RSS

30 year-old jailbait

There is just something syrupy sicking about a grown woman who insists on baby talk in public.

And not just for one quick phrase.

There is what appears to be a 30+ year old woman who has been talking like a baby since she walked in the door just ahead of me 10 minutes ago.

It was cute for the first 20 seconds.

Past that and my brain began to whimper and wonder what it had done wrong.

It makes me wonder what is wrong with her and what is wrong with the poor asshole she walked in with.

She doesn’t talk to anyone else but him.

She is not a stunning woman, in fact, I would have to call her looks/body very average.

There is not an earthy sexuality that makes up for it.

Nothing.

The only reason I can think of that would make this mid-30’s half-a-tard bitch acceptable is that a choir of angels must sing when she spreads her legs. (Crude line, but it so fits this situation. You aren’t here, don’t judge.)

And before you say anything, I AM being nice.

What kind of twisted baggage would you need to have to retreat into a child-like persona?

Boggles the mind.

Much like the various stages of grief, I am working thru the various stages of annoyance.

I have moved on from gritting my teeth in annoyance and begun to actively hate her.

Hopefully they will leave before I move on plotting her death.

Google has ponied up a number of websites on the subject of assassination, but none are particularly helpful.

One site that seems promising will not load.

This lop-headed dumbass owes her life to Starbucks and their crappy wifi.

The wifi I have at the house has not gone down once in the last 5 years.

Starbucks? 50% of the time, you may as well use two tin cans connected with string for all the good it will do you.

Maybe its a metaphor.

Disfunctional wifi, disfunctional bitch. (The word bitch is being used liberally this week as a tribute to the trio of feminists that keep emailing me to complain. You girls need to find some men, have some babies, and quit worrying about man-talk so much. And if that doesn’t piss them off, then they must be trying to connect to the blog over Starbucks wifi.)

This is the kind of woman that her first boyfriend in her teens told her babytalk was cute and she has adopted it as her lifestyle.

Without a doubt, there is a Hello Kitty stuffed animal at her house and maybe a tote bag.

Her toothpaste is bubblegum flavored and her toothbrush is in the shape of the little mermaid.

Her purse is clear plastic and has a “My pretty pony” graphic on it.

Her coffee drink follows the same teen logic.

Its an overly sweet melted sundae complete with whipped cream and drizzled caramel. No doubt hiding in there is a faint coffee flavor.

The slack look on her face will take on a serious boo boo face when this guy comes to his senses and breaks up with her.

You can only sleep with someone that acts like a little girl for so long before it begins to get creepy.

And creepy sex is no fun.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on November 21, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Being sick in a foreign land.

There is a serious skill to travelling while sick that I just do not have.

Like, at all.

I flew up to the snowy North to see my adult kidlets

I was healthy when I got there.

And then my immune system turned on me like a pitbull in a roomfull of toddlers.

(I weighed the amount of whining and bitching I KNOW I will receive due to that line. But it made me laugh. Bite me.)

I spent a portion of the trip playing nursemaid to my kidlets.

And then I tried to leave.

I first noticed the sore throat at noon.

I had a little bit of a barking cough all of a sudden.

I got to the airport and felt like crap.

I hate airports as a general rule, unless I am being sarcastic and make fun of people in my head. (You have your hobbies, I have mine.)

But, when I don’t feel well, I go farther down that narcissistic road.

So I was in line at the security checkpoint, grumbling to myself but trying not to call attention to myself. (I do not need to be put on the “No fly”list due to a TSA misunderstanding. (They are a twitchy bunch, prone to erring on the side of scorched earth travel rules. Much like that same edgy pitbull, its best not to mess with them unnecessarily.)

The last thing a monster wants is recognition.

And the lady in front of me recognized me.

Not me, but my condition.

The one thing about old women is that they tend to travel with a pharmacy in their purse, and this woman is no different.

So, in short order, I had some cold medicine, a cough drop and a small bottle of water to wash it down. (She would have had to toss it at the metal detector anyway, but it was still the good Samaritan move.)

If I could have just sat for an hour in the airport before getting on the plane, the cold medicine could have been in full swing when I got on the plane.

Not to be, I got thru the security checkpoint and walked right onto the plane.

Any other time, this would rock, but not when the last thing you need is a cramped airline sear and throbbing sinuses.

But, life goes on.

I soon forgot about my sinuses. In fact, I was almost wishing for some more severely stuffed sinuses.

Because the Armenian guy sitting next to me was 200lbs overweight, had on WAY too much cologne, and judging by the BO, had not bathed in the last 48 hours.

