20 things I find way more interesting than talking shit about people

1. Jamming sharp objects into my eyeballs

2. Combing out my extensions (while not on my head)

3. Stalking people on MySpace

4. Organizing my fork drawer

5. Organizing anything for that matter

6. Taking my car to get washed for the first time since I bought it 3 years ago

7. Writing blogs that no one will read

8. Clipping my toenails

9. Waiting on the side of the road for someone to bring me a gallon of gas to get me to the next gas station

10. Looking at my new cleavage in various cleavage-bearing shirts

11. Looking at my new extensions on the dresser and imagining how they will look untangled and on my head

12. Watching 5 Lifetime original movies in a row

13. Counting how many open beverage containers I have on my desk right now (4)

14. Talking to gay boys on IM

15. Watching all episodes of Flavor of Love in one day, fast-forwarding through the commercials

16. Adding 100's of movies to my Netflix queue.

17. Trying to figure out how to spell "queue" (qeue?, queu?)

18. Thinking about how "queue" doesn't even sound like a word anymore

19. Looking at a blank wall for an hour

20. Contemplating the Platypus. Is it mammal or bird? What is it? (Plus–it’s fun to say!)

Disclaimer to Dr. McTorture and his Elven helper...

Remember this, before you read about yourselves in my blog...I wrote about you while in pain and very angry with you.

To the guy that takes my blood pressure: I don't really think that your long hippie hair makes you a D and D player or a warlock or anything. I'm just mad that you get to watch Dr. McBoneyThumbs inflict worlds of pain upon me and not put some elven curse on him.

And to Dr. McEvil himself: I mean every single word. As you tortured me today, in fact, I was coming up with new names for you. I like Dr. McPain, Dr. McBoneythumbs, Dr. McHappyYouAreInPain (that might be a bit much)... Dr. Singy McTorturePants, Dr. Chipper McTortureInflictor. I like that one a lot. It rhymes too!

So Dr. Chipper McTortureInflictor and Happy McMintGreenScrubHelperPants... I hate you all.

Would you still be my friend if I had a British accent?

Like if I started having one right now? I'm thinking of moving to London. I've been applying to jobs. I have no idea where the cool places are to live there, by any means. I know I'd end up in some English ghetto where I know they are speaking English but are they really? Why can't I understand a word they are saying?? And then they have that whole different measuring system. That's kind of a big thing for a graphic designer. I use inches they use, what, centimeters? I do an 8x10 page it comes out the size of a post-it and I get fired.

But I bet I'd get that accent by the time I came home. And then everyone would hate me like they hated Madonna for having one. So I'm just going start using one now. Then everyone will be used to it and carry on about their day, right as rain, forgetting that I lived most my life in Phoenix, AZ.

I’m going to need a European makeover too. I've been told I look American but I don't act like one. I don’t even know what exactly that means. Maybe it’s because I don't wear a lot of black. My friend Anna from Switzerland (that's her whole name, Anna from Switzerland) used to only wear black. (After sharing a dorm room with me she went home wearing a sparkly pink shirt and pants with rainbows on the pockets.)

I don't think I could only wear black. I mean, yes, it is slimming, but I've already been accused of anorexia. Instead of black could I wear leopard print? Would I totally stand out wearing leopard print from head to toe? Is leopard print too American?

Damn—or rather—bloody hell, I got some research to do! I can't waste any more work time on this sodding blog and do something constructive like researching European fashion trends.

Tally ho and a piddly poo. (Is that English? I mean I know it’s English but is it England

It sucks to be a girl. And so does alcohol. DAMMIT.

Not only am I one of those damn stupid girls that fall in love with their rebounds, I'm also one of those stupid girls that gets drunk on 2 Red Bull & Vodka's and then at 2am proceeds to place pathetic drunk texts to the "pseudo-ex". Then leave the slurry drunk voicemail. THEN, as if that isn't bad enough, call back and say, "Please disregard last message, I'm drunk and, um, gotta go, bye."

So not only am I drunk, blubbering and not sure if I even have a boyfriend, I still have tomorrow’s hung over mortification to look forward to! I've heard they have some sort of thing you can pay for that blocks you from dialing certain numbers past like 2am or something. I think that is genius. I need that. Never thought I would. Never thought I'd be a Stupid Girl either.

