I was gonna do a post about Skyrim, but then my brain backfired and we're left with this.
Why do people like NASCAR? It doesn't make any sense. I wonder what would happen if a deer somehow got onto the race track? That would be really messy. I'm glad I wouldn't have to clean that up. I wonder if cleaning people ever have to clean up their bosses murder scenes? I really need to redo my nails, the paint is all chipped and icky looking. I wonder why shells have that shiny stuff in them. I'm kinda hungry. I should probably go play with the kittens. So damn cute. I think we're out of hand soap in the bathroom. Never mind, there's some above the kitchen sink. Ouch! wtf was that? I wonder why men's beards are lighter around the mouth. Toothpaste maybe? Chuck Norris is creepy. Maybe he's some kind of genetic experiment? Ugh! what does this guy want? Fuckin creeper. Should I eat and then smoke, or smoke and then eat.... ok, food first, cause that would taste nasty. Score, hamburger. Man, nobody's on facebook. Is that guy Canadian? Woot, Katersoneseven mentioned me in a vlog!Mountain Dew is the nectar of the Gods. I'm bored with this. Skyrim? Mmm, maybe after a smoke.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Creeper Frog
Living in Florida is great. San, sun, and beaches. Everyone is extremely laid back, and there's always something to do.
There's something nobody warns you about though. Frogs.
Now don't get me wrong, I like frogs, they're cute, and they eat bugs like yellow flies, which are absolutely horrible. I got bit by one of those the other day and it left a huge welt on the back of my ankle. Shit hurts and itches like crazy. Anyways, frogs are like God's flyswatters. But frogs are supposed to stay outside. That's where they live, and that's where the bugs are. Not in the shower. Especially not in the shower with Me. So there I am, innocently taking my shower. I go to reach for my shampoo, and there's a little green tree frog just chillin on the bottle. Naturally, I flip out. I start throwing water on it trying to get it off and it starts jumping around the shower. I'm huddled in the corner by the shower head trying to keep the frog away from me by any means.
I finally get it corralled in the shower basket and managed to keep it there. Keeping an eye on the basket, I go back to my shower. I kept feeling something watching me though. Looking around, I finally spotted it. Sitting on top of the sliding door, being all creeper-esque, is a frog six times the size of the one I had been kung-fooing. This thing was crazy looking. It looked like the mutated spawn of hypno toad and a mustachioed leopard.
.
Not pictured: Boredom
There's something nobody warns you about though. Frogs.
Imagine stepping on that.
Now don't get me wrong, I like frogs, they're cute, and they eat bugs like yellow flies, which are absolutely horrible. I got bit by one of those the other day and it left a huge welt on the back of my ankle. Shit hurts and itches like crazy. Anyways, frogs are like God's flyswatters. But frogs are supposed to stay outside. That's where they live, and that's where the bugs are. Not in the shower. Especially not in the shower with Me. So there I am, innocently taking my shower. I go to reach for my shampoo, and there's a little green tree frog just chillin on the bottle. Naturally, I flip out. I start throwing water on it trying to get it off and it starts jumping around the shower. I'm huddled in the corner by the shower head trying to keep the frog away from me by any means.
This is not an effective way to scare off a frog.
I finally get it corralled in the shower basket and managed to keep it there. Keeping an eye on the basket, I go back to my shower. I kept feeling something watching me though. Looking around, I finally spotted it. Sitting on top of the sliding door, being all creeper-esque, is a frog six times the size of the one I had been kung-fooing. This thing was crazy looking. It looked like the mutated spawn of hypno toad and a mustachioed leopard.
He stares creepily at you with his moustache.
.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
To Kill A Mockingbird.
There is a Bird. And he needs to DIE. Never have I wished death upon a living creature before, but this is getting a little crazy.
Outside my mother's front porch are a bunch of trees. At the very top of one of these trees lives a Mockingbird. Normally I don't pay any attention to birds, thinking of them as mother natures soundtrack to life. Kinda like the Mission impossible theme, but for outside, and not as awesome. I like birds. they're cute, they're fluffy, and so far, their only proven reason of existence is to crap on cars.
There's something wrong with this bird.
Most birds know when its dark, that means its time for sleep. Not this one. Every night at around 1:30, without fail, He gets it into his little birdy brain, that he just NEEDS to sing. Not regular singing, oh no, that would be far too mundane for him. He feels the need to burst out with the most annoying sounds on the face of the planet. He ranges from frogs, weird coughing noises, what sounds like a cat playing the bagpipes, retarded remixes of regular bird noises, and once I even heard him do a traffic whistle. One night I decided to count how many different "songs" he could sing. I got aggravated and stopped counting around twenty.
