This is probably some crap about my life. I'm sorry if it's boring. If you don't like it, get the fuck out of my house. Otherwise, Enjoy!
So I realized that as long as I don’t think about all the shit in my life, I can get through the day without crying.
::walks in front door::
me: oh hey
mom: hey where were you?
me: out getting food ::holds up bag with burrito in it::
mom: oh, well, I have had this horrible diarrhea all day. it’s really bad. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
me: I do NOT want to hear about your diarrhea, thank you.
mom: fine then I’ll just stop talking to you altogether. everything that comes out of your mouth is sass anyway.
I don’t even
I’m trying to switch careers here. I’ve got a fancy new resume with a generic cover letter that I attach whenever I apply to a job. I have 6 years worth of experience in the advertising and marketing world. I work for Nielsen. I do not have a college degree. Do you have any idea how that, despite my 6 years experience working for a multi-billion dollar global corporation that every single person I have ever met over the age of 20 can recognize by name, has fucked me? I can’t seem to find work. It’s not that I’m unqualified. I’m more than qualified. I have been working in this industry for almost a decade now. I just don’t have a piece of paper that signifies that I am capable of memorizing bullshit I will never use so I can pass an exam that is barely relevant to me getting said piece of paper. This is utterly infuriating.
This place has been sucking me dry and leaving my body hollow and empty for far too long. I feel like there is barely anything left of me. I live with my mother. I have this massive car payment because I decided to be an idiot and buy a brand new car without thinking about it. I can’t afford anything but that car right now. That’s not how it should be. I should be able to pay for a car and an apartment and have savings and live a normal fucking life after dedicating all this time to a company that has basically shat on me for most of a decade.
There is not a single person I know who works in the field they have a degree in. I can name 10 people off the top of my head who are working in fields completely unrelated to what they are educated for. I know a biologist installing solar panels, a mathematician watching commercials, a journalist doing ad research, an art historian answering phones. All the jobs they’re doing require a bachelor’s degree, but it doesn’t matter what the degree is in. Would you like to be a secretary? Sorry, but a job that required absolutely no educational background 20 years ago now requires you to have a BA or BS in something, anything. This ensures that the $12.50/hr they are paying you is worth it. 6 years at Nielsen and I am still making an entire dollar less than that an hour.
Not only are these people not working their intended careers, but they’re tens or even hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt. There is no way in fuck I am giving up the next 20 years of my life to paying student loans. Fuck if I’m going back to school to get my bachelor’s, unless it’s for general studies. There’s no fucking point in going for anything else. All jobs want are for you have a bachelor’s in something, it doesn’t matter what it is. I’ll go for general studies at a community college, take whatever classes I fucking want to, pay nothing out of pocket at all, then transfer to a four year state school my senior year, pay for that with financial aid and grants, then graduate, making it look like I spent four years there spending thousands of dollars when in reality I fucked around and did barely any work. Why do this? Why not just skip school altogether and go for the job that isn’t related to my desired field? There is no fucking point to this game.
I don’t know if this is a legitimate reason to cry. Maybe I should just attribute my emotional state to just being a person with a vagina. Shark week just ended and some hormones might still be lingering. But you know what? I can’t help myself right now. Tears are welling and the dam’s about to overflow, my friends.
Oh hey guys. I think I might be back.
I am very hungry. I am practically starving. I would have eaten food, but I was prevented from doing so. Some stupid mother fucking bastard asshole cocksucker stole my lean cuisine from the refrigerator at work. I left it there on Friday night expecting to eat it today for lunch, but at 1pm when I went into the break room to retrieve it from the freezer, it had disappeared.
I DON’T KNOW WHO THE FUCK YOU ARE, YOU STUPID, LAZY, GREEDY, CHEAP ASSHOLE OF AN EMPLOYEE, BUT LAY THE FUCK OFF MY SHIT. I DON’T CARE IF YOU WERE HUNGRY AND IT WAS JUST SITTING THERE. BUY YOUR OWN FUCKING LEAN CUISINES, YOU BASTARDFACE. IF I FIND YOU, I WILL ROUNDHOUSE KICK YOU IN THE FUCKING FACE WITH SHOES THAT I HAVE ATTACHED NINJA STARS TO. YOU OWE ME 4 DOLLARS, MOTHERFUCKER.
Hungry + Angry = EXPLOSION OF DISAPPOINTMENT AND RAGE.
Hi. Sorry I disappeared for a little while there. I’d tell you what really happened but it would be too boring, so here’s something better. Also completely 100% true even though I just said it’s not.
So, my last post was before Christmas. I know, I know…that was FOREVER ago and you were all starving to read more of my awesomeness. I truly hope you don’t hate me for my prolonged leave of absence. I’m pretty sure I’m unhatable anyway.
But I have a good excuse for being away from my blog. The unthinkable happened. My greatest nightmare came true. The most terrifying experience of my life occurred these past two months, and you better be fucking grateful that I’m still alive to provide you with the story of what went down.
