Thursday, September 17, 2015

An Angry List

Lately, I’m always pissed off. I don’t know if it’s the heat, the fact that I can’t catch a break, or the fact that I’m surrounded by idiots. I just can’t seem to remain calm. Someone said to me, ‘You’re a writer. Write down your feelings and try to figure out what’s going on.' Whaaaaa? Stephen Hawking in a rowboat! What a god damn rocket scientist. A fucking Einsteinic genius. Hey, Donald Trump, did you try writing down those feelings about how much you’re threatened by strong women instead of calling them all ugly and fat? Hey Tom Brady, maybe you should write down those feelings of being an inadequate quarter back instead of cheating all the time. Just fucking brilliant.

So… get the idea. I don't think it'll help. The end result is that I did end up with one of those nifty lists that writers come up with when they can’t think of anything to write about.  

Things that drive me over a cliff in a thimble full of acid wrapped in a blanket of rage:
·       Writers who make lists. Christ on a cracker people it’s lazy writing! You just take snippets of a thought and make sarcastic comments…woohoo, Nobel Prize for writing here I come!

·       You’ve heard this before. EVERYone has this on a list. So why does it still happen? You’re in the passing lane on the highway/freeway whatever, and the moron in front of you is going slower than the speed limit! You know they’re talking or maybe even texting on their cell - so in their own bubble that they’re oblivious to the world around them. And by world I mean me. You can crawl up their ass but lo and behold that cop, who is never around when someone is going 100 and bobbing and weaving from lane to lane, finally stops watching ‘Magnum P.I.’ reruns long enough to pull you over for tail-gating.

·      You’re flying in the passing lane, you get a text, you glance at it and someone is instantaneously up your ass and flashing you to get out of their way. I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. First, this is not the same as the previous tantrum because – hello? It’s me. Second, it’s not the same as talking or the act of texting. Third, I am going the same speed as I was previously. It’s a completely different thing. The fucker needs to back off or I swear to a fake deity that I will slam on my breaks and stop, rip him out of the his car, reach down his throat and pull his nuts out of his mouth to give him a waddle (notice how I assume it’s a man?). What? I’m not really going to do this…geez, relax people…Violent? Hmmmm, maybe…

·       Strollers that’re wider than a fucking continent. Come on people, you’ve seen them. The ones that take up the whole aisle in the grocery store while the mommy or daddy is on their cell, I assume trying to solve the whole world peace thing, and ignoring the crabby little snot machines screaming LOUDLY? I give the parent the death stare and they are so in the phone zone, they don’t see it. IT’S THE FUCKING DEATH STARE! It strikes fear in the hearts of men, women, children and animals - and they ignore it! My solution is to walk down the candy aisle and open two bags of Hershey’s Kisses (milk chocolate, no nuts - gotta watch those peanut allergies) and hand each child their own bag. So what if they eat the foil wrapper, It’s freaking fiber. And when Jr & Jr-ette are bouncing off the walls at midnight – maybe that world peace solution will come a little faster.

·       People who cannot tell if you’re joking. I once commented on how pretty a co-worker’s necklace was and mentioned that I’m like a monkey with tin foil when I see shiny things. Her face got all serious and she whispered conspiratorially, ‘Really? All the time?’ Are you fucking kidding me? Sure YOU MORON! I also like to jump on conference room tables and fling my poo at my coworkers! And when I’m done I crack open their skulls and pick the stupidity out of their brains. Ok, maybe a little violent...

Wow. I’m so much more relaxed. I feel so much better getting that crap out of my system! You know, maybe making a list really isn’t a bad idea after all. Let’s all hug and sing a song while riding our unicorns over the rainbow to lie on clouds of pink and blue cotton candy.

Kum ba fuckin yah people!

Friday, July 3, 2015

The Conversations

My family is weird. Who am I kidding? We're pretty fucking different. We love each other, we hate each other, we're catty, we're bratty, we're loud, but we are always there for each other. That said, they have the unfortunate luck of being related to a blogger. Poor Boris and P.I.T.A...


We've had some crazy conversations. The numerous conversations I've had with Boris about bowel movements are un-printable. On a drive to a vacation destination, the conversation with P.I.T.A. went something like this:

Driving from PA to Cape Cod, MA...
P.I.T.A.: What's this button for?
A.I.K.E: The bottom glove box.
P.I.T.A.: What's this button for?...
A.I.K.E: The top glove box.
P.I.T.A.: What does 'b' mean?
A.I.K.E: It has to do with the engine.
P.I.T.A.: This song keeps saying that's not my name.
A.I.K.E: Yeah?
P.I.T.A.: So what's her name?
A.I.K.E: I don't know.
P.I.T.A.: Why don't you know? Why doesn't she tell us her name if that's not her name?
A.I.K.E: What?
P.I.T.A.: Who does this stupid song?
A.I.K.E: The Ting Tings.
P.I.T.A.: Is that her name?
A.I.K.E: No, the groups name.
P.I.T.A.: So what's her name?