My mother knows of this bird. And she agrees that he's pretty much retarded. I would sic my cat on him, but she would probably join up with him, and I don't relish the thought of being serenaded at all hours of the night by a tone deaf cat with a weight problem. Plus she's probably too lazy to run him down anyway.
Who is he talking to? I'm not sure. Will the other birds finally get pissed of having their sleep interrupted and shoot him? Who knows, but I have named him Maurice, and Maurice must DIE...
Outside my mother's front porch are a bunch of trees. At the very top of one of these trees lives a Mockingbird. Normally I don't pay any attention to birds, thinking of them as mother natures soundtrack to life. Kinda like the Mission impossible theme, but for outside, and not as awesome. I like birds. they're cute, they're fluffy, and so far, their only proven reason of existence is to crap on cars.
There's something wrong with this bird.
Most birds know when its dark, that means its time for sleep. Not this one. Every night at around 1:30, without fail, He gets it into his little birdy brain, that he just NEEDS to sing. Not regular singing, oh no, that would be far too mundane for him. He feels the need to burst out with the most annoying sounds on the face of the planet. He ranges from frogs, weird coughing noises, what sounds like a cat playing the bagpipes, retarded remixes of regular bird noises, and once I even heard him do a traffic whistle. One night I decided to count how many different "songs" he could sing. I got aggravated and stopped counting around twenty.
My mother knows of this bird. And she agrees that he's pretty much retarded. I would sic my cat on him, but she would probably join up with him, and I don't relish the thought of being serenaded at all hours of the night by a tone deaf cat with a weight problem. Plus she's probably too lazy to run him down anyway.
Who is he talking to? I'm not sure. Will the other birds finally get pissed of having their sleep interrupted and shoot him? Who knows, but I have named him Maurice, and Maurice must DIE...
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Rhinos and Lions and Moles, Oh My!
So my best friend loves animals. I have yet to see an animal he didn't like, with the exception of the naked mole rat, because honestly, who likes those things?
They look like old wrinkly penises.
Oh, and this thing..
I wonder what would happen if those things somehow mated and spawned monstrous little mutant babies. Wtf would we call them? Star nosed peney rats? Or how about naked mole coochstrositys? Either way, I'm pretty sure they would be the most disgusting thing anyone has ever seen. Regular moles are adorable though. I had a pet mole once. It drowned but it was really cute
Who wouldn't love this?
Anyways, Best friend, loves animals. Imagined him as a zookeeper.
Learning with lions!
Running with rhinos!
Feeding time
Not for you though. Sorry.
Not sure why the spider is french.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Bikes aren't meant for fat kids.
You ever have one of those days where you just want to smack the hell out of random strangers? They're not actually doing anything, but you're just so angry at the world that you have to take it out one someone? It was one of those days for me. It started out fine. I rolled out of bed at around one in the afternoon. Got dressed for work. Checked facebook, and watched some funny videos on youtube. Now, seeing as how I don't drive, my mom gives me a lift, and she tells me that she has to go to Atlanta that day to pick up my step-brother, and that she won't be home in time to pick me up from work. So we load my bike into the back of the truck, and she drops me off at work.
I'm the fitting room operator. My job is to put the clothes back into some kind of recognizable order, and set them so the sales floor associates can get them and put them back out on the floor, sort the re-shop (things that have been returned or left at the registers) that comes from the front, run the fitting rooms and zone the maternity clothes section. Normally it's really easy, and I spend more time doodling and fighting sleep than doing actual work. Well not that day. I had so much clothes and stuff to sort that the entire time I was there I didn't have a chance to do anything. There were clothes piled everywhere back there. It was a disaster zone with me running around like a chicken with it's head cut off.
Meanwhile, my best friend Kenneth is checking out the house we were going to rent and remodel. Him and his boyfriend Steve show up at around seven-ish (when I was supposed to take my lunch break) and tell me its a no go on the house. Which believe you me, sucked so hard. The house was cheap as hell (275 a month) and it just needed to be fixed up. Me being female, I have no idea how to go about doing renovations. I had been to the house, and thought it was cute, in a quaint fun-house mirror sort of way. But it turns out that the floor was being held to the walls with duct-tape (wtf?!?!) and it would have been wayyyyyy too expensive to make even remotely livable.
Anyways, that put a damper on my already practically nonexistent mood. I go on my lunch break, smoke a bunch of cigarettes, and they go home (they live almost an hour away and it sucks). I go back in, and its even worse than before. There's almost triple the clothes and I dive in, (almost literally) trying to get the crap sorted. Before I know it, its time for me to make the closing announcements, and I still have ton of stuff to do. I make the announcements, and finish up what I'm working on and jet the hell out of there before someone stops me. Now comes the fun part.
Now I admit, I'm not exactly one of those anorexic chics who faint at the sight of a crouton, but I'm not one of those whales with legs you see waddling around (no offense). I am what I like to call pleasantly thick. I got some curves, and can work them when I feel like it. Most of the time I dont feel like it though, and just make do with a t-shirt and some jeans, or more often than not, my work uniform.
