20score’s Journal

The (RW) Letter Everyone Is Talking About – And My Answer To It

20score’s Journal – The (RW) Letter Everyone Is Talking About – And My Answer To It

ryan

drunk driving.

rena

whipped cream on coffee: so wrong, yet so right.

OK…

…so I’m in Los Angeles minding my own business. I went on a date with a handsome man and I had a few drinks. I had smoked a bit-O-weed before leaving the house so after a couple Margarita’s, I was happy enough to take the beaded necklace from the Miller Lite people walking around the “cabaret” we were patronizing. I didn’t mind that the beads had huge blue circles bearing the name of the product they were selling, after all, I was on my 3rd Margarita by then. Why not? The only plans I had were to go home, kiss the handsome dude and pass out on my daughter’s couch like any good mother would do.

But as Steinbeck opined in Of Mice and Men, the best laid plans can always meet an unexpected glitch and mine certainly did. Now, remember, I wasn’t hurting anyone, I wasn’t causing any trouble and my date was paying my way so I had no obligation to society whatsoever at that point.

Some of you might argue that I had the responsibility of not smoking pot but I chose the ONE state in which I can legally do that. I defy any of you to tell me I’m not sick. And if you try to tell me that ganja doesn’t make me feel better, I will laugh in your face. I won’t argue with you, pot smokers don’t argue with straight people, only other pot smokers and only while high. But…I will absolutely make you the laughing stock of me.

So, I was smoking legally obtained weed, in my own home, strictly for the purposes of feeling better…and perhaps a little bit because of how much it helps my pool game. I was drinking perfectly taxed liquor, shooting pool for fun as opposed to cash and kissing a guy who is apparently my OWN PERSONAL dude. All of the people around me were having fun, I saw them. We chatted and laughed and no one was injured in any way.

Then, I go home, stroke out and wake up to find myself being transferred to UCLA Medical Center from another hospital that didn’t seem to have the ability to deal with my injuries. Talk about your “YIKES!” moments…that one qualified.

Anyway, I present at the emergency room of one of the most prestigious hospitals in the world…wearing no pants (Don’t ask me, the first hospital lost them.), smelling like tequila and wearing blue Miller Lite beads. I was a poster-child for drug tests if ever there was one so they tested me and, like the smart people that they were, they soon knew that, in addition to drinking a bit-O-booze, I had smoked the wacky tobacky that night.

Yay.

Then they got all FBI on me and asked, “Have you done any drugs today?”

Well, I may have been a bit tipsy and I certainly could have had a bit of a weed buzz going on and perhaps I even had brain damage. But I wasn’t stupid enough to go, “Uhhh…nyuck nyuck…nope.” So, I admitted my sins and was apparently adjudicated a stoner by one particularly annoying child/physician.

That kid was a hideous mix of Greg Brady and Eddie Haskell. (See photo in following post.) Surprisingly, the Haskell genes must be dominant because this guy was the type who LOOKED like the bully down the street. (See photo in the following post.) I may have seen his older brother in Karate Kid. I wanted to poke him in the eyeballs like Moe. (See photo in the following post.) If enough people had smacked this dude when he was a youngster, he might not be the little shit he is today so…do your grandchildren a favor and smack any and all kids you pass this weekend, only when you’re sure that you can get away with it of course. Stranger’s kids are best because they don’t know who you are so they can’t really TELL on you and they make rotten witnesses for the prosecution. Worst case…you hit an innocent kid…but that’ll just build character so it’s all good.

And yes… I am going to name this brat who held my life in his hands a mere two days ago…it’s Matthew Garrett and I’m sure that’s right because he signed a bunch of papers that I have right here in front of me.

Did Dr. Garrett do anything malicious? Probably not. But he didn’t go out of his way to be professional and that’s really a good idea in health care. I’m a nurse and sometimes I don’t particularly like my patients but the worst they’ll get from me is professionalism. They would never be able to read any negativity into my affect. I could be wrong…but I’m pretty sure that’s what professionalism is all about.

This little man came into my room twice and told me that I would be discharged that day. Then, real doctors came in and never mentioned discharge so when Dr. Brat said it again, I didn’t pay any attention to him. I had the impression that he was the junior resident who had been pegged as a nimrod and assigned to fill in while the real doctors shaved and put on ties.

