Reality Bites, if you will...

I am disgruntled.

I have graduated from my mid-teen, life long dream of being a rock n roll star/artist/writer/slacker. It's never going to happen. I have been defenstrated into the dizzying world of ACCOUNTING(!) by default. My parents were right. I had "nothing to fall back on". I flunked/dropped out of college. I didn't wanna... How do you major in superstardom?? Being rich by way of artisticness, learn how to play power chords and dye your hair to match the ebb and flow of "being in the now"? This is not attainable. Not at the ripe old age of 25.5, which, by industry standards is SO 3 years ago (if not 10..ug).

But this is not about what shoulda coulda woulda been.

This is about what is. And I don't like it.

For a minute there, just a couple months ago, I was content. I had THE BEST boss, the kind you want to go out with after work and crazy-party, but you can't because she's a responsible mommy and has a little boy to consider, but once in awhile you can convince her, since her dad's in town, and he's a free baby sitter, and after a LOOOONNG happy hour you all go to Ft. Myers beach falling down on the street because you wore ridiculous heels and you're trying to find a tattoo shop that's open because you're just THAT drunk that you can muster the balls to get a new one (or fix one that some unmentionable shop did for an UNGODLY price). Yeah. THAT kind of boss. She was awesome. She's still in the company, but at a different location too many miles away for me to even consider realistically commuting to work for.

Now, I work for Mrs. Corporate-my-husband's-an-IT-tech-so-I-can-GETSHITDONE and with Mrs. 60-year-old-grammy-that's-cool-but-senility-is-probably-kicking-in-so-I-don't-really-remember...hey-what-do-you-do-here..wait-what-do-I-do-here?

FUN FUN!!

I work with my boyfriend, and that is AWESOME. There's nothing like calling his extention and proclaiming my need for a smoke and having his cute shining face burst through the office door in seconds flat after my call..But, unfortunately, the current sequence of events has lead me to explore the avenue of seeking an outside position. The "company" I "keep" has made me bitter, and pissy, and talking about work at home far more than I'd like to. The problem is, I don't really have any other marketable, profitable skills. What I do is tranferrable, but I know that experience in the field is key. And I only have experience with the car business.

So, I wonder...is it worth my time to seek another career? Should I just try to sell myself as a generic "accounting" wiz and go to a company that has a product line that better suits my interests? Should I say "FUCK IT!" and really try to do something artistically? I don't need to thrive on art alone, I could market, publish, bu-blahblahblah..if it was just something that interested me...Consumed me.. made me passionate about what I get paid for......

Is this too much to ask????

Cat piss, in retrospect...

Tonight my cat pissed on my boyfriend's clothes.

Shitty part? Not his fault. He's not the asshole, unfixed, super-hormonified monger that pees on stuff because it's his instinct. He goes in the box, like a good boy. So tonight my boyfriend discovered the (small) fugpile that had accumulated in exactly less than 2 days had been violated with my kitty's pee pee.

Why? Why, you ask would such a disciplined cat leave such a loathesome present on his clothes? Well, I must admit, it was my fault.

We live in Southwest Florida, see, and this time of year, the weather is absolutely, ridiculously awesome. So, like so many snowbirds/neighbors, we have lived the past few days in open-window, fresh-aired bliss. But then... there's Bubba. Bubba's a dog. He likes cat food. He likes the cat's water. Fuck! He likes the cat's SHIT. And, unfortunately, the catbox lives on the porch, which is one of our vehicles to said fresh-aired bliss. So, naturally, if we have the slider to the porch open, allowing optimal airflow from front to back, Bubba says "shit! carpe diem! no, really, i mean SHIT!" and next thing you know, you're prying litter-covered poo-mush from underneath Bub's puggy jowels.