And that takes a LOT away from the whole travel experience.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on November 14, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , ,

Kill the lawyers.

I am not a big fan of pain, never have been.

Almost bordering on pussy at times, always something to be avoided.

So here I sit with two black eyes.

Karma, you rotten giggling bitch.

Now, you would think that my vile mouth would be the culprit here.

Not so.

How it happened was so random it almost doesn’t matter.

Could have happened in nine or ten different ways.

I refuse to blame judo, despite the fact that it happened during a judo workshop.

There was some really impressive national competitors visiting and I got thrown in a beautiful Ippon Seo Nage.

And, as I lay there on my back, the kid who threw me got overbalanced from the throw and rolled over me.

And the back of his head slammed back into my nose with a serious crunch.

And what followed was about 15 minutes of bleeding like a stuck pig and muffled cursing.

Shit happens.

I had about 4 people ask me if I intended to sue the gym.

I am appalled by this.

Its judo, injuries happen.

I could have gotten the same injury jockeying for position at a drinking fountain.

People want to sue too much.

I am trying not to throw too much hate at the lawyers, but it is tough not to.

They are so hate-able its not even funny.

Even lawyers hate lawyers.

You would think there would be some sort of esprit de corps.

Nope.

I took an informal poll of the four lawyers I happen to know.

And all four, when posed with the question, “Do you like other lawyers?”

I am paraphrasing here, but all four said “Fuck em!”.

One of the lawyers, a man I went to grade school with and kind of consider family, but would serious not buy an apple from or leave my kids around, went on at great lengths to explain what scumbags lawyers are.

I find it ironic that a commercial for a serious ambulance chaser type lawyer was just on tv.

His big catch phrase is “I’ll fight for you!” but his clientele have a serious low-rent feel to them.

Makes you wonder how sad his court battles are.

The show Law and Order it ain’t.

I can only imagine what sort of battles are taking place.

Phony slip and falls, fake whiplash, and discrimination cases.

I was once the hiring manager of a company, and one morning I got a call from the director of HR. She said there was a midget making the rounds to companies, and applying for work.

He only applies for jobs he is completely unsuited for.

If he gets the job, he doesn’t show up.

If he doesn’t get the job, he sue for discrimination.

Its a scam.

I once had the guy pointed out to me by the director of HR.

He was wearing a beautiful suit.

He could afford it, he made a nice living shaking down businesses for cash.

And his lawyer will fight for him, too.

 
2 Comments

Posted by on November 7, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Pigeons are homeless.

There is nothing that can make me almost shit myself faster than a pigeon slamming into my windshield when I am driving down the road.

Its upsetting. I thought my damned windshield had cracked.

Luckily, it didn’t. I am wildly happy about that because that costs money to fix.

And the shit doesn’t grow on trees.

The pigeon? I dunno, he’s probably dead.

I have given it a lot of thought and I have come to the conclusion that I don’t care.

For all I know, the pigeon was suicidal and this was his way of checking out.

Either way, its not like it was a dog or a cat.

If it is not a domesticated animal, its on the food chain and up for grabs.

I am sure some of you wonder how I can be so callus about an animal’s death.

Animals die every day and the world keeps spinning.

Life goes on.

I saw a thing online of a guy who is obviously shilling for the vegetarians who claimed to have been employed by a slaughter house.

He had a whole tearful spiel about how the cows cry and show emotion before death.

Like the only reason carnivores have been eating animal flesh since the dawn of time is because we had no idea the meat didn’t want to die.

Vegetarians are the Johova’s Witnesses of the nutritional world.

Not only do they believe something, but the are fairly incesant that you believe it too.

It almost reminds me of the anti bullying movement that figures that all you need to do is let the bully know that its not cool and it hurts someones feelings.

I have actually seen some schools put up “No bullying Zone” next to the “Gun free zone” sign.

Awesome, it will probably work just as well.

Using that flawed logic, the only way the bullying will stop is if the people that pay no attention to the ridiculous “Gun free zone” sign accidentally shoot the bully.

That is a truly messed up line, but there is an element of brutal truth in there.

But, simply because something is the truth doesn’t mean it should be said.

Somebody posted a thing on Facebook that said that it isn’t hating if its true.

Not true. Ask if its your job to say it. If its not, it may still be true, but you are a douchebag.

If you are going to stake out the “Truth even if it hurts feelings” don’t try to cover that with the shield of truth.

Take responsibility for it and don’t try to cover your ass with some soft headed platitude about the hating/truth thing.

That means you know that you are a douchebag and you are reflexively looking for the emotional get out of jail free card.