I didn’t like much of what he said because it all seemed to contradict what the real doctors had said. They told me that my blood pressure medicine wasn’t working so they were going to try some different meds. Then, when Dr. Toddler came in, all he did was lower the dose of the one I already had. Now it will not only NOT work, it will not work with a lower dose. I guess that means it really, REALLY won’t help me avoid future brain injuries. I hope that it’s, at the very least, cheaper than the higher dose I’ve been taking for years. Then, the little wanker told me to stop taking my anti-seizure medicine in 7 days. I’ve been taking that for a LONG time and I don’t know if I really want to be playing games with it. Call me kookie, but I’m a bit ANTI seizure myself.

Anyway, as a nurse, I know what it is to be discharged. A doctor can discharge you all day long and even if he wiggles his nose when he says it, until a nurse comes in with the paperwork, you pretty must just sit there and wait. If I’m going to wait, I’m gonna do it in the bed…not standing in the hallway or sitting on the folding couch in the room. Anyway, apparently Dr. Bitch learned that by 10 AM, I was still in the hospital. My guess is that he made the nurse feel so stupid that she hadn’t discharged me that she came in all rattled and SHE didn’t really know what was going on either. So, as I was waiting for my ride to show up, the nurse came in again and explained that there was a “discharge lounge” downstairs and offered me it’s use. I felt like a wretched outcast.

With the single exception of Gail Spencer, I found the nursing staff at UCLA to be of the highest caliber. I wouldn’t have believed that one manager could hire so many excellent nurses in one place and even the nurse who discharged me was doing a superb job until Dr. Jack Ass got to her.

That’s what made me think that Dr. Matthew Garrett was a bully of female patients and female nurses. I don’t know about the men, I can’t speak for them. But most of us know what it’s like to be in the presence of a mean and nasty person and that’s exactly what I felt around Dr. Miserable.

That’s truly a shame because I was so impressed with the nurses that I wanted to mention them. But since the last impression was the fall-out of Dr. Phibes, that was the most pressing issue this morning.

What’s the moral to this story? Easy…don’t take the beads from the Miller Lite people.

Am I a bitch? Yes. Do I care if you agree with me? Hell no. As a matter of fact, if you don’t, I’m doing it wrong.

3. Use the following form (I have it color coded and boldfaced, etc..: I don’t know if it shows up like that here)
(The Form can be saved as a "draft" in your email system, and called up whenever you need it.
I’ve found that when the recipients receive this form, they freak out, and in a number of cases have asked the sender to drop them from their contact list–GOOD! Stop this torrent of right-wing lies and bullshit right at the source.
WARNING!
You have been the recipient of a chain-mail that has been proven to be:
FALSE. (paste Snopes link here)
WHY WAS THIS FALSE CHAIN-MAIL SENT TO YOU?
In his book "The Eliminationists: How Hate Talk Radicalized the American Right," David Neiwert argues that it is no accident that lies are believed by the extreme right wing. In fact, for them it doesn’t really matter whether an assertion is true; any belief, whether it is based on fact or not, is legitimized as long as the left is demonized by it. That is because the goal, for many of the extremists, is to eliminate the left as political opponents. Neiwert says that in America, this impulse to exterminate the opposition is almost uniquely confined to the right.
Thus, lies become part of the narrative of the authoritarian thinker. One would think that those in the Republican Party would discourage lying by their talk-show and Fox News brethren. When their assertions are repeatedly exposed as false, one tends to disbelieve everything they say

How to Deal with Bullshit Chain Mails – The Frank Factor

Alguien se sintio identificado??

I’m BAAA-AAACK!!!

And this time I’m typing from home. I will, more than likely, write about my experience at UCLA Medical Center one day soon but right now I’m bored with that and I would rather talk about MEEEE!!!

I’m officially a crazy old lady so my lifelong dream of becoming old enough to do silly stuff and be considered cute instead of nuts has finally come true. The nursing staff told my daughter that I was “pleasantly confused”. I guess that’s a nice way of saying “nutty as a fruit cake”. When I first came around after the stroke, I was frightened by everything because I didn’t recognize any of it.

But, after a while I realized that I was in a hospital so I sort of just assumed that the aliens were nice aliens and I decided to go along with the program. Since I’m pretty much just following the fates into a confused state that seems seems to be calling me closer and closer, I have no idea what type of blog posts people will be finding when they come here in the future. I suppose it’ll be as though I’m Charly from Flowers for Algernon and no one will know if tomorrow holds a witty Irish chick, a dithering idiot or some combination of the two.

And as batty as I may become, I will STILL make more sense than a hospital that has “Neuro-psychiatric Center” on the front door, “Stroke Unit” on the door to the wing, my NAME on the door to my room AND a promise of confidentiality. I don’t get that at all but maybe it’s me so I’ll just leave it alone until I have more to offer the entire botheration than my verbal wrath.