We have recently explored an avenue that allows us to leave the portals to why-we-live-here-weather open, yet at the same time, delivering us from the evil that is the ickyness under my fingernails when I'm done dealing with the aftermath of Bubba's kitty box invasion. This avenue is turning the opening to the box towards the wall, so puppy can't stick his obnoxiously curious head into it. Of course, this also prevents the kitty from doing his business, but I figure, he's a big boy..he can hold it for a few hours until we tire of taking care of the tornado called Boo-bear, and retire him to his respective sleeping quarters (a cage.).

Apparently, Fizzy gets pissed (woah, like literally and stuff) when he can't make pee pee where he is used to! Thusly, the smelly, cold, wet, grossnes that WAS my boyfriends' shorts. I can't believe I didn't turn the box back. I can't believe I MADE the cat piss on personal belongings. AND NOT EVEN MINE!! It makes me feel shitty. It makes me feel like a bad mommy.

I'm not even sure what my point is, other than I write too much about my pet's excrement or, I need to nut up and pay more attention to my animals.

Who cares? I made a post. I'd like to thank Fizzy, for whizzing on my man's garb and making this brief blast back to the blogosphere possible.

5 weird ass things

yeah...i guess #1 should be i'm a retard, cuz i went to copy and paste the rules, and ....not so much...anyway...took a minute, but i guess i'll do it:

1. I sing stuff. i'll make any stupid phrase into an opera song. i don't care. emmy does it too, i think i've heard my sis break in to song a couple times. guess it's not so weird in theory, but you prolly haven't heard me do it. nuff sed. (actually, since the only bored ass mutha fuckas readin this are people i know, you prolly have! ha! joke's on me!)

2. i HAVE have HAAA VE to have anything that i staple (or paperwork that i deal with that is stapled) in the top left hand corner, at as perfect a 45 degree angle that i can get without a protractor. don't know why, it just bugs the shit outta me.

3. i LOVE perforation. if it's perforated, i must rip it.

4. i pick scabs. i pick teeny pimples, i pick pin pricks, i pick road rash. it must be a gratification thing with getting the funky dried-blood-dead-skin-cells-wrath-of-demons off of my skin surface.

5. sponges. i am like...weird when it comes to the kitchen. regular sponge is for wiping counters. therefore, no soap-because if you put soap in one of those regular sponges it never ever ever comes out so you have weird dried-soap-foam stuff on your counters. soap goes in the sponge with the one side that's green and scrubby, and that's what you clean the pots and pans with. and by the way, while we're on the topic of dishes, use the scrubby sponge to (thoroughly) clean the dishes before you insert them in the dishwasher. this eliminates baked-on icky grimy food stuff that is still on the plate after the dry cycle. dude, guess i could have done the entire 5 things on my kitchen habits alone, but it was the last one, and fuckssake, i'm a little tipsy.

HOLYFUCKSHITBITCH!!!

Damn, Misch...just......Daaaaaaamn.

I hope that's ketchup from your POST-period sodium binge. i HOPPPPEEE!!

Bored as BULLSHIT!

Welp..my man's outta town on bidness so here i am with the crazy pup and a psycho kitty...
anywho..just got done purging the demons by watching "There and Back" the quaint little story of one "Ashley Parker Angel" which some of you may (or may not as the case most fucking likely is) know as one of the members of the illustrious boy band called O-Town. Woo. O-Town. yay. yeah, this guy is totally fucked. watching him, i feel just as compelled to jump down into the deepest darkest corners of "the closet" as any fag in Naples. watch one epi and you'll agree..and the sad part is, MAN'S FATHERIN' A PUP!!!


