Look prick, my name is NOT Tracy

Okay, first of all. I have to complain about my mouse once again. The thing is fucking crazy. It highlights stuff, clicks around, sends things without my permission, etc. IT gives me the same solution everytime. Look guys, unplugging it, turning of the computer and rebooting doesn't work. Assholes. They probably watch me on some hidden camera and just sit back there laughing. 

as I just keep doing it over and over hoping it will work. Like a little IT puppet with Alzheimer's. 

Or like a lazy 24 year old piece of shit who can't muster up the energy to type a 3 digit extension into the tele and say "um, yeah, that pluggy-unpluggy-rebooty thing? not so much."

You can't tell, but I just stopped typing for a good 3 minutes to just watch my paragraphs highlight and un-highlight and blink reaaaalllly fast a couple of times, and then erase everything.

NOOOOOOO oh wait, oh yeah, uppp control Z...oh yeah, that's good shit right there.

[I am using my Peter Griffin voice]

Anyway, on top of finding little things like this *slightly* (re: infuriatingly) annoying, 

I'm petrified.

What if my gchat switches over to my outlook, opens an email, and I type something like

"OMG remember the time I fell down the stairs after we smoked pot for 3 hours and when you tried to help me up I accused you of trying to steal the cheetoh cheese off my fingers? tee hee hee" 

...send.

Oh, shit.

I just sent that to [insert big wig company or client name]. 

THAT would happen to me. 

Why? 

Oh I dunno, either because God believes in Karma and wants to get me back for the sins I have racked up over the years, OR he has big plans for me. Such as unemployment and a resulting change of blog names: whitehobo1bridge.blogspot.com.

Anyway, for the time being I AM employed. Have I told you how much I missed client service? 

Most days, I don't even mind bending over backwards and letting clients gang bang me until I can crawl into bed at night.

But here's where I draw the line assholes: MY NAME IS COURTNEY.

you talk to me 2-3 times a week. my voicemail says courtney. my email signature says courtney. I even sign my own name because I like to be "personable" so it's there TWO TIMES.

I have been called everything starting with a C or ending in a Y. Names that have both are less annoying. Christy, Kelly, Callie, Cammy....fine, whatever, you are deaf and can't read, but you are close.

Crystal, Kathy, Cameron, Amy, Chelsea, Brittany.....Not so much.

I mean seriously, maybe you should learn my name.

Please?

inferiority complex.

sad face emoticon.

This name game is cute in one and ONLY one situation. 

Our housekeeper Maria is from Honduras and speaks English very well but her writing skills are another story.

My name is forever and always will be Corni. Almost as cool as Estece, which is my mom's Honduran alter ego.

Honestly, Maria is the shit, so she could call me "Jefferey" if she wanted and I would respond.

But this is not so for you passive-aggressive Americans! 

My favorite was "Tracy"

I was called Tracy twice in an email and once by phone, before he switched to calling me Jessica, which is whose position I took over. I mean, I know they both have 2 syllables and kind of sound alike...but come on!

Oh wait? you caught that? Yes, Jessica has 3 syllables and neither looks nor sounds like Courtney.

I had 2 thoughts: I could ignore the email and then tell him I "thought Tracy was getting back to you on this" or......I considered responding to his email with a name that resembled his or adding a little something special on the end.

Ex. Name: Ted 

Alias: Tom 

Nickname: Teddy Bear

Of course I inevitably chickened out (re: wanted to keep my j-o-b) on both options and sent a sappy sweet email back fixing his problemthatwasnotevenreallyaproblembutapparentlytheworldwasending.

This is why I drink.

Okay, it's totally not. I drink because I like to and it makes things so much more fun.

Not that I don't know how to have fun when I'm not drinking.

(totes don't shhh)

Don't judge me.

Tracy started it.

Well I had an entire post typed up but my stupid iPhone just closed out and deleted the whole fucking thing. Do you know how long it takes to type on this tiny keyboard with fat finger syndrome? I'm so annoyed.

So now I'm not going to wish you the "Merry Christmakkuhwanza" I originally did. Bah humbug. Also not apologizing for neglecting the blog lately. I've been busy drinking wine, eating copious amounts of sugar, and collecting dog hair on my imma-wear-these-forever-andyoucantstopme sweatpants.

Don't judge, I do this in the privacy of my own home. When I go out in public, I at least make it look like I've showered in the past three days. And people must buy it. Because apparently I'm one of those people "with a friendly face." now, don't get me wrong, I talk to people in the grocery store line, bars, airplanes, etc, but why must people ruin polite chatter by crossing that invisible line and cozying up to my "YOU ARE INVADING MY PERSONAL SPACE" area?

Example no. 1: simply trying to pee before going to see "it's complicated" with my parents. I'm not good with soft drinks. I turn into a five year old and have to pee every five minutes but then I want to see the movie so I squirm in my seat. So now I just go before. Anyway, the granny behind me is very nice and I like old people, so I humor her and do a little chit chat waltz. Well, granny had to go and turn the waltz into a bump n grind. She informs me that they saw Alvin and the Chimpmunks: the Squeakuel and then proceeds to start singing the songs and dancing. Even though i told her thats not the movie i saw, she kept trying to make me her little kareoke sing alog project. I didnt want to be a total scrooge but my bladder hurt and there were crying grandchildren crying and flinging water everywhere. I had a slight panic attack when she danced inti the stall and kept the door open. I thought she might be into peep shows, but thankfully I was not introduced to Mrs. Wrinkled Bum. I peed in lightening speed and wiped my still soapy hands on my jeans as I ran to find my family. I'm really into 18-60 y/o these days. Or just people who can read social cues. Others need not apply.

