Posts Tagged ‘I am going to hell’
Fuck me, Ray Bradbury
Friday, August 20th, 2010Phuck phone calls
Wednesday, August 4th, 2010I hate the telephone. Hate it like I hate splinters and parking tickets and spilling honey vodka all over my keyboard (which has been repaired and returned, thanks for asking).
If your friend insists on interrupting you every 10 words to discipline her 3-year-old, who is cramming an ice cream cone into the DVD player, there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it. Or maybe she’s eating a sandwich, and you have to listen to her sentences being punctuated by the smack-smack-smack of lips and digestive juices. People can call you at any time, at any place, with no regard for whether you actually want to talk to them.
I know what you’re going to say: There’s voicemail. Oh yes, there’s voicemail.
Voicemail sucks even more than real-time phone calls, because people leave rambling, 4-minute-long messages that never get to the fucking point, so you’re going to have to call them back anyway, and there’s never a good time to listen to a 4-minute-long message full of conversational pauses and bullshit, so you spend several days staring at that flashing light, whose sole purpose is to taunt you, until the voicemail becomes irrelevant and you delete it without listening to it. Then, if they ask you about it, you have to either fake technological failure or pretend to be a flake, which works really well, since your default setting is “flake” anyway.
Or maybe that’s just me.
Assholes are so convenient
Thursday, June 17th, 2010I don’t mean the kind like the guy who called me a “fucking idiot” in a PuG because my Oculus-fu was weaksauce. I mean literal assholes, the kind that serve as ejection holes for feces (and entrance holes for people who dig that sort of thing).
Really, assholes are way more convenient than colostomy bags. You can hide them with pants when they’re not in use, and you can direct your waste into even more convenient receptacles, like toilet bowls. The last few months have made me appreciate my asshole like no one has ever appreciated an orifice.
Why the ode to my asshole? Dad finally made it home, so the topic has been of some importance. I think we’re all in for an adventure, and by adventure, I mean the kind where you ask your husband to kill you and he says no because he’s lame. I marvel at people who find spiritual rewards in this stuff, and by marvel, I think they’re probably high or lying to themselves to get through it. I think they’re also the kind of people who believe suffering brings us closer to Zombie Jesus.
The colostomy and urine bags will be emptied and changed; he will be bathed and be given his medications; the pacemaker will be monitored; and we’ll take him to the doctor on schedule. But I wonder whether the Dad of 20 years ago would hate us for doing what we did to make him live this long.
I would.
Mohammed drives stick
Thursday, May 20th, 2010It’s Everybody-Draw-Mohammed-Day! In the spirit of the occasion, see my Extremely Shitty Drawing, below.
Thank you to all the journalists and entertainers, pro and amateur, who take real risks to challenge the special whatthefuckery behind the ban on drawing Mohammed. Killing and threatening people for drawing your prophet is not cool, and it makes you an asshole.
Also, please don’t kill me. I would not appreciate it.
Waldbaum’s now run by Guilt, Inc.
Monday, May 10th, 2010Before dad went into the hospital, I did his grocery shopping online. I have to say, Waldbaum’s online grocery service is quite bitchin’. Good selection, reasonable prices, all delivered to my Dad’s door so I don’t have to go to the store. Rock on, Waldbaum’s.
So I was a little stunned when I got this email from Waldbaum’s today:
“We miss you! Where have you been? Was it something we did?
We are always listening to our customers and would like to ask you a few questions about why you have stopped using our online service.
Please take a minute to complete a brief on-line survey and tell us how we can make this service meet your expectations.
We hope to see you soon.
Waldbaums of Valley Stream Customer Care Team”
My actual response:
“Give it some time, dudes. I was buying for my father, who has dementia and doesn’t do his own shopping. He’s in the hospital now after major surgery and eating crap like individual-serving applesauce.
Way to run your business like an Italian grandmother, with all the guilt, by the way. I promise, I’ll start buying from you again when Dad gets home from the hospital. And I’ll call home more often and visit on Sunday, too. Just don’t give me with switch!
Thanks.”
Settle down, Parenting
Thursday, May 6th, 2010Not married for three weeks yet, and already I’m getting copies of Parenting magazine delivered to my apartment. Pushy fuckers.
I must have bought something for a pregnant friend and ended up on a mailing list, since I’m 32 years old, and all my friends are pregnant, recently pregnant or about to be pregnant.
Look, Parenting magazine, in high school, I was voted “Most Likely to Forget My Baby in a Hot Car During Summer.” I don’t need you getting all up in my uterus/grill.
