Imma share something with you:
Every time my foot falls asleep and I put my weight on it, I think maybe I'm somehow breaking my foot/toes and just can't feel it at the moment.
It's a terrifying few seconds, let me tell you.
whew!
Glad I got that off my chest.
I feel better. It's...it's something I've been living with for a very long time.
Aren't you glad you tuned in today?
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Goldilocks Looks at Puppies
You know, every time you're feeling down you start looking one of two things: apartment listings, or adoptable puppies.
That little insight was brought to you by my delicious man-friend and all I have to say is, "Fuck yes, bitchers! That is how I keep on keeping on! Adoptable puppies are my mahfuckin' double rainbow!"
And I tell you, I will be lookin' at a whole bunch of them in the coming months.
My dad has cancer. Imma just say that right out. While there is a little bit of "poor me" in there, mostly my reaction is WHAT THE FUCK? Why can the man not catch a break? And then I thought, by some magical circumstance, if I was to be given the decision of taking the cancer and giving it to someone I know (a common acquaintance, though not necessarily someone I like), would I take it?
Dad, I've got a list of names that I would be willing to give your cancer to. You just let me know.
Add to that the fact that I'm stuck in California, and my job pays me butt-all, so there's not much chance of plane tickets in my near future. At least, with the current job, I can walk into a room and shout, "What's up, bitches?" and actually get a few laughs. Office environments tend to frown on that kind of behavior. Also, I can work in what is basically pyjamas, clearly more comfortable than any fuckin' pantsuit.
Lastly, we've got a leaky fuckin' sink. Our landlord is apparently going to be the one to fix it, though that pill-poppin booze-hound (role-model though he may be) should not actually be allowed near any home maintenance projects. Allow me to point you to exhibits
A) the kitchen light that just randomly falls out of the ceiling at any given moment;
B) the hole in our kitchen counter. Presumably some kind of weird mold thing;
C) our front door, which does not actually fit into its frame; too tight in one corner, and all gaping wide in the other. Listen to me, like the mahfuckin' Goldilocks of front doors.
D) don't even get me started on the fact that our entire living room rests atop two very nervous looking wooden stilts.
So, I look at puppies. 'Cause they're so goddam adorable! What with their big eyes and fat bellies and OMG that puppy smell! Here's a word of advice: if you're in the Bay Area and not in MA helping my dad (shame on you!) you should adopt a pup. I mean, you could adopt one no matter where you are, 'cause they're small and helpless and don't pretend you don't have the time, you selfish prick!, but if you're IN the Bay Area, you should go to Smileydogrescue.org. That's where we got our Watson Shittypants, and I highly recommend them (though not him, specifically). Or, you could just foster or hand them a fat wad of cash, 'cause they're just a rescue group and they deserve your help!
Hands off Lombard, though, or I will cut you!
That little insight was brought to you by my delicious man-friend and all I have to say is, "Fuck yes, bitchers! That is how I keep on keeping on! Adoptable puppies are my mahfuckin' double rainbow!"
And I tell you, I will be lookin' at a whole bunch of them in the coming months.
My dad has cancer. Imma just say that right out. While there is a little bit of "poor me" in there, mostly my reaction is WHAT THE FUCK? Why can the man not catch a break? And then I thought, by some magical circumstance, if I was to be given the decision of taking the cancer and giving it to someone I know (a common acquaintance, though not necessarily someone I like), would I take it?
Dad, I've got a list of names that I would be willing to give your cancer to. You just let me know.
Add to that the fact that I'm stuck in California, and my job pays me butt-all, so there's not much chance of plane tickets in my near future. At least, with the current job, I can walk into a room and shout, "What's up, bitches?" and actually get a few laughs. Office environments tend to frown on that kind of behavior. Also, I can work in what is basically pyjamas, clearly more comfortable than any fuckin' pantsuit.Lastly, we've got a leaky fuckin' sink. Our landlord is apparently going to be the one to fix it, though that pill-poppin booze-hound (role-model though he may be) should not actually be allowed near any home maintenance projects. Allow me to point you to exhibits
A) the kitchen light that just randomly falls out of the ceiling at any given moment;
B) the hole in our kitchen counter. Presumably some kind of weird mold thing;
C) our front door, which does not actually fit into its frame; too tight in one corner, and all gaping wide in the other. Listen to me, like the mahfuckin' Goldilocks of front doors.
D) don't even get me started on the fact that our entire living room rests atop two very nervous looking wooden stilts.
So, I look at puppies. 'Cause they're so goddam adorable! What with their big eyes and fat bellies and OMG that puppy smell! Here's a word of advice: if you're in the Bay Area and not in MA helping my dad (shame on you!) you should adopt a pup. I mean, you could adopt one no matter where you are, 'cause they're small and helpless and don't pretend you don't have the time, you selfish prick!, but if you're IN the Bay Area, you should go to Smileydogrescue.org. That's where we got our Watson Shittypants, and I highly recommend them (though not him, specifically). Or, you could just foster or hand them a fat wad of cash, 'cause they're just a rescue group and they deserve your help!
Hands off Lombard, though, or I will cut you!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)