3 hours later: out of the movie, we go to coal vines. I like pizza, I like wine, sounds like a good idea. Well, you know what is apparently not a good idea? Peeing in public. Once again in line for the bathroom...don't "aagaaain?" me....it's been three hours. This woman likes my bag. [insert casual purse convo]. blah blah blah... Is your hand in my purse?! OMG...you are reaching into my bag and caressing the cloth!! Side note: I buy things at target. It's not like there was fur or silk lining in there. It's cotton! The fabric of your life? You know what it feels like so kindly remove your hand from the protective bubble where I keep my wallet! At this point I really wish she had been a guy and accidentally grabbed a tampon.
Amazingy, tampons are made of acid that will literally eat through male hands if they do not scream and release the tampon in 3 seconds or less. Who needs mace?

Example no. 3: my lasting example. When I was 17, my dad got sick of my unemployed ass and applied at Walgreens FOR ME. He literally walked in the door at 10 pm, said walgreens would be open 30 more minutes and that the manager was waiting for me. I started that weekend. Yes, I said weekend. Evil, father, pure evil. I worked in the cosmetics department which is SO embarassinh at 17 because stocking included itch and rash creams, feminine proucts, and....depends. Clearly 17 year olds are experts on adult diapers. At least some women think so. You would think that a grumbling "I don't know" would have been a good enough answer for a middle aged woman wanting a recommendation for her elderly father. If that wasn't good enough, you'd think reading her the descriptions of sizes, absorption, and thickness would have been enough. But no. God had decided I needed a good old fashioned character building exercise. The following conversation involved "bladder control" "bowel movements" and "seapage." O.M.Scarredforlife. WTF lady?! Did he have seapage in his moist panties? Neck. Skin. Crawling. I lasted 3 weeks.

Which was probably a mutually beneficial parting since my favorite part of the job was lining up the singing dancig hamsters, pushig their buttons all at once, then watching them knock each other over.

I'm sure "Mr. Larson" was glad to see me go. Doesn't a 40 year old walgreens manager deserve first name basis? Guess he didn't find me so friendly. Although he knew me. This only applies to utter strangers.....

So remember, cute mugs ain't all they're cracked up to be.

SEAPAGE.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Hey, hey, I'm technical!

Old...wrinkly...balls

Well Christmas Eve is finally here and now that I can finally escape work, I'm enjoying my morning by......getting up at 7am to go visit the great grandparents for Christmas Eve breakfast....an hour away.

Yes, we have great grandparents still. Due to previous generations of women in our family popping out gremlins at 17 and our affinity to live to be 100 years old, we get together with a lot of deaf, crotchety relatives for the holidays.

I'm bitter for two reasons: I had to miss my friend Mia's tacky sweater party last night (complete with heated pool) and I was forced to get out of my pajamas before 4pm. Oh, and I'm not big on breakfast. I eat cereal because I'm hungry, but a mouthful of sausage in the morning isn't my favorite wake up call. Ba doom chhh. But really, I'm fine with toast and coffee.

If not for my dad, I assure you my brother and sister would not be in the car this morning, despite mom's guilt trip that "this might be their last Christmas." The GGPs, not the sibs. The good news is, it's actually my great grandpa and his second wife, who's grand daughter M is going through a nasty divorce with soon to be ex-husband A that involves affairs, hidden Arabian horses, and approximately $140 million of net worth. I'm hoping maybe she'll blow her nose with a Ben Franklin that I can dig out of the trash. My Papa also has a tendency to fart with every step he takes but bot acknowledge it. We still aren't sure if he thinks they are silent or just simply feels it appropriate to blow a gasket wherever and whenever he pleases.

The fam is actually engaging is conversation this morning. Although I just pointed out that someone farted and everyone dodged it and quit talking. To make matters worse, I was child locked and couldn't get the window down. Mom saved us by rolling down hers, and brother was blamed because he was sleeping. And before you go all "smelt it dealt it" on me, you should know I only fart in public when i'm outside and the wind can carry it away. Just a little something to remember me by....

In other news, I had a dream last night that my family went to a football game, I got wasted, we went to a buffet where my grandpa got chicken fried steak, I got left for being "too drunk" and was kidnapped by a gang in the train station and had to return a stroller for their baby to the stroller station before I could board my train, which I then missed, so I ran home and then went to the bar with my friends.

I woke up in a panic because of how real this seemed until I came to my senses and realized I would have never taken the time to return a stroller. (bingo. I'm the asshole that leaves shopping carts in the parking lot when the little corral isn't close enough.)
Oh, and my family wouldn't leave me. They would take me home and tell me to sleep it off, then we would discuss how I "need to find my off button when I've had enough" over a couple bottles of wine. Cuz they'd rather ne do it in the house.

