Summertime And The Livin' Is Easy

Well it finally happened. The pool here at Crackhead Court opened. Granted it's almost August, but I suppose that's just how long it took to scrape up the funds to pay off the health department to overlook whatever codes they've been violating since last year that warranted the closing of the pool in the first place.

Nevertheless, I was delighted Saturday morning when out walking my mutt to see a sign saying the pool was open and in bliss to discover that apparently the future crackheads of the court had not yet pried themselves away from their Lucky Charms and Saturday morning cartoons to invade my watery oasis. I sprinted home, threw on my suit and poured myself a jug o' wine because everyone knows that under section 9B of the Sin City guide to health and living, cocktail hour begins promptly at 9:08 AM on the weekends during the summer months. It's FACT.

Save the occasional chatty Cathy passer-by, I had nothing but peace and quiet with only the lull of wailing sirens and whir of the I-95 to serve as background noise to my day dreaming. Unfortunately I seem to have enjoyed my pool and cocktail time a little too much because I now resemble a cherry tomato, just as plump and round and about the same color. Luckily I was wearing large sunglasses so the area around my eyes is still cracker white, if that wasn't the case I might have looked ridiculous.

If I were Kim hot......

The Dream Is Dead

Well that didn't take long. Once again my dreams of home ownership (and the 8K tax credit that would come along with it) have been dashed. See despite the fact that I am chronologically an adult, financially I am at best, a 7 year old with a paper route and allowance from mom. Well mom just got laid off after 20 years with her company. Thanks ASSHOLES. So no financial backing from mama means no home loan which means I am destined to live in my craphole apartment until I die, at which point my dog and cat will be forced to eat my rotting corpse in order to survive until someone notices I've gone missing. I'm thinking I better fatten up because that could take up to a month depending on how long it takes the neighbors to notice the stench or the management here at Crackhead Court to realize I haven't paid rent.




The actual photo used in the brochure for my complex:



Little piece of heaven huh?

I'm trying to stay positive. Telling myself all the bullshit lies people fall back on when things don't go their way. Just wasn't meant to be.....Something better will come along..... When one door closes another one opens....... God has a different plan in mind.... Well except for that last one because even I'm not delusional enough to buy into that.

When I'm not wasting time trying to convince myself that maybe, just maybe, my future doesn't consist solely of lonely nights filled only with cheap vodka and never ending tears, I'm trying to deal with the immense guilt I'm feeling due to the fact that after all the years my mom has helped me out, I cannot return the favor. Needless to say, I am in fact more fun than a barrel of monkeys these days. I'm hoping my own patented brand of self medication (IE alcohol, frozen pizza drowning in Ranch dressing and self pity) will eventually pull me out of my funk. Yep, this is the year, I can just feel it!!

Reality Is Indeed A Bitch

Hmmm...... So this is interesting. Apparently 100k doesn't get you quite the real estate it used to. And when I say "used to" I mean 1872 because that's about the last time someone with $100,000 could conceivably purchase a home that didn't smell like kitty piss and Bleu cheese.

On a side note, I think Kitty Piss would be a great name for a girl band.

My dreams of mansion living have been a bit dashed at this point as it looks as though this:

may be a bit more in my price range. Only without the yard because Vegas landscaping consists of 4 square feet of rocks. My future back yard:

Think I'll put the BBQ riiiight there

But I cannot be deterred. I am not made for apartment living, what with having the ability to hear, a fondness of protecting personal property and of course my disdain of human interaction. Although I will miss the roaches, excuse me "water bugs" as Las Vegians prefer to call them.

Last weekend I actually witnessed my dumbass of a neighbor yelling at his dog to do his business.I shit you not, while bending over and pointing at this poor, scared little creature, he told the dog "You can either go now, or not at all, it's YOUR decision". Well that's just fucking brilliant. Because everyone knows dogs are very rational creatures, so I'm sure as soon as the dog took a minute to consider how inconsiderate his lack of pooping in a timely manner was to his owner, he complied without future incident. This guy should be presented to anyone who believes abortion should be illegal.

So call U-haul, I gots to be moving on. I may end up living in an outhouse, but it will be my outhouse, complete with plumbing issues and HOA fees. Good times.

Movin' On Up

Holy Christ it happened. I GOT A HOME LOAN!!! With the help of my mom, because after all I am 32 and while some would consider a person my age to be an adult (at least the police and IRS certainly seem to) anyone who knows me is aware of the fact that I am incapable of being financially independent from my mother. So no surprise she had to cosign.

I suck with a capital BLOW.

Think of me when contemplating having kids. BAD idea.

