Tag Archives: technology

Men suck, all of them

Well, we are officially back in action.  WordPress shut us down for a hot minute saying we violated their terms of service.  Which was a big lie.  I emailed them and they said it was a mistake.  You’re damn right it was a mistake! They must have been trying to put us on freshly pressed and deactivated us instead.  That’s gotta be it.  Anyway…

Lately I’ve been in a slump, I don’t feel like going out or doing anything fun, and I really just want to be left the hell alone.  By everyone other than my family and Lucky.  I’d like to go entire days without making fake conversation with people at work about the weather and how slow the copy machine is.  I don’t want to hang out with my roommates.  I want to come home, eat my dinner, and relax in my room alone while drinking a glass of wine or 5.

It seems like if I am short with people at work I’m constantly getting the, “What’s wrong, is everything ok?” Look/questioning from everyone.  Yes! Everything is fucking fine, I just want to come in here, do my job, and leave.  I don’t care about your grandkids, or what you had for dinner, or what your plans are this weekend.  If there were people my age I’d probably feel different, especially if there were hot guys or halfway decent girls I could possibly be friends with.  But I’m tired, and I have a lot of work, and hearing about peoples lives gives me less energy to do work and stay up past 8:30.  But last Friday I had to hear a 20 minute long explanation of what Ciggy Breath was doing for his wife’s birthday month.   That I never asked about.  And I just had to leave, that was it – I was cashed after hearing that.

So to add to hating everyone last week I woke up with a 6AM text from Anth saying, “Did you stand there while they fucked with my sunglasses? And, where did you go?”

A little backstory, a few weeks ago my old college pal Gigi came for a visit and we went to a concert on the beach.  After the concert we were walking to catch a cab, something happened and I smacked Anth’s chest.  His sunglasses were on the inside of his shirt and when I smacked his chest one of the lenses popped out of his shades.  I offered to take them to get them fixed and that was the end of it.  

So, when the whole fire thing happened I sat down to take a looksie at his sunglasses.  The lenses are held in with fishing wire so I figured I could put it back in myself.  I did and then I cleaned them and all was good.  A week and a half later I got that text from Anth.

Now, I don’t condone lying to anyone, but in a case like this if I would have told Anth that I fixed his sunglasses he would’ve gone off on me and accused me of messing them up somehow.  So when I told him I would get them fixed he said I could go to any optometry place and it would be fine.  I told him I took him to sunglass hut because they’re probably all high and wouldn’t recall if I came in there like an optometry place would.  So then he goes off on a tangent about how there’s a chip missing from the bottom of the lens, you can barely notice it, and how I should’ve gone to an optometry place because they have better tools for that stuff.  Well you know what dbag? I fixed it and I didn’t use any tools, and I sure as hell didn’t chip the god damn lens using my fingers to put it back in.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m extra irritable or what the deal is, but I just did not want to deal with this.  I immediately texted Lucky and told her the sitch, she said it was stupid and I agreed.  Once all was said and done I just ignored him, if he wants me to take them to get the lens fixed (which I’m not entirely sure happened because of something I did) I will get them fixed.  But, he’s going to have to grow some damn balls and ask me to do it.  Because it’s time to be a man and stop confronting people through emails and text messages.  Yes, I confronted them about my cheese through an email, but I would’ve said it to their faces had they been at the apartment when I noticed it was all gone, I just wanted my cheese replaced before the next morning damnit. 

The day before that or after, I can’t even remember now they all run together, he was texting me complaining about me turning the air conditioning up 1 degree in the morning when I left.  God forbit it is 1 degree warmer in the apartment when NO ONE is there all day long so that we save some money/help Earth.  So I asked what his problem with it was, he said that he gets hot when he sleeps.  Ok, so turn it down when you sleep or if you get hot, who cares.  No that wasn’t good enough, he had to complain about how sometimes he forgets to turn it down and then he wakes up sweating.  But of course he’s too lazy to get out of bed and turn it down or not use a fucking down comforter in the middle of summer.  But I digress.  See what I’m dealing with here?

It gets slightly worse, after fending off my nagging non-husband all week, the weekend had finally arrived.  I was planning on eating buffalo wild wings and drinking my bud light limes and laying in bed all weekend and talking to NO ONE.   I am all independant woman the past year or so, don’t need a man, yada yada… I’m sure there are songs about it.  But, when Lucky called me last weekend to tell me about the latest with her cray cray dad I ventured out of my room and went to the roof so that I could have good cell service.  As I do, I hadn’t been up there for more than 2 seconds and here comes Anth.  So I go down to the kitchem, 2 seconds later here comes Anth.  Why?  I don’t know, I guess he needed attention or something.  Because he wasn’t following me around because he had a purpose for being in either of those rooms, he was just lingering.

So I go into my room and lay halfway in my room and halfway out my sliding doors so my phone would still get service (HATE AT&T btw) and not 15 minutes later JM busts in  my bedroom door because he’s visiting and thought I was gone, so he was going to sleep in my bed.  

Then every time I come downstairs I get shit about how I don’t hang out with them and how I’m boring and will die a lonely old cat lady because I never come out of my room.  And that is exactly why I don’t come out of my room, so I don’t have to hear shit like that.