In other, other news, I made 6 gingerbread men out of a box that suggested 1-2 1/2 dozen depending on size, Little brudder built a new (and quite snazzy) beer pong table, Sister and boyfriend went to best buy solely to play rockband, and mom made 2 trips to the grocery store and bought food for the small army in our basement. Dad did as he was told and made fajitas.

Tonight's agenda: wine and church, in that order. AND opening 1 present. Which is exciting because if it's not booze or peanut butter, I ain't been buyin it.

So Happy Birthday Jesus, thanks for the 2 days off work and that eternal salvation thing--love ya, mean it!

Merry Christmas Eve, y'all!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Hey, hey, I'm technical!

On this episode of CHEATERS......

Although yesterday was the shortest day of the year, today feels like the longest.

I just can't wait for that big fat jolly man to come tumbling down my chimney.

So I'm sitting here being paid to be a completely worthless lump of flesh.

And I'm reading the 10 most shocking stories of 2009.

Everybody likes weird shit.

And by everyone, I primarily mean me.

Weird is even better when there is a scandal involved.

Especially a scandal involving Slootface McGee.

Story no. 1:

Woman and her husband notice their twins have different facial features, so they get them tested and find out they have different fathers! Woman admits she was having an affair and then cries about it...

"This could happen to anyone in the world but it had to happen to me...."

Uh, actually this could only happen to a two-timin hoe, and if you read story no. 2 you will find that twins have to be conceived on the same day.

WHAT a SLUT!

shoulda done it in the butt....

or not let your husband request a DNA test.....

SO the moral of the story is that you went penis pickin on the farm and came back with 2 souvenirs.

That's called Karma.

Condoms can prevent Karma. 

Knockers, Knockers. Who's there? 

Holy shiznit.

38KKKs?

9 breast enlargements, 1 gallon of silicon, and trip to Brazil later, she officially is the woman most likely to fall flat on her face.

Do you think they made her nipples bigger or is this going to be like trying to hit the bulleye on the dat board for her boyfriend?

Oh wait, nevermind.

You don't have a boyfriend....because "you loved him very much but let him go to follow your dream."

When I was little, I had real American dreams, like becoming a garbage man or the mail delivery guy.

I guess we'll call you the milkman, cuz you got JUGS.

Can't turn a hoe into a housewife!

Hoe Muh Gawd

One Tequila....Two Tequila?

That's right, Tila Tequila is carrying her brother's child!

Okay, slow your roll.

Although it would be believable that Tila Tequila had some drunken incestuous relationship and created a little souvenir to remind her of the whole ordeal, I won't drag her brother into it.

Plenty to work with here with good ole Tila by herself.

It's her "Christmas present to them!"

Well ho, ho, hoe Santa Claus.

I'm sure your brother would appreciate it if you didn't drink, do drugs, or generally join a black or cholo gang during your pregnancies.

Hope you didn't get Hepatitis C from your 10 tattoos, either.

Click Here to "Get to Know" Tila (No Herpes version)

Forget having her own baby! She can just give this one away once it's born so she can fight the nasty battle to reclaim little Ava, her lesbian lover's adopted child from Kazakhstan.

Apparently g-ma took the babe when she quote, 'feared for the safety of the child.'

We all know she is lying because Casey clearly is up for the mother of the year award.....

 I predict that this was a picture of Casey after she masturbated in a Reality Star's bed, but before she stole her underwear and clothing.

I'd throw that vibrator away if I were you.....

I'd put on rubber gloved beforehand, too.....

That really happened.

I think Perez summed it up pretty well in this lovely photo....

Looks like Tila finally got her shot at love this Christmas.

She must have left some amazing "goodies" for Santa last year.

Although, Tila and Casey might get a little chilly in Vermont, Connecticut, Iowa, or Massachusettes.

Is same-sex marriage legal in Kazakhstan?

Cuz that would be kool.

HIGH FIVE!

Hamster Dance

My old roommate Stephanie keeps me entertained on most days via gchat.

I got so busy eating puppy chow this afternoon that I almost forgot to blog today.

But she fixed that.

Tonight, Stephanie is going to a party for her friend Jonny's hamster.

Indeed, you did hear that right.

Apparently, a bet was made last year when Jonny and friends fed "Ribs" redbull in order to win a hamster race.

The bet was that Jonny couldn't keep Ribs alive for a year. Today marks that day, and Jonny's friend will now be paying for all of his friends to drink in Ribs' honor.

Not only am I extremely jealous, I also want to meet Ribs.

I have a soft spot for hamsters since my Cairn Terrier "Rags" destroyed my hamster "Freckles" in an unfortunate escape move on Freckles' part circa 1995.

Whatever, I never did like cleaning out that disgusting piss pot full of wood chips.

My kids are getting goldfish....

The Rainbow Parade

To avoid any participation in the Tiger Woods extravaganza, I decided to go in the opposite direction and focus on that cute little queer Adam Lambert.

Lions, and Adams, and Bears, oh my!

Actually I really just enjoyed this article.

There are so many little details that I chuckled over.

First of all, Adam was a ginger?

O.M.G. you could totally go have babies with Clay Aiken and start an American Idol collection of kids who swear they aren't gay but we all know they are gay and then they all come out and we have a big gay party with cupcakes and good music. And then Adam busts out whips and chains and strippers.

