Monthly Archives: April 2011

Ever had that day?

Doesn’t mean the day from hell. I’ve had those before. Probably so have you. When the nurse asks you what your pain tolerance is, be smart and tell her I have none, unless you’re messing with my emotions.

I’ve had great days, where I laughed about the terms “smidget” and “smedium” and didn’t get upset. I’ve had days where I imbibed too much and heard about it for weeks after. I’ve also had days where I rescued friends and loved ones from situations that had gone horribly awry and still got blasted for it. Apparently, when my mother told me “Life isn’t fair; get over it.”, she was absolutely right.

Today was on par for the Tarinator scale of… who cares. Horrible. The funny thing is some part of my brain was able to separate my emotions of not being invited to a birthday dinner I’ve been to every year, to the logical brain saying “yes, I am SO glad I don’t have to sit and listen to interminable conversation that is often derogatory… have fun with that.”

Aside from the regular life thing… where everyone knows you better than you, I have a story for you. It’s a bit sappy, and the crew would have a field day with this.

You know, women really aren’t that hard to deal with. Yes I did hear the collective hue and cry from all my male friends. It’s true, there are some females who are genuinely three ants shy of a pick-a-nic basket. Seen it – it’s ugly. Sorry you dated that.

Still, I have some questions.

1) If you have the same personality (essentially) as your significant other, at what point do you realizing raising your voice insures that neither of you will hear the rationality behind the tone?

2) Opinions are always formed. We try to deny it’s so, but even when someone isn’t a lazy, fat, cow… The proof is in results, right. If there are no results, then your opinion must be correct.

3) There are people who have emotions right next to the surface. If they happen to be women, we label them as weak. If they are men, yikes. Holy freaking fag jokes. Eh, it’s all the same to me. I’m guilty of thinking some people should just get a life… move on, muscle up, crack some more jokes, and verbally blast everyone who had the poor misfortune to wake up one day and realize they were an utter douchebag.

4) I’ve got great friends. Friends who are really nice and kind (I wonder what alien ship dropped them off). Friends who are amazingly witty, and still manage to descend into the “He/She doesn’t love me abyss.” Huh. Friends who are so freaking tacky and distasteless that I never manage to keep a straight face because I know not only do they show up when it counts, they’ll beat anybody down who tries to hurt me. I mean, they’ll make fun of me unmercifully once the dismembering is done, but they still got my back.

Alright, back to the story. I won’t even say this is about all women. It’s about me, but it applies.

I’m a sarcastic b*tch. I am snarky. I lambaste fashion deficient, because I know that even when I wear an inapproprate t-shirt, I can hang if I need to. Dress, or no, attitude is everything. Wow, am I good at attitude.  This doesn’t forego the smush.

Definition: SMUSH – The mushiness that one sort of tries to hide. (Your friends will know that even though you’re a bitch or an ass, you actually care about them in some part of your brain. Don’t let them autopsy you… that knowledge will be lost.)

Eh, make fun, but after said horrible day, I had to go to the grocery store and buy birthday cards for the dinner I wasn’t invited to. Ouch. I’m surrounded by Easter candy, cards, and flowers, knowing when Sunday rolls around, none of this booty will be mine. It’s not about the money, but I currently don’t rate on the scale of that. Guys are standing around me at the checkouts, and buying flowers galore, and all that stuff… I’m just thinking “Hey, you don’t need that crap. It’s ok.”

I kinda do. I just laugh when members of my species say things like:

-“He got me a card as big as the Empire State building; isn’t that romantic??”

T -Uh, no. It means he’s compensating for a body part or how often he’s snoring before you even get your clothes off.

– “Look at these flowers! I’m so glad he remembers it’s Easter!”

T- Girl, you’re as Jewish as they come. Really? Please tell me you’re just happy that it’s Sunday, and Shabbat is over for you. Oh wait, it’s still Passover and you have to eat that horrible Matzo Brie. Take the flowers and RUN.