Six hours later we were in Cape Cod...

P.I.T.A wanting to see 'Magic Mike'...
P.I.T.A.: Lets go see Magic Mike.
A.I.K.E: I don't want to.
P.I.T.A: Don't you want to see all those penis' jiggling around?
A.I.K.E: Nah. If it's going to jiggle it better be inside me...

There have been and I'm sure will be more insane conversations. Unfortunately for you, and my family, I will continue to document them here...Mwahahahaha

Friday, June 19, 2015

The Bitch is Back

Well my friends, I knew it would happen someday. I just didn’t think I would be dumb enough to play such a big part in it…

I played the fool in a production called ‘Do You Write a Blog’.

See, my blog is anonymous. I like it that way. I know too many people who have posted things on Facebook or started a blog only to face repercussions and job loss because of it. 

So when my coworker found me on Pinterest, she noticed my blogging board and asked if I wrote one. Now a smart anonymous writer would say, ‘Me? Write a blog? Why no, I’m to dumb to put words together to form a sentence’ or 'Wow, I could never write something as insightful and incredibly funny as that blog' . I may know everything, but apparently I’m not smart enough to be deflective because I said, (drum roll please) ‘Sure I write a blog!’


It was only later that I realized what a fucking idiot I am. I don’t care if my coworkers know that I don’t like to get wet, or if they know I need a dictionary to read 'Murders In the Rue Morgue' or if they see the tampon chandelier. They must certainly know by now that I have Bitchy Resting Face…However, I did write a second post (which is now unpublished) about how much I hate feet..and it was set in the workplace.

Double DOH!

I was a embarrassed to be caught talking about someone else in the office. Well...someone else's feet actually...but still - my coworker knew I wrote it and who I was talking about. I was deflated, desolate, depressed. I stopped writing. And that is why I've been absent so long.

But you know what? Fuck it. That's right, who gives a shit? Why should I stop my creative juices from flowing just because someone knows who I am. And to be honest, it's not that hard to discover an anonymous writers identity - even without them saying 'Yup that's me'.

I’m back to my ‘who gives a shit’ attitude.

I’m the god damn rock star of hilarity! The blog is back bitches. Let the merriment begin!  Tra la la la la.

Sunday, January 25, 2015

FitBit To Be Tied

The Penguin March Badge
I got a badge today. The Penguin March badge. You see, when you walk 70 lifetime miles, you match the distance of the March of the Penguins - the annual trip the emperor penguins make to their breeding grounds. I guess I need to pee on a pregnancy stick now.

No I’m not a girl scout. Fuck, have you even read my blog

I’m the proud owner of a FitBit physical activity/fitness tracker. One of the thousands given as gifts this past Christmas. It tracks the steps you take, the stairs you climb, even your sleep. It sends emails to keep you motivated, and emails little badges when you reach a milestone. My brother Boris and his wife Natasha have one as well. My sister P.I.T.A. does not. She says she ‘doesn’t like to be tied down’. That’s a pity for her.
The FitBit One

FitBit ownership starts off as fun. Woo hoo, I walked 5,021 steps today! And you’re feeling proud and productive. Until you find out that your brother walked 9,989 steps. And your sister in law walked 10,200 steps. And you’re like, what the fuck? Did she tie the damn thing to the dog? 

My competitive nature kicked in. Now I’m hopping around while cooking dinner. Bringing the laundry down the steps a piece at a time. Taking the dogs for such long walks that Frank the Boston starts to sniff every piece of dead grass while giving me ‘are you fucking kidding me’ looks. 

The other day I got an email from my FitBit. The email said that I if I walk another 1,500 steps, I’d make ‘my’ goal of 10,000 steps. I sat there for a minute, my brain actually contemplating doing as told. I mean, it’s only 1,500 steps. Easy, right? But when did 10,000 become ‘MY’ goal? If it were that easy, then why didn’t I already have it done? I work hard, dance around my desk like Richard Simmons chasing Chris Hemsworth (cuz he's so dreamy) to get steps in. I take the stairs instead of the elevator (thankfully the building is only four floors). If I wasn’t so exhausted from constantly moving around like a god damned fire walker, I would have walked those extra steps already! Where’s the appreciation for the effort I already put in? Where’s the love now FitBit buddy? That email boarders on harassment! Are you heckling me FitBit ol’pal? I ignored the FitBit.

