Have you ever gotten the kind of angry that is so multifaceted, it can’t be directed at any one specific person or thing, (not fairly) and you can’t stop being angry or be objective about it?

Instead, you find yourself going around the house, wandering with a purpose of finding someone worthy of a strong glare or a kick. Something to somehow siphon off the rage surging inside of you. You go into the kitchen, ready to eat the shit out of something, with your teeth, but you are too enraged to be hungry, and you slam the refrigerator door harder than necessary. You prowl into the bathroom to take a shower or maybe peruse your selection of soaps, but relaxation holds little appeal when what you really want to do is destroy something that someone you hate loves. keep reading »

“This is stupid.”
“This from the man who asked if there were more cute videos.”
“Yeah, of cats in baskets, being pulled up like an elevator. That is hilarious. Hey, hey, I know you’re blogging this. I know when you’re about to blog. Stop it. No. I just want to see some cats in baskets. I’m telling you, just stop. … Cats in baskets, muthafuckaa… Sign me up for that website. I know you’re one of the fuckers who stole my cloud song.”

“I know when you’re blogging stuff. I bet no one believes this is what I actually say. They’re just like, ‘she’s making this up. Like usual.’”

Also:

So, I’ve recently been waging a campaign against manfriend’s cold heart. More specifically, I’ve been trying to convince him that we should get a dog at some undisclosed point in the future that IS NOT NOW. We both laughed hysterically at this video:

After which he informed me, “this still doesn’t mean you can get a dog. Keep watching videos. Of other people’s dogs.”

There is something to be said for drunken encounters, and while getting philosophical-drunk last night, I’m pretty sure I proclaimed that beer was the great unifier. While walking down one of the little streets in Philadelphia, it’s inevitable that you’ll be waylaid by other drunk people standing outside smoking. This is precisely what happened last night.

One of these people was Bill. Bill and I got to talking:

“I like your… I like your…” he gestured towards my chest.
“You like my scarf?”

He nodded sadly.

“A cruder man would say he liked my rack, but you, sir, are a gentleman. I like my scarf too.” keep reading »