Confusion is feared by most people but once you adjust, it’s actually rather interesting. The smallest stuff has been fascinating me, like the thing in the bed that looks like a phone, has voices coming out of one side and lots of buttons but you can’t call anyone with it except the nurse.

Oh, and forgetting a few months of your life is exactly like time travel. If you don’t remember what happened since you went to bed on your last birthday which was several months ago, you have, for all intents and purposes, travelled into the future. It’s not something you’d welcome arbitrarily into your life…but it IS time travel nonetheless. Actually, it was space travel as well, after all, it was June and I was in Atlanta…now I’m in Los Angeles and I don’t remember how I got here although once I was told that I took a plane, I DID remember that my dog had flown with me.

I guess it’ll all clear up eventually…it did after the first stroke. I was right smack dab in the middle of singing The Happy Birthday Song to my niece when I suddenly forgot the words to the song. Or, I would need a cup and know what a cup looked like but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what the heck one was called. Words would elude me and like the trips through space and time, you never see it coming. Who would foresee such a curse? No one expects to forget words that you use every single day of your life. Think about the repercussions of that…you could be in rush to order french fries, to get to an appointment or to have an orgasm and suddenly you might forget the word “faster”.

But it’s not all bad, actually there are several other positive things about confusion that are underrated my most people:

1. Lack of responsibilities like driving, babysitting and chopping vegetables.

2. Automatic approval for most government health plans.

3. Appreciation for the phrase, “Once an adult, twice a child.”

4. This is the time in life that you are allowed to fart nilly-willy and not see quite as many aghast faces.

5. If caught loitering, committing vagrancy or trespassing, you’ll avoid jail and go straight to the nearest hospital.

6. As soon as you GET to the hospital, they’ll give you the good drugs.

7. Confused people have absolutely NO interest it smoking, doing drugs or drinking. They exist in a permanent altered state of consciousness. Confusion is one helluva trip dudes!

8. After you spend some time staring at the idiot box, you realize that swings and long walks are much more fun.

9. Of course…if you walk long enough, you get a ride home from the sheriff’s department. If you’re lucky, you could even get a ride back in a helicopter!

10. You fully appreciate John Lennon while NOT under the influence of pot.

Imagine.

Well, I’m sure there are more but one of the bad things abut this entire sordid debacle is the fact that I can’t type anymore. Well, I can but it would probably be quicker to use a pen. This has taken me a LONG FRICKING TIME and I feel like assisting gravity in her efforts to keep the sofa on the floor. See ya!

Not my chamber

Opposing the Employee Free Choice Act. Trying to raise $50,000 for a junk ’study’ attacking health reform. Denying global warming. Opposing sick leave for H1N1 swine flu. The bottom line? The U.S. Chamber is dangerously out of step with American values.

Help run new Google ads against the U.S. Chamber!

Lt. Cmdr. Marilisa Elrod, shown here in Hawaii recently, has a rare distinction: as a doctor and undersea medical officer, she has become submarine qualified in a service that excludes women as crewmembers. Elrod says it would take effort and changes but believes women can successfully serve on submarines.

People have opinions, and they are entitled to their own. People are allowed to disagree with whatever is going on, policy changes, new programs being created…wev. Part of the Constitutional Right to Free Speech in the U.S. means that people are allowed to criticize those choices and opinions. Free Speech does not mean free from criticism, I get that.

There is, however, a line to draw in that criticism where the critic is deliberately dishonest in order to draw attention purposefully to their side. There is criticism and then there is lying.

The Center for Military Readiness strikes again, this time horribly misconstruing what a woman sailor said in a Stars and Stripes interview in order to make her look like a silly Uppity Woman. That is about as dishonest as you can get, and it shows the CMR as the dishonest and ridiculous hacks that they are.

They saw this news article: (emphasis mine)

A sailor once asked Lt. Cmdr. Marilisa Elrod where she got the twin dolphins sewn below the U.S. Navy lettering on her uniform. She could understand the sailor’s confusion — he had probably never seen the insignia on a woman before.

“I said I borrowed them from my husband … just to tease him,” said Elrod, a doctor and undersea medical officer based in Hawaii.

Then she explained how she studied for more than a year and passed her qualification test aboard the USS Key West before earning the distinction of being a submarine-qualified sailor.

To a submariner, those dolphins mean that the sailor wearing them knows enough about every function of the boat to save it in an emergency.

