What the fuck is wrong with women?

What the fuck is wrong with women?

Seriously. And I’m asking you this as a woman.

For the last three weeks I’ve been getting confirmation of being childfree from this one spayshul little fucktard that lives up the block from me. It’s fairly safe to say that any idiosyncrasies and dysfunctions we have stem from childhood, and this little blood sucker is a good example. Mom believes she knows who her mother is, a divorcee living with her grandparents, and evidently her ex dumped her and their two shitbags because he couldn’t stand her, nor her family (not that hubby is any better). I don’t know what the custodial arrangements are- and could give a shit- but the little cunt dropping is here on weekends and holidays from what I’ve seen of her. For the last three weeks (since the weather has gotten nicer) she’s been outside playing with the daughters of a family who lives next door (I only know them because their oldest daughter is a cripple), but I’ve never had a problem with them. Now she’s one of the middle daughters’ new BFF so they’re outside with their kindercrap screaming their heads off about nothing when this little bitch says to me as I pass:

“You wear too much lipstick!”

And she ducks inside her friend’s door.

In my day that was called disrespect, and we got our asses handed to us with a MAJOR verbal beat down for the rest of the day, and maybe a punishment on the side. Even the worst of the bastards who tortured me in my Catlick school were reprimanded by their parents if a comment was made towards an adult. Who was a stuck-up little snot who couldn’t even wipe their ass on their own to criticize an adult for their fashion choices? Nobody, that’s who! Which is why spankings are a good idea.

But today the little douche has a myriad of acronym brain diseases because of her parents divorce and is simply acting out. Which is why avoidance on the victim’s part is paramount, and mediation and negotiation are the parents’ duties should it be deemed that the situation be brought to their attention. This is the welfare of a child we’re talking about here…


Did I say that too loud for you? I’m sorry, you’re deaf now? Well that’s you’re fault for buying into Life Script with Mr./Ms. Good Enough But The Cracks In The Surface Just Get Deeper Daily. I can proudly say that the little pussy biscuit will grow up to be just like her prize-winning mamma, or like the insane bitches that Mom works with. What a good citizen like myself should do is grab her by the hair, slap her until she’s bleeding from every top half orifice, body slam her ass on mee-maw’s floor like Bin Laden’s corpse and demand an apology from her coven for leading meaningless existences that they can’t be bothered (too old and bizzy) to raise the walking twat clump right. Of course that reality exists between this monitor and the bedroom door. Outside of that door I would be arrested, slapped with a multi-million dollar lawsuit, and be featured on the 10 o’clock news on the Nox Noise Channel. Then a quarter of a billion people will be siding with the poor mawm and behbeh and my whole life will be played out on You Tube saying that I am nothing but an evil, fat, ugly, lazy, unemployed, jealous, and crazy loser who likes to kick newborn puppies and bite the heads off Peeps. But really you’re just so weak that you can’t take a little nine-year-old kid’s jokes… and that maybe you do wear too much makeup, you child-hating slut! 

Now we all know that after three weeks of childish taunting you would be harboring infanticide fantasies as well, but we can’t say what we feel anymore because we’re going to hurt someone’s perceived feelings. Please keep that word in mind. Perceived. Because the basis of our lives revolves upon the perception of what we think others believe about us. If I disciple mah chyuld, they’ll become a serial killer and Ah’ll get blamed! Or maybe they won’t be a millionaire brain surgeon and Ah’ll never live in a McMansion with country club membership! Ah’m a failure! Never mind what we believe about ourselves, that’s whole other delusion. And lately, I’ve been noticing that that goes doubly for women.