– “He called to say he was on his way home and check if I was alright! Isn’t that sweeeet?”

T- No, he was checking to see if you were already done cooking dinner, because otherwise he’s stopping off at Taco Bell, or anywhere he can drive through and not get out of the car, and STILL make it home to you in time for the game.

Are you sensing a pattern here? I’m really not bitter… I DO want flowers, and a card everyonce in a while would be amazing. Rub my back and you’re pretty much the MAN. I just don’t expect it and therefore I think don’t get it. 

It’s not about gender; it’s about realizing what the other person wants. No, my guy crew, they are NOT talking about your strange fetish for midget porn, hot chicks in bikinis, or pistachio ice cream smashed with.. Uh, never mind. Regardless, pay attention.

If that fails, you’re always welcome to sell them to a Zoo. I hear there’s a shortage of people who love others.


P.S. Did I actually say love on a blog? They still need to regulate this medication. Look away.


Ok, Gravatar? What fresh nerd hell have I subjected myself to?

I’m seriously having Galaxy Quest flashbacks. “By Grapthor’s Hammer, I wiiiiilll avenge YOU!” Thanks Alan Rickman for burning that into my noggin.

At any rate, this is my first blog. I’m sure there’s some super cute word for it already, that a better netnerd than me made up. No, I’m not Googling it. I’m lame, but not THAT lame. If you did, take a Klonopin and call me when your anxiety attack is over.

Look, I ended up here because lately, words are spilling out of my brain. I can’ type or write fast enough to keep up with “the boppin’ to what’s left ‘a ma brain.” It’s one thing to periodically annoy your annointed few (I’m practically a pariah – I only have 200 something FB friends), and quite another to inundate them multiple times a day. Then there’s that whole tagging thing… half of them don’t want to be tagged, and the rest are offended you don’t consider them BFFs enough to tag. Frankly, it’s exhausting.

I started to write a book, and then realized I have a very specific format, and frankly I don’t think anyone wants to read crap they could already deal with on the ‘net. Ok, I would, but we’ve established that I’m a nerd.

Am I supposed to introduce myself now? AWKward. I’m a breath away from turning 40. I was blessed with reasonably good genes and on a good day get the “I’d do that” award. I’m also tall, which ensures that I don’t fall into the subcategory of Oompa-Loompa netnerds. I guess everyone has a right to an “Amen” for something.

I speak English (because you couldn’t tell that) and can mumble my way through French, Italian, and Afrikaans. Spanish? I used to be fluent, but once I emigrated back to my homeland, AKA French Canadian central, I promptly forgot everything I learned and remembered the proper way to pronounce Toutiere Pie. I wish I was kidding.

I sing Karaoke. I’m occasionally good. I get a kick out of “Twenty Years and Two Husbands ago.” Poor dear didn’t realize it takes far less than twenty to go through two. What’s the commercial? “Get in, get out, be on your way!”

You won’t want to read this blog. Let’s be clear that I’m doing this for selfish reasons. Ok, ok… truth is, I can’t possibly be the only sort of humanoid who hasn’t succumbed to the applique sweater wearing, “My kid is an honor roll student @ nobody gives a damn elementary”, my hair is an atrocity best donated to the zoological society (whatever THAT is), have already bought the suit I want everyone to fawn over at my wake, mentality. Uh, ok that was a little much. Call me insensitive. Move along peeps, nothing to see here.

My darker side (scared ya, didn’t I?)… Ok, I’m so kidding.  I was trying to channel “The Grudge” scariness but got distracted by crazy cats and the fact that yummy goodness that WAS a crispy fried noodle escaped my grasp and bailed to the floor.

On this note, I seriously need to go out and pollute my lungs. Plus it’s almost 6am on the East coast, which means I’m minutes away from being able to effectively harass my sidekick (more on Mr. D later) and must store up energy.

Happy Sunday peeps. Please do everything I would do if I had the funds.

-T, out.