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Category Archives: Whining and Crying

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.

 

Mr. President, This Issue Was Beneath You And The Dignity Of The Office Which You Hold

That said, hahahahahahahahaha!!! Birth certificate!!! That proves he was born in Uhmerrica, land of the free and home of the ignorant.

Also, because I cannot deal with this moronic question anymore, I’m just gonna laaaay it all out there, Yes, Hawaii became a state in 1950. President Obama was born in Hawaii. He was also born in 1961.

Hawaii. Beautiful state. Accepted into the union in 1950

Baby Barack Obama. Adorable child. Gorgeous mother. Admitted into the union in 1961.

1961-1950= 11. That’s how many years Hawaii had been a state before the arrival of our future President.

Yay for math!

So, the smart comebacks I hear when I begrudgingly sigh and fall into the heated questioning from angry birthers and/or truly clueless people about “Well, the President (wait, no not ‘President’. He is never referred to as such. It is always Obama. Like they served in the military together or grew up playing basketball with him or something) was born before Hawaii became a state. Explain how he’s an American citizen if he was born in a place that hadn’t become a state yet!” will hopefully disappear when they read the actual birth certificate. Hopefully, but probably not. It’s not that hard to Google, for crying out loud! You’ll find it on Wikipedia, all-knowing website of the gods! Just, for the love of all that is holy and the continuation of our country as the greatest on Earth, educate yourselves. Please. You don’t have to agree with me, just educate yourself. It’s free and totally rewarding.

But before I go, I would like someone to explain to me why Thomas Jefferson, Third President of the United States, born to an English mother; Andrew Jackson, Seventh President of the United States, born to two Irish parents; James Buchanan, Fifteenth President of the United States, born to an Irish father; Chester A Arthur, Twenty-First President of the United States, born to an Irish father; Woodrow Wilson, Twenty-Eighth President (and Mrs. Edna Krappable’s love interest), born to an English mother; and Herbert Hoover, Thirty-First President of the United States, born to a Canadian (GASP!) mother, did not have to show an entire country their birth certificates? I demand satisfaction! or, because I have understanding of the Fourteenth Amendment, I do not, because I am not an idiot.

All I got to say is, America, I think we need a break. No, no, don’t try to argue. I would say that whole cheesy line about how it’s not you, it’s me crap, but I don’t want to lie to you. Mainly because you can handle the truth. It’s you, not me. We need a time out…some time apart so I can re-evaluate this whole relationship thing we have going on here. It’s been an interesting 30 years, but I think it’s time we see other people, which is why I’m going to be seeing Australia from now on. Don’t get jealous, it’s not flattering. Plus, they have an invite to the Royal Wedding, a.k.a. The Most Important Social Event Of Our Time and you don’t. So…yeah….don’t text me anymore.

Parting is such sweet sorrow

 
 

Cher For President Of The World

Hallo! I trust you all had a fine and enjoyable Zombie Jesus Day a.k.a. Easter Sunday. All has been going well around here. So far. I’m just sitting around, patiently waiting for my awesome road trip with Kiki

Us. Only not men.

and waiting for my hella long, but totally worth it flight to Australia. By the way, Jodie, what the hell does Head to the Footy mean? Some Australian military website promised me I could do such a thing.

Ha! I'm kidding. Sort of.

So there is actually a whole reason I’m posting this post. You see there is a boy. That I sort of fancy. Well, man actually, otherwise that would be pedophilia. And disturbing.

And this man I happen to be dreaming about nearly every night. When I’m not dreaming about my army of zombie killing dinosaurs or zombies breaking into my house. Or Agent Fox Mulder.

This effing killed me when the episode first aired

Where was I? Ah, yes, the man. You see, I have a real problem with my dreams bothering me and forcing me to wake up confused and depressed. Like last night’s where I dreamed we were cuddling on something but he wouldn’t kiss me because he said he likes me but he can’t like me. And I was all

and then I woke up. Seriously, WTF?

Anyway, I do seriously fancy this bloke, but I shouldn’t because I wish to be the female George Clooney, not attached to anyone for long, dating only the most beautiful of men, guest starring on Roseanne, stealing money from casinos with Matt Damon…mmm Matt Damon, who I will no longer fancy because he is no longer Jason Mothereffing Bourne. Some other bland white dude from that one movie who might have dated JSimp and is quite possibly really gay IRL. That’s bullshit.

You know what else is bullshit? Me liking this dude. I mean, I’m moving to a whole ‘nother country in a few months, one that isn’t even connected to the US, nor is it easily reachable without some cash to pony up for a hell expensive plane ticket. Or a boat. So all of this has effectively turned me into this

Lonely Jen Aniston

when I’m supposed to be like this

This year's Halloween costume. Taken from my own closet. 'Cause I'm ballin'

Now, will I ever tell this dude how I feel about him, you ask? The answer is no. Because, deep down, beneath my wisecracking, sarcastic surface is a terrified little girl who grew up being told she was never good enough, so she still believes she’ll never be good enough. This is why I am such an asshole sometimes, and am not able to converse without dropping a few sarcastic remarks in there, in case you all were wondering. Thanks, Life!

Now, right about now, this is probably you

And you’re gonna tell me how awesome I am. I know I’m awesome. I can play the cello. I took two foreign languages in high school while most people couldn’t even pass English (to be fair, though, English sucks). I got a book published (for like two seconds). I have achieved all sorts of neat shit. People find me funny. People like me and always have (I have no idea why because I wouldn’t be my friend. I’m a jerk). You guys are fantabulous. But me knowing I’m awesome doesn’t change how I feel or the fact I’m not going to ask this dude out. No matter how into him I am.

Alas, this will never be us.

So, instead I will bitch about it on a blog. Because that’s the American way!

The history nerd in me adores this picture

By the way, all these pictures I add to my posts are a good representation of what goes on inside my brain at any given moment of the day. This is another reason why I am awesome.

So this concludes my bitching and moaning. Before I leave, I would like to share the news Greatest Actress In The World And French Person, Eva Green is in a new show called “Camelot”, which is pretty meh in itself, but brought to the level of Greatest Show On Earth (move the fuck over P.T. Barnum) because Eva Green, Superstar, is in it. ALSO!!!! Miss, Kiki a.k.a. Senorita Hobag the Third (I found an old email to you that was addressed as such…ah MEMORIES), Mr. James Purefoy, a.k.a. Hot Marcus Antonius in it for like two episodes, being all around sexy until he’s knocked off. Boo, hiss!

Best bitchface in the biz

This show totally reaffirms my belief we need to bring crowns back. I would wear the fuck out of a crown. When I am married to Prince Hot Ginge, I will wear a crown everywhere. To the mall. To get my car fixed. To Wal-Mart. Everywhere.

Anyway, I leave you with a video and song that was brought to the forefront of my consciousness thanks to the awesomeness that is Michael K. It also explains the title of this post…sort of.