It's New Years Eve!


It kind of snuck up on me this year.

Sadly, this year will not be spent with Bond, Dennis, The Dolphin and others. (They will have to get stranded on the side of the road with someone else this year).

This year will be spent getting Drunk with a Capital "D" with a friend from College. You will never find a better drinking buddy than this guy, and I'm eternally excited because we are almost physically incapable of behaving ourselves when we hang out.

And I need that kind of debauchery.

Anyway, Happy New Year guys. Be safe tonight, there's more partying to do in 2009.

So I'm at work, and the filing cabinet is locked.

No one seems to have a key to what is possibly the shittiest padlock I have ever seen. (I have luggage that is more secure, but I digress).

The CEO and head of marketing were arguing over OMG WHAT DO WE DO, and quite honestly it was throwing off my flow with this website I've been working on.

So I walked over there while they were arguing, picked the lock with one paperclip (It was that shitty of a lock) went back to my desk and started typing like nothing happened.

They were AMAZED by this display of talent (Seriously I didn't even have to bend the paper clip. I can pick a lock but this took absolutely no skill short of shoving a paperclip in and turning).

"Where did you learn that?!" Well, my parents locked up the booze when I was younger, and people put far too much faith in padlocks.

I don't know what got into me, but my response was "My cellmate taught me".


He does not think I am funny.

I'm stalling.

Not that this is new or exciting.

It's crunch time at work and I can't seem to get motivated to finish this stupid website. The worst part? It theoretically won't be difficult at this point.

Instead? I played bloons all morning and then picked a padlock. The padlock wasn't even protecting anything, I just wanted to see if I could still do it.

Pathetic.

If I was like this during college I'd still be there.

Yea yea, I'm a few days late, but I was in Indiana with no Internets or cellphone reception.

Eat it.


Anyhooter, Merry Christmas, or whatever it is you celebrate.

When I was little, I thought that Christmas was when Jesus came out of his cave. If he saw his shadow, it meant 6 weeks of Easter.

Good news for all of you church going folks, Jesus didn't see his shadow so you're only on the hook for one Easter Sunday.

I hope Santa brought you everything on your list this year!

I am being an emo, emo bitch today.

I need to update this more often, but the holidays have kicked my ass.

Laid off, unlaid off, contracts, family crises, websites to fix, etc, and I just haven't had any time to even think lately.

Then I realized last month, that my best friends little girl, Skylar, is 1.

ONE.

As in, 365 days old. (More now). And It occurred to me, that I haven't seen much of her.

Some Aunt Clare I am.

Moving back to Iowa isn't an option, and my family is in Indiana, so being in Chicago is pretty well right between them, but right between them doesn't really mean too much when you're not with them.

It's probably the typical holiday stress, combined with a smidge of Seasonal Affective Disorder. (Yea, yea I know. I used to think it was crap too, and then my mom pointed out that my otherwise happy go lucky Grandfather gets the same way. I was pissed. I can't even get a real mental illness.) But right now, I want my best friend.

And that's not to say that I don't love my friends here, I do. They are ALL great. WONDERFUL. But it's not the same as Shawn. And sometimes when the world feels like it's closing in, the only thing that will fix it is a Shawnie hug. That's the greatest part about my best friend. He's got these super long arms that like, wrap around you nineteen times.

At least I know they miss me too. I have it on good authority that when my friend D left here last time, she teared up. When her fiance asked her about it, she threatened to leave him on the side of the road, so if she asks, she's never cried and I have no idea what the hell you people are talking about.

It's usually not such a bad drive, but my car is leaking oil now and I don't have the four million dollars it will cost to fix it, so I'm pretty sure it won't make it. So bless my friend Steve's heart, he's driving me out to Iowa this weekend. He's driving his car, in the winter, to Iowa so I can see my insane friends that he's never met.

I do have a lot to look forward to, because on New Years, one of my FAVORITE people from college is coming to party. Only, I have no idea where we'd go. Obviously, around the Chicagoland area, and the holidays have not left my checking account in a good place, so anything that's not nine thousand dollars would be super.

Any ideas, Interwebs?

In the mean time, I promise I'll take some midol.

So, today is Tuesday, which means it's the best day of my week.

Why?

Because I can finally figure out What the hell is going on in this week's episode of NCIS.

Yes, it bothers me that much. And the show has been removed from all spoiler sites, which is slowly killing my soul. The thing is, I'd watch it anyway, but I can't wait to know what happened! It's the one show I never miss, and not just because I want to see Michael Weatherly without a shirt on holding a gun. Because that would be shallow.

Moving on.

I'm in the market for some new writing gigs and that seems to be taking up a majority of my online time, which sucks balls. That, and I'm kicking around the idea of a screen play.

No, I've never written one.

No, I have no idea what I'm doing.

No, it wasn't my idea.

Yes, I think I can pull it off.

I hope.

No, I don't have any titles picked out. Although I do kind of like "TweekerChick: The Movie". All 6 people who read this thing would definitely line up for that one.

I'm eternally happy that the election is over. However, now I get to listen to endless bickering about how Obama is going to take all of our guns and money. Like with the Iraq situation and the current economy, he's going to sit his black ass in the White House and say "Yep. The guns? Gotta go."

Who knows though, I've been wrong before.

Ugh. I should probably actually do work today.

More updates soon!

I'm supposed to be working but instead I decided to post here real quick.

Don't forget, election day is tomorrow. Get off your asses, leave your Mom's basement for a few minutes and vote. It is important.

Don't believe the hype, either

Halloween is my favorite holiday, ever.

And not just because of the lame excuse everyone gives. "I like it because I can dress up and be something different!" "I like it because no one judges me!".

Fuck that.

I love Halloween because it's one gigantic party, and because everyone is dressed like an idiot or a slut, they all loosen up.

This Halloween, I decided that I was going to celebrate the way the Pagans intended. By dressing like a slut and drinking myself into a coma.

I went to a dive bar with a big group of girls and had a great time.

I spent most of the night having my ass grabbed by the random hot female bartender who looks like Christina Applegate. The rest of the night was kind of a blur, fueled by a shit load of beer.

I vaguely remember making out with a pilot, a Greek, and a girl. And a pickle.

I made out. With a pickle.

And I gave him my number. Which is not something I usually do. He's called me 6 times since Halloween. I barely remember talking to him. If I was drunk enough to give a total stranger my cellphone number, there is no way in hell I'm going to remember what we talked about.