It's funny when you talk all this shit, when things are all gravy and you got a good man and you got a great relationship, and then all of a sudden, when you get one of those "bad boys", the one's that you just can't quit (to quote a little Brokeback there), you turn into the Stupid Girl.

I would talk shit about myself right now. DAMMIT. And I am talking shit about myself. Because I'm one of those girls that talks shit all the time. ALL the time. Just go to a bar with Tammi and me sometime and you will leave scared you will get your ass kicked by the girl wearing a humongous white belt after we ask her if we could borrow her “back brace” for our picture. We are such bitches. Stupid Girls, but bitches none the less. That's got to even things out a bit, right?

Only stupid girls fall in "love" with their rebound...

I'm that girl. The kind I used to make fun of. I couldn't just have fun and let it not get serious. NOOOOooooo...I gotta let the moron move in. And let me tell you something about boys. They do NOT think before they talk. I don't really think any of them do. They say, "move in with me!" all excited like and then after you say "ok" they freak the F out! Um..huh? You asked me, asshole. "I'm not sure I'm ready for this." Once again, you asked me, you tool. So my advice to girls is unless you plan on having kids with the idiot, there is no need to live with him. And if you insist on getting married you should still have your own place, sort of like a fallout shelter where he is absolutely not allowed to come over without asking first.

MY jackass also has a problem making plans. Now I'm that lame girl with the non-existent boyfriend that no one has met because he won’t ever go out with me. He says he's a "last-minute, spontaneous" kind of guy. In McAssHole talk spontaneous means, "I'll think about going if a better offer to go out with my douchey friends doesn't come up at the last minute."

Now, I love when my man has his boys. I love when he goes out with them and by all means, please go have a "guys night". I won't call, I won't nag. I enjoy when you are gone sometimes, believe me. Leave for the whole damn weekend for all I care! I got my own shit to do. I just ask that you let me know if you will or will not be returning to MY abode at 2am. But I think that this sort of "weird" girl attitude, where you don't really care if they go out with their boys, doesn't come across correctly. They can't comprehend that you can be cool with them leaving, that your life doesn't completely stop if they want to go out with their friends. This concept was lost completely on my retard. He had the nerve to say, meet you at home and dinner, blah blah blah. Round about 9 he calls and says he's at dirty Doug's or something.

Ok, now I know that this is completely my own fault. I'm an idiot for dating that guy. And I suppose every girl makes that mistake at least once in her life. But I fell in love with said idiot and even though I want him out of my damn apartment like nothing I've ever wanted more, I find myself crying because he is moving out.

Boys are stupid. And apparently so are girls. If it were legal I'd just date a monkey. I could train him to do my laundry and shit. And when he didn't listen to me it would be because he was a monkey and couldn't understand what I was saying because he is a monkey. Anyone know where I can get a monkey?

Trashy AshyMcFlicker

Once upon a time there was a skinny fake blonde girl named Trashy AshyMcFlicker. Miss AshyMcFlicker would frequent clubs around the Valley on a weekly basis. Trashy was a chronic smoker so no one really wanted to make out with her because she smelled, well, ashy. This made Trashy mad so she would stand next to hot chicks that were hotter than her and younger and much more well dressed and would flick her gross ciggie ash in their drinks.

Well, on one particular occasion Trashy AshyMcFlicker flicked her ash in the wrong bitch’s drink. The other girl, whose name was Hottie McHottiePants took off her stiletto and jammed it right into Trashy AshyMcFlicker's eye. Thus changing her name to Trashy McPatchy. And eye patches arrrrr only cool on pirates.

Puke can be expensive and Jesus sucks!

We went out for Daniel's b-day on Saturday night and all started off well. Daniel's drinking, hanging with his friends. Tammi, Travis, his friend and I are tossing a water bra sack around the restaurant, just minding our own business. (Don't ask...normal evening for us.) And mind you, Tammi and I aren't even drinking, people. This is just us normal. As all this is going on Daniel's friend "Jesus" (not his real name, but that's what it said on his gas station shirt) is buying him shot after shot after shot after shot...you get the point. And Daniel, being the nice boy he is, just keeps taking the shots. (Next time just pass them along or fling the shit over your shoulder, man). So we go to Dos Gringos and yuck it up at a table with some more random people we don't know.

