I am on strike.
I was going through my comments, and I see:
The Man of your Dreams said...
UPDATE DAMN YOU!
7:06 PM
However, he hasn't updated since March 3rd.
I'm on strike until I get an update, an email or a call.
And I was gonna post pictures of the beercan boat, and the bitching party.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
It's finals. I'm far too fucked to recall the bitching party (And by bitching I mean it ended at 6:10 AM).
So until I'm not swamped with shit to do, here's another reason that my friends and I are bad people.
HLM: I stole Veleveta shells and cheese from the hungry.
HLM: I'm so going to hell.
TweekerChickQC: We are in college and broke.
TweekerChickQC: Technically we are the hungry.
HLM: Jimmy yelled at me. I was like I SPENT ALL MY MONEY ON BOOZE YOU DRANK!
HLM: He's like.... carry on...
TweekerchickQC: Gotta love his sense of responsibility.
HLM: He tries to be a good little catholic republican
TweekerChickQC: While allowing his boss to steal from the hungry.
HLM: Like I said, he's a republican.
TweekerChickQC: So if you want to be techincal about it, he's doing a great job.
So until I'm not swamped with shit to do, here's another reason that my friends and I are bad people.
HLM: I stole Veleveta shells and cheese from the hungry.
HLM: I'm so going to hell.
TweekerChickQC: We are in college and broke.
TweekerChickQC: Technically we are the hungry.
HLM: Jimmy yelled at me. I was like I SPENT ALL MY MONEY ON BOOZE YOU DRANK!
HLM: He's like.... carry on...
TweekerchickQC: Gotta love his sense of responsibility.
HLM: He tries to be a good little catholic republican
TweekerChickQC: While allowing his boss to steal from the hungry.
HLM: Like I said, he's a republican.
TweekerChickQC: So if you want to be techincal about it, he's doing a great job.
Saturday, April 30, 2005
I was listening to the radio today, for a reason that escapes me.
The travesties released by the music industry pale in comparison to what I heard.
At first I was sure that I had accidentally reprogrammed my station to one that featured 9 year old girls chanting an obnoxious rhyme.
I listened a little closer, and realized, to my horror, that it was none other than Gwen Stefani.
And it sucked.
Gwen. Sweetie. What the fuck happened?
Now, there's a lot of shitty music released every day. However, this shitty music isn't played repeatedly on the radio, TRL, or whatever music channel is cool with the kiddies these days.
You can't escape it. And that is the problem.
Tragic Kingdom wasn't the best album ever released, I'll admit that. But it's a fuckload better than this "Holla back girl".
Why? Because
1) The lyrics are written in English. I have no idea what a 'holla back girl' is, nor do I want to.
2) She sings, as opposed to chanting some incessant chorus about bananas.
3) There was actually music playing the background, opposed to what is apparently a symphony of different cell phone ring tones.
4) The bass player in No Doubt was fucking gorgeous.
At least she's still stylish and cute, right? Even if her music sucks balls?
Wrong. See her last live performance on MTV.
She apparently got dressed in the dark, or pissed off her stylist something wicked.
The only good things associated with Gwen Stefani anymore are her husband (who can still manage to cut a decent album), and the No Doubt's Greatest Hits album, which is probably the band's last ditch attempt to get some cash before they ditch her pathetic, washed up ass. Why would they ditch her, you ask me?
Listen to "Holla Back Girl" and tell me that you'd work with someone who wrote that.
Please Gwen, just stop already.
The travesties released by the music industry pale in comparison to what I heard.
At first I was sure that I had accidentally reprogrammed my station to one that featured 9 year old girls chanting an obnoxious rhyme.
I listened a little closer, and realized, to my horror, that it was none other than Gwen Stefani.
And it sucked.
Gwen. Sweetie. What the fuck happened?
Now, there's a lot of shitty music released every day. However, this shitty music isn't played repeatedly on the radio, TRL, or whatever music channel is cool with the kiddies these days.
You can't escape it. And that is the problem.
Tragic Kingdom wasn't the best album ever released, I'll admit that. But it's a fuckload better than this "Holla back girl".
Why? Because
1) The lyrics are written in English. I have no idea what a 'holla back girl' is, nor do I want to.
2) She sings, as opposed to chanting some incessant chorus about bananas.
3) There was actually music playing the background, opposed to what is apparently a symphony of different cell phone ring tones.
4) The bass player in No Doubt was fucking gorgeous.
At least she's still stylish and cute, right? Even if her music sucks balls?
Wrong. See her last live performance on MTV.
She apparently got dressed in the dark, or pissed off her stylist something wicked.
The only good things associated with Gwen Stefani anymore are her husband (who can still manage to cut a decent album), and the No Doubt's Greatest Hits album, which is probably the band's last ditch attempt to get some cash before they ditch her pathetic, washed up ass. Why would they ditch her, you ask me?
Listen to "Holla Back Girl" and tell me that you'd work with someone who wrote that.
Please Gwen, just stop already.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Hey, I know it's been awhile.
I just wanted to say Happy Birthday to my heterolifemate.
She is getting old now.
I can't say much, or else I'll cry, but I'm really going to miss you.
No one else in the world would dream of wandering drunk at 3 AM to get cookies and milk.
No one else understands the need to drive to Joliet IL at midnight to get White Castle.
No one else finds the newscaster named "Von Hefty" nearly as amusing after 1 1/2 bottles of wine.
No one else would let you puke out my car window and laugh as hard.
No one else in the world would spend an entire day helping me drywall after a drunk friend and I fell through a wall.
No one else would cut that drywall in the Home Depot parking lot with a switchblade to fit it into my teeny tiny car.
No one else would find it funny that the pizza guy snagged a piece.
So on. So forth.
I'm gonna miss you.
Happy Birthday, you are old.
I just wanted to say Happy Birthday to my heterolifemate.
She is getting old now.
I can't say much, or else I'll cry, but I'm really going to miss you.
No one else in the world would dream of wandering drunk at 3 AM to get cookies and milk.
No one else understands the need to drive to Joliet IL at midnight to get White Castle.
No one else finds the newscaster named "Von Hefty" nearly as amusing after 1 1/2 bottles of wine.
No one else would let you puke out my car window and laugh as hard.
No one else in the world would spend an entire day helping me drywall after a drunk friend and I fell through a wall.
No one else would cut that drywall in the Home Depot parking lot with a switchblade to fit it into my teeny tiny car.
No one else would find it funny that the pizza guy snagged a piece.
So on. So forth.
I'm gonna miss you.
Happy Birthday, you are old.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Sorry it's been so long.
I was actually thinking of quitting this thing, but judging by the emails it's just not the time yet.
Anyway, a lot has been going on.
So here is the past month or two of my life, presented in list form.
1. Got broke. Sucked up for my job at GNC back. As a sales associate, none the less. I get paid $5.15 an hour to be treated like shit. I get dick for hours, and am almost literally broke. Best years of my life, my ass.
2. My electricity got shut off for awhile because my landlord is a complete tool and has yet to realize that the notices they send you in the mail asking for money are more than just suggestions. On the 27th, they are shutting off the water. That may also be the day that he is beaten within an inch of his life by an unbathed Clare.
3. I found out that I'm actually going to graduate next year, with a psych major, and a soc and women's studies minor. Yes, women's studies. Somehow, the only thing I needed to take for that as a minor was the seminar. An extra minor for taking one class? Sign me up. However, if I stop shaving my legs and start wearing broom skirts and a lot of brown, please schedule an intervention.
4. I saw Lucky Boys Confusion, again. At Iowa. They stopped letting people in it was so packed. We were some of the last to get in, and we don't even go there. Sorry, guys. The best part of the night was when I went to tell Adam that I liked his shirt. It was Iggy Pop and sorta cool, and I went to say "I like your shirt" And no sooner had I said "Hey, I just wanted to tell you..." Ashley blurts out "Your ass looks GREAT in those pants". Sexually harassing band members? You know she learned that from me.
5. I had coffee tonight with a guy who was cute when he went to school at Augie, but is now gorgeous. I almost suffered a 3rd degree latte burn because I could barely function infront of him.
6. I discovered that there is a boy in one of my classes that I can't look in the face. He is gorgeous. He gave a presentation and stood infront of my desk. Because he's amazingly sexy, I couldn't look him in the face, and instead looked straight ahead. And realized later that because he was standing ahead of me, "straight ahead" was directly at his crotch.
Now, it's where I look automatically. I can't help it.
7. I came across a secret boyfriend who decided that he would only read this if he was mentioned, so there you go Hunny Bunny.
Things seem to be going pretty well, minus the explosion I just heard outside and the fact that Chris never calls me anymore.
Oh, if anyone has any ideas on what I should be doing with my life next year, it would be peachy. Or give me a high paying job. That's always good too.
I was actually thinking of quitting this thing, but judging by the emails it's just not the time yet.
Anyway, a lot has been going on.
So here is the past month or two of my life, presented in list form.
1. Got broke. Sucked up for my job at GNC back. As a sales associate, none the less. I get paid $5.15 an hour to be treated like shit. I get dick for hours, and am almost literally broke. Best years of my life, my ass.
2. My electricity got shut off for awhile because my landlord is a complete tool and has yet to realize that the notices they send you in the mail asking for money are more than just suggestions. On the 27th, they are shutting off the water. That may also be the day that he is beaten within an inch of his life by an unbathed Clare.
3. I found out that I'm actually going to graduate next year, with a psych major, and a soc and women's studies minor. Yes, women's studies. Somehow, the only thing I needed to take for that as a minor was the seminar. An extra minor for taking one class? Sign me up. However, if I stop shaving my legs and start wearing broom skirts and a lot of brown, please schedule an intervention.
4. I saw Lucky Boys Confusion, again. At Iowa. They stopped letting people in it was so packed. We were some of the last to get in, and we don't even go there. Sorry, guys. The best part of the night was when I went to tell Adam that I liked his shirt. It was Iggy Pop and sorta cool, and I went to say "I like your shirt" And no sooner had I said "Hey, I just wanted to tell you..." Ashley blurts out "Your ass looks GREAT in those pants". Sexually harassing band members? You know she learned that from me.
5. I had coffee tonight with a guy who was cute when he went to school at Augie, but is now gorgeous. I almost suffered a 3rd degree latte burn because I could barely function infront of him.
6. I discovered that there is a boy in one of my classes that I can't look in the face. He is gorgeous. He gave a presentation and stood infront of my desk. Because he's amazingly sexy, I couldn't look him in the face, and instead looked straight ahead. And realized later that because he was standing ahead of me, "straight ahead" was directly at his crotch.
Now, it's where I look automatically. I can't help it.
7. I came across a secret boyfriend who decided that he would only read this if he was mentioned, so there you go Hunny Bunny.
Things seem to be going pretty well, minus the explosion I just heard outside and the fact that Chris never calls me anymore.
Oh, if anyone has any ideas on what I should be doing with my life next year, it would be peachy. Or give me a high paying job. That's always good too.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
It never ends.
I just want to curl up somewhere.
Funeral services to Celebrate the Life of Ronald H. "Ronnie" Weedon, 72, a resident of Pleasant Valley, Iowa, will be 10 a.m. Friday, April 15, 2005, in the Grandstands of the Mississippi Valley Fairgrounds, 2815 W. Locust St., Davenport. Burial will be in the National Cemetery, Rock Island Arsenal with military graveside rites conducted by Davenport American Legion Post #26. Visitation will be on Thursday from 3 until 8 p.m. in the Starlight Ballroom at the Fairgrounds.
Ronnie died on Monday, April 11, 2005, at his home following an accident while working on his Dirt Track Racecar.
He was born June 11, 1932, in Davenport, a son of Ronald H. and Virginia R. (Heiser) Weedon. He was united in marriage to Dolores J. "Dee" Clary on December 1, 1960, in Hannibal, Missouri.
He served in the U.S. Army during the Korean conflict.
Ronnie retired in 1995 after 37 years of service for Strieter Motor Company. He had worked in the Body and Fender Department.
He was very active in the local Dirt-Track Racing arenas and had 504-feature race wins over a seven-decade career. Ronnie was a mentor for many young racers and always had time to assist others when somebody would ask for help. Each year local driver's are asked to vote for their pick as the best racer in their respective class and the best local racer overall for the award named for Ronnie, the Weedon Award. Those receiving the once in a lifetime award receive votes from their peers, with each team getting one vote. To read more about his illustrious racing career visit www.ronnieweedon.com. He loved to race and the family time spent at the track. Besides his wife, Dee, you could always count on seeing his faithful companion at the track, his dog Gidget.
Memorials can be made to the family.
Survivors include his wife, Dee; and children, Debbie (Mrs. Ron) Lane, Davenport, Ronnie Weedon, Davenport, Rob (Sandy) Connors, East Moline, Jerry Connors, Pleasant Valley, and Ginnie (Mrs. Rick) Schumann, Davenport; and his beloved seven grandchildren and six great grandchildren.
In addition to his parents, a sister, Eleanor Boley, also preceded him in death.
Online remembrances and condolences may be expressed to the family by visiting Ronnie's obituary at the website of Halligan-McCabe-DeVries Funeral Home, www.hmdfuneralhome.com.
Published in the Quad-City Times on 4/13/2005.
He was a great guy. Took care of every single one of us, and you could always count on Gidget in the middle of the road, welcoming whoever was driving down there.
Here's to the first guy who ever told me my boyfriend was an idiot, and managed to take care of an entire Valley of people. I'll miss you.
I just want to curl up somewhere.
Funeral services to Celebrate the Life of Ronald H. "Ronnie" Weedon, 72, a resident of Pleasant Valley, Iowa, will be 10 a.m. Friday, April 15, 2005, in the Grandstands of the Mississippi Valley Fairgrounds, 2815 W. Locust St., Davenport. Burial will be in the National Cemetery, Rock Island Arsenal with military graveside rites conducted by Davenport American Legion Post #26. Visitation will be on Thursday from 3 until 8 p.m. in the Starlight Ballroom at the Fairgrounds.
