Return to Sender

Seems the ex wants us to be penpals. Letter in my mail box today. "Blah, blah, blah, I think of you all the time, blah blah blah." (Not that I blame him...I'd think about me all the time too. Ass.) Which is odd because I want him to quietly dissappear. You know like normal, self-respecting folk do when they get kicked the fuck out and divorced. But there I guess is the problem. The normal, self-respecting part...

Welcome to the 7th level of hell. My name is Trisha, apprentice concubine to our Dark Lord, and I'll be your guest services representative. If there is anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable please let me know. I won't do it, but it will give me a sick pleasure knowing that there is something you want and can't have.

Walked into work last night. New Boy says to me..."You look just miserable." (Not in that annoying way that people use to tell you that you look like shit. In more of a wow, I actually feel kinda bad for you, are you gonna be ok, kinda way. Sweet kid.) What a coincidence as I had just used that exact word to describe my state.

Hate staying up all night. Don't remeber it being so shitty the last time had a 3rd shift job. But then was also plowing my way through a bottle of rum every coupla days for most of that time, so my recollections could very well be a little fuzzy.

If it isn't fun enough to be tired as all bloody hell, to jump start my every morning, annoying as shit state road crew, in town doing some highway maintenance, start making a mess of things at 5:45 while I try and put out cheesy continental breakfast. Think they're really clever and cute. They are neither. Assholes.

And today, just for a little added bonus, Boss called just as was getting ready to leave.

"Wow you sound so sexy when you answer the phone"

What the fuck lady? From where outta left field did this come? Forget it, if it'll get you off my ass, let's have phone sex and get it over with.

Lemme get a pen and jot down your credit card info.

Serious as a...

Some poor bastard had a heart attack last night while I was working. His kid called down to the front desk, couldn't figure out how to get the phone to dial out. Pandemonium. Guy is moaning and rolling around. Kid is about to cry. I was amazingly calm. And not just a show. Really just calm. Adopted the soothing settle-the-fuck down voice. Called 911. Paramedics came. (This is completely inappropriate, but EMT boy was seriously hot. Seriously.) So the guy rolls out in the ambulance. My heart rate is probably sitting right around 65-70. Glass half full would be: perhaps, since you are planning to be a nurse and all, situations like that having no effect on you probably a good thing. But, hey, I'm a glass half empty kinda girl. So struck me that this guy could have died and I would have been completely unphased. How is that for human compassion? Am thinking that I could rent out the black hole in the middle of my chest (you know, where my heart would be...if I had one) as storage space. Could be a lucrative gimmick. Think?

I rock. Hard.

Ever been punked out by your own gramma? Try it some time.

"Well, tell Trisha I'm proud of her for being awake."

Wow. I am so awesome that my family members are proud of me just for being awake.

I sometimes think people don't understand that if I am asleep at three in the afternoon it isn't because I am just completely worthless. Ah well.

Yesterday going through crap looking for crap. (Eloquent, eh?) Pitched some photos. Sported the wedding veil. Was cathartic in a twisted way. Had quite a few what the fuck was that all about moments. Was great.

Girlfriend has as her MySpace theme song Buck Cherry, Crazy Bitch. Has this nice litle one liner: "You're crazy, but I like the way you fuck me." Is fitting (and I say that with the utmost love and respect.)

So now I am thinking I need to find my own little theme song. Not for MySpace. ('cause I am not hip enough to get into that it seems. Or maybe just too lazy.) No, just a theme song for my amazingly awesome life.

*Suggestions?

(*Keep in mind if it is in your interest or not to feed my shaky ego. That and how hard I fuckin' rock.)

Order Up

Make sure you get all this down. Is a special order.


Bare feet. Lived-in, faded jeans. Slightly crooked grin. Three day stubble. Looks like he just rolled outta bed and could easily fall back in.

"Come on back, baby. It'll wait just a little longer."

Soothing baritone. Gentle. Lean in close to hear. But it's the eyes that get you. Right there. Genuine.

"Not sure what you mean...explain it to me?"

Clever. Quick on the back and forth. Sharp cookie.

"Someone told me you were a commie pinko rabble rouser."
"Nah, missed a Young Republicans meeting just to be here."

Wee hours of the morn. Little balconey. Cuppa chai. Barely shielded from the rain. Very still.

"Should be sleeping. Didn't wanna miss this storm though. Sit up with me? "

Listening unbeknownst. Baited breath. What's the verdict?

"Crazy 'bout this girl. Got it bad."


Catch all that?

Let me know when it's ready.

Note to Self

In the future please refrain from marrying a worthless piece of shit who will not leave you the fuck alone 6 months after you should be done with his sorry ass. One would think at this stage in life jackass could wean himself from his mother's tit and grow the fuck up. Currently torn between throwing up and breaking something. Those are the legal activites anyway. Christ.

Bump it Back to Love

Latest hip hop ode to booty. Little E-40 ditty. Amuses me. Thank god for rappers with a love for ample ass.

"She wear Miss Sixty, can't fit in the Gucci
Cause her ass big enough to sit a cup on her booty."

That's the kind of compliment I can get behind.

Slackariffic McBumsalot

Procrastinator extraordinaire.

Right now there are several productive things I could be doing.

Since the meter on the love/hate relationship I have with all this ass is tipped slightly to the hate end could be working out.

Should really be searching for some kind of cheap health insurance for the young, single, and marginally employed since need it before school starts up.

So how about I blather on about nothing of consequence on a blog that no one really cares about.

Sounds like an excellent plan.

Back to the marginally employed thing. Am looking at fall schedule wondering just exactly where to squeeze in work shifts. Staying up all night and class/clinicals all day not gonna happen.