Elrod is one of 12 submarine-qualified women in the Navy, officials said.

… and turned it into this hot mess: (emphasis all fucking mine)

The article quotes Lt. Cmdr. Marilisa Elrod, a doctor and undersea medical officer who likes to wear her husband’s dolphins because she is qualified to ride on the submarines.

See, they don’t really care about women, as they claim. They care about controlling women’s lives and really go out of their way to insult real women and their achievements. The Center for Military Readiness, headed by my BFF Elaine Donnelly, who hasn’t spent a day in uniform and can’t attest to what it means to earn a qualification for making a proper rack let alone being on a submarine, cares more about pretend babies that don’t exist than actual women who would benefit from having career paths opened to them.

The Center for Military Readiness mess goes on to purposely confuse what is pretty damned clear in the Stars and Stripes article, suggesting that the article never clarifies what kind of accommodations LCDR Elrod had on her submarine stints, but in the article she says that she shared an officer’s State Room. It’s not unclear at all. She is discussing in the article the measures taken to accommodate privacy for her on board a submarine. Some basic reading comprehension is all it takes to grok that. It also purports that LCDR Kunts, an actual submariner, doesn’t know shit about what he is talking about. So, no respect for actual sailors, either. I guess civilians are the go-to on all things military, huh?

Whoever “editor” is at CMR should really try to get their facts straight. Maybe talk to a few people who have been on board submarines (like, I dunno, maybe even an actual woman like LCDR Elrod) and try to find some data from this decade to make their case.

Integration of women onto submarines is going to happen. It is happening. It has already happened. People at the Center for Military Readiness and other critics need to wrap their head around that, and stop spreading lies and misconstruing facts to damage progress.

Photo: from Stars and Stripes online

"Roissy in DC" author: James C. Weidmann

Jimmy-The-Jew:  ”Roissy in DC”

Now, let me just say this.  I have never felt the need to dedicate a post to Roissy because we all know (in his many pathetic, repeated blog posts dedicated to me) that is exactly what he wants.  He wants to be the “dark villain” and the “dangerous man”.  Sadly, most women can see upon reading a few words of his that he is not a dangerous nor scary man.  He’s a sad, lonely, 40’s-something guy…..stuck in a big city…..where he just can’t keep up with the competition  (please refer to what he looks like and what he WEARS as a man his age to see what I am referring to).

*I am interested to see if Roissy “takes it like a man” or shrieks like a schoolgirl and demand it be removed.  ( I say this because Roissy has felt free to find and post photos of me, my family, my personal info, and anything else he can find to “call me out”).  I wonder if the “dishee” can also take it.*

Desperation drips from his false online persona like a broken rusty rain gutter that everyone gave up on fixing long ago……

If you are NOT familiar with blogger, “Roissy in DC“……I’d suggest you click and read a bit of his blog (you’re welcome, Roissy).

This is a man who claims to be a Master of Seduction, a Jesus-Like Savior of (wimpy) men, a Colossus of Gaming, and of course an all around “Ladies Man”.

He extols the virtues of dodging child support payments, physically intimidating your wives & girlfriends to “keep them in line”, and even encourages men to “raw-dog” it and have as much unprotected sex as you possibly can (gross….can you say STD’s and MORE babies in foster care???).

Unfortunately, the men he is preying upon don’t realize that he is NOT out to help them, NOT out “offer advice”, but out ONLY to reassure himself in his aging, middle-aged, desperation…..that ANYONE still wants to hear what he has to say.

You all know the expression “Well….if I’m going down….I’m taking everyone with me.”  THAT is exactly what Roissy’s “Game” advice to men is.  It’s like the crack under a recovering crack-heads nose…….the “miracle diet pill” to the lifetime Anorexic……and the walking, talking ENABLER of the further decline of modern men in today’s society.  He encourages men to go back to the “id”…..the caveman inside themselves…….and care about nothing but eating, sleeping, and fucking.

Every step that man has taken forward in the world, Roissy helps them to take a step back.  For every man who DOES have discipline and character (and self-control)……Roissy helps to enable 10 more NOT to be.

The chauvinism, arrogance, and cock-obsessed points aside……Roissy is a living breathing example of the stereotype that many men have been trying to not be a part of:  drooling, horny, pussy-obsessed, “cocks-on-wheels” with not a thought in their head except finding a warm-hole.  (Pardon the nasty expression, but that is the main thought process of men like these).

Anyway…..I received an email directly from a mysterious (and generous) Miss X.  This is evidently a woman who feels much the same way that I do and is tired of witnessing this sort of degradation in our society as whole.