Ronnie died on Monday, April 11, 2005, at his home following an accident while working on his Dirt Track Racecar.
He was born June 11, 1932, in Davenport, a son of Ronald H. and Virginia R. (Heiser) Weedon. He was united in marriage to Dolores J. "Dee" Clary on December 1, 1960, in Hannibal, Missouri.
He served in the U.S. Army during the Korean conflict.
Ronnie retired in 1995 after 37 years of service for Strieter Motor Company. He had worked in the Body and Fender Department.
He was very active in the local Dirt-Track Racing arenas and had 504-feature race wins over a seven-decade career. Ronnie was a mentor for many young racers and always had time to assist others when somebody would ask for help. Each year local driver's are asked to vote for their pick as the best racer in their respective class and the best local racer overall for the award named for Ronnie, the Weedon Award. Those receiving the once in a lifetime award receive votes from their peers, with each team getting one vote. To read more about his illustrious racing career visit www.ronnieweedon.com. He loved to race and the family time spent at the track. Besides his wife, Dee, you could always count on seeing his faithful companion at the track, his dog Gidget.
Memorials can be made to the family.
Survivors include his wife, Dee; and children, Debbie (Mrs. Ron) Lane, Davenport, Ronnie Weedon, Davenport, Rob (Sandy) Connors, East Moline, Jerry Connors, Pleasant Valley, and Ginnie (Mrs. Rick) Schumann, Davenport; and his beloved seven grandchildren and six great grandchildren.
In addition to his parents, a sister, Eleanor Boley, also preceded him in death.
Online remembrances and condolences may be expressed to the family by visiting Ronnie's obituary at the website of Halligan-McCabe-DeVries Funeral Home, www.hmdfuneralhome.com.
Published in the Quad-City Times on 4/13/2005.
He was a great guy. Took care of every single one of us, and you could always count on Gidget in the middle of the road, welcoming whoever was driving down there.
Here's to the first guy who ever told me my boyfriend was an idiot, and managed to take care of an entire Valley of people. I'll miss you.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
This one is hard to deal with. Hung out with him a few times with my sister. Really nice guy.
The guy who hit him almost hit Ashley a few miles before.
It's a fucked up world. It really is.
I'm gonna miss you, sweets.
Aaron M. Perkins
1988 - 2005
Funeral services for Aaron M. Perkins, 17, of Bettendorf, will be 1 p.m. Wednesday, April 13, at the Asbury United Methodist Church in Bettendorf. Burial will follow at Pleasant Valley Cemetery, Pleasant Valley, Iowa. The family will greet friends today from 3 to 7 p.m. at Cunnick-Collins Mortuary in Davenport. Aaron died on Friday, April 8, 2005, from injuries received in an automobile accident in Bettendorf.
Aaron Michael Perkins was born April 8, 1988, to Richard and Patricia (Vick) Perkins in Louisville, Ky. He currently was attending Pleasant Valley High School, where he was a junior, and worked as a cashier and bagger at the Middle Road Hy-Vee Food Store. His circle of friends was everything to him.
Survivors include his parents, Rick and Patti Perkins, of Bettendorf; his sister, Lauren Perkins, also of Bettendorf; maternal grandparents, Jim and Ann Vick, of Louisville, Ky.; and his paternal grandparents, Robert and Helen Perkins, of Radcliff, Ky.
A memorial fund has been established in Aaron's name at the Quad-City Bank and Trust Company, Bettendorf.
Published in the Quad-City Times on 4/12/2005.
The guy who hit him almost hit Ashley a few miles before.
It's a fucked up world. It really is.
I'm gonna miss you, sweets.
Aaron M. Perkins
1988 - 2005
Funeral services for Aaron M. Perkins, 17, of Bettendorf, will be 1 p.m. Wednesday, April 13, at the Asbury United Methodist Church in Bettendorf. Burial will follow at Pleasant Valley Cemetery, Pleasant Valley, Iowa. The family will greet friends today from 3 to 7 p.m. at Cunnick-Collins Mortuary in Davenport. Aaron died on Friday, April 8, 2005, from injuries received in an automobile accident in Bettendorf.
Aaron Michael Perkins was born April 8, 1988, to Richard and Patricia (Vick) Perkins in Louisville, Ky. He currently was attending Pleasant Valley High School, where he was a junior, and worked as a cashier and bagger at the Middle Road Hy-Vee Food Store. His circle of friends was everything to him.
Survivors include his parents, Rick and Patti Perkins, of Bettendorf; his sister, Lauren Perkins, also of Bettendorf; maternal grandparents, Jim and Ann Vick, of Louisville, Ky.; and his paternal grandparents, Robert and Helen Perkins, of Radcliff, Ky.
A memorial fund has been established in Aaron's name at the Quad-City Bank and Trust Company, Bettendorf.
Published in the Quad-City Times on 4/12/2005.
Monday, March 14, 2005
Saturday, February 26, 2005
I did it again.
Last night was great, but I just can't keep myself out of trouble.
Swizzle Tree and Lucky Boys Confusion played one hell of a fucking show, as usual. Amazing.
And all of my loyal readers owe my friend Honeyman a big thankyou. There was a moshpit, and a red headed douche bag continued to shake sweat on everyone. Fine. That's bad etiquette even for a moshpit and fucking gross, but fine. But when that douchebag came out of the pit swinging his hands and elbows everywhere and proceeded to hit my little sister in the face I lost my temper.I mean really. She's 90 pounds. And she wasn't in the pit, so there's no need for that shit. I was halfway through my swing in a punch his mother was going to feel when all the sudden I feel my arms jerked back behind me. All I really heard was "CLARE!". Somehow Honeyman, who was in front of me, was behind me, holding me from beating the everloving shit out of this smelly redhead kid, and most likely from being incarcerated. So smelly red head kid, if you are reading this, you owe that boy a thankyou. Honeyman definitely earned some cool points for catching me, I'm not sure anyone else woulda thought about it.
Even more amazing that I managed to find myself mingling with band members, as usual. Ashley had to leave early to work, and I just wasn't having it.
However, even Stubhy from LBC couldn't stop her. Which was sad.
However, I got to chill with his brother, the lead singer of Swizzle Tree, and I can say honestly that he's one of the coolest people I've had the pleasure of kicking it with in a long time.
We took a very blurry picture together
. (We were both drinking. It took both of us awhile to figure out how to work my camera phone) in which he had to stoop down because my arms were too short to get us both in the picture, and he was sweet as hell about giving me a CD. Did I mention that he's gorgeous?
You may ask yourself, how does this crazy ho get to meet everyone.
Simple.
I asked him if I could rub his head. It was shaved. He said yes, and really once you've crossed that threshold, there's no turning back.
Things I learned last night:
There is actually someone else in my school that likes scotch.
Rock stars are hot.
Indian rock stars are hotter.
I have an odd talent for meeting people.
And finally, I learned that Honeyman can fly.
Anyway. Check out Swizzle Tree and Lucky Boys Confusion, buy their music, and see their shows.
I'm gonna go ice down my bruises.
Last night was great, but I just can't keep myself out of trouble.
Swizzle Tree and Lucky Boys Confusion played one hell of a fucking show, as usual. Amazing.
And all of my loyal readers owe my friend Honeyman a big thankyou. There was a moshpit, and a red headed douche bag continued to shake sweat on everyone. Fine. That's bad etiquette even for a moshpit and fucking gross, but fine. But when that douchebag came out of the pit swinging his hands and elbows everywhere and proceeded to hit my little sister in the face I lost my temper.I mean really. She's 90 pounds. And she wasn't in the pit, so there's no need for that shit. I was halfway through my swing in a punch his mother was going to feel when all the sudden I feel my arms jerked back behind me. All I really heard was "CLARE!". Somehow Honeyman, who was in front of me, was behind me, holding me from beating the everloving shit out of this smelly redhead kid, and most likely from being incarcerated. So smelly red head kid, if you are reading this, you owe that boy a thankyou. Honeyman definitely earned some cool points for catching me, I'm not sure anyone else woulda thought about it.
Even more amazing that I managed to find myself mingling with band members, as usual. Ashley had to leave early to work, and I just wasn't having it.
However, even Stubhy from LBC couldn't stop her. Which was sad.
However, I got to chill with his brother, the lead singer of Swizzle Tree, and I can say honestly that he's one of the coolest people I've had the pleasure of kicking it with in a long time.
We took a very blurry picture together
. (We were both drinking. It took both of us awhile to figure out how to work my camera phone) in which he had to stoop down because my arms were too short to get us both in the picture, and he was sweet as hell about giving me a CD. Did I mention that he's gorgeous?You may ask yourself, how does this crazy ho get to meet everyone.
Simple.
I asked him if I could rub his head. It was shaved. He said yes, and really once you've crossed that threshold, there's no turning back.
Things I learned last night:
There is actually someone else in my school that likes scotch.
Rock stars are hot.
Indian rock stars are hotter.
I have an odd talent for meeting people.
And finally, I learned that Honeyman can fly.
Anyway. Check out Swizzle Tree and Lucky Boys Confusion, buy their music, and see their shows.
I'm gonna go ice down my bruises.
I got guilt tripped
Seriously.
(in more ways than one).
I'm drunk. Its 4:32 AM
I just saw Swizzle Tree and LBC.
Great show, hung ou twith Stuby and his hbrother, Saarang.
Then I chilled with entirely too many frat boys, including Charles and Honeyman.
My bar is now empty, but any night that involves drinking games and someone I know falling asleep in a bed with 2 girls rocks.
Details later.
Seriously.
(in more ways than one).
I'm drunk. Its 4:32 AM
I just saw Swizzle Tree and LBC.
Great show, hung ou twith Stuby and his hbrother, Saarang.
Then I chilled with entirely too many frat boys, including Charles and Honeyman.
My bar is now empty, but any night that involves drinking games and someone I know falling asleep in a bed with 2 girls rocks.
Details later.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
My comments are fixed, people. Use them. I like to get feedback. It lets me sleep better at night.
Anyway. It's the day after Valentines Day. I didn't gorge myself on chocolate. I didn't get drunk and I sure as fuck didn't get any flowers. Way to go, guys, what do I keep you around for, anyway?
Next year, here is an itemized list of what I want.
1) Chocolate. Mint meltaways from Fannie Mae, to be specific. And anything Godiva.
2) Beer. Bud light. Bottles. Yes, I know it's piss water, but I like it.
3) Chris. He still owes me drunk time. (And before I get 4 billion emails about how I'm a slut, I'd like to point out that it's not like that. He's my buddy. He owes me drunk time. It's not like I asked to see him in the nude).
4) Fight Club, Donnie Darko, Garden State and both Resident Evils. Nothing says love like shooting a gun at your invisible friend, having a jet engine fall into your bedroom (ever seen the deleted impalement scene? Wicked), having "balls" written on your forehead and having to kill zombies while wearing sexy boots. It's how I want to spend MY holiday, thankyouverymuch.
5) Chris naked. (I hadn't thought of it before #3, but in retrospect it's really not such a bad idea).
6) No classes. Really. I want to be able to sleep in the day after Valentine's Day. It benefits everyone. Those assholes who actually got some can get some actual sleep, and it gives the rest of us time to sober up.
7) Someone to tell me that it's alright to sluff around in my jammies all day and hate anyone who's in love who isn't me.
8) Jammies that have the feet on the bottom. Those things fucking rock.
9) Someone to bring me a Lou Malnaties or Little Italian Pizza, in the nude. (Refer to #5).
That's all for now. So make with the flowers and candies, bitches.
Steak and a Blow Job Day
Fuck V Day
Until the Violence Stops
Top 10 Reasons Valentines Day Still Sucks
Anyway. It's the day after Valentines Day. I didn't gorge myself on chocolate. I didn't get drunk and I sure as fuck didn't get any flowers. Way to go, guys, what do I keep you around for, anyway?
Next year, here is an itemized list of what I want.
1) Chocolate. Mint meltaways from Fannie Mae, to be specific. And anything Godiva.
2) Beer. Bud light. Bottles. Yes, I know it's piss water, but I like it.
3) Chris. He still owes me drunk time. (And before I get 4 billion emails about how I'm a slut, I'd like to point out that it's not like that. He's my buddy. He owes me drunk time. It's not like I asked to see him in the nude).
4) Fight Club, Donnie Darko, Garden State and both Resident Evils. Nothing says love like shooting a gun at your invisible friend, having a jet engine fall into your bedroom (ever seen the deleted impalement scene? Wicked), having "balls" written on your forehead and having to kill zombies while wearing sexy boots. It's how I want to spend MY holiday, thankyouverymuch.
5) Chris naked. (I hadn't thought of it before #3, but in retrospect it's really not such a bad idea).
6) No classes. Really. I want to be able to sleep in the day after Valentine's Day. It benefits everyone. Those assholes who actually got some can get some actual sleep, and it gives the rest of us time to sober up.
7) Someone to tell me that it's alright to sluff around in my jammies all day and hate anyone who's in love who isn't me.
8) Jammies that have the feet on the bottom. Those things fucking rock.
9) Someone to bring me a Lou Malnaties or Little Italian Pizza, in the nude. (Refer to #5).
That's all for now. So make with the flowers and candies, bitches.
Steak and a Blow Job Day
Fuck V Day
Until the Violence Stops
Top 10 Reasons Valentines Day Still Sucks
Saturday, February 12, 2005
Careful what you wish for.
Zero Compliance: When I got my first tattoo I told everybody about it, and these girls came up to me and asked to see it when I was out with Stacy.
Zero Compliance: So of course, down my pants went.
TweekerChickQC: Where the hell is your tattoo?
Zero Compliance: On my shoulder.
Zero Compliance: She got pissed.
Zero Compliance: When I got my first tattoo I told everybody about it, and these girls came up to me and asked to see it when I was out with Stacy.
Zero Compliance: So of course, down my pants went.
TweekerChickQC: Where the hell is your tattoo?
