Almost Done...

I hate Mondays. Here it is 0846 and I should be writing the paper for my African Music class that was due last week, but for some reason I just can't bring myself to do it. Too many distractions...facebook, blogging, coffee, the zzzzzzMonster. Whatever the case may be, procrastination is winning this battle of necessity to get the fuck done with school. I will be graduating this semester, as long as I pass all my classes, which I will as long as I get a D- in everything. Should be no sweat, right? I'll just have to keep my fingers crossed. This is the last week of classes and what a semester it's been. Fuck it.

I woke up this morning to a yapping dog at 0715 which, if you hate Mondays, is a really lousy way to start the day. I intended to go to the gym this morning, but, again, it's Monday and I remembered that I had to get this stupid fucking paper done, so I must forego the gym until later tonight. I figure 2 hours of exercise should make my Tuesday ripe with muscle aches. But, it will also make me feel better.

I tried to get breakfast this morning, but I had to choose between a parking spot in the Commuter lot or breakfast and walking 2 miles to class. Sheer laziness won out so coffee will have to do for now.

Blah, blah, blah...

Habit Breaking, Habit Forming...

I've just recently finished a book a newly acquired friend of mine wrote. It's called Iraq: 384 Days for Freedom Vol. 1 by A.J. Please check this book out. As some of you know, I spent almost 2 rotations around the sun in the desert, and this is some insight to what life was like there. It's written in journal form and the guy who wrote it is a hell of a good person. For those of you who don't like to read, it's pretty short.

This weekend I've been a little spoiled. I'm in central Mass. at a military obligation and staying in a king-size room at a hotel. I've got to say that I love the time away. It is relaxing, peaceful, and is doing me good to have some alone time. There's no fucking dog in my face all day, nor have I heard 1 screaming child since my arrival here last night. God, life is good!

As much as I hate to admit it, I think I've missed this whole military thing. I went to the shoppette on base today and bought a stick of Carmex for $.99, and a pack of Marlboros for less than $5! What a country! Being back in the military has begun to motivate me again. I start back at the gym Monday (which includes eating better, vitamins, supplements, and lotsa water consumption, less beer consumption). Okay, so it won't actually affect my beer drinking. The military provides the drive I need to break some habits and create some better ones. Get back in shape. Lose the losers I've surrounded myself with (you know who you are and who you are not!). Get the hell out of the rut I've put myself in.

This weekend I even found a little niceness to spare. I'm beginning to feel like my old self again.

Rainy Day People

My favorite song of the week is Rainy Day People by Gordon Lightfoot. Life would be grand if everyone could be a Rainy Day Lover...

I know how much you've all missed me in the month I vacated my blog writing so here is a concentrated effort to let you all know what kind of bullshit has been mixing around in my bowl. It may look like chocolate frosting, but it's still all shit.

On a good note, I have whittled my work week down a bit as I no longer employ myself at the Capeway. I think that I'm going through a phase of not wanting to nor feeling the need to be nice. Fuck it, why does one ALWAYS have to take the high road? If I venture off the path of righteousness for a moment, does that make me a terrible person? Whatever the answer is, I don't actually give a fuck. I'm tired of making excuses for grown-ass people and their choice to be dicks.

I was down in my Well of Niceness the other day with a pickaxe and shovel, trying like hell to get just a drop of nice out of it, and I thought, "What the fuck am I doing?" so I took a little trip down to Lowes and bought some concrete mix and filled my Well of Niceness to the brim with it. Try and break through THAT muthafuckas!

I made a trip out to Ohio just before Thanksgiving to meet a few of The Scumbag's friends. Even though it was Ohio, I had a pretty good time. That was the end of my fun for November. The last few days have been challenging and rewarding at the same time.

I've never been much of a game player, nor I have I ever really been much of a team player. My adoption report from the orphanage reported me as a well adjusted 2-year-old who doesn't play well with others. Not really my fault,the other little punk orphans probably deserved whatever kick in the shins or bite on the arm I gave them. Fucking heathens.

I am finding in my older age, however, that at some point you are forced to play "The Game". I remember now why I most always choose not to be in a relationship. I am a simple girl and don't really ask much of anyone. Don't lie. Don't cheat. That's pretty much it. I've never lived in that fantasy world where one receives flowers, jewels, random cards, or shared responsibilities, and I don't now. I'm not psychotic, nor have I ever been, and I don't think there is a man alive that could push me to the brink of psychosis. Sure, I get angry, but even then you've got to push all million of my buttons. Where is all this coming from or going you ask? The Scumbag (formerly known as The D Team) has evidently come to the conclusion that I'm dumber than I look most of the time and that I will accept (bad) lies to my face. Not too bright on his part. Not for nothing, his words and actions over the past couple of weeks have negated any rules of a relationship that are supposed to be followed. I'm not, and will never be a she-man-man-hater, and as a chick I'll continue to give the boys much more credit than they deserve for being as simple as they claim, but c'mon guys...honesty is the only policy. If you just want to fuck, say you just want to fuck. 9 out of 10 of us females will be more than happy to do so. We don't want your bullshit any more than you want ours. Lets just take the gloves off and get right down to it. We don't NEED you. We have fingers, toys, and artificial insemination, but there's no substitute for the real thing, so quit feeding us bullshit lines, shut your mouths and whip it out. Just make sure you know how to use it first.