*NOTE:  I will remove tidbits from the email that could/would give away the identity of “Miss X” and how she may be “familiar” with Roissy.  I will also mark my own comments with *asterisks* and Italics so there is no confusion.*

Dear Lady Raine,

I’ve been a longtime admirer of your contributions to the debate at Roissy’s. However, his recent smugness has exceeded even my tolerance, and I thought I might offer a little birthday present to you to offset the bile you’ve received from him:

I believe I know Roissy’s real name.

I know that you like investigation…. take a look at James (Jim) C. Wiedmann, employed by FINRA (a private finance regulatory body in D.C.). Also interviewed in the Mail and Globe article “When Players Turn Into Boyfriends.” See if this rings any bells:

The pickup artist’s message for wannabe players and boyfriends alike is essentially “don’t be a wuss,” says J. Wiedmann, a Washington-based white-collar-crime investigator. Mr. Wiedmann, who did not want his full name used, launched his “reality-based seduction” blog, “Roissy in DC: Where Pretty Lies Perish,” last year. Reviled and beloved, the blog is full of devilish relationship strategies.


“I’ve written about the importance of instilling dread in your girlfriend by turning off your phone twice a week, or calling her from a busy place where women are laughing in the background … despite her protestations to the contrary, a little bit of uncertainty goes a long way to keeping her aroused for you,” Mr. Wiedmann said in an interview.


Aside from the usual fawning and vitriolic responses to his posts, Mr. Wiedmann has been seeing more pleas for relationship advice in his inbox lately. “Most of my male readers ask for advice on how to win that ‘one girl’ over. They’re struggling to get out of the discount bin of the sexual market,” he says.

(http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/article714983.ece)

Roissy published a blog entry entitled “I Am In the Globe and Mail,” but has recently deleted it.
(http://roissy.wordpress.com/2008/12/19/i-am-in-the-globe-and-mail/).

He is 41. His birth day and month are the same as listed in this profile, but he lies about the year. This is what he looks like.
(http://www.puaconnect.com/roissy/)

If you’d like any further confirmation, try a Google search for “Roissy’s real name.”

He loves to brag about his exploits, but abuses women while hiding under a cloak of secrecy. And now he is making it a personal crusade to attack all the women on his blog who are still willing to stick around. Please be careful — some of the men at his site are very angry and seem a few minutes away from snapping.

From one woman to another,
Miss X

*I also received this in my comments section from another one of my readers*

You should send Roissy a nice thank you card:

Jim Wiedmann
1778 Lanier Pl NW #9C
Washington, DC 20009

 

*OH, JIM…….LOL…..what does one even say about this?  Other than the fact that a 41 year old “finance-nerd” who dresses like he’s a 21 year old emo-prep college-boy.  The fact that he constantly berates women and evidently LIES about his age even to his own readership is really rather funny.  I recall so many articles talking about how “young hot women just LOVE old, pasty gross men” and now I know why he’s so desperate to get other men to believe this kind of thing.

You would think that JUST the fact that he’s a middle-aged, pasty-white finance-Jew posing as a playboy would be reason enough for people to disregard his opinions and advice (like most people already do)…..but there are and always will be looking for their “own personal jesus” to tell them it’s okay to hate women, hate life, hate responsibility, hate morals, hate “hard work”, and hate ANYONE AND EVERYONE that you can possibly think of to blame for being  what they have become.

This falls into my “Why People Are Assholes” post.  Roissy may not be a big-name who is going to influence anyone who actually matters……but he’s certainly known enough to be influencing men who otherwise may have turned to look at THEMSELVES (yes I know introspection is a crazy concept for guys like him) for their failures/shortcomings in life.

It’s a dangerous world we live in when there is a “miracle pill”, a quick fix, and a (insert random group) to blame for everything a person DOESN’T do to be responsible for their own lives.

Our good friend Jimmy-The-Jew, here is just one of them.*

Yes, Gentlemen....THIS is the man you are asking for advice on picking up ladies.....(Note: The....errr..."artwork" done to this pic wasn't done by me. This is the way the photo was when I saved it, lol)

*Yes, Ladies I know…..it’s hard to control yourself in the presence of such an Adonis, but please try to remain calm for the sake of our female dignity.*

Update:  Much like I expected….some of Roissy’s shrieking henchman came here telling me I have “stepped over the line”.  For a bit on the “history”….this is the first time I have published a “post about Roissy” on my blog.  Roissy has published at least 6 or more posts specifically about me.  Containing personal photos of me AND MY son….which is “unsavory” in the first place.  But he then continued over the past 6 months to try to slander me, give out personal info (like mentioning the town I live in as often as he can) and worst of all posts porno videos and says that it is ME in the video (and isn’t.)  He has publicly posted lies on his blog accusing me of prostitution AND pornography and attached my photos to the (complete lies) he is telling.