Zero Compliance: On my shoulder.
Zero Compliance: She got pissed.
It's been a very very busy week or so on this end.
However, I had to stop cleaning my aparment (impending Mom visit) to wish Chris a happy birthday.
Am I few days late? Probably.
Regardless.
Chris is the one guy who I've loved to death over the years, has really never made me too angry, and actually taught me how to have a little fun.
Now, if he'd only stop and visit me once in awhile, I'd be happy.
Regardless, Happy Birthday to one of the best friends a girl could ask for.
And here's your present from me.
Don't say I never give you anything.
However, I had to stop cleaning my aparment (impending Mom visit) to wish Chris a happy birthday.
Am I few days late? Probably.
Regardless.
Chris is the one guy who I've loved to death over the years, has really never made me too angry, and actually taught me how to have a little fun.
Now, if he'd only stop and visit me once in awhile, I'd be happy.
Regardless, Happy Birthday to one of the best friends a girl could ask for.
And here's your present from me.
Don't say I never give you anything.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
I know it's been awhile. It's been a rough week or so.
As soon as I got back into town, I got news that my friend Ed died.
To be totally honest, I've taken news better.
A whole lot better.
He was my boy. Sometimes I swear he was the only reason I didn't off myself a kid or two at work. (Had I seen this I may have been a nicer employee).
A day just wasn't the same without him looking at me, wearing that stupid white t-shirt that went past his knees, saying "Hi babygirl" and playing with one of my favorite rings, telling me that someday he was gonna be a baller like his Clarissa.
It's actually a miracle we even got to see him, we were so late that the wake was over entirely when we got there. The receptionist at the funeral home let us in anyway (and we appriciate it, and I think she scored some extra points with god).
I couldn't help myself, and I slipped that ring (the one with 2 diamonds in it) into his coat pocket.
I miss you Ed.
Anyway, I've got assloads of stuff to make up and this term is just winding down, so I promise nothing, unless one of you wants to do my homework.
Anyway, here are some links to keep you occupied so you get off of my ass.
The girl from the GoDaddy.com commerical, buck ass naked.
Jessica Simpson is a fat, spoiled dog.
The Scrotal Safety Commission
Every Nintendo game your geeky heart could desire.
How to drink like a real college student.
That's one hell of a human error.
I'm all for god, but when you bring Sir Mix Alot into things, you've gone too far. This makes baby jesus, and big ass fans alike, cry.
As soon as I got back into town, I got news that my friend Ed died.
To be totally honest, I've taken news better.
A whole lot better.
He was my boy. Sometimes I swear he was the only reason I didn't off myself a kid or two at work. (Had I seen this I may have been a nicer employee).
A day just wasn't the same without him looking at me, wearing that stupid white t-shirt that went past his knees, saying "Hi babygirl" and playing with one of my favorite rings, telling me that someday he was gonna be a baller like his Clarissa.
It's actually a miracle we even got to see him, we were so late that the wake was over entirely when we got there. The receptionist at the funeral home let us in anyway (and we appriciate it, and I think she scored some extra points with god).
I couldn't help myself, and I slipped that ring (the one with 2 diamonds in it) into his coat pocket.
I miss you Ed.
Anyway, I've got assloads of stuff to make up and this term is just winding down, so I promise nothing, unless one of you wants to do my homework.
Anyway, here are some links to keep you occupied so you get off of my ass.
The girl from the GoDaddy.com commerical, buck ass naked.
Jessica Simpson is a fat, spoiled dog.
The Scrotal Safety Commission
Every Nintendo game your geeky heart could desire.
How to drink like a real college student.
That's one hell of a human error.
I'm all for god, but when you bring Sir Mix Alot into things, you've gone too far. This makes baby jesus, and big ass fans alike, cry.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Ever get that feeling in the pit of your stomach that something is wrong?
I had that today.
I thought, maybe it's just test anxiety.
Maybe, I thought, I'm just stressed out.
Bad coffee?
I was settling into my religion class when I started feeling overwhelmingly anxious. I'm not Dionne Warwick, but something in the universe was just off.
I noticed that my cell phone was blinking.
Constantly.
Every 10 minutes, my cell phone was going off.
Now if that's not a bad sign, I don't know what is.
I got up, in the middle of class (which I never ever do, so Prof. Burke, if you're reading this, I am sorry) and went to see just what the fuck was going on.
Here's where the story gets good.
My sister was driving today and some drunk mother fucker hit her car.
Hard.
Fucked it up.
First of all, that's the only twin sister I have. So this didn't leave me happy.
Second of all, what kind of fucking backwards hick mother fucker is shitfaced at three in the afternoon?
Third, what kind of tool drives, shitfaced, without a liscense or insurance?
I'll tell you what kind of person.
A worthless peice of horseshit with no regard for anyone but themselves. Let me spell this out for you, asshat.
You could've killed someone.
You're lucky you didn't.
Now you have fun in that cell for awhile and you tell your new boyfriend that I send my regards.
I had that today.
I thought, maybe it's just test anxiety.
Maybe, I thought, I'm just stressed out.
Bad coffee?
I was settling into my religion class when I started feeling overwhelmingly anxious. I'm not Dionne Warwick, but something in the universe was just off.
I noticed that my cell phone was blinking.
Constantly.
Every 10 minutes, my cell phone was going off.
Now if that's not a bad sign, I don't know what is.
I got up, in the middle of class (which I never ever do, so Prof. Burke, if you're reading this, I am sorry) and went to see just what the fuck was going on.
Here's where the story gets good.
My sister was driving today and some drunk mother fucker hit her car.
Hard.
Fucked it up.
First of all, that's the only twin sister I have. So this didn't leave me happy.
Second of all, what kind of fucking backwards hick mother fucker is shitfaced at three in the afternoon?
Third, what kind of tool drives, shitfaced, without a liscense or insurance?
I'll tell you what kind of person.
A worthless peice of horseshit with no regard for anyone but themselves. Let me spell this out for you, asshat.
You could've killed someone.
You're lucky you didn't.
Now you have fun in that cell for awhile and you tell your new boyfriend that I send my regards.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
It was under the advice of an enviornmentalist that the two girls embarked on their journey that night. He was a wise man, knowledgeable in many things, including the conservation of grapes. He sat on the couch, smiling at them, and in his infinite wisdom said "I think you should go".
The enviornmentalist was never wrong, having spent much of his time partaking in spiritual activities such as sampling the juice of fermented grapes, neither girl was in a position to argue with him. The enviornmentalist then turned on his heel and left to go tend to his daily routine.
Sarah and Clare then looked at each other and headed to the car. They had a long journey ahead of them that neither was prepared for. It was cold, the wind was bitter, and it was getting colder as the minutes passed. They sat side by side, quietly contemplating the ramifications of the journey that lay ahead of them.
It would be long. It would be tiring. It would be scary.
And both were up for the challenge.
Beside each other in the car, the minutes dragged like hours, hours seemed to go on for eternities. The miles crept by, and at one point Clare thought she saw a little old lady pass them with her walker.
They went on. The radio cut in and out, the music got increasingly bad, but they pressed on. Nothing was going to stop them.
The wind was blowing harder now as they pulled over to take a break. Behind the glass at the gas station, a prophet, probably named Edna, sat, smoking a Marlboro Red, glaring at the rack of twinkies.
Edna exhaled, a long stream of grey smoke pouring from her wrinkled mouth.
"Joliet" is all she said.
The girls silently got back into the vehicle.
"Well?" Clare asked. She was tired, her eyes were starting to get dry, and her ass had fallen asleep 10 mile markers ago.
"We've come too far to turn back now" Sarah said, with what one can assume was the last bit of energy she had.
They continued on, an eternity later, pulling off onto the Joliet exit.
The roads were dark, and scary, and both girls had a hard time remembering that looking at other people's cars at stoplights was strictly a custom from their homeland, not this foreign place.
The road was endless. Mile after mile of car lot, gas station and strip malls was wearing on both of our protagonists.
They were almost at the end of the road.
And so far, nothing.
Not a single thing.
Were both the prophet and enviornmentalist wrong?
And there, in the distance, they saw it.
It called to them both.
Shining in bright contrast against the sky, it stood, waiting for them.
And it was beautiful.
"We need 20 sliders, 2 fries, and 2 medium sodas".
The girls ate until they could not eat anymore.
The prophet and enviornmentalist were right.
It was a hard, long, tiring journey.
Upon return both girls fell into their beds, stomachs full of the greasiest, most disgusting hamburgers in all of creation.
And they enjoyed every bite.
Some people say it's silly. Other's say we are too influence by the media. Clare and Sarah, however, are simply biding their time until their next epic journey.
The enviornmentalist was never wrong, having spent much of his time partaking in spiritual activities such as sampling the juice of fermented grapes, neither girl was in a position to argue with him. The enviornmentalist then turned on his heel and left to go tend to his daily routine.
Sarah and Clare then looked at each other and headed to the car. They had a long journey ahead of them that neither was prepared for. It was cold, the wind was bitter, and it was getting colder as the minutes passed. They sat side by side, quietly contemplating the ramifications of the journey that lay ahead of them.
It would be long. It would be tiring. It would be scary.
And both were up for the challenge.
Beside each other in the car, the minutes dragged like hours, hours seemed to go on for eternities. The miles crept by, and at one point Clare thought she saw a little old lady pass them with her walker.
They went on. The radio cut in and out, the music got increasingly bad, but they pressed on. Nothing was going to stop them.
The wind was blowing harder now as they pulled over to take a break. Behind the glass at the gas station, a prophet, probably named Edna, sat, smoking a Marlboro Red, glaring at the rack of twinkies.
Edna exhaled, a long stream of grey smoke pouring from her wrinkled mouth.
"Joliet" is all she said.
The girls silently got back into the vehicle.
"Well?" Clare asked. She was tired, her eyes were starting to get dry, and her ass had fallen asleep 10 mile markers ago.
"We've come too far to turn back now" Sarah said, with what one can assume was the last bit of energy she had.
They continued on, an eternity later, pulling off onto the Joliet exit.
The roads were dark, and scary, and both girls had a hard time remembering that looking at other people's cars at stoplights was strictly a custom from their homeland, not this foreign place.
The road was endless. Mile after mile of car lot, gas station and strip malls was wearing on both of our protagonists.
They were almost at the end of the road.
And so far, nothing.
Not a single thing.
Were both the prophet and enviornmentalist wrong?
And there, in the distance, they saw it.
It called to them both.
Shining in bright contrast against the sky, it stood, waiting for them.
And it was beautiful.
"We need 20 sliders, 2 fries, and 2 medium sodas".
The girls ate until they could not eat anymore.
The prophet and enviornmentalist were right.
It was a hard, long, tiring journey.
Upon return both girls fell into their beds, stomachs full of the greasiest, most disgusting hamburgers in all of creation.
And they enjoyed every bite.
Some people say it's silly. Other's say we are too influence by the media. Clare and Sarah, however, are simply biding their time until their next epic journey.
Friday, January 14, 2005
Monday, January 10, 2005
So.
I was dumb. I did a dumb thing.
I let my best friend "stay here a few nights".
With his pitbull, who is adorable.
The problem?
He's still here.
I'm feeling spread pretty fucking thin, and now I get to babysit for a 21 year old and his dog.
I'm broke as shit, I've got 200 pages of religion to study by tomorrow so I don't flunk out, and I'm busy cleaning up after the two of them. For the past three days.
I'm about to go insane.
I've got laundry piled up the ceiling in my bathroom that I don't have time to do.
I feel like my head is going to explode. I actually skipped my classes today to try to get a head start on things.
What did I wind up doing?
Babysitting the 21 year old and the fucking dog.
I am not about to let anyone fuck up my education.
Now's the problem.
He has nowhere to go, and he's my best friend.
Which leaves me in a hell of a spot. Say "Get the fuck out and take your dog that barfed on my rug and find somewhere else to stay, like anyone will take you" or go completely insane, risk being evicted for the animal living here, and probably fail the fuck out of college.
Every time I clean, I turn around and there's a mess.
Every time I vacuum, I turn around and there's more dog fur.
Every time I try to sleep, I get "Wanna watch Harold and Kumar?"
Every time I try to study, I field questions about "What's wrong".
What I need, what I really truly need, is a prescription for Zanax, a pound of fudge, and a 12 pack of beer to drink with Chris.
I was dumb. I did a dumb thing.
I let my best friend "stay here a few nights".
With his pitbull, who is adorable.
The problem?
He's still here.
I'm feeling spread pretty fucking thin, and now I get to babysit for a 21 year old and his dog.
I'm broke as shit, I've got 200 pages of religion to study by tomorrow so I don't flunk out, and I'm busy cleaning up after the two of them. For the past three days.
I'm about to go insane.
I've got laundry piled up the ceiling in my bathroom that I don't have time to do.
I feel like my head is going to explode. I actually skipped my classes today to try to get a head start on things.
What did I wind up doing?
Babysitting the 21 year old and the fucking dog.
I am not about to let anyone fuck up my education.
Now's the problem.
He has nowhere to go, and he's my best friend.
Which leaves me in a hell of a spot. Say "Get the fuck out and take your dog that barfed on my rug and find somewhere else to stay, like anyone will take you" or go completely insane, risk being evicted for the animal living here, and probably fail the fuck out of college.
Every time I clean, I turn around and there's a mess.
Every time I vacuum, I turn around and there's more dog fur.
Every time I try to sleep, I get "Wanna watch Harold and Kumar?"
Every time I try to study, I field questions about "What's wrong".
What I need, what I really truly need, is a prescription for Zanax, a pound of fudge, and a 12 pack of beer to drink with Chris.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
So, I was sifting through the list of referrers to my little corner of the web here (it beats the fuck out of studying, so shut up), and I've come to the conclusion that you are all a bunch of perverts.
The 5 latest searches that lead to website are as follows:
"Oprah Tossed Salad"
"Gay Tweeker Sex"
"Bitch and Bongs"
"Dirty Bitch Assing"
"Kaustubh Pandav Naked"
And whoever found my site looking for that last one, email me, you are living the dream.