At Least I Don't Have Worms...

A few weeks back I was nearly convinced that my luck was changing, and surprisingly, for the better. I don't gamble, but I waged a single dollar for 3 lucky rolls of the dice and low and behold, I won just over two grand. The following day I negotiated with the keeper of my things and got my storage rental fee lowered $20 per month. And there you have it, the longest run of good luck I've ever had, or ever will.

Yesterday my car was totalled with me in it. Fear not, I am alright, the usual strains and soreness associated with a pretty major car wreck. My poor little Saturn, on the other hand, is smashed to pieces. Oddly enough, one of my good friends was involved in a separate wreck mere hours after mine, and she too, walked away nearly unscathed. So maybe my luck is still hanging on.

I had been invited to a party Saturday night, but didn't go because I had a bad feeling about something, I thought perhaps it was the party. So I didn't go. Instead the Scumbag and I went out for a few drinks. I don't suppose that I can really call him the Scumbag anymore. For those of you who are not familiar, I feel that a proper introduction is necessary. Blog Readers, The D Team, aka the Scumbag, aka, the Phantom, aka, my Drinking Buddy. I've known The D Team since high school, and happened to run into him again last year. We began hanging out and drinking quite heavily together and having a great time. Until the one night we drank too much and messed around. Somewhere along the line we decided we were dating...I don't know what the hell we were thinking. Surprisingly enought THAT didn't work out and after a brief period of not speaking, we became drinking buddies again. Then friends with benefits, and now we live in sin. On the way to the bar we narrowly missed being creamed by some idiot running a red light. Then, Sunday morning's accident. Maybe I should have gone to the party.

WOOOOOO!!! Second round of meds kickin in!

Tonight I have the pleasure of keeping the company of a couple of fucking morons here at the Capeway. The Guy with the Shit in His Face was here last night and lucky me, he's here again. What is it with people that they can't take a hint or get a clue that no one really wants to be bothered by them? And what's with the stupid questions? I don't give a shit what your teachers told you, there IS such thing as a stupid fucking question, and said stupid fucking question deserves a stupid fucking answer, so don't look all sad and dejected when you receive an idiotic answer to your idiotic question.

I'm a bit sorry that I missed all the excitement up north this weekend...Someday I'll be able to play...so here are kisses for all your faces! (Dirty Dogg...Pocket Man...Monkey...Nerds...HHiC...)

This is Dedicated to the Ones I Love...

To Anne the Mooch:
The I first time I saw you walk into the VFW I knew you would be a pain in the ass. I let you stay because I thought you were with the usual afternoon crew...after all, they sometimes bring around a new face. The next time you came in, ordered a $1.50 draft beer, paid with a $20 and left no tip, you officially became a pain in the ass. Of course I noticed that you hung around for people to buy you shots and food, but about the time you got drunk with a full belly and wanted to fight the people who a) didn't know you, and b) were just very nice to you, I had to kick you out. You probably would have been able to come back the next day if it weren't for the "Fuckin' bitch" you tossed my way. Now you're barred for life. We all know that you're not the sharpest spoon in the drawer, but when you're barred from someplace, it means you can never come back. Your subsequent return to the bar on Saturday forced me to remind you of your status. I may lack compassion, but the fact that you were "almost raped" by a guy who you agreed to take money from in exchange for sex (they call that not turning a trick or something) won't get you back into the bar.

To Scotty the Little Crackhead, his Hooker Sister, and her Toothless Wonder friends:
Get the fuck out means get the fuck out. I'm not entirely sure how any of you survived childhood, and it puzzles me even more how you're getting by in adulthood. Like I told Anne the Mooch, you are officially barred from the VFW. Add it to the ever-growing list of seedy alcohol establishments that won't let even you in. And by the way, don't feel bad about spilling the beer and breaking the glass, feel bad about being alive.

To Mr. I-Have-a-Website-so-I'm-a-Big-Shot:
I tried very hard to be nice to you, but you are a grown-ass man, and this is a VFW, and you are not a vet, so I will never kiss your ass or wipe your fucking nose. Even without those factors I still wouldn't do any of the above. I will not always have a fucking smile on my face because you think I should. I will not let you talk to me in a condescending manner because for whatever reason you feel superior to "mere bartenders". I will not get you your drink before those waiting before you because when you walk into my bar, you walk into my world, and contrary to your delusional world, you really are not special. You're just another asshole. As a matter of fact, you owe me an apology for your extremely rude behavior here the other night, and you will not drink here anymore without it.