The bike I'm riding is one of those beach cruisers with a wicker basket. Yes, a basket, I think its cute, and you can shut up. Anyways, apparently those bikes and hills are mortal enemies. I live about two exits away from my work and I have never seen so many hills as I did that night. Going up, or going down either way I was screwed.
Somehow or another I managed to get lost. I call Kenneth up, and ask him which way to go (at this point I'm about 2/3 of the way home and I know I'm close). He tells me which way to go, and I follow suit. About ten minutes later, nothing looks familliar, theres no street lights, and I swear I can hear creepy horror music. You know, the kind that plays when theres a girl all alone and the killer/big scary monster/creepy little girl with way too much hair is about to pounce on them and drag them away to parts unknown?
That could have just been my imagination, but I was starting to panic. I was so sure that something was going to jump out and grab me. Well, I call up Kenneth again, and he answers with a causal "You lost again bitch?" at which point I have a mental break down. I start crying because I'm lost, I want to go home, and I think I'm about to get eaten. I try to get off the bike (its a couple inches too tall for me) to see the street sign so he can google me and succeed in falling over with the bike on top of me. My purse, being in the basket, bounced out and threw up its contents all over the pavement. Meanwhile I'm laying on the ground with a bike on top of me, crying hysterically to my best friend, who thinks this is the funniest thing he's ever heard.
I finally get myself calmed down enough to get out from under the bike, and lo and behold, my mother is calling me. She got home and I guess she noticed that the smell of cigarettes was curiously absent and decided to call me to see if I was ok. I told her I was lost, and God bless her, she came and got me and took me home. Love that woman.
The next day I woke up and was covered in bruises.
I'm the fitting room operator. My job is to put the clothes back into some kind of recognizable order, and set them so the sales floor associates can get them and put them back out on the floor, sort the re-shop (things that have been returned or left at the registers) that comes from the front, run the fitting rooms and zone the maternity clothes section. Normally it's really easy, and I spend more time doodling and fighting sleep than doing actual work. Well not that day. I had so much clothes and stuff to sort that the entire time I was there I didn't have a chance to do anything. There were clothes piled everywhere back there. It was a disaster zone with me running around like a chicken with it's head cut off.
Anyways, that put a damper on my already practically nonexistent mood. I go on my lunch break, smoke a bunch of cigarettes, and they go home (they live almost an hour away and it sucks). I go back in, and its even worse than before. There's almost triple the clothes and I dive in, (almost literally) trying to get the crap sorted. Before I know it, its time for me to make the closing announcements, and I still have ton of stuff to do. I make the announcements, and finish up what I'm working on and jet the hell out of there before someone stops me. Now comes the fun part.
Now I admit, I'm not exactly one of those anorexic chics who faint at the sight of a crouton, but I'm not one of those whales with legs you see waddling around (no offense). I am what I like to call pleasantly thick. I got some curves, and can work them when I feel like it. Most of the time I dont feel like it though, and just make do with a t-shirt and some jeans, or more often than not, my work uniform.
The bike I'm riding is one of those beach cruisers with a wicker basket. Yes, a basket, I think its cute, and you can shut up. Anyways, apparently those bikes and hills are mortal enemies. I live about two exits away from my work and I have never seen so many hills as I did that night. Going up, or going down either way I was screwed.
Somehow or another I managed to get lost. I call Kenneth up, and ask him which way to go (at this point I'm about 2/3 of the way home and I know I'm close). He tells me which way to go, and I follow suit. About ten minutes later, nothing looks familliar, theres no street lights, and I swear I can hear creepy horror music. You know, the kind that plays when theres a girl all alone and the killer/big scary monster/creepy little girl with way too much hair is about to pounce on them and drag them away to parts unknown?
That could have just been my imagination, but I was starting to panic. I was so sure that something was going to jump out and grab me. Well, I call up Kenneth again, and he answers with a causal "You lost again bitch?" at which point I have a mental break down. I start crying because I'm lost, I want to go home, and I think I'm about to get eaten. I try to get off the bike (its a couple inches too tall for me) to see the street sign so he can google me and succeed in falling over with the bike on top of me. My purse, being in the basket, bounced out and threw up its contents all over the pavement. Meanwhile I'm laying on the ground with a bike on top of me, crying hysterically to my best friend, who thinks this is the funniest thing he's ever heard.
I finally get myself calmed down enough to get out from under the bike, and lo and behold, my mother is calling me. She got home and I guess she noticed that the smell of cigarettes was curiously absent and decided to call me to see if I was ok. I told her I was lost, and God bless her, she came and got me and took me home. Love that woman.
The next day I woke up and was covered in bruises.
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