’t deserve me or my ridiculous amount of awesomeosity. I just beg of the rest of you who ARE in relationships, chill out with the sugar-coating. I like shiny baubles and flowers as much as the next girl (diamonds and garnets for the first, liliess and orchids for the second, in case any of you care to show me a little love), but I also know that at the end of the day, those things won’t keep you happy. They might bring fleeting joy, but they won’t keep you warm on a cold night or be a shoulder to cry on.

Also, ladies, if your man goes all out for you on Valentine’s Day, make sure you go all out for HIS holiday… March 14 of every year – Steak & Blow Job Day. Trust me, he’ll appreciate it.

An Open Letter to Best Buy

2 Jan

Dear Best Buy,

I’d like to start by saying, you sell some really awesome shit. From iPads to XBox to the beautiful new TV I purchased from you, I tip my hat to you. You’ve got the gadgets all the cool kids could ever want or need or know what to do with. Kudos on that.

My concern, here, however, lies with your staffing decisions. No matter when I visit your establishment, no matter which store location I patronize, I am almost always disappointed. If it is a quick trip, one in which I am merely picking up a DVD or two, I generally leave apathetic about the experience. Not angry, but not impressed, either. My grievance is based upon my experiences when trying to purchase items more technical in nature – a wireless router, a television, an external hard drive for my Mac Book, etc. These items are not things bought on impulse, but rather with careful planning and previous research.

My most recent shopping excursion to your store is what prompts me to write. Best Buy, my friend, sometimes a consumer simply can’t find all the answers she is looking for on the internet. Difficult to fathom, I understand, but it’s true. When I came into the store on a Wednesday evening, ready to finally bite the bullet and purchase a TV, your employees in the television department ignored me. Perhaps it was because I look young, and couldn’t possibly have been there ready to spend half a grand, or maybe it was because I was bumming it on a day off. This hurt my feelings, Best Buy, it really did. I stood in front of the counter, waiting for a sales associate to ask me what they could help me with. I was torn between two TVs, unsure of which to choose. I could have stood there all night, maybe doing the Mexican Hat Dance, and I probably would have still been ignored while your unwashed minions buried themselves in their computer screens. Angered and annoyed, I stormed out in a huff, vowing to purchase my TV elsewhere. You’re a crafty one, it seems, much to my dismay. I could not find a better deal on a better television anywhere else. I searched high and low, reaching the end of the internet before resigning myself to the fact that I would need to return to your big blue building, and plunk down a large sum for the wares I desired, all while swallowing the bitter pill that is your substandard customer service.

I’ve always known you don’t always hire the brightest bulbs in the box. Sure, there has been a good egg here and there, usually in the form of a helpful young chap who knows what he’s talking about not due to your stellar training, but because he actually cares about his job and the products he is selling. As a member of the retail work force myself, I understand that good help is hard to find, but I’m urging you to up your standards. In a competitive world where places like Target and Wal-Mart vie for a piece of your market share, perhaps you could consider a more stringent screening process in choosing your employees. First and foremost, please make sure they know what they are talking about, and actually enjoy working with people. I cannot tell you how many times I have found myself, the customer, more knowledgable about what I was purchasing than the sales associate attempting to help me. Many times, I have a couple of complex questions before being fully ready to purchase – your workforce should know how to answer them. A cleanly appearance would earn my trust and respect as a customer, as a wrinkled, unwashed golf shirt that looks like it came from the trunk of a car after a hard night of drinking leads me to believe I’m not working with a master of the craft. I feel I shouldn’t have to comment on hygiene in the workplace, but I must say, a lack of hygiene is distracting. These people are the face of your company. The face I often see is a stoner who was dragged out of bed at the crack of noon to show up late for work. Not appealing.

Because of your staffing decisions, I had to rely on the knowledge of friends and consumer reviews to choose my TV. I did not purchase in store, but rather paid online and arranged in-store pickup for later that afternoon. While the young lad who rang me out was perfectly nice, he congratulated me on the purchase of my new LCD TV. I had purchased a plasma. Quite the snafu, as he had me questioning both whether or not I had purchased the right TV, but also whether or not I was taking the correct one home.

Please see the error in your ways, Best Buy. You are truly convenient, and I’m far too impatient to have my DVDs shipped from Amazon.com.

Regards,

The Walking Mishap

PS – The TV is an excellent addition to my living room.

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