Any excuse for a party, right?

I'll bring the vodka.

Adam actually got his wild side from his first girlfriend. Ironically, her name was BJ.

Okay, now I know I still laugh at the word penis, but is anyone else giggling about this? BJ!

To make it even better, BJ was an 18 year old sista from Compton.

Here's where I got suspicious.

Go go Google search!

Excuuuuse me, Adam. You grew up in San Diego and I do believe Wikipedia puts you in Mesa Verde Middle School circa 1996, so where did you find little miss Thicky Thick?

Also noted, Adam never said he LIKED kissing girls. He merely said he did it.

Just sayin....

His words of advice, "Get out from behind the mirror!"

What does that even mean?

Did you mean out from underneath the microscope?

I'm so confused.

You know he sings Michael Jackson's "Man in the Mirror" while he spikes that shiny black hair every morning.

Right before he lays on the bed and zips his pants with a pair of tweezers.

So I guess you do need a mirror, eh Adam?

Because apparently, Adam is also trying to slip him bum into an even skinnier pair of skinny jeans.

So he turned down Wonka Candy for a stick of gum.

Great, we have suddenly been transported to Biggest Loser Tip land where Bob and Jillian tell us to ignore those hunger pains and go for a stick of Extra 5 calorie gum instead!

 Unless it's bacon flavored I will pass....

I bet he is just chewing that gum so that he can go make out with BJ later.

BJ...he...hee...heee....

Who wants to be clean when you can be dirty?

I really hit an all time low this morning.

We won't even get into the fact that the only reason I did laundry last night was because I ran out of underwear.

Add that to my Christmas list, Mom, along with socks. Ankle socks, not Christmas themed socks. Because then I end up wearing Christmas and Halloween socks year round and it's hard to explain reindeer and skeletons in April.

So anyway, I was drying my hair, (yay for showering before work!) when I felt a little tickle on the bottom of my foot. I reached down to see what it was and ended up pulling a giant hairball off my sock.

Like any normal person, I was absolutely disgusted. But unlike a normal person, I did not take the hairball to the trash can 5 feet away, I conveniently threw it back on the floor, walked into the living room, put on shoes, and then went back to my room to finish getting ready.

It took a few minutes for it to register what I had done.

That right there, folks, is gross.

If this was a single event, it may have not been that bad, but just last night, I pulled my ass from it's indention on the couch to move to my bed and noticed I had been sitting on a chocolate covered raisin for a good while. The chocolate was a little soft, but still intact. So I threw it away. YEAH RIGHT! I ate that sucker. And it was good! I realized after I had swallowed that I just ate something brown that had been under my butt for a good part of the evening.

Classy.

It reminded me of the obese people that find pickles in their rolls.

Doesn't matter how it got there, it's the taste that counts.

So in order to make up for my chocolate covered hairball adventures, I decided that I needed to vacuum my room....right then. I was 15 minutes late for work because I couldn't stand the thought of being in my own filth for another second.

Unfortunately, the vacuum smelled of feet, so I had to febreeze all up in that mug, and then it smelled like 'ocean-fresh' feet.

I just can't win.

Maybe because I'm lazy.

I can run a half marathon, but I refuse to take 3 minutes to put new sheets on my bed. Don't worry, I'm not sleeping on dirty sheets, I'm just not sleeping with sheets at all.

Like a homeless person.

Who probably has cleaner living quarters than I do.

But you know what? I'm still not going to do anything about it.

I will go home, (or out) have an adult beverage or two, come home, throw my crap in my oversized armchair, throw on the same pair of sweatpants I have worn the past 2 weeks, crawl into my mite-ridden bed, and shed balls of hair onto my carpet until tomorrow morning.....

When I may or may not choose to shower...

Sweet dreams,

Pigpen

Run, Forrest, Run!

I ran my first half marathon yesterday.

There were lots of people there doing this for a good cause, leukemia and lymphoma, breast cancer, proceeds went to Scottish Right ( so I guess they got something out of me), but me? I was there for the free beer and bananas after I ran my 13.1 miles. And the free t shirt.

Because the 3 foot high stacks I already have that fall off the top shelf of my closet just aren't fun enough.

I was also there because my similarly clever friend Ashley couldn't run and I had been talking a big game about how I was running this half marathon but then missed registration.

So she sold me hers.

Please note this is ILLEGAL and I could be DISQUALIFIED from all other White Rock Half and Full marathons. Livin on the edge...

Conveniently, or perhaps very inconveniently, I was forced to go to the Fitness Expo at the Dallas Convention Center Saturday morning to pick up my race packet. "Fitness Expo" is code for claustophobia-induced heart attack. These suckers were trying to take me out the day before my big race!

After I battled the crowd to get my race packet, they made me walk around the entire expo to get my t shirt. And after paying $75 for this little event, no shirt was getting left behind (I got 2, and a medal, I'm satisfied...)

I feel the need to point out that there is no easy way to get to the other side of the expo. You can walk out the front and into a sie door on the other side, but the hallways are just as crowded. Fail. So I walked through it thinking "Maybe I will see something I like or get a freebie." Wrong! The only freebies I saw were some tables full of special athletic dog food. Really? Fido can't run this race, anyway! Where's MY shit? And then of course Nerd Face McGee was obsessed with the dog food and had to show his girlfriend [insert stigma that nerd face has a significant other, who is human]  and actually tossed her a bag, which she dropped, and then everyone scattered as if the dog food was nuclear waste, and a fat man stepped on my foot.