Really need someone to pay me to spend the night with them. I put out. Am decent company. Hell give me a grocery allowance and I'll even cook breakfast. And considering the very little amount of money I currently make it would be dirt cheap.

What's that you said, whoring is illegal? Shit there goes that idea.

Well unless you go the state sanctioned route and call it marriage.

Pass.

And in related news my ex-mother in law likes to try and call me. Good luck with that. 'Cause interacting with a textbook definition sociopath from the backwoods of Kentucky is way up there on my list of things to do. Somewhere right between swallowing broken glass and sucking off Dick Cheney.

Bless the angel who invented caller I.D.

"Come play this game with me."

"Ehhh, don't wanna."

Perfect stern mother impersonation.

"One...two..."

You have got to be kidding me look.

"two and a half..."

"So I never did find out what happens if ya get to three. I get a spanking or what?"

"No, but you can have one if you come play this game with me..."

Sweet.

Six Hail Marys and an Our Father

About time for another deep, dark fat girl confession session...of the do you still love me variety.

1. I routinely cuss out sweet little old ladies (and various other folk) while driving.

2. I have been known to go to the health food store just to buy chocolate.

3. Apparently I never got over being afraid of the dark cause sometimes when I am getting ready to sleep I map out a path to the bed, flick off the light and shut my eyes. Run blind and dive. Pull the blankets over my head. (Blankets are the ultimate protection against all things lurking in the dark of your room if you weren't aware.) Realize I was holding my breath. Big exhale. Pathetic.

4. Fairly often I hear some variation of the following: "You said what I was thinking, only I didn't say it because I didn't want to be a bitch." I stamp these moments with a big happy face and place them in the thanks for the compliment file.

5. If I could afford to I would pay someone to wash my hair for me. Daily. Maybe more than once. Preferably a hot, naked someone.

6. From time to time I listen to the same song over and over and over again. To the point of making other people wish they could punch me in the side of the head. Thankfully no one does.

7. Every now and again I wad up the blankets and an extra pillow and snuggle down into them so I can pretend I am not sleeping all by my lonesome. It doesn't really work very well. Doesn't stop me from trying though. What a loser.

So what's the verdict? Still love me?

It's ok if ya don't...

Jiffy Lube

Typically roll to work looking not so cute. This is a fact of life. In the middle of the night who really cares, right? The other night was looking maybe a bit worse than usual. Took a nap. Rolled outta bed. Went to work. No makeup. Hair a disaster. Quite possibly pillow marks still on the side of my face. Come to work. Two other women 'bout my age there behind the desk. Some loser guy standing at the counter obviously trying to work his moves. Convo goes like this:
Male specimen (To #1): "I like your eye makeup. You have great eyes."
#1: "Ummm...thanks."
Male specimen (To #2): "Your hair looks nice like that. And those earrings are pretty."
#2: "Ummm...thanks."
Male specimen looks to yours truly. Eyes up. Eyes down. Rest squarely on chest. Let's loose this little gem: "I really like your body." (Translation: You look a mess, but nice tits.)
Insert moment of silence here as #1 and #2 hold their breath waiting for male specimen to lose some teeth. (Quite possibly he didn't have a lot of those to spare in the first place.)
Yours truly: "Wow. Nice." I-will-not-hesitate-to-physically-hurt-you-if you-don't-get-away-from-me death stare.
Seeming to value his pathetic life male specimen slinks off.

This is when I realize perhaps would be time to do a bit of upkeep. In the last days have been facial-ed (think day spa, not porno), cut, colored, waxed.

Basically the point of this whole verbal vomit: I require more maintenance than most vehicles. And I'm ok with that.

Blue Light Special

Have you heard?

The secret to finding your "one true love" has been in the grocery check-out all this time. Who knew? And why didn't someone tell me the secret to relationship bliss could be had for less than a buck? Although that perhaps raises the real question: Exactly what kind of quality are we expecting from a soul mate lured in using tricks from a 99 cent self-help pamphlet?

Whine whine whine...

"Hey, Trisha, thanks a lot for coming in an extra 10 hours this weekend so that someone was around to keep our shithole hotel running. We know you could have, like, spent that time sleeping, eating, or masturbating, or something, so we really appreciate it."

Am gonna pretend my prick of a boss said this rather than deciding to chew my ass for piddly shit as I walked in the door for a 12 hour shift. Will make the world happier.

That and the shot of vodka in my breakfast smoothie.

Tick Tock

You can only beat your biological clock so far into submission. Eventually if you fuck up your sleep schedule enough things like this begin to happen:

That would be waffle batter. A whole lotta waffle batter. Typically try to keep it off the floor and shoes. This was about the time I almost just sat down and started crying. What the hell just snap a pic instead...makes great blog fodder.

There is a list of things for which I don't mind missing sleep. Working late so someone I don't particularly like can keep their precious ass in bed another coupla hours isn't on it.

Along those same lines there are a coupla situations in which being called baby at 3 am won't piss me right on off. Situation A: Following a good romp and a good night. Situation B: Preceding a good romp and accompanying a wake up. Allowances also made for any time of day oral sex is involved.

Notice how some drunk ass needing change for the vending machine wasn't in there anywhere?

Things I Learned From TV

Watching music videos while setting up stale, nasty, breakfast this morning at work. Learned the following:

1. Nick Lachey is annoying and kinda pathetic. He becomes much less so with the aid of the mute button.

2. If more people could move their hips like Shakira the world would be a much happier place.

3. It is entirely possible to pay an entire team of people to dress and make you up and still look a mess. If you are Mary J. Blige this is ok cause you are still kick ass.

4. If you are a Pussy Cat Doll it is necessary only to loosen your buttons to get naked. The rest of us are still stuck having to unfasten them completely.

5. The new ad slogan for double stuff oreos is Ready. Set. Lick. I second that motion.

Who says TV isn't educational.