He wants to meet up sometime and hang out. Which creates a problem.

What exactly do you say to the pickle you drunkenly made out with? "Hi, you look less green and phallic today"? Only me.

Next Halloween, someone take my cell phone away.

The more I hear about the Fall TV Lineups, the more I realize it's all the same shit rehashed over and over again. Sure, there's the Show That Started It All, but shortly thereafter there are 29 shows just like it with a little twist. 

So after some tireless research* I came up with the mix of shows every network is using this fall for it's lineup. 

*A highly scientific study done while I was stranded on the couch for  a week with pneumonia and nothing better to do. 

1. Some person somewhere has some sort of abnormality or special ability. Will this person who lives a normal life just like the rest of us despite being leaps and bounds more beautiful than any of us manage to overcome the fact that they're different and use their ability for good? Or will they slip in to evil? This show tends to be punctuated by the phrase "I'm not normal!" or "I just want to be normal!".  Which tends to be enough for normal people to want to reach through the television set and strangle them.

2. An elite team of forensic scientists/investigators/detectives/hyper observant people solve crimes that puzzle the FBI/CIA/local cops in less than an hour, with time for the foregin/exotic looking team member to rebuke the frat boy team member much to the joy of the nerdy computer geek team member in a way that makes the tough yet lovable team leader smile warmly instead of telling them to get the fuck back to work. 

3. A bunch of gorgeous women will spend an hour of your time sitting around drinking expensive coffee, and chatting about relationship issues that no one actually has. The premise for this show is simple and foolproof. Take The View, make the actors more attractive, and in between bitching and moaning about things no one cares about, throw in a steamy love affair with the gardener, so the normal women all over America who live in a huge house in Suburbia and sleep with their gardeners can relate. All one of them. Apparently the pilot for the more realistic show of "single women who live in shitty apartments and make bad decisions after drinking" was axed by the network. 

4. A team of psychics will cavort around in the dark, informing all of America about their Solar Plexus, and overreacting when they hear static over a radio. The real excitement comes when one of them looks at the thermometer and notices...THE TEMPERATURE HAS DROPPED. This is must see TV, people. It's not every day you get to see someone in flowy netural colored clothing so affected by the climate.

5. An elite team of people who have very important jobs as surgeons/nuclear physicists/police men go about their normal day, which are so ironic and hilarious the rest of us wonder why we never became surgeons/nuclear physicists/police men because the job is so obviously simple, they have the entire day to play hilarious pranks on each other.

6. A handful of super successful executives live at the office, which is apparently located in a magical land where the secretary sleeps with you and no one seems to notice that you keep a bottle of bourbon in your desk.

7. A group of quirky friends with a variety of odd low paying jobs somehow manage to  live in a very nice loft in a major city despite being paid next to nothing, and muddle through and subsequently destroy relationships most of us would love to have, finally settling on one of their equally quirky and original friends to settle down with, and then break up with, and then settle down with again.

8. Finally! A game show involving nothing but pure luck and basic intelligence, allowing any asshole with a mullet and enough knowledge to finish the sentence "Duck Duck _____" to make more money in a half an hour than you will in your entire life, and then piss it all away on scratch off tickets and booze.

9. Police men from various parts of the world are filmed doing their jobs. Which, if this show tells us anything, involves more encounters with topless coeds than it does actual criminals. Keep up the good work, guys. I'm sure the cops who get shot at on a regular basis appreciate your sacrifices.

10. A man/car/employee/criminal is busted cheating/slamming/stealing/robbing on his girlfriend/into another car/from the store/a bank on hidden camera. The ensuing cluster fuck is caught on film! If it's a really high class show, a psychic will be involved.

And they say being a TV executive is hard, I've got this shit on lockdown.

I'm penning a longer post for today, but you might notice I had to change the format for the comments. Nothing major, you now have to be logged in to leave comments. 

Yea, I'm not a fan either.

However, I've had some problems the past few months with some harassment, and what the authorities refer to as "stalking". Hopefully I'll be able to loosen the reigns again soon, because I hate to stifle the voices that like to tell me that I'm wrong.

That being said, if the situation doesn't clear up, the next step is to moderate all comments, which is something I want to avoid. Mostly because I've never deleted a comment that painted me in a bad light, and I don't feel like dealing with those accusations now. 

That and it's a whole lot of fucking work I just don't want to deal with. 

Life has been interesting lately, I know I haven't been around. 

I need to find a new part time job (layoffs),  I've been sick, and a few minutes ago my boyfriend decided to dump me.

Awesome timing. 

It's partially my fault: I'm busy all the time lately and I've not had time for myself, not to mention anyone else. 

I'll give him props, it was one of the more creative breakup speeches I've ever heard. He's not blaming me but he's not taking any responsibility for himself. That works, I suppose. 

Maybe it was one of those things, maybe we are better off as friends and instead of dealing with that I subconciously acted like an asshole. 

But I can't get too upset I suppose. Sometimes life sucks. 

I just wish he'd stop being salty about it. 

For the past 8 years (literally) every single month I go to my doctor and get the same 5 prescriptions. They are the same thing every time: inhaled steroid, ritalin (2 bottles, 5 and 10 mgs), an albuterol inhaler, and allegra D. The inhaled steroids, and Ritalin are some pretty heavy scripts.

I went in yesterday with my little stack of prescriptions, written by the same doctor at the same time like he does EVERY MONTH FOR THE PAST 8 YEARS.

The pharmacist goes ahead and fills the steriod, the ritalin, and the allegra D.

She then tells me that she can't fill the inhaler (Which I absolutely 100% CAN NOT be without)

We have the following conversation:
PharmacyLady: I can't fill this the signature doesn't match.
Me: It should, call my doctor.
PharmacyLady: I did.
Me: And?
PharmacyLady: They said they signed it, but I need a valid prescription.
Me: If they signed it wouldn't that make it a valid prescription?
PharmacyLady: If they signed it. I'm not convinced they did.
Me: Can I have the prescription back then?
PharmacyLady: I can't give you back a forged prescription.
Me: Excuse me?
PharmacyLady: This is obviously a forged prescription.
Me: You're actually going to let me walk out of here with steriods and speed, but not an inhaler.
PharmacyLady: Its not valid.
Me: You're right. Fuck oxycodone, valium, vicodin, xanax, percoset...Ive been forging ALBUTEROL prescriptions for 8 years and getting high off of it. I mean really, THATS the primo shit. Call the Feds, you caught me.

