7 Things I Hate About You



You don’t know me, but I hate you.

Don’t look at me like that. You know what you did.

You did it deliberately, too. You did all of it on purpose. And I bet you’re not even sorry.

How do you sleep at night?

Probably better than me, that’s for sure. You made this bed, but I’m the one that has to lie in it.

I just want to know why. Can you at least give me that? Were you drugged? Were you drunk? Were you blind?

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60% chance of scattered brains.

Oh, hi. How long have you been standing there?

I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.

I really didn’t intend for my blog to be this starved for material after the A to Z challenge wound down, but I think my brain just went into “Holy shit, FREEDOM!” mode and decided to stop working according to any kind of logic.

Okay, to be fair my brain almost never operates according to any kind of logic, but this was an even more fractured lack of logic than usual.

As in 2 + 2 = hmm, I should buy limes to have with my beer. Am I eating too many avocados? I want to go for a bike ride but that means I have to fix my bike seat. Screw it, I’m taking pictures of everything in my apartment that I hate.*

Meanwhile I was somehow getting way better blog traffic in the weeks following the challenge than I actually did during the challenge, and that didn’t help matters because it was all too tempting to interpret that sudden surge in viewership as you guys thanking me for finally shutting the fuck up after my 26 day word barrage.

(If that was the case, you’re welcome. Don’t say I never did anything for you.)

I think I may be experiencing a little May mini-repeat of the March Blahs, which has not been helped by the fact that at work I keep accidentally writing “Mar” on things instead of “May”, which has also really not been helped by the fact that I am by no means the only one in the office who keeps making this mistake.

I fully expect the same thing to happen for Jun/Jul, but I won’t care then because I’ll be spending my weekends topless on Wreck Beach, and once you set yourself down on that piping hot, deliciously fine sand and let the girls out for a bit of summer sun, you kind of stop giving a fuck about all the dumb shit you did that week at your job.

Anyway, long story short my thoughts have finally started settling down enough for me to write semi-coherently again, so hopefully I will have a proper new post up soon. Possibly almost certainly inevitably complaining about something or several somethings.

Also, to whoever got here recently by searching “people nut in the gril ass hole”, I don’t even want to know.


*This may or may not turn out to be relevant to my next real blog post.

Happy Mother’s Day. You stink.

A couple weeks ago I saw this in my inbox, and I couldn’t stop laughing.

This Mother’s Day, get her a bottle of Chanel as big as her face.

I’m really hoping that bottle has just been Photoshopped larger to show detail. If not, please tell me that someone out there actually got this for their mother and videotaped her reaction, because I would positively LOVE to know how that exchange went.

Mother: “Uh, thanks. I didn’t know Chanel did whiskey decanters. Do I…should I…that is, is this a subtle hint that I need to shower more often?”

Daughter/Son: “Of course not, Mom, I just thought you would like it. Why don’t you try some on?”

Mother: “Oh no, dear, this is far too nice for everyday use. I’ll think save it to be embalmed in.”

Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there. If you don’t get that litre of perfume from your kids that you were hoping for, don’t worry. I can hook you up.