tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17216372275280906782024-03-13T20:15:47.048-07:00if you're not weird you're boringKbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-30611514515390214812014-05-04T10:05:00.000-07:002014-05-19T10:29:55.523-07:00I wasn't always the sex symbol of my generation: Confessions of a chubby pre-teen<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
I was never an especially beautiful
little girl, even though my grandmother might tell you otherwise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a chubby, only child who grew up in a
house with a single dad, and occasionally visited with a sometimes-mom who
thought putting on a leather jacket and running gel through her hair was "dressing up".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because of this, my feminine influences were
limited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Luckily, w</span>hen I was a little kid I didn’t
really know the difference.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plaid
shirts and jeans worked well enough for playing in the backyard, and that was
pretty much the extent of it until I reached middle school.<br />
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Hb9u7gYa4Tc/U2bHtflFgTI/AAAAAAAAAYM/J72MaOB-pK4/s1600/me+and+goofy+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Hb9u7gYa4Tc/U2bHtflFgTI/AAAAAAAAAYM/J72MaOB-pK4/s1600/me+and+goofy+7.jpg" height="200" width="112" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes I am wearing a unitard, and apparently I also think I'm John Lennon reincarnate.</td></tr>
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My father worked his ass off to juggle a career and take care of me. He could barely make it to my after school program on time to pick me up, let alone
assuage every childhood insecurity of mine. My mother was always in the middle of some financial or relationship crisis of her own design, so she certainly wasn't going to be the guiding light that would help me navigate through the dicey waters of puberty either. I entered middle school as an awkward,
chubby, blond tomboy, blissfully unaware of what obstacles lay waiting for me on the horizon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
I wasn't completely hideous, but I wasn't a looker by any stretch of the imagination either. Despite not looking like
a Disney star, I was clever, quirky, and liked to have a good
laugh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The freedom of childhood allowed those better qualities to flourish, and as a result I luckily made some good friends, played sports, and did well enough
socially. Thankfully, I would be spared the turmoil of being a complete social reject, but being somewhere near the top of the middle, or the bottom of the top had its own unique pitfalls. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I reached 7<sup>th</sup>
and 8<sup>th</sup> grade, boys, crushes, and the faint blushes of
sexuality began to flourish around me. Boys & girls began to flirt, kiss, and even"date"; sometimes for <i>weeks </i>at a time. Despite my desires to join in, I was more of a yearning spectator
then an active participant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Do-iiJhS_S4/U2bH9CAq7RI/AAAAAAAAAYU/Q8sZFqwUKoI/s1600/me+in+a+cat+shirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Do-iiJhS_S4/U2bH9CAq7RI/AAAAAAAAAYU/Q8sZFqwUKoI/s1600/me+in+a+cat+shirt.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, that's me in a cat shirt. I blame my father.</td></tr>
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I remember obsessing over the same
boys everyone else did, and being friends with the girls they liked - who always
seemed so perfect, and also so boring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
remember heartbreaking little scenes, like the time I went to a Halloween party
in 7<sup>th</sup> grade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had decided I
would be a diner waitress, and my dad and I spent the entire day driving around trying to find the
perfect costume for the girl/boy party I would be attending later that night. Matt
was going to be there and I had been hopelessly, utterly in love with him ever since the 5th grade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I wasn’t busy drawing pictures of him
& I running off into the sunset in my notebook, I was gazing endlessly at the back of his perfectly gelled head from the desk behind him in math class.<br />
<br />
In my mind this Saturday night Halloween party might as
well have been the Met Gala.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dad went
so far as to drive me to a factory where they made & sold uniforms so we could make it
look authentic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ended up in a mint green
button up diner dress, with an apron, fully equipped with fake kitchen
equipment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I brushed my hair back into a
pony tail and looked myself over in my new dress (something I had barely ever worn
before) and I think I remember feeling a little bit pretty. One thing I definitely was, was very, very excited. Maybe
<i>this </i>was the outfit that would finally get Matt to notice me, and w<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">ho knows, maybe we'd even play 7 minutes in Heaven; a girl could dream.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
arrived at the party, a pretty big to do in my 7<sup>th</sup> grade world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, nothing went as I had planned it in my built-up, little
imagination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Matt didn’t look at me 'like
that', although he may have laughed at a couple of my jokes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did however notice Nicole; probably
without her even trying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Nicole was pretty and had mastered the quiet giggle accompanied by an adorable side glance long before I had even realized there was a complex and subtle art to femininity. An art which conveniently, no one had remembered to tell me about. I remember when I told my dad I wanted to start shaving my legs, he had to ask a lady at work what kind of razor to buy me and how often I would need to change the blade. Looking back now, I never stood a chance. </span>I spent the
whole evening watching him flirt with her. A broken-hearted preteen rage grew inside
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember looking down at the stupid fake
knife, in my stupid fake apron, and wishing it was real so I could take it out
and stab stupid fake Nicole for stealing my stupid fake boyfriend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Teenage hormones were so fun, weren’t
they?<br />
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Another time, I went to a birthday pool party at a girl named Kristen's house, who was of course effortlessly pretty & popular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was worthy enough to get the invite, but my
bikini wouldn’t be earning me any suitors this day either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember watching all the hot, popular boys
chase the girl’s around the pool and “jump-start” them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Jump-starting </span>was when a boy would run up behind a
girl and grab her hips a couple of times to surprise her, otherwise known as “I would totally bang you, but my balls haven't dropped yet.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other
girls would laugh about how annoying it was, but I was always about 3 seconds away from
stapling a sign to my ass that read “Jump-starts are cool by me, seriously GO FOR
IT.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jBAw0Op3B9Y/U2bIdoldtSI/AAAAAAAAAYk/8dveq6oQIt4/s1600/me+hand+in+face+13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jBAw0Op3B9Y/U2bIdoldtSI/AAAAAAAAAYk/8dveq6oQIt4/s1600/me+hand+in+face+13.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Leave me alone, I'm an angsty teen girl."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> Anyway, I was meandering aimlessly
around the pool when I noticed a group of boys sitting down in lawn
chairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were laughing like pre-pubescent hyenas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
I listened in to hear what all the commotion was about, and </span>I slowly realized they were calling all the cute girls over in their little
bathing suits, and then asking them to bend over and get them a soda from the
nearby cooler, while they gazed at their asses with the same smug grin that would probably later get them into the fraternity of their choice. </div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
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Desperately,
I yearned for Dan to call me over and exploit my happily willing ass
to his chairmates (imagine a 12 year old lumberjack with a dangerously sexual
glimmer in his eye; at least that’s how I saw him).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of the sudden I heard my name being called
“Hey Krissy, come over here for a second!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Could it be, was it finally, really happening to me? I waited for a
second until they called me again, just so I could make sure it was real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Krissy, get over here!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I eagerly sauntered over with the calm demeanor of a dog in heat, “Yeah, Dan?” I replied coolly (in my mind).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Could you go over to that cooler there
& grab me a soda?” he pointed, gesturing to a cheap red Coleman, which held the contents of my sexual destiny. "HOLY SHIT, HOLY SHIT, HOLY SHIT," I suppressed myself from
screaming out loud, but my excitement would be short lived, because in the very next breath, Dan looked back over at me. I saw his eyes look me up and
down with the exaggeration of a Charlie Chaplin film, then he turned his head slightly back towards his cronies and slyly said “You
know what?...Never mind, I think I'm all set.” as they all erupted in a cacophony of laughter. I walked away holding back tears of humiliation. I didn't have the tools yet to stand up for myself, but I did learn how to hate myself & my body image in a brand new way.</div>
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In retrospect, Dan was a little douche-bag unworthy of my attention, but he probably didn't know any better. I imagine he had some beer drinking, misogynist of a father who modeled that behavior for him all too well, and to be fair it probably was <i>kind of funny </i>from the literal & figurative place he sat during that time in his life, but it sucked for 12 year old me. </div>
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When I graduated high school some years later, I had gone through puberty, grown some boobs, boys had noticed, and I had figured my shit out a little. I remember sitting in the Senior Courtyard and seeing Dan and his annoyingly similar, sexy, brutish friend Jon stick their heads out the window and yell down something to the effect that I should come up and see them for some implied sexy time, except this time they weren't joking. I wasn't the chubby, androgynous, little 12 year old I used to be, but some weird part of her was still in there seeking their validation. I won't lie, it felt good to know they finally saw me that way, but it was more empowering that I no longer saw them the same way<i> I used to</i>; as the gate keepers to my self-esteem. </div>
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2z-VHkqIsbQ/U2Z5kLbEGKI/AAAAAAAAAXw/hnvV6L4J4Ig/s640/blogger-image--1864972672.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2z-VHkqIsbQ/U2Z5kLbEGKI/AAAAAAAAAXw/hnvV6L4J4Ig/s320/blogger-image--1864972672.jpg" width="221" /></a></div>
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<br />
I didn't end up meeting them in the hall to bang in case you were wondering. I talked my 12 year old self off that cliff pretty quickly, and let the more self-assured 17 year old version of me reply with something witty and go on with the rest of her day. It would take me many years, and many more incidents of a similar nature (good, and bad) to learn how to find myself inwardly instead of through the viewpoint of others, and to be honest it's still a work in progress. Now as I sit here at 25, having been the chubby girl, the funny girl, the sexy girl, the popular girl, the snarky girl, the broken-hearted girl, and everything in between, I reflect back on the childhood version of myself who saw things with a unique sense of humor, who liked to write and be creative, who cared about others, who laughed without abandon, and I'm trying to give her the acceptance and nurturing I didn't know how to then, because that 12 year old girl kicked serious ass.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rvO8qjpy-Do/U2bIuFM4TqI/AAAAAAAAAYs/SaiXJRHYCqs/s1600/me+being+silly+as+a+kid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rvO8qjpy-Do/U2bIuFM4TqI/AAAAAAAAAYs/SaiXJRHYCqs/s1600/me+being+silly+as+a+kid.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Being weird's the new cool."<br />
<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-evnptLxZ7F0/U2bKJaVk67I/AAAAAAAAAZI/tnxVnEesohU/s1600/me.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-evnptLxZ7F0/U2bKJaVk67I/AAAAAAAAAZI/tnxVnEesohU/s1600/me.jpeg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Stop making that face 12 yr old me, J/K play on playa."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-27472727360050668482014-04-21T06:23:00.000-07:002014-05-04T16:28:29.661-07:00Why dating a guy with a beard isn't as cool as it looks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br /><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3SELVG67SRI/U1Ua5bPRoyI/AAAAAAAAAWg/RTsxZgbQCbQ/s1600/beards-pro-con-300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3SELVG67SRI/U1Ua5bPRoyI/AAAAAAAAAWg/RTsxZgbQCbQ/s1600/beards-pro-con-300.jpg" height="152" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Thanks for the upper lip exfoliation babe."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.irkitated.com/2014/04/why-dating-guy-with-beard-isnt-always.html" target="_blank">Why Dating a Bearded Guy Isn't as Cool as it Looks</a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(click link above for article)</span> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I was lucky enough to write a piece for the awesomely funny </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.irkitated.com/2014/04/why-dating-guy-with-beard-isnt-always.html" target="_blank">irkitated.com</a></span></b> about my experience dating an epically bearded man. From fending off hipster girls, to wading through a jungle of mustache hair for a kiss, it's all chronicled on the link above for your viewing pleasure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Thanks,</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">-Krissy </span></div>