I have to run on that tomorrow, fat ass! Why are you even here? Are you doing the race on a segway?

Anyway, I got my shirt and left. Actually it could have been worse, despite my terrible and heart-wrenching experience, it was a short trip. In and out in 10 minutes.

that's what she said.

And a fat man may have not ACTUALLY stepped on my toe. But I was afraid he was going to the way he was teetering back and forth like a chainsawed Christmas tree. I was waiting for someone else to notice and yell TIMBERRRR.

Where is a lumberjack when you need one?

Race Day

I woke up at 6:45 Sunday. This is a good hour earlier than the time I wake up for work.

But the race started at 8 and I was walking from my apartment so I did what I had to do.

All of the streets were blocked off, so I got to enjoy some friendly morning conversation with various police officers along the way.

Amazing how they aren't as scary in the sober light of day.

I arrived!

With 20,000 other runners!

More claustophobia....

But at least I got to hear the national anthem and run through confetti.

Did I mention the bibs had names on them?

Well, I forgot.

It took me 4 or 5 miles to realize that I was 'Ashley.'

That was so nice of the random people to yell "Get em Ashley" as I ran by....

Santa should put them on the Nice list.

I also would like to highlight the obsession with fraternities and sororities that lives on through infinite decades.

I had on a long sleeved Zeta shirt because A) it was clean B) it had neon and i like neon...a lot.

My first encounter was with two ladies at the start line who went to Arkansas. We had some witty banter about bouffant 80s hair styles that were featured on the composite photos. They squealed, "That was us!" I squealed, "OMG! Soooo funny!"

I'm such a choch sometimes.

I bid them adieu at the start line.

In addition to "Get em Ashley" I also got the following cheers:

"Go Zeta!"

"ZTA!"

"ZETAS ARE HOT!" [pause...] "MY WIFE IS ONE!"

And finally, the little old man....

he did the signature 5 point crown hand sign over his head.

It's really a miracle I even saw it but it simultaneously creeped me out and made my day.

To make a long story short, I finished the race in under 2 hours which was the goal.

I realized walking had been a bad idea since I was now wet, and could see my breath, and had a half mile to go.

And today I am walking like I have/had something shoved up my butt.

Happy Monday!

May your walking be more awkward than mine....

For the 19th day of Christmas my true love gave to me.....

19 Duggar Babies

I don't even know where to start with this family.

Let's start with the fact that this woman is a grandmother.

Yes, son Josh, who had not even kissed a girl until his wedding night, managed to impregnate his poor wife. I imagine that was an interesting night. 

Now let's move on to the fact that she has had 16 children by vaginal birth.

Good God, woman.

Has Jim Bob bought you reconstructive surgery yet?

Or do you think it's "beautiful"?

Hurry, keep reading! before you get a mental image!

Lest we not forget the names.

It's like taking acid and falling into the "J" section of the dictionary.

Some names aren't even real names:

Jinger.

Is that pronounced Jing-er?

I can see it now....little Jinger turns in circles, confused as the Asian carolers visit the Duggar family home....Jinger Bells, Jinger bells, Jinger all the wayyyyy.

Or Ginger?

And if it is Ginger, did you really name your red headed child Ginger?

At least she can't be harmed in Kick a Ginger Day because you home school.

Don't even get me started on home school.

Then we have the double names.

Joy-Anna, not to be confused with Johannah.

Jedediah and brother Jeremiah, who BOTH have the middle name Robert.

WTF, lady?

My brother's name is Max and half the time my mom called him "Rags," our cairn terrier.

They were totally different species.

I can't even imagine how punishment goes in this family....

Jos-Jere-Jede-Jessa WHATEVER YOUR NAME IS GET DOWN HERE NOW!

Except for the fact that they are cult-like angels and probably never do anything wrong besides maybe vaccuum the carpet in the wrong pattern....

which is apparently  a big deal in my family. I had to mow the grass in 6th grade to get my own phone line. My dad would get pissed when the lawn mower fell into a crack and took a huge hunk out of the ground, but here's a thought: make me do something lady-like. I was not created to be your lawn slave. Grass is for smoking, not mowing.

Sometimes I think the Duggars just had more kids to make them their little worker-bees.

Do the dishes, milk the cow, feed your sister, braid my long curly hair into a braid to fall down my back and decorate my turtleneck dress.

But even if I got 19 dwarfs to follow me around like Snow White, I think I'd rather eat the poisonous apple.

The thought of 19 children only makes me want to do two things: vomit and drink...heavily.

Of course, Michelle can't drink because she is always pregnant.

THE WOMAN HAS BEEN PREGNANT SINCE 1984.

I need a cocktail just thinking about it.

And some birth control.

Stat.

Words with Friends

So work has been exhausting lately.

I didn't even have time for my blog today.

But I pretty much have to leave by 6:30 because they turn off the heater.

At precisely 6:30 pm, the frigid wall of arctic air hiding behind my window magically blasts through the glass leaving snot-sicles and frostbite if I happen to still be here.