I then took my toys and left. Called my doctor who has known me literally my entire life to get a new one.
"Hey, I've been meaning to talk to you, did you tell the pharmacist you've been forging prescriptions for 8 years?"

You've got to be kidding me.

Speechless. I am. Speechless.

It was a joke, which I thought was blatantly obvious by my use of the phrase "That's the primo shit". Seriously, like I'd forge albuterol. If I'm gonna get blown off of illegally obtained prescription meds, I'm getting high off of acne cream and antacids, bitches.

Today is awesome.

I just had a long, meaningful conversation with key people in our organization.

There were charts and graphs and awesomeness.

It was about a half an hour long.


So you can imagine my joy when I got back to my desk and found out that my fly was unzipped.


At least I wore underpants today.

Part of the problem with getting old is the realization that you can't actually do all of the things you were told you could as a kid.

My generation (most of us anyhow), grew up being told there was absolutely nothing on the planet that we couldn't do. So you have fear of enclosed spaces and heights, it's OK Billy, you can still be an astronaut. It's no big deal that Sally looks like she got hit in the face with a shovel, she can still model! As long as she puts her mind to it.

That's the phrase it ends with. "Put your mind to it.".

The more I think about it, the more that phrase is a phenomenal load of bullshit that people have been feeding into for years.

And lately, it's really been chapping my ass. I have been looking for a new career lately, and I'm always met with the same response when I tell people why.

"You can be good at sales, you just have to put your mind to it".

By that logic, I could also be a brilliant neurosurgeon, Lindsay Lohan's next girlfriend, or a nuclear physicist.

Not gonna happen.

It occurred to me that I started this job to get out of sales, and they forced me back into it because of the market, despite my telling them honestly and openly that I sucked balls at it. So I'm getting tired of feeling guilty for sucking exactly as much as I told them I would.

Instead of putting my mind to it, I've decided to put my mind to something else: moving on to a place where I'm happy. And that, my friends, is a gigantic pain in the ass.

Maybe I've been in recruiting too long, or maybe I'm just bitter, but I have the absolute hardest time giving a flying shit about the interviews I go on. It's not that I don't want the job, I absolutely do, but I have apparently reached this point in life where they are no longer any source of stress. I was more stressed out on the commute to get there than I was during the actual interview.

Maybe that's a good thing, maybe that's the universe's way of telling me that I'm doing the right thing by moving on to something I actually want to do.

Either way, as long as I don't have to hear the phrase "put your mind to it", I'm in.

(Check out the links later on today, I'm in the process of updating them.)

Hey there!

I haven't done one of these since college, but I am drunk and I am blogging.

And it is awesome.

Kudos to Steve, who lets me be drunk and amazing at his house 

steve rocks my socks that way.

YAY for steve. I had tequila.

That is all.

I just had a very disheartening discussion about my blog with my friend Eric.

Not only do I not post enough, it seems, but I have done him a great disservice.

In his own words:


[11:44] Eric: You need to update your blog.
[11:44] TweekerChickQC: It Is.
[11:44] TweekerChickQC: I updated yesterday.
[11:44] Eric: Incorrectamundo.
[11:44] Eric: In all your entries throughout the entire blog, I find myself mentioned exactly 0 times.
[11:44] TweekerChickQC: Awww.
[11:45] Eric: If Dicky McBoner can get mentioned, so can I.

My most sincere apologies if anyone else was offended by this grievous error.

I've never been one to make a huge deal out of my birthday.

I don't demand candles, or a huge cake (unless Jeffery Donovan or Vin Diesel is jumping out of it, in which case I want my goddamn cake), or presents.

All I really care about is that the people I care about give me a call, an email, an IM, something.

My birthday was yesterday. Again, it was almost a non event. I saw The Dark Knight (incredible movie, see it, seriously), had a few drinks and went to bed. Nothing huge.

I got a shitload of emails, IMs, forum posts and text messages all wishing me a happy birthday, which is awesome. Well, awesome as long as they weren't from Mikey, who has resorted to starting every one of our conversations with the phrase "HA HA YOU'RE OLD!" and "God loves me best!"

Not one of those emails, IMs, forum posts and text messages came from my friends back home. Not. One. Understand, I've known some of those people for going on 12 years now. If I was to forget their birthday there would be absolute hell to pay. Not one of them called me. Not even my best friend (who is apologetic as hell). The rest? Haven't heard from them.

And I am pissed.

For 364 days of the year, I deal with their issues, neuroses, bullshit and drama which a lot of the time is the result of their own actions. I'm supportive even when I want to strangle them. I take calls at all hours of the night, I give good solid advice and I don't blow smoke up their asses.

To make matters worse? I made it easy for every one of them. A few days before my birthday I even reminded them. I mean for fucks sake.

One day a year, just one, I expect them to pick up the phone first. That's all. I don't want a parade, I don't want diamonds (ok thats a lie), I don't want parties and cake, all I ask is that they flip open the same fucking cellphone they call me on to unload all their stupid, bullshit, petty problems and let me know that they appreciate me, just for a fucking second. Just a "hey, thanks for listening to me ramble on about my engagement/best friend/boyfriend/girlfriend/job."

It may sound selfish, but if I'm not important enough to call once a fucking year, then I'm certainly not important enough to field phone calls about their daily lives, engagements, weddings, best friend, boyfriends, girlfriends, jobs, and so on. It all seems so clear now.

I wrote a few days ago about knowing who my real friends are, and I apparently do now. And when I stop answering their calls? They'll figure out who their real friends are. I'm through giving a shit about people who care less about me. Call it a birthday present to myself.

I recently got a crash course in figuring out who my real friends are.

My Grandpa Max was taken to the hospital about 2 months ago with a massive aortic aneurysm. Things were not looking good, the place I was getting ready to drive to was flooding badly and I was not ok.
Insult to injury, I had to break plans with my Sexy Friend who I will refer to from here on out as Sexy Mc Longrod. Why? Because I want to.

My Grandpa Max taught me to drive a stick shift when I was 10. He used to chaperone field trips with me and my sister when we were little, and would give us all the answers to those stupid worksheets and let us run around and learn on our own. He's the best Grandpa you could ever ask for, so I was so far from alright that it wasn't funny.

So what does Sexy Mc Longrod do? He drives 2 hours from Bloomington to give me a big hug. This despite the fact that I hadn't showered. That, readers, is a good friend.

