Tuesday, November 4, 2014

I Hate The IRS

Have you ever needed to speak to someone at the IRS? Ever try giving them call? Then you know my frustration.

I had a situation and desperately needed to speak to a representative. After one hour and twenty two minutes on hold, Mr. Wilson (ID number 1000571801) answered! He promptly advised me to call a taxpayer advocate service; he was having a bad day, and hung up on me.

Let me repeat that...After waiting 1 hour and 22 minutes, an IRS representative disconnected me because he was having a bad day.

That would be Mr. I Am An Ass Wipe Wilson, ID number 1000571801.

Actually I'm not sure if Wilson is his first name or last. All he said was ‘Wilson’. Like Cher or Bono. Cher and Bono are fucking rocket scientists compared to the cock sucker known as Wilson of the IRS.

So, I call the taxpayer advocate service 'his royal assness' Wilson so generously word vomited and I wait another 20 minutes to speak to someone. Ms. Abram, ID number 1001677xxx, said that Wilson was wrong. (Whaaattt?) She could not help me and she would put me through to an IRS representative to discuss my problem. I said very clearly, ‘You’ll put me through directly to a person right? I won’t have to wait over an hour to talk to someone…right?’ She said, ‘Oh, it won’t be that long! Maybe ten or fifteen minutes.’

1 hour, 52 minutes and 43 seconds later, I am still on hold...and now I can't hang up. I just have to see how long it takes these fuckers to get to my call. It’s probably been thrown into some infinite loop in the seventh circle of hell. I don’t care. I’ll wait for Beelzebub himself to help me with my issue. I think someone the caliber of ‘Bub’ would enjoy working at such a reputable organization. Of course, with my luck it will be addled eunuch Wilson, ID number 1000571801, screaming wassup and beating off as he hits the disconnect button...again and again and again.

I fucking hate the IRS.

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Dumb and Dumber

I like to read. I’ve been known to devour entire volumes in a 24 hour period. However, I must admit it’s been a few years since I’ve sat back with a good book. With the leaves on the trees turning color and that nip in the air, I decided it was time to pick up an old favorite. Edgar Allen Poe’s, The Murders in the Rue Morgue
In less than five minutes of cracking the book open, I put it down. I adjusted how I was sitting. I checked my cell phone to see if I had any text messages. I sighed, there were none. I adjusted myself and tried again. Wow, my thumb nail looked really awful. There were splits near the tip...I got up and filed my thumb nail. I sat back down in my comfy chair with my faux fur blanket and tried to start again… 
‘The mental features discoursed of as the analytical, are, in themselves, but little susceptible of analysis’. ‘Ana-lytical’, I thought. Isn’t that what Mila Kunis and Aston Kutcher are going to name their daughter? What an absurd name! Like ‘Apple’ or ‘Ketchup’. Or is it ‘Catsup’? Well then you could call her Cat...Wait a minute! What was happening here? Why couldn’t I focus? 
Look at this passage! Who could read this stuff? ‘…I am not now writing a treatise, but simply prefacing a some-what peculiar narrative by observations very much at random; I will, therefore, take occasion to assert that the higher powers of the reflective intellect are more decidedly and more usefully tasked by the unostentatious game of draughts than by all the elaborate frivolity of chess.’ 
Wanna know who could read that stuff? I DID. TWICE! Now I can’t even sit still to get through the first few sentences! Oh. My. God. When did this happen? Did I have a stroke? Have brain cells literally turned to tapioca? Is it a peri-menopausal side effect? AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! 
No people, I have developed the social media brain numbing condition that I call…’The Dumbing’. My attention span is no longer mature enough to read literature. If it’s longer than 140 characters…the brain begins to wander. 
Exhausted and depressed, I put the book down. I turned on the TV just in time to catch a new show called ‘Selfie’. 
The Kardashians have nothing to do with the show. But to me it seems like a Kardashian version of ‘My ‘Fair Lady’. I can hear Kim Kardashian pitch it to TV producers (read in a nasal tone). ‘Like…you know that moo-vay where that rich old guy… (pause to let her brain reboot)…Is this like ‘real’ leather furniture? You know like from that…leather animal? Because, like, I can’t sit on synthetic fibers…(back to reality) oh that rich old guy like turns a homeless flower child into a re-ality star? But, like then to repay him like OMG she has to marry him! Well, like my idea is basically the same but like make him young and hot! And then like…make her hot…but like a loser. You know, like my sister Khloe? Make everyone young! And hot! Make it modern because like the past is so yesterday. And they work for a cool company where like everyone is young…and hot.’ 
I lost 30 minutes of my life in an inane stupor. I was astounded. This is what the 18 – 24 demographic relates to? Sex, vomit, cell phones, and stupid but young and hot people? 
I picked up Poe. I’m going to sit on my real leather sofa made from that leather animal, wrapped in my faux fur blanket made from real faux, and finish that damn book. #Likebynextfall.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Can We Talk?