To Bernie:
I heard about your little "oops-I-ran-a-red-light-in-front-of-a-cop" incident the other day. This is just a forewarning that as soon as the "Excuse Me"'s start, the Jack Daniels stops. No more getting fucked up here. How 'bout getting a job. Speaking of which...

To Eric:
You are a loser and you also need to get a job. Don't think I don't know that you have been telling people that we have slept together. First, let me vomit. Now, let me tell you that if you were the last man on earth, I would probably kill you with my bare hands. You're obnoxious and an idiot. Well, at least I don't have to worry about you being the last man on earth, you aren't smart enough to survive that long.

To Jinny or Jeneane, or whatever the fuck your name is:
I do not regret to inform you that you will not be hired to bar tend at the VFW. Why you ask? You had obviously been drinking when you filled out the application, but that in itself wasn't the deciding factor. Nor was the fact that you couldn't come up with anyone who would give you a decent reference. It was the attempt to leave the bar with a glass of beer. What made it even worse, was that it wasn't even your beer.

To Charlie, and the Heineken Nigger,
Yes, you will always have to wait for your drinks. Each time you want a drink you will have to tell me what it is. You both have the power to change this by leaving a tip every once in a while. I am not here because I like you and I want to hang out with you. (That last line goes for the whole lot of ya!) Oh, and Heineken Nigger, waving your empty green bottle in the air like a princess on a gay pride float won't make beer magically appear. I've heard you talk to other people. Speak up bitch.

To Homeless Joe:
I don't want some cheap ass jewelry you found on the street, I don't want the neighbor's bug filled flowers, I don't want a crack pipe you stole from the crack pipe kiosk you found in your travels. I want you to leave a tip, take a fucking bath, comb your hair and beard, and quit clogging up the fucking toilet. Go take a shit somewhere else for a change. And I don't want a swig out of your personal stash. Thanks, but I'm pretty sure you have at least 1 communicable disease. I'm all set.

To Val:
I swear to the God that you don't believe in, if you ask another series of dumb ass questions just to hear yourself talk I will personally take that very bad hairpiece off your head and shove it so far down your throat that your doctor will think you've miraculously grown a nasty patch of hair in your large intestine.

To Gerard:
I don't care how much money you allegedly have. I never see any of it, nor do I give a shit about it. I am not going to change the way I pour drinks and open beer for you because you're nobody. You don't sign my paycheck and therefore you don't matter to me. If you want to buy a round of drinks you will have to pay first. That's how I do it in my bar, and that's just how it will be done. If you don't agree with this, don't buy any more rounds, or better yet, go to a different fucking bar and bother someone else. Also, your drink gets 1 shot. Not a shot and a half or 2 shots, 1 fucking shot. Anything more than that will have to be paid for. End of story.

To The Fat Guy with the Long Hair:
Before you get offended and huffy and want to pout like a homo, I'm going to tell you what I've already told you. It doesn't actually matter what people say, there IS such thing as a stupid question, and stupid questions deserve stupid answers. I'm a bartender, I pour drinks. So when you see me pouring liquid into a glass and you ask me if I'm pouring a drink, you will get some kind of snide answer. Dumb ass.

To Asshole Joe:
I know you wonder why I don't like you, it might have something to do with the racist remarks you're always making. My name is not Connie Chung, Hazel Mae, Lucy Liu, Charlie, dim sum, or fortune cookie. You have 1 more chance to get it right before I really literally jump over the bar and cut off half your testicles. And just for the record, I don't play table tennis. Jackass.

To The Other Asshole Joe:
I don't want to talk to you, ever. I will be polite and cordial, but I will always hum when you talk to me because you, too, are a dick. You make me kick you out of the fucking bar all the time because you are a typical nigger who thinks that everyone is out to get you. Your sense of entitlement is astounding. People like you need to realize that the world has never, and will never revolve around you. You are not important in anyone else's life except your own. You are a sad and sorry little man.

To The Keno Lady:
If you didn't waste so much money losing at Keno, I bet you'd be able to buy yourself a new pair of glasses. Throw those poor things out already and put them out of their misery. For Christ's sake, they barely perch on the tip of your nose and they're all crooked and cracked and shit. Besides, a new pair might help you see the numbers better, you'd be able to fill out your card correctly, and maybe you'd actually win once in a while.

When I Rule the World...

