How is this the first time I realized both the irony and hilarity of what’s going on in my refrigerator?
That is absolutely Trader Joe’s apple-smoked bacon sitting besides tofu hot dogs.
I don’t know why. Don’t ask me.
Manager was educating me on hair styling products.
She was explaining that it was concentrated so you only needed a nipple sized amount (while also gesturing the size with her pointer and thumb the way one would tune a radio).
I repeated curiously “A nipple sized”?
She responded exasperated “Nickel sized”.
Not embarrassed at all.
Of all of the current ridiculous nonsensical bullshit business models that our society has sheepishly decided to follow, the interview process has got to be one of, if not the most fuck backwards processes I have experienced in my lifetime.
So basically here’s how it goes once you finally make it to the top of the pile:
You send a completely fabricated and shiny view of yourself in written form after scouring the dashboard thesaurus to find words and terms that you would never ever use in real life to sound smarter than you actually are.
Because it is somehow more acceptable to say “My objective is to succeed in an environment of growth and excellence and earn a job which provides me job satisfaction and self development and help me achieve personal as well as organizational goals,” instead of the truth, which is I need cold hard cash to pay for my addiction to Netflix and the 12 bottles of wine I drink every week.
And hey, if you actually buy that load of crap and make it to the next level where you get to speak to me on the phone, I’m gonna make sure the dog is thrown in the backyard so he doesn’t bark and my kid is locked in an upstairs closet with
an Ipad tuned to Spongebob while I gesture to anyone who happens into the room to ‘Shut the fuck up,’ I’m pretending I live alone in a cave during this 45 minute time frame.
Cool, I get to meet you in person where I will be wearing stockings that I purchased last night at the drugstore because in reality I don’t own any and you will never ever see me wear a skirt and a pressed shirt after this day because no one intentionally dresses like that because it is uncomfortable and stupid. And I hope you like my hair brushed and this make-up application because chances are once I start working, there will definitely be days I don’t brush my teeth and/or change my underwear even while on my period.
Enjoy how friendly and happy I appear to be during this one hour of my life during our time together. You’re gonna see less and less of it until the real me forces its way to the surface and I begin sighing, rolling my eyes and throwing around my sarcasm and negative attitude all over this damn place until everyone is terrified to even make eye contact with me in fear of being verbally or physically crushed beyond recognition.
Let’s just be real.
Meet me for a coffee or even better, a drink and talk to me. Like a real fucking person in a comfortable atmosphere – have a conversation with me.
And if you ask me what my weaknesses are or ask me to give you an example of a time at my last job where I helped the company reach or surpass an expected goal or project, I’ll punch you in the throat.
This is what a perfect friend is:
Someone who doesn’t judge you when you do stupid shit. every. single. day.
They applaud your accomplishments no matter how small like washing a dish in a sink of a thousand dishes.
They listen to all your most boring, inane, senseless, dim, dumb, senseless thoughts and stories and remembers them even when they’re not obligated to because they’re not sleeping with you or trying to.
They know when to leave you alone even when they’re pretty sure you’re close to murdering yourself in the most horrible way.
They bring you Mud coffee and leave it on your doorstep believing you really really need it even though you’re not home and they were too lazy to listen to the entire conversation because if they listened to every word you ever said they would surely rip their ears off and feed them to small children and knowing it better be damn good coffee or you’ll punch them in the throat.
They make home-made popcorn to bring to the movies and give you your own bag.
They call you out when no one else will because your other friends don’t want to hurt your feelings or don’t care enough; the whole while being terrified that you’ll become the psychotic sensitive alter bitch who will possibly castrate you but they don’t really care ’cause they’re not getting any anyway.
They are highly intelligent but never ever need to remind you or anyone else of that because they’re not ‘that’ asshole.
Someone who makes you home-made pasta sauce for your birthday and gives it to you in one of those beautiful glass jars you love so much.
You can say anything no matter how awful, ignorant or mean because they know who you really are and they don’t think you’re racist because you don’t like rap music or black comedians.
They can eat Dirty Bird fried chicken, Taco Bell chalupas and drink way too much but will also attempt to find inner peace with meditation, yoga and do 10 day juice fasts because they know that there has to be a balance and you can’t possibly live a happy life without Taco Bell.
