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You can’t sue me for being lazy.

I am not sure I can get much lazy-er and still be considered living.

I have a nephew that entered the military a few weeks back.

Much to my shame, I just sent the first letter today.

I was in the Army years ago and basic training sucked.

I come from such a close family that the culture shocked was huge.

While the nephew in question comes from every bit the close family situation, he seems a hell of a lot tougher than I was at that age.

But basic training eats away at your old comfort spots, replacing them with new ones in the long run, but for the short term, you are kind of screwed.

But I loved getting mail.

Here is where I hit new highs of laziness.

I didn’t physically write a letter, at least, not in the conventional sense.

I found a website, cut and pasted content, paid just under $2 and they are mailing out my letter for me.

I used this site only because I could not find one to write the letter for me as well.

But the shame factor is hard to get by. (The being raised both Irish and Catholic only ratchets up the guilt factor.)

The results are, a letter was definitely sent. Maybe by a surrogate, but it still went.

By my standards, I am golden, the ultimate uncle.

I have been reminded that I am not the boy’s uncle.

Technically, he is my first cousin’s son, but I come from a large immigrant family, there are literally dozens of cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and everything else in between.

Dealing with a crowd that large is tough unless you streamline the process.

Here is how it works. Anyone within about 5 years of my age up or down is a cousin, anyone younger than that is a niece or nephew, and anyone older is an aunt or uncle.

Within the family, everyone gets it. Outside the family? You get nothing but stares and confusion.

But, and I understand this one better than most, there is a fine line between being totally clueless and completely getting it.

Perspective is everything.

Perspective is caused by experience.

If you ever want marriage advice, avoid counsellors like the plague.

Seek out a couple that has been married for more than 40 years.

These are two people who raised kids, grew up, grew apart, grew back together, and managed to keep all the plates spinning for decades.

This is who you want advice from.

Counsellors, as a general rule, are single or have been married less than a decade, usually without kids.

And if you take your car to a mechanic who doesn’t drive, you will pay for an overhaul you don’t need.

Marriage, as well as most things in life, require that you work your ass off or they will stagnate and die off.

Trust me on this one, I have lived thru that one.

Enough said.

 
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Posted by on August 1, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Let a Player play!

Every now and then, I ask myself, “What would Jesus do?”

I am pretty sure the answer is not “Smack a bitch.”

Although, the guy at the next table seems to think that is a viable answer to the issue with his, I am guessing here, girlfriend.

Girlfriend is a very loose term that I gleaned from his frequent comments about, and I am quoting, “That wack bitch.”

Shakespeare was known to coin many words and phrases in the course of his writings, but I don’t believe he was the originator of “Wack bitch.”

Setting: Starbucks on Grand, El Segundo, California. 2nd table from the front. Morning, weekend.

1st table, right in the middle of a busy morning rush line, is The Player.

I am not sure who he is talking to based largely on his REALLY poor communication skills.

I thought he was talking to a friend about said “Wack Bitch”, and then, he made a comment about “You know what’s you done.” (Direct confusing quote there.)

I have no clue. (Then again, I don’t think I would be scooting that far out on a limb to say that The Player may not have a cache of clues squirreled away back at the house.)

Every now and then, I come across an example of humanity that really makes me dread the future of this country.

And I am fairly certain that hip hop is involved.

Don’t get me wrong, I used to listen to some of the most gritty, grungy, crappy music out there, but hip hop seems to have a rear-naked choke on raw intelligence that will not only end the fight, but the concept of intelligence itself may end up dead as a result.

The argument could be made that this is racist or class-derogatory or even as a reach, Moperic. (Google the word Mopery. Work with me here.)

If it sounds like I am being hard on the younger generation, please understand that its intentional.

Its not that I think they are dumb, far from it.  (My own brilliant  bloodlines  excluded).

I KNOW the younger generation are dumb.

(Sidenote. I would use the crudish term “Tarded” here, but the sheer volume of hate email that follows takes hours to sort thru. And the incredibly poor grammar always gets nasty responses back from me, which only makes things worse. Shoot me, but for God’s sake, use a comma and look up the meaning of a double negative.)

