Sunday, April 8, 2012

eastah sundee: random thoughts

I don't get Easter. I mean, I GET it, but I don't participate in it.

I drink iced coffees faster than any human should. These things should have a surgeon general's warning on them. WARNING: Rapid consumption of this heavenly beverage will result in godawful stomach pain and an early departure from the coffee shop.

God bless whoever invented yoga pants. I'm certain it was a man.

I'm sitting by a couple at this coffee shop and the guy just called his friend to wish him a happy birthday and also to ask him if he'd be a groomsman in their wedding. It was so delightfully simple how he said it. He goes "I got a birthday present for ya. It's not much, but... wanted to ask you if you'd be a groomsman in our wedding." I love how guys communicate. The whole eavesdropping experience made me happy.

Must... play... Draw Something... always.

I miss my niece and nephew. I wish I could see them squirm uncomfortably in the Easter outfits they're forced to wear today, pining for MORE CANDY while my sister tries in vain to limit their sugar intake for the day. Glorious.

I just saw a girl wearing a shirt that exposes her back between her shoulder blades and she has a rad sparrow/tree tattoo. I wish to cover my body in ink starting yesterday.

I love this coffee shop because EVERY employee has an ironic beard.

Thursday, March 29, 2012

duck the fuggars

Today I ranted about Michelle Duggar on Facebook and, as usual, the comments section did not disappoint. I love posting something and knowing that within a few hours, the usual suspects will comment and entertain me. Anyway, FUCK the Duggars.

I think the reason I dislike them so much is that they slap me directly in the temple with their lifestyle as a living example of the concept that religiosity is a license to be a fucking menace to society. I feel like this couple is waving their ability to reproduce in all of our faces and having a damn good time doing it. They have NINETEEN children. Why am I supposed to think this is a miracle or that it's cute or that it's special? Fuck 'em. Noone will ever convince me that 19 children in the same household will be raised with enough personal attention from their parents to facilitate healthy emotional development. These poor kids live in a constant summer camp in which they are quite literally just a number, and they are responsible for raising any siblings yoiunger than themselves. I can't decide who has it worse--the older kids who are saddled with the role of "camp counselor" over their several younger siblings, or the youngest children who are being reared by their slightly older siblings and probably have no fucking clue who is in charge in the home. I bet if you asked one of the younger ones to point out his mother, he'd point to one of his older sisters and smile while staring blankly with those glazed over "I'm a bit TOO Christian for the general population" eyes.

If I were trying to have a child and found myself incapable for [insert any medical reason], I'd be downright OFFENDED by the attention this family gets for reproducing like lusty labradors. Or, even worse, if I had LOST a child by miscarriage, I'd feel a little insulted by the intense sadness portrayed on the show in the wake of the Duggars' most recent miscarriage. Not that their baby deserved any less of a shot than other babies, and it is undoubtedly sad... but it was their TWENTIETH child. That's like a millionaire losing four hundred bucks in Vegas and expecting everyone to feel sorry for him. These people are selfish and irresponsible to continue trying to reproduce when the mother is well into her forties and her body is CLEARLY tired of producing humans. She needs to be spayed immediately.

Any other family producing this many kids would be considered an absolute nuisance to the rest of the world, but because these fuckers are doing it in the name of religious beliefs, we're supposed to nod politely and tolerate it. Fuck that.

Monday, March 26, 2012

fine. FINE.

I took a "personal day" from work today because fuck my employer, and I spent a good chunk of it sitting in a park devouring Catching Fire. No need to explain what Catching Fire is, if you have a brain stem and use the internet, you're aware. Anyway, as I sat there, the same girl ran by me three times. Impressive, considering the trail around Loose Park is pretty substantial. Two things about her struck me as decidedly odd.

First, her iPod was at such high volume that I could hear the beat of her music, which always makes me want to stop those people, pull the buds out, and scold them for subjecting their eardrums to COMPLETE AND TOTAL SLAUGHTER for no reason. I'm positive that in thirty years, the hearing aide industry is gonna boom because of these idiots.

The second oddity was that the song I heard all three times was the SAME SONG. You know it... the shitty over-played one by Rihanna. I should specify... the one that goes "we fell in love in a hopeless plaaaace", where the video features a young man who looks eerily like Chris Brown.

So basically, this girl either has this song on a playlist that just HAPPENED to land on that song every time she passed me--highly unlikely unless her speed was constant and perfectly aligned with her route (algebra is fun!)--OR she listened to that Rihanna song on repeat for the duration of her three-hour workout. I'm gonna go with the latter.

Or, OR, I'm the subject of my very own "Truman Show" and the producers god lazy and played the park sequence on repeat. That would explain the mind-numbing monotony of Corporate America that I experience daily.

