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What Is This?

Why, it’s another new blog. So here it is, this is where I’ll be posting all my travels and whatnot from now on.

 
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Posted by on September 12, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

I Hate Cops

Seriously.

 
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Posted by on July 30, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

What Have I Gotten Myself Into?

So today is day four of my forty-three day diet. It’s probably only going to be about a 37 day diet because I’m out this beeatch in that many days. But here’s hoping I lose that 28 pounds I’m looking to give away free to a home. It doesn’t even have to be a good home. Or a mediocre home. Just a home. Problem with this diet, aside from the raging hunger and possible murdering, is the fact I pee non-stop. Mainly because all I can drink it tea and water, two culprits well-known to me to cause major peeage. In fact, I was up every hour and a half last night emptying my bladder. Something I’m certain you’re happy to know. And something I’m happy to share.

You're welcome

So, yesterday, day three, I took a good long hard look at myself and my eating habits. Then I cussed out my parents for passing off french fries as a vegetable. Then I cussed myself out for having no GD will power. I mean, LOOK AT ME! I cannot stand the way I look, yet I do nothing about it. I work out, and I can feel that muscle in my abs and arms and legs, but cannot see them because I love me some fast food. Because of all that, I feel the need to go to the extreme. I either work out more than I should, or not work out at all. Right now, I’m in that “more than I should” phase, as evidenced by the fact I can barely walk because my muscles are screaming for mercy. I either eat too damn much, especially if I’m pissed off, or I don’t eat anything at all. Yesterday, all I did was watch the clock, waiting for it to be time to eat again. Hopefully, those feelings will pass. Hopefully I can lose that 28 pounds (I still have more to lose, but my goal in all this is 28 pounds; I can worry about the rest when I’m in Australia and no longer dependent on a car) and I won’t feel like a land whale. Even if I don’t look like one, I still feel like one. And hopefully I get through this without resorting to violence. It might be difficult, though, since I work for stupidheads.

So, I’ll be keeping you all updated. Only because I know I will blow off my diet and exercise program if I don’t. And I will need Joders to keep me in line because I’m looking to do this in 2013, so obviously I will need to get into shape. And round isn’t the shape I’m looking for. This is what I want to look like, even if I never will

Minus the blonde hair, though. I look ridiculous with blonde hair.
 
So, stay tuned! You might get my story of success, or you might see me on the evening news! If you do, send bail money, no joke. Thanks.

This might be me in a couple days. I do accept checks.

 
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Posted by on July 26, 2011 in Diet Tales

 

Nonsense

So, apprehensive time, y’all! I have 43 days until wheels up and I’ve been starting to get a little bit nervous. Why would I be nervous, you ask? Well, something about picking up and starting a whole new life is a bit nailbiting, but that’s really not the main reason my panties are in a bunch. You see, I am worried people will think I’m weird. I mean, I know I’m weird, but here people embrace my weirdness, mainly because people here have really no damn room to talk because ain’t nobody sane and normal round these parts.

But the thing is, I’m leaving a world where morbid humor, put downs and cussing is a standard norm. I don’t think there has ever been a time we talked to one another without mean words and snide remarks. Because that’s how we bond. And since I used to be a sailor, I tend to cuss like one. In fact, this is pretty much me most of the time

And that’s pretty much how we also communicate. It’s not for lack of word or smarts (for some of us), it’s just the way things are.

Also, I tend to speak in song lyrics. Like, if you were to say “Knock three times”, I would bust out with this

Sometimes I quote Tupac for no other reason than to be stupid. I like to switch back and forth between British and American accents. I speak with a Southern accent when I say something retarded. I like to move the emphasis on syllables so words sound different and retarded just because I can. I like to use the phalanges as opposed to fingers.

Kate Middleton LOL’s amuse me, even though I pretty much adore Princess Shinylocks.

Just utterly fantastical

Speaking of the word fantastical, I like to make up words. If Shakespeare can do it, so can I dammit.

I am also pretty much insane. My mood changes with the breeze, I can’t settle down for very long, I’m figgity, I hum when I’m bored, I burst out into song when I’m bored, I act out my writing so it’s more “real”. There are days when I feel awesome and cool, and there are days when I want to hide in sweats and not even glance at the outside.

