Friday, January 31, 2014

You Can't Punch People In The Throat

I feel like I need to talk about what happened to me the other night.  It was kind of an awakening.  Maybe.  I don't know.  It might not qualify as an awakening.  More like an "aha!" moment.  But then it sounds like Oprah, and we ALL know I am really not as fucking eloquent as Oprah.  So maybe not an "aha!" moment either.  I don't know.  I'll just tell you and then you can decide what the hell it counts as.

**NOTE:  Dude, spell check totally recognizes and accepts "Oprah".  It's like what happened when I wrote the post that mentioned Sigourney Weaver.  I don't blame it.  I wouldn't want to provide alternative suggestions for those names, either.  Then I'd be the program that got its red-squiggly-line ass kicked by Alien and Oprah.  That doesn't look good on anybody's resume.

Anyway, so the other night.  The sun's already set, total darkness outside.  Dinner eaten.  Work clothes changed.  Normal, right?  Uh, so not normal.  Because that's when it happened.  As I was walking to my bedroom, ready to call it a night, hit the hay, get some shut-eye, I glanced at the clock and then stared at it in horror.  6:30pm.  SIX-FUCKING-THIRTY.  I didn't even realize that shit!  All I was thinking about at the time was how tired I was from dealing with the endless array of fucktards that seemed to surround my day, and how punching them in the throat would probably only make things worse the next day because shit like that is apparently "frowned upon" by upper management, and how I should probably stop laughing when people talk to me about anger management because people who manage their anger probably don't think about punching other people in the throat. 

And then I saw the clock.  And silently turned around to rejoin the land of the living, not quite sure how to process what had just happened.  And then later that night, much much later, I finally formed a thought about it, and whispered to myself, holy shit, self. you really need to pull your fucking life together. you CANNOT fall asleep at six-fucking-thirty. ever.  because normal people don't do that.  and because making people deal with a poorly-rested you the next day will be way more effective than a punch to the throat. 

Sunday, January 26, 2014

Yo Waldorf, Put Popsicles On The Menu Please

Ok, you guys.  Can we all just agree that Woody Harrelson is fucking awesome as shit?
I've been watching True Detective on HBO, because HBO apparently knows a thing or two about how to make television series that are so beyond greatness that you would actually let yourself get killed by Tony Soprano just so you could say that you met the man.  Maybe we should all agree that HBO is fucking awesome as shit, too?  I don't know.  It's something to think about.

Anyway, one day while I was watching an episode, it really hit me how much I freaking love Woody Harrelson.   He's so fucking versatile.  Game Change, North Country ... serious as all hell.  The Hunger Games ... totally conflicted.  And then there's Pepper Lewis.  If y'all don't know who Pepper is, you need to stop reading this post right now, get your ass on Netflix, and rent The Cowboy Way.  Trust me.  You'll be better for it.  Because it's awesome.  And Woody Harrelson is the fucking Big Chief.  Let me put it this way ... If I ever get to New York City, my ass is going to dinner with Pepper.  And we'll be eating popsicles.  If the Waldorf has any.  I asked them in the title of this post to put popsicles on the menu.  And I said "please".  Because the Waldorf is classy as shit.  And you can't just ask them for stuff and forget your manners.  Because if you did, they'd probably be all, this is the Waldorf, yo. Remember where you are, bitch.  So I'm guessing if you actually make the effort to smile and say "please", they'd have a change of heart and be all, you got it, motherfucker. two popsicles coming right up.

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Alcohol Magic

I feel like the very first person in the history of the world to invent alcohol fit for drinking was a dude somewhere in a shitty little beginning-of-time town who was like, "yo. you need to drink this. because it's magic."  And the people looked at him like he had lost his fucking mind, because how could a drink be magic, and he should just go back to his little corner of weirdness and stay of out everybody's way.  And then he was all, "fine. don't believe. more for me."  And then people slowly started to notice all the bullshit and stupidness around them and how the crazy dude never seemed to mind or be affected.  So then the representative of the people went to the dude, and was all, "hey, crazy dude, we want to try some of the magic. I will disperse it to the people."  And the dude smiled a lazy magic smile, and said, "make it so, number 1."  And so the magic was spread.  Because the dude knew what was up.  Amen.

