At first I thought this asshole’s friends played a joke on him by defacing his dorky Mustang. But after close inspection, I discerned that Douchey McDouche (who works in my corporate office building and looks like Vanilla Ice) used an Exacto and a ruler to ensure that BOTH sides of his shiny convertible would read ‘MUSBANG’. Sick. Who must he bang? I can only imagine very dumb pre-teens who are impressed by Bluetooth sets and hair gel. Next time I’m forced into the elevator with this lame-o, I plan to tell him I’m looking for a man who likes to bang. And when he hangs up his Blackberry and pushes the emergency stop button, I plan to rip off his nipples and sew them to his eyes.
Author: laurenne
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Today I barfed in the parking garage.
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Well, your bomber jacket is nice.
My office sent me to Milwaukee to look at a print ad and check its color. Yes, Milwaukee. Yes, to look at a color. It seemed like it would be an easy task, but of course the color was wrong and I needed to stay up all night to fix it. While driving through the Milwaukee back roads at 4am to go check the color again, I clenched the steering wheel, pissed that this was my life. I felt tears approaching my lids and anxiety holding my jaw taut.
The color never got to be perfect, and I left Milwaukee feeling like a failure. Well, half of me felt like a failure and half of me felt like I was stuck in a joke. Or a Mike Meyers satire where everyone in the film is creating a huge deal out of something so insignificant. Miserable and scared of how my bosses would view the color fiasco, I got to the airport only to find a problem with my flight.
Right when I felt like my body would implode from anxiety, I walked passed an Indian man. He was round and bald and cloaked in a brown bomber jacket. I could see he was bald and the throng of busy travelers could tell he was bald, but the man himself could not see he was bald. Perched atop his head was what looked like the puff of hair that usually lands in the trash after I clean out my brush. He’d poised this tumbleweed directly in the center of his shiny dome in a desperate attempt to convince the world that he was not one who could be classified as bald.
At the sight of this man, my brain could do nothing but make me laugh, and laugh I did for a good two minutes. Not at him, but at the fact that all humans have “problems” that seem so huge to us in the moment but in essence aren’t so important. While I could tell the man that his baldness was really not worth the fretting and styling and grasping at a last-ditch solution of puff-piling, he could probably tell me that the color of the print ad would not be my demise.
Thanks, bald Indian man. I know you don’t think I’m talking to you because you don’t classify yourself as bald, but thanks anyway.
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I’ll take 2 please. And a book of 12.
Since when is the post office giving the gift of life? What great news! Did they open a life-giving line? If so, I bet you have to wait a long time to get a life. And I bet if you’re waiting in that line, there aren’t any pens. I wonder if they give you a life and then they ask you if you’d like any stamps.
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I’ll never stop loving you, Steve Sanders.
Catalina and I just suffered through the new 90210. Those West Beverly kids have such spunk, don’t they? The only way it’s similar to the one I used to watch after styling my bangs and while talking on the phone with my boyfriend Adrian Diaz, who had also just finished styling his bangs, is the passing off of thirty-year-olds as tweens. The only good thing I got from the night was this quote from my marvelous roommate:
“I could eat a book and shit out a better script.” -
Welcome to my Blaaaahg
I am starting a blog. A blaaaaahg. I’ve always had an itch to start one, but I never could find a reason to. I mean, who is really going to care what I have to say besides my mom, Mambert? She will show up often around here because she lends herself well to the idea that humans are funny. (By the way, she got a heck of a deal on dishrags at Aldi’s last week. She called and told me.)
So here it is. A blog. My blog. In which I will shed light on the human plight. We are hilarious without even trying. We all think we’re so smart but then go and make big mistakes. Like China, for example. Even before the Olympic debacle, China invented a policy that made families want to only produce baby boys. Not only did this lead to baby deaths (and lots of unwarranted stretchmarks), it created a country with a huge population problem. China is scratching their head and saying, “Well, gee. There aren’t enough women to mate with the men.” Duh! They all died prematurely.
See! Humans are funny and weird. And crazy. And self-absorbed. And sometimes smelly. And sometimes really stupid. But that’s just how we roll.
Welcome to my blog.