I don’t even know if I’m worried I won’t fit in. I enjoy being insane, but I don’t enjoy feeling ostracized. I know no one likes it, but I still worry about it. I’m also embarking on another career path, one where I might not fit in and that kinda bothers me. I’m worried I won’t make friends; I’m worried I’ll end up cold and alone.

Me

This is all combined with my fears of getting older and never accomplishing anything worthwhile. Kinda like someone else I know…

So really this is all blah blah blah and nonsensical crap and I really should just shut my face because not everyone gets to have an awesome opportunity such as this and everything is going to be fine and I’m going to be the belle of the ball and this will be me.

So I’m just gonna end this right here. I’m being annoyed by work people and i really should get on the road, even though each time I venture out into the world while here at work, murderous rage take over because more often than not, some idiot is going to be retarded and I can’t just go and wall them up somewhere. I know I’m going to hear some fucknut get mouthy because my officers aren’t allowing them to drive like a fucktard and DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!?!?! and I’m gonna call your boss and then I’m gonna end up in trouble because the cool LT isn’t here today. I also know, I am so over this place, looking at people while I’m at work fills me with hatred and anger. Fuck all this serve and protect bullshit. I’m done dealing with pompous assholes who have this ego problem.

 
 

Things I Would Like To Stop Happening Immediately

1. Stop tearing down my President Obama picture. It’s my office, too. You get to have stupid ass drawings and a picture of Captain Picard in here. I want a President Obama picture in here. With the words “My Hero” scribbled beneath it. Plus, it was an adorable picture. How could you hate on this?

How adorable is he? And he is probably the awesomest person in the world. And like it or not, he is our President. El Presidente. The Master and Commander. And I will be voting him in again. UPDATE: Hanging a pic of the Royals is A-Ok (yes, Prince Harry, looking dashing as ever, I might add, is hanging above my desk) but the President is not. Ok. Got it.

2. Democrats trying to “show them” by voting Democrats out of office and allowing Republicans to begin their terrifying rule again. The muthafucking Democrats can’t wave a magic wand and unfuck the 8 years of fuck-ups caused by that functional retard, George Bush. The economy is fucked. The country is fucked. And you’re not helping by voting out those who actually care about this country. Newsflash, the GOP doesn’t. They care about money and corporations. Buy a clue. Thanks.

3. Michele Bachmann existing. Why does she exist? Why is she even a serious political contender? I blame the GOP for this. If you wouldn’t have paraded that pitbull with lipstick out in front of the entire world, Bachmann would never have had a chance. Fuck you, GOP. Seriously.

4. Stop saying being gay is a choice. It is not a choice. You can’t “pray the gay away”, *coughcough* Mister Michele Bachmann, I’m looking at you *coughcough*. You say it’s “wrong” and “against God”, but it’s not. And I’ll tell you why. People who are gay, or bi, or trans, or whatever are born that way (horrible Lady Gaga song notwithstanding) and if you run around saying God doesn’t make mistakes, then either God was wrong by making these people “different” or God made a mistake. It’s one or the other, people. So which is it? If you want to not like somebody because they’re gay, fine. That’s your right, I suppose. But stop trying to get others to share your hate. And stop trying to turn an entire country against those people. It’s hard enough to go through life different. When you tell these kids they’re an abomination and should just die, you’re not helping the situation. Everyone is different. That’s what makes life wonderful. If everyone was the same, life would suck. Let people live, damn! And stop breeding so much hate in this country. Just. Stop.

5. Along those lines, stop being racist, sexist, whateverist. It is riduculous. Hating on someone because of the color of their skin, or their sex, or whatever is assinine. No one gets to chose how they are born or to whom. I don’t hate you because you are a religious, sexist whacko. Don’t hate on me because I am a female.

44 days until I am on a plane for Australia. It’s about damn time because America and I need a break. And here’s hoping I can swing a full time gig down there, or snatch up a school visa because I really don’t think I want to come back.

 

Lame

This has kinda been the shittiest month.