He just wrapped his arms around me and let me cry for a good half an hour. He didn't say anything, just scratched my head and kissed me on the top of the head. Which is what I needed.

Somehow we got started talking about family. And I told him the truth, that my Daddy was a Navy Seal.

The conversation went something like this:
SMLR: Your dad was a SEAL?
Me: Yep.
SMLR: He's probably watching us right now.
Me: Yep. From Texas, he's got the cross hairs on your forehead right now.
SMLR: :Looks left, looks right, pokes my boob:
Me: I'm sure he'll be calling in a few to tell you that the bullet is on it's way from Texas.

Then, and I swear to god this is true, my cell phone rings.

It was my father, who has never in his life called me for anything ever, calling to see what I was doing.

I'm surprised Sexy Mc Longrod didn't dive off the couch and hide.

That alone is not why he's an awesome guy.

This is why.

I don't cry, ever. I don't ever let people see me cry, so I hate it. And when I went to drop him off at the car, I warned him "Don't you ever tell anyone about this".

His response?

He looked me right in the eye and said "Or what? You'll cry about it?"

And that's why he's awesome. Because for a second there, everything was fine.

Thankyou, Sexy Mc Longrod. Couldn't have gotten through it without you love.

I was supposed to write my entry on my sexy friend who took care of me when my Grandpa took ill. Actually, I was supposed to write my entry on my Grandpa being sick.

But it's going to have to wait.

Why?

Because now I'm sick.

Despite it being fucking the middle of July, I have managed to acquire bronchitis and a bitching sinus infection. And let me tell you, I am one big ball of sexy right now. Nothing says "do me baby" like phlegm.

I'm usually a pretty good sick person. I have been since I was a little girl, my Mom tells me stories about how I'd be about 5 years old, sick, telling her not to worry and insisting she went back to bed. She said I was so stubborn about it she'd eventually go back to bed. Even at 5 apparently there was no point in arguing with me.

However, this sinus infection has knocked me off my ass. I can't come up with any sort of original thought, and I kind of want to jab a pencil into my head to let some of the pressure out. (Don't worry, I'm not going to. And for those of you about to make the obvious joke, don't. I'm sick and I bite).

Plan for the rest of the night: take a handful of pills and go back to sleep.

I'll be back at it soon. Pinkie swear.

I finally got to meet up with Ben and his friend I'll call T, because I'm sure he doesn't want name checked on this little blog here.

It was a great time. We got into the city late after seeing my friend Bdub, and met up with Ben just as the bars were starting to close.

For most people, that means "Time to go home". Unless you're me. Then it means "Find a bar that's open until 4." Which is exactly what we did.

Because it took so long for us to finally meet up with each other, I was pretty well loaded by the time I saw him. I almost want to apologize to them, because lord only knows that I am a force to be dealt with when I have a pushup bra and a blood alcohol level over that of zero.

It was the typical Chicago night, girls dancing on a stage making out, me going into the bathroom with all my clothes on, leaving with my shirt off and a hickey, me kissing everyone I saw and asking Ben if it was considered cheating if it was with a girl, you know, the normal shit you have to deal with when you give me tequila.

Despite all the debauchery, the best moment of the night happened at the end. All the cute little blonde girls in their cute little trendy outfits were pouring out of the bars and trying to hail cabs in shoes that were way too tall for them while trying not to throw up.

And then Ben said what is quite possibly the funniest thing I have ever heard about my city.

"I have never seen so many trashy women in one place."

And that is what he gets for hanging out with me.

Hopefully he comes back to visit so I can dance on the bar with him.

You guys are probably wondering where I've been.

I've been pretty sick recently, and then my grandfather was in ICU for a bit. In the mean time, Ive been trying to get my finances and such in order.

No worries, I've been writing in the mean time, I just haven't typed it all out yet.

Tomorrow is going to rock so ridiculously hard.

I've been a reader of This Blog for quite awhile now. After a few emails back and forth I got to know the guy behind it (as well as you can between emails and the occasional IM).

So you can imagine my excitement when he said he's coming to Chicago for a Sox game. Do the Sox suck? Of course they do. But that means I get to meet up with one of the funniest guys on the planet.

Fucking score.

Like one of my friends said. "He's survived cancer, Clare. Don't you think he's suffered enough?".

If he wants to hang out with me, I think its obvious that the answer is "No."

Hopefully one of us gets a good story out of it. Both of us if we manage to stay out of the clink.

I think the majority of my friends back home have lost their minds. Seriously.

I woke up this morning to my friend D screeching into my cell phone. If history has told me anything, D being up early means one thing: She has done something stupid.

Now, she's one of my best friends and I feel comfortable calling her a dumb ass on the internet, because this is nothing I haven't said to her face regularly throughout our friendship. I love her, but if there is any possible way she can either break something or hurt herself, she will. It makes life interesting, and is the reason we don't allow her near fire.

But I digress.

She called me this morning shrieking like one of the girls on Flava of Love because her boyfriend proposed to her. As in, my clumsy, weird, irrefutably bitchy friend is getting married.

Part of me is really happy for her, the other part of me that is over protective is going "You've been with him less than 5 months." Being one of her best friends, I balls out told her that.

Her response? "Clare, it's one of those things you just know."

One of those things you just know. Says the girl who can barely keep from setting herself on fire when she goes on smoke breaks.

The thing is, I am happy for her. It's just strange. My best friend is a daddy. D is getting married. Other friends have careers. I'm just wondering when the hell we all grew up.

We've gone from tattoos, drugs, and keggers to careers, babies and marriage. It's not a bad thing, bit part of me misses the lack of responsibility.

Anyway, congrats D. May you make his life a living hell for many many years to come.

I know this is late, I'm a chode like that.

Happy late birthday to my heterolifemate.

You're the best friend a cranky blogger could ever ask for, and I love you.

Oh, and you're old.

I feel weird.

And that's not because I had a lot of tequila and some vodka tonight.

It's because of a guy. Yea, write that one down.

Of all people, I feel strange over a guy. And it's not what you think.

He actually likes me back and that to me is absolutely bizarre. I've spent countless hours wanting my ex back so badly that this completely blindsided me. And it's the weirdest thing ever.

He wants to do things with me. In public. That don't require drugs, alcohol and a low cut shirt. Or public indecency charges. He's met my best friend and my best friend didn't hit him in the face. He's met most of my best friends save my heterolifemate, and they all absolutely adore him. He makes me laugh, and I haven't laughed in a long time.