It all started on Christmas Eve. I was wrapping presents perfectly, with color coordinated paper and fabric ribbons like I use every year because I’m a present wrapping freak who needs to have everything look like it was staged for a Good Housekeeping magazine photo shoot, and I was just about done wrapping the last one.
The living room door was slightly ajar because I was stressed and when I’m stressed, I get hot and sweaty and disgusting, and I desperately needed the cool breeze. I hear a noise coming from the living room. Sort of like a shuffle and some things dropping. I take a peak in from the dining room and I see my sister stumbling through the living room, all dirty and a giant mess like always, so I just said, “ew, you’re gross. stay away from me. I’m making nice things for people and I don’t want you fucking them all up.” She mumbles or groans or makes a weird noise or something and I go back to doing what I’m doing.
So, I’m not paying attention to her because I thought I got her to leave me the fuck alone, which is all I ever want ever. Until….she’s about 2 feet from my face and I lift my head up from my wrapping and see that she’s covered in dirt and blood and drool and crust and her hair is all over the place and her eyes are dead and she groans and lunges at me! She’s a fucking zombie and I scream and start crying and start running around the house in hysterics. If it weren’t for my two dogs taking her down and ripping her throat out I probably wouldn’t have survived because my sister is a big person, much bigger than me, and could have taken me easily when she was alive. So, being undead and all, having nothing to tell her muscles not to use all their strength, she could have probably ripped both my arms off to have as a snack in less than 20 seconds. I have the best dogs in the world.
I take the shovel out on the back porch and jam it through her skull to make sure that she’s dead. Ya know. Just in case. Then I pick up my cell phone to try and call my mother to see if she’s all right. She’s working in Norwalk and I’m able to get through. She tells me that the entire town of Stratford has been quarantined and when she talked to the police to tell them that her two daughters were still there, they wouldn’t give her any more information than that. She let me know that everything was going to be ok, that grandma and papa are on another casino gambling cruise so they’re fine, and if it wouldn’t be too much trouble to clean the house a little bit while I’m waiting for everything to roll over. I say, “MOM. The living dead have infested the neighborhood. FUCK IF I’M GOING TO CLEAN ON WHAT COULD BE THE LAST DAY I’M ALIVE. I love you. I’ll call you later to let you know if I’m dead or not.” Then I hung up the phone. I figured it would be better not to tell her that a zombie got in the house and that zombie was my little sister and now one of her precious babies was dead.
So, I’ve thought of this scenario many times before and I’ve come to the full realization that the old house I live in is completely unfortifiable. I start to panic a little bit and sit on the couch, petting my dogs who are now covered in my dead zombie sister’s blood. After a minute to collect myself, I get up, turn off all the lights and the tv, and shove a bunch of granola bars, water bottles, canned beans, and anything else portable and edible I can find into one of my reusable Trader Joe’s shopping bags. I grab my cell phone and put it on silent, shove some clothes into my giant purse, pick up the bloody shovel off the floor, and stand by the door. I take a look out the window to see what I’m up against.
There are four zombies in the road. Ok. Just four. I can handle maneuvering around four. I get my keys ready, the dogs by my side, and I swing open the door and b-line to the car. I’m running, swinging the shovel in front of me, and pierce the skull of my neighbor. The dogs take off a few feet away and tackle down her son, pinning him to the ground and giving me room to use the shovel on him. I unlock the car, the dogs jump in, and we’re off to Gonzo’s house down the road.
I figured we’d go to Gonzo’s because I care about him (we did have sex in a hotel room one time), and because his house is much more easily fortified than mine. I’m on the road attempting to make the 4 block trek going 70 mph. I am literally running over everything and everyone in my path. I have not seen a single living person on the street, so I had no problem running over the dead ones. I pull my car right up to the front door and bang on it for someone to let me in.
I see Gonzo peering out from the window and he lets me in. He has 6 guns on his person. I see his mother sitting on the couch drinking a glass of wine and she says hello. Next to her is Gonzo’s 89 year old grandfather holding a giant shotgun and pointing it at me. I assure him I have not been bit, that the dogs are fine and helped protect me, and that he should relax and put the gun down for a minute.
From what I was led to believe, Gonzo was a passive aggressive liberal democrat who felt no need to harm anyone or anything. I had no idea he owned so many guns or why, but I was seriously fucking happy he did. If any time is a time for firearms, this is fucking it.
His grandfather stands up and says in a quiet, collected voice, “we have to get to the lighthouse.” Luckily, living right on Long Island Sound, there are quite a few lighthouses along the shore. But, I knew exactly what one he was talking about. The tallest lighthouse in our neighborhood was also the closest. We pack up a few more things and run full blast out the door, guns firing in every direction and dogs attacking anything that moved. We load up the car, get in it, and speed as fast as we can two blocks away.