I like my roommates, and I like to party with them occassionally.  But I don’t want to hang out with them from the time I wake up in the morning until I go to bed.  #1 they watch bad tv (sports – not the good ones either, they watch boring stuff, like wrestling, tennis, and golf) #2 I don’t want to hear about how I’m so lame #3 I don’t want to hear about your girlfriend/girl you’ve been banging because I don’t care. 

So men, I get it.  I get what you’re going through having a nagging wife and no sex.  I get it.

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Aunt Cray Cray and the language of love

Did all you baby momma’s have a good Mother’s Day? My mom did, we bought her a new digital camera and god damnit she better love it! She does.  

Anyway, I’m just going to jump right into this because I can’t contain the crazy in my head any longer.  We got together with the fam yesterday for Mother’s Day.  I know every family has that 1 crazy aunt or uncle that’s a little wacky, but my aunt takes the cake.  She’s been married and divorced twice and just broke up with her boyfriend of a year.  I can’t even tell you how we got on the topic of love and relationships but all fucking hell broke loose when we did.  

She talked about her failed marriages, her failed relationships, how she doesn’t know why men and women would ever be paired together because we’re so different.  Regardless of the fact that she’s about to turn 50, probably going through menopause, AND a mid-life crisis and the fact that she is single, she was dead serious about this shit. 

As if the rambling wasn’t enough, she got out her purse and started showing us religious relationship books that men at church had given her.  She went on about how it was so inappropriate that they gave her these books because she thinks they were hitting on her, but she read the books anyway and they had some solid advice, in her opinion. Book #1:

The 5 Love Languages: The Secret to Love that Lasts

She explained that the 5 love languages is finding out what 5 things your partner needs to fill up their “love tank” and how to make each other feel loved.  Because friends, if you’re love tank is full, you are a happy camper.  She went on to tell us in order the 5 things she needs to fill up her love tank: 

#1 Touch (which she described as “making love” and “foreplay” and “lying around naked and feeling each other” ok Aunt Cray Cray, you liked to get boned… we get it.)

#2 Quality time (I would say this goes along with the boning, no humping and dumping allowed)

#3 Service (also boning related?)

#4 Gifts

#5 Affirmations

Then she proceeded to tell us about how she had analyzed her failed relationships and what she thought their 5 love languages were and how she wasn’t fulfilling them, but she’s going to overflow her new boyfriend’s love tank with what he needs.  Mind you, this was all over a Mother’s Day brunch and none of the rest of us could get a word in edge wise, I just continued to eat to subside how uncomfortable I felt.

She had a short question and answer period at the end of reading us this book and since I’m the only fucking single one other than Aunt Cray Cray the spotlight was on me. She asked if I was to the point in my life where I’m beginning to analyze my failed relationships.  “Um yeah Aunt Cray Cray, I’ve been doing that since I was 18” now why is it that you think you do that? “Um because I’m awesome.” nom nom nom nom.  She went on to say that she’s going to get me a copy of the book because I need to find out what will fill up my love tank before I can ever be in another relationship again or I’m going to be a miserable unhappy cat lady for the rest of my life.  Aunt Cray Cray, I’ll tell you what will fill up my love tank: Finding a nice guy who won’t cheat on me.  Boom! Love tank full.

She didn’t go in as deep with the other 2 books that she pulled out and honestly I can’t even remember the names of them because I was too busy picking my confidence out of the dumpster to pay attention to her rants any longer, but they were equally ridiculous.  

I’m pretty much used to getting the short end of the stick when it comes to my family, I’m the most successful so I get the most shit.  I’ve pretty much boiled it down to everyone needs to make me feel like shit about being single because that’s all they can make me feel bad about in order to make themselves feel better, and I’m fine with it because I know I’ve got my education even if I am single the rest of my god forsaken life.  AND YOU CAN’T TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME, SO HAH!

When I first started college my 90 year old great grandmother asked if I was done being Lucifer’s whore.  I didn’t have any idea what she was talking about so I was all, “Granny, what in the eff are you talking about you crazy old bat?” Then she attempted to “shake the devil out of me” because I “was for sure going to hell for going to college away from my family, the lord, and what I knew.” Alright, whatevs, pass the peas.  So as you can see, being an unhappy old hag is nothing compared to being a whore to the devil himself.

It’s no surprise to any of you that Lucky and I are depressed that we are practically the only single women left in our circles of friends.  Having my family call me out on being single with really no shot at ever finding love because I don’t know what I want didn’t so much upset me as it made me want to take action.  So when my non-crazy aunt started talking about how they are going to do this 17 mile bike ride through the city streets 2 states away on memorial day weekend I jumped the gun and said, “I WANT TO GO!”  Do I know how to ride a bike? Yes. Do I own a bike? No.  Do I have any business riding 17 miles on a bike in 2 weeks when I get winded walking up a flight of stairs? Fuck no.  

So now I’m stuck with this dilemma.  I wrote her a check to sign me up for the bike marathon, if that’s what you want to call it, because my short idiotic thoughts were that I need to get some hobbies and do things away from the bottle in order to meet the kind of guys I consider husband worthy.  Which isn’t a bad thought, but I don’t think going into cardiac arrest and being unconscious in the middle of the street 2 states away is really going to find me that dream man I’m looking for either.  

Really my only option is to buy one of these bike buggys and beg someone to pull me along so I can get my $35 worth and my free t-shirt.


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