Seriously, I painted about it my first week of work:

So anyway, it's at least a good excuse to leave before I have to be back in the morning.

When I got home last night, I put on gym clothes, but then decided I was much too exhausted to do anything but lift my right arm.

Conveniently, some of my favorite activities include this: pushing buttons on the remote, drinking, eating skittles three at a time (mix the flavors of course), and recently, playing Words with Friends.

The only thing I don't like about this clever little game of scrabble is the googly eyes. And that's only because it reminds me of the creepy geico money stack commercials...."it always feels like...somebody's waaatching meeee"...

But I love scrabble.

Actually I love all word games.

Scattegories, wheel of fortune, hangman...I love words.

I'm going to marry them I love them so much and become Mrs. Courtney Word and we will have lots of little word babies and then all the fake words I use will become real ones and I can win every argument by using fake-now-real blurbs.

The best part of words with friends is playing words you don't think will work and then discovering that they do! For example: Spanish WWF. Si. Para. Amigo. They all work.

Arriba!

Vino, whore, bong, and ziti are also personal favorites.

In fact, I scored a genius double word extravaganza last night of vertical "ziti" playing across horizontal "ivies" for 108 points.

Of course, this was a turning point in the night. I had been conveniently collecting vowels and scoring meager 5 point words and my opponent was 100 points ahead of me. He was up in our series 2-1 and I was so irritated that I was about to resign. But then I got some lucky. And per usual, when I started winning, I was a happy girl again.

I won't even pretend that I am a good sport.

Sometimes I think my friends let me win just to avoid my wrath.

Of course my good friends think it's hilarious.

Well, let me tell you something, it's not.

That's fine and dandy if you are okay with being second place, but I'm a winner.

And winners don't lose.

Winners go home and screw the prom queen.

Or in my case, lay in bed until 12:30 playing words with friends even though I complained all day about being exhausted.

Sometimes, I consider staying home to play instead of being social. Or skipping lunch with a friend to crouch in the corner of the den in my office and hover over my phone like a hawk on a rabbit....watching and waiting for my prey to make it's next move.

Tonight, I'm celebrating my twin friends' birthdays.

I was with them on their 13th birthday 11 years ago.

So we have a history.

But I'm just so tempted by my new cabana boy WWF.

I think I might have a problem.

It's like a bad episode of Intervention.

Millions of Americans suffer from addiction....most need help to stop.....

Followed by the news...

It's 10 o'clock.

Do you know where your child is?

Mom, just say I'm at the bar.

Please.

Speaking of, I better get home so I have time to set the DVR for Jersey Shore before dinner.

Omg, the thought of a J gives me goosebumps...Triple Word Score!!!!

Knock Knock.....

HOUSEKEEPING!

So, call me celery I'm a stalker.

That's right, I'm once again terrorizing office employees and this time it's the housekeeping team.

I drink a lot of water. And when I'm not drinking water, I'm drinking coffee or diet dr. pepper, which explains my potty dance behavior and routine trips to the bathroom. 

Well, due to my constant use of toilet paper, housekeeping is constantly in the restroom replacing toilet paper. And I always walk in right when they are making their move.

Because I am the only person that exists on earth, I usually don't watch where I'm going. Sometimes I walk halfway into the stall before I realize someone is in there. Then I will loudly shout, "Oops! or oh, hello!" into the sound reverberating stall, scaring the poor housekeeping ladies senseless. Then I usually laugh like I made some ruhtard joke as they silently nod and smile.

Then, because I feel awkward, I usually do a nod and smile too.

I think they speak English, and actually I think they like me, but I don't really know because I never get more than this meager, "Hello" (smile, head down).

Are they scared of me?

Embarrassed for me because they think I have that overactive bladder syndrome and am probably wearing depends under my skinny jeans?

Angry at me for washing my hands while they are trying to refill the tampon machine?

The truth is, I want, no I need the housekeeping team to like me. I don't care about anyone else, but those ladies are nice. When nice people like you, it's kind of like you are nice, too. 

That's right, I'm now riding the coattails of housekeeping. 

 

So anyway.

 I was on the 9th floor of our building today for a team meeting and went to the bathroom. And who did I find but Housekeeper #1 (HK1). She nodded and smiled, and I got warm fuzzies and I went about my way. 

An hour later, I came back to my desk at the 10th floor and decided I should probably use the restroom before I spent the rest of the day on the phone with my boss.

Oh, hello HK1!

It's been so long, te extrano!

Something about peeing in front of another person just really bonds you.

Like waiting in line for the port-o-potty for a tailgate or friends you meet in the bathroom.

I'm so awkward, making piss friends and all. 

Then I just turned into a creep.

I went to the 11th floor to get a cup of ice.

On my way, I just stopped to grab some TP from le toilet to blow my nose. 

HK1 was in there!

I swear, I just needed to relieve some sinus pressure.

I didn't even have time to investigate my nose blow by unfolding the TP because I just wanted to get out of there.

She'll probably tell HK2 that empties the trash each night that I am just sticking around after hours to watch her clean the place.

Even worse that I always have headphones in and can't hear her coming so she has to touch my shoulder to get my attention or my knee as she whips my little trash bucket from beneath my desk.

It's like going to the nail salon but in the comfort of my own office.