Only people with turrets will be allowed to be newscasters, sports announcers, and TV personalities.
All midgets will have to dress like the original Oompa Loompahs...with mullets.
Male enhancement products will actually work.
Anyone over the age of 60 will have to take a driving test every year to renew their license.
If you are over the age of 75...no more driving for you!
Speed limits will only be guidelines.
Hover rounds will have a weight limit. Walk, don't sit.
People defined as minorities in the state of Massachusetts will actually have to work a real job.
There will be no such thing as Section 8, Welfare, WIC, or handouts of any kind.
Being rude to your waitress or bartender and/or not leaving a tip will be punishable by death.
At least half of all movies will have an unhappy ending.
Prisoners will no longer be allowed 3 hots a day, free education, cable TV, parole, etc. They will work...a lot.
Anyone caught harming a child will be put to death immediately.
Obese persons will no longer be able to staple their stomachs...they will be put on a strict regiment of diet and exercise.
Rigorous testing will be undergone by anyone claiming to be bipolar, or claiming to suffer from PMDD.
Wealth will be distributed evenly among the population...but only if the IQ and common sense criteria are met.
If you are deemed an asshole, prick, threat to humanity, cunt, whore, dick, prick, bitch, or moron you will be sent to the moon.
Pharmaceutical companies will be forced to share the cure for diseases.
Couples who want to get married will have to go to counseling and therapy for 1 year prior to tying the knot.
Couples who want to have children will have to meet minimum IQ standards, genetic testing, and common sense testing prior to procreating.
Twinkies and Hostess Cupcakes will have twice as much cream filling.
Peppermintstick ice cream will be available in the grocery store...for $1.00
Credit card companies will pay YOU to have a charge account.
When you call said credit companies, you will speak to a representative who speaks English.
In English speaking countries, English will be spoken and written by everyone...ALL the time. If you want to speak a different language you will be required to live in that country.
If you press 2 for Espanol, as soon as it is put to the ear it will explode and cave your skull in.
Teachers, fire fighters, police officers, and ALL under appreciated professions will be paid more than CEOs, bankers, and politicians.
McDonald's will go back to making their fries with trans fat oils so they'll taste better.
Cell phones will work everywhere, except the car, at a register, in a restaurant, or in the movie theater.
I will have season tickets, on the glass, to the Bruins...and they will win the Stanley Cup.
Beer Pong and Stump will replace Badminton and Table Tennis in the Olympics.
The Harlem Globetrotters will lose to the Washington Generals.
The 40 Party will be declared a National Holiday.
Oreo Cookie pudding shots will be available in shake form at all drive thru's.
Marijuana will be legal.
Every Christmas will be a white Christmas.
I will take a nap every afternoon.
No one will scold me for slurping my spaghetti.
Hubba Bubba will make it's original recipe kick ass gum again.
I will go to bed before 3am.

One Step Closer to Being What I Don't Know What I Want to Be When I Grow Up

One of my favorite sayings to people who appear to be in mild distress is..."I know CPR and First Aid, I can help...but only on Wednesday!". Sadly, today, I must retire this saying. As of this afternoon I am a certified EMT-B and due to ethics and whatnot, I now know CPR, First Aid, and a few other things every day. So, now I can maintain your lives as I transport you to our friends Mosey Monkey and My Longtime Friend who can save your lives. (Just in case I'm not around, Ireland's Oldest Ale Drinking America's Finest Beer has also been recently licensed as an EMT-B).

After the exam I spoke with a nice lady while my license was printing. We ended up in a discussion about education, the school systems, and what I wanted to be when I grew up. I suppose that since she knew that I was there to take the EMT exam, that I would somehow or another be wanting to be an EMT. Not an entirely accurate assumption, but not entirely untrue either. I suppose that this is just one more trade that I can be a Jack of but not a Master...

Any way around it all, the answer to the question remains the same. No, I do not know what I want to be when I grow up, hell, I don't think I even want to grow up...I'm kinda having fun now, and although I bitch and moan some days about being a bartender and not having a "real" job, it ain't hard and it ain't a bad gig, most of the time. So until the epiphany comes and the light goes off in my head as to my calling in life and my purpose here...I'm not gonna sit in the waiting room listening to Kenny G, I'm gonna be out wreaking as much havoc as I possibly can.

Inexplicable Obsessions

I am finding more and more that there are certain things to which I am inexplicably drawn. I go through phases of discovery that sometimes become part of my daily habits (some good, some bad), and sometimes entertain me for only a short time.

Just last week I rediscovered tea. I've never really liked tea, but always feel like I should. Tea reminds me a lot of pumpkin pie. I really just don't like anything about pumpkin pie, texture, flavor, crust, the fact that a vegetable is mushed into a pie. The only good thing about pumpkin pie is the Cool Whip that goes on top. Tea on the other hand is supposedly pretty healthy for me, and I am a big fan of unsweetened iced tea, with extra lemon. Hot tea, eh, I can take it or leave it, flavored or plain, herbal or regular. Every now and again, I buy a box of tea bags, and usually end up throwing away the unopened box 6 months later.