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</div>
Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-71558717444876070892013-10-04T10:52:00.002-07:002014-05-06T13:13:01.341-07:00How to tell if someone is an asshole: The comprehensive guide<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FcjGurFVMKk/Uk8AGili6qI/AAAAAAAAASs/3x-lItxRnzk/s1600/howtonotbeadick.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Everyone wakes up in the morning, looks in the mirror, and believes that they are a good person. Unfortunately, this is bullshit, and I have more than enough anecdotal evidence to prove it. I encounter way too many Douchey McDouchenstein's out in our 'civilized' world, for this to possibly be true.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If they can't be polite they're probably a dick. </span></b></u></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FcjGurFVMKk/Uk8AGili6qI/AAAAAAAAASs/3x-lItxRnzk/s1600/howtonotbeadick.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FcjGurFVMKk/Uk8AGili6qI/AAAAAAAAASs/3x-lItxRnzk/s320/howtonotbeadick.jpg" height="320" width="246" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here are several common scenarios that will help you identify a huge pompous jerk (or figure out if you are one).</span></div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">People that don't say thank you when you hold the door, are probably assholes.</span></b></u><br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MlDq1XSDK_w/Uk77PGh0KEI/AAAAAAAAARw/kldv0Z0olcs/s320/holding+the+door.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MlDq1XSDK_w/Uk77PGh0KEI/AAAAAAAAARw/kldv0Z0olcs/s320/holding+the+door.jpg" height="183" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<ul style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MlDq1XSDK_w/Uk77PGh0KEI/AAAAAAAAARw/kldv0Z0olcs/s1600/holding+the+door.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This one drives me fucking insane. Unless you are a dementia laden old person who isn't sure I am a figment of your imagination, say 'thank you'. Easy fucking peasy.</span></li>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span></ul>
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></b><br />
<ul style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Conversely,</b> you are 2 steps behind someone, and have been for at least half a block.<i> SO close, that if you had your eyes closed, you could still sense that another human was near you</i>, and yet when you enter the same building, guess what she <i>doesn't</i> do? Good job, that's right: Hold the fucking door. Apparently they had calculated her daily schedule down to the second, and they just didn't have the 1 second to spare; otherwise they totally would have!!</span></li>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span></ul>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">PS. The universal exception is the awkward distance scenario, see picture below:
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<b><u><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></u></b><br />
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<img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TgF_rJTur9o/Uk77wvmUqZI/AAAAAAAAAR4/0nv-5PkD1xM/s320/awkward+door.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u>J-Walkers are assholes. Drivers that don't let you cross in the crosswalk are also assholes.</u></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xSQH4jttP30/Uk781BRPAWI/AAAAAAAAASM/rAZsmUWX58w/s200/yield.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xSQH4jttP30/Uk781BRPAWI/AAAAAAAAASM/rAZsmUWX58w/s200/yield.jpg" height="143" width="200" /></span></a></div>
<ul style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xSQH4jttP30/Uk781BRPAWI/AAAAAAAAASM/rAZsmUWX58w/s1600/yield.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dude, we all live in the same country. The rules of the road are pretty universal, you don't just run across the street (especially when there is a cross walk within your field of vision). Yet, you chose to, and I politely obliged even though it causes an undue and dangerous flow in the traffic pattern, and I could have justifiably ended your life instead, and you can't even give me the 'thanks hand'? Bro, not cool. Not cool at all </span></li>
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</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
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</ul>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b></b></span><br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Conversely,</b> if I am a law abiding pedestrian beginning my trek across the well marked pedestrian cross walk, and you see me, and then simply keep driving - you sir, are an asshole. This happens to me all the time, and would be lying if I said I am not often tempted to pretend I have been struck to teach them a tough, but well deserved lesson.</span></li>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span></ul>
<b><u><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></u></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Anyone who acts like a douche on the highway, is an asshole.</span></u></b><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(Yeah, there are a ton of them, so I'll just touch on my 2 least favorite.)</span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NyejOc8rLPc/Uk7-TNQG9PI/AAAAAAAAASY/dBiqH9pTMjc/s320/cars_merging.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NyejOc8rLPc/Uk7-TNQG9PI/AAAAAAAAASY/dBiqH9pTMjc/s320/cars_merging.jpg" height="265" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">#1. The merging asshole.</span></b><br />
<ul style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NyejOc8rLPc/Uk7-TNQG9PI/AAAAAAAAASY/dBiqH9pTMjc/s1600/cars_merging.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></a><br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am often stuck in 5 o'clock stop and go traffic from hell, we have all been there. Nobody likes it, it sucks, but it is what it is.</span></li>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><ul><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span></ul>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It does not suck more for 1 person than it does for all the rest of us poor schmucks who would rather be anywhere else after a long day of work, yet there is inevitably that 1 guy who feels he is entitled to not have to sit through it like the rest of us.</span></li>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><ul><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span></ul>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Situation: The lanes are merging. Everyone knows they are merging because the highway is a fucking parking lot. You have the opportunity to watch every car in front of you merge for at least 10 minutes because you are stuck going 5 miles per hour and have nothing else to do. </span></li>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><ul><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span></ul>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When it is finally your turn to complete the sacred dance called 'le merge', the dude who has been behind you in the other lane that's merging gets the sudden urge to pass you at the last minute and cram his car in front of yours, so he can sit in front of you in the endless traffic, rather then behind you. WHY was that so important to you; it defies my logic.</span></li>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span></ul>
<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">#2. The cuts you off asshole.</span></b><br />
<ul style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You are driving down the open, relatively traffic-free road, doing the damn thing, when all of the sudden a rusted out 1998 Honda Civic from a cross street to your left whips out in front of you like a bat out of hell, forcing you to hit the brakes and swerve.</span></li>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><ul><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span></ul>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once you have regained your composure, you check your surroundings. There were no cars behind you, yet this guy could not wait the 0.008 seconds it would take for you to drive by before they nearly ended your life, so they could get to McDonalds for a fucking Shamrock Shake.</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The 'coup de grace' is when they immediately afterwards, become the most speed limit abiding citizen in the world and go 5 mph under the speed limit for the remainder of your ride behind them. It is as though you went from not existing when they pulled out, to transforming into a goddamn state trooper. You already screwed up dude, keep going nuts so I can get to work on time.</span></li>
<span style="font-size: small;"><u>
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</span></u></span><ul><span style="font-size: small;"><u><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
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</span></u></span></ul>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><u><b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">People that are rude to wait staff, are super huge assholes.</span></b></u></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Common Scenario:</b> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><u>Friendly Barista who deals with a million self-entitled yuppies all day (approximately 100/hour) all while making virtually no money</u>:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r_E6TTXqg0U/Uk75WpHbGcI/AAAAAAAAARc/MBgRrNwxB4U/s200/barista.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r_E6TTXqg0U/Uk75WpHbGcI/AAAAAAAAARc/MBgRrNwxB4U/s200/barista.jpg" height="118" width="200" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Good Morning, how are you?" <br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><u>In a hurry, sunglass-inside-wearing, specialty coffee ordering S.O.B</u>:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-R82RY9dMM7I/Uk742nslTLI/AAAAAAAAARY/TzT3R87tXF0/s200/coffee+guy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-R82RY9dMM7I/Uk742nslTLI/AAAAAAAAARY/TzT3R87tXF0/s200/coffee+guy.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Grande White Mocha, extra foam, 2 shots, no sugar." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Translation</i>: "I do not acknowledge you, you are only here to assist in my completion of consuming very rich, overpriced, and decadent caffeinated beverages. Hurry along plebian." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Familiar scenario number 2.</span></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></strong> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hKQiJx_ZZ7o/Uk76GRMz9TI/AAAAAAAAARk/XbD_oQWw65g/s200/waitress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hKQiJx_ZZ7o/Uk76GRMz9TI/AAAAAAAAARk/XbD_oQWw65g/s200/waitress.jpg" height="200" width="159" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<u><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></u><br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hKQiJx_ZZ7o/Uk76GRMz9TI/AAAAAAAAARk/XbD_oQWw65g/s1600/waitress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><u>Bubbly waitress who has a kid, goes to school full time, and works weekends to get by</u>:</span> </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"How's your steak?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><u>Asshole with smug look on their face</u>:</span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> "Awful. I asked for medium rare. Does this look like medium rare to you?"</span><br />
</span><br />
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</div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><u>Waitress</u>: </span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Oh, I'm so sorry, let me get that taken care of for you."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><u>Asshole</u>:</span> </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> "Yeah." (it goes without saying they will also leave a measly/no tip)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They are not your slaves, you do not deserve to treat people however you want just because you have a credit card. You're an asshole. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So that is the guide, at least now you can try to avoid these people, or start being an asshole back and see how they like it. And if you're reading this and thinking to yourself, "Hey, I kind of do a thing like that sometimes", the good news is, it's not to late for you. Refer to the chart in the beginning of the post, & you'll be back on track in no time.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I will leave you with these motivational pictures I found on the internet.</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cQ16pYWgaxE/Uk8AGjid2jI/AAAAAAAAASk/-ifssPDVZyM/s1600/be-all-you-can-but-dont-be-an-asshole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cQ16pYWgaxE/Uk8AGjid2jI/AAAAAAAAASk/-ifssPDVZyM/s320/be-all-you-can-but-dont-be-an-asshole.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-H5OQGE5aFik/Uk8AGnBa-FI/AAAAAAAAASo/WNDNsNohjXs/s1600/be-cool-dont-be-an-asshole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-H5OQGE5aFik/Uk8AGnBa-FI/AAAAAAAAASo/WNDNsNohjXs/s320/be-cool-dont-be-an-asshole.jpg" height="320" width="255" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HvoB5txA5P0/Ui-5qy6STRI/AAAAAAAAAPU/oqSmrqR_r2Y/s1600/77977-381x315-Man_on_phone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HvoB5txA5P0/Ui-5qy6STRI/AAAAAAAAAPU/oqSmrqR_r2Y/s320/77977-381x315-Man_on_phone.jpg" height="264" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Hi, I'm being a nice, normal person friend and checking in on you."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I am having a shitty <strike>week</strike>, no <strike>month</strike>, no...season; I'm having a shitty summer. Looking at my personal life from the outside is similar to pulling up next to the scene of an accident 5 minutes after it happens, there's smoke coming from the engine, and you're not sure if the people in the car are even alive. You think about helping for a minute, but you're scared that if you get too close you might see a decapitated head staring at you, or that the car is going to blow up and claim you as it's next victim; so you just keep driving and feel really glad it isn't you.<br />
<br />
One of my good guy friends could tell I was in a funk so he called me to see how I was doing. <br />
<br />