Dog knows that ageism, sexism, and lookism dominates everything from employment to sex, but it’s getting worse. In Mom’s office these ghetto diva bitches are so hung up on themselves that they walk around in Alzheimer’s-esque delusions. The thinner bitches Darlene, Cecelia, Lucille, and Hazel love to say just how sexy and desirable they are complimenting themselves every five minutes and flirting with everything that has a pair of hanging gonads. The truth is, no one could stand any of them, and people who know these bitches in purchasing ask how Mom- their longest standing temp of 4 years- how she could put up with them. The truth is, she can’t, but she needs a job, and at 56 the jobs don’t come easily regardless of the economy. Once Mom was walking with Cecelia and she met a friend, Ping, and for 20 minutes these two squwaking peacocks, after discovering that they shared the same birthdate, started in like 12-year-olds with the high fructose corn syrupy simpering “You’re pretty!” “No you’re pretty!” that had more back-and-forth than a ping-pong match in Harbin. Then you have one of the supervisors, Carmen, who honestly looks like the stereotypical butch lesbian (Mom said she dresses like a gym teacher). This dumbfuck always backpedals when she says she’ll never go out of her way (again) for someone who utterly disrespects her. Lucille is the hospital’s butt of jokes because she’s such a loudmouth, she tells everybody every detail of her fucked life. She’s nothing but a welfare queen with three anchor babies. This former Filipino bar girl had four loaves with three men- her eldest son during her days prostituting on a cruise ship (claimed the father was a Greek, but a picture she produced showed a Filipino guy, but no one can be sure with her because she’s a pathological liar), the next two with her ex-husband, and this latest one with her new Michigan backwoods white trash hubster she met online who is allergic to employment and comes from a litter of pill-headed alkeys (his moomy was so fucked up on pills that she slurred over the phone to Lucille that her 12-year-old daughter Ashley could come back to Michigan to suck her toe. For a year Lucille dumped her kids on hubster’s crazy clan so that they could go faux jet-setting and making a real white baby together, meanwhile the kids ate nothing, lived in a filthy house, and a semi-tarded 16-year-old nephew took “a liking” to Ashley). I don’t give a shit at how “nice” Lucille is, she’s a trashy user and abuser. Carmen went out of her way to get this ho her naturalization status, the job at purchasing, threw her baby showers, and when the bitch was done blowing her paycheck Carmen swooped in and made her friends in the cafeteria serve this whore and her kids full continental breakfasts, and then Carmen would cook for her. So what does this bitch do when Carmen called out Lucille and hubster web surfing at her workstation (where no one without an employee ID isn’t allowed)? She called her a dirty Puerto Rican.

Considering this bitch’s spotty record, I’m still amazed at how she didn’t get fired after that incident. No, I’m wrong. I’m amazed at how she wasn’t fired after she physically assaulted church lady Marcy some years ago. Church lady Marcy is Indian-Guyanese and has been so indoctrinated by her bassackwards culture and revivalist sect that she’s the family’s doormat (Mom could relate well). Her parents are practically invalids so despite having a career and doing all the housekeeping, much of their care has been dumped on Marcy. Her brothers are coddled drunks who do nothing, and all of her sisters have shuffled off to London, Minnesota, and Miami with their lives and families. But whenever they’re in town they’re forever calling Marcy at work to ask where the spices, pencils, or dustrags are. The upshot, they’re on the upper rungs of the totem pole in Guyana. They have so much money (from family businesses) that they need armed guards on the family’s plantation. According to the church lady, these bitches treated her like dirt and that the stress Mom has from these projects divas is nothing. And while that is true, church lady does NOTHING to defend herself. She always brought donuts and bagels from her cousin’s Dunkin’ Donuts shop, but all these asshats would complain that it was too much junk and they were get(ting) fat(ter). THEN when church lady would stop they complained why she wasn’t bringing any more food! The following drama took place when church lady was out sick; at her desk Mom overheard the other bitches making fun of church lady, pulling various parts of their flab anatomies demonstrating where the bagels ended up on her body. After the office Xmas party (potluck) there was some complaint over the food she brought- it wasn’t enough… GREEDY! GREEDY! GREEDY! Mom and another employee took church lady aside and told her not to bother with the bitches any more and quit making food for them (like they expect everyone in the office to do- but Mom hasn’t!) then told her about the bagel jokes. You’d think that would get her riled up at least. Nope, she stayed home the next day and sobbed like a 15-year-old under the blankets over missing Justin Bieber fuck Robert Pattinson on Ustream.