I would worry about backlash from the younger generation, except that it is a well known fact that, unless accompanied by a pic, such as a 12-step affirmation printed on top of a low graphic photo on Facebook, they cannot read.

I would say that a formal declaration of war against ignorance has been made. My own particular brand of ignorance is hereby excluded.

Think of my perspective as the Geneva Convention of online blog wars except for the implied “Take no prisoners” clause.

As always, if any of this bothers you, feel free to write your own blog.

From a cathartic standpoint, this blog has always existed as a mental chamber pot that I routinely fill with the shit in my head, to be dumped out the window at random intervals, to land on the unsuspecting and the dumb.

Talk amongst yourselves.

 
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Posted by on July 4, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Forecast crazy, with a hint of German.

Crazy never realizes its crazy, that is part of its charm.

Crazy is also pretty common.

Home grown crazy that is.

International crazy is a little more rare.

And German crazy is legendary.

I am in the Starbucks just a stones throw from Los Angeles International Airport.

Which is right across the street from the biggest, easiest hotel to get to on the main road leading into the airport.

Which means that, on a daily basis, you cannot swing a dead cat by the tail without smacking a tourist square in the melon.

Its late morning and I am well caffeinated.

Why am I not at work? That is an simple question with a complicated answer that I don’t feel like supplying.

Besides, I need something to write about, and I’m nowhere near as exciting as crazy and sarcastic.

And crazy and sarcastic is what I have found.

I have been here for awhile and need a caffeine refill.

The line is light, just a few people.

The woman in front of me is dressed conservatively, mid 40’s, blond hair that doesn’t appear dyed.

Speaking German into her cell phone.

Lets call her Ilsa. (Ingrid Bergman was the hottest thing on two feet in Casablanca.)

There is something sinister about the German language.

Whenever I hear it, I always imagine it being shouted from a podium.

And English with a German accent is even worse.

As she gets to the cashier, she gets off of her phone, unscrews the lid from her plastic Starbucks cup and hands it over.

“Iced coffee, please.” (Sinister German accent.)

“And could you WASH it please?” (Extra emphasis on Wash.)

The cashier is not phased, he nodes and takes it to the sink.

And that is when Ilsa drops the bomb.

“WASH it like YOU are going to drink out of it.”

And the cashier fires it right back.

“I would NEVER drink out of this.”

Take that shit, bitch!

Doesn’t even phase her.

“Please do not touch it to the bottom of the sink.”

Pause.

“PLEASE?”

There is a dynamic here that is difficult to convey.

Her OCD is obviously the cleaning/germaphob version.

And he is the jaded “Fuck you AND your coffee” cashier.

Its an awesome combo that plays well off of each other.

Once the nazi’s cup was cleaned, to the cashier’s snuff but certainly not hers, it was filled with ice and pour steaming, over-priced house drip over it.

As he handed it over, perhaps a little smirk playing at his lips, she aced his lob back for the game.

She wrinkled her nose, sniffed it disdainfully, glared at him and walked off.

Well played, Fraulein.

 
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Posted by on May 16, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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The heart wants what it wants

I’m in love.

True, I’ve said this before, but this time its the real deal.

She’s a force of nature, this one.

She’s also somewhere past the age of 80.

I pulled into Starbucks parking lot and saw an old woman screeching at cars.

Homeless? Not sure. Bat shit crazy, absolutely.

I parked and watched as she made her way towards Starbucks.

She was awesome, this kind of crazy is rare.

She was furious, at all times, walking along and muttering in anger at everything she passed.

People, chairs, small dogs, everybody got a snarl and muttered curse word from her.

I have named her Mona, for Mona Lisa, the woman of many sides.

Into Starbucks we go. (Or down the rabbit hole, take your pick.)

The line was about medium, 4-5 people.

The fun began rather quickly. (I would feel bad for enjoying all of this, but I came to peace with this a long time ago.)

“Wipe you’re goddam feet!” Was hissed at a man in an impeccable business suit coming thru the door. He looked confused and backed out.

Mona runs a tight ship.

“Don’t take all day!” This was directed in the general direction of the cashier. It caused a bunch of fluttering activity around the register but didn’t speed things up.