My recent rediscovery of tea led me to a few new things. It's really amazing, tea has been around pretty much forever, yet there is a constant blending and re-blending of flavors and herbs and whatever else goes into tea. I decided to try some new herbal teas because, well, they sounded pretty healthy. One is a detox tea that tastes a little bit like day-old-hammered-dogshit, but because it's supposed to detoxify, I will probably drink it anyway...oh, and it cost $4.00 a box. In the same family is another tea I decided to try that is a fasting tea that tastes a little bit like 2-day-old-hammered-dogshit but I will drink that also because it too costs $4.00 a box. Just as I was beginning to think that perhaps I should just stick with the hard reality that I probably just don't like tea, I discovered that I like plain old black regular tea, but only if it comes in a pyramid shaped bag. Yes, the tea is the same, but it tastes so much better when it is steeped in a neat shaped bag.

Inexplicably, this particular pyramid shaped tea bag has made me want a teeny tiny tea set. I don't want a big tea pot, and those are to be found everywhere, I want a little teapot, like in the song. These types of tea pots are not as easy to come by. Thus far in the last week I have been to Target, Kohl's, Linen & Things, Bed, Bath, Beyond, and Kmart looking for this teeny tiny teapot. It is a sense of unrest, almost a haunting, and it is definitely becoming a very small obsession to capture the elusive teeny tiny teapot.

Boar's Head Unsmoked Provolone Cheese...enough said.

Garbage Drinking. I have noticed that over the past few weeks my drinking habits have changed and not for the better. A few days ago PDogg and I went out in early celebration of her birthday, and because we hadn't hung out in a long time. We began the evening with dinner and a bottle of wine. After dinner we had a Mexican beer, an American beer, and a European beer. The beers were followed by Vodka drinks. Here is where I should have stopped, or at least just stuck with the vodka drinks, but I was inexplicably drawn to an extra dirty martini. I have never had one of these in my life and yet, I had to have one that night. The extra dirty martini was followed by water drinks and a dirt nap.

Last night the D-Team and I went out for the first time in weeks. (I call him The D-Team because he drives a van like The A-Team did, only his van is not nearly as cool as the A-Team's van, it's more of a molester-style van, but he's not a molester and he's a pretty cool guy so that if he had a black van instead of a white van he would probably be cool enough to be on the A-Team, but he doesn't so he remains on the D list. And his name starts with D. The D-Team is my usual drinking partner, but due to kid duties, he has been unable to go out). Usually he is a Bud Light & Rumplemintz guy, and I am a Miller Lite & Crown Royal girl (although he's gotten me hooked on the 100proof peppermint)...on occasion we'll mix it up and he'll drink 7&7 and I'll do a vodka drink. Last night it was Miller Lite, Crown Royal, Rumplemintz, Bud Light, Rumplemintz, Miller Lite, Jagerbomb, Vodka drink, 7&7 etc. etc. followed by water drinks. I can't seem to stick to just one or two forms of alcohol though I know that I should because, although it hasn't happened yet, this garbage drinking shit makes me want to vacate my stomach every time.

Every Wednesday this summer I have had an inexplicable craving for lobster, not lobster saute, not lobster salad, not baked stuffed lobster, but regular old boiled lobster. I don't want lobster any other day of the week, just Wednesday...and I don't want to have to cook it either.

I've been wearing flip flops for the past at least 2 years and anymore the very thought of putting on a pair of shoes makes my feet cringe. Other than my sneakers I can count on one hand the number of times I've put closed shoes on my feet in the last 2 years. Last Christmas my mother bought me a pair of slippers from Lands End or LL Bean or some place that became my fur-lined-winter-flip flops. Other than those I only wear Reefs. I know that eventually I will have to ween myself back into wearing shoes, but I just can't bring myself to do it yet.

One Last Thing...

From now on, enjoy free pizza at the VFW Fort Phoenix Post in Fairhaven every Thursday starting at 13:00 (or 1:00pm for all the non-military-time-tellers). Beer and Pizza...the only thing better might be Pussy and Ice Cream.

Pussy or Ice Cream...Some Have Both

Driving into the Poi the other day I came across a sight that I've never seen before, and hopefully, will never witness again. A blue ice cream truck was headed in the opposite direction of which I was traveling and I could plainly see the driver, well, part of him. Sitting facing him was some dirty broad (probably itchy dirty, and definitely freaky dirty) with her leg cocked over the steering wheel. By power of deduction, and because I could only see the top half of the driver's head, I have to assume that this man had his ice cream and ate it too.

I have to admit that I felt a pang of jealousy. Here I was, driving my reverseless car, alone, while some bitch was having her pussy eaten in an ice cream truck while enjoying a Strawberry Shortcake Bar cruising down Rte 6. (Okay, so I can neither confirm nor deny that she was actually eating ice cream while being eaten, but if that were me in that truck, I sure as hell would have been being nourished and delighted.

Random Thought #1

"Do you mind if I hum while you talk to me?"