The whole conversation (although well intended on his part) felt a bit obligatory because A) I'm not a phone person and B) I wasn't in the mood to discuss anything unfortunate going on with me. Because we don't talk much, and he had taken the time to reach out, I felt like blowing him off wouldn't be the right thing to do, so I forced myself to talk.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0YDz_Lx7xVc/Ui-57XIqWXI/AAAAAAAAAPc/V72e2ed6J_0/s1600/blondbwgirlphonesad1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0YDz_Lx7xVc/Ui-57XIqWXI/AAAAAAAAAPc/V72e2ed6J_0/s320/blondbwgirlphonesad1.jpg" height="234" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Thanks for calling. I'm going to reward your kindness with horrifying, undeserved judgement because I'm nuts."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i>Sometimes </i>venting can be energizing, and other times discussing things that are wrong does the opposite; <i>it drains us</i>. In this case, it was the latter. I filled him in on my recent trials and tribulations, and he was very kind, and nice, and complimentary of me, which all almost felt too perfect. I thought to myself, enough, "I'm great, I'm fantastic, blah, blah, blah", thank you, except I'm not, I'm wildly imperfect, and right now I'm stressed, and melancholy, and ready to go to bed for at least the next week and a half.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dBYWGFwIx88/Ui-6f6BefeI/AAAAAAAAAPo/DllCUqEFIL0/s1600/SZ200_girl-mad-phone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dBYWGFwIx88/Ui-6f6BefeI/AAAAAAAAAPo/DllCUqEFIL0/s1600/SZ200_girl-mad-phone.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I am not a good friend and person, you asshole, how dare you!"<br />
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(Cue Bad Idea: The part where I decided to compare my friends relationship to mine <em>while I was in a bad mood</em>. Sometimes I like to learn the hard<strike>est</strike> way)<br />
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I asked him to change the subject and talk about himself, so he did. We discussed the normal things, what he's been up to, his job, and one other thing. He has been with a girl for a little over a year now, and it seemed like an appropriate thing to discuss, so I asked how it was going. I think in that moment I needed to feel some reciprocal sense of chaos, to feel like my life isn't the only one that feels out of control, confusing, or difficult at times. It was probably unfair of me to expect to solicit a specific response, but in my head that's what I wanted. I wanted to hear, "You're not the only one going through shit, you're not the only one who doesn't have all the answers, I'm fucked up sometimes too", but that's not what I got. I got, "Things are really great!" <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0cKCPHrAMYg/Ui-7AEp8VBI/AAAAAAAAAPw/lYwzEGTgjag/s1600/happy-young-couple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0cKCPHrAMYg/Ui-7AEp8VBI/AAAAAAAAAPw/lYwzEGTgjag/s320/happy-young-couple.jpg" height="291" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Oh, things are perfect, you love each other every second, and you never ever fight? That's awesome, well la di fucking da, how sweet. Sometimes my relationship is like that too, and sometimes it's like this, because we've been together for over a year and I'm not a fucking Stepford Wife."</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-unssxg0INcA/Ui-7gUmLrgI/AAAAAAAAAP4/5qL-yfGpNys/s1600/argument-normal-couple-400x400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-unssxg0INcA/Ui-7gUmLrgI/AAAAAAAAAP4/5qL-yfGpNys/s320/argument-normal-couple-400x400.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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I sensed myself having this ugly reaction inside, that I can't quite explain. Okay, I can explain it, but I'm not sure I can defend it. It's not as though I wanted to hear that he was unhappy, he's my friend for Christ Sake, but it didn't feel realistic. They have been together for about a year, they just moved in together a few months ago; I mean we're friends give me the dirt! I didn't want him to say it was crashing and burning, but I wanted to hear something that felt more human than, "things are awesome, she's the best."<br />
<br />
So I pressed. I said "Come on, you guys have been dating for a year. You must have some fears, or doubts, or little arguments. I know I do, and they suck, but they usually result in something productive, or help us understand one another." His response was, "No, not really. One time we got in a fight because she was dieting and it made her moody because she was hungry. We definitely learned something about dieting. Hahaha." I felt my blood starting to boil.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/SmEmSzgwHGs?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe> </div>
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"Boy, she sure was moody that day! Now I make sure I have snacks on hand so we never have to bicker again!" </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oXcK3GT5Aqk/Ui--U7UPEGI/AAAAAAAAAQE/JSwtNeRUQHg/s1600/tumblr_ml1bnfGBe01qa07l3o1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oXcK3GT5Aqk/Ui--U7UPEGI/AAAAAAAAAQE/JSwtNeRUQHg/s320/tumblr_ml1bnfGBe01qa07l3o1_500.gif" height="149" width="320" /></a></div>
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Are you fucking kidding me? The biggest argument you've ever been in is the equivalent of the fucking Snickers commercial where some guy on a long car ride turns into Aretha Franklin because he needs a snack. WOW, what is this, 'Leave it to fucking Beaver'??? At this point in the conversation I was feeling like either I'm totally fucked up because I occasionally get in an argument, or he was the world's biggest liar. And then I felt TERRIBLE for feeling that way. I'm sitting there thinking, this guy was nice enough to call and be a friend, and now <u><b>all I can think about is how annoyed I am because he's happy</b></u>. That's brilliant, someone just put me in the straight jacket and haul me out of here, because I'm a demented, horrible person.<br />
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(Cue WORSE idea: Comparing your relationship <strike>or life</strike> to people on facebook)<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ITLno2Nkl-A/Ui-__qqfUuI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/XxuNposENLU/s1600/tumblr_lg0ct4WdLN1qbnsaf.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ITLno2Nkl-A/Ui-__qqfUuI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/XxuNposENLU/s320/tumblr_lg0ct4WdLN1qbnsaf.png" height="305" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"You're happy, we get it."</td></tr>
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I think this speaks to a greater issue we can all relate to though. Although, I don't know if my friend has really only gotten in 1 fight about some vanilla bullshit issue with his girlfriend, I shouldn't be comparing myself and my relationship to his. I've never met this girl, there could be a <b>thousand</b> reasons he isn't disclosing things, a few being - he's a boy (no offense, but they aren't usually huge drama dwellers), I've never met her and maybe he doesn't want me to think bad of them, maybe he just doesn't feel like talking about things like that, or maybe they really have only ever gotten in one "fight." Whatever the case is, it doesn't serve me at all to compare myself to them. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aKj-ALTmOvM/Ui_GBF22i4I/AAAAAAAAAQo/Wm2S_3wj1OA/s400/fb+status.jpg" height="275" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Oh really John Smith? Well guess what I'm in a relationship with? This carton of ice cream & box of wine, AND IT IS SERIOUS!!"</td></tr>
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We see this on facebook all the time, and if you haven't related to anything I've said yet, maybe you will on this. On social media we see the most edited, spruced up, cropped images of other people's lives. Nobody* is going to go on a social platform and willingly air the things that aren't right, or could be better in their lives. Why would they? Instead we see the highlight reel - the birthday outing, the relationship status, the family gathering, <i>the engagement</i>. Social media can sometimes create a view of other people's lives that feels unattainable, but yet there it is, in spades, happening to almost <i>everyone </i>we know, so how can we separate ourselves from the endless inundation of filtered reality? <br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Almost nobody, there is always that one person on facebook who uncomfortably airs and exaggerates every conceivable drama in their lives for public consumption.</span><br />
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Think about social media like a Selfie fail. What we see at first glance looks pretty great, but upon closer inspection things are not as perfect as they appear. We have to take the information with a grain of salt, compare it with the evidence
we see in real life, and stop holding ourselves to some impossible
standard. What your 1,000 FB friends, twitter celebrities, and lifestyle bloggers are leaving out, is the fight they had with their mom, the job they didn't get, or the girl they adore who doesn't want to be more than friends. <br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J3AcQutxY38/Ui_MVPwnD_I/AAAAAAAAARE/EAARe7W50vM/s1600/fail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J3AcQutxY38/Ui_MVPwnD_I/AAAAAAAAARE/EAARe7W50vM/s320/fail.jpg" height="320" width="203" /></a></div>
I started thinking about my friend for evidence I was not the only idiot who hasn't found out life's cheat codes yet. He has had plenty of relationships that haven't worked out in the past. Then I started to think about my best friends, they have tons of shit, good and bad going on in their lives, but if you looked at their FB profile, you'd think they're just hiking mountains, jetsetting to LA, and drinking craft beer all day. Just because the people around us aren't advertising their problems (and might even be doing a bit of work to hide them) doesn't mean they don't exist, myself included. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uSxHlmUy92A/Ui_CKS1UedI/AAAAAAAAAQc/2RAk0j3QJEI/s1600/tumblr_mrmxfwg6id1rb86ldo1_400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uSxHlmUy92A/Ui_CKS1UedI/AAAAAAAAAQc/2RAk0j3QJEI/s320/tumblr_mrmxfwg6id1rb86ldo1_400.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"We're fun, fashionable, and constantly having a blast! PS, we don't care what anyone thinks, that's why we took, edited, and posted this picture for you to see."</td></tr>
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I have a terrible habit of not being able to feel like I can relate to people who seem too perfect, too happy, too together. But maybe I am being unfair to them with that assessment. Maybe if we all admitted we're a little fucked up we'd have a lot more compassion for one another, and ourselves.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GmgHc7_ruV8/Ui_HCiatZrI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/tDQmySavtEc/s1600/utopia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GmgHc7_ruV8/Ui_HCiatZrI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/tDQmySavtEc/s1600/utopia.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Rainbows, puppies, and best friends forever!"</td></tr>
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Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-75293980763815299352013-09-05T14:26:00.001-07:002014-05-06T13:14:13.436-07:00Party Fouls & Party Fails<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The other day I was out with some hilarious friends; way funnier than me, and they said some shit that killed me, which in turn inspired this post. Therefore, I take no credit for what I'm about to share with you.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2zdGDIm79LE/Uijwpo-FYvI/AAAAAAAAAOc/DFvu7vwrnzg/s1600/cool_guy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2zdGDIm79LE/Uijwpo-FYvI/AAAAAAAAAOc/DFvu7vwrnzg/s320/cool_guy.jpg" height="320" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I have it all; no seriously, I do."</td></tr>
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Allow me to try and develop these characters for you:<br />
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Picture a group of buddies, late twenties, functioning in the adult world, normal jobs, copywriting phrases (literally), yet they still get housed every weekend like it's college. W<u>e call this living the dream</u>.<br />
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On top of their awesomeness, they are remarkably hilarious, just coming out of the woodwork with novel quips about any arbitrary topic you toss their way. Banter with them is almost intimidating, even by my standards.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R1ZbiOVKjFk/Uijyd31RULI/AAAAAAAAAOo/1h6R9ImhR0g/s1600/guys+drinking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R1ZbiOVKjFk/Uijyd31RULI/AAAAAAAAAOo/1h6R9ImhR0g/s200/guys+drinking.jpg" height="149" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Just 3 straight drunk dudes having some late night drinks; nothing gay going on here."</td></tr>
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So we were at a little concert/beer festival having a grand old time and they started telling me a story about this friend of theirs that came back to their place after a night of drinking pretty shitfaced.<br />
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Eventually, after a few nightcaps, everyone passed out respectively, and when they awoke in the morning they found their friend lying on the couch with his shirt and NO pants on. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MfCCE63MrPo/Uijz92ekmXI/AAAAAAAAAO0/fgXbHalKiak/s1600/man+on+couch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MfCCE63MrPo/Uijz92ekmXI/AAAAAAAAAO0/fgXbHalKiak/s320/man+on+couch.jpg" height="227" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Did you really think I was going to put a picture of pantless man on here? Use your imagination for Christ Sake. (Actually I would if I could find one, I couldn't. I failed you.)</td></tr>
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Picture that for a minute. Aside from being completely disgusting, (Flaccid penis just rubbing up on your furniture and all in your face), it is also startling, and confusing. Like, how did that combo happen? I assume some sort of bathroom debacle, but I either didn't get the deets or forgot (I'm sorry, maybe I'll find out and add a post script, because now I'm curious all over again).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tm43q_0KmRw/Uij0Vn0QODI/AAAAAAAAAO8/MJHe9XvuCig/s1600/no+pants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tm43q_0KmRw/Uij0Vn0QODI/AAAAAAAAAO8/MJHe9XvuCig/s320/no+pants.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where did the PANTS GO? What happened to God Damn PANTS???</td></tr>