My perfect friend is 44 today and I miss him…(he’s not dead, he just moved – same thing)
Can he get some happy fucking birthday wishes here in the comments because it would make him smile and that would make me smile which is what really matters because in the end, it’s all about me.
Happy Birthday MJ.
Here’s the rant, Trent.
Ok, so it’s not as much a ‘rant’ as it is just some mediocre random thoughts but rant makes a much more alluring submission.
Get yourself a glass of the mind-altering substance of your choice and enjoy. or not.
Than almost everyone in my weird little circle. It’s actually more like some sort of a retarded hexagon than a circle.
Oooh it’s hard to write well with ‘Summer Lovin” playing on Pandora but I’m gonna push through it so I can get this out.
I used to be hot. White trash, long red fake fingernails, bleached long blonde hair to my ass, cheap shortest skirts ever made and even cheaper stilletos with the NYC skyline on them, hot.
It’s all I thought I was and for most of my young life was more than fine with that. What I failed to realize was the quality of the men I was attracting. Quantity seemed so much more important. Truth is, the swarms of ‘men’ buzzing around my sweet little box were shallow, ignorant, boring, uneducated donkeys. I was wrongly flattered.
I met a sexy, smart, fearless Jew who wasn’t (only) interested in my tight ass and lovely perky breasts. He liked me. He babied me up and he married me. Down on one fucking romantic knee married me. Our kid is so god damn lovely and perfect, she keeps us off building ledges most days.
I cut my Jolene bleached hair and haven’t polished my finger nails in 12 dog years and although you may have to squint to see it, I like myself more than I ever have. OF COURSE I miss my size seven jeans and slender-regular sized tampons but I don’t miss my lack of self-esteem leading to way too many undeserved blow jobs. You’re welcome Class of ’81.
Being older can be so awesome if you can overcome the not so perky tits and get comfortable with guys not falling over themselves to get a piece of your beautiful little vagina.
I have found that one of the most important and attractive qualities in a person is their intellect and sense of humor (conceit noted).
When you are in your 20’s, you don’t have much of a clue who you are. For the longest time I thought I was an eggplant and not even a ripe one.
It’s much more challenging to be self-deprecating and funny when you’re younger. What are you going to say “Don’t you hate when your ass is so perfect and you’re skin is like porcelain? Doesn’t it suck that I have zero responsibilities and no gray hair?”
Back fat. Back fat is hilarious. Cellulite even more so. Bad eyesight, hard of hearing – funny.
Best feeling in the world…people coming to you for your infinite wisdom ’cause chances are you’ve been there and they know it. I’ve lost so much judgement for most people (I still hold judgment for people who say Valentime’s Day). Yes I just spelled judgment 2 different ways because I’m tired of looking it up and I’m pretty sure they’re both correct. Unless you hit your kids or drink boxed wine, you are always invited to share my booth. And the hitting your kids thing is situation dependent. The boxed wine, however, is not.
Honestly, who would you rather spend an hour with? Meryl Streep or Mila Kunis? John Goodman or Robert Pattinson?
This. should be interesting.
I go to the Best Picture Showcase every year. All the oscar nominated films in one day with my nephew. It’s seriously more fun than a pig roast(my second favorite thing on earth). I’m not sure what it says about me that I had a fantastic time watching a dead pig with a gunshot wound in the face get roasted and carved in front of my disgusting dead pig eating-face but I did just the same.
I feel shame complaining how much my knees hurt after watching 10 hours of movies after just finishing watching ’12 Years A Slave’. Seriously, that guy was a fucking slave for 12 years(spoiler).
I stood in the movie theater bathroom feeling like the biggest pussy alive. And then took a cab home to complete the spoiled, middle-class, lazy and stupid stereotype.
I honestly believed this was going to be a fun event to work, simply because it was on a boat.
I am now learning that when the manager uses the term ‘great opportunity’ and/or ‘fun’, it is code for ‘no one else wants to work these events so I’m going to make them seem appealing to the suckers that are new to this company.’
That. Would be. Me.
It would be similar to working at Six Flags Great Adventure. Cleaning up vomit on The Runaway Train doesn’t make it a better job just because you’re working in an amusement park.