I borrowed this great question from T.W.O. and have used it at at least two of the beer drinking environments in which I find myself on nearly a daily basis. To most, this is not a difficult question, it is pretty straight forward and to the point, yet it never ceases to amaze me how idiotic some people really are. (It's probably through no fault of their own, perhaps their mother is their father's 1st cousin, whose families have intermarried for generations). At first it annoyed me a bit that these people didn't get it, but then I realized that if I asked the question in the first place it obviously meant that I didn't give a shit about what they were saying to begin with and thus placed them in the not-so-bright-please-don't-waste-my-time-pretending-I-want-to-talk-to-you-and-am-interested-in-your-dull-monotonous-life-but-have-to-be-kind-of-nice-to-you-because-I'm-working-and-I-want-your-tip box.

Darkness Lurks in Even the Brightest Heart

Somewhere deep in the annals of our minds we hold secrets not only for ourselves, but for the others we encounter. These are secret hopes and dreams for those we call our friends and acquaintances, and for the most part, they are all rainbows and butterflies. On occasion, however, these secrets find their way out of the darkest parts of the human heart, which can at times, be the scariest place ever to exist.

Sometimes it is the lack of understanding of my fellow human beings that unleashes the darkness, but on this particular occasion it was multiple shots of Jack. What a fucking surprise. (Every encounter that Jack and I have always leads to no good and down paths better left untraveled. That being said, I know better than to drink JD at all, he falls in the same box as Jose, yet over the last week Jack has lured me into his confidences and I've let myself be led astray.) I cannot pinpoint whether it was the 4th or 5th shot that put me over the edge, but somewhere at the 4th and a half shot I found myself angry. No, that's not quite right, I was mad, just plain mad, madder than I'd been in a long time, and I have no idea why. Usually one gets mad at someone or something, or some situation, but not this girl...I evidently just get mad for no particular reason. (Alright, well that's not entirely true, but I really couldn't think of a good reason to be as mad as I was.) Over the next few hours, while I should have been in bed, Jack and I continued our journey into the darkness.

It was during this journey that my anger and madness turned into fury and rage. It was as if the gates of hell had opened up and Satan's minions had been unleashed in my heart. Every disappointment I'd ever experienced, every slight I'd been on the receiving end of, every (bad) relationship now past, every ended friendship, every person who turned out not to be the person I thought they'd be, every lie I've ever been told, every lie I've ever told, every job I have, every drunk I deal with, the basic depravity of people in general, every dream that died along the way, every life I've taken, every life taken from me, and every doubt about myself all came to the surface. Jack and I struggled with these things for hours until sadly, even he had to go.

It would be a gross misconception to say that I actually took anything from this experience. I could say that Jack and I will never have another rendezvous, I could say that I worked through all these things and vanquished all the demons...but that would be all lies. I did, however, come to one or two realizations. First, it has been reconfirmed that I have a close reign on on my rage, and it will almost certainly never get the best of me, thus the rest of the world will almost certainly never be exposed to it. Second, Jack is really not my friend. Sure, we have a great time together...we are both all about wreaking havoc everywhere...but he's one of those friends who brings out the worst in me and should be reduced in status to that of a mere acquaintance.

I used to believe that making the best of every situation built character, then I decided I have enough fucking character and that these situations don't actually build your character, they reveal it. Character isn't just about the ability to see the bright side of things, but to acknowledge, accept, and embrace the darkness within. I used to believe that every person is different and should be judged on his own accord, by his own words and actions, then I realized the patterns of behavior and the diarrhea of the mouth that showed me that most people are the same and there are only a select few who are individuals. The latter of the two groups of people are really the only ones who deserve any kind of time and consideration from my life, and they are more rare than I ever imagined. I used to believe that the darkest place in my heart was small and buried deep, then I discovered that while it lurks just beneath the surface, ready to devour the rainbows and butterflies, it thankfully only rears its powerful head but now and again.

Self Indulgence

Today I awoke much too early which sucks for me because this just happens to be my first day off after a marathon weekend. My adventures began in my favorite bar on Mass Ave. (which also happens to be the only bar on Mass Ave I've been in but even so, my favorite). Knowing better than to mix Stoli and Jack in my belly, I began the evening with an excellent Stoli Blackberry drink and a stiff shot of Jack Daniels (thank you Towel Chicken!) Hmm...I'd love to tell you all about the evening, but some of it's a blur, some of it I don't recall, and some of it I'm still working on...What I do recollect from the evening is a short jeep ride with The Wize One (TWO) which I think ended with me nearly going through the windshield...smoking cigars with the HHiC, Monkey, and TWO. What I don't recollect from the evening was revealed to me on Friday. The bruises on my arm...all in good fun of course...the scratch on my leg...who the hell knows where the hell that came from?...and something about taking Dirty Nerds to bed...(I love you Dirty Nerds and if I were a guy I'd seriously consider abducting you from the HHiC and having my way with you, but I'm not so I won't but I still think you're hot!)

