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Here Comes The Asshole...Dum, dum, de, dum...

 

I hate girls.

Every single girl in the world, in Japanese, Cantonese, and mother fucking English has said this... Said this with passion and conviction.

But Ladies, today, I OWN this phrase.

And let me go on to be more specific: I hate most of the girls in my life.

I don't hate the girls in bars that look me and my fiance up and down. I don't hate the random girl that tried to trip me as she walked past me on the street. I don't even hate the rude girl at Starbucks who can't get my fucking drink right.

Today, I am hating the girls that are IN my life, without participating in it.

The girls that cried when I left California, and can't even write me a fucking email.

The girls that use me for advice, and come crawling to me when they don't know what to do.

The girls that kiss my ass when they want me to tell them what to do with their life, and then ignore me and my good fortune when the sun shines for them.

One of my "advice seeking" friends called me an asshole because I didn't tell her right away that I was engaged.

Then there are the female relatives in my life that view me as nothing less than a fuck-up.

My Uncle's Wife can't seem to handle the fact that I quit college. In fact, she can't seem to handle anything I do, simply because it scares the shit out of her that someone could be successful WITHOUT having to go down the "correct path" that she went down. It's like,  your condescending attitude and blatant disapproval of my choices doesn't make  you a loving, concerned family member. It makes you a judgmental, yuppie, bitch.

It seems to me that women can only be happy for other woman if their joy somehow includes them.

There are some women who couldn't even be happy for me because they were too concerned that they weren't "invited".

 
We're fucking ELOPING pretty much, and having a big ass party later in the year. It's what I want. THAT is my "dream" wedding. Can you swallow your own issues for 2 seconds to even say, "I'm happy for you"?

My friends and family would be sending me all their blessings, and congratulatory praise, if "my special day" were involving them. They would be happy if my wedding, were the wedding THEY wanted me to have.

And then there are the friends that decided just to call me an asshole, or to simply not respond.

The unfortunate thing, is that I could understand if I were a shitty friend who cut them out of my life when I moved, and then only wrote them to let them know that I was engaged because I wanted attention.

But these are people that I have put a lot of time and energy into our friendship, especially since I moved, and I get jack shit in return.

I don't want a fucking bachelorette party. I'm not looking for gifts, or money, or even attention. I don't want

any of the traditional bullshit because I think it exactly that...BULLSHIT.

I would just like a genuine response. "I'm so happy for you." or "You two are going to be so happy together..."

Since when did the wedding details, and guest list become more important then the  actual MARRIAGE?

....Aside from all of my false friendships, and inconsiderate reactions...

I just wanted to say a big thank you to Lizinator.

Although we're not like BFF, and quite often go about our own lives, and randomly check in with one another...I genuinely appreciate your efforts at keeping in touch with me, and for expressing your genuine happiness for me.

And for calling me BRAVE.

 I appreciate that more than words can say.

Goldfish, and Monkeys, and Toddlers, OH MY!

So, I've been a bad blogger lately.

I've been busy, folks. Busy bar hopping, and buying cat food, going to Tropical World, and going through my first English Drive-Thru McDonalds.

B-U-S-Y!

Ok?  So, I don't want to hear about how you're so busy trying to catch up on all your summer reading for school, or how you have to, like, work and shit. Aiight?

Well. Bar hopping with Iain (aka The Boy...I'm getting tired of calling him that). was HOLY SHIT so much fun.

I firmly believe that the couple that can get drunk together, scarf down cheap pizza, and still be conscious enough to make inebriated, sweet love after 5 hours of drinking, really has something special going for them.

This weekend, the cats got their pad revamped. Like, we cleaned out their cat box, bought them expensive cat litter (extra clumping), and TWO different kinds of expensive, posh, cat food! We're even going to alternate which food they get (switching everyday between the Salmon and the Chicken). This is all irrational and picky, and makes me think that the cats really do "own my ass", but it's better than hearing them yell at me all day and night and sitting on my head.