So whats the problem?

He likes me.

I know, how fucked up can you be Clare?

He met me a few days before some medical shit, when I was puffy on prednisone. And he still called me the next day (despite my not putting out!). And he likes me in the morning when I'm grumpy and refuse to speak to anyone. And he likes me when my eyeliner is halfway down my cheeks because I've been drinking and that's what happens when I drink. And he thinks it's cute that I'm difficult. He likes that I'm stubborn and obnoxious and a huge pain in the ass. He likes me despite the fact that I forget to eat for days at a time and sometimes my left eyebrow twitches from stress.

And I'm not sure because I wasn't ready for any of this. At all. I never thought I'd ever find one guy who liked the way I hate pickles, and only liked certain kinds of mustard. And when that one guy left I was sure that it was just it and I'd never find that again, and here it is, and it's all I can do not to completely fuck it up.

The worst part? I think he might feel the same way. His boss had to tell him to stop purposely ruining whatever it is we had. It's easy to say it's no big thing when he's not around, but when I get near him I smile. And it's been a long time since I've done that.

Oh dear lord, what have I gotten myself into?

Dear Hollywood:

I understand that this is most likely going to be hard for you to understand amid the marijuana smoke and cocaine high. And although I'm sure the fact that most of you are slowly starving to death is just hell on your concentration, I think you can handle it. But for those of you that are already too bitchy without a cigarette, I'll make this fast.

The rate in which you are all popping out children is alarming, to say the least. It occurs to me that you all may not realize that despite what Angelina would have you think, children don't actually come from countries halfway across the globe with names you can't pronounce.

One would assume that this entire Jayme Lynn debacle would have made the majority of you sit back for a moment and think "Self, why did that happen?" and furthermore "Self, how can I keep from having a child that will most likely wind up retarded simply because it shares half of my DNA."

Because y'all have been up to this point completely unable to figure it out, let me help you.

Stop having sex.

For most people I'd suggest using birth control, but since it seems to have completely flown over your heads, I'm going to operate under the assumption that something as complicated as taking a pill everyday or wearing a condom would only confuse you. After all, you're not paid to be smart or talented, just pretty.

Oh, and speaking of pretty, pregnancy makes you fat.

Is there something in the water in LA? Seriously? Because you are the most fertile group of people on the fucking planet. The problem being there are maybe 9 of you that should be reproducing.

I don't necessarily buy the idea that you all need to be married to have children, but at the same time is the idea of birth control completely lost on you? I mean you think birth control will make you gain weight? Try pregnancy.

What bothers me the most is that it's a trend. Where I come from sleeping with someone without protection makes you stupid.

In Short: It's a miracle more of you don't have herpes, for the love of christ stop having sex with each other, and everyone pray. Ashlee Simpson having a child is surely a sign that th e 4 horsemen of the apocalypse will be here shortly.

Love and Kisses

Me

PS. Stop getting tattoos in stupid places.

There are certain things by whatever force of nature, just happen.

Spring follows winter. The sun rises every day, and sets every night. Gravity will always keep us from flying randomly off of the earth. Skinned knees will always hurt more than major injuries. Much like earthquakes, tornadoes, droughts, volcanic eruptions, there are some forces of nature that just can't be prevented. The most classic example of this phenomenon is my ability to embarrass myself every single time I leave the house.

It is a force that can't be contained, at this point NASA is busy trying to figure out how mitigate the damage left in my wake.

My sleep schedule is massively screwed up at the moment. And I mean massively. Since Wednesday, I have averaged 3 hours or less of sleep a night. Now, to function as a normal human I need at least 6 hours of sleep, 8 if you want me to be nice.

I flew out of O'Hare Airport to Indianapolis on Saturday morning at 6:00 AM. This is the shortest flight in the history of the universe. It takes literally 1 hour to get there, including check in and baggage claim. By the time I got packed and to the airport, I had clocked exactly an hour of sleep on Friday night. Tired is not the appropriate word for what I was.

Sleeping on the plane was simply not an option. I am neurotic enough that I can't fall asleep in public places. I won't do it. Something in my psyche just won't allow it, and this most likely stems from a friend of mine who once fell asleep on a train and woke up in another state. I have managed to convince myself if I was to ever fall asleep on any public transportation, I will wake up in Bolivia. It doesn't matter that the Metra doesn't go to Bolivia, I am sure I will still somehow wake up there.

So, I get to my seat next to a Vin Diesel look alike, which proves that 1) God is a Woman and 2) She loves me. We chit chat for a minute, he turns on his iPod, I pick up a magazine and try to relax.

Only to wake up about an hour later, snuggled up to Vin 2.0. And I mean snuggled. My head was nuzzled against his chest and my arm was kind of draped across him.

Apparently, my inability to fall asleep in public is only limited to times when it won't be embarrassing as shit for me.

So what do you say when you wake up half laying on the hottest guy you have ever seen?

If you're me, the answer is "Oh Jesus, I didn't drool on you did I?".

Not only did I fall asleep and then snuggle a complete (and gorgeous) stranger, I then admitted I drool.

Isn't it amazing I'm single?

I am less than happy. There's basically a hiring freeze cause of the recession, so instead of laying me off, they gave me a new job.

I am now Sales Coordination Specialist. Meaning all the sales people kiss my ass, and I hate my life. I hate sales. And although I'm grateful for employment, I was so depressed when I did sales I couldn't get out of bed in the morning. I hate it that much. Not to mention, I am losing about a buttload in salary this year, provided I'm ONLY doing this for a month. If it goes longer, go ahead and double or triple that number.

So I am less than happy.

So, because I write when I am less than happy, I'd like to present you all with a list of things I'd rather do than sales.

Enjoy my pain.

