Who is this inappropriate, quick-witted blogging disaster?
I basically started this blog because I needed an uncensored space where I could say the f-word and tell my life stories without being cut off after 420 characters. Eat shit Facebook...just kidding just kidding DON'T DELETE ME! I fully intend on delivering the unedited shit show that is my life. I'm inappropriate, single and have a family straight out of an 80's sitcom. To my ex-boyfriends and asshole dates who made me pick up the tab, dive to the bottom of the pool to get your keys in a full face of makeup, lend you my flops because you didn't have shoes...don't worry about me calling you out by name. I have a phobia about addressing people by their real name, so don't worry, your douchebag reputation is secret safe with me.
I won't lie. My main inspiration for this blog was my growing annoyance with everyone else's blogs that depict every aspect of their sorted lives including the color of their kid's number 2, what they ate that day and how bloated they feel or some tragic end to a heinous nail polish decision. Look, no one makes a good polish choice with the aroma of crab rangoon lingering in the air from the Chinese restaurant next door, get over it.
My competency level of Twitter is the equivalent of my Grandma texting whole words or cracking the 'code' of T9. I have a diabetic cat who's more like my child than an animal. He has his own account at Walgreens for prescriptions and often gives me a look of 'Get off me, I'm going to smother you in your sleep, you psycho'...he loves me. I am currently wasting my talent/20 years of college debt at a job I hate. I'd quit but there's a full length window next to the toilet in the ladies restroom that keeps me entertained through the majority of my day.
*UPDATE - While I was deeply saddened to leave my street sweeping homies in tighty-whities, I have since gotten a new job that I am completely obsessed with. Not only do my new digs smell like Borders on the daily, but they have a 'suite' in the ladies. This 'suite' is a glorified name for the doodey stall. It has floor to ceiling walls and door to protect yourself from being ID-ed via your footwear. It also produces a nice sound barrier between you and the rest of the community. It's an unspoken rule that if you have to 2, you use the suite. Based on my IBS issues, I frequent the suite fairly often throughout the day. One might think 'what could possibly be the problem, this sounds great?' Let me enlighten you. Once you're in the suite you're trapped in there until the bathroom is empty. You can't blow it up and come out only to be ID-ed by your fellow co-workers. Last week, I was held hostage in there for 20 minutes waiting for the coast to clear!
I won't lie. My main inspiration for this blog was my growing annoyance with everyone else's blogs that depict every aspect of their sorted lives including the color of their kid's number 2, what they ate that day and how bloated they feel or some tragic end to a heinous nail polish decision. Look, no one makes a good polish choice with the aroma of crab rangoon lingering in the air from the Chinese restaurant next door, get over it.
My competency level of Twitter is the equivalent of my Grandma texting whole words or cracking the 'code' of T9. I have a diabetic cat who's more like my child than an animal. He has his own account at Walgreens for prescriptions and often gives me a look of 'Get off me, I'm going to smother you in your sleep, you psycho'...he loves me. I am currently wasting my talent/20 years of college debt at a job I hate. I'd quit but there's a full length window next to the toilet in the ladies restroom that keeps me entertained through the majority of my day.
*UPDATE - While I was deeply saddened to leave my street sweeping homies in tighty-whities, I have since gotten a new job that I am completely obsessed with. Not only do my new digs smell like Borders on the daily, but they have a 'suite' in the ladies. This 'suite' is a glorified name for the doodey stall. It has floor to ceiling walls and door to protect yourself from being ID-ed via your footwear. It also produces a nice sound barrier between you and the rest of the community. It's an unspoken rule that if you have to 2, you use the suite. Based on my IBS issues, I frequent the suite fairly often throughout the day. One might think 'what could possibly be the problem, this sounds great?' Let me enlighten you. Once you're in the suite you're trapped in there until the bathroom is empty. You can't blow it up and come out only to be ID-ed by your fellow co-workers. Last week, I was held hostage in there for 20 minutes waiting for the coast to clear!