I never really bothered posting about it here on my blog, because anyone who knows me in real life knows those things aren’t true and are ridiculous…..but that doesn’t change the fact that Roissy likes to go and play in people’s lives and slander innocent people for his own amusement and to up his blog stats without remorse and without even having  a good motive to do it.  Just because it gets him attention.

Well I think it’s high time someone finally fixed his little red wagon, and I’m certainly the woman for the job

*Update:  November 25*

Here is another address that is identical except for a different Apartment number…..ooops guess it WAS a residential address….silly old me with my tiny female brain…..

Wiedmann, James C

Age:40-44

1778 Lanier Pl NW, Apt 8B

Washington, DC 20009-2190

*This is dedicated RIGHT to Roissy for the post back in June where he posted my son’s name, age, and photo without my permission (and involving kids is the lowest you can go anyhow):*

Address History

• 2 in Washington, DC
• 1 in Chevy Chase, MD
• 1 in Somerville, NJ
• 1 in Ventnor City, NJ
• 1 in Atlantic City, NJ

Aliases

• James Wiedmann
• Jim Wiedmann
• James Charles Weidman

Relatives

• L Wiedmann
• Catherine R Wiedmann
• Lisa A Wiedmann

*Ouuuuuuuuuuuch, Jimmy*

NTKOG #65: The kind of girl who, when she has been mistreated by someone in a position of authority, instead of just taking it with a smile, gives the jerkwad whatfor instead.

I am: laid-back, would be a nice way of putting it. A doormat, though, might be more accurate.

I am not: good with: confrontation, authority, or recognizing when people have definitely stepped over a line with me.

The Scene: Job interview in Brookline last week, for a secretarial position at a firm that deals in a field completely outside my range of interests. The interview has been set up by a temp agency, though, so I put on my power suit, brush up on my interview questions, and walk in fifteen minutes early with resume in hand and a big ol’ smile on my face.

Half an hour later, the guy who’s supposed to interview me finally moseys into the office and immediately I can tell he is — well, “a sleazy fucking jerkwad” is really too delicate a phrase, I think. He’s in his mid-50s; very GQ; too much cologne.When he takes my hand, there is no pretense of a shake. Instead, he squeezes hard enough to pulp the bones down to marrow, then takes a seat across from me.

“So, you’re from Prestigious West Coast University, eh?” he says, and I smile and nod. “And you’re looking for a secretarial position. Ha!” He looks like a guy who has too often and too wistfully watched Mad Men, wishing for the good old days when he could have conducted this interview while sipping from a tumbler full of Scotch.

While we are talking, he leans back in his leather exec chair and crosses his arms behind his head. One of his legs is crossed, his foot resting against the table. He looks like he’s waiting for a girl to crawl under the table and just start blowing him right there.

Did I mention he’s a huge fucking asshole?

The whole interview, he lets me say approximately twenty words. The rest of the time he goes on about how important he is and what high-level work he does. He mentions, charitably, that “the girls” are necessary to help run the office. He asks whether I feel up to the challenge of cleaning up the office at the end of the day.

The whole time, also, he keeps throwing out acidic little barbs about the university I went to, and the fact that I left there without a job, then smugging that he bets I don’t like it when he makes these little jokes. Uh, no shit? The school I went to was, like, pretty okay, and not infrequently, insecure people like to play a nasty little head game about it: they’ll make constant negative comments about various stereotypes about the school — not least of all the stereotype that grads are arrogant — then when I finally tell them to, dude, seriously, stop it, they smile back: “See what I mean? You guys are so arrogant.” I — I cannot tell you how much this infuriates me. I love the school I went to; I had four wonderful years there, met all my best friends there, and generally have positive feelings about it. And I’d expect everybody to feel the same way about their own undergraduate institutions, so why are we even talking about this?

And yet, he talked about it. For at least ten minutes of the forty-minute interview. After he’d finished his monologue of Important Manly Poweritude, he asked me: “So, you have any questions for me, honey?” Um, yeah, just one. How does the fine Commonwealth of Massachusetts feel about vigilante castration?