Mona has little patience for wasted time.

“What’s so funny?!?!” She was pissed now. This was directed at me when I laughed. I really couldn’t help myself.

Mona is my soulmate, I swear.

I made no large movements, just backed away. I didn’t say anything. Nothing catches crazy’s attention like a response.

She kept it together long enough to order a grande house drip.

It took a full minute to order because Mona kept asking the cashier to repeat her order back to her, before she had ordered anything.

For the life of me, I cannot figure out if she is crazy AND homeless, or just crazy.

Either way, she’s awesome. Its not often a human being transcends being a normal person and becomes a force of nature, something to be reckoned with and in some/most instances, feared.

And this little honey is loaded for bear.

She stomped her aged little butt over to the pick up window and planted her Witchee-poo (Google it) shoes in the space that people hurriedly made for her.

She got her coffee, shuffled over to the cream and sugar kiosk, which just happened to be deserted during prime time (HA), Then made her way to the door.

It was here that she took her already powerful, bat-shit crazy routine and knocked it out of the park.

“This music is shit!” Loudly at no one in particular. (Wait for it…)

“Get the hell out of here!” Some sane old guy said to her, not yelling, but firmly loud. (Wait for it………)

“BAAAAAA!!!” Shaking her fist at all of us, like some sort of old world granny curse. I shit you not.

Much like remembering where you were when Kennedy was shot, I will remember this day and that force of nature in support hose and comfortable shoes till the day I die.

 
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Posted by on April 4, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Being inappropriate worldwide.

Evidently, dirty talk has a world wide audience.

One of the nicer behind the scenes features of the blogging software I use is that it tracks where someone viewed the blog from.

And it turns out I am big in Eastern Europe and North Africa.

Moldova. Ever heard of it? Me neither. I am HUGE there. At least 3-4 people.

Slovenia. I am the MAN in Slovenia. At least 2 people there. (Mad props to all my homies in Ljubljana.)

There is a serious Bitter army out there.

2 dozen strong.

Sorry, if you were looking for an actual army out there, you are shit out of luck.

This blog is still largely unknown.

Which is both good and bad.

Bad in that all of this semi-obscene crap only hits a small audience.

Good in that all of this semi-obscene crap only hits a small audience.

Same reason, goes both ways.

And in the top 4 countries with the most viewership are as follows:

1. USA. (This one in a gimme, the USA is my home ground and it leads the world in useless blog writers and readers.)

2. Indonesia. (Not entirely sure where this country is, but they are a cultured, beautiful people and I plan to visit once I figure out where they are.)

3. Canada. (Despite my distaste of the Canadians as a people, they love me. Its kind of a love/hate relationship.)

4. United Kingdom. (And yet, I despise them more than the Canadians. I come from Irish militants, so this one is also a gimme.)

I already have a passport, so the only thing holding me back from heading out on the Bittermac.com world tour is the fact the International travel is massively expensive.

And if you thought this blog made more than $.50 a month, you are deluding yourself.

(Cheap dick jokes rife with thinly veiled misogyny and sociopathic undertones are not chart toppers on ANY advertisers wish list.)

Like I have said before, this tawdry little blog is like a literary hooker. Just do whatcha gotta do, avoid eye contact, and leave the money on the dresser on your way out.

Also like a hooker, don’t make the mistake of thinking I care.

Julia Roberts is just an actress and it was only a movie.

I am not and will never be the blogger with the heart of gold that will change your life.

Or maybe I am wrong.

Maybe, just maybe, there is a post somewhere in here that will touch you.

Hopefully in a good way, but possibly it will touch you in a bad way, like that uncle with sweaty palms that you hated being alone with.

Ok, I will be the first to admit that maybe I crossed the line with that last line, but it is what it is.

I see nothing wrong with hating both the player and the game.

A decent question is, why are we playing games to begin with?

Are you picking up what I’m putting down here?

 
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Posted by on November 8, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Ain’t that a bitch.

I received an email on Saturday accusing me of half-assing Friday’s blog, that it was weak and rushed.

You got me.

I am more than willing to fess up to that.