Not much else is going on the life of Clare. Back to school, back to the same old shit. I have 2 huge tests coming up this next week. Massively huge. So instead of studying, I present you with some of my tips for studying.
1.Find a clean, well lit place to study. This requires actually cleaning your house. You will be up until 3 or 4 A.M. doing this.
2.Munchie food is a gift from god. Begin studying. Realize, 3 paragraphs in, that you are lacking Doritos, which are imperative to getting a decent grade. Run to the store. Sit down to study. Realize that you forgot Twizzlers, and you must have Twizzlers. Run to the store again. Do this at least 4 more times.
3.Find comfortable clothes. This means, most likely, jammies. Shit, while you're in them, you might as well take a nap, you know, so you can focus.
4.Sit in front of your computer to help aid in whatever you're reading. Discuss current events, alcoholic beverages, and random other shit with your friends on AIM.
5.Put up an away message lamenting the fact that you have to study and can't talk.
6.Vow to begin right after you check F.U.B.A.R. one last time.
7.Begin studying.
8.Take a nap.
9.Wake up 2 hours before test, and try cramming 4 weeks worth of knowledge in to your brain in that amount of time.
10. Drink the pain away.
This, my friends, is what I will be doing tonight. Hooray college.
Here's some links to look at till next time.
Too Beautiful
Soapbox Network
Erection Warning Chart
Cooking with Cum
How To Argue With A Female
AIM Commandments
The Best Bud Light commercials EVER.
The 5 latest searches that lead to website are as follows:
"Oprah Tossed Salad"
"Gay Tweeker Sex"
"Bitch and Bongs"
"Dirty Bitch Assing"
"Kaustubh Pandav Naked"
And whoever found my site looking for that last one, email me, you are living the dream.
Not much else is going on the life of Clare. Back to school, back to the same old shit. I have 2 huge tests coming up this next week. Massively huge. So instead of studying, I present you with some of my tips for studying.
1.Find a clean, well lit place to study. This requires actually cleaning your house. You will be up until 3 or 4 A.M. doing this.
2.Munchie food is a gift from god. Begin studying. Realize, 3 paragraphs in, that you are lacking Doritos, which are imperative to getting a decent grade. Run to the store. Sit down to study. Realize that you forgot Twizzlers, and you must have Twizzlers. Run to the store again. Do this at least 4 more times.
3.Find comfortable clothes. This means, most likely, jammies. Shit, while you're in them, you might as well take a nap, you know, so you can focus.
4.Sit in front of your computer to help aid in whatever you're reading. Discuss current events, alcoholic beverages, and random other shit with your friends on AIM.
5.Put up an away message lamenting the fact that you have to study and can't talk.
6.Vow to begin right after you check F.U.B.A.R. one last time.
7.Begin studying.
8.Take a nap.
9.Wake up 2 hours before test, and try cramming 4 weeks worth of knowledge in to your brain in that amount of time.
10. Drink the pain away.
This, my friends, is what I will be doing tonight. Hooray college.
Here's some links to look at till next time.
Too Beautiful
Soapbox Network
Erection Warning Chart
Cooking with Cum
How To Argue With A Female
AIM Commandments
The Best Bud Light commercials EVER.
Sunday, December 26, 2004
God thinks I'm hilarious.
I got the greatest gift ever for Christmas.
A letter telling me I've been laid off due to lack of work, postmarked on the 22nd.
Merry fucking Christmas, Clare.
So yea, I've not been in the mood to update or change around my links or anything.
The kicker of this entire deal?
I get a letter in the mail saying I'm laid off right before Christmas and how if work picks up they will call me. (By the way, if you are reading this, don't bother).
Christmas is a hard financial time for most people, myself included. So thrilled, I was not.
So I'm sure you can imagine my joy when I got the voicemail that cheerfully informed me that I was still welcome at their Christmas party.
Now that, takes balls.
The problem being, I have to find a job, soon.
I don't want to tell my parents and worry them, seeing as they've stressed repeatedly that things are tight right now.
So if anyone wants to give me a job, like now, I'd appriciate it.
Gah.
To top it off, I spent Christmas alone. Because, suprise, I thought I had to work.
Way to fuck me straight up my ass, guys.
Merry Fucking Christmas.
I got the greatest gift ever for Christmas.
A letter telling me I've been laid off due to lack of work, postmarked on the 22nd.
Merry fucking Christmas, Clare.
So yea, I've not been in the mood to update or change around my links or anything.
The kicker of this entire deal?
I get a letter in the mail saying I'm laid off right before Christmas and how if work picks up they will call me. (By the way, if you are reading this, don't bother).
Christmas is a hard financial time for most people, myself included. So thrilled, I was not.
So I'm sure you can imagine my joy when I got the voicemail that cheerfully informed me that I was still welcome at their Christmas party.
Now that, takes balls.
The problem being, I have to find a job, soon.
I don't want to tell my parents and worry them, seeing as they've stressed repeatedly that things are tight right now.
So if anyone wants to give me a job, like now, I'd appriciate it.
Gah.
To top it off, I spent Christmas alone. Because, suprise, I thought I had to work.
Way to fuck me straight up my ass, guys.
Merry Fucking Christmas.
Saturday, December 18, 2004
I know.
It's been over a month.
I've been horrifically busy.
My schedule is something like this:
Research Methods: Sit beside stoner kid who says brilliant things like "heh. whoa" and "What were we talking about again?" in between the occasional boring video about ethics in research. Contemplate throwing self out the window.
Theories of Personality: Sit by same window I debated throwing myself out of. Realize that by throwing myself out of that window, I wouldn't be able to hear my professor say things like "You just want to jump someone's bones. But since no one wants you to do that, we need to find a viable alternative". Occasionally make a tally of how many times she says "penis" during lecture. Start another tally for every time she makes a penis joke.
Dinosaurs and Extinction: Sit by my friend, and wonder why my buddy won't speak to me if his girlfriend is within a 4 mile radius of the classroom. Wonder if Dr. Hammer was hot when he was younger (and had hair). Actually pay attention, seeing as he discovered a dinosaur and is a funny mother fucker.
Religion, Culture and Archeology: Ponder the existence of god for 2 hours, coming to the conclusion that if god does exist, he does indeed hate me.
The rest of my valuable time is spent at work.
I now work with computers, and idiots. It's like data processing, but I'm the one they call if something fucks up.
Which is lovely, but when I'm not doing that I get to do some data entry.
And I hate you mother fuckers.
Seriously.
So now I present you with my guide to not sounding like a douche on the fucking phone.
1. Shut off the fucking TV, turn down the radio, and sedate your children. It is really fucking hard to understand you when you are bitching to little Billy not to put his dick in the dog.
2. Speak slowly and distinctly. And when I say that I mean about as slowly as you would speak to a person that was copying down something. No slower. We work with computers, we aren't retarded. However, if you have an accent in which you can't pronounce most vowels, be sure you spell if necessary. Most of us don't speak "ignorant hick".
3. If the computer asks you for an email, or some other bit of information you don't have, you have one of two options. Say "none" and shut your hole, or simply don't respond. The longer you say 'None, I don't have one, NONE!" the longer the computer will record it before moving to the next field, and the longer I have to listen to you. Don't even think about screaming in to that phone, either, I can easily find out where you mother fuckers live.
4. For the love of all that is holy, pay attention. I can't count the number of times I've asked for an email address and gotten "3928 Harrington Street, MomFuck Arkansas, 40929".
5. If you have an email address, spell it out. People think they are cute and spell them all sorts of cutesy ways that are nothing close to the original spellings of the word. If you fail to do this, I will store your email address in my short term memory, go home, and sign up your email (or any possible variation of it) to geriatric gay beastiality mailing lists, and various online Christian publications. And lets face it, nothing is scarier than a god fanatic with access to the information superhighway followed by Grandpa Moses and his boyfriend defiling Mr. Ed.
6. Remember, there are people who have to listen to your stupid ass, present yourself accordingly. Remember, we are the people who process your refunds, your credit cards, your mail, etc, and you are starting to piss us off.
Random Links:
Pumpkin Porn
Bush Dress Up Doll
A Guide To Offing Yourself Like A Man.
Making Kids Cry Is Fun.
It's been over a month.
I've been horrifically busy.
My schedule is something like this:
Research Methods: Sit beside stoner kid who says brilliant things like "heh. whoa" and "What were we talking about again?" in between the occasional boring video about ethics in research. Contemplate throwing self out the window.
Theories of Personality: Sit by same window I debated throwing myself out of. Realize that by throwing myself out of that window, I wouldn't be able to hear my professor say things like "You just want to jump someone's bones. But since no one wants you to do that, we need to find a viable alternative". Occasionally make a tally of how many times she says "penis" during lecture. Start another tally for every time she makes a penis joke.
Dinosaurs and Extinction: Sit by my friend, and wonder why my buddy won't speak to me if his girlfriend is within a 4 mile radius of the classroom. Wonder if Dr. Hammer was hot when he was younger (and had hair). Actually pay attention, seeing as he discovered a dinosaur and is a funny mother fucker.
Religion, Culture and Archeology: Ponder the existence of god for 2 hours, coming to the conclusion that if god does exist, he does indeed hate me.
The rest of my valuable time is spent at work.
I now work with computers, and idiots. It's like data processing, but I'm the one they call if something fucks up.
Which is lovely, but when I'm not doing that I get to do some data entry.
And I hate you mother fuckers.
Seriously.
So now I present you with my guide to not sounding like a douche on the fucking phone.
1. Shut off the fucking TV, turn down the radio, and sedate your children. It is really fucking hard to understand you when you are bitching to little Billy not to put his dick in the dog.
2. Speak slowly and distinctly. And when I say that I mean about as slowly as you would speak to a person that was copying down something. No slower. We work with computers, we aren't retarded. However, if you have an accent in which you can't pronounce most vowels, be sure you spell if necessary. Most of us don't speak "ignorant hick".
3. If the computer asks you for an email, or some other bit of information you don't have, you have one of two options. Say "none" and shut your hole, or simply don't respond. The longer you say 'None, I don't have one, NONE!" the longer the computer will record it before moving to the next field, and the longer I have to listen to you. Don't even think about screaming in to that phone, either, I can easily find out where you mother fuckers live.
4. For the love of all that is holy, pay attention. I can't count the number of times I've asked for an email address and gotten "3928 Harrington Street, MomFuck Arkansas, 40929".
5. If you have an email address, spell it out. People think they are cute and spell them all sorts of cutesy ways that are nothing close to the original spellings of the word. If you fail to do this, I will store your email address in my short term memory, go home, and sign up your email (or any possible variation of it) to geriatric gay beastiality mailing lists, and various online Christian publications. And lets face it, nothing is scarier than a god fanatic with access to the information superhighway followed by Grandpa Moses and his boyfriend defiling Mr. Ed.
6. Remember, there are people who have to listen to your stupid ass, present yourself accordingly. Remember, we are the people who process your refunds, your credit cards, your mail, etc, and you are starting to piss us off.
Random Links:
Pumpkin Porn
Bush Dress Up Doll
A Guide To Offing Yourself Like A Man.
Making Kids Cry Is Fun.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
It's finals.
I hate finals.
My entire life comes unglued around finals time.
Seriously. I lose all rational thought because my brain is so full of random other useless shit that I'll never use, like the difference between a one factor ANOVA and a T-Test.
Almost done though.
My trainer has decided that he wants me to keep a food journal.
Now. In the middle of the hell week, right before thanksgiving.
I assume it's going to look something like this:
Monday:
Breakfast: Sour patch kids, coffee
Lunch: Diet Pepsi
Dinner: Coffee
Tuesday:
Breakfast: Chocolate, diet pepsi
Lunch: Coffee
Dinner: An entire pizza
Wednesday:
Breakfast: Icecream
Lunch: Coffee
Dinner: Diet Pepsi
Thursday:
Breakfast: Rum
Lunch: Vodka
Dinner: Beer
Snack: Jagermeister
Moving on. In my combing of F.U.B.A.R. I found the best link ever.
It's about exactly why you shouldn't shave your ass.
I'll give you a snippet, and let you read the rest on your own. (Quit your bitching, all you lazy bastards have to do is click a link). "I now have a great respect for anal-hair. Like everything in this world God created, it has its mighty purpose in existence. It was only after I had removed it that I started to learn how much I had been taking it for granted. For one, it provides friction. I learned this the next day, when I walked out into the sun heading for class. After climbing two flights of stairs and starting to sweat, I started to notice something unpleasant. The sweat was accumulating in my crack, and was causing the unpleasant sensation of my two asscheeks sliding past each other with every step. I thought about going to the bathroom and wiping it off, but had to get to class. Eventually, I thought, it would dry. "
Horrible.
Vile.
Fucking Hilarious.
Anyway, I leave you with some random links to check out.
This is my Dexxy.
Creepy Bob's Boards.Go here. Look at porn. Sign up. Post witty, relevant things. Post total shit. I don't care.
Science put to it's best use yet. Making alcohol taste better.
Sex Scandal Rocks Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory!
Bruce Lee Crotch Violence Research Institute. Enough Said.
I hate finals.
My entire life comes unglued around finals time.
Seriously. I lose all rational thought because my brain is so full of random other useless shit that I'll never use, like the difference between a one factor ANOVA and a T-Test.
Almost done though.
My trainer has decided that he wants me to keep a food journal.
Now. In the middle of the hell week, right before thanksgiving.
I assume it's going to look something like this:
Monday:
Breakfast: Sour patch kids, coffee
Lunch: Diet Pepsi
Dinner: Coffee
Tuesday:
Breakfast: Chocolate, diet pepsi
Lunch: Coffee
Dinner: An entire pizza
Wednesday:
Breakfast: Icecream
Lunch: Coffee
Dinner: Diet Pepsi
Thursday:
Breakfast: Rum
Lunch: Vodka
Dinner: Beer
Snack: Jagermeister
Moving on. In my combing of F.U.B.A.R. I found the best link ever.