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After seeing their friend like this, they coined a term that <i>so </i>accurately portrays what they saw that when I heard it I almost broke a rib, and have repeated it in every possible semi-related conversation I can work it into since.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Donald Duckin it"</span></b></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YG09jF-I2lw/Uij0mHlA2II/AAAAAAAAAPE/wmONuIC5WfI/s1600/donald+duckin+it.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YG09jF-I2lw/Uij0mHlA2II/AAAAAAAAAPE/wmONuIC5WfI/s640/donald+duckin+it.png" height="258" width="400" /></a></div>
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This is without a doubt, the most offensive non-clothing/clothing combination one can do; especially as a dude. Just absolutely 0.0 things flattering about it, no matter the body type. Even as a female, that combo isn't really working, something inherently gratuitous and awkward about a bare crotch and a covered torso.<br />
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So if you're one of those guys who bangs his girlfriend, but is a little overweight, and takes off his pants, but leaves his shirt on (you know you do this guys); you're DONALD DUCKIN' IT, and it needs to stop, or it needs to catch on like wildfire so I can hear more Donald Duckin' it Tales.<br />
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DONALD DUCKIN' IT 4 LYFE!<br />
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Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-1035468407061959052013-09-04T06:54:00.003-07:002014-01-30T19:06:16.290-08:00Unemployed job hunter goes postal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My friend works for an ad agency and they recently posted an opening on Craigslist of all places (</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://comedytothethinkers.blogspot.com/#!/2012/10/craigslist-societal-black-hole.html" target="_blank">see prior posts for my unabashed love for this site</a>). What </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">they received, was perhaps the best response of all time.</span> </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jlCnkMJhPzw/Uic0mVzk2tI/AAAAAAAAAL4/J1c-Y69XN3A/s1600/computer+job.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jlCnkMJhPzw/Uic0mVzk2tI/AAAAAAAAAL4/J1c-Y69XN3A/s1600/computer+job.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Oh look, there's hundreds of ads, this should be easy."</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Below is an excerpt of my conversation with her...enjoy.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u>My friend</u>: "So my company posted a craigslist ad for a web developer help and this was a reply we got..."</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o0chyCuFybY/Uic1UjVnq8I/AAAAAAAAAMQ/BUTJ8H7JFKo/s1600/email.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o0chyCuFybY/Uic1UjVnq8I/AAAAAAAAAMQ/BUTJ8H7JFKo/s1600/email.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Oh look, we got a response!"</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"You know, I email prob 30 employers a day and never get any reply, although</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Im far more than qualified. Your asking someone to do a task any PC </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">enthusiast could do. I can do this </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">kind of shit with my eyes closed. But that </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">doesn't matter to you idiotic </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">employers cause you'll end up hiring some dumb </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">fuck college kid who got drunk </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">24/7 while his daddy paid for his whole tuition in </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">cash. Fuck off and fuck your </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">company. I hope you go out of business next </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">week."<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5OTkYTZ5Lvc/Uic7LFoSW8I/AAAAAAAAAMo/1VSwM7yGSOQ/s1600/frat+guy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5OTkYTZ5Lvc/Uic7LFoSW8I/AAAAAAAAAMo/1VSwM7yGSOQ/s200/frat+guy.jpg" height="148" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I got my 1st real job bro, let's go get hammered on my dad's AMEX to celebrate."</td></tr>
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I honestly can't knock the guy for feeling this way, and I think he lent a pretty honest voice to the frustration many people have felt at one time or another. Who hasn't been on the sending end of seemingly endless job inquiries, bullshit cover letters, and mind numbing hours spent sifting through and applying to jobs we know we would rather wipe our asses with then spend our lives doing, only to be sent back auto-replies or worse, <em>nothing at all</em>. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FLoACUdxpfQ/Uic1TFWnpeI/AAAAAAAAAMM/dVzrL-hTcPs/s1600/angry+man+comp.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FLoACUdxpfQ/Uic1TFWnpeI/AAAAAAAAAMM/dVzrL-hTcPs/s320/angry+man+comp.png" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"How about you take your amateur hour, piece of shit, underpaid job and shove it up your @$$!"</td></tr>
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Going through that, especially for extended periods of time, compounded with the stress of unemployment, could make even the sanest person feel like they were about to snap. The anonymity of the internet plus feelings of frustration between what this guy wanted and those who he perceived to be keeping it from him, finally pushed him over the edge, and in a way, I'm glad they did, mostly because it was fucking hilarious, but also because I think we can all relate.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6LRFajCkF_U/Uic14SzNz4I/AAAAAAAAAMY/tQGk3JA0-wU/s1600/punching+comp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6LRFajCkF_U/Uic14SzNz4I/AAAAAAAAAMY/tQGk3JA0-wU/s320/punching+comp.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-52752867925355930252013-08-23T18:15:00.001-07:002013-09-04T10:43:16.213-07:00Bathroom Spies; Hidden Cameras<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I think there is someone spying on the women's restroom in my office.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EmCNsimcLNM/UhgEthsoWoI/AAAAAAAAALA/jNWvBg3qvXg/s1600/toilet-camera.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EmCNsimcLNM/UhgEthsoWoI/AAAAAAAAALA/jNWvBg3qvXg/s320/toilet-camera.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Yeah right."</td></tr>
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OK not really, but it IS possible.</div>
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I work in an office building made up of small individual businesses, and each floor shares a bathroom - which sounds bad, but it's really not because there is honestly only about 10 people that work on my entire floor. Plus, there is a men's room and a women's room, so with some quick, simple division..., one can reasonably conclude that I <i>almost </i>have my very own bathroom; which is great.</div>
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Anyways, I lost track of where I was going with this...</div>
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...Okay, yes! So, I went to use the bathroom at work and while I was mid-relief, when suddenly the lights sort of dimmed<strong>*</strong>, and I did that thing where you look around like "WTH?...", then the barrage of irrational questions entered my mind. For example, "Did the lights even dim...or did I just imagine that." Reason, kicks in for a second and I think, "Ok there was a power surge, or the bulb is fading...", but then I'm all "A power surge? What even is a power surge? Did the nuclear power plant just blow? And bulbs, they don't fade, they just go out, or stay on, there can be no in between! Something is happening here!"</div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*I should mention that the bathroom light does not have a dimmer switch. That would be way too obvious, and if it did, I would never admit it, and it would also mean someone was outside the door dimming my switch while I use the bathroom, which would also be weird as fuck...I digress...</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uofBaM4-lwM/UhgGyDvQ2jI/AAAAAAAAALM/wGgiesksNNQ/s1600/power+sruge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uofBaM4-lwM/UhgGyDvQ2jI/AAAAAAAAALM/wGgiesksNNQ/s320/power+sruge.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">^ What I imagine a power surge to look like.<br />
"I'M HERE TO FUCK YOUR SHIT UP MOTHER FUCKER!!!"</td></tr>
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Which leads me to the least rational and therefore final conclusion that there must be an elaborate electronic spying setup in the bathroom - that when activated, is sucking some of the power from the bulbs. Yup, that has to be it. All of the sudden, the whole bathroom has become suspect...that weird gap in the cheap (moveable!) ceiling tile could certainly house some strange video recording device, or maybe it's in the fucking toilet itself! The limited cast of characters on my floor suddenly seem a bit shady as well...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X59fCGnM1wU/UhgIBs8PGmI/AAAAAAAAALY/CVfLx85Ir-4/s1600/toilet+guy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X59fCGnM1wU/UhgIBs8PGmI/AAAAAAAAALY/CVfLx85Ir-4/s320/toilet+guy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"You see, you simply insert the device inside the rim of the toilet, and Voila!"</td></tr>
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I know this sounds nuts, but stick with me here. Every year there is at least one story about a sketchy guy camping out underneath a truck stop latrine for 2 weeks to watch girls do their business, or some person who owns a tanning salon video taping people burning their naked bodies to death. I JUST read a story about a guy who hacked into someone's webcam, and another story about people hacking into the radio frequencies of baby monitors! It is a sick, sick world out there, and I am not in any position to rule out these possibilities.</div>
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If you don't believe me, I submit these articles as evidence:</div>
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<li><a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2039213/Starbucks-hidden-camera-toilet-Girl-5-finds-secret-device-DC-bathroom.html" target="_blank">Hidden Camera Found in Starbucks Toilet</a></li>
<li><a href="http://metro.co.uk/2013/07/09/peeping-tom-arrested-after-hiding-in-septic-tank-and-staring-at-people-using-the-toilet-3874756/" target="_blank">Man Hides in Septic Tank to Spy on Women</a> </li>
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Why, you may ask, do I think people would want to watch me go to the bathroom? Or why, more importantly, is that the possibility I concluded...well that is good question. I would attribute it mainly to my generalized anxiety disorder mixed with a touch of narcissism. Yes, I do think that everyone I pass on the street is looking and thinking about me, and now that I think about it, there are a few middle-aged dudes (no offense middle aged dudes, you always get a bad wrap) who try and solicit conversation in the hallway a little too often, and stare a little too long, but that could just be a result of them being friendly and me being socially awkward; the world may never know.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zalw1yxnoq4/UhgCJN5OK9I/AAAAAAAAAKY/MwWc9LDXBPI/s1600/anthony+weiner+bob+filner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="196" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zalw1yxnoq4/UhgCJN5OK9I/AAAAAAAAAKY/MwWc9LDXBPI/s320/anthony+weiner+bob+filner.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Oh hey Bob Filner and Anthony Weiner, no no, I definitely was NOT referring to guys like you."</td></tr>
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But back to what I was saying - I am not taking any chances here on the porcelain princess. Suddenly my mind is having meta-thoughts about my crazy thoughts, and I realize I have suddenly become concerned with how I look while I'm peeing; like "that's not a very ladylike pee posture you have going on, you have to work with these spies, you don't want them thinking you are some kind of animal, straighten up and be a bit more dainty about it for Christ sake!" </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-95u4rNIfvXI/UhgC-akLJqI/AAAAAAAAAKk/yAeRbWtXGtY/s1600/pretty+pee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="144" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-95u4rNIfvXI/UhgC-akLJqI/AAAAAAAAAKk/yAeRbWtXGtY/s320/pretty+pee.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Just taking a dainty lady pee, nothing weird going on here...do do do."</td></tr>
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I finish my business, conclude it was probably a slight overreaction, and feel altogether impressed with what a profoundly irrational imagination I have, and what an exciting adventure the last minute and a half has been. </div>
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But seriously, you never know, there are some toilet-spying, pee getting-off-on, weirdos out there people!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SiJ-QjiNtTc/UhgD1G3Xr0I/AAAAAAAAAKw/cJ_KnBHCNIA/s1600/nestin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SiJ-QjiNtTc/UhgD1G3Xr0I/AAAAAAAAAKw/cJ_KnBHCNIA/s1600/nestin.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PS. Does Anyone else out there "nest"? Or am I the only weirdo?</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z9M1u2LZQ40/UhgEKI54NCI/AAAAAAAAAK8/NORBZR71Yew/s1600/toilet+paper+in+pants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z9M1u2LZQ40/UhgEKI54NCI/AAAAAAAAAK8/NORBZR71Yew/s200/toilet+paper+in+pants.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Double
PS. Does anyone else who nests ever pull up their pants and
accidentally tuck the toilet paper into them without realizing, and then
people see it and laugh at you, and then you have nesting PTSD after
every bathroom break? </td></tr>
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<a href="//pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.flickr.com%2Fphotos%2Fkentbrew%2F6851755809%2F&media=http%3A%2F%2Ffarm8.staticflickr.com%2F7027%2F6851755809_df5b2051c9_z.jpg&description=Next%20stop%3A%20Pinterest" data-pin-do="buttonPin" data-pin-config="above"><img src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/pidgets/pin_it_button.png" /></a>Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-60621268363597754662013-07-01T10:32:00.000-07:002013-09-04T10:43:27.304-07:00How do people know so many things? Am I Dumb?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I consider myself to be a reasonably intelligent person, but there are a lot of simple concepts that I have absolutely no excuse for not understanding. <br />