• Any of my arch nemeses
  
• Take a vow of chastity
• Listen to Hollaback girl on repeat
• Give up tequila and drugs
• Watch the view
• Have any kind of oral surgery
• Poke myself in the eye
• Take it in the ass from the entire Chicago Bears football team, including Grossman who would most likely have just as much trouble finding my butt as he does a football
• Get a sex change operation
• Have a lesbian encounter with Amy Winehouse after she got her tooth fixed
• Have a lesbian encounter with Amy Winehouse before she got her tooth fixed
• Pete Dougherty
• Anything involving Martha Stewart
• Watch Catwoman again
• Befriend Paris Hilton
• Become a Scientologist
• Shove steel wool in my hoo-ha and run around the block
• Give the cast of Jackass rim jobs
• Give up caffeine
• Watch 2 girls 1 cup on a continuous loop
• Let Ron Jeremy stick it anywhere he wants
• Get a colonoscopy
• Let Britney Spears run over my foot
• Move to Utah
• Try Heroin
• Give myself a paper cut and rub lemon juice in it
• Try microdermabrasion with a sandblaster
• Pick up an STI from the guy who played the fat guy in Seven
• Lick Hillary Clinton's kankle
• Bite Ross Perot's nipple
• Vote for Bush
• Move to Canada
• Jam a fork under my fingernail
• Cut my hair into the bulldyke mullet and wear flannel
• Snort cocaine cut with laxatives
• Wear nothing but flowy clothing in earth tones like those nutty feminists do
• Sell my favorite and beloved little Pomeranian to the Chinese food restaurant near my house
• Listen to my twin sister screech
• Roll around in the snow naked in the parking lot of Pow's office
• Get caught shoplifting in Singapore with a joint in my pocket
• Go to the south side in the middle of the night and randomly call people 'Mick' "Shant" and "Paddy"
• 3 some with my ex boyfriend and his current slut (someone call him his dream has come true)
• Get myself a girlfriend and a guide on fisting
• Go blonde

There are more but my fingers hurt.


GAHHH. I think I just had a stroke.

So, I was going through comments on my last post, and I found this from Jen.
"Hey I wasn't sure if you know, but Dan Parmenter was the little and only brother of Kristen Parmenter of Augustana. You would remember her from all the drunkin nights we spent at Mis B's. I just found out this morning and thought I would help spread the word to those who know the Parmenter family. Thank you for your blog too by the way. I'm sure it really means a lot to everyone. :)"

And I think my heart broke just a little bit more.

The entire thing is just something I can't wrap my head around, and this just drove it home.

Prayers for Kristen and her family. I'm sorry I'm not in the QC to pay my respects the way I want to.

If you haven't been living under a rock you probably have heard about the shooting at Northern Illinois University on Valentine's Day. 6 people including the shooter were killed, and 16 others wounded.

And everyone has an opinion. I've had the pleasure of hearing debates on gun control. Whether or not this kind of thing can be prevented. Whether or not the campus security was up to par. Whether people with psychiatric disabilities should be forced to take their medicines.

I want to use this opportunity to tell you all to please be quiet.

Somewhere right now is a mother who's world just came crashing down. A father right now is grieving the little girl that he taught to ride a bike. Somewhere at NIU, a student is learning the hard way whether the urban legend about getting all As for a semester if your roommate dies is true.

Someone woke up this morning without a best friend. Someone woke up this morning without an older brother. There are families, students, teachers that will never know "normal" again. There is a father trying to figure out how his son who was by all accounts a 'good kid' did something so heinous I can't begin to wrap my head around it. Someone just lost the girlfriend they loved with every last bit of their heart.

Somewhere, a person picked up the phone to call a loved one, and instead got news that would change their lives forever. Somewhere someone's world just stopped. Their lives, their world, nothing will ever be the same again.

So please, just for a second. Stop bickering about gun control. Or campus safety. Or psychotropic drugs. Stop using this to justify your position or to further your political agenda. Just for a second, let the people affected put their lives back together a little bit before you use them as an example.

Like I said on another site. I am so thankful all of my loved one's are safe, but my heart is broken for the people who aren't lucky enough to say that.

So just stop.

It seems like everywhere I turn, there is another mention of someone who has a "friend with benefits". Cosmo has dedicated articles to it, there is an episode of Seinfeld dedicated to it, and it seems to have become the catalyst for a lot of stupid bullshit.

Although any sort of relationship involving sex seems to bring its fair share of drama and irritations, nothing seems quite as complicated as this "friends with benefits" thing that I keep hearing about.

I am going to do what I do best. I'm going to un-complicate this in the form of a nifty list, so you can all get back to humping and stop asking me for advice.

TweekerChick's Guide To Screwing Your Friend, Not Your Friendship:

1. For the idea of "friends with benefits" to actually work the way it should, the two fornicators should ideally be friends in the first place. This might seem obvious, considering its referred to as "Friends with benefits" and not "Some random guy who bought me tequila at the bar with benefits". This implies that you actually enjoy their company with their clothes on. I'll touch on booty calls/fuck buddies in my book (self promotion, woo!), but that's an entirely different set of rules and regulations. Now repeat after me. "If I have a closer relationship with the person who changes my oil than with the person I am about to hump, it is a booty call." See? That wasn't so hard.

2. For the love of GOD, do not fall in love with the person. This is the number one thing that screws the pooch every single bloody time. I think its something with the endorphins released after sex. One minute you're humping her and smacking her ass and the next minute you're thinking of a little house with a white picket fence and 3.2 kids and a dog named Max. Don't do it.
3. Speaking of kids, birth control is your friend. I like to give you guys the benefit of the doubt, but with whats going on in the media, I am going to give you all what I like to call "TweekerChick's Quick Guide On Where Babies and Herpes Come From". Babies come from having sex without using birth control or condoms. Herpes come from having sex without using a condom.

I don't know if people lately missed that chapter in health class in 8th grade, but not all STDs are visible, and a lot of people who are carriers of diseases that can kill you don't show any symptoms. They might not even know they have it. Stop having unprotected sex. Pulling out is not effective birth control. Praying to god for your rag is not effective birth control. Fucking hanging upside down from the ceiling fan on the third day after the seventh sabbath after the new moon is not effective birth control. Do you WANT to be like Britney Spears? DO YOU? I didn't think so. Don't do it. Safe sex. Every time.

4. There is more to this relationship than playing hide the salami. Say that out loud. One more time. Keep in mind: This person is your friend. The goal is to keep that person as your friend while continuing to see them naked when you're horny. The easiest way to do this is to hang out with them like normal as well. If every single time you two are together turns into an orgy of sin, you've already fucked it up.

5. Lay out the ground rules in regards to other people right away. I don't mean that in a "can we have a threesome" kind of way. There needs to be a very open dialog on whether or not you are allowed to schtupp other people. If you ignore this step, you have forfeited your right to be upset when you walk into the frat house to find the football team stuffing your friend like a turkey.

6. If you decide to not have sex with others, that does not in any way imply a relationship. Friends with benefits are most commonly used for that nasty time in between relationships where you need to blow a load but don't want to deal with the constant bitching of another person. When, not if, WHEN your partner finds a new significant other, you do not reserve the right to listen to Hawthorne Heights and write shitty poetry about how she broke your heart.