I am really the happiest girl in the whole world right now. In a few short months I'll get to give a big ol F-U to the my shit hole apartment complex and the stupid heifer that stomps around over my head day and night. I'm pretty sure my new place is going to look a little something like this:

A little ostentatious I know, but with a whole 100k to spend, can you blame me?

Mariachi Madness

In case anyone was wondering what I was hearing through the ceiling last night......

Too Old for Da Club

This last weekend I did the unthinkable, something I swore I'd never do again. But just like Pampered Chef party's and helping someone move, I took one for the team and it resulted in my tired old ass shuffling into the goddamn club. What club? Donno, don't care they're all the same.

Hundreds of twenty somethings with too much make-up and too little clothing trying so desperately to look hot. It's dance floors packed with stumbling gyrating bimbo's getting dry humped by frat boys in town from Oklahoma. It's multiple bars with giant clusterfucks of people 5 deep waiting 20 minutes to pay $17 for a cocktail from the only 2 bartenders working. Too many numbers? Yeah I thought so too. Let me do the math for you. Multiply 5 + 20 - 15 divided by 2 = get me the FUCK out of here before I start punching shit.

Don't get me wrong, I've done the club thing and it was fun for a while. But I've been over it now for quite a few years and I really couldn't be happier with my decision. (As are the guys that for whatever reason aren't into dirty old ladies ogling their young sexy asses, but I digress) That's why I was slightly shocked when my girlfriend who was turning 29 decided to go clubbing the entire weekend she was in town. I suppose 29 is still 20's but really I think anything over 25 is pushing it. Whatever, I stayed the obligatory 25 minutes and then did what any little old lady would do, drove home (blinker on the whole way) cracked open a nice can of Ensure and slipped in season 2 of my Matlock DVDs. That Andy Griffith sure is a dreamboat....

The Bitch Must Die

I hate the stupid bitch that lives above me and here is the latest instalment of my rantings about her.

As luck would have it, my assigned parking spot is next to hers. Well yesterday the stupid, inconsiderate bitch managed to put a big dent in my car door. Actually I think it was her ugly demon spawn that that assaulted my unsuspecting Civic. Apparently the wretched offspring opened her door so hard that not only did she dent my car, she hit it hard enough to set off my alarm. In the two years I've had that car I had yet to hear the alarm, I didn't even realize it was mine until I went out to leave. I know it was her because about a minute after my poor baby started wailing she waddled her fat clumsy ass up the stairs and stomped into her apartment. Nice lesson to teach your kid lady, damage someones property and then lumber away as fast as your squat little legs can carry you. I'm sure she'll use this life lesson on many occasions in her future career as the boil on the ass of society she's surely destined to become. On a side note- kids SUCK.

But nobody worry, I got my revenge and it was sweet. I ......wait for it......... wrote her a note!! That's right, a NOTE. I thanked her for the dent and told her not to let in happen again. I know, pretty harsh. Did I mention I also intentionally opened my car door wide enough to hit her car? I did but I guess I'm lacking the same freakish upper body strength her mutant offling has because not a dent did I make. But on the bright side, I think I got the latest dose of pure hatred out of my system for now. It's a damn shame I don't spend as much time and energy toward self improvement as I do being pissed off, I'd be one stellar human being.

Should Have Stayed Home

This is an actual conversation I had with a man I was stupid enough to have drinks with.

Him- "Wait, how old are you?"
Me- "I'm 32"
Him- "I thought you said you were 42?"
Me- "Um NO. Do I look like I'm fucking 42??"
Him- "Uh....er....Uh, I donno."
Me- "I have to go now."


Don't get me wrong, there is not a damn thing wrong with being or looking 42, when you're in your 40's!! But come on, even on my absolute worst, hungover, slept 2 hours, still wearing last nights makeup, days I don't look a day over 37. The kicker, he's 13 years older than me. Maybe he's senile, yes?

On the bright side my girlfriends found this HI-larious. I, on the not so bright side, I am still pissed.

Seriously. Pissed.

The Future Of America

Today I had the misfortune of driving down a street with a school on it. From what I can gather 2 out of 3 streets in Vegas have schools on them. Apparently school was letting out and as I crept along at 15 fucking MPH ,as the flashy signs instructed me to do, watching our country's future doctor's, teachers and (not surprisingly) a large amount of future inmates, clad in skinny jeans and pants so low they have to walk bowlegged to keep them from falling down (brilliant) I had a few thoughts.

