What new year's resolution

Today was a hellishly long day. Not in that "I hate my job and want to kill myself" kind of way, because I actually quite like my job, but rather in the sense that my eyes were burning so bad that I thought they were going to just swell shut and never open again.

I imagine my waking this morning was much like being born. There I was tucked in my warm little cocoon of a comforter happy as a chestnut roasting on an open fire. And then the sun rose.....

We will skip past the part where I slept at my parents' house because I was too lazy to drive home, and how I blew up the air mattress by mouth because I couldn't figure out the pump, and the fact that I even sleep on an air matress on a bare floor with no blinds....oh here we go. Yes, so I don't have blinds. At the exact moment that I roll over I am simultaneously blinded by the wrath of a thousands suns and deafened by the roar of "samba" on my alarm. F U MONDAY! Snooze.....

Then it all happened again 10 minutes later. It actually probably would have been a better experience if someone ha hung me upside down by one leg and slapped my ass until I cried.

I may not have survived without my savior of a mother waking up earlier than necessarry and making coffee. There is a special place in heaven for moms.

And equally a special place in hell for the person who invented the 9-5, which really seems to be more of an 8:30-6:30, which is not pleasant after my intense caffeine crash.

So this brings us to 6:30 when I left. I decided working out was what I should do. I grudgingly drove to the 24 hour downtown, missing two turns in my stupor and making a 5 minute trip closer to 20. I went into the parking garage, wound up 4 floors and maneuvered myself between a BMW and Mercedes who each took up far too much room, and turned of the engine. I sat there long enough to make eye contact with the two guys at the elevator an decided I hated everyone at the gym tonight. I turned the car back on and left.

It ddnt occur to me that 0-30 minutes in the garage still costs $3 until I got to the exit without parking validation. So I lied to the parking attendant. I looked him straight in the eye and sadly told him I forgot my tennis shoes, hoping my sad panda face was distracting him enough to fling those suckers from the passenger seat to the floorboard.

He mumbled something about validating both tickets when I came back but I had no time for that. I escaped the gym FO FREE!!

Now I'm sitting at home watching the bachelor with a fat glass of wine. You're probably thinking, "so what? We've all done it." this would be true. Except that I just got back from an 11 day trip that can only be described as bingefest.

Anywho. I'm just thankful I had wine, because the bachelor is currently reminding me why I pop open a bottle before I watch.

IT'S SO ELECTRIC!! LOVE CONNECTION!!


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Hey, hey, I'm technical!

Hello ma'am...hand towel?

Well day 6 of my vacation is over and we are finally headed to LA. We had a lovely dinner by the bay last night and decided to top it off by heading to Whiskey Girl.

It was a Monday night ad not much was going on, so we found a nice, trashy bar where people partaaay. It was really a breath of fresh air to find $3 wells...even if it did taste like the bartender had gathered a cup of saliva and topped it off with a lime. We proceeded to order multiple rounds of shots, because a) gotta get your money's worth b) that's clearly the cool thing to do on Mondays and c) there had to be some sort of beverage while we watched the delightful *ahem* escort dance in front of the sweaty bald man spread eagle on the couch in the corner.

Surprise surprise I eventually had to pee, so I waded through the fog, oh yes there was indeed a fog machine!, and finally found the bedroom. Much to my dismay a woman opened the door for me. Hold up, what is this loud, grungy, strip club of a bar doing with a bathroom bitch?

First of all, these people freak me out even in nice clubs. They listen to you pee, linger while you wash your hands, then swoop in for the kill, shoving a towel into your hands and causing me to uncomfortably dodge tipping them by explaining I don't have my wallet while tucking my purse under my armpit to hide the goods.

So in true Whiskey Girl fashion, the stall slave hands me a paper towel, smiles with lipstick staine teeth, and then nods towards her treasures and asks if I need anything. Mints? Ok. Hand sanitizer? Sure. Now stop. Shut up. That is not a snickers. WTF am I supposed to do with that? Hungry? Why wait? Head to the bathroom. Gotta keep that energy up before I go cut a rug on the semen soaked dance floor. Those carmely nougat covered peanuts gave me enough energy for a foam party. Somebody call mr bubble cuz we got a sudsy slip in slide to attend to.

I'm sure the escort enjoyed a blow pop with her hennesy when she was done shakin that ass for sweaty mcbeeferson. He might as well have pulled out a stick of butter. Or a snickers.

I had to go to the bathroom 3 more times before we left. It was awkward everytime. So here's to you, toilet paper Tammy, for unexpectedly making me nervous in the bathroom. Sorry, no tip, gotta reserve those $1 for drinks. Or the escort. But none for you.

Get some skittles up in that hoe and we will talk. But until then, keep your nougat to yourself.



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Hey, hey, I'm technical!

You look like a monkey and you smell like one too

After a long weekend sans blog, it's time to get my nose back to the grindstone. I'm talking about the blog.... Work will not resume until NEXT Monday when my baller vacation is over.

So far we've been to San Francisco and Vegas and arrived in Saaaaaan Dieeeggooo last night. Due tithe fact we all have jobs we want and need to keep, I'll just skip any sort of re cap and fast forward to now.

Today we are headed to the Zoo. We decided on some sort of scavenger hunt at dinner last night. I'm not sure exactly how it is going to work but it involved drinking and animal poses, two of my favorite pasttimes.

After a zoo fueled conversation of Furries and costumes fetishes, I really did begin to wonder what animal I would want to be if I had to be displayed in the zoo.

Personally, I think the zoo hater "don't lock up the animal" groups can suck it. If half of those animals are as narcissistic as I am then they are lovin it. L-O-V-I-N. I would kill for someone to let me bask in the sun of southern California, bring me meals at required intervals, and let people pay to oohh and aahh and take pictures of me. Where is the Con?

SO. I narrowed it down to the top 5.

5. Anaconda. Strong, powerful, gets what it wants, does not have to chew food since it can unhinge it's jaw--also useful in other areas *wink wink*. Plus that ssssssss noise is perfect for my Jim Carrey impersonations. Sssssssmokin!

4. Lion. Female of course. I hunt for the pack. For delicious meat. I am queen. My mate gets one serious mane. Sexy. Rarrrrr.

3. Flamingo. Apparently in captivity they receive supplements to maintain the pink color. I'd like to do it the old fashioned way and eat shrimp, because they are plump little nuggets of pink goodness, but either way I want to stretch my neck, flap my wings, and stand on one leg. Bonus: flamingos pee on their legs to keep warm. This would save me so much time when drinking. I didn't pee my pants, I'm just staying nice and toasty. Niiice.

2. Elephant. I love peanuts. I want a trunk. I could join the circus. I would remember everything....or so I've heard. My big ears would be a status symbol. I could make smiley faces out of my knee fat wrinkles. So amaaaaze. Yes, I would very much like to trumpet my horn as an elephant.

1. Monkey. Small monkey, not gorilla. Long tail to whip around, curling it around ropes, jumping to my tire swing and frolicking to my hammock. Oh yeah, no showering, just getting my buddies to pick me clean. Hells yeah. Life would be bananas! (chah-ching)! And if not, I'd just fling dung around in a fit of rage. Problem solved.

Ooh ooh ooh Ahhhhh!


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Hey, hey, I'm technical!

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.




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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!

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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!