What does this mean?
I have no idea; somebody's trying to be poetic(it was written on a piece
of paper that fell at my feet).
I write all this to say...
In the stairwell, there was a roach; all of a sudden he up and died.
There he was, in all his 12 legged glory.
So what did the neighbors do?
Wrap him in a kleenex and give the vermin bastard a viking funeral? No. Every day people would leave little messages next to his exo-skeleton.
"Here lies the roach--he leaves a wife in a pantry and 5,000,000 children" or
"Yes, I am dead".
"Loving member of the vermin population".
"If I could do it all over again, I'd live in a Starbucks".
Next thing you know, someone will make a scholarship in his name (Cock A. Roach)
In the end?
The roach is still there. Stop being funny, pick it up and flush the damn thing!
Be well and just be thankful I didn't make any Roach Motel jokes.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Monday, July 25, 2005
Always on my mind
Have you heard of the show "What Not To Wear"? Two English broads who tell shulmpy housewives they look like crap then give them a new haircut,
a bra that fits, and a low cut top so they can look all sexy and unrecognizable. People cry "tears of joy" and presto--life is changed (I've basically described
the premise of every reality show).
Okay, the show gets on my last good nerve, but those chicks have a point.
People truly have no concept of what they look like. Yes, this has been a problem for some time. Why, it almost feels like yesterday...a teenage Liz on the bus, on my way to school. Staring out the window, my eyes gazed upon a woman--oh, let's say 5' 4" and 250 pounds. Wearing what you may ask?
Black tight top, fuchia mini skirt. As you may have assumed, my eyes (along with everyone else's) are fixated on this train wreck. Just so you get a mental picture, her backside looked like two sacks of lumpy oatmeal.
Today, I saw a woman (teenager, whatever) on the train--looked to be about 8 months pregnant, red and black sun tattoo on her belly button and crop top.
Now, all you mothers-to-be don't get all "you're denigrating motherhood" or
"don't make fun of pregnant women". All I ask for is reasonable attire.
Just so you get a heads up--my next blog is about strollers.
a bra that fits, and a low cut top so they can look all sexy and unrecognizable. People cry "tears of joy" and presto--life is changed (I've basically described
the premise of every reality show).
Okay, the show gets on my last good nerve, but those chicks have a point.
People truly have no concept of what they look like. Yes, this has been a problem for some time. Why, it almost feels like yesterday...a teenage Liz on the bus, on my way to school. Staring out the window, my eyes gazed upon a woman--oh, let's say 5' 4" and 250 pounds. Wearing what you may ask?
Black tight top, fuchia mini skirt. As you may have assumed, my eyes (along with everyone else's) are fixated on this train wreck. Just so you get a mental picture, her backside looked like two sacks of lumpy oatmeal.
Today, I saw a woman (teenager, whatever) on the train--looked to be about 8 months pregnant, red and black sun tattoo on her belly button and crop top.
Now, all you mothers-to-be don't get all "you're denigrating motherhood" or
"don't make fun of pregnant women". All I ask for is reasonable attire.
Just so you get a heads up--my next blog is about strollers.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
It's good to be me
My work day is finally over.
I felt I should reward myself for enduring another dreary day.
What's my indulgence, you ponder?
Tasti-D-Lite (if you're not a New Yorker, you may give a blank stare; I feel sad you don't understand my joy of the plastic Kosher confection).
I digress; this blog isn't about my dietary habits.
This is a tale of getting older; regret, loss, friends, and okay--melted frozen confections.
As I stated, I'm walking down the street, minding my own business when I see a familar face (I can see them--they can't see me--eyes like a cat).
It's an old friend from college (who dated my best friend). He's with his wife (very pregnant); I'm a little freaked out. Do I say hello? Would he remember me? How do I approach this?
"Hey! How's it going? Looks like you've been busy. Good for you settling down. You never struck me as a one-vagina guy, but hey we all change. Boy, you should have seen this guy in college. Actually, it's better you didnt..."
Did I say all this? Are you nuts? I take the long walk up the hill to avoid my neighbors. No, I panicked and bolted across the street. I just wasn't in the mood. Oh--that and I suck at casual conversation.
What happened to the best friend? We drifted apart; it happens. When you start to feel like your friend only wants you when it's convienent for them and you have to buy the friendship. It's time to move on. I still care, but what am I gonna do?
Funny thing is, I really didn't know the boyfriend too well.
I kinda felt like the 3rd wheel ("it's great to talk to you, but we would like to be alone so we could fuck like rabid dogs..."). And then I would have to deal with breakup crap.
He loves me! He hates me! Ilove him! I hate him!
(Figure out a mood swing and stay with it, Sybil)
I think in the end, it was a weird sorta flashback, but I just didn't want to be bothered with a trip down memory lane.
I'm lucky I don't have some great "love of my life"; this, my friends, is why it pays to have non-descript ex's. You don't think about them and they don't think about you.
I felt I should reward myself for enduring another dreary day.
What's my indulgence, you ponder?