1- 15 MPH?? Really? Did I mention this school was a high school? In my opinion if these kids are too stupid to cross the street without it being necessary to slow traffic down to a crawl by the time they are in high school, well to hell with them. It's called survival of the fittest bitches, and by plowing down the slow stupid ones, I'm helping the natural balance of things by thinning out the herd. And yes, that's exactly what I plan on telling the police.

2- If these fools are our future, we're screwed.

3- Judging by the above thoughts I am really old (and kind of a bitch). Time to mix up a nice tall glass of Metamucil, slip on a housecoat and flip through the TV Guide to find a rerun of Murder She Wrote.

4- I've heard and read some things about kids and eating disorders. About how everything from Hollywood, models and even Barbie is causing our youth to have poor body image and in turn they're developing eating disorders. I'm unsure of where all these anorexic kids are, not at this particular school for sure. You know why I think our youth has poor body image? Because the majority of them are fat as hell. Tip to America's future gastric bypass patients: put down the remote, hoist your big ass off the couch and move. Preferably in the opposite direction of the kitchen.

5-Why is our nation's capitol called the District of Columbia?

That last one doesn't have anything to do with the rest of this post but I've never received an answer to this question I've deemed acceptable.

As True Today As It Was At Age 7

To this day, most mornings when my alarm goes off this poem floats through my sleepy brain. Of course I replace 'school' with 'work', because I'm a grown up.

Sick

'I cannot go to school today,'
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
'I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,

I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more-that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut-my eyes are blue-It might be Instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke-
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is-what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is...Saturday?

G'bye, I'm going out to play! '





Shel Silverstein

Boo Hoo

Get ready for a whiny post because everything is poo. If feeling sorry for yourself was a sport, I'd be MVP hands down. At the very least I feel self pity should be considered a hobby, that way I'd have an "interest" other than eating and alcoholism. Below is a list of my biggest complaints.

#1- I'm so fucking sick of being broke. It's acceptable when you're in your 20's, maybe even a right of passage of sorts, but it's just plain pathetic when you're 32. It's no longer socially acceptable to turn down the rare invitations I get to leave the house because I'm broke. I think my friends are as sick of hearing it as I am of saying it.


#2- I hate living in an apartment. Mostly I hate the noisy bitch that lives above me. I simply cannot fathom how someone can make so much noise. Does she fall down repeatedly?? Did she just drop a bowling ball, again?? Does she have a goddamn aerobic studio up there?? Not likely judging by her fat ass. It makes me into an angr(ier) person. Also my disdain for human interaction makes leaving my apartment an unpleasant experience. Half the time I cannot walk the 15 fucking feet to my car without running into another person. Don't even get me started on the mail room. What is really sad is that despite the fact they are practically giving houses away in Vegas, according to 2 different lenders, I am still too poor to buy one. Even sadder still, the mortgage on a house that I'd want, would be less than I'm paying in rent. Go figure.


#3- No social life. I don't have enough friends and certainly no man-friend to speak of. Truly my best friend is my dog and I spend the majority of my time with him. Unfortunately he is not the pocket dog variety therefore I am unable to visit public places with him like one might do with an actual human companion. Also he's not much of a conversationalist and he stinks.

After much pondering I've come up with a few conclusions.


#1- I am just completely sick of my life but lack the drive to do anything about it (other than complain.) Very pro-active, I know.

#2- They say money doesn't buy happiness but I think "they" were rich and just said that to keep us poor folks from rioting. Money may not buy happiness but what it does buy is peace of mind in the form of health insurance, food, shelter, some foreseeable way to retire before death. It also buys some pleasures in life like shoes and clothes (I said it, I'm sad because I don't have enough goddamn shoes and cute outfits) a vacation every once in a blue moon or maybe just a meal that doesn't come from a box.

#3- I have no one to blame but myself for all my problems. New tricks are hard for this old dog though, so I suppose it's put up or shut up and I've chosen to shut up. For now at least.

99 Thanks To 99 Cent Only Stores

Holly shit I love the dollar store. Ahem... I mean the 99 cent store. Not only because it's one of the only stores I can afford to purchase more that 5 items at any given time. And not even because in their ad's they actully put the the 99 cent condoms and the 99 cent pregnancy tests right next to each other without even batting an eye.

NICE!!!

Truth be told I do quite a bit of my grocery shopping there. Don't judge me, I make less than most paper boys. I do draw the line at certain items however, and condoms certainly top that list, I may be terminally broke but I am more than happy to pay full price for my conterceptives thank you very much.