At this point Daniel has downed about 25 shots. He should be dead. He casually begins to smoke a cigarette and throw up on the table and smoke his cigarette and throw up some more. No one really even noticed. If there was a suave way to puke, this was it. So we sneak away from the puke covered mess, paid the waiter $50 to clean it up, and Daniel heads off to the bathroom to finish getting rid of the 25 shots. His friend Jesus decides that he doesn't need to help. I don't know much about "guy code" but I know if one of your boys is sick from the shots your ass is buying him, you make sure he makes it into the toilet dammit.

But no. Jesus yells at Tammi. YELLS at his friend’s girlfriend. THEN his bitch-ass-blonde-too-good-for-everyone girlfriend fucking ashes in my drink. The drink I am holding. I wasn't even facing the conversation! She thought I was standing there holding a cup just for her to ash in! Oh, HELL NO! They broke that shit up before the stilettos came off which let me tell you, Jesus and his bitch are lucky. I hear a stiletto in the eye can leave nasty-ass scars. Jesus and Trashy AshyMcFlicker would have been sporting matching eye patches for a while after that.

And remember, if you don't throw up on your birthday, you didn't have a good time.

I'm LOST and gay boys can be so bitchy!

I'm watching the complete 2nd season of LOST and now I'm not going to get anything done this weekend. Nothing. Yesterday I did manage to get out and go shopping and oh my god it felt so good. You know, sometimes, even though you have no money at all you have to go shopping. If you are a shop-a-holic you have to shop. It's been at least 2 months since I bought any new clothes at all. 2 MONTHS!!! I felt empty and lost. And so wearing old clothes. So I spend a couple hundred. And boy do I feel wonderful. There is no buyer's remorse for this girl...no way! (Talk to me next week thought when I can't pay my SRP bill).

Then straight from the mall we head out to a gay fashion show. Now that was pretty much the highlight of my week (besides buying my new Very Sexy Victoria's Secret convertible bra...AND finding out that I'm a full 34 C, baby! The girls didn't shrink at all! YES!!!). Then one of my hot gay friends gets super drunk and all bitchy on me and we end up getting pushed by said gay boy and everyone gets mad...just because you are gay, my friend, you are still like 6 feet tall and have like 100 pounds on me. We can't bitch fight! And you don't even have any hair for me to pull. But when all is said and done, everyone is sorry and forgiven.

If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all...

Or so I've been told. By my doctor (or rather, a muscle therapist for my TMJ). Not the best news to hear as he's digging his boney thumb into the side of my face as hard as he possibly can. The bastard was trying his hardest to make me cry, I know he was. Though I didn't cry, I did flip him off and give him a solid beat down in my mind.

Once the torture session was over, the hippie that is his assistant felt the need to "test" me on my jaw exercises. I'd just gotten done with a traumatic experience, so I was a little more than unpleasant. I remember him standing there opening and closing his mouth in various ways and all I can think about is how much he looks like an elf from Lord of the Rings (but not nearly as hot) with his long blond hair.

Then he mentioned that I don't talk much. Well, it is a bit hard to talk when there is a man-thumb with the all the strength of the Hulk pushing your jaw towards the other side of the room. Now that I think about it, he may not be a hippie so much as a D and D player. He grows his hair out to fit in with the sorcerer costume he wears on the weekends.

Speaking of Dungeons and Dragons, what would that say about me if I thought that may sound like a fun game to play, like, once in my life? But do I have to dress up like the characters? That could be fun too, I guess. But then I'm crossing way over into Dorkdom and I'm dorky enough as it is. It would be funny though if this guy dresses like a wizard on the weekend and come Monday he throws his elven locks into a ponytail and dons the mint green life force-sucking scrubs and acts like a semi-normal human being. But I can see through his façade as he stands there laughing diabolically in the corner as his boss is torturing me and telling me I have bad luck. Evil scrub-wearing, elf hair-having, maniacally grinning warlock. If he weren’t so nice I would hate him.

The sinister doctor who isn't even a doctor insisted on humming to himself while the torture ensued and then the scrub-disguised warlock created a percussion section by drumming out the beat on his mint green legs. It was a 2-man circus band around me. I wasn’t sure if that is supposed to distract me from my pain as much as it just irritated me. I did get a good look at the fiendish doctor’s shoes, which looked fairly expensive. I tried to spit on them but my aim was off.

I did sneak out without paying my co-pay so the joke is on them! (Enter evil laugh here). Actually joke is on me because I still feel like I got run over by a city bus and it's been 3 days since the D and D torture. Oh well.