Thirty minutes later it sends me another email. It read, ‘I know you read my email A/I/K/E’ (for those who do not know, AIKE is the acronym for Assume I Know Everything). Those 1,500 steps aren’t going to walk themselves.’ Huh. When did we go on a first name basis? Wait, walk themselves? Oh that’s funny FitBit, you’re a regular laugh riot. That was so God damned funny, it gave me cancer! I ignored that email too. No glorified pedometer is going to intimidate me! I took the damned thing off and left it on the table. 

The phone in my pocket vibrated. It was another FitBit email. It read ‘You know, if you put the same effort into those steps that you put into placing me on the table, you would have exceeded your goal. I won’t be ignored A/I/K/E. Want some incentive? What’s that delicious odor coming from your kitchen? Gee, have you seen Frank lately?’… 

I sat bolt upright in my bed. The FitBit on my wrist that was tracking my sleep was gently vibrating to wake me up. (Yes, it has an alarm too! But can it julienne potatoes in the airlock of the space station while doing the macarena?) Frank was gently snoring on his pillow. I grabbed my phone. I had a new badge with a message. It was the 'No Slackers' badge. The message read, 'It was only a dream...this time!!!!!"

The No Slackers Badge

Saturday, January 3, 2015

My 2015 New Years Revelations

WOOOOO it’s time for the mystical turn of the calendar. It’s a magical time when people reflect on the year about to pass. And while cringing at memories of debauchery and chaos from that year, they make ‘resolutions’ to change their life and make the next year…better.  

Dumbassery I say! 

Everyone makes resolutions. I make revelations. It sheds light on the absurd and reveals a little about myself in the process.
My 2015 revelations: 

My Taste In Music Has Changed, And Must Change Again. I was a teen during the anti-disco movement. I shunned top 40 and bopped to music I thought was rebellious! The Clash, The Sex Pistols, Cheap Trick. As a DJ in college I blended my tastes into the ‘New Wave’. Imagine my shock when a few months ago I found myself bopping around to Taylor Swift’s ‘Shake It Off’! I texted my 25 year old son, in whom I have instilled my rebellious music choices. I said, ‘Son, is it weird that I like Taylor Swift’s new song?’ I waited hours for his response. Surely it would sooth my aging ego. Finally I heard the tinkle of my IPhone. His response was only one word…’Yes’.


I Watch The History Channel’s ‘Ancient Aliens’. Yes…I watch this show. It makes me laugh. It caught my attention last March and its nonsensical hypotheses have entertained me since. Especially when they focus on resident dumbass Giorgio A. Tsoukalos. This man’s hair makes Einstein’s look like a crew cut. They obviously use snippets from different interviews in an episode because his hair wondrously elevates and shortens throughout. It’s bewitching! Someday, I will create a drinking game based on this wizardry. 

I Need To Write More. I know, I know - once a month is not enough! Fucking A people, writing is hard. If it were easy, everyone would do it!

I Need To Get Wet More Often. To those who have read my blog, you may have noticed that I don’t like to get wet. When I have to go out in the rain, I bundle up like a Muslim in a waterproof burqa. I don’t take baths, I shower in the hope that I can stand in between the drops. I only swim when the temperature is as hot as the surface of the sun. That way when I get out of the water I am instantly dry. You can imagine my dilemma when it comes to working out. To get a good workout, you have to sweat. Sweating is odorous water on your body. Pardon me while I gag for a moment…To lose weight, you have to be active. To be active, you have to sweat. Once you sweat, you have to shower. You see my problem here? Anyway, I’m going to work out more to lose weight. No resolution here, just an abhorrent fact. SO I guess I’m going to get wet more...unless any of you out there know how to work out without sweating. Gag, heave, cough…ok, I’m better... 

Do Something Nice For Others Every Day. I got this one covered. Just allowing people to be near me IS ‘doing something nice for others’. My co-workers are privileged to have my snarkey comments, dirty looks, and overly dramatic sighs on a daily basis. My stark honesty keeps bullshit levels at bay. Fuck niceness – be truthful (and dramatic at the same time). 

‘Think with my Vagina’. I honestly don’t know what this means. I saw it as a Tweet on New Years Eve and it fascinated me. I would imagine you would have angry thoughts for a few days every month. Do you think with your vagina when you go grocery shopping? You’d end up with a cart filled with tampons, pads, douches, and maybe a large cucumber. Perhaps you think with your vagina when considering a job offer. ‘Oh, I’m sorry mister hunky CEO guy, but my vagina is telling me that this position, is not a good fit for me and I would probably be fired within the first few months. On the upside, my vagina says that I am indeed available for dinner tonight…'

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.

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… 

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!

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).

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A writer exercising the writing muscle.