Weekend roundup, in no particular order:

-The Hunger Games trilogy fucking OWNS. This is one pop cultural trend that I will not be a cynical fuck about, like I was about Twilight and Harry Potter.
-I got a ticket for turning left when the sign says "don't turn left from 4 to 6 pm." It was 4:15. I love Kansas City.
-Roommate and I have agreed to turn the air conditioner on at the first sign of discomfort, as we both get "moody" when we surpass a certain core body temperature. We're insufferable.
-Tim Tebow is excited about being a Jet. He's excited. Excited for this opportunity. Excited. Jet. Opportunity. Jesus. Opportunity.
-I always wonder what sort of conversation takes place among people who walk around with petitions. I think maybe they just get together and say "Okay guys, today we're going for people who are clearly reading a book or working intently on their laptops." This happened to me today in the park. Right in the middle of Katniss Everdeen's struggle against the Capitol, some bearded hipster fuckwit strolls up and asks me to sign a petition, COMPLETELY derailing my reading. He might as well have just ripped the book from my hands and drop-kicked it across the street. I didn't sign it.

Sunday, August 28, 2011


I have a million little projects to do for work, and I'm sitting in a coffee shop trying to mentally prepare myself to do things that I don't want to do that will directly benefit people I do not respect. Yay. As I sit here, I casually check Facebook. "Casually check" should probably read "Instinctively check", as my brain is programmed to send a message to my hand instructing it to mouseclick on Facebook immediately when I open my computer. YOU WIN, ZUCKERBERG.

Anyway. As I scrolled down ingesting the usual litany of mundane, unfathomably boring status updates from my Facebook friends, I was presented with a status that illustrates the damage Facebook has done to us. Or rather, the damage we're doing to Facebook: The Too Much Fucking Information (TMFI) status.

The standard TMFI contains two key elements: information that is far too personal for anyone outside of one's inner circle of family and close friends, and a request for sympathy/encouragement/validation/attention. Mostly just attention. This particular TMFI was from a woman I will likely never see again, and if I do, it'll be under purely coincidental circumstances and I'll make every conceivable effort to ignore her. So basically, she's a standard Facebook friend. Her status is an explicit account of an ongoing medical emergency--the kind of "emergency" that allows ample time and energy to make frequent status updates, of course. After reading her status, I know the nature of her situation, the exact procedure she's about to undergo, the hospital she's being transferred from, the hospital she's being transferred TO, and the worst case scenario if her procedure is not successful.

The second half of the status, of course, contains the other key element: the outright request for attention. This is usually in the form of a "please send prayers" or something equally as irrational to anyone with a functioning brain stem.

I don't understand the need to share deeply personal issues on Facebook. Here's an idea, next time you post a status, ask yourself this question: Is this information protected by
HIPAA? If the answer is "yes", don't fucking post it. Nobody cares. I don't need a play-by-play of your cervical cancer scare. Too much fucking information.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

thoughts on a sunday.

A random collection of my thoughts over the last hour of laundry processing.

  • Is it possible to scroll down the programs on your cable guide and NOT choose something called "Sex Bunker" on MSNBC? No, no it is not possible. My fascination with shows about horrifying ordeals is becoming an issue. I've traced it back to my unhealthy level of exposure to the show Law & Order SVU from age 13 to twenty minutes ago. I've become desensitized through countless all-day marathons of SVU, which have undoubtedly programmed my brain to be entertained exclusively by shows that involve something sadistic with varying levels of courtroom drama. Now I can't be entertained by anything else. I'm fucking weird.

  • I recently purchased Pop-Ice popsicles--you know, the kind that are in thin plastic tubes and come in various flavors. I've been eating them by the dozen. SOMEONE STOP ME.

  • Laundry is the worst.

  • Child beauty pageants should be illegal, effective immediately. I can't be the only one who is profoundly disturbed by this concept, right? They dress three to seven year old girls up to resemble adult women--makeup, hair, skimpy outfits--and train them to flaunt their "talent" on a stage for a room full of stage moms and pederasts, so that their mothers can reap the benefits of them being crowned "princesses." I can't think of a more perverted perfectly legal event than a child pageant. I'm going to pitch the following idea to networks: Toddlers & Tiaras--Where Are They Now? The show will premiere in 2026 and will catch up with these girls living their lives as adults. It'll have to be on HBO, as they will all likely be involved in drugs or exotic dancing or porn or a depressing combination of all three.

  • I don't trust anyone who doesn't laugh heartily while watching Family Guy.


Friday, June 17, 2011

Okay, seriously.

Here's the deal. I've tried the blogging thing like a hundred times and every time I start it, I lose interest immediately and leave my shitty, unfinished blog in internet purgatory for the rest of eternity. That's so fucking rude. So now I'm starting this one, which was designed by my above-average looking friend Ashley. She has a blog, too, but I can't link it because I'm virtually incapable of doing anything internetty (it's a word now). She's on the right. She's my only follower. Click on her and read her blog--she'll teach you how to manage your sheckels.

On occasion, I go on rants. That's what I'll do with this blog. I don't have time to go on one now, but I do have some topics in mind for the near future. I've been really annoyed lately with the following concepts:

Child beauty pageants
Ignorant Facebook statuses

So, my next rant will cover one or all of those topics.

Well, alright.