As you all know - on September 4, 2014, Joan Rivers went to that giant comedy club in the sky. She was 81, lived an amazing life, and yet it seems like she left us too soon. She was caustic, vulgar, shocking. She was kind, generous, comforting. 

I was lucky enough to see her live show just about a year ago at a local casino and wrote about it in my blog ( I Love Joan Rivers). 

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Git Aft Yer Keester 'n Read This, Ya Scurvey Rascal

Ahoy me buckos!

Natterin’ like a pirate day be S'tember 19th. Tis just around t' corner me hearty! To celebrate t' day, I be recyclin' a post from last year. Sit aft on yer keester in yer comfy sweat pants. Swill a cup o grog and have ye a read ya pompus webwenches & scurvey cockroaches!


Click here for 'September 19th is International Talk Like A Pirate Day!' READ ME!

Saturday, August 30, 2014

Did I Mention Feet Are Gross?

I was sitting at my desk at work. My nose was firmly scrapping the grindstone when I felt it. A slight disturbance in the aura of the office. I told myself to ignore it. It’s just me and Ida in the office. As long as the place wasn’t engulfed in flames, and she didn’t have an uzi, I was fine.

Tapping away at the keyboard my nose began to itch like there was an imaginary spider web I had inadvertently snagged. There was an…odor. At first I thought it smelled like crackers. I shrugged it off. I could deal with stale saltines. But the stronger the odor got, the more repugnant it became. The smell morphed into crackers soaked in sock sweat, wrapped in raw cow hide.

Monday, June 30, 2014

The Bitch Of My Resting Face

‘Do you want to talk?’ ‘Are you mad at me?’ ‘Did you try some prunes?’ ‘Are you riding the crimson wave?’ ‘Christ on a cracker she’s in a foul mood - RUN!’ ‘What a bitch.’

In my lifetime I’ve heard many of these comments (except the last one because most people think my being a curmudgeon is adorable). They come from well-meaning people who want to help and up their karmic score at the same time. The thing is, there is usually nothing wrong. These people just had a glimpse of my…‘resting face’, also known as ‘Bitchy Resting Face’.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

My March Madness

I took most of the month of March off. I foolishly thought that if I actually relaxed, my funny would kick in and I would start writing posts that are somewhere near the works of genius produced by the writers of 'The Daily Show' or Bill Maher’s 'Real Time' (like their politics or not, you have to admit the writers are quite witty).

Sunday, March 2, 2014

'Hair' Brained TV

It's one of those ‘at home’ days where one does laundry, cleans a little, and catches up on TV.

Bored, I flipped through the multiple political talking head channels. I landed on the History channel and was frozen in place.

WTF is that!

It was a head of a different nature. Its smarmy snake eyes vacantly stared out through the television and instantly mesmerized me. I had no power left in my thumb to click on another channel. It was too late, I was stuck there. My mouth hung agape and I could feel the drool pooling in the corner of my mouth.

Saturday, February 15, 2014

Saturday, February 8, 2014

February the 14th

Can you feel it? The air is charged with a tension produced by millions of single people dreading a ‘pseudo holiday’ created to make them feel even more alone than they already do.

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Morning Intercourse

I’m one of the millions of people who had to look for a new job at an age when it’s not easy to find one. Without going into the depressing (dismal, dispiriting, bleak) details, the end result is that I am now employed (yay me), just grossly under employed (sigh…fuckin’ a).

Sunday, January 26, 2014

A Tale Of Ghost Ships And Cannibal Rats

The playwright George Bernard Shaw said, 'You don't stop laughing when you grow old, you grow old when you stop laughing.’ 
I’ve been feeling very old lately and need to start laughing. Just when I was about to put my hair up into a bun, start sporting ‘Depends’ and buy a new rocking chair, I caught a story on the news that made me laugh. Not a maniacal crazy lady laugh (that's for special occasions), but a ‘wow that’s weird’ laugh.
On the evening news, I caught the tail end of a story about a rat-infested 'ghost ship'. How do you get rid of a bunch of ghost rats? Ghost cats? I fired up the laptop and started searching. Oh! A ghost ship WITH rats…silly me.

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Going With The Flow

I bought two boxes of 36 count tampons at the drug store this morning. The cashier jokingly asked me if I had a lot of daughters at home. I smiled and said, ‘yeah, daughters’.

Friday, January 3, 2014

Shovel Snowverkill

I'm sure you've realized by now that I'm a curmudgeon. A crabby, perimenopausal, ‘you kids get off my lawn’ screaming, sourpuss. I wasn’t always this way. It took a lot to kill my dreams and stomp out the optimism. But here I am. Gotta love me! 

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Say It Ain't Snow!

'Dashing through the snow,
My back wheels begin to sway,
O'er the bank I go,
Screaming all the way!
Sirens start to blare,
Making spirits dark,
What fun it is to drive and skid
In ice caked snow tonight...'

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A writer exercising the writing muscle.