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Some examples: Time, dates, and places - someone send me back to grade school Billy Madison style ASAP.<br />
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<b>TIME</b>: I could not read an analog clock until...I pretty much still can't actually. To be fair, I can, but in the way where I have to stare at it for a long time and mentally think out which hand means what and the meaning of where they fall in between the given numbers. I can read analog clocks the way a 6 year old can add 5+7, but they have to literally count out all the numbers, probably out loud and on their hands, and maybe get it wrong once before arriving at the correct answer. Whereas a regularly functioning adult human can just automatically conclude "the answer is 12", or "it's 6:45am" - I cannot. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S7uUrcM6tWY/UdGkuZ29kDI/AAAAAAAAAIc/ZAmyuT0FP_o/s1000/clock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S7uUrcM6tWY/UdGkuZ29kDI/AAAAAAAAAIc/ZAmyuT0FP_o/s200/clock.jpg" width="190" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So smart people can relate - this is what it feels like when I try to read an analog clock.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dVGvLGl4VxU/UdG7xF5H3SI/AAAAAAAAAJU/2m7S1POe1Bg/s1600/counting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dVGvLGl4VxU/UdG7xF5H3SI/AAAAAAAAAJU/2m7S1POe1Bg/s200/counting.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"It is...43 and 1/2 O'clock."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Here is a shameful example of something I did recently; I work with children at one of my jobs (another controversial fact of my life), and one of them asked me what time the clock said in front of a large group of children and adults. The sheer pressure of answering this question in combination with my anxiety about analog clocks, left me frozen, so I just decided to give her this look like "C'mon, you know what time the clock says." Which was probably really cruel in retrospect, and in fact she got offended by my perceived condescending look. She was all, "That's not funny, I really don't know how to read it." I wanted to scream, me either, thank God I found another one like me - and then grab her in a comforting embrace! Thankfully, while my brain scrambled to figure out what to do, one of the other children easily recited the time, which added a new level of embarrassment mixed with relief.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LX5gO2VS-w0/UdGnWIZ5H_I/AAAAAAAAAIs/zqRnysM9V-w/s800/calendar.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LX5gO2VS-w0/UdGnWIZ5H_I/AAAAAAAAAIs/zqRnysM9V-w/s320/calendar.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Let me see...if Jesus came back to life after the 3rd day...and last year was a leap year...that means Flag Day will fall on the second Tuesday in April and I am not allowed to wear white pants anymore."<br />
</td></tr>
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<b>DATES</b>: I also have no idea when well-known holidays, or birthdays of my family members are; just straight up no idea. I just figured out last year that Christmas is December 25th, prior to that I was only reasonably confident that Christmas A) happened in winter and B) more specifically around the end of December. This still left a range of at least 10-11 possible days in which Christmas could be. First of all, can we just admit that there are way too many holidays, and then on top of that some of them fall on the 3rd Sunday of something and change every year depending on leap years or something...that is just impossible to keep track of - pick a date and stick with, that's what I say. <br />
<br />
As far as not knowing my friends and family member's birthdays; the only excuse I have is total, wholesale ego-mania. I definitely know MY birthday, other then that I have to collect a ton of context clues to decipher when other people's fall; example of how I do this in my head "I remember my dad's birthday is before September 11th (strangely morbid, but a memorable date) and after mine, so it must be in the beginning of September". The only two holidays I know without reference are Fourth of July (can't screw that one up) and New Years Eve; no joke.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-siDlV6cZNOY/UdG6i2nTSvI/AAAAAAAAAJE/iUNa06SYIbs/s228/compass.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-siDlV6cZNOY/UdG6i2nTSvI/AAAAAAAAAJE/iUNa06SYIbs/s228/compass.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"According to my calculations, we're fucked."</td></tr>
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<b>DIRECTIONS</b>: How the fuck do people know which direction they're going. I still don't get this. If you place a map in front of me with a little compass on it and I can tell you North, East, South, and West until I'm blue in the face, but other then that I am at a complete loss. <br />
<br />
My boyfriend for example, can be in the hallway of a building, in a town he has never been to before, and be like "We're southwest of Lake Tahoe right now", how the fuck do you know this? Or maybe we're lost in the woods and he'll just look into the sky and say "Just keep heading East and we'll be out of here in no time." Really?? Will we?? Are you some type of direction wizard or something? Reveal to me your magic or I will kill you out of fear! <br />
<br />
Even more embarrassing; I pretty much only know the street I live on, that's it. I have more or less driven the same highways and roads my entire life. It could be my 400th trip going to my parents house and my dad will call to see where I am and I cannot tell him whether I am on 495, 95, or 93 and forget about adding 495N or 93S into the mix, that is a complete loss. Instead I'll say something like, "Remember where that Friendly's Restaurant was when I was five, but then they closed it? That's where I am." That is how my brain works.<br />
<br />
Hopefully, I will just never get stranded on the side of a road in the winter, have a child I am responsible for disseminating practical knowledge to, or be in charge of leading the new world in some post-apocalyptic scenario.<br />
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In summation; I'm dumb, signs rule, lets nix some of the holidays because it is seriously getting out of hand, and digital clocks for life!!!!<br />
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<a href="//pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.flickr.com%2Fphotos%2Fkentbrew%2F6851755809%2F&media=http%3A%2F%2Ffarm8.staticflickr.com%2F7027%2F6851755809_df5b2051c9_z.jpg&description=Next%20stop%3A%20Pinterest" data-pin-do="buttonPin" data-pin-config="above"><img src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/pidgets/pin_it_button.png" /></a>Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-50964651729313866782013-06-28T14:26:00.000-07:002013-09-04T10:43:43.654-07:00My Boyfriend sucks at texting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So basically my boyfriend and I are total opposites when it comes to the world of virtual communication (is that a term?). What I am trying to say is non face-to-face interaction; we're bad at it. <br />
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There are several rational reasons for this, but it still drives me nuts.<br />
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>He is 12 years older then me and thinks I live in a world of TTYLs and Justin Bieber Tiger Beat posters</li>
<li>He sort of lives on the fringe of society, doesn't cut his hair, not a giant facebooker, etc.</li>
<li>He is dude and is not highly emotive or overly loquacious; especially when it comes to things like 'texting'</li>
<li>If I had it my way he would hit me up 24/7 with sweet nothings and inside jokes (which in reality would probably drive me insane), so perhaps I am a bit skewed on what an acceptable amount of texting actually is. </li>
</ul>
<br />
Now before I make him look like a total prick and me like a psycho (the second assumption may be fair); I should preface the post by saying he is by far the coolest/nicest guy I have ever dated. We live together so he sees me and has to deal with my B/S constantly, yet still grins and bears it, always appearing to listen - even if secretly he is thinking about pizza or something. Because of this, I sort of grant him a reprieve when he sucks at texting, but I still need to rib him about it because I am sadistic like that.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8R6goPfvTQk/Uc3-E4efS5I/AAAAAAAAAIM/ntXAC917k7E/s240/relationship.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8R6goPfvTQk/Uc3-E4efS5I/AAAAAAAAAIM/ntXAC917k7E/s240/relationship.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"So I told Karen, I love dogs, but I just don't think I'm ready for that kind of responsibility"<br />
"Yeah, Karen always does that to you (When the F!*K is she going to shut up? I wonder if Karen is single?)"</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
To illustrate a common text-ual interaction between us I have copied one below:</div>
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(Introduction to what is going on: I am a little manic and got it in my head we should buy a lake house - which is ridiculous for several reasons, 1 - being I am 24 and broke, 2 - he is already building us a house we can't afford right now. This is how the conversation begins.)<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N_4MmMvVbYA/Uc38nrTbwDI/AAAAAAAAAH0/UaJjdT9b1pY/s284/girl+texting.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; height: 136px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 190px;"><img border="0" height="124" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N_4MmMvVbYA/Uc38nrTbwDI/AAAAAAAAAH0/UaJjdT9b1pY/s200/girl+texting.png" width="200" /></a><b>ME</b>: "Ok Chris, I just emailed you 6 houses, one of which we shall purchase. Please confirm receipt of this text so I know you are taking me seriously. Also, my family is vacationing in that area next week so we go too and see all of them!" <br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: x-small;">(He is probably thinking - how exciting, we get to waste time looking at houses we can't afford and vacation with your parents!)</span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: x-small;">(....Time passes, no answer..but I had expected this - </span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: x-small;">I decide to text again....)</span><br />
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<b>ME</b>: "You Fail. F. For fail." <span style="color: blue; font-size: x-small;">(I am clever)</span><!-----i--></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-P9Owfv14ISw/Uc38uVe-p5I/AAAAAAAAAH8/c592sBzmE1Y/s340/granpa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="152" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-P9Owfv14ISw/Uc38uVe-p5I/AAAAAAAAAH8/c592sBzmE1Y/s200/granpa.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>BOYFRIEND</b>: "I'm working donkey." <br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: x-small;">(I tell myself this is a term of endearment)</span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N_4MmMvVbYA/Uc38nrTbwDI/AAAAAAAAAH4/Cz0tMrDAt-o/s284/girl+texting.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="124" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N_4MmMvVbYA/Uc38nrTbwDI/AAAAAAAAAH4/Cz0tMrDAt-o/s200/girl+texting.png" width="200" /></a></div>
<b>ME</b>: "All the poor people who call and text you between the hours of 8-5 must be so confused and worried about how you never answer, maybe we will get together and start a support group called "The Forgotten", except I have a feeling I will be the creator & sole member of said group - just a flat out lonely existence for poor old me."<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P9Owfv14ISw/Uc38uVe-p5I/AAAAAAAAAIA/illEcwJNw9E/s340/granpa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="152" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P9Owfv14ISw/Uc38uVe-p5I/AAAAAAAAAIA/illEcwJNw9E/s200/granpa.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<b>BOYFRIEND</b>: "Thank God you are not too dramatic."<br />
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<b>ME</b>: "Now that I have your attention, what are we doing/not doing tonight since I have to work tomorrow night and thus must maximize tonight's awesomeness potential." <span style="color: blue; font-size: x-small;">(That is my underhanded way of complaining about how we don't go out enough)</span><!----that--><!----that--><!----that--><br />
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<b>B</b><b>OYFRIEND</b>: "Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz." <span style="color: blue; font-size: x-small;">(Seriously, that is what he texted me.)</span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D2PE94JJTgQ/Uc36k958lHI/AAAAAAAAAHc/PJdtAcrScv8/s421/tom+cruise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D2PE94JJTgQ/Uc36k958lHI/AAAAAAAAAHc/PJdtAcrScv8/s200/tom+cruise.jpg" width="141" /></a><b></b><br />
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<b>ME</b>: "Shooting virtual death rays at you with my brain."<br />
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<a href="//pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.flickr.com%2Fphotos%2Fkentbrew%2F6851755809%2F&media=http%3A%2F%2Ffarm8.staticflickr.com%2F7027%2F6851755809_df5b2051c9_z.jpg&description=Next%20stop%3A%20Pinterest" data-pin-do="buttonPin" data-pin-config="above"><img src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/pidgets/pin_it_button.png" /></a>Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-80480301817457183502013-05-07T07:48:00.000-07:002013-09-04T10:43:54.863-07:00This is why I'm weird Part 2, (this is about to get real weird)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<u><span style="font-size: large;"><strong>The Mysteries of Nature</strong></span></u></div>
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<u><span style="font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span></u> </div>
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<u><span style="font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span></u></div>
Can someone explain to me why I have gotten my period for 12 years and still think I am dying for 3.5 seconds everytime it's that time of the month.<br />
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It doesn't matter how many weeks I have been through the same disgusting cycle, I will inevitably have a moment when I either get horrifying cramps that make me sure my insides are in imminent danger of falling out of my body and becoming my outsides, or (boys stop reading here, seriously, stop it.) I have a 'blood clot' so large (I will use this term loosely because I really have no idea if that is the medical term for this shiz) that I am positive I had a demon baby, miscarried, or am shedding a forgotten conjoined twin. <strong>So awful</strong>, <strong>sorry for the visual</strong>, but does this happen to anyone else??? And I am not kidding when I say that I panic alone on the toilet for like a minute straight about whether I should call 911, text a picture of it to my nurse friend from college, or go bury it in the backyard in a small, but heartfelt ceremony. I literally have to convince myself some tragedy did not just take place, and then remind myself I am an adult and this is totally normal even if I am not.<br />