Sadly, though, although I prepared a totally appropriate feminist rant — or at least a withering barb — the asshole hurried me out of the interview room before I could find my voice. So. Fail on that front. But. BUT! I did call the temp agency and withdraw myself from the interview process, citing, in only slightly more polite language, irreconcilably assholic behavior as the reason for my request.

The Verdict: I’m pretty bummed out that my knee-jerk authority cowering was too strong for me to overcome right to this jerkwad’s (jerk)face, but I’m going to go ahead and give myself partial points for actually withdrawing from the interview process instead of continuing to jump through his asshole hoops. The more of the (sometimes terrible) real world I see, the more I realize that there are lots of guys like this out there, who feel the constant urge to make it known: “Hey, little lady, fuck your fancy education and your power suit and all your big clever ideas. At the end of the day, this is still a man’s world and, heads up, I take my coffee with two sugars, sugar.”

Aaaaaaargh. Even thinking about this makes me hate men. So even though I wimped out this time, next time I meet a guy who is Part Of The Problem, dude, he best be prepared for an unholy rant.

The Klan…merchants of hate, faceless cowards, assholes, pot stirrers, ruiners of an all around good time in the Grove…possibly Auburn fans (See the gentlemen 4th from the left below…pre silly looking hoods).

Or further proof that Bama fans will go to great lengths to sully the name of the folks on the Plains.

[HT: Nafoom]

Im pathologically addicted to complete assholes. Mr Right came and i ruined it, so now i’m in a life where every boy just wont be the same.

It’s peculiar really, when I’m out, busy or with other people stupid thoughts like this don’t come into my head; but the second I’m home, alone, they come marching in.

Lucky for me there’s Anya Marina to answer the majority of questions with a reckless riddle. But this satisfies me enough until the next day when I’m sat up here again.

I want things to go back to the way they used to be, when i had someone to look after me and i all i had to think about was the passion of the one thing i loved. Now there’s stress, pressure and exposures that hold me back from every creative impulse my brain sends through my body. What a shame, a dying shame.

I don’ care if i have to die to go back to that special place in my life. Take me, take me there.

What a cruel world. How can i be so weak as to not be able to control my own feelings for someone. We broke up nearly a year ago now, and yet still every film character of that hunky boy, or the spontaneous artist has me hooked on a fantasy of him. Maybe i need a new prince charming, or maybe i just need to keep waiting?

Somebody, please teach me the game. That teasing trauma that everyone plays to get their loved ones attention. If only Mother educated me on this “male species” and their complexities.

I think i’ll write a poem for now.

Plane Stupid have released an advert trying to guild trip us from using cheap flights. Apparently every time I get a plane down to London 300 polar bears crash to the ground in its wake.

The imagery used plays on a comparison to the victims of the Trade Towers who jumped from the building as it burned. They’re not the first to do this, WWF hooked up with a Brazilian agency to animate a fleet of planes crashing into Manhattan, as the Tsunami was better at killing people than terrorists.

I don’t want to sound like Lord of Sealand Jeremy Clarkson, but somebody needs to give these people a slap for comparing collective ignorance/indifference on the part of the entire human race to the calculated mass-murder of thousands of people, just to guilt trip us about climate change. Alternatively, maybe all of us who use flights to get about the place should club together and go bomb their headquarters with real polar bears.

I was sitting in the office Monday morning , minding my own business – as I am wont to do – when I hear this ass hat in the hallway LOUDLY recounting the previous night’s episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm.  And it wasn’t just a quick rundown of the episode – he basically did a reading of the script there in the middle of the office, recounting every joke, every plot device. Every single moment.  After pausing to appreciate the young man’s impressive, Rain Man-ian memory, I got really, really pissed off – as I am also wont to do.

You see, I hadn’t watched the show yet – instead I was monitoring Sunday Night Football to root on some players from my fantasy team (That’s seven wins in a row, bitches.)  I was planning on watching Curb when I got home until this idiotic, greasy fucksack ruined it for me.

What a fucking dick this kid is!  I mean, I understand that giving away the plot of Curb isn’t exactly like giving away the end of the Sopranos or Harry Potter or the 6^th Sense, but I wanted to watch that shit and he totally destroyed any hope I had of enjoying.  I watched it OnDemand when I got home and I already knew what all the jokes were and what all the twists were. Fucking ruined.