Girrrrrl, she ain't got no clue, and that's sad man, just sad.. I mean, look at where Brit ended up, and her man was only a DANCER!! alls i can say is, we want pre-nup! we want pre-nup!! uhhh i dunno..maybe they're already married...shouldn't there be some kinda law that prohibits potentially GAY-ASS-MUTHA-FUCKAS from marring perfectly hetero women? don't get me wrong, i'm NOT hatin...i just have a problem with poser heteros....is that wrong? i didnt' think so. no girl wants to explain her last relationship as "The One that Went Gay" cuz you, me, she, he, AND they knew he always was. he's just so cute and he dresses so well and he LOOOOVED shopping!! "I thought we were kindred!"
ugh.-

40 Minutes to Kill...

It's been a minute, but figured i'd give this whole blog shit a go again...

be prepared for a very superficial and/or ridiculously useless post.

i love shopping. i'm talkin' all ashlee l-o-l-o-l-o-l-o-v-e it. but something has been hindering my innate ability to score inexpensive yet super-stylish duds. i can't quite put my finger on it, but i'm fucking tired of it. never can find anything i want..er rather anything i feel like shelling out the pesos for..and if i do it seems it's never available in my particular size (which is a completely different post; how can i wear an xtra small and a large all in the same day???). so now i'm faced with a closet full of tons of past seasons' fashions, and hardly anything en vogue. i feel my personal "style" changing, however, unfortunately i feel it shifting towards more and more expensive tastes...take today for example...just a casual lunch hour jaunt to the mall..i'm in NEED of some new black sunglasses..my $17.99 mossimo target specials have oh-so-specially streched out and now fall off my face if i check my blind spot too quickly (a MAJOR safety hazzard)..so i checked wet seal. i checked american eagle. i checked the knock-off kiosk. i even checked fucking CLAIRE'S (desparate times call for desparate measures).

then, i stroll in to sunglass hut. and there, behind the shiny locked glass sat something similar to these beauties:



anything that remotely struck my interest (meaning large, dark rounded rectangular shaped faintly marykateashleyolson-esque- shut up-) had some wonderfully expensive designer's tag on em. and the price to go with it...i dunno bout ya'll but where i come from $200 is just too much to shell out for something i hang off my ears. well...relatively anyway..cuz if i was marykate and/or ashley, i'd have 12 pairs of these fuckers.
my point is, WHY THE FUCK DOES THE COOL SHIT HAVE TO BE SO GODDAMN EXCLUSIVE???? it's just not fair to make poor people look like fugs.
on a brighter note, i did receive word today that a brand-spankin-new DSW just opened in Ft. Myers...at least my shoe collection has breathed a hopeful sigh of relief.
That shit is BANANAS.
And so will I be once i set foot in that mecca.

My dog likes to spread his shit seed.

So...i go walk my dog when i get home. and, inevitably, he will shit right off the bat. i have learned me a few things with the raising of this animal. 1. expect the unexpected. i.e. this dog will eat/destroy/love/hump whenever/whatever he wants. 2. he will most likely shit twice when i get home from work..this practice took a minute to develop..but now it seems his bowls are in hyper-active mode when he sees me (i don't question it..really..do i want to know??)..so i live in this little condo-type establishment where i have to dispose of said poo (and not leave it to fertilize and continue on with the circle of life as god intended) and for the last few weeks i noticed a trend...i would tie up the recepticle of poo and halfway on the walk to the dumpster, Bubs would pull to the grass, do his little throw-one-leg-up-lookin-like-i'm-gonna-pee-but-instead-a-terd-pops-outta-my-ass thing...and there you go..here i am, holding a wild stallion on a thread of a leash, and a poo-bag trying desperately to untie it and pick up the poo, all the while trying simultaneously to not let the crazy pup get loose, not let the poo i already collected escape, and not get icky doggy poo on my fingers...
so, now...i only tie the bag up once, allowing me to obtain easy access to my poo-carrier.
why i felt the need to share?
who gives a fuck?
it's my blog and i'll pick up poo and blog about it if i want to.
k...wanna see why i keep him around??? huh?? huh??? i know you do.

yeah..

i know...

me too.

Hey!

Know what I learned about myself this morning?

I'd rather watch 3 anti-drug commercials in a row than 1 Nickelback viddy!