*I refuse to call these "random musings". Don't you dare.

1. My deli has a sandwich club called TASTEE & MEATY. Why is it tast'ee', but meat-'y'? I desire equivalence in my deli club adjectives. As I waited in line for my tastee, meatee order today, I wondered if there were any hazing rituals involved in joing a sandwich club. Does one have to slam pickle juice shots or circle the different cuts of meat on the diagram of a cow? Or does it just go to a vote by the TASTIE & MEET-T sandwich club members? Do members have wacky nicknames like Ball O. Knee and Mort Adella?

1a. Yes, the line for the deli was very long.

2. For most of today I've been writing March instead of April every time I wrote the date, and I also thought it was Thursday until just recently.

2a. I think I make a compelling case for the necessity of that bitter white crystalline xanthine alkaloid that acts as a psychoactive stimulant and a mild diuretic discovered by that freakin' hottie, German chemist Friedrich Ferdinand Runge.

2b. A reduction in serotonin levels when caffeine use is stopped can cause anxiety, irritability, inability to concentrate and diminished motivation to initiate or to complete daily tasks; in extreme cases it may cause mild depression. Together, these effects have come to be known as a "crash".

2c. I'm worried and depressed and I've pretty much lost interest in finishing this fucking p o st

Labels: caffeine made my life worth living and now I have nothing, did I catch a niner in there, Friedrich Ferdinand Runge, I can't hear you, tasty meat, you're trailing off

After conducting a fairly unscientific study this afternoon, I've concluded that assholes not only look and talk like assholes, they even open doors like asswipes. I didn't know it was possible to open a door in such a way as to let others know without even looking up that it is indeed you, Assholio Extraordinario, but now I do know. It is 100% possible.

I went 10/10 guessing that The Cock (not to be confused with FootShamblinWaterFountain Guy) was coming into my area by his invisible yet all too tangible "It's me. Me! Bow down!" aura that was so powerful it caused the door to swing on its hinges until it smashed loudly against the opposite wall.

Labels: aura of douche and loss, bald assless cocksuckers

I was doing some major cleaning over the weekend and found an old messenger bag of mine. Inside it was a note I wrote to myself after my ex-boyfriend dumped me in a Chili's. Yeah, I said it! Dumped in a Chili's! And no, there isn't a more humiliating way to be dumped, thanks for asking. If you're writing a book called "Ten Humiliating Ways to Leave Your Lover" make that number one. Sure if it happens to you you'll laugh about it (years) later but you'll still secretly shoot lasers at the face of Tyler Florence every time you see him on TV just for being associated with the place. Except I just realised Tyler works with Applebees*. Eh, same restaurant, different flair. He still deserves the lasers.

At the time I wrote this list I still had to see my ex every day and some days were so hard I thought about setting myself on fire, and by myself I mean mostly totally him. The note said:

REASONS I HATE [fuckhole]:

1. Is a dick
2. Can't spell
3. Is rude
4. His chewing
5. Is not smart
6. Is fake
7. Is dumb. DUMB!!!
8. Is minute man
9. Has a small piece
10. DOESN'T SHAVE BALLS ENOUGH
11. Uses people
12. IS A DICK
13. & an asscandle
14. & a tool
15. Sometimes has camel toe
16. Wears Stetson Man

I laughed, but it brought me back to a time when I was desperate to find reasons to stop loving him despite the fact he treated me like most people wouldn't treat a rented stepstool. I can't relate to the person I was back then - not the person who ever loved him nor the person who thought her world was ending because he moved on. Now loving him seems as ludicrous as wearing shoes made out of corned beef. You try it once, sure, but quickly realise for every one good idea you have there are several less stellar ones.

I've since found the best man in the world and he's the opposite of all those things. He chews and spells properly, isn't deficient in the pantaloons nor in stamina, is neither fake nor a candle made from ass, doesn't smell like a pine tree covered in douchebags, and I'll just leave his #10 status to your imagination, as his brother reads here. Let's not make this awkward.

*Speaking of the Applebees, once Mr. S. and I were watching one of those Skinemax soft core "porn" shows and it centered around a searing love triangle between a bartender, a waitress, and a patron and from the interior and exterior shots it was clear they used an Applebees for the set. Several "eatin' good in the neighbourhood" jokes may have been made.

Labels: Chili's is not for eating, corned beef shoes, douchebags, lasers to Tyler Florence's face, stetson man

There are embarrassing situations that are funny and secretly not that embarrassing and maybe even a little charming in the retelling, and then there are embarrassing situations that are the opposite of that.

