your car can't make up for your awful personality.

I came as close as I ever have to getting hit by a car today.  In a situation like none I had ever seen, as I started to cross the street during the indicated “walking” period, a woman pulled up around the curb, came within inches of running over my feet, leaned over, held out her stupid white woman palm to indicate that no matter what the light said, her rules required that I stop. Had I not been looking over my shoulder, I would have been hit dead-on. The worst part was that I was so shocked by her blatant disregard for my safety, and her complete lack of concern about how to drive a car, that I didn't even yell at her, or gesture clearly enough to the fact that I had a walk sign on my side, or even better, to kick at her car. The woman clearly had no indication of stopping, and probably could not have been bothered to do so even if I had been in the middle of the road when I was legally allowed to do so. It wasn’t so much that this woman hadn’t wanted to stop. It was that she patronizingly held out her hand, with the expectation that I would see it, to indicate that I was no more than a trifling impediment with no respect or understanding for the importance of her time. It wasn’t that I was jaywalking, or attempting to cross when it was illegal, or even crossing just as the light had changed, or that I had darted out in front of her car. I was there first, and I was crossing during the walk symbol. It was simply that she couldn’t be bothered to step on the breaks of her Honda Accord in her hurry to drive straight ahead to the next stoplight, where she would inevitably be stuck for five minutes with only her shitty personality. People like this really make me hate myself. Just the fact that they can exist with so much self-importance and so little regard for the fact that their needs aren’t the most important things to ever happen makes me wonder what happens in their day-to-day lives that allows them to get away with always getting their way. Putting your arm out to stop me from walking across the street while you’re in your little Honda Accord? Really? So, like, not only do you know that what you’re doing sucks, but you’re actually going to blame me for it and act like I’m the asshole? Great, but you know, if you had hit me, you would have broken the law. Asshat. I don't care if you don't volunteer or give your money to charity or have friends, but pull it together long enough to go out in public.

I’m starting to think I could use a boyfriend because my expenses are getting too expensive. Burritos, movie tickets, gigantic sodas at the movies, not to mention the lies about who else is eating the pizzas, sitting next to me at the movies, and meeting me at the restaurant. It is just getting expensive. But for now, I like getting out of the movie and walking to the bus stop and seeing that your car is still parked. I like knowing that no one else’s blond hair is blowing in the breeze, and that at least if I have to be alone, you have to be alone too.

i'm right there with you, girl

...tell you how I miss you
Thought I would have a son for you
But now it’s official it’s over and I can’t let you go
But I gotta let you know all the shit I did make it feel like I’m dying real slow, 
cause no one understands me 
they don’t know what to do when I’m hurt when I’m angry
Cause of you all them chicks couldn't stand me
So why hurt you? That’s the question
It took this long for me to learn my lesson
Cause now all I want is peace and forget drama
I finally understand the true meaning of karma


Please baby forgive me, mommy was young, mommy was to busy tryna have fun 
Now I pat myself on the back for sending you back,
'cause God knows I was better than that, to conceive and then leave you 
the concept alone seems evil - I’m trapped in my conscience
I adhear to the nonsense, listened to people who told me I wasn’t ready for you
But how the fuck would they know what I was ready to do?

gettin' counted

I just filled out the census! By myself! It was really easy and actually took less than a minute to do! I feel so grown up, especially since filling out the census is apparently a very difficult thing that most people don’t do. But now I am pretty much eating Girl Scout cookies for dinner, so once again, we are at an impasse.

Seriously about the census, though, I was expecting it to be quite difficult, like more intellectually taxing than it was, because there is so much emphasis on how important it is to fill out the entire census on time and return your responses and make sure everyone is counted! I was expecting it was going to be a rather tedious process that would take hours. No. It took literally forty-five seconds. I understand I’m a household of one, but please. They only give you space for twelve people. The maximum time this could take is twelve minutes! Is it seriously possible to be unsure about the race of the people living in a house with you? I think not.

There are also many reminders on the census envelope that my responses are confidential, so I was assuming they’d ask some juicy questions, like what race of people I prefer to sleep with or if I’ve ever been pregnant or something. Nope. None of that. The only question that could possibly be seen as a little embarrassing is one about Person 1 predominantly staying somewhere else. If I was currently hooking up with an ugly dude, and I had to fill out a write-in section of this question, and the census counters and I all went to the same college, and we were sitting around counting the census together, I guess my response to this question could be embarrassing, and I’d want the census counter to keep it confidential. But seriously, please, the census? What’s the big deal? I don’t get it. You could probably make it up and still get it right. I should fill in imaginary information about my household so they stop closing schools and fire departments in this neighborhood, and maybe give me a new bus stop. But I won’t, because that is also emphasized as very illegal. 

Errbody knows it ain’t trickin if you got it

It’s just that every time I sit down to consciously start writing, I start thinking about how Julia Allison is probably sitting down to start liveblogging pictures of herself dressed as an upside down cupcake, and thousands of little girls with access to MacBook Photo Booths are concurrently contorting themselves into poses that only make you think of their fathers, and dashing off tumblr posts about Edward Cullen that not only misuse both forms of “you’re,” but also elucidate on the sexiness of physically controlling “romantic” behavior.  And then I remember that at the same time, Sarah Palin is tucking in to pen another incoherent page of her next memoir filled with gems about what being an American has to do with hunting, and Lauren Conrad is dictating the vapidity of Reality TV to a well-paid ghostwriter in order to put the bowels of the television world into writing, and Sue Grafton and Dan Brown are whipping out their mini laptops spewing forth the stuff of a new generation of Airport novels.

It’s like, there’s just too much.

The computer has done more to fuel the aspirations of people who would never have passed the writing section of the SAT than probably even the Tea Party Movement.

not even fake life is fair.

The times when I'm funny are times when I'm overcaffinated, slightly tipsy, at a tragic bar with my friends, or just about to fall asleep, usually after some mix of the first three. None of these times ever seem to beautifully coincide with times when I'm feeling bloggish.