It's about exactly why you shouldn't shave your ass.
I'll give you a snippet, and let you read the rest on your own. (Quit your bitching, all you lazy bastards have to do is click a link). "I now have a great respect for anal-hair. Like everything in this world God created, it has its mighty purpose in existence. It was only after I had removed it that I started to learn how much I had been taking it for granted. For one, it provides friction. I learned this the next day, when I walked out into the sun heading for class. After climbing two flights of stairs and starting to sweat, I started to notice something unpleasant. The sweat was accumulating in my crack, and was causing the unpleasant sensation of my two asscheeks sliding past each other with every step. I thought about going to the bathroom and wiping it off, but had to get to class. Eventually, I thought, it would dry. "
Horrible.
Vile.
Fucking Hilarious.
Anyway, I leave you with some random links to check out.
This is my Dexxy.
Creepy Bob's Boards.Go here. Look at porn. Sign up. Post witty, relevant things. Post total shit. I don't care.
Science put to it's best use yet. Making alcohol taste better.
Sex Scandal Rocks Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory!
Bruce Lee Crotch Violence Research Institute. Enough Said.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
If you ever see my heterolifemate walking beside me in a dark alley...you'd better pray that we like you.
All we need are matching tattoos. Boondock Saints style.
TweekerChickQC: I'll be sure to be like "My heterolifemate doesn't even know you and she hates you, that is how much you suck".
HLM: Do it!
HLM: I want her to hate me back.
HLM: So i have an excuse to cut her if i come across her in a dark alley.
HLM: "She threatened me with her presence and std's officer, it was self defense"
All we need are matching tattoos. Boondock Saints style.
TweekerChickQC: I'll be sure to be like "My heterolifemate doesn't even know you and she hates you, that is how much you suck".
HLM: Do it!
HLM: I want her to hate me back.
HLM: So i have an excuse to cut her if i come across her in a dark alley.
HLM: "She threatened me with her presence and std's officer, it was self defense"
Monday, November 08, 2004
Well, I did it.
I met Ron Jeremy.
No shit whatsoever at all.
He was at the titty bar, I went there with Dawn and Sarah...
long story short.
I offered to make out with Sarah (didn't happen don't get too excited).
We got our picture taken with the Big Dong Dood.
He commented about Sarah's Pimpness.
He grabbed my ass, and told me it was "fabulous". He also told me I had a pretty name.
He proceeded to misspell my "pretty name" on the poster he signed for me.
I suppose you can't win them all.
Oh, and Dawnie got some titties crammed in her face.
But yea, I have a big ego now.
My ass is now what my friend calls "Grade A, Ron Jeremy Approved".
On another note, Shawn is back, so I've been busy entertaining him.
He's my best friend. He's got the attention span of a coked up chimp. It's been hard.
Pop over to
Creepy Bob's Boards.He gave me power to abuse.
But shit, give the man some money, would ya?
I met Ron Jeremy.
No shit whatsoever at all.
He was at the titty bar, I went there with Dawn and Sarah...
long story short.
I offered to make out with Sarah (didn't happen don't get too excited).
We got our picture taken with the Big Dong Dood.
He commented about Sarah's Pimpness.
He grabbed my ass, and told me it was "fabulous". He also told me I had a pretty name.
He proceeded to misspell my "pretty name" on the poster he signed for me.
I suppose you can't win them all.
Oh, and Dawnie got some titties crammed in her face.
But yea, I have a big ego now.
My ass is now what my friend calls "Grade A, Ron Jeremy Approved".
On another note, Shawn is back, so I've been busy entertaining him.
He's my best friend. He's got the attention span of a coked up chimp. It's been hard.
Pop over to
Creepy Bob's Boards.He gave me power to abuse.
But shit, give the man some money, would ya?
Sunday, November 07, 2004
I looked through my referrals.
And almost all of the people here lately are looking for the pictures of Tara Reid's boob.
Who am I to deny you?
To FUBAR you go.
Perverts.
And almost all of the people here lately are looking for the pictures of Tara Reid's boob.
Who am I to deny you?
To FUBAR you go.
Perverts.
Saturday, October 23, 2004
I love my male friends.
They really know what matters in life.
TweekerChickQC: I've missed you lately hon!
TweekerChickQC: I thought you left me with someone with a small
head or social retardation or something.
NapalmMage: LOL Nah, things have just been heavy lately.
NapalmMage: There is one plus to having a chick with a small head
TweekerChickQC: What's that?
NapalmMage: My dick looked friggin HUGE in her mouth.
They really know what matters in life.
TweekerChickQC: I've missed you lately hon!
TweekerChickQC: I thought you left me with someone with a small
head or social retardation or something.
NapalmMage: LOL Nah, things have just been heavy lately.
NapalmMage: There is one plus to having a chick with a small head
TweekerChickQC: What's that?
NapalmMage: My dick looked friggin HUGE in her mouth.
Friday, October 22, 2004
Hooray!
A new Tucker Update. I live for this shit.
My favorite site, Lowbrow is back up, I will update my links soon enough.
Now, on to the goods.
I didn't write them.
Walter Sobchak from F.U.B.A.R. recently graced our boards with a guide on giving good oral.
He is a god among men.
"Licking is cheating. Don't get me wrong, though.... it's an essential part of closing the deal.
Most guys that lick pussy are just afraid to get "hands dirty". They like to spread the upper labia exposing the clit, and lick the poor fucker to death. The main problem with that is that you can over stimulate the girl. Not only does it illustrate a lack of interest and creativity, but it can become uncomfortable for the girl. Think of this as the nitrous button on a car in the movies... you have to get the RPM's up until it's the right time to hit the boost.
Eating pussy is what it's all about. Get your fucking face in there, man! Don't just lick the clit. Stick your tongue IN THE PUSSY. Repeat after me: IN-THE-PUSSY. Lick the alphabet, pretend your in a poorly dubbed kung-fu movie, speak Japanese, etc.. Listen to your girl's moans and pay attention. Learn to respond to her body, not your own.
When the tea kettle's going "ooooooohhhhhhhh".....
RED ALERT - RED ALERT - LICK THE CLIT - LICK THE CLIT.......
....and BAM : Karate Explosion"
And they say guys don't know what they're doing.
A new Tucker Update. I live for this shit.
My favorite site, Lowbrow is back up, I will update my links soon enough.
Now, on to the goods.
I didn't write them.
Walter Sobchak from F.U.B.A.R. recently graced our boards with a guide on giving good oral.
He is a god among men.
"Licking is cheating. Don't get me wrong, though.... it's an essential part of closing the deal.
Most guys that lick pussy are just afraid to get "hands dirty". They like to spread the upper labia exposing the clit, and lick the poor fucker to death. The main problem with that is that you can over stimulate the girl. Not only does it illustrate a lack of interest and creativity, but it can become uncomfortable for the girl. Think of this as the nitrous button on a car in the movies... you have to get the RPM's up until it's the right time to hit the boost.
Eating pussy is what it's all about. Get your fucking face in there, man! Don't just lick the clit. Stick your tongue IN THE PUSSY. Repeat after me: IN-THE-PUSSY. Lick the alphabet, pretend your in a poorly dubbed kung-fu movie, speak Japanese, etc.. Listen to your girl's moans and pay attention. Learn to respond to her body, not your own.
When the tea kettle's going "ooooooohhhhhhhh".....
RED ALERT - RED ALERT - LICK THE CLIT - LICK THE CLIT.......
....and BAM : Karate Explosion"
And they say guys don't know what they're doing.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
I know. I've been a bad bad blogger.
I was inspired to make a brief update by Chris, who is in fact, not dead. I've also heard from a very reliable source who shall remain nameless that he got more buff (I always thought he was anyway). But regardless, this is something I demand to see for myself! He owes me drunk time!
Also, Jon Stewart is my hero. He wins for the bowtie comment.
I started working out again, seeing as prednisone has made me gain more weight than Roseanne on an icecream bender, and I kind of want to die. And by "kind of want to die" I mean, I really want to die. Muscles hurt that I didn't even know I had. If I lift my arms, they might fall off. My thighs burn, and I may or may not have a cramp in my butt. I didn't even know that was possible.
Apparently this guy knew all about it.
On another note, I put in my two weeks at my job. One might ask why I would do that when I love my kids as much as I do.
The answer is simple my friends. I adore my kids at work. I'd do anything for them at any time. They are my babies. They make me feel like I make a difference in the world, and I love spending time with them.
However, my direct supervisors are complete asshats, and I can't subject myself to one more moment with them for fear that I will wind up on top of a water tower with a rifle.
It all started when I got chewed out for not showing up to a shift that I wasn't scheduled to work anyway. Schedule me on my day off all you want, my fat ass still isn't coming in to work. This old bitch chews me out for ten minutes, in front of my kids and staff. I'm not one to apologize, even when I know I'm wrong, so the chances of me sucking it up and apologizing for something that I didn't do are slim to none. My habit of doing this really tends to piss my superiors off.
So, I get shipped off to go to the Haunted House, Hardees and Church with a group of kids. Gone for upwards of 7 hours. During this 7 hour time one of the kids back at the shelter flooded the upstairs toilet. It was a goddamn disgusting mess, I'll spare you the details.
That old bat of a boss that has it out for me not only waits 7 goddamn hours to have someone fix it, she makes, surprise surprise, me do it. Not the other staff that was there when it happened (although its their responsibility).
Being the 'team player' I am, I give it a whirl. And promptly almost barf all over everything. I pull the old bitch to the side to tell her that this isn't going to happen, as it's company policy that we don't have to do anything that makes us uncomfortable.
She looked at me and said, I swear to god "The longer it takes for you to clean it up, the longer it'll take for you to go home". Now, knowing that she can't go home until I do, I decide that not only am I not going to clean it up, but I'm going to take a shitload of time not cleaning it up.
During the time that I was busy faking cleaning it up (and trust me, I wouldn't step in that bathroom again, ever), that Geritol popping lazy eyed cunt sent the rest of the staff home, and forced me to stay after and do the laundry, which again, another staff could've easily done.
I gathered up the last shards of my dignity and I punched out that night almost two hours after my shift was supposed to end.
I also wrote my letter of resignation.
Dear Bill:
Effective November 1, 2004 I am resigning from my position as Youth Service Worker at Valley Shelter Homes.
I thank you for the opportunity to work here, and the knowledge I've gained will be valuable for my studies and future employment in the field.
Clare
He sends me a note, saying he wants me to stay, as I'm the best and the brightest staff he has. Bless his heart, he tried to be accommodating, but I just can't stay.
My response:
Bill:
I have carefully considered your offer, and regret to inform you that nothing short of firing half of your staff and promising me vacation time, a Lexus and $38 an hour will get me to stay at this institution. I love the kids, and the staff, but your senior staff coordinators are nothing short of petty assholes who need to be shot in the forehead. I pray someday that I will run this bitch and they will clean my toilet.
Clare
So as you all can see, I can't stay at the job anymore. However, he did promise me a shining reference. And maybe that last HALF isn't EXACTLY how things went, but you get the idea.
Oh and Myrlene, if you're reading this: Fuck you and your mom.
I was inspired to make a brief update by Chris, who is in fact, not dead. I've also heard from a very reliable source who shall remain nameless that he got more buff (I always thought he was anyway). But regardless, this is something I demand to see for myself! He owes me drunk time!
Also, Jon Stewart is my hero. He wins for the bowtie comment.
I started working out again, seeing as prednisone has made me gain more weight than Roseanne on an icecream bender, and I kind of want to die. And by "kind of want to die" I mean, I really want to die. Muscles hurt that I didn't even know I had. If I lift my arms, they might fall off. My thighs burn, and I may or may not have a cramp in my butt. I didn't even know that was possible.
Apparently this guy knew all about it.
On another note, I put in my two weeks at my job. One might ask why I would do that when I love my kids as much as I do.
The answer is simple my friends. I adore my kids at work. I'd do anything for them at any time. They are my babies. They make me feel like I make a difference in the world, and I love spending time with them.
However, my direct supervisors are complete asshats, and I can't subject myself to one more moment with them for fear that I will wind up on top of a water tower with a rifle.
It all started when I got chewed out for not showing up to a shift that I wasn't scheduled to work anyway. Schedule me on my day off all you want, my fat ass still isn't coming in to work. This old bitch chews me out for ten minutes, in front of my kids and staff. I'm not one to apologize, even when I know I'm wrong, so the chances of me sucking it up and apologizing for something that I didn't do are slim to none. My habit of doing this really tends to piss my superiors off.
So, I get shipped off to go to the Haunted House, Hardees and Church with a group of kids. Gone for upwards of 7 hours. During this 7 hour time one of the kids back at the shelter flooded the upstairs toilet. It was a goddamn disgusting mess, I'll spare you the details.
That old bat of a boss that has it out for me not only waits 7 goddamn hours to have someone fix it, she makes, surprise surprise, me do it. Not the other staff that was there when it happened (although its their responsibility).
Being the 'team player' I am, I give it a whirl. And promptly almost barf all over everything. I pull the old bitch to the side to tell her that this isn't going to happen, as it's company policy that we don't have to do anything that makes us uncomfortable.
She looked at me and said, I swear to god "The longer it takes for you to clean it up, the longer it'll take for you to go home". Now, knowing that she can't go home until I do, I decide that not only am I not going to clean it up, but I'm going to take a shitload of time not cleaning it up.
During the time that I was busy faking cleaning it up (and trust me, I wouldn't step in that bathroom again, ever), that Geritol popping lazy eyed cunt sent the rest of the staff home, and forced me to stay after and do the laundry, which again, another staff could've easily done.
I gathered up the last shards of my dignity and I punched out that night almost two hours after my shift was supposed to end.
I also wrote my letter of resignation.
Dear Bill:
Effective November 1, 2004 I am resigning from my position as Youth Service Worker at Valley Shelter Homes.
