Ever get home and you're so exhausted and angry and ready for a drink that you throw your suit jacket on the floor and trample all over it and immediately turn on the TV and don't bother changing the channel so you watch whatever's on and you unfasten your bra through your shirt and reach through one of your sleeves and yank the bra out and the snaps scratch your nipple on the way out and you fling that bastard across the room and it lands on the peace lily plant in the corner and then you collapse on the couch and wish you'd grabbed that bottle of wine and/or cupcake in the fridge on your way in?
Well turns out this is a really amazing true story that I usually pass up called Unbroken. It's about an Olympic Games contender who joins the service and becomes a WWII POW. And he's brutally tortured by the Imperial Japanese Army soldiers for years. Like, really REALLY brutal.
Damned Japs.
So that went off, I hit the "last" button and...wouldn't you know it...Schindler's List is on.
I handled the communication piece for my company's new employee uniforms. Over 2,500 employees will receive new uniforms tomorrow. I set up a photo shoot for a few employees to model the new uniforms and created a wall cling (poster that sticks to the wall) from it. It's gonna be complete mayhem in the wardrobe department tomorrow. But I'm kinda proud of the final outcome, actually.
The photographer used me for test shots without telling me. Each time I looked up into a giant camera lens, I was thinking "Where did I put that damned file?".
But that's not why I'm in a mood.
I can't wear a bra yet because it makes my tattoo burn.
That's not why I'm in a mood.
My period is acting like Satan's bathwater this month. But that's not why I'm in a mood.
I had to share a vendor table with her at an event today. She kept telling clients that my side of the table was so cold that they would need a sweater to talk to me.
I'm tired of that bitch calling me an Ice Queen. Just because I don't sleep around like she does.
So I advised them to liberally apply antibacterial gel to every exposed part of their bodies and be sure their prescriptions were up to date before approaching her side.
At which point she happened to cough, which led me into a tirade about sexually transmitted diseases starting the zombie apocalypse.
Why does she continue to force me to humiliate her?
I'm like Zod and she's like Otis.
Just kneel before Zod, bitch.
Ssshhh. Just take it.
Smh.
I swear imma beat that bitch with a bat.
I'm going to 7-11 to get a slurpee. I swear to God, if they're out of the red pop flavor, imma swing a bitch.
Aww YEAH. Kickin' the Detroit old skool basement house beats, homie!!!
OMG. Detroit use to have these basement parties on Fridays. This is the real beginning of house music. (Don't argue with me. I have proof.) Everyone would be dancing or eating or laughing or a combination of all three. The neighborhood kids would mingle with the older folks who were usually down there drinking out of those red plastic cups and playing cards or dice together. Usually using one of those folding card tables. And the air would be thick with smoke from the combination of cigarettes and the catfish the homeowner was frying for everyone.
OMG I can still smell it. It was hot and dark and it was always packed wall-to-wall. But people were peaceful and happy and the music was amazing. Even an FOB 10 year old with a stupid bowl haircut who couldn't go anywhere without her chaperon brother could blend in. It was always either really old school like Marvin Gaye or Rufus, or house beats like this one.
Well. That was certainly a rant to end all rants. What was my point?
Ah. yes. I'm still going to beat that bitch with a bat.
I'll take a pic and post it if I get up the nerve.
I went alone and cried like a bitch. I kept my hand clasped over my mouth the whole time because I was sobbing like a baby. The tattoo guy was very nice and massaged my back and gave me a break every few minutes. I'm not a pain wuss. I swear. I think I just need a little meat on my bones. The tattoo is on my rib cage/side boob area, and each little stick felt like the needle was literally punching through my rib cage and out the other side.
The first night was a nightmare. My sheets were soaked from sweating & my entire body was sore (it took a while to walk down the stairs to go pee).
Stuff the cool kids don't tell you.
Right now it sort of feels like a centralized fire. And it itches. And I'm going alone to Punta Cana this weekend solely for swimming. Swimming in salt water. Great plan.
It feels slimy and gross so the tattoo guy promised to clean/put the cream stuff on it every day after work for me. He's holding up his end of the bargain so far. It was nice of him to offer - should I offer to pay him for the extra care?
Okay so I just got home. Its 3am. I haven't even taken my shoes off yet. I'm sitting on a box in the kitchen to check for Facebook messages from my mother and...