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<strong><span style="background-color: blue; color: white; font-size: large;">SEQUENCE OF EVENTS:</span></strong></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t4htpvGvKCQ/UYkSw37OFeI/AAAAAAAAAGY/3Z4HbfUxoqw/s1600/wtf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t4htpvGvKCQ/UYkSw37OFeI/AAAAAAAAAGY/3Z4HbfUxoqw/s1600/wtf.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">^ Me (if I was a cat)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ra90s07A2h4/UYkRQRJXSHI/AAAAAAAAAGM/VTMje3fJL_g/s1600/nurse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ra90s07A2h4/UYkRQRJXSHI/AAAAAAAAAGM/VTMje3fJL_g/s1600/nurse.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Yeah, that's definitely not normal..."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nlznzkni3xQ/UYkP0O7K9EI/AAAAAAAAAGA/2wiBZK_9mzY/s1600/pet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nlznzkni3xQ/UYkP0O7K9EI/AAAAAAAAAGA/2wiBZK_9mzY/s320/pet.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"...now go back to heaven, or hell, or wherever you came from..."<br />
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<strong>REPEAT SEQUENCE EVERY 3 WEEKS</strong></td></tr>
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My friend who is normal told me that Dr. Oz said this means I have a hormonal imbalance. Thank you Dr. Oz, obviously I have a hormonal imbalance. Do you know how many hormones we have flowing around in our bodies, plus do you know how insane I am? If I didn't have a hormonal imbalance then I would be <em>really</em> concerned. If Dr. Oz can tell me how not to let those imbalanced hormones sabotage my personal life and career for 1 week a month then I will give him the fucking Nobel Peace Prize. (Editors note: If my hormones actually only derailed my personal life/career 1 week out of the month I would give my <em>period</em> the Nobel Peace Prize, but not really because I don't actually have that authority, but maybe I could buy a ribbon or make it a crafty plaque).<br />
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Anways now that you have blocked this URL and cleared it from your user history, thanks for stopping by, it was good knowing you, anddd have a great life.</div>
<a href="//pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.flickr.com%2Fphotos%2Fkentbrew%2F6851755809%2F&media=http%3A%2F%2Ffarm8.staticflickr.com%2F7027%2F6851755809_df5b2051c9_z.jpg&description=Next%20stop%3A%20Pinterest" data-pin-do="buttonPin" data-pin-config="above"><img src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/pidgets/pin_it_button.png" /></a>Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-51687096320612638192013-01-18T13:24:00.002-08:002013-09-04T10:44:11.885-07:00Things that are weird about me...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Here is my narcisistic post where I imagine people give a shit about these things, but hey whatever, maybe you're secretly weird too, and you can imagine we have a secret weird kinship or something. </strong></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span></strong> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">(I'll try and keep this post a regular thing and by regular I mean this is probably the last time so enjoy.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">1) I consistently choose the wor</span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">st fucking line to go into for the tolls. There is some anti-mathematical chaos theory that conspires against me. I'm not kidding, there could be a line of 10 cars and I'll choose the line of 1 and it turns out to be the boother's long lost cousin Jeanine who only has 47,000 pennies and is lost. I also am to lazy to buy an EZ Pass; so maybe that's weirder? PS. stop asking for fucking directions at the toll booth, its 2013 use your Iphone & take a hard left into a lake.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kLbuefujT-0/UPm7leMyucI/AAAAAAAAAFE/IkBYrM0Mi6w/s1600/tolls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kLbuefujT-0/UPm7leMyucI/AAAAAAAAAFE/IkBYrM0Mi6w/s320/tolls.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I can see your tits."</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">2) I use way too much toilet paper...yes I just said that. I dont really know why this happens? I'm not making obscenely large bowel movements or anything, I just end up wrapping my hand up like a mummy in an ice storm and before I know it half the damn roll is gone. I think your parents teach you how to wipe your ass, so fuck you very much mom, toilet paper is embarassing to buy at high frequencies or large quantities, especially as a woman.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gN8v-WS03RM/UPm7_W41T-I/AAAAAAAAAFQ/qLcgFqPtzJ8/s1600/toilet%2Bpaper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gN8v-WS03RM/UPm7_W41T-I/AAAAAAAAAFQ/qLcgFqPtzJ8/s320/toilet%2Bpaper.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Still not clean...still not clean..."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Va3FYgR-8AE/UPm8aIkbWBI/AAAAAAAAAFc/noyNW9cW_IE/s1600/snubbing" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Va3FYgR-8AE/UPm8aIkbWBI/AAAAAAAAAFc/noyNW9cW_IE/s320/snubbing" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"See ya bitches."</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">3) Sometimes I just do not say hi to people I know. I see you, I see you seeing me, then I just see some other shit & keep walking. Just because we knew each other in college, met at the bar, or are biologically related does not mean I want to talk to you about that mutual friend neither one of us really talk to anymore, the weather, and then make a bunch of empty promises about how we'll definitely get together soon for tapas & sangria because "<em>it has been way too long!".</em> This is actually sneaky genius, because next time you see me you will <em>Definitely</em> have no desire to say hello, thus relieving me of the burden of my own awesomeness. I should probably work on this quality...</span><br />
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<a href="//pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.flickr.com%2Fphotos%2Fkentbrew%2F6851755809%2F&media=http%3A%2F%2Ffarm8.staticflickr.com%2F7027%2F6851755809_df5b2051c9_z.jpg&description=Next%20stop%3A%20Pinterest" data-pin-do="buttonPin" data-pin-config="above"><img src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/pidgets/pin_it_button.png" /></a>Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-48845348604107632322012-10-05T13:31:00.001-07:002013-10-07T08:37:31.801-07:00Craigslist - the societal black hole.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w_3FtyWh3sM/UG9CY5iY2DI/AAAAAAAAAEc/fRxGdnDpFxU/s1600/gross+craiglist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w_3FtyWh3sM/UG9CY5iY2DI/AAAAAAAAAEc/fRxGdnDpFxU/s320/gross+craiglist.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where do I sign up?!?</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Ahh Craigslist</strong>...how I love thee. I spent an entire summer interning for an actual <em>government</em> office (this is the first unbelievable fact). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The second more reasonable assertion - is that since I was the only person not in law school & barely qualified to run a copy machine, let alone write legal briefs, they had me monitor Craigslist. This was not an actual position they had open, it was made to accomodate my underqualified juvenile ass.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Anways, yes I literally spent a summer reading about people who want to pay other people to shit & piss on them as they give handjobs to buff jock undergrads in a parking lot</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">.</span> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XXEj_9PJGVc/UlLTXzY6t7I/AAAAAAAAATE/h-Mr08-9gAg/s1600/craiglist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XXEj_9PJGVc/UlLTXzY6t7I/AAAAAAAAATE/h-Mr08-9gAg/s640/craiglist.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"In case you can't read this...he wants another dude to come over and jerk off with him on a model train set, then stomp around like monsters and kick the trains and buildings over. Oh yeah, he also has a ton of imitation crab meat in his freezer in case they're hungry. Of course he does, why wouldn't he??? YOU CAN'T MAKE THIS SHIT UP PEOPLE!</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fW0au9MERfk/UG9AR9d8JGI/AAAAAAAAAEM/P4g-ftma1SY/s1600/creepy+craigslist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fW0au9MERfk/UG9AR9d8JGI/AAAAAAAAAEM/P4g-ftma1SY/s1600/creepy+craigslist.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You're definitely probably normal, right?</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I would be lying if I didn't say this was the best job I have ever had. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I'm gonna give you a fancy link to read, but honestly just check out the one in your area. Looking at your local Craigslist is like taking a scenic nature walk in the woods when you decide to lift up a beautiful old log, only to find it crawling with breeding larvae underneath. It is the societal underbelly & it is right next door...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">If you can pretend to not be a complete prude for five minutes you will find a black hole of unintentional entertainment & depraved hilarity that hits too close to home. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<a href="http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/all/"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/all/</span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><u>My personal Recommendations:</u><span style="font-size: x-small;"> (if you never want to feel safe leaving home again)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">For the romantic delusional lonar- <strong>Missed Connections</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">For the true perverted sadist - <strong>Casual Connections</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-35077127503712940882012-07-27T13:49:00.002-07:002013-10-15T16:31:15.067-07:00People my age who piss me off - aka. hipsters<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TG6_-yv9ZjI/AAAAAAAAABc/6V_WZqkwUsc/s1600/evolution+of+hipster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="422" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TG6_-yv9ZjI/AAAAAAAAABc/6V_WZqkwUsc/s640/evolution+of+hipster.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I look like I'm not trying, right?</td></tr>
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Hipsters,<br />
<br />
FYI you are irritating...also spoiled and delusional. So what that for the 6 months you studied abroad in Europe you dressed like this everyday? You're not in fucking Europe anymore; you probably never were.<br />
<br />
<br />
By all standards you are a recognizable adult, yet you use a refined
version of the same attention seeking behaviors I used when I was 13,
like wearing eccentric accessories and talking loudly about
inappropriate shit in public just to make other people cringe. <br />
<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-azuV9-BSSkI/UlwQ2GJEaCI/AAAAAAAAATo/eKv5gGPHtTQ/s1600/bearded+hipster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-azuV9-BSSkI/UlwQ2GJEaCI/AAAAAAAAATo/eKv5gGPHtTQ/s200/bearded+hipster.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Have you ever heard of Che Guevera? He's the guy on that T-shirt I wear all the fucking time. Yeah, he was like this revolutionary communist, or Marxist, or umm socialist, or whatever the thing is that is cooler than Capitalism. Anyways, have you heard of the 99%?"</td></tr>
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Boho Chic coffee shop girl, Skateboard dude that looks homeless on purpose, and bearded guy with the fake vintage tee shirt. Let's break this shit down for a second. You are purposely recreating the look of people who are actually poor & don't give a shit because they have real life shit to worry about - by spending inordinate amounts of daddy's money using the attention to detail of Hannibal Lector, to find overpriced items worn out by machines because <i>you care too much</i>. A fourth grader who just learned about context clues could find the astounding ironies in this. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-McDD0Jx9IkA/UlwPi_ISTFI/AAAAAAAAATU/VWlttBWJZc0/s1600/coffee+girl+-+use.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-McDD0Jx9IkA/UlwPi_ISTFI/AAAAAAAAATU/VWlttBWJZc0/s200/coffee+girl+-+use.jpg" width="131" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OMG, I just got back from Coachella, it was boss. I didn't even have to take any time off of work, because work is for assholes.<br />
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PS. You are not all good at art, you don't really have better taste in music than regular people, and we all know you try harder at 2PM on a Wednesday (because you somehow don't need to work?) than I do at 9PM on a Saturday night when I'm getting ready for the club to blow off some steam I earned being a fucking adult.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fjA69e6iRO8/UlwQJgQHsbI/AAAAAAAAATc/PRIVaTrnYVw/s1600/skateboard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fjA69e6iRO8/UlwQJgQHsbI/AAAAAAAAATc/PRIVaTrnYVw/s200/skateboard.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I ride my skateboard everywhere (<strike>except the elevator</strike>).</td></tr>
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Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-90342722088672500982012-07-19T15:23:00.002-07:002014-03-04T07:21:59.159-08:00HE'S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU - BECAUSE YOUR BATSHIT CRAZY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s2SdaDqJLtM/UAiIVtW1puI/AAAAAAAAAD8/jWhoHKnXEbw/s1600/Crazy+girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s2SdaDqJLtM/UAiIVtW1puI/AAAAAAAAAD8/jWhoHKnXEbw/s1600/Crazy+girl.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My rampant insecurity is attractive, right?</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
So I have been watching HBO's GIRLS, & by watching I mean ravenously consuming them like a fat white trash family at a hotel buffet.
In episode 3 that awkward virginy one tries to gives the annoyingly cool British one (<span style="font-size: x-small;">do you capitalize that?</span>) some "He's Just Not that Into You" type book that explains to women how to hide all their naturally neurotic tendencies so guys will dump them at 6 months instead of 3.