I usually go to the 99 Cent Only store on Sunday's and I've noticed a lot of people who are obviously coming from or going to church. This strikes me a bit odd. Mostly I think if I was good little church goer and still so broke I had to shop at the 99 Cent store I'd be pissed!! I mean what's the point of sucking up to God if your life still sucks? And believe me, if you are shopping the the 99 Cent store, there's about a 99% chance your life blows. I figure I deserve my 99 come-upins, being a sinner and non believer and all, but I sure feel for those poor folks giving their time and thything to their church and not getting 99 thanks from God.

VD Disaster

So this post is kind of post disaster, but I needed the time to heal. I made that last part up. So I'm single and all, and have been for about a year now. I have spent the better part of the last year recovering from the worst relationship of my life to date. I did not make that last part up. So aside from the occasional whoopsie daisy doodle and a couple of lame dates, I've been pretty much on my own.

Therefore I was as surprised as the next person to find myself with a date for the big VD extravaganza. No this is not a convention in Vegas for the "Adult Film Industry." This is a post post, I'm referring to Valentines Day. It actually happened by accident, but I was pleased for 2 reasons. First it would be the first Saturday in I don't know how long that I haven't spent the night with a bottle of cheap wine, a remote and my dog. Second, I've had a date on Valentine's day every year since I've moved to Vegas and have been using that fact to block out the decade (or 2) living in Utah when the VD's spent with a loved one were becoming fewer and more far between as the years went by. Late 20's+non Mormon= Sad and alone.

It all started on Super Bowl Sunday. Apparently this is a big deal to some, mostly I enjoy appetizers and booze, so count me in. I can always drink enough to actually find football somewhat interesting or block it out all together. So when my friend Jamie invited me to a Super Bowl party I was happy to tag along. She had mentioned prior to the party that she had a client who she thought I might click with and that he could possibly be there, sure enough he was, and we did. So we ended up talking the Monday before VD and he asked me out for that Saturday. He had no idea it was the big lovers holiday but wasn't fazed by the fact when I informed him (I figured I should fill him in just in case he was married or something, boy would his wife be pissed if she was alone on VD.)

So we went out. I looked good, avoided doing or saying anything too vulgar. All in all totally on me best big girl behavior. We had a great meal, good conversation. He talked a lot. Cool, takes the pressure off me. We drank good wine. Then we went to a casino to see his coworkers band play. It was a good time. He looked at me adoringly. He held my hand. He mentioned possible future outings. And then........ Nothing. Never heard from him. And considering it's been a month now, I'm pretty certain I won't. I was in total shock, most people at least get to know me before they hate me!! The thing that bothers me a bit (besides the slight bruise to the ego, he didn't like me?? ME??) is that I consider myself fairly good at gauging peoples reactions to me. Obviously, at least in this case, I was pretty off. It's like when you're sure you nailed a job interview and then don't get a call back. Either way, I'm not securing a position in which I wish receive monetary compensation for services rendered. Wait, what? That's just wrong.

In the end though, It's probably really okay. Really. Because on some level I was trying to like this guy because he seemed like the type of guy I should like (employed, no random kids or ex/current wife's/baby mama's, no obvious addictions or recent incarcerations) In other words the polar opposite of my last boyfriend. I keep trying to change the type of men I'm attracted to but seem to find this challenging (made more so by the fact that THEY DON'T CALL ME AGAIN) so I suppose I'm destined to either end up alone or in a trailer park surrounded by empty beer cans, cigarette butts and despair. Bummer, I don't even smoke. But I suppose you can't force things if they aren't there, and truthfully I wasn't totally into this guy.

Unless he calls again. Then I just KNEW we were meant to be.

MIA

So I haven't written in a while, not that I'm delusional enough to think anyone reads this and has missed me, but thought I'd put it out there anyway. I titled this post MIA, I have been missing from my blog (although is it like the tree falling in the woods thing? If there is no one here to read this was I really missing??) Anyhoo, though the missing thing may or may not be true, the "in action" portion is totally false. I really need a life, but on the rare occasion an opportunity presents its self to be social, I usually decide to hide away at home instead. With the blinds drawn. Under the bed. This is not normal? The only reason I suspect this is not how most people live is because the characters on TV whom I live vicariously through seem to have friends and go places. Hmm. Interesting concept, but not for everyone I suppose.