Once we get to the lighthouse, we see three cars by the door blocking our entrance. There are dead zombies all over the ground around them. Gonzo decides to be a brave asshole, loads up his shotgun, and leaves the car to bang on the door. I heard screaming and yelling, Gonzo saying, “LET US THE FUCK IN, WE’RE GOING TO DIE OUT HERE” and “WE HAVE FOOD AND WATER, YOU FUCKBAGS. IF YOU WANT IT, LET US IN”. About a minute later the door opens and he’s in. He motions for all of us to come with him, so I hand the bags of food and water over to Gonzo’s mom and pick up grandpa and carry him over because he’s old and can’t move that fast.
We padlock the door, barricading it with everything we could find, and head up the steps to the top. That’s finally when we could relax. We sat there for 5 days, dogs sounding the alarm when zombies were near, shooting out of the broken glass window of the lighthouse at the undead. We celebrated Christmas by eating some pound cake and shooting zombies in the head, and did the same thing for new years. We saw the military come in on boats and helicopters off the water, saw tanks barreling down the road. We noticed the number of zombies had slowly started to die down.
Then, we got a knock on the lighthouse door. We called down to the person from the top of our perch and they said they were Sergeant Major something or other and that it was time to leave. We got into an armored vehicle and were moved to a medical facility right outside of town.
That’s where we stayed for the next month. We were all quarantined to make sure that we hadn’t been infected and were just released a week ago. That’s why I haven’t been writing my blog. Sorry for any inconvenience.
I honestly don’t know what it is that influences my dreams, but in the past 2 months I have had 4 zombie nightmares. I have seen myself fortifying entrances to my second floor apartment, shooting through heads with a rifle from my bedroom window while positioned lying down on my bed with pillows for support, and frantically searching my refrigerator and cabinets to make sure that I have enough food to hold me off for hopefully a year at the least.
I have seen all the movies where the dead come alive and chase you around trying to get close enough to rip your flesh from your bones like the way you eat turkey off a leg on Thanksgiving after starving yourself all day. It’s not just brains they want anymore. If they get you where they want you, they’d rip your skin off, crack your skull, gouge out your eyes, and make a feast of your intestines. These aren’t 1968’s Night of the Living Dead zombies. They’re not the kind that walk slow with their arms straight out in front of them saying, “BBBBRRRAAAAIIIINNNNSSSS!!!!” in a dark, monotone voice. These are the fuckers that can climb shit and open doors and run faster than you could ever run because you started smoking when you were 15 and decided quitting was for pussies.
I believe that when the zombie apocalypse happens, these are the kinds of undead assholes we’ll have roaming our streets searching for the guts and blood of living human beings. Some stupid scientist, probably Canadian, is one day going to think it’s a cool fucking idea to try and mutate the rabies virus because they think zombies are awesome and they would really like to see one. Then they’ll get bit and all the other Canadian scientists they work with will get bit, then their families and so on and so forth until all the Canadian scientists and friends will have infected over half their country and all the zombies will start leeching their way over the boarder into the U.S. to start turning all of us into mindless gut-munching machines.
If it happens to be Japan that does it (they are second on my “let’s-make-a-zombie-they’re-awesome!” guess list), at least we might have more time before the zombies get over the water. Unless all of Japan decides they want to come to America on boats and planes. Or unless they’re the kind that can walk on the sea floor, but still…that’s a long ass walk. Their bodies might deteriorate after being submerged for so long. They could fall into deep caverns. Whatever. Once they get onto land and come anywhere near me, I’m going to shoot them in their ugly, dead, water pruned faces.
I aim to survive when all of this happens. As terrifying and stress-inducing these zombie nightmares may be, I’ve learned a lot from them. Now I just need to buy a house and have a self-sustaining bomb shelter put in the backyard with a basement entrance. And ya know, now I think it’s a really good thing that my Dad got me a shotgun for my 7th birthday.
Sorry. I sort of disappeared for two weeks without a single hint or notice. But I’m back, bitches! And I missed all of you (all 1 of my followers and all like, 7 of my blog group friends on Facebook) more than you could possibly imagine. And by that, I mean I missed you a tiny bit because I was way too distracted with reality and time to do things for me so I sort of forgot about you. Sorry again.
But let me tell you, it was glorious. I was free. Free of pretty much everything for two whole weeks. I didn’t have to come to work, I had no computer to suck me in for millions of hours not allowing me to even pee because the damn internet is like a high powered magnet. I had no responsibilities but to wrap presents, buy food for my party, and chill the fuck out. I read books, I knitted 6 scarves, I SLEPT PAST 7AM! It was magical.
So, in short….because I sort of missed all this before….
MERRY CHRISTMAS! HAPPY NEW YEAR! WOOOOOOO! I love you.
Here’s a picture of a rabid Santa with 2011 glasses on. Enjoy.