Now I’ll get to the real cruelty.

Their recently retired boss, Bill Goof, saved church lady’s ass from getting downsized. Apparently the insurance company that now wants to dump the hospital decided she was too expensive and wanted to hire a desperate college grad for less.

“Well if she’s got to go, she’s got to go!” Darlene bitched right in front of silent church lady. This is the one who’s money-laden baby daddy won’t marry her because of the tighter younger pussy he gets on the side.  The one applicant, a recent IT grad (young white dude), came in for an interview and Bill listed all of the menial tasks that would be required of him.

“I’m not doing that!” Bye-bye to the wannabe soap star.

“Why did you discourage him?!” Carmen screeched.

Bill knew that all of these old ghetto bitches (including Star the head supervisor) would be flirting with the poor guy and drive him to quit with their craziness. But moreover the office would be in chaos. These ghetto queens scream and fight over the pettiest shit, but when a man gets involved they become a wolf pack! Jealousy over imagined attention would wreak havoc and spill over into the work, and they would get nothing done if they’re too busy batting their eyes and shaking their saggy asses in front of someone who could be their kid.

When it comes down to it, they’re all insecure pathetic losers who’ll settle for the worst. Lucille is finally leaving the job to relocate to Texas to hopefully get hubster- who left her– out of Michigan to make a fresh start with their baybee that he doesn’t give a shit about. Cecelia is fucking some womanizer, Orlando, that’s engaged because she’s lonely and angry at herself for never being satisfied with herself or anybody else. I mean church lady and Carmen suffer from the 1st grade-itis (if I do everything for the pretty girls they’ll be my friends and I’ll be pretty too), but is this what I have to look forward to? Is this what middle-aged women do when they can’t bear aging?

Meanwhile on the whiter side of things…

The Ass Food that’s across the street has been the feed bag for our local hook and ladder since time immemorial, and as a kid my teachers always told us to wave to the firefighters in appreciation for their sacrifice. And as corny as that sounds, I waved, and they waved back. But in the store Mom was firm, You don’t bother the other shoppers. (THE RAYS!) And her word was law. But that didn’t stop the clucking hens from circling them at the registers. Now obviously I was raised not to criticize the grown ups, so I watched at how these bitches made idiots of themselves bombarding them with the dumbest questions! That hasn’t changed, but since 9/11 the age demographic has widened. I try to run as fast as I can with my old lady cart from the giggling and brown nosing, I wonder if all the teen and twenty-something fangirls are hot on firefighters because of the Chippendale-wannabe calendars they’ve released?

I don’t know. I’ve been working on this rant for nearly four hours, and I am nowhere near deciphering as to what’s fucking up women. Maybe I’m the exception to this odd rule. Okay, I went to a crap high school in a basement where I interacted with characters from the rejects zoo, and that was hardly the John Waters ideal that I had in mind when I was eight. I’m not really romantic, and outside of Microsoft Word I’m not very creative. And maybe I am a pessimist, but I prefer to define (not label) myself as a realist (read or listen to George Carlin’s Brain Droppings for a detailed explanation). I knew that I was CF pretty early on (I referred to my Cabbage Patch doll as my sister, not my daughter), and marriage doesn’t seem like a bowl of peaches and cream either (dysfunctional parents that had influence, I know). But let’s face it, when I lose my remaining 59 pounds (UPDATE: LOST 33 LBS. AS OF 7/6/11! 143 STILL IS THE GOAL!) that won’t guarantee me a ring, and should I get one I’m the type of bitch that if you were one of the morons I went to high school with met me on the street and saw it, your initial reaction would be, “YOU’RE MARRIED?! He must be as bad as you!”