And I used to know spanish but don't anymore, so I will just be struggling to pair together strings of words I recognize with those I don't.

ho hum.

I wonder if we can still be friends.

I mean, I really want her to like me....

Man. I tell you what, it really irks me when people don't understand sarcasm for comedic effect.

Like any red-blooded American 20something, I was spending the time in between writing my own blog and going to lunch, to peruse 2birds1blog, and like any good reader, I like to comment and tell my own funny little quims.

Uh, yes, that was a passive agressive attempt to get you people commenting instead of gchatting me up in this mug and distracting me from feeble attempts to do my work. I already have restrictions on the amount of time I work due to this little diddy I bang out each morning.

 

So Chris is blogging about his terrible bus experience in which he is starfished and yoga-violated and generally made uncomfortable. And I am reminded of a recent experience on my tour de California. It followed as such....

 

Courtney said...

I missed my flight from LA to San francisco earlier this year because the bitch flight attendant did last call boarding 17 minutes before scheduled take off. After arriving to SF 3 hours later than planned I had to ride the train in because my friends were at the bar drinking (i would have done the same-plus i offered). Then an old couple made me give them my seat on the train. She didn't say it out loud, but granny totally eye-called me a bitch. She then burned her laser retinas into my skull until the pain inevitably caused me to just give them the damn felt-covered perch. I can't wait until I'm old and get whatever I want.

December 7, 2009 2:12 PM

Marie said... 

 

Do people not have any decency anymore? I'm talking about some of the people complaining here.

 

1) Are you really so inconsiderate that you can't help a girl put her bag in the overhead? I'm sorry, to prevent "overpacking" 1 bag I'll bring 5 bags next time, a-hole. Really, it's not our damn fault we don't grow enormous muscles. My boyfriend helps women/girls put their bags in the overhead all the time and I always complement him on being a gentleman.

 

2) It is social law that you should give your seat up to an elderly, pregnant, or disabled person. Because Americans are so damn inconsiderate, some places have had to make it ACTUAL law (thats really sad). So I'm sorry if your lazy ass can't sit down for short bus/metro ride, but for the elderly/pregnant/disabled person, that short ride can be like hell. So again, be a gentleman/lady, get your ass up, and let them sit! Now, that doesn't give the lady the right to shoot daggers at you, but still.

 

Anyway, end of rant - the bottom line is that Americans are extremely inconsiderate (the people you have complained about and even some of the complainers!) and its awful. Being in Europe has really given me perspective that decency DOES exist, and on mass levels! People help other people and are considerate! It's a scary world... 

December 7, 2009 7:43 PM

 

Well, Marie, let's address your little quips here.

 

A. Do I have any decency? Clearly you don't know me or read my blog, because I will be the first to admit I am not the proud owner of decency. In case you missed yesterday's post, I'm a puking, unshowered mess of a human being. And I like my filth, so step off.

 

B.  I bet you do have enormous muscles. AND I bet you used them to bull-dyke whip your boyfriend into a purple pansy.  Regarding your "5 bag" threat, You only get two carry ons and most airlines are charging $20 for the first checked bag and $30 for consecutive bags. Joke's on you, sucka. A-HOLE!

C. Who are you, the social police? Are you going to handcuff me and cart me off? No, I would suppose not, mainly because "social law" is an oxymoron in itself. And besides, it wasn't a short ride for me. It was 45 minutes. They got on at the end. If the beeyotch could have waited 2 minutes for me and my 56 pound suitcase (which I lug myself, so tell your boyfriend he can rest easy) to get off the train, she wouldn't have had to shove her husband into the tiny space near the pole while she stretched her limbs like a fat cat after a fancy feast binge.

Before you have a hernia, please note that I once again am being sarcastic. Actually, sarcasm probably isn't the right word. I think "snarky hyperbole" would be more appropriate.

 

D. Oh womp womp womp. You know what Maria Maria? Go back to your Spanish Harlem. If Europe is so great, you just mosey on back across the pond.

Europe is beautiful, don't get me wrong, I would love to go on a little backpacking trip, but once the fun is over, I want my cheeseburger, gun-loving ass planted here in America. More specifically, Texas.

So you and your hairy European pits can take a hike.

When you get there, say hi to Roman Polanski for me.

Oh, and apparently the Greek are cannibals. 

But hey, whatever floats your boat, Marie.

Now I'm off to (gasp!) buy a toaster for our adopted family at work.

Of course, if there aren't any motorized scooters available, I will just sneak up on an unsuspecting victim.

I'm weak, but I'll have the element of surprise on my side.

Why should I work my poor little legs to death if I can get free healthcare my own scooter?

And just to clarify, I have a grandma so I can't be age-ist! Sometimes I bring her out with my token black, hispanic, and asian friends just to prove how cultured and diverse I am.

I'm still on the hunt for a good gay to add to the group.

The more the merrier.

Like eggnog.

But really, I can't wait to get old. So I can get whatever I want.

WITHOUT OFFENDING ANYONE OR HAVING TO TRY MORE THAN ONCE.

**Please note no elderly, disabled, or soon-to-be mamas were hurt in the making of this blog.

The baby on the bus goes waa waa waa

<Sigh>

It's Monday. Again.