</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is so fucking true. Everytime I am feeling 1/2 way decent about my life, I find myself at a nail salon, getting shit talked in Mandarin, reading a wrinkled/ripped 3 month old copy of Cosmo that is riddled with the Rhino Virus, when I come upon some article like "How to Please Your Man" or "How you Know He's Not the One". </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I will inevitably hate read the shit out of these until I go from thinking I'm cool, secure, & well liked, to unsexy, insecure, & naive. If you're not a completely vapid moron you will hear a small voice in your head that whispers "stop it, stop it, stop it - this shit is the fucking devil." But you won't, you will be weak & read it all the way through until you are convinced your whole life is mostly wrong by your design. Now your pampered trip to the salon has become an expensive pity party.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1I0WNXNuUnk/URQeZs72LuI/AAAAAAAAAFs/ACC614jqe9g/s1600/magazine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1I0WNXNuUnk/URQeZs72LuI/AAAAAAAAAFs/ACC614jqe9g/s320/magazine.jpg" height="215" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2 B's, 1 C, & 4D's....does that mean he is cheating on me with my mom or my dog?</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then, you will more than likely go to Barnes & Noble buy 'He's Just Not that Into You', get jacked up on woman power, call your boyfriend & demand to know why he doesn't validate you.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Instead of accomplishing feeling good about yourself & working towards a better relationship, you have just become an angry depressed irrational nazi whose boyfriend likes them less.</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DmFVw-K4_90/Ul7exB5fK3I/AAAAAAAAAUM/RUslf5uMztY/s1600/Couple_Talking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DmFVw-K4_90/Ul7exB5fK3I/AAAAAAAAAUM/RUslf5uMztY/s320/Couple_Talking.jpg" height="174" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Girl: OK, let's go at the same time! Ready - 1,2,3..<br />
Boy: I think we should see other people.../Girl: I LOVE YOU! Wait, what?"</td></tr>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As the great Lena Dunham explained, "Yeah, I hate read that book." I mean there are some generically good tips in them like: If a guy bangs you on the 1st date and never calls you back - calling him 1 million times & asking his friends about him probs ain't gonna get him to come to Christmas dinner. Also behaving that way makes you a total asshat who more then likely does not read books anyway; in which case good luck & use protection.</span><br />
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Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-79512125331052557382011-12-30T21:58:00.000-08:002014-01-30T19:07:59.154-08:00Stripper fail compilation <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/l0Nmeijq-Xc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l0Nmeijq-Xc&feature=youtube_gdata_player">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l0Nmeijq-Xc&feature=youtube_gdata_player</a><br />
<br />
It's not about how you dance the pole, but getting back on when you inevitably fall off and look like a dick.</div>
Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-25501249569933204562010-09-10T11:23:00.000-07:002013-09-04T10:45:22.212-07:00What do you wear when the season is changing? HELP<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div style="color: red; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">How to stay cool and look hot in funky weather :)</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIp272ZYo-I/AAAAAAAAADk/M9pUrFYyQ8Y/s1600/summer-fall" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIp272ZYo-I/AAAAAAAAADk/M9pUrFYyQ8Y/s320/summer-fall" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Doesn't matter, I'm hot...this doesn't apply to you, seriously dont' try it, you will look like a bag lady" - Kate Moss</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">When can you start full out wearing your fall and/or summer wardrobe? I'm terrible at season transitions and these</span> <span style="color: #b45f06;">fall</span>-<span style="color: #3d85c6;">summer</span><span style="color: black;"> hybrid outfits are making me feel schizophrenic.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Like, what are the rules to incorporating warmer clothing/less clothing, do you slowly introduce a scarf here or daisy dukes there <em><strong>OR</strong></em> do you have to fullout switch? Like one day you just walk outside and proclaim "FROM THIS DAY FORTH IT IS SUMMER MOTHERFUCKERS"(while quietly shivering in your flip flops as the person passing you in a puffer jacket stares skeptically).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tHt-GHq6pao/Uh992dMbjMI/AAAAAAAAALo/RtY4OO1w-as/s1600/stock-photo-15431562-excited-senior-caucasian-woman-engineer-architect-megaphone-announcing-construction-site.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tHt-GHq6pao/Uh992dMbjMI/AAAAAAAAALo/RtY4OO1w-as/s320/stock-photo-15431562-excited-senior-caucasian-woman-engineer-architect-megaphone-announcing-construction-site.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Let summer commence ya'll!"</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What are the Summer to Fall/Winter to Spring no-no's???</span> </div>
<div style="color: #4c1130;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<b style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: orange;">Is it okay to combine a....</span></b><br />
<ul style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIp55XckJVI/AAAAAAAAADs/AFUPY2Xct4M/s1600/fall+to+summer" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIp55XckJVI/AAAAAAAAADs/AFUPY2Xct4M/s320/fall+to+summer" /></a>
<li>Sweater and Shorts? </li>
<li>Shorts and Boots?</li>
<li>Tank top, jeans, and boots?</li>
<li>Scarf and tank top?</li>
<li>Scarf and shorts?</li>
<li>etc. </li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Give me your input!</span></div>
<a href="//pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.flickr.com%2Fphotos%2Fkentbrew%2F6851755809%2F&media=http%3A%2F%2Ffarm8.staticflickr.com%2F7027%2F6851755809_df5b2051c9_z.jpg&description=Next%20stop%3A%20Pinterest" data-pin-do="buttonPin" data-pin-config="above"><img src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/pidgets/pin_it_button.png" /></a>Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-79889284320061040712010-09-09T09:13:00.000-07:002013-08-24T07:03:55.471-07:00Tan Mom <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIkHejJrf9I/AAAAAAAAADc/gczdzEHsXYc/s1600/baby+tanning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIkHejJrf9I/AAAAAAAAADc/gczdzEHsXYc/s320/baby+tanning.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="thread_basic_info">
<i>Desiree </i></div>
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<a href="http://www.circleofmoms.com/about_me/4367962493" rel="nofollow"><img alt="Desiree Dutra" class=" fb_profile_pic_rendered" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-sf2p/hs626.snc3/27454_100000164926633_974_q.jpg" title="Desiree Dutra" /></a></div>
<i> </i> <i> posted 30 Nov. 2009, 2:40 pm (5 moms have responded) </i></div>
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<i>I am a tanning bed junkie. I know it's horrible! I was wondering if anyone brings their kids/baby into the room when they tan? I was thinking of bringing my baby into the tanning bed room and facing him towards the wall and of course completley covered up by a blanket so no light gets in. I was wondering what other mom's think of this?</i></div>
<div class="thread_post_text">
<i>circleofmoms.com </i></div>
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<div class="thread_post_text" style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Ok, let me get this straight...you want to bring your teeny itty bitty baby that is helpless and literally cannot roll over or clean its own shit into a dark room filled with penetrating ultraviolet rays, plop it down in a corner, hope it doesnt fall over like a humpty dumpty doll. Then just for safe measure - you want to throw a fucking blanket over the entire baby (because you really love it) in your swelteringly hot cancer motel while you take a 20 minute death nap and hope it doesnt suffocate???</span></div>
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<div class="thread_post_text" style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Worst mom ever. Everyone knows you need should only spray tan your baby.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">PS. THIS. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Tan Mom's New Music Video. Yep, that's a thing that exists.</span><br />
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Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-61793663173345464992010-09-08T20:10:00.000-07:002010-09-08T22:49:23.195-07:00RIP Lead LFO Guy :(<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIhMV4_WAoI/AAAAAAAAADU/nCoWe4OFPlo/s320/lfo.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Bugaloo shrimp and pogo sticks</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">My mind takes me back there oh so quick</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Let you off the hook like my man Mr. Limpet</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Think about that summer and I bug,cause I miss it</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Like the color purple,macaroni and cheese,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Ruby red slippers and a bunch of trees</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Call you up but whats the use</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I like Kevin Bacon,but I hate Footloose"</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; text-align: center;"> <i>So sad!</i></div><div><div style="background-color: transparent; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><div></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="color: #999999; text-align: left;"><i><b>LFO</b> singer <b>Rich Cronin</b>, above middle, passed away Wednesday after a long fight with leukemia. He was just 35 years old! Best known for his hits <i>Summer Girls</i> and <i>Girl On TV</i>, Cronin was diagnosed with leukemia in 2005. He is said to have had a stroke on Wednesday, which he did not recover from. Friends such as Lance Bass and Chris Kirkpatrick first broke the news of the singer's tragic death on Facebook and Twitter. Our condolences to Rich's family and friends! His memory will not only live on in his music, though, but also in the <a href="http://www.myspace.com/richcroninhopefoundation" target="_blank">Rich Cronin Hope Foundation</a> he founded. </i></div><div style="color: #999999;"><i>http://perezhilton.com/#ixzz0yzsue7p8</i></div><i> </i> </div></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">LFO OMFG why?! Rich, you were by far the hottest and most badass member of the 'Light Funky Ones'. No one will ever replace your random lyrical prowess, old school boardwalk style, and unapologetic swagger. I seriously wish I was older in 1999 so I could have been your A&F girl and banged you. RIP homie, I still pregame to Summer Girls and probs always will : /</span></div>Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-91579872205766108442010-09-07T20:14:00.000-07:002014-01-09T13:32:38.992-08:00Ke$ha Smells like a Dirt Soda<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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POST SCRIPT 3 years later: This post makes me a huge jerk. Making fun of actual people can be funny and make ourselves feel better, but it's overall just not nice. So I would like to just state that on the record. Kesha is probably a really nice girl & I was not being a very nice girl when I wrote this. Now if you read it, you might not be a very good girl/boy either, but I will let you sort your own shit out. <br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span">Ke$ha</span> <span class="Apple-style-span">is literally the bane of my existence. There is something so effing desperate and phony about this girl it makes me cringe, and yet I am strangely obsessed with her. How can this awk-ass bitch be so damn popular?? Like people genuinely like her horrible music and adolescent attention seeking antics. I can't stand it.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span">I like to watch videos of her years before any Hollywood makeup artists got their hands on her and pasted feathers and glitter all over her to distract the world from her true identity. I'm gonna go drink a glass of wine and be wicked bitter over her mediocre skill set and mind-blowing success.</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IMIXj0a97fM/UYwFeAo9MyI/AAAAAAAAAGo/uIsh1ZtZs9E/s1600/KeshaCat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IMIXj0a97fM/UYwFeAo9MyI/AAAAAAAAAGo/uIsh1ZtZs9E/s320/KeshaCat.jpg" height="189" width="320" /></a></div>
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Be gone wannabe!<br />
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If your like myself and cant get enough Ke$ha bashing check these links:</div>
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10 Dumbest Ke$ha lyrics (too easy): <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/the-10-dumbest-keha-lyrics">http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/the-10-dumbest-keha-lyrics</a></div>
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Ke$ha performs @ high school talent show sans dead animal skulls and B.O.: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zs4jeV9HN5w">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zs4jeV9HN5w</a></div>
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Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-51594713568518343412010-09-07T11:44:00.000-07:002013-09-04T10:46:17.752-07:00Ultimate Male Rating System<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Everybody knows that all men, including the fat dumpy ugly short hairy ones, think they have the legal right and obligation to judge every single woman and critique them down to the smallest details, despite their own obvious and offensive disgustingness. Little do they know us women are just as ruthless and create a sport of doing the same thing to them, suck on that boys. </div>
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You know when your walking through the bar and you see that table of hot girls pointing and laughing, and you quickly reassure yourself it can't possibly be about you because you're awesome? You're wrong, they are laughing at your entire existence. Today I thought I would share for you the simplest and most comprehensive rating system for judging all walks of men so you may do the same.</div>