I once bought a tube-toppish thing from the children's section of a store because the adult-sized shirts were too big. It fit fine everywhere except the chestal region where it was just a little tight but not enough to make a difference, so I imagined. However, each time I wore the shirt all was fine in the morning but as the day wore on the shirt would begin to annoy in the same way a headband or hat can irritate your head. Things are copacetic and then all of a sudden you're rubbing your temples and wondering why your head is in a vice. Except I wondered why my rib cage was in a vice and instead of my temples I rubbed under my arms.

After wearing the top about five times and hating it every single time, I caught on that maybe the top should be a no-go. I learn faster than I drive. I relegated the top to the back of my bottom drawer and forgot about it.

The last few weeks have been crazy for me and also I've been lazy so my laundry has built up into the Tower of Barad-dûr, complete with the Eye of Sauron on top. I've been frightened to go near it for I know what hunts me. I was also sort of hoping some sort of wash warp would occur wherein my dirty clothes, having sat in a pile for so long, would somehow become clean simply by the miracle of air and time. This was wishful thinking, I'm sad to report.

In delightful synchronicity, today I ran out of clean clothes and woke up late, my alarm piercing my skull with an ENGH ENGH ENGH ENGH ENGH ENGH sharp enough to slice through a conversation with Ben Stein. Apparently if you ignore my alarm, which starts off with a gentle engh... engh... engh..., it proceeds to the Engh engh, Engh engh, Engh engh level, and if you dare ignore that it turns shit up to one louder with an ENGH I ENGH WILL ENGH NOT ENGH BE ENGH IGNORED ENGH DAN. ENGH ENGHboiledbunnyENGH.

Bleary and sullen, I scrambled around desperately looking for an outfit. Pants I never wear because you are ugly and ill-fitting? Yay, I found you! What's this at the back of the bottom drawer! Hi, children's top! There's no way you'll be uncomfortable today, is there? You are cute and will distract people from my ill-fitting pants. I will pair you with a cute hoodie.

On my drive to work, things went from "this outfit isn't too bad" to "get this fucking iron lung of a shirt off me, stat" alarmingly fast. By the time I was walking/ok, running into work, the shirt was Hiss (the snake from Robin Hood) and it was cracking my ribs and trying to hypnotise me to my death. "Hypnosisss can cure you of your psssychosssis... ssso easssy..."

I quickly formulated a plan so as to continue living. I would remove this body cast of a top, zip up the hoodie (hoodie is a damn stupid word), and breathe as a free man again. Because I was late, I had no time to carry out my plan in the bathroom like normal, decent folk. Filled with foolishness and dumb, I thought I could, at my desk, simply zip up the hoodie and quickly slip the tube top down my body and step through it with no one the wiser.

This plan had a danger potential of +1000 being that my desk is out in the middle of a busy library, but I shot for the stars and reached for the moon. I should have reached for a gun and shot for myself instead, but sadly I was gunless.

I looked around furtively, waiting for planets to align and everyone to be looking down or away at the same time. In my mind, at that moment I would, in one seamless motion, slide the tube top down my body. This became the thing that I failed.

The moment came and everyone was looking away. I knew I had mere milliseconds to make this happen, so I grasped the bottom edge of the top and pulled hard, simultaneously forgetting my a) ill-fitting pants and b) the fact that if the top was snug around my rib cage it was probably also going to be equally snug around my hips.

I got the top to my hips and realised things weren't going to flow seamlessly but rather were going to require firm yanking. People's heads began to turn slowly towards me. I pulled harder, briefly triumphant as the top slipped past my hips just as a man approached my desk. I didn't have time to get it all the way down before he arrived at my desk, a look of unamusement splashed across his face like a bad date had thrown an appletini in it.

"What are you doing?" he said, not with a tone of "Oh how cute!" so much, but more the tone of "Tell me again why am I forced to view this disgusting display?".

That's when I realised my ill-fitting pants, which of course were ill-fitting not in the direction of being too small but rather clownishly too big, had been pulled down when I yanked the tube top past my hips, and my pants were now resting daintily below my Super Girl knickered ass. The offending tube top sat with brooding ill-humour around my ankles like a malicious word spat out during an argument.

Sort of like this:

If the stranger had found this scene adorable I might not want to die right now, but I really can't explain the look on his face except to say it was as far from "How adorable!" as a look could be and was planted as firmly in "Ugh" as anything ever was.

Labels: -5 sexterity, all aboard the phailboat, epic fail, fail, fayel, ill-fitting pants, tube top of shame, you're doing it wrong