Monthly Archives: April 2011

A Circle is Round and Has No End…

I don’t know how to make ’em. Not that I am in desperate need of more friends, but I wouldn’t know where to begin making a new one. I feel like I have been doomed from the start. My whole life I have had a built-in group of friends based on location and different activities. I blame my parents for encouraging me to do fun things, but I blame them for everything wrong with me and will continue to do so until I die.

When I was young, my best friends were my neighbors. We used to play street hockey until it was dinnertime. My bff Rae LePage(who is the one person I have not been able to stalk and reunite with via social networking) lived right around the corner and I would go over there and play Barbies for hours. It was an awesome time to grow up, I feel like I was the last generation that was able to safely play outside after dark.

Later, my friends were pretty much my teammates. I played AYSO, then basketball, field hockey, and even dabbled in shotput and discus throw. I could relate to the girls on my teams; we were too tomboyish to be part of the cool kids and too tough to give a shit. Through sports, I met a lot of the people that I am still fortunate enough to call my friends.

But now I feel like I’ve been hung out to dry. I have decided that friendships with coworkers are generally a bad idea, so that’s out. I tried the Meetup thing (freeeaaaakkkkkkkks). I played roller derby for a little over a year and met a few really rad people through that, but I realized that girls can be nasty and I could really do without drama.

I really love hanging out with the bf, but it would be nice to have a friend in my city who likes thrift store shopping and farmers markets. All of my friends live driving distance away and I really prefer to just set up shop in San Clemente during the weekends.

So, there’s this girl I have been working out with at BT Fitness who seems like a pretty cool chick. I don’t want to seem like I’m asking her out on a date so I just friend flirt with her while we’re working out. We laugh at each others’ jokes, bitch about how hard working out is, you know the usual. But now what? The other day she mentioned going to Golden Spoon and I went there after working out thinking we might “accidentally” bump into each other. She didn’t show and I ate my pain away with with yogurt covered in marshmallow cream. Sighhhhh.

Maybe I should slip a note in her sweater – “Will you be my friend? Mark yes or no.”

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An Open Letter to Lakers Fans

Let me start off by saying I am one of you. And not in the bandwagoner sense. I was born with the purple and gold running through my veins. When I played basketball, I always pretended I was a member of “Showtime.” The family dog was named Magic and it wasn’t because my dad liked pulling rabbits out of his hat. Yeah, I’m a lifer. That being said…

I hope the Lakers lose and I hope they lose hard. There. I said it.

I will tell you where to send your hate mail, but first hear me out.

I am tired of the good Lakers name being dragged through the mud. The last few years, the team has been pretty much phoning it in during the regular season. That’s NOT okay. Players should be busting their ass every single game, regardless of what month it is or who they’re playing. Not only are they letting you, the fans, down (especially the fans who pay outrageous ticket prices for nosebleed seats) but they’re letting down every kid who dreamt of hitting the winning shot wearing a purple and gold jersey. They’re letting down every Lakers alum.

As a recovering competitive athlete, I never wanted to lose, but if I did I wanted to lose with dignity. The way this Lakers team has been playing, their dignity is pretty much gone. I don’t know if the apathy is coming from the top or if it’s all within the team. But even Phil seems to have checked out. And the Black Mamba seems more garden snakey these days. I’m sure the team WANTS to win, but they’re acting like they’re owed another ring rather than working hard for it.

As a basketball fan, I would hate for them to win (or even go to the Finals) simply by resting on their laurels. It’s not fair to the teams who busted their asses for months and continue to do so. Maybe a loss in the first round will give the team the shock it needs. Maybe the owners will realize that we need to get some fresh blood in there. And maybe, just maybe, someone will start playing some mother fucking defense and start boxing the fuck out!

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Sometimes Golden Spoon is the best dinner option. And that’s just a fact.