Oh and here’s another thing – repeating jokes you heard on TV does not make you funny.  No one wants to hear your version of some Saturday Night Live skit or your version of something from Family Guy and lord knows no one wants to hear your Kartman impersonation.  There are two reasons for this – 1) everyone would much rather hear my Kartman impersonation and 2) if I wanted to be regaled with a joke from a TV show I would watch the fucking TV show.  Please, put your Hans and Franz impressions away, people – no one needs that crap.  Especially when you could probably pay Dana Carvey 5 bucks to come to your house and do it himself.

Theres’s got to be some sort of society wide moratorium against giving away tv shows and movies like that.  I think you have to give people at least a week before you start publically orating the intricacies of any particular TV episode.  Or at least yell out Spoiler Alert or something.  Like I could have yelled out to this guy “Spoiler Alert: A year from now, you’ll find out that no one likes your soul patch.  Ass.”

Speaking of how repeating stuff you’ve heard on TV doesn’t make you funny, the incident reminded me of this sketch from Kids in the Hall.  Enjoy:

Theres three kind of pepole in the world, dicks, pussys and assholes, and the dicks need to fuck the pussys, but dicks also fucks assholes, and there allways gonna be pussys and assholes out there, but if the dicks didnt fuck the assholes you will get shit everywere theres allways gonna be assholes that will be fucked.

that poor son of a tuna.

While the Bold & Fresh Tour 2010 sounds like a harmless ad campaign for some spectacular detergent, it is actually something far more sinister – a meeting of the minds crafted of pure evil. When Glenn Beck and Bill O’Reilly take the stage together, it will be the like the Flintstones meet the Jetsons, except if every character in those beloved cartoons had a black heart wrought of cold iron that pumped nothing save venomous bile and existed only to perpetuate an infinite variety of sufferings on every human being on the planet.

As to who gets to be bold and who remains merely fresh in this pairing,we can only guess. Also a mystery is which two fine young gentlemen will play the parts of Beck and O’Reilly in the inevitable series of astonishingly deviant gay porn films (The Bod & Flesh Tour, 2010, 2011, Spring Break, etc.) that is sure to be the closest thing to a wholesome result of this tour.

And while it doesn’t seem like that much pure, conecntrated loathing for humanity in one place could possibly be a good idea, keep in mind one thing. Bill O’Reilly and Glenn Beck will be on a bus. Together. Several times. So join me, if you will, in a prayer to a departed hero - Ghost of Cliff Burton, we beseech thee to work thy dark ways. Never has you nation needed you more.

Here is an Interesting Fact for you: When Bill O’Reilly asked L0u Dobbs with no sense of irony at all “Is Barack Obama the Devil?” last night, it was not the worst thing said by a proto-human on Fox News last night!

That honor goes to the cretinous, malformed troglodyte known as Glenn Beck,  for comparing health care reform to child rape, because what a ha-ha funny joke that is, right?

Wow, the American public is just like that girl that Roman Polanski raped. I guess I never saw it that way because I am not a TOTAL FUCKING MONSTER. But yeah, I guess if I was Glenn Beck, and was thus WORSE THAN A BILLION SERIAL KILLERS, then yeah, I would think that rape jokes are hilarious.

So it is my last night/morning of work at this goshforsaken hotel/motel and I stumbled upon hilarity. Dontevenreply.com. For those of you who don’t know it’s about an asshole writing e-mails in response to ads that just sound RiDONKulous. One ad was like ‘ does anyone of the shingles or chicken pox so we can meet and expose them to my children?’ Needless to say he does an awesome asshole thing with this crazy broad. As I sit here, drunk on Diet Arizona Lemon Tea, I am watching all the people come in and out of this hotel. Now mind you guys it is 6:30 in the morning so the quality of people is very strange. They are mostly construction workers hacking many o’ lungs.  One big pet peeve: lung hackage. Some are friendly but most are douchers with nothing better to do than fuck with the girl behind the counter.  So,anyway, I’m waiting for seven a.m. so I can have breakfast with my square. Yes, it’s probably going to be an array of unhealthy things such as pancakes and butter but damn it you can’t just quit cold turkey and it is a celebration of my last day at this place. I’m gonna ween off the hard stuff like Wendy’s and Mickey D’s for breakfast, I swear. I have all you bloggers to keep up with my journey. I am telling you I am going to Vegas early next year and there is no FUCKING way I am spending extra money for an extra ticket to cover my fat ass. Ever seen the movie Why Did I Get Married? Yeah, they made the lady pay for an extra seat due to her weight. No. Nah uh. I WILL not be that heifer. That is sooo degrading. So let me enjoy my fatty fat last breakfast and then I’ll crack down with salads, small portions, and broiled chicken and all that mess.