Iain surprised me and took me to Syon Park...which is a huge ass house, mucho gardens, a butterfly farm, a beautiful conservatory, etc. etc. For some reason, they also have a big plant shop, where you can buy a small pot of Aloe Vera for ONLY £6.50! Which is ridiculous when we can just got over to Iain's grandparents house and steal some of his Nan's.

BUT! They also have this mini, Tropical zoo thing with GIGANTIC gold fish, and monkeys, and snakes, alligators, and Parrots the size of a large toddlers. It was good times. I was so mesmerized by the monkeys, I didn't even have the urge to toss any children into the Piranha tank.

Wait, that's a lie.

There was this STUPID lady and her child. The mom is holding her 1 year old, while sticking her finger into the tank with, like, 20 fucking BIG ASS fish. These guys were the size of fucking Labradors with fins. So, when the monstrous fish would come up to her finger, she'd giggle and pull it away.

Great Example.

So then she couldn't figure out why she had to keep pulling her kids fingers our of gaps in the fence where the rabid, wild monkeys were merely inches away.

This is the same woman who walked through a door that said "No Entry!".

Aw yes.

This then leads me to my first Drive-Thru McDonalds experience in 5 months.

First off, the window is the on the OTHER side (which may go without saying, but I was fascinated).

And they didn't have a "talking box"....

Just a window with a real, live Employee...

It all went very smoothly. And I enjoyed my cheeseburger(s) very much.

So, folks, that's what I've been up to.

Now I'm off to be even more busy...

Like, Bubble Bath Busy.

 

 

Britain's Next Top Slag N*gger Model

 

(Oh calm down, I'm talking about myself.)

OH! The weekend, what did we do this weekend....hmmm....well....

Most of Saturday was spent eating Kraft Singles in our underwear, and drinking numerous cups of tea....

Then that night, we got all dolled up to catch the train to Waterloo.

It took me about 45 wardrobe changes before I liked what I was wearing, and decided the only pants I wanted to wear were a pair of shorts that were still wet when I put them on. (Bless the Boy for spending 20 minutes trying to dry them off with the iron.)

When the wet ensemble was complete, we were off! However, about half way to the train station we realized we were starving....So we thought that 2 Chocolate Muffins from Tesco would work....

But the fuckig self-checkout thing wouldn't work, and the Tesco Employee that came over to help us couldn't tell the difference between a cookie and a muffin, so we ended up just leaving him there with the "Chocolate Cookies" and a copy of "English for Dummies".

Then I had to pee, so we ducked into the McDonalds since we were still starving from our lack of Muffins.

"Okay, I'll pee, you order!"

It was my turn to use the ONE toilet they had, when some guy comes up to me and is like,'

"Please, I just need to wash my hands!"

So, I let him cut. I wasn't about to argue with him, considering the crazed look in his eye...

After the fucking 5 minutes it apparently takes him to "wash his hands" I go in, and shut the door.

BEEP!

"What the fuck is that?"

BEEP! BEEEEEP!

Like any rational person, I suspected that the beeping was coming from a bomb that the guy had hid in the trash can...And I was NOT about to be the American that Died in McDonalds, so  I booked it out of  there.

(Ok. The McDonalds didn't blow up, but you never know. These are crazy times, people...Crazy times!)

Finally, we make it to London.

The sky is a beautiful, deep blue, with pink clouds.

Parliament and Big Ben were lit up  and reflected in the Thames. We got a Belgium Waffle, and listened to a man play the Bag Pipes...(He actually played Yankee Doodle, I was impressed...)

But before we could get to a single pub, bar, or restaurant...The Boy's phone rings...

And it's his boss.

So the remainder of the evening is spent with the Boy being forced to sit in an Internet Cafe near Trafalgar Square, and save the world. (And his job...).

Our moods went from "Oh!  I'm so happy!"! to yelling "OH! It's FINE! YOU GO FIRST!" at random people who cut us off as we stormed from one cross walk to another, searching for a fucking Internet Cafe that was open....

The best example of this would be when same gayer than gay queenie ran into Iain, and gave him a really bitchy look.

At this point, I was sincerely pissed off at the world, and at every asshole in GB that was preventing me from being drunk and happy,

ME: "Hey, FUCK YOU!!!!"