It’s not your fault, its the pussy society we live in.

Confrontation has been beaten out of you to the point that even when you want to rub someones nose in something, (Remember, because its true) You have to wuss out and preface it to try and deflect the douchebag label that is heading your way.

I gave that one up awhile back.

Try it sometime.

And the first time someone tells you “You’re an asshole”, revel in it.

Otherwise, you are just another pigeon, hitting the windshield.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on October 31, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

The Insanity Revelation.

A homeless woman screaming at traffic outside of a Coffee Bean in the wee hours of the morning will always catch my eye.

But a homeless woman screaming scripture at traffic will pull me in like a moth to a bug light.

I applaud both her general nuttiness and her faith, because they both seem pretty strong.

But what is it about Revelations that draws the insane mind to it?

I have run into a bakers half dozen of these street preacher/screamers in the past and every one of them was spouting the final book of the bible like it was the only one they knew. And maybe it was.

There is almost a hope that they would take a break and at least read Mathew 6. (For you heathen types, thats the passage that says to go pray alone in your room.)

But, her reasons for not doing it could be as simple as not having a private room to pray in.

The world is her room.

And dammit, its a noisy room.

I got my scone and a coffee and had a seat on the patio to watch.

I would have bought the crazy lady something, but she was out here the other morning screaming about “YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE” and I bought her a scone. For a moment, I thought she was going to come after me.

And when a 400lbs crazy woman with a scone turns on you, haul ass.

Because you don’t want whats coming.

There is not a technique in modern martial arts to drop 400lbs coming at you like a BO scented tornado.

You could get her in a couple of arm bars, break both of her arms and she may still come at you like the homeless version of the walking dead.

Little Lulu here could use a prop, something for people to focus on.

I once saw a homeless guy in Reno screaming Revelations at traffic with a 3 foot tall dark mahogany cross that he carried in front of him like he was the Majordomo.

She could use that here.

It would also ratchet up her danger factor and practically guaranty a visit from Santa Monica’s finest.

Because nothing fixes things quicker than a visit from the boys in blue. (Alright, boys in black. You got me.)

And despite my vicious attacks on the Coffee Bean, their clientele and the average age of customers being 92, I have come to enjoy both their coffee and their ambiance.

There is less of a shotgun approach to their music that is fairly pleasant on the whole.

And they don’t switch from one musical genre to another like they have the attention span of a ferret on meth. (Small rodents are not known for their addictions. Outside of a laboratory that is.)

The overall musical effect is one that backs my teeth away from that terminal itch feeling I have come to know so well.

What is it about these coffee houses that attracts me so?

Oh, caffeine addiction. Right. Forgot for second.

Glad I cleared that up.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on October 24, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Talking a little crazy here.

I sometimes have a hard time coming up with an idea for a blog post.

After writing 500+ of these in the last 3 years, everything has kind of been done.

So sometimes, I just look for a hook, something that stirs my imagination when I hear/see it, and your imagination when you read it.

The post you are reading, I am writing the day before its due.

I got nothing.

Or, at least, I had nothing.

But as I was crossing the street to head into the Coffee Bean, 2 homeless people began loudly arguing on the corner.

And the hook fell, like manna from heaven.

Out of the mouth of babes, or in this case, a 400lbs homeless woman.

“YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE!”

I found myself repeating that phrase as I waited in line to get my caffeine fix.

And I came to a conclusion.

I don’t know her life.

However, I could probably make some pretty accurate guesses. (And I am ridiculously accurate when I am just guessing.

1. Odds are, we are not dealing with a graduate from a master’s degree program.

2. Perhaps the exact mix of the cocktail is questionable, but I am willing to go out on a limb here and say that perhaps drugs played a big role. (I have a whole slew of friends that will piss and moan and make all sorts of claims about the harmlessness of drugs. Sorry, my blog, my rules, and you get to gag on my opinion like a first timer in the big house.)

3. Whatever happened to old school crazy? Everyone wants to pony up excuses, well crazy is making a comeback. Whether its naturally occurring or chemically induced, there does come a level of fucked up that you just don’t come back from.

I can almost see the excuse fanatics lining up on this one.

“Judge not lest ye be judged.” Don’t go biblical with me, you’ll lose. That passage was not a biblical get out of jail free card. Its meaning was don’t judge cheaply or with bias, or you’ll be judged that way. Fine, use my own measuring stick against me and see how unsatisfying it is.

“Its not her fault, society/Dems/GOP/whoever is to blame.” No, they’re not. Ultimately, fault lies with her. Some situations have you seriously behind the 8-ball, but that is where the tenacity of the human spirit comes in.