Around 2 in the afternoon I thought about heading back towards the Poi, but I was being eaten by the couch, the HHiC bribed me with samiches, and Dirty Nerds wanted to see a movie. What's a girl supposed to do? So I indulged. I stayed, had a samich, went to see a wicked chick flick (Sex and the City and as much as I hate to admit it...it was really good...it actually showed a penis. It was only for a brief moment, but finally, the men are baring it all!), and ended up back at my favorite spot on Mass Ave til the wee hours of the morning and finally made it home...

Just in case you wanted to know, I managed to quit/get fired from one of my jobs on Friday. If you could see my face, you'd see that I'm all broken up over it, I don't know what I'm going to do on Friday nights midnight to 06 now that I'm not waiting tables at a breakfast place for $6.00/hr!!! Okay, that's a lie, I'll probably be indulging in vodka drinks and JD til the wee hours of the morning...

Glutton for Punishment

I have come to the realization that I am the most overachieving underachiever I know. It isn't that I know many others, though I'm sure they exist, it's just that somehow most everyone I know has a "real" job and/or a purpose in life while I skate by as a 30something year old college "kid" with 5 current part-time jobs. Don't get me wrong, though there are downfalls to living this kind of lifestyle, it also has its perks and benefits. All those excuses that you college grads used up in your late teens and early twenties are now working quite well for me in my late twenties and early thirties.

Adult (usually my mother): "You drink too much"
Thirty something college kid: (self-explanatory)
Adult: "You stay out too late"
Thirty something college kid: (self-explanatory)
Adult: "You need a real job"
Thirty something college kid: (self-explanatory)

Does this sound like someone making excuses or someone achieving a goal of a degree while making the most of life? I tend to favor the latter...

Anyway, back to the point I think I was trying to make. I am a bartender at 2 VFW's, 1 Capeway Sports Lounge, 1 Blue Lantern Cafe, and a waitress at 1 Scrambler's, I have all these jobs and am still standing still. I have a bit more freedom and a lot less time, but fear not, there is always time to wreak havoc everywhere.

Take, for instance, my planned trip up to the city tomorrow. I figure that since Dirty Nerds, the HHiC, and Monkey Did are forever making weekend trips down to the Poi, it is only right that some (or one) of us make the trip to Beantown every now and again. I've been promised wine by the river, Schlitz on the City Hall lawn, and a guided tour of the Red Line among other things. The question is not whether I am ready for the city, but is the city ready for me?

Lowered Expectations

For those of you who have already become fascinated with my writings, and therefore my wondrous life, and expect this posting to be insightful and inspirational, stop reading right now and go masturbate...you will find that more satisfying than the words to follow. I am currently sitting here, at the fabulous VFW staring at the walls and 3 people. I'm rapidly becoming convinced that the walls have more to offer than these sorry excuses for drinkers. Links (I call him this for 2 reasons: 1) his shirt says Links and 2) he may be the missing link between our cavemen brethren and our highly evolved selves) is busy at his usual activity of scratching lottery tickets and making a mess of my bar. His friend the other fishermen (who doesn't even deserve the thought and effort it takes to come up with a nickname) has been rambling for the last 20 minutes and boasting about how many times he's been in jail. If you're curious as to how many times, let's just say that in my 30 something years on this earth, I have shed less skin cells than days he's spent in jail. I think he has just become my new hero. Bernie, my Jack Daniels/Coors Light connoisseur, is a bit down on his luck just this minute and successfully attempting to drown his sorrows and, bless his heart, mine as well...

This is day 2 that I have unsuccessfully tried to quit smoking. I have succeeded in cutting back quite a bit...as of this afternoon I have officially quit smoking for 36 hours and only had 3 (about to be 4) cigarettes. Perhaps if I start dippin again I'll be doing okay. I am even more cranky than usual and these poor fuckers at the bar are a)bearing the brunt of my unhappiness and b) just plain dumber than Sage's shit stuck to the bottom of my flip flop (sorry Sage, didn't mean to insult your fecal matter!) although, shit on the bottom of your shoe is easier to get rid of than these losers.

I may sound a bit bitter, and I think that I have a bit of a right to be. Those of you who are in the service industry will be able to relate to what I am about to say. I don't hate these people, but I have been at this bar for 5 hours and have made $3.00 in tips. This, in my small world, justifies my lack of enthusiasm and kindness to the patrons of the VFW.

Assuming that my idiot boss will never read this, it is now 15:42 and I'm 4 shots into the day...shall I see how fucked up I can get on duty? The Jailbird and Link just left...can you guess how much I just made off of them? $0.50. Oh yeah, I think I'll have to start pimping my friends on the corner, maybe I'll start with you, Monkey...I could get a fortune for your sweet ass!

Sadly for you, and heartbreaking for me, the VFW nazi-spy has just infiltrated the ranks so I must sign off for now...until the next time remember...pilliage first...then burn!!!