 
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Posted by on June 18, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Battle of the Bulge

Hello, how have you loverly people been? First off, I would like to share the most active search phrases that bring people to this blog with like 4 posts on it: “Who’s awesome, your awesome”, “Joseph Fiennes overacts”, and “Prince Harry’s bulge”. I would like to blast the first phrase because it is ‘you’re’ not ‘your’, okay. Basic little shit like that bothers the hell out of me. But thank you for thinking I am awesome, because I am. The second search phrase is spot on and whichever genius types that into Google search or Bing (ha, no one uses Bing except my punk ass self at work because the US government must have a contract with Microsoft or something since MSN is always the homepage and whenever I try to change it, the stupid computer loses my profile and I have to start all over again. With Bing. Bloody bastards). Joseph Fiennes (remember, about whom we were speaking) does overact. It’s unbearable. And he has no lips. Why does he not have any lips?! And finally, the third search phrase. Miss Sharon World is obviously the one who continues to type such a phrase into the Google search bar. Hate to break it to her,but that bulge is all mine. By the by, this is the first image to come up when you type in “Prince Harry’s bulge”

Clicking on this pic sadly does not redirect to Dlisted. That leads me to believe Michael K is slacking.

Moving on.

For those of you keeping track, I have just a little over 81 days and seven hours until my move to Australia. And starting Friday, 17 June, I start my 40 day diet to supplement my 20 mile weekly walks and help me get back down to my svelte, gorgeous self (’cause that certainly ain’t me now). I imagine on day three of said diet, this will be me:

I say day three because on day one and two, I get to eat whatever my little heart desires. And I plan on eating whatever my little heart desires until my little heart and oversized tummy scream for mercy. Day three and beyond is going to be tough. I delightfully refer to this diet as my “murder diet”, because I have a feeling somewhere around the halfway point of no good food (and no alcohol), I will be murdering some people. Keep an eye out for me on the 6 o’clock news, y’all!

In all seriousness, I am pretty excited. I’ve looked at decade old pictures and am amazed at just how badly I’ve let myself go. I like to blame the hell that is work and Western Washington, but it’s really all my fault. And I’m pretty determined to get myself back on track. Even if it means killing a few people during hunger blackouts along the way.

Walking twenty miles a week really helps. I don’t have that time to sit at home and get bored, which leads me to eat delicious food and drink delicious drinks. My social life is probably going to start to suffer, but I’ll get over it, crying softly in my bed as I dream of delicious cookies and cake and ice cream and hamburgers.

Anyway, Australia is 81 days away!!! I’m so eager to get going; you can’t even imagine. I’ll be able to do this every day!

And dating men who look like this:

Ah, Rusty, where did it all go wrong? You should go on this diet with me. Looking at newer pics of you only drive me to tears.

Now, thinking about the hot Aussie menfolk has brought me to this thought. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t hear how asshole-ish Aussie menfolk are to their wimmenfolk. If that’s true, some Aussie menfolk might get punched in the froat. I mean, as long as I get mine, there might be no froat punching, but if some manfolk thinks he can treat anyone like the crap on the bottom of his shoe, there will be blood.

This is me. You don't want to f-bomb with me.

So I forgot exactly where I was going with this because I did another check of search terms that happen to lead people here, and there’s one interesting one, waaaaaay down at the bottom, and it really just kinda sidetracked me. What is that, you ask? Well, it’s “bulge police”. Who the f-bomb is typing in “bulge police”? Maybe they mean “Bulgarian police”. Or “Bluth Police” (maybe they’re an ‘Arrested Development’ fan and they wanna see Michael Bluth in uniform?). So I decide to do some research, as a good internet user, and search for “bulge police”. Just so I can see exactly what this person might have been looking for. And this is what comes up:

Which, in turns, leads you to a blog post about Anthony Weiner (the most unfortunately named politician who has ever been embroiled in a dick pic scandal).

So, there you have it. That’s all you’re gonna get out of this post. A cavalcade of bulge pics and nonsensical utterings. Now, if i disappear, you all know what has happened. Don’t forget to send bail money.

 
 
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