I thank you for the opportunity to work here, and the knowledge I've gained will be valuable for my studies and future employment in the field.
Clare
He sends me a note, saying he wants me to stay, as I'm the best and the brightest staff he has. Bless his heart, he tried to be accommodating, but I just can't stay.
My response:
Bill:
I have carefully considered your offer, and regret to inform you that nothing short of firing half of your staff and promising me vacation time, a Lexus and $38 an hour will get me to stay at this institution. I love the kids, and the staff, but your senior staff coordinators are nothing short of petty assholes who need to be shot in the forehead. I pray someday that I will run this bitch and they will clean my toilet.
Clare
So as you all can see, I can't stay at the job anymore. However, he did promise me a shining reference. And maybe that last HALF isn't EXACTLY how things went, but you get the idea.
Oh and Myrlene, if you're reading this: Fuck you and your mom.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Tucker Updates, hilarity ensues.
There will be more later, I'm just in the middle of the mother of all papers, and I'm about to curl up in the fetal position and cry.
There will be more later, I'm just in the middle of the mother of all papers, and I'm about to curl up in the fetal position and cry.
Friday, October 08, 2004
I've never been one of those girls to make myself look beautiful to go to class. Normally, I throw on whatever T-shirt is clean, slap on some mascara and run out the door.
I was in the elevator in the library, looking a hot mess as usual. Red hoodie, hair looking like a small animal had nested in it, no makeup, baggy pants. Real goddamn sexy, I know.
The only other person in the elevator was one of the most gorgeous guys I've ever seen. Tall, muscular, green eyes...amazing looking.
And he was staring.
At me.
Great. I probably had something hanging out of my nose or stuck in my teeth or something, and here I am with this amazing looking man.
No sooner had I thought "Well God thinks I'm fucking hilarious", I realized that this man was talking. A quick look around the elevator reaffirmed the fact that he was indeed talking to me.
The transcript of our conversation went something like this:
Amazingly Sexy Guy: I'm sorry..
Tweeker Chick: ...huh? Good start, Clare. Make sure you're not drooling, too.
ASG: I know this sounds really dumb...
TC: It's ok if your dumb, as long as you get naked.
ASG: But you remind me of someone.
TC: I hear that a lot. Who? If he says his sister, I'm faking a seizure to end this conversation.
ASG: I told you this was weird...but there's this website...
TC: Oh fuck.
ASG: And the girl who writes it is hilarious. She's this cute little thing...
TC: Well you know THAT'S not me.Really?
ASG: She's hilarious. You look just like her. I wish I could remember the name of the site.
TC: What does she write about?
ASG: Everything. She's the coolest chick alive, she's even got the Paris Hilton tape linked up.
TC: Shit. You really don't remember the site?
ASG: Something about "Say My Name"...it's crazy how much you resemble her. I guess she lives around here.
TC: That is really fucked up. That is REALLY fucked up.
ASG: I was pretty sure you weren't her.
TC: I guess you never know, right?
ASG: I guess not.
You never really do know, do ya?
What can I say. It has been awhile since I've fucked with someone, and I needed some new material.
I was in the elevator in the library, looking a hot mess as usual. Red hoodie, hair looking like a small animal had nested in it, no makeup, baggy pants. Real goddamn sexy, I know.
The only other person in the elevator was one of the most gorgeous guys I've ever seen. Tall, muscular, green eyes...amazing looking.
And he was staring.
At me.
Great. I probably had something hanging out of my nose or stuck in my teeth or something, and here I am with this amazing looking man.
No sooner had I thought "Well God thinks I'm fucking hilarious", I realized that this man was talking. A quick look around the elevator reaffirmed the fact that he was indeed talking to me.
The transcript of our conversation went something like this:
Amazingly Sexy Guy: I'm sorry..
Tweeker Chick: ...huh? Good start, Clare. Make sure you're not drooling, too.
ASG: I know this sounds really dumb...
TC: It's ok if your dumb, as long as you get naked.
ASG: But you remind me of someone.
TC: I hear that a lot. Who? If he says his sister, I'm faking a seizure to end this conversation.
ASG: I told you this was weird...but there's this website...
TC: Oh fuck.
ASG: And the girl who writes it is hilarious. She's this cute little thing...
TC: Well you know THAT'S not me.Really?
ASG: She's hilarious. You look just like her. I wish I could remember the name of the site.
TC: What does she write about?
ASG: Everything. She's the coolest chick alive, she's even got the Paris Hilton tape linked up.
TC: Shit. You really don't remember the site?
ASG: Something about "Say My Name"...it's crazy how much you resemble her. I guess she lives around here.
TC: That is really fucked up. That is REALLY fucked up.
ASG: I was pretty sure you weren't her.
TC: I guess you never know, right?
ASG: I guess not.
You never really do know, do ya?
What can I say. It has been awhile since I've fucked with someone, and I needed some new material.
Friday, September 24, 2004
Check out my links, people. I just added one for perhaps my new favorite site, Tucker Max.
I thought my life was fucked up, but no, this guy takes the cake. But he's fuckin hilarious and pretty good looking to boot. I recommend the Blow Job Follies.
I thought my life was fucked up, but no, this guy takes the cake. But he's fuckin hilarious and pretty good looking to boot. I recommend the Blow Job Follies.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
I love my heterolifemate. She always says what everyone thinks.
Here's her take on Emo.
HLM: she's out there and rather emo.
HLM: so i don't know
TweekerChickQC: Blah. Emoness.
HLM: i agree with poole. its a way of being a drama queen without admitting it.
HLM: they're like the pussywhipped cousins of those with real angst.
Here's her take on Emo.
HLM: she's out there and rather emo.
HLM: so i don't know
TweekerChickQC: Blah. Emoness.
HLM: i agree with poole. its a way of being a drama queen without admitting it.
HLM: they're like the pussywhipped cousins of those with real angst.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
It's been a rough couple of days for this blogging chick. One of my friends passed away.
Sandra "Bo" Glines
1965 - 2004
Funeral services celebrating the life of Sandra "Bo" Glines, 38, of Bettendorf, will be 10 a.m. today at McGinnis-Chambers Funeral Chapel, Bettendorf. Burial will be in Davenport Memorial Park Cemetery. Bo loved motorcycles and friends with motorcycles are welcome to join the procession to the cemetery. Visitation was 2 to 4 and 6 to 8 p.m. Monday at the funeral home. Memorials may be made to the family.
Bo died Saturday, Sept. 18, 2004, at University Hospital in Iowa City following an extended illness.
Sandra Dawn Patterson was born Nov. 20, 1965, in Davenport, the daughter of Richard and Sally (Shaffer) Patterson. She grew up in Bettendorf and attended Pleasant Valley High School. She married Kenneth A. Glines on May 27, 1987, in Bettendorf. She had worked in childcare and operated a window cleaning business.
Bo's wide interests ranged from "Little House on the Prairie" to professional wrestling; porcelain dolls to Harleys. She was outspoken and strong minded, liked verbal sparring, and could trade barbs with the best. She participated in softball and volleyball, and played to win.
Those who knew Bo will remember her humor and quick wit, along with her colorful style of expression. She looked forward to any holiday, and her family's celebrations have created many lasting memories. She had a special way with children, and was especially fond of her grandson, Tyler. Bo was a truly unique individual. She approached all that she did with great passion and tenacity, and these qualities remained strong during her battle with illness. She will be dearly missed by family and friends.
Those left to honor her memory include husband, Ken; a daughter, Kimberly Dawn Glines, and her companion, David Rose, Bettendorf; her mother, Sally Patterson, of Davenport; her grandmother, Martha Shaffer, of Davenport; her sister, Bonnie Davidson, of Pleasant Valley; her brothers, Richard Patterson, of Davenport, and Michael Patterson, of Moline; her grandson, Tyler Rose; her mother-in-law, Thelma Glines, of LeClaire, Iowa; nine nieces and nephews; and a large extended family.
She was preceded in death by her father and father-in-law, Glen Glines.
I'll miss you Bo. Give em hell.
Sandra "Bo" Glines
1965 - 2004
Funeral services celebrating the life of Sandra "Bo" Glines, 38, of Bettendorf, will be 10 a.m. today at McGinnis-Chambers Funeral Chapel, Bettendorf. Burial will be in Davenport Memorial Park Cemetery. Bo loved motorcycles and friends with motorcycles are welcome to join the procession to the cemetery. Visitation was 2 to 4 and 6 to 8 p.m. Monday at the funeral home. Memorials may be made to the family.
Bo died Saturday, Sept. 18, 2004, at University Hospital in Iowa City following an extended illness.
Sandra Dawn Patterson was born Nov. 20, 1965, in Davenport, the daughter of Richard and Sally (Shaffer) Patterson. She grew up in Bettendorf and attended Pleasant Valley High School. She married Kenneth A. Glines on May 27, 1987, in Bettendorf. She had worked in childcare and operated a window cleaning business.
Bo's wide interests ranged from "Little House on the Prairie" to professional wrestling; porcelain dolls to Harleys. She was outspoken and strong minded, liked verbal sparring, and could trade barbs with the best. She participated in softball and volleyball, and played to win.
Those who knew Bo will remember her humor and quick wit, along with her colorful style of expression. She looked forward to any holiday, and her family's celebrations have created many lasting memories. She had a special way with children, and was especially fond of her grandson, Tyler. Bo was a truly unique individual. She approached all that she did with great passion and tenacity, and these qualities remained strong during her battle with illness. She will be dearly missed by family and friends.
Those left to honor her memory include husband, Ken; a daughter, Kimberly Dawn Glines, and her companion, David Rose, Bettendorf; her mother, Sally Patterson, of Davenport; her grandmother, Martha Shaffer, of Davenport; her sister, Bonnie Davidson, of Pleasant Valley; her brothers, Richard Patterson, of Davenport, and Michael Patterson, of Moline; her grandson, Tyler Rose; her mother-in-law, Thelma Glines, of LeClaire, Iowa; nine nieces and nephews; and a large extended family.
She was preceded in death by her father and father-in-law, Glen Glines.
I'll miss you Bo. Give em hell.
I'm immature. I know this. I found a site that turns websites into 80s slang. Never being one to leave well enough alone, I went surfing on CNN with it. So I'm going to leave y'all with a good one, and try to pass it off as a real update.
"Dork falls 500 feet in Grand Canyon
GRAND CANYON NATIONAL PARK, Arizona (AP) -- A dork was like, you know, scoped croaked after falling from a trail in Grand Canyon National Park and landing like, you know, about 500 feet below, a park spokeswoman said Monday.
Efforts to recover the dork's body using a helicopter were hampered by high wind Monday and park spokeswoman Leah McGinnis said an attempt would be made Tuesday.
It was like, you know, an unclear why the dork fell while hiking Saturday, McGinnis said. His wife totally had been walking in front of him and didn't see him fall.
Authorities didn't release the dork's identity"
"Dork falls 500 feet in Grand Canyon
GRAND CANYON NATIONAL PARK, Arizona (AP) -- A dork was like, you know, scoped croaked after falling from a trail in Grand Canyon National Park and landing like, you know, about 500 feet below, a park spokeswoman said Monday.
Efforts to recover the dork's body using a helicopter were hampered by high wind Monday and park spokeswoman Leah McGinnis said an attempt would be made Tuesday.
It was like, you know, an unclear why the dork fell while hiking Saturday, McGinnis said. His wife totally had been walking in front of him and didn't see him fall.
Authorities didn't release the dork's identity"
I'm having a bad day.
One of my favorite coworkers passed away.
Michael Pollard
1955 - 2004
Michael L. Pollard, 48, of Moline, died Thursday, Sept. 16, 2004, at his home.
Funeral services will be 11 a.m. Tuesday, Sept. 21, at Mt. Zion Missionary Baptist Church, East Moline. Visitation will be on Monday from 6 to 8 p.m. at Esterdahl Mortuary Ltd., 6601 38th Ave., Moline. Burial will be at Riverside Cemetery, Moline. Memorials may be made to establish an eductional fund for Nathan.
Michael was born Sept. 26, 1955, in Davenport, the son of Lawrence and Annette (Leavy) Pollard.
Michael was an officer for county and federal institutions and also a residential counselor for Valley Shelter, Davenport.
Michael enjoyed practicing the martial arts, and being in the outdoors. He was also a news and history buff. He was a member of the Jesus Church of the Quad Cities, Silvis, Ill.
Survivors include son, Nathan McCray Pollard, Chicago; father, Lawrence Pollard, Moline; mother, Annette Pollard, Moline; previously married to Judith McCray, Chicago; sisters, Devra Pollard, Tampa, Fla., and Michele Pollard (Edwards Nunn), Woodbury, Minn.; cousin, DeWitt Pollard; and special friends, Chris Jenkins and Jerrlyn Crabtree and Aaron Arrington.
He will also be missed by many aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, cousins and friends.
He was preceded in death by a brother, Duane, and his paternal and maternal grandparents.
Now I don't know who's going to be ready with a flashlight, pen, or quick wit when I need one.
One of my favorite coworkers passed away.
Michael Pollard
1955 - 2004
Michael L. Pollard, 48, of Moline, died Thursday, Sept. 16, 2004, at his home.
Funeral services will be 11 a.m. Tuesday, Sept. 21, at Mt. Zion Missionary Baptist Church, East Moline. Visitation will be on Monday from 6 to 8 p.m. at Esterdahl Mortuary Ltd., 6601 38th Ave., Moline. Burial will be at Riverside Cemetery, Moline. Memorials may be made to establish an eductional fund for Nathan.
Michael was born Sept. 26, 1955, in Davenport, the son of Lawrence and Annette (Leavy) Pollard.
Michael was an officer for county and federal institutions and also a residential counselor for Valley Shelter, Davenport.
Michael enjoyed practicing the martial arts, and being in the outdoors. He was also a news and history buff. He was a member of the Jesus Church of the Quad Cities, Silvis, Ill.