Friday was an unfinished blog that I just kind of threw up there at the last minute.

But let me explain why.

Here is the sheep-snarl that was my Friday.

1. Starting Thrusday night, my cell phone, (MY NEW ONE!!!) went down. I could access the internet and text, but not send or receive calls.

2. I went to an early morning jiu jitsu class at the gym. This is not a bad thing, but it made time really tight.

3. Tech support took a total of 2 hours. While not located in India, my two tech support agents were women, (No judgement here) and there names, no lie, were Tanqual and Shinesse. (Little racist judgement here)

4. After 2 hour, when nothing worked, I was told that the problem was obviously the phone at fault.

5. 15 minutes after hanging up, I got a phone call. The phone has been fine since.

So, it was after all of this frantic, frustrating nonsense, that I had to more or less run from my car down the hill to work, with no time to stop at Starbucks and finish todays blog.

After I got to work, I took what I had so far, slapped a quick ending on it and posted.

It is an odd thing that it is almost harder to put out a blog that is now 2 days a week than it was when I wrote 5 days a week.

I have contemplated going back to 5 days a week and then I get dizzy and the contemplative moment moves on.

For those that have never written something on a regular basis, its a bitch.

And not one of those “Hot at first” bitches like you meet at a club, but one of those “20 years in a bad marriage” type bitches that suck the life out of you.

And don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against bitches.

I think of the word with almost a fondness.

There is a strain of bitches that competent woman are a part of.

And, as I have said before, I absolutely adore competent women.

The only thing that sucks is when their fire is directed at you.

Then it sucks.

Can’t have it all.

I have observed that the people I know who have those “Never a cross word” relationships also involve two people that have really bland personalities.

You want the passion and the excitement of a strong woman? Deal with the wrath on occasion.

But a strong woman is not to be confused with a crazy one.

That is a bitch of a different type.

And when that genie gets out of the bottle, GOOD LUCK getting her back in.

And you don’t get any wishes with this genie.

Unless of course one of your wishes is to be attacked with a 9 iron in your sleep.

(Actually happened to a friend of mine. True story.)

 

 
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Posted by on November 4, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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The definition of crazy.

Just a few definitions so that we’re all on the same page.

PARIAH: A BO-ridden homeless guy that mutters showtunes to himself and INSISTS on sitting next to me at Starbucks.

THE FURIES: A trio of evil spirits that exist to torment man and manifest themselves as three yoga ladies with incredibly long coffee orders that always get into line ahead of me at Starbucks.

WRONG/RIGHT: Whatever you think versus whatever I think.

MMF: Manhattan Money Frau. Rich, surgically beautiful, and basically useless older mothers that are too busy to have children and are systematically raising an entire generation of serial killers.

WHARF RATS: Bandwagon exercise who got tired of paddle boarding and now swim around the pier in the early morning to keep fit. These people keep Whole Foods in business and, between them and the Yoga Betty’s are responsible for the entire Acacia industry.

YOGA BETTY’S: Typically MMF’s, these are the elitist practitioners of the ancient art of Yoga. They know nothing about it, spend thousands on the clothes, mats, classes, and acacia.

SHARK’S: These are the professional people that use Starbucks as a combination networking/meeting place/hunting ground. Looked at from that viewpoint, I am one of them. This is were my rubber meets the road.

I hope that helps clarify a few things. I had gotten a couple of emails asking about some of the terms I have used and I figure that, as convoluted as this blog has gotten, they are probably not the only one confused.

Incidentally, there is one little bit of business from various emails that I would like to clarify.

I do not view the homeless as pets, that is just rude to suggest.

More like toys. Then again, I view everyone, homeless or not as toys for my amusement.

Its a fairly narcissistic/sociopath view of the world, but it allows me to sleep like a baby without meds.

This is a self diagnosis, by the way. I figured out a long time ago that I should avoid shrinks.

Bad idea, I always got the feeling that once they got a hold of me, they might decide to never let go.

The last thing I want is to become someones basis for a psychiatric industry study. Those people are like those creepy kids you knew when you were little that liked to pull the legs off of bugs.

I like my mental legs where they are, thanks.

 
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Posted by on November 1, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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