7. Be discreet. Nothing will bite you in your ass faster than announcing your friends with benefits status. If you want to be able to kick it with this person after they get a new boy/girl friend, I'd strongly suggest shutting your yap. Because I know few people who'd say "Oh sure honey, you go right ahead and go watch movies with the person you were sleeping with before me. I am totally comfortable with you two being alone in the dark, because I trust that you won't have mind blowing sex with them one more time". Even if you really won't cheat, it'll still be a gigantic pain that you have to deal with, all which would've been prevented if you'd have kept your mouth flaps shut.

8. You are not allowed to sabotage what could be a decent new relationship for her just so you can keep your piece of ass. Yea, I know that hurts. However, it hurts a lot less than her foot crushing your testicles when she finds out that you labeled her as a "No Touchie".

9. The "No Touchie Rule" (Essentially calling dibs on a girl to some of your close friends) applies only in your very inner circle. Normally, it is well within your rights to tell your friends, drinking buddies, etc, that they aren't allowed to pursue your girl thing after you broke up. However, this is not your girlfriend. She is your girl friend. There is a difference. The no touchie rule here applies to your roommate, your best friend(s) and potentially your family (immediate only), and that is only to prevent roommate problems and awkward silences at family reunions.

10. Whoever said you can't call the next day most likely never got to tap that ass again. If you normally call her, call her the next day and chat like you normally do. If you don't normally call her, don't you dare touch that phone. The rest of your friendship needs to stay the way it was. If you can't do that, keep it in your pants. It really isn't rocket science.

11. Keep the bragging to yourself. Yes, I know it's some weird male thing that you guys need to let everyone within the current time zone know that you did, in fact, tap that ass. But this is your friend and she deserves a little bit more respect than the sorority girl at the bar with the skirt so short you can see her ovaries.

12. If for some reason the friendship dissolves later, you do not have a green light to be a chode. Yes, sticking it in her roommates ass while yelling "You are so much better than your skanky friend!" and then blowing your load on her pillow would give you a moment of vindication. But one moment of vindication is not worth the end result, which is you never getting pussy ever again once you are out of traction.

13. If you find yourself in a new relationship, immediately let your friend know. Under no circumstances are you to show up with a Heidi Klum look alike out of nowhere and introduce her to the girl you boned last night as "Your new girlfriend". Girls are horribly mean to each other, and once they are done scratching out each others eyes and calling each other fat, they will turn on you. And you will not win.

They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. The person who said that obviously never incurred the wrath of two of them at once. If you do this, you might as well saw off your penis with your pocket knife, it'll be a lot less painful. Women are dangerously insane, and the sooner you come to realize this, the better. The ones that don't appear to be dangerously insane are the worst of the bunch. Believe this.

14. There will be absolutely no discussion of...mechanical failures, if you will. If Little Elvis didn't come for the show, fine. If she makes some weird noise, fine. Whiskey dick. Fine. Address it at the moment and then be done with it. No talking about it over beers. No sitting over a latte and discussing how your last sneeze lasted longer than he did.

15. Do not even look at that relationship status on Facebook. I am not kidding. They might as well replace "Open Relationship" And "It's Complicated" with "We totally screwed, but one of us is scared to death of commitment, and the other one is holding off for something better. Or is a huge slut." Really, all it does is beg the question, and people will ask.

16. If your best friend is of the opposite sex, they are off limits. If they are the same sex, it's slightly more amusing for people like me, but they are still off limits. This is because very few of these arrangements work out in the long term and there is nothing more soul crushing than losing your best friend because you couldn't think with the head attached to your shoulders.

In my entire life, I know of one person who ever had a "Friends with benefits" relationship with their best friend that didn't back fire. (Dad, if you are reading this, stop right here. Mom, if you are reading this, distract Dad and hide the keys for the gun cabinet).

That person is me. My best friend and I did it like bunnies on X for almost a year. When we both got into a relationship with other people it was hard, but we finally realized that it was stupid of us to ever have sex because fundamentally, we couldn't stand each other (which really is the basis for any good relationship). He's still my best friend to this day, we haven't scrogged in almost 6 years and things have never been better for either of us.

Why am I telling you this? Because I can almost promise that won't happen for you. It only happened this way for us because we were on a lot of drugs at the time. So don't do it, lest your life becomes a shitty episode of Dawson's Creek and your friends hate you because they have to listen to you consistently bitch about it.

17. Knock off that sexual tension bullshit. Put 50 people in a room and I can tell you who had sex with who, and who wants to because most people have really shitty poker faces. If Helen Keller could tell that you were storming the pearly gates with your purple headed devil, you are doing something wrong.

Really guys. I could go on all night with this, but I'm freezing my jigglies off and I'm tired. But now you have some words to live by for when you decide to Windsurf on Mount Baldy with your friend that will hopefully keep them your friend after they realize that you have no idea what you're doing in bed. Happy Humping, you dirty fornicators.

Last night, this morning. Same thing.

This post is a little over due, but that's life.

2008 couldn't come fast enough. 2007 was kind of the "The Year That Sucked Balls For Everyone On The Planet", so most of the free world was eternally excited to give it the kiss off. Even New Years Eve was starting off as a suck fest, the heat in my car broke on the way to the bar, all of my plans fell through and I was about to ring in The New Year in a shitty bar with my half-Asian brother type of person.

About ten minutes until midnight, I turned to Pittman, the half-Asian, and said words I would live to regret.

"Fuck you, 2007 there's nothing you can do to me anymore!". How the bar didn't go up in flames at that point is anyones guess.

I rang in New Years Eve sitting in a dive bar in Elmhurst IL wearing a leopard print tiara while an old guy across the bar licked his lips and stared at my cleavage. Good start, 2008.

Then, a gift from god. I get a text from a guy I know. There's a party, get your ass over here, and how nice for me, it's close to The Red Head I Want To See Naked.

Now, this particular friend. He knows me well enough to know that God hates me and punishes me at every opportunity possible. He also knows that people around me are often collateral damage. And bless his heart, he wants to hang out with me anyway. (Brave or stupid, you be the judge.)

The Half-Asian and I make it to the party where we are greeted by my friend, who in a vast attempt to prove that he is indeed a heterosexual was wearing a plaid shirt and a plaid fedora that don't match (If anyone ever makes a video titled "Two Plaids, One Guy" you know its him).