I remember as a kid I begged my dad for ballet lessons. A lot of my non-friends at Catlick school went to the dance school just two blocks from here. It was $75 for the year. Mom always got this panicked look when I pleaded with her, and would try to deter me with “go ask your dad.” And I did. And I stood there whining for dog knows how long as he just sat at the table paying bills and balancing the checkbook, not once acknowledging me. I mean what’s the damn deal motherfucker? You tell me that fat girls aren’t loved (and that’s true) don’t you think a little activity would help with that? Was $75 bucks so hard to part with, you miserly assface? I took the long way to get some Chinese food avoiding that little bitch and I noticed that the weekend class was letting out at the dance school. Not much had changed, well the sign and the fact that the picture windows are shuttered since breeders believe that pedophiles are on every corner. The school advertizes with blown up recital photos, girls of varying ages and ability. A pink chain of five-year-olds in tulle and ribbons stiffly take their bow, a troupe of 10 to 12-year-olds pose in disco sequins with glitter in their hair and on their faces. Sugary smiles and Olga Korbut splits looking like so much North Korean propaganda. I wasn’t so lucky, but are they lucky? Out from the rear exit emerge two fat teen girls, both are in leggings. Their faces are sheened in sweat and are giddy. No cares in the world and they seem to be all buddy-buddy. Maybe weight loss partners, maybe not. But they all seem lucky, one by one skipping down the cracked concrete in the spun gold sunlight of late spring afternoon chasing after diamond fireflies. And it hits me just now. There’s really nothing fucked up with women. And yet everything. It gets really hot under stage lights, and you have to hit your cues on time, and if you screw up the whole cast looks bad, but… that fairy glamour makes it all worthwhile. Fifteen seconds, that’s all you ask for to look special, pretty even. And that’s what they’re doing. Chasing the fairy glamour.

Lights dim.

Curtain closes.

Matinee at 2pm.

I get up from my seat and walk up the aisle. I’m the real lucky one. I get to leave the theater every time.

Final Fantasy XIII jewelry review

Hey y’all, I live!

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? And with good reason. First I’m getting over a cold, and Mom’s nursing a slight lung infection (the same I had in July) and won’t be going to work on Monday (getting docked another $100 ’cause she’s still temping). Secondly we just finished overdue renovations- $60k worth! My bitch grandmother- the attention-addicted hoarder- finally gave us new Andersen windows, a rubberized roof, replaced all the locks and doorknobs, hinges, a proper roof hatch with built-in ladder (a $3,500 fine from the fire department if you don’t have one), repainted the the whole apartment (my room is red!), and put in insulation everywhere! Even though we get no heat, the drafts are gone!

But our personal war with her isn’t done! Because of my father’s $100k debt, our lives are at a current standstill. Now Mom only has to fork over $47k of that since she divorced him- and the good news is that my great-aunt left us $50k ($15k of which has already been taken by the creditors) and my debt has accrued $2k in interest bringing it up to $8100. I contacted the the lawyer and I told him that I’d pay in full when the estate is re-tallied up at the beginning of the new year. But we still need to get money from grandma to pay the rest of the debts and for a lawyer so we can get to reclamation court. Dad hid $50k worth of worker’s comp from us so we need that as start-up money (you know- health insurance, transportation money, and mutual funds).

So I got Xmas shopping done a bit early since we have use of grandmama’s credit card now that we’re replacing our broken furniture and PC’s that are dying/dead. We all know what a fucking hot, linear mess that Final Fantasy XIII is (I’ve got my PS3 now and have FF Versus XIII on pre-order) but I’m a sucker for merchandise. And, as you know, for shit that shines.

I give you my FF XIII jewelry review!

While I’m not insane, I dropped roughly $500 bucks to buy the Snow Villiers and Serah Farron chains off the Square Enix merch site, and am pleased to announce that they are pretty damn snazzy (NOTE: the following pics were taken on my DSi so don’t expect perfection).

Let us start with the unboxing, shall we?

Property of: Manly Spice

Wonderful how these loanwords work, I was expecting something like "enugageepen".

Nice little keepsake boxes, but I thought the packing box it came in stuffed like shit with packing peanuts was a bit big.

Too bad it doesn't say Shin Ra Company because that's what SE seems like these days.