I think my desk is quite possibly the last place on the entire earth that I want to be right now.

In fact, I almost called in sick this morning.

Which is saying a lot because I haven't used even 1 of my 10 sick days this year.

Do I feel like shit? check.

Could I have used a couple more hours of sleep? def.

Would anyone die if I missed one day? noop.

But then I felt guilty. This shitty feeling is a self-inflicted residual hangover, and I don't speak of my hangovers lightly. I don't whine and complain and pretend that the world is ending unless I really think it is. And yesterday, it was.

I should have seen the two red flags. After the horns barely squeaked out a win over Nebraska, we had to celebrate. Celebrate big. Thus started the shot-a-thon formerly known as Saturday night. Don't get me wrong, I love a shit-crazy party, but I had already resorted to chugging Boones Farm by 5pm. I really had no business doing multiple rounds of tequila and jager shots, not to mention my nemesis, Rumple, who ended my night with a bang. And by bang, I mean an utter black abyss in which all memories after 1:15am now reside.

Wait, you were drinking Boones Farm? Fuzzy Navel I do believe. I then did pulls of vodka straight out of the jug with one of our guy friends' mom. That's probably why I thought it was a good idea to try to sneak beer into Jerry World. Unfortunately, the beer started to slip as I was walking in and I was forced to do a grotesque imitation of a pelvic thrust in order to keep my Keystone Light from tumbling onto the sidewalk. At that point, I was asked to remove my coat and it was confiscated. Damn.

But boy oh boy is Jerry World fun. We bought those nifty little party passes (mainly so I could afford toilet paper this week instead of stealing it from the office bathroom) and party we did. By the 4th quarter we were enjoying tequila in the concourse level bar. Of course, then my life flashed before my eyes as the Cornhuskers rushed the field and started celebrating. I was standing in front of a tv, dumbfounded for about 5 seconds, and then the longest string of profanities I have ever let escape from my lips flooded into that bar. I'm a small person, but at this point, I would have feared for my life had I been a Nebraska fan within 15 feet of me. Luckily for those poor saps, we got our 1 second back, kicked a field goal, and declared ourselves Pasadena bound. Hunter Lawrence, I hope you got some serious action Saturday night.

If not, give me a ring. I'll show you how real women treat their men--with vanilla frosting and sprinkles (holla at muh gurl whitney, nice find)! 

I was sunshine and roses after that. Typical.

On to the bar!

It should have been a red flag when I was so thirsty at the bar that I could feel my throat closing up. But who needs water when you have ice cold beer? Not me, that's for sure!

Red Flag no. 2: Waking up feeling somewhat okay....and then thinking you will remain in that blissful state. Little did my still-drunk body know, it was about to bombarded with the hangover from hell.

Imagine eating bad Chinese food. Now, imagine that on the way home, you got hit by a gigantic truck. Enhance exponentially. I wanted death to come knocking on my door.

He did around 5:30. I have a fear of vomit that actually exceeds my hate for over-use of condiments. Unfortunately for me, crouching on the couch with my knees pulled to my chest was  no longer preventing the bile from rising up in the back of my throat like lava flowing straight out of Hell's volcano.

Analogies are fun!

I'm 24. My relationship with my toilet is way too close for comfort. And until this morning, I hadn't showered for 48 hours. 

That, Aunt Ida, is why I don't have a boyfriend to bring to Christmas dinner.

But besides almost dying, I didn't mind my Sunday night.

I actually spent most of it YouTubing videos of Tear-bow crying his poor little eyes out.

Tearbow for Criesman!

Particularly enjoy this version featuring Johnny Cash's "Cry, cry, cry."

And then of course I tuned in to watch the Bullshit Computer System determine who would be playing in this year's bowl games. 

Of course the Fiesta Bowl upset was all anyone could talk about on various social media throughout the rest of the night. And I was right there with everyone else. I like TCU. My dad is an alum, their mascot is the horned frog, and they wear purple. What's not to like? And I love me a good underdog.

Or underfrog in this case. rrriibbitt.

UNTIL....

I log into my precious facebook account and see all these TCU peeps knockin Texas and saying my boys don't derserve the ship.

Excuse me?

Well hey diddle diddle, the frog done think it got kissed and turned into a prince.

Looky here TCU, and read my lips very carefully.

SUCK IT.

You can just get on your high horse and ride all the way to Arizona for your measly Tortilla Chip bowl.

I'll help you out with this since your team hasn't gone undefeated in 71 years and your BCS experience may be a little rusty.

We are no. 2 and you are no. 3. Although we almost lost, we didn't, so we get to stay at no. 2.

Regardless of how you think you should be ranked, this is the way it is, so sac up and move on.

And lest we not forget, SEC actually stands for Sucking Everyone's Cock, which is the only explanation for the man-tastic SEC love fest that manifested itself in the system at the beginning of time and just won't go away. SEC = herpes.

So, in short, you can take your bitter stick and pummel Cincinatti with it. Because we all knew Florida would get the Sugar bowl, and you were robbed by a bearcat.

So even though I want to take those two crippled fingers and break them in 2 places......

I still hope you win, because you are better than Boise State.

Good luck TCU. 

Hook em horns.

Tebow is a big fat crybaby.

Someone call the waambulance.