Yelpers are the thoroughly sad community of people with no respect for proper grammar or spelling, looking for a platform to voice their ‘nobody gives a shit about’ opinions but not brave or talented enough to go anywhere else with it.
So it was a boat full of those people with an open bar and free food. And I had to touch them – for hours and hours. One creepy guy gave me a $3 tip but I was afraid he took the money from his mom’s sock. That she was wearing. After he brutally raped and murdered her. Twice.
I wanted to cry but my tears were too tired, angry and resentful to fall. So instead I worked non-stop without food or a bathroom break and waited until I was done and standing with my stupid chair hailing a cab in the unbelievably freezing cold on the West Side Highway to smoke as many cigarettes as it took to feel lung cancer set in.
The cab driver took away some of the pain when he told me I looked like I was in my thirties.
So I blew him. A lot.
Me. Probably you too but I can’t make that judgment until I’ve met you.
I just signed up with Pandora because it’s 14 years ago. Upon choosing my radio stations, I paused with each one in fear that anyone would stumble upon it like a lost diary and find out that I added a Barry Manilow station and also I just realized I titled a post after a Barry Manilow song and am now just too embarrassed to be a person but this glass of Malbec is absolutely helping me forget about Barry Manilow and how I just wrote Barry Manilow 3x in one sentence – now 4.
How the shit is this a post on massage in any form? ‘Cause it is right now.
But first Kenny Rogers because I love him and don’t give a fuck that my closest male friend, MJ, is absolutely shaking his head in both disbelief and disgust right now. More disgust than disbelief.
So duh, drinking any liquids before a massage means only one thing. Pee.
Hold off on the liquids for at least an hour before your service so you can avoid interrupting the service, asking the therapist for your robe so you can use the bathroom, having the therapist roll their eyes into their head and pretend they don’t mind at all. They’re minding . A lot.
And the eating before a massage follows the same rules as swimming (without the water and the cramps and it’s not like swimming at all now that I think about it).
Try not to eat at least an hour or so before your massage for a couple of reasons. Why chance feeling gassy and bloated while trying to enjoy a pretty amazing experience? Also, one of the biggest benefits of massage is circulation:
For the whole body to be healthy, the sum of its parts–the cells–must be healthy. The individual cells of the body are dependent on an abundant supply of blood and lymph because these fluids supply nutrients and oxygen and carry a way wastes and toxins. So, it is easy to understand why good circulation is so important to our health and why massage can be so beneficial for the entire body due to its effect on circulation alone.
So, let your body focus on doing that stuff instead of working to digest that foot-long you just devoured washed down with a 70oz. Pepsi. Hey, I get it – it’s $4.99 – no judgments.
To get you up to speed; I have been browsing jobs on Monster.com requesting that they send me emails with new jobs that match my search entry of Spa Manager.
The following are some of the emails I received with what monster.com has concluded are good matches for me.
Sous Chef North Carolina State Univ. – NC-Raleigh – Posted: 7/13/2013
Monster seems to be pushing this culinary vocation. I’m not sure why. They never even tasted the meatballs.
Product Specialist Camping World and Good Sam – Fayetteville – Posted: 7/15/2013
Somehow I am now qualified to sell fishing tackle and possibly guns.
Maintenance Engineer Full Time La Quinta Inn & Suites Charlotte south – NC-CHARLOTTE-28217 – Posted: 7/16/2013
This is getting a little insulting.
Route Sales Representative – Foodservice, Hospitality Job Ecolab – NC-Asheville-28801 – Posted: 7/17/2013
I couldn’t even tell you what this was at gunpoint.
HRIM Specialist North Carolina State Univ. – NC-Raleigh – Posted: 7/18/2013
No idea what this is. I thought it might be fun to guess so here are my top 3 guesses:
Hot Racist International Mechanic
Hairy Racked Immigrant Magician
Hobbit Rabbit Instant Messenger
Software Sales Executive- Mid Market- CorporateVocus – NC-Morrisville-27560 – Posted: 8/5/2013
No, I couldn’t be kidding less.
As amusing a ride as this has been, I’m going to both unsubscribe and send them an email without judgment.
As if that’s possible.