“You don’t know what an addiction is like.” Yeah, I do.

“You are a racist/bigot/misogynist/cat-hater.” Entirely possible. Bias, preference and dislike are human traits. There are exceptions to every rules and there are examples that prove the rule. Case by case is how I take it. I have yet to meet anyone on this planet that loved everyone with the exception of the soon to be sainted Mother Theresa. (Rumor had it she hated the Italians.)

In the end, the secret to getting the crazy lady calmed down and away from flowing traffic was to buy her a cranberry orange scone.

Even crazy loves a scone.

 
2 Comments

Posted by on October 17, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Dickens, motherfucker.

A tale of two cities.
To paraphrase Dickens, it was the worst of times, it was even more worst of times.

City #1 is in Torrance, CA.

I make no claims of being a saint.
But evil lurks in the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf.
And, as it always does, it is in the form of a woman.
I will get some hate email for that line, but its true.
Women are the root of all evil, its a scientific fact.
Plus I read it on the internet.
The localized evil in the Coffee Bean has taken the form of a late teens girl named Sarah.
Sarah is special.
Not as in the mentally handicapped form of special, I mean self-inflicted special.
You can tell in the way Sarah drove up in the parking lot and took up two spaces.
The way she sauntered across the parking lot like her life depended on being the hottest chick alive.
Swag wise, if she were a dude, her dick would be hanging out.
At the front door, she stopped, and waited for a guy that was still 10 feet away to open the door for her.
She walked by the pastry case and eyed the goods.
Her order, when it came, was done while not looking who she was talking to.
One of those personalities that you hate instinctively.
Not evil at this point, just annoying.
And then her coffee came, and the evil began.
“What the hell is this?”
Turns out her latte was off.
Her next statement was double the volume.
“How hard is your fucking job?”
It went on with Sarah running at the mouth and embarrassing both herself and everyone that had to hear that shit spewing out of her festering gob.
This is why people’s food gets fucked with.
Sarah is the epitome of arrogant entitlement in this world, you can’t help but hate her.
And her parents.
I blame them.
Shitty kids come from shitty parents, its an old story.
And one that only gets worse every time you hear it.

City #2

Hawthorne California.
I try not to screw with people who could spit in my food.
Call it a personal thing.
And Papa John’s Pizza is the last place on earth I would screw with.
Because where they make their pizza’s, I cannot see.
That means if I am an ass, my pepparoni and sausage is getting either teabagged or an extra shot of DNA.
And nobody wants that, especially not me. (I mean the cold sore on the pizza prep guy’s lip LOOKS like its clearing up.)
But things are not looking good.
There are three people ahead of me.
The first two are given partial refunds and free chicken wings, mainly because it is taking so long.
The guy who ordered just before I arrived is losing his mind.
They end up giving him an entire pizza for his trouble.
And then it was my turn.
I ordered online, I waited 20 minutes before I came in.
They checked my id, assured me that the pizza would be ready soon.
20 minutes later, I asked and the guy checked, any minute now.
This is when the guy ahead of me got the free pizza and left.
And it was mine,.
Had to have been.
So, 45 minutes after I entered the front door, the Gump-like cashier finally fessed up that the pizza was either given away or not made.
Would I like a refund?
I WANT MY FUCKING PIZZA!
I told him to make it, and send out the manager.
In the mean time, I stood on my tiptoes to watch the guy make my pizza.
If he spit on it, he would have had to have done it when he put it in the oven.
And that is when the 12 year-old with the manager name tag came out.
He barely spoke english, the cashier spoke no spanish.
The pizza prep guy had to stop what he was doing to come over and interpret.
I am beginning to see the problem.
I told the guy that I had ordered 80 minutes ago, been in the building for an hour, and been assured by Gump 3 times that my pizza would be “Up soon”.
The pizza was cooking, and I would be taking it with me.
He would also be refunding me what I paid.
Then, he would be jotting down his name, and the name and phone # of the regional manager.
I am beyond dick at this point.
I don’t yell, but I realize that I am talking lower and over enunciating each word.
Translation: Pissed off.
This is why I will fight tooth and nail to keep $15 an hour minimum wage from happening. The job and the attitude are just not worth it.
You want to make more money? Work your ass off and get some skills and a raise.
And if you have no skills and are trying to raise a family on minimum wage? Shame on you. You are a brand of stupid that $15 is not going to fix.
And the pizza sucked too.
 
2 Comments

Posted by on October 10, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , ,

 
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,994 other followers