Family

SUCKS. Especially mine (and I'm NOT referring to my immediate family, like my brother, Mom, Dad, and my new hubby). I'm talking about my entire extended family. I'm not sure why, but every time I think or talk about any one of them, I feel my blood temperature elevating to dangerous levels. Like boiling.

Well, I guess I do know why. ALL OF THEM are blood-sucking, money-hungry, back-stabbing, selfish, egotistic, lying, materialistic motherfuckers. I just wish I had the balls to say that to their faces. Instead, I sit here at my lovely desk, sipping on some cheap Merlot which thankfully, mends the painful urge to rip out and feed them their own colons.

The hardest part, though, is seeing all of them repeatedly and having to put on a "happy" face, for lack of bigger balls, which I mentioned above. If I was moving out of state, I would gladly pick up the phone and spend half a day (because that's all it's worth) telling all of them what giant pieces of shit they are. I just think they are SO self-involved that they wouldn't be bothered by it.

I've come to a conclusion that makes me happy. They can't be happy. How could such miserable, awful people be happy? It's just not possible. They are probably drowning in their own moral filth. Their personality droppings. Their bad attitude feces and their cold-hearted clots. I wouldn't be happy just for the sake of seeing other people unhappy, but I would be happy to know others are unhappy for justice's sake. And whoever the DA is in this case, thank you for bringing such thrilling justice to a group of undeserving people.

By the off-chance that any one of my lovely relatives would come across this homage, please take this into consideration: as you sit reading, pondering to yourself and stupidly developing the conclusion that 'she couldn't be talking about me--it must be everyone else,' I beg to differ. It is you. It is every single one of you with no exception.

But, considering it is the holiday season, I love Christmas and I feel like giving (something none of you can possibly conceive), you are deserving of something.

Each other.

Divinity

Two questions my Dad has talked to me about ever since I was a little girl: what happens after death and how can space end?

I used to stand outside at night and look up at the sky; thousands of twinkling stars, but what is beyond that? He always told me that the idea of people not existing after death and that space is not infinite were two ideas that were absolutely inconceivable to the human mind, and anyone who disagrees has a lethal combination of ego, stubbornness and misinformation.

To this day, those ideas still perplex me, and I am no closer to disagreeing that they are indeed inconceivable. There is no scientist, Pagan, or religious enthusiast who can tell me that there is nothing after death because the human mind is incapable of picturing itself as non-existent. There is no astrologist who can tell me that there is a blockade in space, because how can it end?

When I was younger, I started linking those two questions together. Space cannot end just like the mind cannot end, as the mind doesn't have the ability to imagine things as so. Humans don't have the brain capacity to understand the idea of something stopping. We are not divine.

Bitch Fights

I'd like this post to be about women, and how much more catty, back-stabbing and egotistic they are than men. Many women value themselves by how attractive (both physically and in any other ways) they are to men. All other men. I know several women, or rather, girls, that behave like this. They are constantly competing with other women to be the prettier, sexier female. And, many of them behave as though they are easy, in front of men, to get their "approval."

My question is, do they honestly believe that these men think they are special? Does having a man want to have sex with you mean you're better than the other girl(s)? And, why are these GIRLS allowing these men to choose for them? Why don't the women behave with more confidence and choose the men? It makes my blood boil when I see these girls act ditsy, as if it were "sexy" to get the attention of a man. I think it far sexier and alluring when a smart, attractive woman is able to hold a normal conversation with a man about anything, withought coming across ditsy. Do these men actually figure that these ditsy girls will be good in bed? Hmm. Now, what about the smart girls? Perhaps they have the self-confidence to be quite the star in the bedroom.




I guess I am deriving a point. The men who fall for this dumb act from girls are dumb themselves, and probably won't be any good in bed, either. I suppose all is right in the world, after all: ditsy girls will have bad sex with dumb men, and smart girls will get fireworks in the bedroom, and will have the confidence to not kiss and tell about it.

The Hills

About 364 days a year, I sit up at wee hours of the morning wishing stores would be open 24 hours a day. As I sit at my desk, browsing the Internet, I am regretfully wondering why the hell I am sitting, bored, while HELLA stores are open, having huge gigantic sales. How fun would it be to go shopping at midnight? I say much. And yet, I sit here. Why? I have no idea.