1 concentrated month planning a managers/execs boat cruise. A $45k check that I personally drove down to the boat dock this morning. A high maintenance band that demanded a special boat launch time and white rose arm bouquets who the execs just had to have. A crazy dinner menu with stuff I can't pronounce. I had to google some of it. Stalking the executives when they didn't RSVP. I actually leaned against one person's closed door so he couldn't get out until he gave me an answer.
All that, and then I miss the last shuttle because I was helping a guest.
Aaand as I'm typing this, I notice that my new shellac job has just chipped.
Meh.
But it's all good. An old friend from the Miami days is coming up to stay with me this week. So I could use this time to clean up a bit.
We worked together for a cruise line company in Miami Beach. That was a few years ago, before the earthquake and Detroit.
She's also a Second Life friend, though she's online even less than I am.
I gotta spray extra spider spray on all the ceilings. Last night I found a spider on my ceiling. Just chillaxin. Throwin' up gang signs at me. With a little mini-boom box playing "Straight Outta Compton".
Little bastard.
So I screamed and set the nozzle on my spray bottle of 99% alcohol to "kill" and sprayed his punk ass dead.
But that was too close to my bed. So I slept under my sheets last night with the window closed (noisy neighbors) and woke up with a damp pillow from sweating.
I know. Sexy, right?
Anyway I can't wait for my buddy to visit. I miss Miami.
When you're running late to pick up your BFF for the DJ Twist event, but you spot a new shoe store across the street with a halo of lights on the storefront as if God himself is pointing to it ...
When you wake up in the morning in a strange bed and double-check your reflection in your phone and realize you look like a cross between Basquiat and Gojira...
Gonna check out Flower Day on Sunday. Honestly, I just don't feel like gardening anymore. I was maintaining the garden out of respect for my grandmother, but I think I'm just going to hire a landscaper this time.
Oh, filters. Blessed be.
The people who go to the annual Flower Day are crazy stepford wives on crack. Seriously. Those women are crazy. It's like they've been pacing around in their living rooms all year waiting for this one day to come. And don't even dare get between a Flower Day wife and a vibrant bundle of impatiens...if you do, just stab yourself in the neck and get it over with.
And the poor husbands. In their khaki shorts and their pink polo shirts and their horrible long white socks tucked into their jesus sandals, holding their wives' purses and pretending to care which hue of pink goes best with the house and tugging their broken little red wagons full of half-dead annuals.
It's so sad.
You simply have not lived until you've heard my mother say, "Girl, bye."
Went to the Metro Times Best of Detroit event tonight. They had these cool indoor local food and wine vendor booths with way too much food. Some trollop wore the same dress I did, only in a different color. I should've punched her in the testicles.
Rihanna got to swim with sharks for a photo shoot. I think I cried when I saw that on ET. The #1 thing on my bucket list. I wanna swim alongside at least 1 great white just once in my lifetime. I watched a documentary where a scientist said that, as long as you're facing them, they treat you with respect. You're not officially "prey" until you lose the eye contact. Apparently, the largest group of great whites can be found off the southern African coast. They're so smart and mysterious and beautiful. Don't you think?
I saw Ex Machina. It was so clever and good. Okay, it was actually so good that it made me wish I was smarter Nice surprise ending, also. And it's the real kind of sci-fi. "Real" = actual possible future (like Trek)...not a cheesy implausible future like Star Wars.
This stupid fight is all anyone's talked about all week. Interviews with celebrities about who they think will win and giant billboards and excited coworkers preordering pizzas and kegs of beer and constant Xfinity pop-ups demanding I buy the fight on demand. I can't even call Comcast to pay my bill without the automated attendant screaming at me about it.
Well, damn. Had I known the quiet celebrity sports guy who came to the homeless shelter opening in Mexican Village and brought a legion of fans with him all those months ago was going to be in the fight of the century tomorrow, I would've asked him to autograph something.
I muted out the nice senior citizen who was on my right.
At the best Coney Island with the best coney dogs, which happens to be deep DEEP in the hood.
So I'm checking my texts and smashing the best coney dog ever created and doing my Bill Cosby impression all at the same time, and Phoebe decides it would be funny to secretly record me, and then go from booth to booth to show everyone.
This chick's going to get us murderized. Smdh.
Therefore, I've added a new definition to coneycap....