Survivors include son, Nathan McCray Pollard, Chicago; father, Lawrence Pollard, Moline; mother, Annette Pollard, Moline; previously married to Judith McCray, Chicago; sisters, Devra Pollard, Tampa, Fla., and Michele Pollard (Edwards Nunn), Woodbury, Minn.; cousin, DeWitt Pollard; and special friends, Chris Jenkins and Jerrlyn Crabtree and Aaron Arrington.
He will also be missed by many aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, cousins and friends.
He was preceded in death by a brother, Duane, and his paternal and maternal grandparents.
Now I don't know who's going to be ready with a flashlight, pen, or quick wit when I need one.
Friday, September 17, 2004
Hey y'all. This is just a quick blurb because I have a stats test to flip out about.
But here's a new link for you guys.
She emailed me and asked me to link her up, and after reading her content she seems pretty ok. Even if she is a girl.
So here you go.
A New York Escorts Confessions
But here's a new link for you guys.
She emailed me and asked me to link her up, and after reading her content she seems pretty ok. Even if she is a girl.
So here you go.
A New York Escorts Confessions
Sunday, September 12, 2004
This is update 1 of 3,492,325 as soon as I get them written. It?s been a really bad few days.
The one thing about college that drives me nuts is that although there are all sorts of new people, most of them are douchebags. So I present to you, the defining characteristics and ways of identifying these asshats.
I. Future sorority girls. These are the most easily identifiable by their use of words such as "like" and "ohmigod". They are normally found leaning against the wall outside of the popular dormitories. Not because this is cool, simply because they are normally too drunk to figure out the intricate workings of the door. Their distinguishing characteristics include abnormally tall shoes, heavy foundation and the chronic inability to dress appropriately for the weather. You can often find these girls crying in the bathroom mumbling phrases such as "he promised he'd call" and "he said he loved me".
II. Future fraternity boys. These are the perfect compliment to the girls above. They are normally very good looking, with perfectly styled hair. They wear Abercrombie shirts, with cut off khaki shorts, and flip flops even in 3 feet of snow and sub zero temperatures. They contribute very little to conversations, but can make a hell of a beer bong. They spend a lot of time with their friends, comparing notes about the future sorority girls.
III. Future hate crime victims. Every college campus has these, however, being a liberal arts campus, we seem to have the monopoly. These people are often openly gay or bisexual, and feel the need to share it with the world. They walk around with shaved heads, rainbow clothing, cut off army pants and Doc Martens. Their faces are constantly pierced, and most of them drive cutesy SUVs with vanity plates that state things like "ieatit2" which are barely visible beyond the many rainbow stickers. If you hate them, it's not because they are douche bags. It's because they are gay. If they get a speeding ticket, it's not because they were going thirty miles over the speed limit in a school zone and ran over a small child, it's because they are bisexual. Their sexuality is a badge for the entire world to behold.
IV. Hippies. You can't miss them. They spend most of their time in the quad, laying on their backs, polluting the air with the sounds of New Age music and phrases like "Man". The males are easily identifiable because most tend to look like Jesus in a tye-dye shirt and ripped jeans. The hemp necklaces are a dead give away.
V. Women's Studies Majors/Feminists. These people scare the crap out of me. If not for the lack of personal hygiene (yes, shaving can be considered personal hygiene) or the lack of necessary undergarments (Bras. Please) the lack of any common sense seems to do them in. Everyone is sexist. I'm sexist because I'd rather hang out with males than females. You're sexist because I know you're only reading this because it's written by a somewhat good looking female. Society sucks because women wear bras and makeup, and men get to run around like Neanderthal slobs. At least, that's what they think. Not only do women deserve rights, they deserve more rights than most men. Men are Neanderthal pigs that are inherently rapists and only good for fixing my car. These are the females who oppose words like "Mankind" or "Postman" for "Humankind" and "Postwoman". They also like to conjugate in large groups and scream like wild banshees about "Taking back the night" with their sisters.
VI. Stoners. Gotta love the stoners, because the stoners love you. Technically, they love everyone. These are the ones that sit next to you in philosophy in a tyedye shirt with a bucket hat pulled down over their eyes. Sunglasses are a necessity, even at midnight. These are the people who truly understand the wonders of green koolaid, how cool philosophy is, and why Bob Marley really is god. They are not to be confused with Hippies. Hippies don't like the man, Stoners could give a shit about the man unless he's bogarting the blunt. These are the guys to chill with, as they are normally the funniest people alive.
VII. Sluts. Every campus has one of these. I will spare the noticeable characteristics of these creatures, and instead give you a story (with fuzzy details, seeing as this was years ago). It was the first night on campus and I was lucky enough to go home with a certain good looking Frat Guy who lived off campus. After laying in his bed and talking about random shit, we decided it was time to pass out. He handed me a pair of boxers to chill in and a t-shirt. Little did I know that the girl who went through the fraternity in almost its entirety had used those shorts. I spent the rest of the night convinced that I was going to catch ghonnasyphaherpelypse from the goddamn boxer shorts he lent me. This is why we don't like sluts.
More later, when I get mad, get done with this paper, or feel like it.
The one thing about college that drives me nuts is that although there are all sorts of new people, most of them are douchebags. So I present to you, the defining characteristics and ways of identifying these asshats.
I. Future sorority girls. These are the most easily identifiable by their use of words such as "like" and "ohmigod". They are normally found leaning against the wall outside of the popular dormitories. Not because this is cool, simply because they are normally too drunk to figure out the intricate workings of the door. Their distinguishing characteristics include abnormally tall shoes, heavy foundation and the chronic inability to dress appropriately for the weather. You can often find these girls crying in the bathroom mumbling phrases such as "he promised he'd call" and "he said he loved me".
II. Future fraternity boys. These are the perfect compliment to the girls above. They are normally very good looking, with perfectly styled hair. They wear Abercrombie shirts, with cut off khaki shorts, and flip flops even in 3 feet of snow and sub zero temperatures. They contribute very little to conversations, but can make a hell of a beer bong. They spend a lot of time with their friends, comparing notes about the future sorority girls.
III. Future hate crime victims. Every college campus has these, however, being a liberal arts campus, we seem to have the monopoly. These people are often openly gay or bisexual, and feel the need to share it with the world. They walk around with shaved heads, rainbow clothing, cut off army pants and Doc Martens. Their faces are constantly pierced, and most of them drive cutesy SUVs with vanity plates that state things like "ieatit2" which are barely visible beyond the many rainbow stickers. If you hate them, it's not because they are douche bags. It's because they are gay. If they get a speeding ticket, it's not because they were going thirty miles over the speed limit in a school zone and ran over a small child, it's because they are bisexual. Their sexuality is a badge for the entire world to behold.
IV. Hippies. You can't miss them. They spend most of their time in the quad, laying on their backs, polluting the air with the sounds of New Age music and phrases like "Man". The males are easily identifiable because most tend to look like Jesus in a tye-dye shirt and ripped jeans. The hemp necklaces are a dead give away.
V. Women's Studies Majors/Feminists. These people scare the crap out of me. If not for the lack of personal hygiene (yes, shaving can be considered personal hygiene) or the lack of necessary undergarments (Bras. Please) the lack of any common sense seems to do them in. Everyone is sexist. I'm sexist because I'd rather hang out with males than females. You're sexist because I know you're only reading this because it's written by a somewhat good looking female. Society sucks because women wear bras and makeup, and men get to run around like Neanderthal slobs. At least, that's what they think. Not only do women deserve rights, they deserve more rights than most men. Men are Neanderthal pigs that are inherently rapists and only good for fixing my car. These are the females who oppose words like "Mankind" or "Postman" for "Humankind" and "Postwoman". They also like to conjugate in large groups and scream like wild banshees about "Taking back the night" with their sisters.
VI. Stoners. Gotta love the stoners, because the stoners love you. Technically, they love everyone. These are the ones that sit next to you in philosophy in a tyedye shirt with a bucket hat pulled down over their eyes. Sunglasses are a necessity, even at midnight. These are the people who truly understand the wonders of green koolaid, how cool philosophy is, and why Bob Marley really is god. They are not to be confused with Hippies. Hippies don't like the man, Stoners could give a shit about the man unless he's bogarting the blunt. These are the guys to chill with, as they are normally the funniest people alive.
VII. Sluts. Every campus has one of these. I will spare the noticeable characteristics of these creatures, and instead give you a story (with fuzzy details, seeing as this was years ago). It was the first night on campus and I was lucky enough to go home with a certain good looking Frat Guy who lived off campus. After laying in his bed and talking about random shit, we decided it was time to pass out. He handed me a pair of boxers to chill in and a t-shirt. Little did I know that the girl who went through the fraternity in almost its entirety had used those shorts. I spent the rest of the night convinced that I was going to catch ghonnasyphaherpelypse from the goddamn boxer shorts he lent me. This is why we don't like sluts.
More later, when I get mad, get done with this paper, or feel like it.
Sunday, September 05, 2004
Jesus christ. I've been called a bad friend before, but I think this guy wins the award.
I would've atleast picked up the head.
I would've atleast picked up the head.
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
Guess whos drunk?
Oh it's me. Thus, this post isn't going to be spell checked.
Thanks Adam, Jen, Bouge, and my Heterolifemate.
It wa ssuper fun. Pictures soon, I hope.
Anyway, here are some links for you guys until I sober up:
And here I thought it only made you go blind.
An old favorite.
This guy is just the shit.
Yay for alchohol. Now, if only chris woulf come give me my snuggles, I'd be happy.
Oh it's me. Thus, this post isn't going to be spell checked.
Thanks Adam, Jen, Bouge, and my Heterolifemate.
It wa ssuper fun. Pictures soon, I hope.
Anyway, here are some links for you guys until I sober up:
And here I thought it only made you go blind.
An old favorite.
This guy is just the shit.
Yay for alchohol. Now, if only chris woulf come give me my snuggles, I'd be happy.
Monday, August 30, 2004
This is just a quick update because I promised Mike I'd pound something out before work.
Not a lot to say. Either FUBAR is down, or I was suspended (still deciding, got a nice little message about it).
So, until then, check out Chris's blog. He's the guy who makes this one look as pretty as it does, so be sure to give him much love.
Sorry so short, more updates about life, love, drugs and why the song The Perfect Drug is stuck in my messed up little head.
Not a lot to say. Either FUBAR is down, or I was suspended (still deciding, got a nice little message about it).
So, until then, check out Chris's blog. He's the guy who makes this one look as pretty as it does, so be sure to give him much love.
Sorry so short, more updates about life, love, drugs and why the song The Perfect Drug is stuck in my messed up little head.
Monday, August 23, 2004
The last few days have been so fucking bad fucking ass that I can't even believe it.
It all started at Ozzfest, when I got to chill with the Black Label Society guys, meet Dez from Coal Chamber, see Rob Halford, talk to the guys in Slipknot, and chill with Down.
Awesome FUCKING show.
Little did I know that the Metallica/Godsmack concert would out do them all.
After suffering endless hours in the beer line, Sarah and I make it to our seats...directly behind an entire row of some of the most attractive looking guys I think I've ever seen.
Long story short because I still ache...
They bought us many beers, much alcohol was consumed, tattoos were shown, butts were grabbed and I found out that the entire row was not just some random good looking guys, they were actually Jabher Box.
I promised them a plug on my site, because Jason stole me flowers from a planter and sang Master Of Puppets to me (who can say no to that?!)
So there you are! Click the link, check em out, they fucking rock.
More random rants and ramblings later, I'm still worn out.
It all started at Ozzfest, when I got to chill with the Black Label Society guys, meet Dez from Coal Chamber, see Rob Halford, talk to the guys in Slipknot, and chill with Down.
Awesome FUCKING show.
Little did I know that the Metallica/Godsmack concert would out do them all.
After suffering endless hours in the beer line, Sarah and I make it to our seats...directly behind an entire row of some of the most attractive looking guys I think I've ever seen.
Long story short because I still ache...
They bought us many beers, much alcohol was consumed, tattoos were shown, butts were grabbed and I found out that the entire row was not just some random good looking guys, they were actually Jabher Box.
I promised them a plug on my site, because Jason stole me flowers from a planter and sang Master Of Puppets to me (who can say no to that?!)
So there you are! Click the link, check em out, they fucking rock.
More random rants and ramblings later, I'm still worn out.
Friday, August 20, 2004
I'm getting ready for Ozzfest, then Godsmack/Metallica for a girls night out.
Hooray.
Let me fill you all in on a little bit of background, first. Jeremy and I were together. He was also together with one of my best friends, Deanne. Long story short, the entire thing blew up, almost broke up the friendship, and Deanne and I now hate his fucking guts.
I get a call from his friend.
He was arrested. Public intox and harassing an officer.
And to this I have only one thing to say.
"HA, HA!"
Oh yea, FUBAR is back up and running, I'll get my links going again as soon as I'm not being a lazy bitch.
Hooray.
Let me fill you all in on a little bit of background, first. Jeremy and I were together. He was also together with one of my best friends, Deanne. Long story short, the entire thing blew up, almost broke up the friendship, and Deanne and I now hate his fucking guts.
I get a call from his friend.
He was arrested. Public intox and harassing an officer.
And to this I have only one thing to say.
"HA, HA!"
Oh yea, FUBAR is back up and running, I'll get my links going again as soon as I'm not being a lazy bitch.
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Apparently, my really gorgeous heterolifemate was playing capture the flag or hide the salami or something in the woods and got poison sumac. She's now on prednisone (a steroid that makes you emotional, and hungry, and crazy). I'm on that shit a lot for my asthma, but finally we have an outside perspective:
HLM: I always believed you, but at least now I know first hand how you
feel
TweekerChickQC: Isn't it awful?
HLM: haha I better go to bed. I found the jar of pickles in my fridge
that look way to appealing
TweekerChickQC: How many mgs are you on?
HLM: I dunno. something really low, but I'm a pussy when it comes to
those kind of drugs.