Drinks are drunk, life is fun, I'm introduced to his friend Matt, and his ex girlfriend who is nicknamed after an aquatic mammal, and is totally ok with this. We decide to go after party somewhere else, the results of which can only be labeled as "entirely my fault for testing God".

So, we all pile into a car and decide to swing by my place to grab a few bottles of wine and my glasses so I can see more than 3 inches in front of my own nose. The thing with driving with a bunch of new people is that you get to learn an awful lot about them.

Some of those things are good to know before getting into a car with them. For example: Matt happens to live next to someone I'd like to hit in the face. That would've been good to know before hand. To be honest, I would've been happier hearing "I use heroin and I am carrying a bag with me right now" than "I live next to douche bag". But whatever.

We are cruising happily along Irving Park Road when my plaid clad friend pulls over to the side of the road. And unless he was getting ready to put the moves on one of us, this was not going to end well. We had run out of gas.

At three in the morning.

On New Years Eve.

I was trapped. In a car. With no gas. With a kid wearing two plaids, a half Asian, an aquatic mammal and the neighbor of a person I hate. Thank you, God. I needed that.

A car pulls up behind us, and despite what I've learned in every single horror movie I have ever seen, the boys get out of the car. It's a short little Asian guy. He says he'll bring gas and be right back. Right. One of two things will come from this: He will come back, abduct us all and take us to some deserted farm and eat us, or he will laugh his skinny ass off as he drives straight home and goes to bed.

If any of you reading this happen to know anyone at Roadside Assistance, I want you to punch them in the gonads. Hard. Go ahead, I'll wait. It was like a game of 20 fucking questions, none of which helped us to get any gas in the car. Meanwhile, The Red Head I Want To See Naked is texting me to come get him, and the police pulled up behind us.

Great. Nothing says Happy New Year like the police. Sergent Dumb ass says he will come back and check on us in fifteen minutes. Nothing.

Then I saw something that simultaneously renewed my faith in humanity and caused me to laugh my ass off. On the other side of Irving Park Road, there was a short little Asian with a gas can, running through traffic like a real life game of Frogger towards us. He gives us enough gas to go to a gas station and refuses to let us pay for it, telling us only to Pay It Forward (which up until now I chalked up to being a big load of hippie bullshit).

So, to sum up New Years In A Few Nifty Bullet Points:

• Heater in the Car broke, which later turned out to be $1200 bucks in repairs, and I'm lucky it didn't explode and kill me.
  
• I didn't get to see the red head naked.
• I wound up sitting on the side of the road with a half-Asian, the neighbor to my arch-nemesis, an aquatic mammal and a guy who wears two different plaids in public.

Things this has taught me:

• Make sure John checks the gas gauge BEFORE we leave next time
• God is not above taking out an entire car full of people, including a minority, to give me the finger
• It is possible to wear two different plaids and still look sexy
  
• The State of Illinois owes everyone in that car a refund for the exact amount of that police officers salary
• It is possible to pee outside in freezing weather and not wind up stuck to the ground by a stream of pee (the Dolphin taught me this)
  
• Don't ever call the police, just keep a short Asian guy on retainer, it's a sure bet.
  

On a serious note, a huge thank you to Jin. You got us out of a bad situation and renewed my faith in humanity and expected nothing in return. May karma shower you with beautiful naked women clutching hundred dollar bills, or anything else you could possibly want out of life.

To God: Do you feel better now?

So, I've a new post in the works.


Tonight, dear loves.

Until then, Vote For My Friend Matt

This entire weekend was insane. Even by my standards, which is actually quite the accomplishment, as I consider a relaxed weekend one in which I don't have to bail someone I know out of jail.

It started on Friday when I agreed to go to Soundbar with one of my favorite people. He was originally going to go with this guy who looks kind of like Harry Connick Jr, but he bailed so I decided to be a good friend and go along. So I did what every girl does when they know they are going out .I got a pushup bra and a shirt whose neckline ended somewhere around my bellybutton.

I live in the hood, which is German for "absolutely retarded about parking". If you don't have a pass or guest pass, your car will be towed.

My friend finally showed up, and pulled up for a few minutes while I was finishing making myself look like a whore. By the time we got back out to his car, Corky and Friends were already in the process of towing it.

So I did what any girl in that situation would do. I pushed out my tits, grabbed a wad of cash, and asked them if there was anything I could do to make them change their minds.

"No"

Then I tried the responsible route. I actually took responsibility, and asked if I could pay the tow fee right there, instead of having to go all the way out to Guam, or wherever the fuck they tow things to.

"No"

Although anyone who has ever dated me will disagree, I am a reasonable person, but that was about it for me. I lost my mind. I stood in the middle of a slush filled parking lot, in the snow, in a tanktop with no coat and my tits hanging out, and started screaming at a tow truck driver. (If there is a competition for the White Trash Queen, I do believe this earns me a nomination).

I asked him how the hell he could sleep at night, knowing that it's his job to steal people's vehicles and charge them for it.

Then this man made the biggest mistake of his life. He looked at me and said "Miss, I understand that you're upset but...".

"But nothing. You think I'm bitchy now? If you knew me you'd know this is the tip of the iceberg to how bitchy I can be. I will make you cry. Thankyou for fucking up my night." And then I got my fat ass into my car to follow them to the tow place, while my friend pretended that he didn't know me.

The guy, who I will continue to affectionately call "Corky", lumbers back to the truck, whispering to his friend about me.

They start to pull away, drive a quarter of the way through the lot, and stopped. Corky gets out of the truck, and starts wandering to my car. So I got out, and started walking to him.

He looks at me and asks me if I was serious about being a bitch. Now, you have to be kidding me.I just finished verbally berating this guy to his face, and he wanted to know if I was serious?

"Yes, and I assumed you would've figured that out when I was yelling at you, you dumb piece of shit. Next time I'll use smaller words".

"So you really think you'd make me cry?"

"I know I would". The assumption being that I was about to get into a physical altercation with a mentally handicapped tow truck driver while I was dressed like a cheap whore.

I swear to god, the next part is 100% absolutely the God's honest truth.

He looked at me and said "I don't know how to approach this, but uh...do you really think you could make me cry? Is there any way I can get your number so we can arrange that, I think I'd like it."

Ladies and Gentlemen,the tow truck driver tried to get my phone number so he could let me verbally abuse him. You just can't make this shit up.

What do you say to that?