- - - - - - - -
Coneycap [KOH-nee cap] - noun:
1. A coney dog enjoyed at the end of an evening instead of an alcoholic beverage.
2. To be struck by a bullet while eating a coney dog.
Had a dream last night that I was staying in a hotel room with a little yellow tabby cat. And I couldn't find anything to feed him, or a plate for water. Then I dug a chunk of salmon out of the garbage for him. That was all. Just random.
Phoebs swore a 3rd trip would relax me.
Remind me to punch her in the ovaries.
Third day of below 0 temps. Hot water pipes are frozen, so I boiled water to clean the kitchen. Can't get the house temp above 65. The house is making weird popping noises. I think it's the foundation settling. This is like a zombie apocolypse where everything starts shutting down.
Ran to the grocery store for coffee filters at 7am in -11 degrees (that's -21 C).
Car wouldn't start in the store lot. Tried 3 times. Sounded like the alternator. Pulled out the tow truck card from my wallet, tried the car again while waiting forever for them, engine finally turned over.
Got into an argument with an Indian Amurrkan guy in the Starbucks drive thru. Way too cold to get out and make him bleed. I'm from the hood, yo. But I'm cold, yo.
Came home to a stream of water coming through the living room window I think from melting icicles outside...maybe because the sun was out? Moved the furniture away, stuck a bucket and newspaper underneath, walked back to the store, wanted caulk sealant but they only had rustoleum. While waiting for the leak to stop, ate rice, flipped through the channels, settled on some james brown documentary, slept on the couch all day, just woke up at 9:30pm with the my Afro ponytail on full display for any poor soul looking in, had a pee, flipped through more channels, found bill Murray singing to a shark (?), realized I'd missed TWD, screamed, debated on watching Talking Dead because they tell you who died.
Okay, I had to let all that out somewhere. Maybe Japan is a good thing. Independence isn't always what's it's cracked up to be. I could suffer a head of household and labor pains if it meant never having to walk to a store in -21C again. Your reading all that is your good deed for the day. Or the week. You've just received like 300 karma points. And some of you need it!
Got home really late last night. Forgot to lock the security door, passed out on the sofa.
Woke up, saw more damn snow falling, put off shoveling the snow, hung in SL all morning, finally logged off, unwillingly stomped out to shovel the snow on the porch, found this on my inner door, sans snow prints.
Watching the Miss Universe pageant makes me want to eat a whole cake.
A thee-layered cake. Made with extra butter. With a giant layer of frosting.
Sigh.
WEDNESDAY
I live next to a small community park.
Well, it's not so much an actual "park" as it is a block-long patch of trees with a couple of park benches thrown in.
There's my house, the street, then the park.
The "park" is becoming more and more popular with people from neighboring communities. It's really quiet (my community is pretty much all older Jewish people) and there's lots of shade. Plus, it's really close to the shoreline.
Lately, there's been a person sitting in a car parked in front of my house (which is the edge of the park) as I leave work in the morning. Not the same person. Always a different car. Young, white male or female.
This morning, I woke up early and watched the news downstairs, and peeped the front of my house.
How to gawk at your neighbors.
Turns out, it's a prime location for drive-by drug deals. Here's how it works...
The buyer will park and make a call to his/her seller, and wait.
The seller will drive up in the opposite direction, driver-to-driver.
The buyer and seller will extend their arms and make the trade.
Both cars will speed off. I saw this in action twice this morning and actually said aloud, "Oh, no you dit-ent!"
So here's what's up.
The next car that pulls up, I'm walking out there to take their picture (making sure they see me do it), or I'll go off on them. Or both. Either way, they're about to take their shit elsewhere. I am not spending my last few months in the U S of A staring at druggies making buys. Take y'all asses back to the trailer park.
FRIDAY
Mythbuster #239: You don't need a man (*cough*Kristyl*cough*) to shovel your snow. Get your arse out there!
Sigh...I miss you already,
electric blanket.
SATURDAY
When you gotta shovel the porch for your mailman, but you're too lazy to change from your bed clothes...
Ever get home and you're so exhausted and angry and ready for a drink that you throw your suit jacket on the floor and trample all over it and immediately turn on the TV and don't bother changing the channel so you watch whatever's on and you unfasten your bra through your shirt and reach through one of your sleeves and yank the bra out and the snaps scratch your nipple on the way out and you fling that bastard across the room and it lands on the peace lily plant in the corner and then you collapse on the couch and wish you'd grabbed that bottle of wine and/or cupcake in the fridge on your way in?