So other than hiding from society, I've also had to work some temp jobs in a vain attempt to make ends meet. Temp jobs suck for a few reasons. First it's really hard to be the new kid over and over. I'm terrible with names and apparently so was one of the ladies I worked with who insisted on just addressing me as "temp." I don't even think the "t" in "temp" deserved to be capitalized. Sad. I'm tempted to refer to people by their physical or character attributes/flaws as my way of combating my inability to recall peoples names. Example: "Dave" or whatever his name is would be Stinky Guy Who Stares At My Chest. "Sally" is Lady Who Hasn't Fit In That Size Since The 80's When Those Pants Must Have Been Purchased Because I Haven't Seen Them In A Store Since "Thriller" Was Released". Let's not forget "Jen" who would be "That Fucking Bitch Who Keeps Calling Me Temp." You get the point. I've found it doesn't go over very well unless you happend to be "Trisha" who was "Totally Beautiful Girl Who I Wish I Was And Even Though I'm Straight I Would Almost Sleep With Because She's Just That Hot." She kinda looked at me weird but we got along just fine.

Alas it looks as though my temp job woes have been solved though because my former HR director and all around KICK ASS gal called and offered me my old job back. Yahoo! My job now pays $2 less than I was making when I left. Boohoo. So I sold out (except not really because I think when you sell out you actually MAKE money) I guess I gave in. They did me wrong and instead of being remorseful they financially bitch slapped me and I took it with a smile on my face like any good bitch would. But I did it because I like the people I work with. I am comfortable in my position. They provide tons of free food (yes I think the grocery money would be better applied to my check, but hey I enjoy a Rice Crispy Treat like everyone else.) And I am 7 minutes, 7 MINUTES from home. So I'm back, with an outwardly positive attitude and a inwardly desire to burn the place down. But at the end of the day does it really matter that the receptionist had to take a pay cut as long as the CEO and VP still make a large 6 figures? I think not. All is indeed right with the world.

Exercise Is Dangerous

Do you remember the last time you fell down? I do, it was last night. Here's the thing, I like to drink. I know, shocking. But unlike most normal people alcohol acts as more of a stimulant rather than a depressant for me. Yet ANOTHER reason I should be allowed to drink on the job, the job I don't have, my make-believe job if you will. Anyhoo, after a few cocktails I can think of nothing I'd rather do than clean my apartment like a crack head who just had a play date with Amy Winehouse, or work out. Like exercise and shit.

So I get a few drinks down me and am feeling a little randy.....wait NO! Energetic, yes that's it, energetic. What is a somewhat intoxicated gal looking to burn off some energy and a few calories to do? Well she goes jogging of course! I leash up my mutt and off we go! Up the street, down the slightly scary path where crazies could potentially hide (no worries, my mutt is very intimidating if you don't know him) and over to cut through the elementary school. We're going along, heart rate up and feeling good when....what's this?? Suddenly I am FLAT ON MY BACK. And not in the good, sexy way. Wha happen?? After several seconds of hazy confusion I realize my mutt has gone left around a tree and I had the misfortune of going right. Obviously he is the more determined of the two of us and his leash has acted as a rubber band of sorts snapping me back (physically as well as mentally) to the grim, tipsy reality that is my existence. This is what I get for working out? What a load! Now you may be thinking to yourself that perhaps had I not been under the influence this could have been prevented. Well you'd be wrong. End of discussion.

I have however learned a few life lessons from this experience:

1- It is possible to feel embarrassment when doing something foolish even if the only other living creature around is your dog. Might help if he'd stop staring at me with that look of pity and shame.

2- There truly is no gain without pain.

3- Regardless of countless years of study and research exercise is dangerous and not for the general public. It should only be attempted by professional athletes and super models. Good luck bitches!!

Too Much Time On My Hands (You have to sing it)

Since being unemployed, I've done what any normal, mature, proactive adult would do in my situation. Mostly drink and feel terribly sorry for myself. I fill the hours in between by crying uncontrollably. Good times. However being the over achiever that I am, I've also managed to accomplish the following:

I have baked and consumed several entire chocolate cakes, in addition to the 9,248 calorie diet I've adopted lately. Maybe Santa wasn't to blame for that extra 5....er about 7 now, pounds I got for Christmas.

I now sleep on average, 15 hours a night.

I have also called (only to receive a busy signal) the unemployment claim hot line approximately 612 times. If I were dating unemployment, they would have moved, changed their phone number and email and served me with a restraining order.

In an attempt to explore my creative side, I've began knitting outer wear for my dog and both cats. It's a great outlet for my artistic ability as well as providing a terrifying glimpse into my future as a single, fat, cat lady living alone in my craptastic apartment. Pass the scotch. The only down side is the disapproving looks and minor injuries I've sustained from the animals while fitting them for their fancy new frocks. Ungrateful bastards.

Obviously I have found many inventive ways to fill the time I used to waste being a somewhat productive member of society. Please feel free to take notes should you ever find yourself in a similar situation. Perhaps I'll conduct a seminar as well. Stay tuned for times and locations near you.