I apologize in advance
Saturday, February 20th, 2010Devon and I were chillin’ in the living room, Devon playing a video game and me not playing a video game, since I’ve given up World of Warcraft for Lent. (I’m a recovering Catholic, so there’s no reason I need to observe Lent except that I want to.) We flipped on the TV for Dad, who is spending the night with us, and Dad said…
Look, I’m sorry, I don’t even know how to phrase this without sounding like the biggest dick in the world. I’m sorry, really. Sorry that I think this is funny and need to blog it and sorry Dad said it.
But Dad said, “What’s up with all the negroes? They’re all over the news.” This was in response to Gov. Paterson and Al Sharpton appearing in back-to-back segments.
My dad is 88 and has Alzheimer’s disease, but I’m pretty sure he would have said the same thing 20 years ago.
Like I said, I’m a dick because I’m still laughing. Sorry.
In other news, I finally had a movie-worthy cabbie experience going from Queens to Brooklyn. I spent last night at Dad’s, and we took a cab back to my apartment. Through the rear-view mirror, I watched the cab driver fall asleep. You heard me. I said FALL ASLEEP. He even did the deep-breathing thing people do when they are FUCKING SLEEPING.
Then his girlfriend called. To his credit, he asked her not to curse, since he had to put her on speakerphone to avoid getting nailed by the fuzz. (Yes, I just said “fuzz.” Deal with it.)
Apparently, his girlfriend was perturbed because he was sleep-working when he should have been home taking care of her sick ass. Literally. Through the speakerphone, I heard: “You motherfucker sonofabitch. I’ve got stuff coming out of everywhere, my mouth, my asshole….”
I love New York.
Wake-up call from Chase Bank
Saturday, February 13th, 2010A conversation about Dad’s bank account that I had with a rep from Chase at 8:30 this morning, three seconds after being jolted awake by the phone:
Chase guy: I would like to speak to yadda yadda about his account.
Me: Yadda has dementia and is deaf and doesn’t do well on the phone. Can I help you?
CG: I need to speak to someone authorized to speak on his behalf. May I speak to his wife?
Me: His wife is dead.
CG: I’m very sorry to hear that.
Me: You can speak to me. I’m his daughter and should be listed as a contact on his account. (We went through that process the last time I needed to speak to someone on Dad’s behalf. I gave him my name.)
CG: You are not listed as an authorized contact.
Me: I don’t know what else to say.
CG: May I try calling back this afternoon?
Me: Dad will still be deaf and have dementia this afternoon.
CG: Well, I can’t speak to you without authorization.
Me: OK, bye, then.
As hard as it is to believe, I’m not usually snarky with strangers. Dude was just doing his job. I guess my social filters need time to kick in when I first wake up.
Goddamn it, Fitz!
Monday, February 1st, 2010Devon and I awoke to a nasty surprise this morning in the form of a large pee stain in the middle of the bed. I know I didn’t do it, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t do it. Fitz was curled up on the bed as far from the pee as possible. Needless to say, she’s going to be crated at night for the forseeable future. Devon pointed out that what separates adult humans from every other lifeform is responsibility for one’s urine. He noted this after spotting the cat pee in his chair. Again. It’s their special way of telling him to fuck off when the litter box is dirty. So Fitz was too lazy to get her ass out of bed and over to the pee pad, and the cats were just spiteful.
The Adult Urine Theory also applies to Dad, who got pissy – ha ha! – with me when we were at a friend’s house and I insisted that he change his diaper and let me blow dry his pants.
In other news: I started the process for carving mom’s name into the headstone. She used to joke that if she kicked it before Dad, she would be buried between her first husband and second husband – a man sandwich. Would it be inappropriate to carve “Bow chica bow wow” into the stone?
I am wholly inappropriate.
Random funny from Devon, as we were walking on the subway platform: “If people commute together long enough, do their Metrocards sync up like periods?”
Kneel before Zod
Thursday, December 3rd, 2009Devon has been kicking around the idea of creating a zombie plague for a while now, especially since the whole “meat in vats” idea got snapped up by someone else. I have determined that the only way to stop him is to create zombies before he does. My idea: Think of the children. Yeah, you heard me.
We take a population of people that is prone to violence and irrational behavior anyway — children under 4 — and we hop them up on sugar and caffeine. Then we eliminate naps. And adult supervision. And lock them all in a room with one toy to share. Instant zombie plague! And wiping out all the children is guaranteed to trigger an apocalypse, which is one of Devon’s criterion for an effective zombie plague.
Oh, stop looking at me like that. Devon’s PCP-induced zombie rage idea was certain to wipe out all the children anyway, but at least now adults can enjoy the rides at Disney World for a little while before the end.
I am so awesome.