Posted from WordPress for Android

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For awhile I was on the fence about the new Katy Perry song ET. I can admit my weakness for cheesy pop music and Katy is definitely someone I tend to like. She seems like a cool chick and I dig her hubby. She also gives me the vibe of a smart chick who knows exactly how silly she comes off. I feel like she is playing a joke on the rest of us, I am still waiting for the big, “gotcha!”

Anyway! The ET song has been questionable for me, at best. I really like the beat and the overall sound of the song, but her lyrics sound a little too childish, even for a pop song. But, I was trying to give it a shot, for Katy’s sake.

Then I really started paying attention to the Kanye part. He actually sings a lyric about probing her and how he abducted her, so she has to do what he tells her. This is way too rapey for me. I’m out. Like so many other things, Kanye has ruined it.

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The Dead Can’t See Your Decals

Ahhhhhhhhh the window decal. There are few things more annoying than the things people find important enough to stick on their car. A stroll around my workplace parking lots shows that people have no shame.

Look, it’s clever for you to remind me that “Illegal Means Illegal.” Huh, never thought about that.

And your complete disregard for your child’s safety is admirable when you post his/her name on the back of your car. Why don’t you just put a giant target on your kid’s back, you know, so the molesters don’t have to work as hard to gain little Crystal’s trust.

But, far and away, the worst decal is the “In Loving Memory” one that gets slapped onto the back window. Really? REALLY?! What is the point of these? You know what you’re telling people? You’re telling them that you loved this person just enough to purchase and apply a $5 temporary sticker. How lovely. Sack up Sally and get a tattoo! There are three reactions you’re going to get from people when it comes to these stickers. Let’s break it down and YOU tell me which one you were hoping for.

The Old Person

Your grandpa died and you were really close to him, so you think the world should know. You head to the swapmeet, plop down a fiver and the toothless sticker guy carves you up the temporary memorial – Frank Smith 1910 – 2011. You slap it on your Corolla and feel like a great granddaughter. Well, THAT doesn’t make you a great granddaughter. And, you know what everyone else is thinking, “eh, he was old, it was his time to go.” Yeah, how shitty does your gramps feel now? And, even if he wasn’t 101 years old, anyone older than, say, 60 years is going to get the same response. You know your aunt didn’t have enough time on the earth before the gator snatched her up, but everyone else is thinking, “move on!”

The Wittle Person

First off, fuck you for doing this! The production of these stickers should be a federal crime. Listen, I cannot even imagine what it’s like to lose a baby/child, but I do know that they don’t deserve to get trivialized by a sticker on the back of your minivan! It’s just not worthy of whatever happened to the wittle person. Plus, everyone who drives by you gets a little sadder because of you. I am sure that you want people to celebrate the life of your little one, but people are going home and crying thinking about some kid they never knew. Stop it! Just stop it.

The In-Betweener

Alright, this is where it gets dicey. I’ll be straight up with you. Anyone who is memorialized on the back of a car that is between the ages of 15 and 35, I think “gang shooting.” Okay, sometimes I think “drug deal gone bad,” but you get my drift. I can’t even say that odds are I’m wrong, because I really think it’s an accurate assumption and if people had the backbone, I bet most would admit the same.

Listen, people love to have explanations for things that are sad or fucked up and odds are it’s not going to be favorable to your deceased loved one. Find some other way to remember them, one that doesn’t involve cheap vinyl adhesive.

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Questionable Stains are My Limit

In my quest to completely take over the bf’s apartment, well I guess it’s OUR apartment now (and for the last 10 months), I am converting the guest room into a full fledged chick room. I am tired of men getting their man caves, I need my woman niche, or something that sounds less like I am talking about my vag.

ANYWAY, I have filled the room and closet with my clothes, added a sewing table and put up little wall stickers my sister gave me. My next step in ultimate domination is getting rid of the mattress! Now, don’t look at me like that. It’s not a nice mattress, it’s not even Shaggy’s mattress, it was his old roommate’s mattress that got left behind when he went on the run from the law or something (I’m pretty sure that’s not how it went down, but that’s what I choose to believe). The bed had these orangey sheets on, they were such an ugly color that one of Shaggy’s friends drunkenly devoured Gold Fish in bed, smeared his hands on the sheets, and you couldn’t even tell where the fish dust ended and the sheet began!