Both faux leather boxes are the same so I only bothered with one pic. Now if you don’t have a whole lot of room in your dresser, or where ever the fuck you hide your valuables, just wrap the chains up in tissue paper and put them in your jewelry box because these boxes are big. And I mean designer hip-hop bling-bling watch box big!

Yes! I know the ring is on the wrong way!

Yes! I know the ring isn't there!

Now that looks about right.

THE RING... isn't that all we girls are about?

In a world without quality, certificates of authenicity will have to do.

Now let’s start with specs: Serah’s chain is made of .925 sterling silver (so no green skin or rashes from nickel) and cubic zirconias. It is conveniently the FF XIII game logo; the cracked orb represents Serah’s and Snow’s homeworld Cocoon, and the crystal center symbolizes the crystallized l’Cie rebirthing the new world (yes these are spoilers, but if you’ve ever heard of You Tube that sort of nullifies shit). The pendant from CZ encrusted bail to tip is about 3″ inches, and the orb’s width is a 1/2″ inch. The chain is a 19″ inch 1mm Cuban link style, and the ring that you could wear separately is roughly a 5 1/2 (it’s a tad snug on my pinky). This jingles like a Xmas ornament and will get a lot of compliments whether you’re cosplaying or at the laundromat. It’s not too heavy so there’s no neck strain, and the chain isn’t so long that it’s annoying (and I prefer shorter chains).

No, I don't normally dress up my lamps.

And I thought only Freddie Mercury had a cat fetish!

With Snow what you see is what you get.

Since Serah and Snow are the sweethearts of this FF installment, I just had to have them both. Like Serah’s, Snow’s chain is also made of .925 silver and CZs. The pendant from bail to tip is 1 1/2″ inches, the chain is a 20″ inch 3mm oval link style. At the front of the bail is a snowflake flanked by four crystals, a larger blue crystal on the left and two smaller white crystals with one black crystal on the right. Because Snow leads the anti-fal’Cie resistance group NORA (No Obligations, Rules or Authority in NA and EU) a cat was chosen as its emblem in Japan for nora neko translating to “stray cat”. Since I’m a Brooklyn girl I have to represent my sports teams and I wear my extra large team pendants on my thick chains, and Snow’s pendant is a lot like them. It’s a guy’s chain, but if you’re a Snow fangirl it’s right up your alley as well. Too bad SE didn’t come up with the star chain attachment if you’re really going for an exact look.

Cordoba House, old hat

I was at my friend’s house on 9/11, and she lives within walking distance from the Brooklyn Bridge, so we ran up to the roof with her mom and her boyfriend (at the time) and got a nice view of a giant wafting black cloud. The news had been blasting from the time the shit hit the fan until two days later. I mentally ran through every terrorist group/nation that I could think of, and ironically, the Taliban was my last one (in tenth grade I did a paper on them focusing on the lack of human rights/women’s rights in Afghanistan). I visited the WTC site on 9/29, and as I was walking over the hundredth makeshift bridge single-file I was pretty sure the last time I visited lower Manhattan was early 2001. You couldn’t recognize it. Century 21 was fucked, I mean floors of the store were shut down because the collapsing of the towers just blew in all the windows.  Side streets were cordoned off because of debris and damage, and you only could get to the police station before you hit the police barriers and chain link fence. And hovering everywhere in the air was a sweet burnt rubbery stench. In high school I read as many books on the Holocaust as I could, and from many concentration camp survivors accounts that same stench was wherever the Nazis were exterminating people. It was burnt flesh. Our asshat pres got the war he wanted so badly and once as I was walking to the train station (and I think it was that October) there was this guy who looked my age decked out in camo gear, full pack and was carrying an assault weapon. I stopped, shook his hand, and told him good luck. I fucking wanted to cry because I knew it was going to be Vietnam 2.0. And it has.