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While in college my bitchy sorority friends and I would sit in the dining hall complaining about how ugly all the guys were at our school. When the adjectives, gross, ugly, fat, poor, and weird became clearly not enough to express our contempt for the lack of major hotties we decided in a very scientific manner to create a male classification system, which I will illustrate for you today. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Disclaimer: This method is only viable for initial reactions only, all reactions are subject to mild reinterpretation once you get to know a guy.</span></div>
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Among the lowest rung of boyhood is what is what us women commonly refer to as:</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>THE UNMENTIONABLE </b></span></div>
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The unmentionable is the grossest of the male species. They are so nasty you wish you did not have to be punished with their presence, and are so pathetic and troubling to view in real life we distinguish them with a name that denotes our truest feelings - they are not even worth mentioning. This is usually reserved for all fat short trolls who give no mind to their appearance or those men who are genetically cursed with asymmetrical faces and puny pathetic statures. While it is sad and often beyond their control, these people do not exist.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Slightly higher are what we call: 1's</b></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIZ4eJuQtVI/AAAAAAAAACU/MwQ6YLsCdeE/s1600/normal+guy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIZ4eJuQtVI/AAAAAAAAACU/MwQ6YLsCdeE/s320/normal+guy.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<b> </b>Being a 1 means you are not insanely ugly or at all remotely good looking. Basically you are nothing special. I would talk to you in class if you were force-ably made to be my lab partner, but if I had my pick I would avoid you like an STD, and I would refuse outright if you ever tried to study with me outside of class. Most men, sorry guys, fall into this category.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">2's</span></b></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIZ-R6VgmqI/AAAAAAAAACc/t23FD6suYEU/s1600/avg+guy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIZ-R6VgmqI/AAAAAAAAACc/t23FD6suYEU/s320/avg+guy.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">A 2 is basically the boy next door. He probably lives down the hall from you in your dorm. He is the quintessential guy friend. A 2 is cute but never hot. They may have a crush on you and you might go to parties with them but you do not want to bang them. While they hold a wealth of secret male potential, you never go out of your way for a 2. A 2 may have a great body and bad face or vice versa. The question that distinguishes if he is a 2 or a 1 is very simple, if he asked you to hang out one on one, or go on a date, would you consider saying yes? If you think you might even a little, he is definitely a 2.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Sought After and Rare: 3 </b></span></span></div>
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<img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIaC0UDFRqI/AAAAAAAAACs/nOT12tsQDkc/s320/hot+guy.jpeg" /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIaJIHiL2yI/AAAAAAAAADE/vFaV9EHjkOg/s1600/hottie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIaJIHiL2yI/AAAAAAAAADE/vFaV9EHjkOg/s200/hottie.jpg" width="187" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Admit it, you are not even finished reading this sentence and you have already thought about doing something nasty with these guys. A man is a 3 when as soon as you see him you think skanky thoughts and know instantly you would break all of you non-slut rules if he asked you to hang out. They are often athletes, business men, uniformed service officers, and down and dirty general laborers. Basically your first instinct is to bang and procreate with these individuals. If you see a guy and start feeling slutty, he's a 3.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>THE UNIVERSAL TRUMP CARD AND ONLY, ONLY EXCEPTION</b>: <i><b>THE I-FACTOR </b></i></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIaE9_HuKoI/AAAAAAAAAC0/PjKedogpP6E/s1600/conan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIaE9_HuKoI/AAAAAAAAAC0/PjKedogpP6E/s200/conan.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIaHMPmObfI/AAAAAAAAAC8/ybCUgAWs41s/s1600/rob+dydrek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/TIaHMPmObfI/AAAAAAAAAC8/ybCUgAWs41s/s320/rob+dydrek.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">The <b>i-factor</b> is the 1 and only card that may allow a guy to jump to a higher category. This rating system is based on looks alone, but if a guy is a 1 or 2 and has some intangible interesting/musician/funny man type quality, he may attributed with an i-factor and is fair game to date, hang with, bang, whatever. There's something fucking cool about this guy even though he's not a bona fide hottie.</span><i><b> </b></i></span><b> </b></span></span></div>
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<b style="color: red; font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Important Note</b><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;">: </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">this system also works in increments of .5's, for example, you can have a 1.5 meaning maybe you would go to the library to study with them, or a 2.5 i-factor which usually is the best combination possible for a boyfriend because they are hot enough to want to date but not so hot they already banged all your friends etc.</span></span></div>
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<a href="//pinterest.com/pin/create/button/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.flickr.com%2Fphotos%2Fkentbrew%2F6851755809%2F&media=http%3A%2F%2Ffarm8.staticflickr.com%2F7027%2F6851755809_df5b2051c9_z.jpg&description=Next%20stop%3A%20Pinterest" data-pin-do="buttonPin" data-pin-config="above"><img src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/pidgets/pin_it_button.png" /></a>Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-34736917062285340252010-08-27T13:34:00.000-07:002012-07-27T13:35:11.054-07:00Best exotic animal smuggling scheme ever.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/THgdUZiOhVI/AAAAAAAAAB8/1RAAcC-DFUw/s1600/tiger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/THgdUZiOhVI/AAAAAAAAAB8/1RAAcC-DFUw/s320/tiger.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>Bangkok, Thailand (CNN) -- A live tiger cub hidden in a suitcase filled with stuffed toys was spotted as it went through a luggage X-ray at a major Thai airport, a wildlife trade monitoring network said.</i></div>
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<i>Staff at Bangkok's Suvarnabhumi International Airport contacted authorities after a baggage scan showed an item resembling a real cat in a passenger's over-sized bag, the non-profit organization TRAFFIC said Thursday.</i></div>
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<i>Investigators found a sedated, two-month-old tiger cub when they opened the bag for inspection.</i></div>
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<i>Officials are trying to determine where the cub came from and whether it was caught in the wild or bred in captivity, TRAFFIC said.</i></div>
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<i>Authorities found the tiger Sunday in a suitcase belonging to a 31-year-old Thai national, who was scheduled to board a flight for Iran, the organization said.</i></div>
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<i>Chris R. Shepherd, TRAFFIC's deputy regional director for Southeast Asia, praised authorities for discovering the smuggling attempt, but said the case showed a need for more monitoring and tougher punishments.</i></div>
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<i>"If people are trying to smuggle live tigers in their check-in luggage, they obviously think wildlife smuggling is something easy to get away with and do not fear reprimand," Shepherd said. "Only sustained pressure on wildlife traffickers and serious penalties can change that."</i></div>
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UMMMMM...is this fo' real? This seems like the type of hair-brained scheme that crosses my mind on a daily basis, but I never have the balls to go through with. Like I see a cute puppy at the pet shop, realize I def dont have enough money, then look at my purse, size up whether I think the little creatures gonna fit, then give up and go buy a latte instead. </div>
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I get that there's probably a market for smuggling exotic animals, but like was this their first time around the ring? Can you just picture their brainstorming session, "Ok were gonna go to the jungle spend tons of money and risk life and limb tracking exotic baby tigers, and then to make sure the whole smuggling thing gets pulled off smoothly without any hiccups - lets just shove it in a suitcase at an international airport with x-ray machines, checkpoints, and security men with guns and hope the tiger doesnt take a shit in the suitcase"? Not to mention they picked like the two scariest fucking countries on earth to go between, Taiwan and Iran, ya right!? This whole thing sounds like a drunken high stakes bet gone wrong. Like I literally question bringing an apple or a 20 oz toothpaste through customs nowadays, but not these guys. </div>
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And wouldn't you imagine that as they were putting the suitcase on the conveyer belt toward the x-ray machine they might have been like "uh this is probably not gonna fly," were they just hoping there was going to be a glitch or banking that the x-ray guy would be scratching his balls when the tiger went through? These people had some big cajones or were probably the stupidest exotic animal smugglers of all time. Regardless, I want that baby tiger.</div>Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-16545060794067575142010-08-26T08:11:00.000-07:002012-07-27T13:36:42.478-07:00Peacing out to the beach for a few days folksPlease don't worry I'll be back by the weekend, in the meantime I know you will all be desperately hitting your refresh button until my return. <br />
Hope the beach holds as much joy and excitement for me as it did for this vacation goer. If I can see anything half as cool and weird as an old lady tumblin around in the waves like it wasnt nothing, or a redneck kid in underwear playing a flute then this will be a success.<br />
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<object height="344" style="background-image: url("http://i2.ytimg.com/vi/mAnE_LjXB1Q/hqdefault.jpg");" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/mAnE_LjXB1Q?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/mAnE_LjXB1Q?fs=1&hl=en_US" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" height="344" width="425"></embed></object>Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-82605379839808165772010-08-23T20:01:00.000-07:002010-08-23T20:05:52.141-07:00ahhh pure unadultered joy!!!<object height="344" style="background-image: url(http://i2.ytimg.com/vi/iN_Ml4PKdVU/hqdefault.jpg);" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/iN_Ml4PKdVU?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/iN_Ml4PKdVU?fs=1&hl=en_US" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"></embed></object> <br />
Just when I thought my day could not get any better this just pops into my life like a cute little baby on my doorstep! Everything in life is better when you have your snuggie on, this is 100% true, and you bet your ass I own one (leopard print, <span style="font-style: italic;">so </span>sexy) Best part of this ad: Snuggie centerfold, I always knew that snuggie dad was a creepy bastard.Goodnight world, I'm gonna go watch a show in my snuggie and pre-order my new black skull snuggie since I'm almost positive it's on back-order by now.<br />
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Ps. if you cant get enough snuggie hilarity, check out my personal fave:The WTF Blanket<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h05ZQ7WHw8Y">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h05ZQ7WHw8Y</a>Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-1581614579885002432010-08-23T18:38:00.000-07:002013-01-25T07:28:32.403-08:00Make it stop, please. (Self Esteem Community Centers?)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://selfesteemboston.com/"><span style="font-size: x-large;">www.selfesteemboston.com/</span></a><br />
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For the love of God please watch this promo ad, actually dont. It's embarrassing. Women, can we possibly make ourselves look any more pathetic? Now we need public service ads to remind us that we don't suck, really?? I'm really really so sorry to whoever's hard earned tax money went to fund this foundation, forget the fact that we're in a trillion dollar deficit. Can you just imagine walking into this place, do you have no pride? You might as well walk into a building with a big giant sign that says, "I SUCK". </div>
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Here's a hint for you, lets imagine you have no actual priorities, hobbies, friends, real life problems, a job, or a life and you have enough time to go to Self-Esteem Boston, dont. Stop whining/having lunch dates at the cracker barrel with your equally unhappy girlfriends/mourning your divorce and pining over the guy at work who doesnt even know you exist/browsing the personals/paying monthly fees to the weight watchers subscription you never use and go drink a beer, get a hobby, and stop thinking so much! No one really cares if you're miserable, so you might as well be happy! And you didn't even have to pay for that advice. You're welcome.</div>
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Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721637227528090678.post-75408668697870391422010-08-23T17:48:00.000-07:002010-08-23T19:16:35.646-07:00An accelerated montage of my life.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/THMrA95sgtI/AAAAAAAAAB0/UYuBrJ_SXPg/s1600/me+falling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__MiPvD21aec/THMrA95sgtI/AAAAAAAAAB0/UYuBrJ_SXPg/s200/me+falling.jpg" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> Okay this isnt </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">really </i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">me (<--that is), but pretty much 75% of this has happened to me(mostly the car crashes, bike rides, and brutal falls). Anyways everyone loves a classic fail mash-up, and the house music that starts in around the 1:30 second mark makes it totally worth it if you weren't already convinced.</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><object height="344" style="background-image: url(http://i4.ytimg.com/vi/sdAbTyDStcA/hqdefault.jpg);" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/sdAbTyDStcA?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/sdAbTyDStcA?fs=1&hl=en_US" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></div>Kbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14597782684559951348noreply@blogger.com0