Deepthroat, Threesomes, and an Obnoxious Fire Crotch

For those of you who don't know, one of my many jobs is bartending at a little hole in the wall just beyond the boundaries of the Poi. It is only a Sunday night gig, but one of the more enjoyable days that I spend making money to spend. Tonight Dirty Nerds, the HHiC, their friend the Towel Chicken (sorry D, the name's only temporary until I get to know you a little better), Ireland's Oldest Ale Drinking America's Finest Beer (my roommate who temporarily bangs fat chicks and makes them do the walk of shame at 3 in the afternoon, but he really and truly is a great guy), and a group of native Mattapoisettians made up the bulk of my crowd, so, as you see Sundays are always good days. That is, until the obnoxious fire crotch and her drunken blond bimbo friend decided to grace us with their presence. For some reason, anyone born between 1984 and 1986 seems to think that the entire universe revolves around them. But I am getting a bit ahead of myself, I digress.

The evening began to get interesting when a couple of regulars stopped by. That in itself is not interesting, nor is it exciting, but it should be known that I hate this twat and think she's a cunt. Yes, I said it and I will shout it from the roof of my one story house. She is absolutely the epitome of a douche nozzle. So the Cunt decides that she is cold, but instead of asking even semi nicely to make her environment a little more comfortable for her, she decides to be a bitch. So me, being the sweetest motherfucker alive, offered to turn off the air. This was her reply. "Uh, yeah, and you can get me a Bud Light while you're at it". Once again, may I remind you that I am the sweetest motherfucker alive, so I retrieved her beer and cranked the air as cold as I could make it. Eat my shit and die Cunt.

Enter the good crowd...

Since I inadvertently omitted many of Saturday's events as I may or may not have had too much to drink, and I may or may not have remembered many things which I can neither confirm nor deny at this time (just a little side bar...if you can't remember that it happened, it never happened), Dirty Nerds and the HHiC helped fill in the blanks. This conversation somehow led to the discovery of certain threesome pictures which, if I go into any detail here I will most definitely need years of therapy to get over. Let's just say that it involved people whom I have no business thinking about naked, let alone involved in a threesome caught on film, and more or less what some would consider deepthroating, yet could also be considered face fucking. I think I just threw up a little in the back of my mouth.

Back to the obnoxious fire crotch.

So these bitches saddle in, and begin to wreak havoc among the normal folk and make complete asses of themselves. OFC begins to fondle and molest PDogg (one of the natives) in trying to get a better view of her tattoos. OFC also rubbed her itty bitty titty nubs on the arm of Ireland's Oldest Ale Drinking America's Finest Beer (who, just for the record claims her tits were really nice and would have banged the shit out of her had she not been so drunk and a wee bit older). These two inserted themselves in a crowd who not only did not want them there, but did not want them there. Every comment, every laugh, and every conversation led the OFC to believe that it was all about her. I despise 22 year olds.

So this is what it's all about

Within the past year I have been blessed with the opportunity to add a few new people to my repetoire of friends. As we all know, this is a rare and wonderful thing that doesn't come around all that often. One of these fine indivduals just happens to be an eloquent writer (who may still someday write a book) who is also an avid blogger. He has inspired me to attempt my own, and hopefully successful, narrative of the events of my time spent among the living, and the sometimes fucked up thoughts that role through my ever wandering mind. We will have some laughs, and ever so often a cry, and once in a while we may even kick somebody's ass, so sit back, relax, and enjoy the journey...

This happens to be the winding down of the most festive weekend of July, and although sad to see it all end, there is a part of me (especially my liver) that is relieved. The conclusion of the weekend also happens to coincide with the conclusion of a relationship. Well, I guess that calling a relationship would be a slight overexaggeration, as it only lasted for the blink of an eye and ended up being a "relation-shit". Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed most of the brief time we spent together, but what is it about these boys in and around their thirties that makes them so non-confrontational? I am a lover not a fighter, but I am also the tiniest bit of a realist. No offense to you guys out there, but for Christ's sake, grow a pair of balls, grab them, and be honest with people for just two fucking minutes. It's really not that difficult and it will end up making you feel just a bit better about yourselves. Oh, and it moves you out of the Dickhead Box and back into the Human Box. Alright, I am officially over it and him.

The last two days in the Poi are a drunken blur...beer, pudding shots...beer...whiskey...beer...strawberrybombs...beer..."you're a coward and a dickhead"...whiskey...beer..."whose phone number is this???"...beer...Big League Chew...whiskey..."just scrape the top off the fucking cake and eat it!!"...beer...

Any questions?

So now we rest on "The Lord's Day", and swear off drinking and smoking for at least another 24hour period. Sundays are like New Years. Each Sunday I make resolutions for the week. Last week it was to make Pudding Shots, a birthday present, a birthday cake...success...this week it is no smoking, no drinking, and lots of time at the gym...the resolutions grow bigger as the shit grows deeper.