And like Vietnam both political parties went on the bullet/oil bandwagon and have gotten nowhere. As far as I’m concerned, everyone’s been fucked, I feel no safer than I did before 9/11, and the wonderful puppet regimes setup in Iraq and Afghanistan will further destabilize them before we cut and run (just like in Cambodia) and we could end up with places worse than Iran. So now we’re shitting ourselves over the Cordoba House and the bullshit in France with the hajib. First off, ALL religion is crap! I’ve read the hadiths and I’m well aware at how much women are respected in the Middle East regardless of how much she’s covered. If the fucking Vatican could get women to do this, they would. As long as it didn’t mean losing millions in the process- gotta pay off all those child molestation victims y’know! Salt Lake City’s a great place for a woman. As long as she has long-term prescriptions for Seroquel and Prozac. And I love Williamsburg. How stylishly the Black Hat girls shuffle by in their floor-length dresses and clownish wigs (if they’re married that is).

So not only is this plan political suicide, it’s so fucking obvious at what they’re really trying to do that they might as well parade Biden around Wilmington in a suit made of Saran Wrap! People, if you want oil and hope that the rich Arabs (Saudis) will stay in the west to make the Blue Chip companies more money, just come out and goddamn say so. I’m just a New Yorker who is sick and tired of seeing the same goddamn hypocrisy, shaking hands with a sheik as you hold knives at each other’s back.

I’m just saying.

Long live George Carlin

There’s a retarded guy on my block. We call him Scrambled Brains.

Now obviously people already hate what I’ve said: “retarded guy”. Well it’s true, he was born fifty-odd years ago mentally retarded. His older brother is also somewhat retarded. I should really say slow. The dude is slow. But he’s got a job, a wife, and healthy kids. This family isn’t a big problem. Anymore.

The father died from lung cancer 10-11 years back, I felt sorry for the dog. It looked so lonely as they pulled the covered gurney from the house. Then a couple of years later the dog died. Don’t worry, they got a new one. The reason why I’m bringing this up is because, have you ever noticed how people benefit after a death? And I don’t mean mixing rat poison in the sugar to get a measly $800k from the life insurance. I’m talking about real, life changing benefits.

Scrambled Brains used to be a real problem for everybody. But because his Moo-my dearest is such a bitch we had to refrain from complaining. He’d take people’s mail and throw it around. I remember seeing him walking up and down the block collecting trash can lids. One serious incident (that I’d only heard of) was that he’d gotten arrested for indecent exposure- taking a piss in the park. Then he’d shout nonsensical shit at passersby sitting on his stoop, as he’d be planted there all day during the warm weather.

Then his father died, and suddenly he got calmer. And even a little functional. I know for a fact that this is the result of anti-psychotics and tranquilizers. It’s not a secret that my neighborhood is filled with cheap, old bastards who are willing to put up with all sorts of shit to avoid spending a dollar. But now that his family are free from the old man, they finally took charge.

In my family it took three deaths for some progress to happen. More on that later.

Strange shit I have (and I know I’m not the only one)

I’ve just cleaned the last bit of junk from my new and improved room (but I won’t be able to enjoy it what with our heatless house unable to stand up against the bitter New York winter), organized shit, bagged the stuff I’m donating to BPL’s Great American Book Drive, and took stock of all my crap. And boy do I like weird shit! And I know I’m not the only one.

1) Andrei Rublev

2) The Color of Pomegranates

3) The ’79 Captain America TV movies

4) Alice in Wonderland (1966 BBC production)

5) Celtopunk

6) mysteries solved by Elizabeth II

7) I have 7 shades of red nail polish

8 ) I have 21 shades of red lipstick (plus back-ups)

9) Russian Ark

10) Super Sentai music

11) I have all the North American Sailor Moon soundtracks

12) I have the Japanese mini-disc single of Weiss Kreuz 1st season opening theme

13) The soundtrack for the stinker Passion of Mind

14) I discovered I nearly perfectly painted the nails of my Princess Jasmine figurine

15) Kickboxing Academy

See what could happen if you let your space turn into a junk pile? Oh the hidden wonders of weirdness…

Happiness Bunny says don't be a hoarder, or he'll invade your living room and eat your flan while idly rubbing his crotch.