Long story short, the mattress had to go.

I fretted over how to dispose of this mattress for awhile. Should we go out in the dark cloak of night and throw it next to CVS’s dumpster? Strap it to my car and take it to the dump? Try to cram in in our trashcan (is a mattress recyclable?)? Well, it turns out the bf was right all along (yes, I can admit it) and our trash company would do a special pickup – for free! We took it to the curb last night around 9pm and that’s when I saw it – THE STAIN!

Now, this stain is questionable at best. I’m not sure if this mattress was the location of a murder, a period gone bad, or a spilled bowl of hamburger helper, but there was a rusty red stain right about where the shoulders would be. (And to think, I offered this mattress to my sister!). Well, I was mortified that I had myself slept on the mattress and was even more happy that it was getting out of my house and far away.

Now, I love me a deal and I buy things that a lot of people wouldn’t buy used, including shoes, but a bloody mattress might be my limit. Not so for everyone. The second we were done putting the box spring and the mattress on the curb, our across-the-street neighbors asked if they could have it. I strongly recommended that they NOT take it because of the aforementioned stain.Wouldn’t you know, that in the time it took me to go get Indy for a walk, they had the rape mattress halfway across the street. I won’t say what ethnicity they were, but let’s just say they probably covered the stain with their wolf blanket.

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The truth is I don’t really care if people like me. Well, that’s not entirely true. The truth is, I don’t really care much about people who DON’T like me. I have a solid group of friends and a wonderful family who like me 80% of the time and I am pretty pleased with that. As for the acquaintances, coworkers, random strangers, or those who feel like they’re so good that they can judge others, I really couldn’t care less about them. I know I can be a little rough sometimes, and a lot of people just don’t get the whole “mean but funny” lifestyle that I follow, and that’s okay. We’re not meant to be friends if you can’t take a joke. I’m okay if you don’t care for me, hate me, or think I am a pill. I’ll live.

Now, I kind of assumed that this is how most people think. I mean, who has time to worry about what others are thinking and saying about you? Apparently a lot of people. I am constantly hearing from people who are worried about what others are doing, or saying, or even thinking. Really? Why stress about it if you don’t know for sure? Try this on for thought: not everyone is out to get you. Not everything someone does is motivated by a secret hatred toward you. If someone does something that hurts your feelings, maybe they’re just assholes, or idiots, but either way there is nothing you can do about it!

Now, let’s say you do know for sure that this person doesn’t dig you, so what? Unless they were once a really dear friend, does it really affect your life? You don’t need to be friends with everyone in the world. Frankly, I am suspicious of people with TOO many friends, there just isn’t enough time in the day to be a good friend to too many people. So, consider it a blessing that someone doesn’t like you, it gets you off the hook for having to devote time to fostering another friendship!

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I know, I know…

Listen, I hear yah, anoooooothhhhher blog? I promise baby, it will be different this time, I really, really mean it.

Why is it so different, well this lovely blog isn’t based on a theme or an event. It won’t end when I am done traveling in India (although, now that I think about it, I never finished that one either) and I won’t disappear when I meet someone and can no longer partake in online dating (even though the bf said I could online date for comedy sake – he heard about the rat tail!) and it won’t fizzle out when my audience doesn’t participate (apparently no one else wanted to be berated by Whackney).

This one is just me, in all my bitchy glory. I get bored easily, so I will be skipping from topic, to topic, to topic… It will still be bitchy, but it will be all me, not me hiding behind a crazy picture of Whitney Houston (Bobbyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!). So, read, or don’t. Basically, I just love writing and I think some really stupid things are funny. This is just a way for me to remember all of this when I am 80.