HLM: like 4 or 14 or something per pill, and I started with 6 a day.
TweekerChickQC: 5 or 10?
HLM: umm. oh, maybe 10
HLM: its far away. I'm not getting up to look
TweekerChickQC: Lucky shit.
TweekerChickQC: Last time they gave me 40 mgs.
HLM: yours is like five hundred
TweekerChickQC: I was nuttier than a fruitcake.
HLM: yeah, see, mine's for a rash, not asthma.
HLM: and seriously, aleve makes me tweek, so I would die from that
HLM: I can drink like a true irish girl, but my ancestors were obviously
too poor to do drugs.
HLM: I always believed you, but at least now I know first hand how you
feel
TweekerChickQC: Isn't it awful?
HLM: haha I better go to bed. I found the jar of pickles in my fridge
that look way to appealing
TweekerChickQC: How many mgs are you on?
HLM: I dunno. something really low, but I'm a pussy when it comes to
those kind of drugs.
HLM: like 4 or 14 or something per pill, and I started with 6 a day.
TweekerChickQC: 5 or 10?
HLM: umm. oh, maybe 10
HLM: its far away. I'm not getting up to look
TweekerChickQC: Lucky shit.
TweekerChickQC: Last time they gave me 40 mgs.
HLM: yours is like five hundred
TweekerChickQC: I was nuttier than a fruitcake.
HLM: yeah, see, mine's for a rash, not asthma.
HLM: and seriously, aleve makes me tweek, so I would die from that
HLM: I can drink like a true irish girl, but my ancestors were obviously
too poor to do drugs.
Friday, August 13, 2004
In the grand scheme of things, birthdays aren't that important. I learned that lesson the hard way this year. My sister is in Texas with her boyfriend, my friend Deanne was busy being an ass thus I refused to hang out with her, Chris got too busy to come visit, my parents are in Minnesota, and my best friend is off hiding with his demented and sadistic girlfriend.
I don't expect a national holiday every August 12th, although I think I deserve one, but let me tell you this, eating cake all alone in your apartment sucks a big fat nut. To top it off, FUBAR is no more and I didn't have anyone to play with. Fuck that shit.
My sixteenth birthday sucked a lot too, but at least then I had my dog to chill with. I didn't even have that as two of them died and the other one now lives in Minnesota. I'm in a bad fucking mood, so here are my list of demands for next year which I expect to be met in a timely manner, in no particular order.
1) Vin Diesel, delivered to my apartment in a very large chocolate cake with rapsberry filling and purple icing. And not that lavender color, either. Purple.
2) My friends to actually plan on chilling with me, for more than a 3 hour period.
3) A very large, very attractive male to carry me home from the bars. This person cannot be Vin Diesel because Vin will be otherwise occupied.
4) A very fast, very expensive car, somewhat resembling the batmobile, to cruise around town with. No fair having it stolen, I want the title, bitch.
5) I want my best friend to come play with me without his psychotic girlfriend.
6) I want a million dollar shopping spree, and to look like Angelina Jolie, all without the inconvenience of exercising or actually working in any way shape or form.
7) Finally, I want to own the world.
Is that too much to fucking ask?
I don't expect a national holiday every August 12th, although I think I deserve one, but let me tell you this, eating cake all alone in your apartment sucks a big fat nut. To top it off, FUBAR is no more and I didn't have anyone to play with. Fuck that shit.
My sixteenth birthday sucked a lot too, but at least then I had my dog to chill with. I didn't even have that as two of them died and the other one now lives in Minnesota. I'm in a bad fucking mood, so here are my list of demands for next year which I expect to be met in a timely manner, in no particular order.
1) Vin Diesel, delivered to my apartment in a very large chocolate cake with rapsberry filling and purple icing. And not that lavender color, either. Purple.
2) My friends to actually plan on chilling with me, for more than a 3 hour period.
3) A very large, very attractive male to carry me home from the bars. This person cannot be Vin Diesel because Vin will be otherwise occupied.
4) A very fast, very expensive car, somewhat resembling the batmobile, to cruise around town with. No fair having it stolen, I want the title, bitch.
5) I want my best friend to come play with me without his psychotic girlfriend.
6) I want a million dollar shopping spree, and to look like Angelina Jolie, all without the inconvenience of exercising or actually working in any way shape or form.
7) Finally, I want to own the world.
Is that too much to fucking ask?
Thursday, August 12, 2004
It's good to know that you always have your friends around to help you make good decisions on your birthday.
TweekerChickQC: Hmm. Its my birthday. Think they'll let me just run around naked?
PacManJesus: sure
PacManJesus: give it a shot
PacManJesus: if you get arrested it sure as hell wont be by a guy
TweekerChickQC: Hmm. Its my birthday. Think they'll let me just run around naked?
PacManJesus: sure
PacManJesus: give it a shot
PacManJesus: if you get arrested it sure as hell wont be by a guy
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
It's been a pretty eventful couple of days. I'm getting my apartment ready for Chris to visit (if he still is, haven't heard from him). Which entails a few things. Picking up all of the underwear I leave strewn across the apartment and vacuuming. No biggie. I felt the need to start a few of my projects, you know, that list everyone has of shit they would do if they had all sorts of time. Mine was painting the insides of my cabinets white. So I got started. Turned on my rickety old fan, got me a few cans of spray paint, and had myself a hay day.
Until my doorbell rang.
I walked downstairs, white powdery paint across my nose, to see two cops standing there. Apparently, the neighbors had called the cops. Complaining of my odd hours, chemical smell, and unusual noises. I let them up to look around (yes, without a search warrant. Spare me the legalities, I'm not doing anything wrong). Finally Barney Fife looked at me and announced "The unusual noise is from your fan, the chemical smell from your spray paint, but what about your weird hours?" "I'm in college, and I work 64 hours a week with children".
He looked at me, smiled and said "Well, your paint looks nice" and left.
It was then I noticed the white paint all over my nose.
Thank god the paint was still wet, I would've had a lot of explaining to do.
Until my doorbell rang.
I walked downstairs, white powdery paint across my nose, to see two cops standing there. Apparently, the neighbors had called the cops. Complaining of my odd hours, chemical smell, and unusual noises. I let them up to look around (yes, without a search warrant. Spare me the legalities, I'm not doing anything wrong). Finally Barney Fife looked at me and announced "The unusual noise is from your fan, the chemical smell from your spray paint, but what about your weird hours?" "I'm in college, and I work 64 hours a week with children".
He looked at me, smiled and said "Well, your paint looks nice" and left.
It was then I noticed the white paint all over my nose.
Thank god the paint was still wet, I would've had a lot of explaining to do.
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
I hate going out.
Well, thats a lie. I like actually being out. It's the getting ready to go out I hate. Seriously. The guys I know take a shower, get dressed, throw on some deodorant and shave. Maybe throw a little bit of gel in the hair if needed.
I wish it was that easy for me.
I normally start with a shower, in which I have to choose between 4 different conditioners so I can decide what I want my hair to smell like. Then comes the shaving of the legs. Not only is it impossible not to miss a spot, it's time consuming. Atleast 15 minutes. It normally takes me longer because I always nick this one spot on the back of my leg (I have a scar there from it) and spend a good 20 minutes trying to stop the bleeding. It's like hitting a fucking artery, I damn near bled to death in my bathtub once.
Once out of the shower, its a choice between lotions. Flowery or fruity? Shimmering or regular? Once I choose one, and slather it on, I spend about 15 minutes writhing around in pain because I'm a dumb fuck and just put lotion in that one spot I always nick on my leg. It hurts like a bitch. If you don't believe me, try it.
When I regain conciousness, it's makeup time. The goal here is to look as good as possible without having the makeup wear off a half an hour into the night. This is impossible without looking like Tammy Fae. I've given up. Once I have a beer my eyeliner just runs down my face anyway. I just pretend its a trend. Lipstick is pointless, too. All it does is show off how perfect my teeth are, because thats where it always ends up. On my fuckin teeth.
Then there's clothes. I'm a chunky ass, thus making dressing difficult. Try finding something sexy that covers your fat ass at the same time. It's almost impossible. I've taken to lowcut shirts and anything dark enough on the bottom that helps hide the fact that my ass is so big it looks like I'm trying to smuggle two midgets into the club.
Technically I should add a paragraph on purses. I don't do them. It's just one more thing for me to lose when I get shitfaced drunk. Thus, I wear pants with pockets so I can shove my ID, credit card, cash, cell phone, lipgloss, compact, and inhaler in them. I was thinking of investing in a tool belt.
On to shoes. There are 2 options here. Slut boots that are damn sexy but kill my feet and make me look taller than everyone else, and the heels. You have to be damn good to wear heels. Heels were designed by Hitler as a form of torture. I have a ton of them, I'm still not brave enough to wear them to the club. Too many exposed toes. Not to mention, running in heels doesn't happen. Try running from the skeevy guy in the club in a pair of Manolo Blahnik heels. Actually, try standing in Manolos. I dare you. So it's the boots. Which are actually damn sexy, but come up to my knees. Thus my legs are sweaty, sticky and itchy the entire night. Which is fine. They add so much height that I can ask someone else to scratch them for me, they are about at everyone else's arm level.
The hair issue is my biggest downfall. I can leave it curly, and let it do it's own thing and look like Don King for half of the night...or I can straighten it and weigh it down with shine serums and straightening balms so it can get curly and look like shit for the other half of the night. No matter what I do it ends up the same way. In a messy bun that I sculpt out of a hair tie, a little bit of lotion and the beer that every idiot seems to spill in to my hair. I'm like MacGyver when it comes to hair.
This getting ready shit is supposed to be easy, right? Maybe I'm doing it wrong. Does any one else almost bleed to death in an attempt to go out to the club? Perhaps I just frequent the wrong places. Give me a place where I can throw on some ripped jeans and a t-shirt, and throw my hair in a ponytail. I'll probably be much nicer.
Well, thats a lie. I like actually being out. It's the getting ready to go out I hate. Seriously. The guys I know take a shower, get dressed, throw on some deodorant and shave. Maybe throw a little bit of gel in the hair if needed.
I wish it was that easy for me.
I normally start with a shower, in which I have to choose between 4 different conditioners so I can decide what I want my hair to smell like. Then comes the shaving of the legs. Not only is it impossible not to miss a spot, it's time consuming. Atleast 15 minutes. It normally takes me longer because I always nick this one spot on the back of my leg (I have a scar there from it) and spend a good 20 minutes trying to stop the bleeding. It's like hitting a fucking artery, I damn near bled to death in my bathtub once.
Once out of the shower, its a choice between lotions. Flowery or fruity? Shimmering or regular? Once I choose one, and slather it on, I spend about 15 minutes writhing around in pain because I'm a dumb fuck and just put lotion in that one spot I always nick on my leg. It hurts like a bitch. If you don't believe me, try it.
When I regain conciousness, it's makeup time. The goal here is to look as good as possible without having the makeup wear off a half an hour into the night. This is impossible without looking like Tammy Fae. I've given up. Once I have a beer my eyeliner just runs down my face anyway. I just pretend its a trend. Lipstick is pointless, too. All it does is show off how perfect my teeth are, because thats where it always ends up. On my fuckin teeth.
Then there's clothes. I'm a chunky ass, thus making dressing difficult. Try finding something sexy that covers your fat ass at the same time. It's almost impossible. I've taken to lowcut shirts and anything dark enough on the bottom that helps hide the fact that my ass is so big it looks like I'm trying to smuggle two midgets into the club.
Technically I should add a paragraph on purses. I don't do them. It's just one more thing for me to lose when I get shitfaced drunk. Thus, I wear pants with pockets so I can shove my ID, credit card, cash, cell phone, lipgloss, compact, and inhaler in them. I was thinking of investing in a tool belt.
On to shoes. There are 2 options here. Slut boots that are damn sexy but kill my feet and make me look taller than everyone else, and the heels. You have to be damn good to wear heels. Heels were designed by Hitler as a form of torture. I have a ton of them, I'm still not brave enough to wear them to the club. Too many exposed toes. Not to mention, running in heels doesn't happen. Try running from the skeevy guy in the club in a pair of Manolo Blahnik heels. Actually, try standing in Manolos. I dare you. So it's the boots. Which are actually damn sexy, but come up to my knees. Thus my legs are sweaty, sticky and itchy the entire night. Which is fine. They add so much height that I can ask someone else to scratch them for me, they are about at everyone else's arm level.
The hair issue is my biggest downfall. I can leave it curly, and let it do it's own thing and look like Don King for half of the night...or I can straighten it and weigh it down with shine serums and straightening balms so it can get curly and look like shit for the other half of the night. No matter what I do it ends up the same way. In a messy bun that I sculpt out of a hair tie, a little bit of lotion and the beer that every idiot seems to spill in to my hair. I'm like MacGyver when it comes to hair.
This getting ready shit is supposed to be easy, right? Maybe I'm doing it wrong. Does any one else almost bleed to death in an attempt to go out to the club? Perhaps I just frequent the wrong places. Give me a place where I can throw on some ripped jeans and a t-shirt, and throw my hair in a ponytail. I'll probably be much nicer.
Monday, August 02, 2004
Updates are coming, I promise. Been busy.
Until then, here's a little bit of why I adore this guy.
TweekerChickQC: And by cute I mean, damn you look hot there.
PacManJesus: i was horribly hung over
TweekerChickQC: Awww. hangovers are cute as long as I dont have one
TweekerChickQC: Ive never had one, would like to keep it that way
PacManJesus: i used to not get one
PacManJesus: then i started drinking
He's good looking, too. I think we can keep him.
Until then, here's a little bit of why I adore this guy.
TweekerChickQC: And by cute I mean, damn you look hot there.
PacManJesus: i was horribly hung over
TweekerChickQC: Awww. hangovers are cute as long as I dont have one
TweekerChickQC: Ive never had one, would like to keep it that way
PacManJesus: i used to not get one
PacManJesus: then i started drinking
He's good looking, too. I think we can keep him.
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