Tasti-D-Lite (if you're not a New Yorker, you may give a blank stare; I feel sad you don't understand my joy of the plastic Kosher confection).
I digress; this blog isn't about my dietary habits.
This is a tale of getting older; regret, loss, friends, and okay--melted frozen confections.
As I stated, I'm walking down the street, minding my own business when I see a familar face (I can see them--they can't see me--eyes like a cat).
It's an old friend from college (who dated my best friend). He's with his wife (very pregnant); I'm a little freaked out. Do I say hello? Would he remember me? How do I approach this?
"Hey! How's it going? Looks like you've been busy. Good for you settling down. You never struck me as a one-vagina guy, but hey we all change. Boy, you should have seen this guy in college. Actually, it's better you didnt..."
Did I say all this? Are you nuts? I take the long walk up the hill to avoid my neighbors. No, I panicked and bolted across the street. I just wasn't in the mood. Oh--that and I suck at casual conversation.
What happened to the best friend? We drifted apart; it happens. When you start to feel like your friend only wants you when it's convienent for them and you have to buy the friendship. It's time to move on. I still care, but what am I gonna do?
Funny thing is, I really didn't know the boyfriend too well.
I kinda felt like the 3rd wheel ("it's great to talk to you, but we would like to be alone so we could fuck like rabid dogs..."). And then I would have to deal with breakup crap.
He loves me! He hates me! Ilove him! I hate him!
(Figure out a mood swing and stay with it, Sybil)
I think in the end, it was a weird sorta flashback, but I just didn't want to be bothered with a trip down memory lane.
I'm lucky I don't have some great "love of my life"; this, my friends, is why it pays to have non-descript ex's. You don't think about them and they don't think about you.
Monday, July 04, 2005
The Numerology Special (I've done something I would not have done otherwise)
I've been reading my horoscope a lot lately. Not that I belive in any of that; personally, I think most of it is a load of recycled crap.
Taurus - You're stubborn; try to be nice, change your attitude and you will be free of the bitterness that is blighting your life. Yes--that was part of my horoscope.
Listen: if I'm bitter, it's not because I'm an water sign born in the year of the pig (okay, I would prefer snake or dragon; no woman wants to be called a
pig). On the bright side, my number in numerology is 7. Seven is the number of the mystic (ooh, my inner workings are intricate) and I have an uncanny understanding of human nature. I'm sure you are dying to meet me
now... aw shucks.
It's the 4th of July. People, please don't blow your appendages off--your
friends and neighbors will laugh at you and so will I. My inner workings may be intricate, but I'm human. If you're an adult and playing with dynamite, you deserve to be smacked upside the head with your prosthetic limb. Don't say you haven't been warned.
OFF THE SUBJECT--
I just turned 34. So by the time I'm 40, will 40 still be the new 30? Discuss amongst yourselves. Get back to me.
And finally, I actually saw a movie at the theater. "Land Of The Dead" - I give it 3 1/2 rotting corpses. Listen: I love me some gory horror movies, so when I see "dead" in the title of a flick, just call me happy. Sidebar--I find a seat; I'm sitting next to this fat, loud woman--she's holding 3 seats: one for Miss Piggy herself, but who are the other seats for? The mystery is solved when the fatamarand of a husband comes lumbering up the stairs. Who do you ask was #3? The FOOD!
Now that's a pair of fat bastards. Thank God they were quiet. During the movie, they were probably caught up in all the eating on screen.
Until the next time, stay cranky; it helps the day go by faster.
Taurus - You're stubborn; try to be nice, change your attitude and you will be free of the bitterness that is blighting your life. Yes--that was part of my horoscope.
Listen: if I'm bitter, it's not because I'm an water sign born in the year of the pig (okay, I would prefer snake or dragon; no woman wants to be called a
pig). On the bright side, my number in numerology is 7. Seven is the number of the mystic (ooh, my inner workings are intricate) and I have an uncanny understanding of human nature. I'm sure you are dying to meet me
now... aw shucks.
It's the 4th of July. People, please don't blow your appendages off--your
friends and neighbors will laugh at you and so will I. My inner workings may be intricate, but I'm human. If you're an adult and playing with dynamite, you deserve to be smacked upside the head with your prosthetic limb. Don't say you haven't been warned.
OFF THE SUBJECT--
I just turned 34. So by the time I'm 40, will 40 still be the new 30? Discuss amongst yourselves. Get back to me.
And finally, I actually saw a movie at the theater. "Land Of The Dead" - I give it 3 1/2 rotting corpses. Listen: I love me some gory horror movies, so when I see "dead" in the title of a flick, just call me happy. Sidebar--I find a seat; I'm sitting next to this fat, loud woman--she's holding 3 seats: one for Miss Piggy herself, but who are the other seats for? The mystery is solved when the fatamarand of a husband comes lumbering up the stairs. Who do you ask was #3? The FOOD!
Now that's a pair of fat bastards. Thank God they were quiet. During the movie, they were probably caught up in all the eating on screen.
Until the next time, stay cranky; it helps the day go by faster.
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