I am imagining Walmart. I am imagining walking through the brisk air of the night, in a crowded parking lot, towards the double, swing doors that would open to the walkway of magic. Isles and isles of products, on sale, and wrapped in glittering boxes adorned with red Christmas bows and sale tags, while the overhead speakers play "The hiiiiiiiills are aliiiiiiiiive with muuuuuuusic" as I gracefully swing like a ballerina when I pick up a pack of 36 tampons for $3.99. But that's not all! I make my way to the holiday department, where thousands of cheap plastic ornaments are stacked on shelves and singing Santa's are stuck on "ho-ho-ho-ing." Beauty, I tell you. I fill my cart with presents and crap, gliding over the sticky floors like an iceskater. The registers are all full, and I gleefully wait in line for 45 minutes, choosing what gum flavor I want from the candy displays. Sugarfree! Sticks or tabs? Sticks or tabs? STICKS OR TABS? Damnit. Tabs. I make conversation with the philipino lady at the checkstand, and for a second, JUST for a second, have a feeling of weakness and regret as I slide my VISA. Too late! Ha! I can't go back now. What's so bad about $167.43? Everything was on sale. As I load my own bags, I make my way out of the magic hallway, and hand over my receipt so the receipt-checker makes sure I didn't steal anything. I skip as I push my cart over the jagged concrete. I smile at the red Honda Civic that nearly swipes me, because I probably bought everything that bitch came here to buy, anyway. I won. I load my 17 bags, grab my new Mango tab gum, pop one in my mouth, turn on my engine, and take 13.6 minutes to leave, just to make other shoppers looking for parking work for it. "Ahhhhh," I release, and I sing to myself, "The hiiiiiiiiiiills are aliiiiiiiiive with muuuuuuuusic!"

But, no. Instead of taking advantage of something I wish for on every normal day of my life, I sit, writing a blog about it.

Figures.

Cramps in my pants!

Whenever I get cramps, I get a little crazy. A) From the pain, and B) because I'm usually drunk. Instead of popping pills for my pain, I drink instead. I feel it's healthier. And more fun. So, when the insanity hits, I always feel a song coming on! And, I LOVE singing songs about my cramps. I suppose it's my own way of amusing myself while I'm sliding off the couch in pain....and drunk.

Here goes!

I got cramps in my pants,
cramps in my pants,
take a shot of jack and
do a little dance

I wish my cramps would diiiiieeeeeeeeeee....
I wish my cramps would die!

I sit in agony,
watching reruns and talk shows,
while sipping on vodka and really cheap merlot,
I got bad cramps.
I gooooot bad cramps.

Sometimes I sit on the couch
and stare at the kitchen
dreaming about
cutting it all fucking ouuuuuuut,
My ovaries and everything.

When I'm sitting at the fireplace
smoking like a chimney,
I look down below,
wishing there was a boy's pee-peeeeeeeee....
wishing there was a boy's pee-pee

I always told myself,
God must be a male,
to give us periods and childbirth,
and make us bloated like a whaaaaaaale....

I have bad cramps!

The End.

I love procrastination!

....and I just realized why. I love procrastination because (doesn't that sound like the sentence formula of a first grader learning to write?) I am a slow thinker, 50% of the time. I re-think too much. For example, I will come up with the answer to a question my boss asked me six months ago, today. Hence, I procrastinate to collect as many bright ideas as I possible can before I have to stop and get whatever it is I'm doing, done. So, you see, sometimes procrastination is not so bad. In fact, sometimes, procrastination is just someone waiting for their best ideas. Plus, what's with all of the rush? I have a hunch that if people were to slooooooow down and think before doing things, the world would be a better place.

Anyhow.

According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, procrastination: to put off intentionally the doing of something that should be done.

According to the Dictionary of Me, procrastination: to put off intentionally the doing of something in order to better do it.

So, procrastinate on, my friends.

Conversation

I came across an incredibly fascinating quote last night. The quote wasn't fascinating for any other reason beyond its incredible truth. The following quote is from a French play called "Foursome," by Eugene Ionesco:

"Let's grant that I said what I said about your talking without saying anything, now this doesn't mean that you always talk withought saying anything. There are times, however, when one says more in saying nothing and when one says nothing in talking too much. This depends on the situation and on the people involved. Now just how much have you actually said during the last few minutes? Nothing, absolutely nothing. No matter who says so."

I strongly encourage everyone to read this play. It's incredibly short (I believe only about four pages), unless what I read was just a scene (it did not specify). I have read a lot of literature during my schooling, and usually, all of it dragged on and on like a rainy day. This play, however, seemed to have such a strong underlying moral that was covered with such a simple scene. Anyhow, I thought that quote was incredibly powerful, just stated in a very simplistic manner. Now, think about it. How many people do you know that just talk, and talk, and talk without saying anything?