Queenie -gives me a 'oh NO she DIDN'T!' look: "SLAG!"

ME -gives a 'thats the best you could come up with?- look: "FUCKER! KEEP WALKIN'!"

Queenie -continuing to walk away from me- "SLAG!"

ME: -"FUCK OFF!"

Then Queenie disappeared further into the Tube station. I explained the situation to The Boy who explained that Queenie had actually apologized when he ran into him.

I felt like a total asshole, but I still had the defense of,

"Yeah!? Well that Fucker still gave you a mean look!"

So, whatever. I got out some pent up aggression.

At about 12:00am we finally made it back to Waterloo Station, and standing there, holding each other, waiting for our train, when this grungy guy with scabs all over his cheek stands right next to us.

 

We just turned our heads to look at him, and he didn't say anything, just stood there, mugging us.

I couldn't think of anything to say, and the Boy glared at him...Finally he just goes,

"Model?"

I laughed.

"Model? You guys model? Pose?"

It was the oddest thing. Then he walked away and said,

"You're all n*ggers. N*gger."

Before tonight I had never been called a Slag or a N*gger or a Model.

All in all, a good night for insults.

 

 

 

 

 

On Display.

A pink haired girl. Slightly over weight. Studs through her lips and nose...

I can see 15 slices along her porcelain thighs.

They're red. Thin.1''. Long.

I thought her skirt had just snuck up onto her lap, revealing her secret habit.

But then she stood up. Her skirt was short. Barely mid-thigh. Her legs elongated by her 3'' combat boots.

And I saw her self destruction and "artwork" was put on display.

"I cut myself. I'm fucked up. Accept it."

Such a scream for help. A disgusting scream to be noticed...

But her world is too afraid.

Her pink hair, and her pierced lip are too scary to confront.

Those steel toed DMs might kick.

Her snarl may spit ugly words.

She dares you to help.

She's too fucked up, even for you.

So, she'll go about her day...Of cigarettes, razors, and Frappuccinos.

And her friends. The Enablers, smile on.

Pretending not to see the manifestation of her hurt.

Because she's too fucked up. Even for them.

 

**I saw this girl today while sitting in Starbucks. She came in with a group of her friends. All in black, and leopard print bags, and matching pink hair. They ordered a Frappuccino each. Sitting on the couch, they laughed, and talked, making sure the whole cafe knew they were there. When I saw her legs, before I knew she had them purposely on display, my heart ached. I was shocked at the amount of the cuts...And then I felt disgusted. Knowing her friends saw them. And accepted it, and ignored it. Like they weren't there. They were 16 years olds. Not a day older. And yet, this was probably something they all had in common, just like their pink hair and fake taste in music. ...

Disgust and sadness.

Borders or Bust

"I bet you we'll get in there, and they'll be out of it!"

"Yeah, or they close at, like, 7:12 on Mondays..."

So after Borders closed at 5 on Sunday....And the receipt I was saving  for my promised 15% off after I completed a phone survey was SMUDGED to SHIT from the rain...

I finally made it inside Borders. (And without throwing a brick through the window.)

I practically ran to the Social Science section, where the Women's Studies shelf is, to buy my much coveted copy of Diablo Cody's book Candy Girl: A year in the life of an unlikely Stripper.

And then, when I got there....Well, that empty, barren book shelf to the left is where my book should have been. I laughed. Of course the book wasn't where it was supposed to be. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I started sweating, searching around for my hardback equivalent to a chocolate eclair.

Thankfully, one of the employees managed to stop slitting his wrists for 15 seconds to show me where he had maliciously hid my book.

And then...there it was. In all of it's hard bound glory.

I practically had a literary orgasm....

I skipped and tra-la-la-ed my way to the register and then explained that my %15 off voucher looked like it had been tampered with due to the rain from yesterday.

"But see? I decoded it for you! On the top there...Yeah, the second to last digit is either a 4 or a 1..or a 7..."

Apparently it was a 4, and it worked.

I finally, after much trial and tribulation had my book.

What one girl will do just to read a memoir on stripping...sheesh.