Friday, January 10, 2014

Because Self-Esteem Is Important, Yo

Ok. So check it out.  I'm a shitty-ass driver, right.  I mean, like, if there's something for me to run into, I probably will.  Just saying.  I once turned the wrong way onto a one-way street, because I didn't see the "one-way" sign, because I was concentrating on the value deal posted on the Carl's Jr marquee across the street.  I was in college, and I was fucking excited about the buy-one-get-one-free Famous Star special.  Priorities, yo. 
Note: It totally turned out ok, though, you guys.  I bailed into a nearby parking lot before the herd of on-coming traffic could trample me because my years of Mario-Kart experience totally trained me for that moment.

I also backed into the corner of a building once.  Literally.  The building had a notable scar to prove it.  And the bumper of my then-bad-ass truck had the tiniest dent.  It took it like a champ.  I don't really remember why that one happened, though.  I can assume it was also because my ADD was being an asshole, but I can't really say for sure. Maybe I hit that shit harder than I thought.  Anyway, I digress ...

So, a couple of days ago, I watched a woman try to back a Ford Focus into a giant parking space 5 times before she finally gave up and drove away.  And even though my driving record is far from perfect, because my ADD apparently doesn't recognize heavy machinery as something that I should be whole-heartedly attentive to, I can honestly say that as of this day, I've never once had to give up trying to park a Ford Focus in an acre-sized parking lot.  Confidence builders, people.  Grab 'em when you can.

Monday, January 6, 2014

I Forgot How To Human

Today was "back to work" day from the holidays, and apparently something over the vacation killed my fucking brain cells, because I started the morning all, where the hell am I?  and where the hell am I going?  and what the hell am I supposed to do when I get there?  It was rough, yo.  And it started when the alarm clock rang, because my alarm clock is an asshole.  Then I realized WHY it was ringing, and the fact that it was, as I am now affectionately referring to it, "get-your-fucking-ass-up-because-you-have-to-go-to-work-because-you-can't-be-on-vacation-forever-because-you-need-fucking-health-insurance-and-fucking-money-because-you-can't-buy-shit-with-jars-of-sunshine-and-skittles-because-that's-how-society-fails" Monday.  And Monday's are assholes.  Just like alarm clocks.  It's like they naturally go together.  Because they're assholes. 

So when I got to work, I sat in the parking lot for a few minutes and stared blankly at my steering wheel because I'd apparently forgotten how to human, and had managed to drive and park by muscle memory alone.  Because my muscles want to see me fucking succeed.  Not like my alarm clock.  That bitch wants to kill me.  With sleep deprivation.  Because it's an asshole that wants to sing me the song of its people at the fucking ass-crack of dawn.  And as it sings, I whisper, I don't care about your song.  You. Will. Die.

And then the emails started.  And the phone calls.  And I was all, the fuck, dude?  And just when I thought I was going to have to hide in the bathroom because I couldn't figure out what the hell I was supposed to be doing, my brain finally showed up like a fucking douchebag arriving 2 hours late for their own party.  And I was like, nice timing, bitch.  And  my brain was all, how'd you like that drive this morning?

Wednesday, January 1, 2014

It's 2014, Bitch

Well, I think it's safe to say that 2013 pretty much sucked ass for me and mine, so I'm hoping that 2014 comes in like the fucking Hulk and smashes shit into awesomeness.  I used to make lots of New Year's resolutions every year that most people would consider standard and "important".  You know, shit like reach my ultimate financial goals, lose the extra weight, be healthy, be motivated, kick ass, be a better person, etc etc etc.  But, you know what, you guys?  I think that shit's really overrated.  I've kind of learned that it doesn't matter what you set out to do, life just fucking happens.  And you've gotta either deal with it the best way you know how to at that exact moment, pray to whoever you pray to that you find a way to make peace with whatever happened and move on, or just make the decision to let your spirit die. 
So for this year, my New Year's resolution is simply this:  don't let my motherfucking spirit die.  And while it may not seem productive or proactive or whatever to some people, it means a lot to me.  Which is what I think resolutions are meant to be, anyway.  Important to you.  So for this year, people, do what's important to you.  Do what means something to you.  I'm gonna try to just get through each day with my motherfucking spirit in tact.  And maybe buy a cactus to try and keep alive too.  I don't know.  It feels like a lot of pressure.  I'm still up in the air about that one.