You have to have a plan...

I demand a do-over on my high school days. That’s right, I want to go back to having acne prone skin, an unhealthy obsession with Robert Smith of the Cure and being virtually invisible to anyone with a penis. I want to spend my days dreading 3^rd period (PE - because I’m fat and it’s hard to walk with a book bag let alone run) and the only time of day I’m comfortable is lunch because I spend that time smoking with the stoners at the car wash across the street.

*sings “Working at the car wash (oh oh, yeah yeah) at the car wash, yeah (ooh ooh ooh) at the car wash”*

Why the hell would you want to inflict that kind of torture upon yourself again? Well, sit right back and I’ll tell you a little story…

I was talking to my friend today; we’ll call her Anastacia [that’s that bitches real name too, lmfao] and we were talking about the NASDAQ. I’m fucking with you guys; neither of us knows shit about all that, maybe she should come back to school with me. Anyhow, we were talking about life and more specifically a job she was prospecting. She said that she still didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life. It gave me pause but not for too long because that ship sailed for me about the same time that my breast milk dried up. I can get really depressed if I think about it too much. I’ve got a nice little student loan debt and nothing to show for that shit but a record of ‘on-time’ payments courtesy of wage garnishments. If I knew then what I know now; bullshit! I’d probably still be a know-it-all asshole bitching about how I’ll never use fractions in the ‘real world’ and chopping up lines on my desk with my ruler in Geometry. True story.

I was a complete fuck off in high school. The only thing that I really applied myself at was illicit drug taking and concert attendance; both of which I excelled at, I might add. I’ll never forget the time I dropped acid and the poster of The Cure I had on my wall came to life. Robert Smith left the poster and walked toward me; and it was right then and there that my fascination ended. There’s nothing quite like watching his face melt while tripping balls to strike fear in you every time you  hear Lullaby. I remember being told attendance and attention at school was important but I was not impressed. In hindsight, I can say I wasn’t challenged. I was bored. I would give my right tit to go back and be bored as fuck. My options today are limited. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy what I do and my place of employment; I’m honestly blessed and I know it. I also know that I am capable of much more. My earning potential [this is where I don’t tell you how much I make] could be much higher and far cushier. The threat of living off Top Ramen is real should I for some reason lose my current job. If I lose my job, it will be because I’ve forced Tim’s head into a toilet filled with his own urine or because I failed to effectively utilize my inside voice – meaning I’ve said some heinous shit out loud instead of inside my head, unknowingly of course. Of course…

Today’s students are much more disciplined. They are better prepared or maybe they just have a better grasp on reality. Times are changing. The job market is more competitive. 15 yr. old me was certain I could hack it out there as the next Courtney Love. I also thought I could be a freelance writer and photographer. Then I believed I’d be a lawyer. You know what you need to be a lawyer? A mother fucking education! I kept looking in my Cracker Jacks box for my degree but all I got was a joke, a temporary tattoo, and one time a decoder ring. No degree. I never spent time thinking about what I wanted to be when I got out of school, I just wanted to get out – alive. Spoiled little gluten intolerant assholes today get to use me as an example of what not to do. They see how shitty people like me turned out and when I step left, they step right. In all fairness I am probably saving countless young women from abusive and one-sided relationships, unhealthy coping skills, bad habits and practices and financial ruin. Just watch what I did and still do and do the exact opposite ladies! You’re welcome.

Other people may have had some sort of clue when they were in high school about a life plan for themselves. I just wanted to not go to jail, not die, be famous and be filthy rich. I don’t think I was asking too much. Oh, right – I wanted to be prettier and smarter than everyone else too, but not a stuck up asshole. Life plan? No, just some down to earth goals that should have been totally attainable. But here I sit, with a busted up pair of headphones on while listening to music, writing this on a computer that doesn’t belong to me, checking my bank account, making sure that there is enough in there for the Department of Education to take its cut of my paycheck for a degree that I don’t have. So…can I go back to popping pimples and being ignored at Prom???

                                                                                                   

Good enough, smart enough and gosh darn it, people like me

So I just looked at the stats on how many people are actually reading this stuff. Holy sheep shit Batman!! This..that..YOU guys are fantastic!! Thank you so much for all the support! I had no idea I had so many readers and that you spanned the globe. That shit blows my mind - for real!!! I'm really humbled but mostly think I'm getting punked somehow. Like Ashton Kutcher is behind it or Taylor Swift is getting divine retribution for all the shit I talk about her pretty little blonde ass. In any event, I am very grateful to you for taking the time to read my ramblings.

Don't forget you can always write to me: rantsandswears@gmail.com
Find me on Twitter also: @rantsandswears

Legit, so fucking humbled. <3

United States

2110

Germany

74

Poland

57

Ukraine

49

Portugal

34

India

19

France

18

United Kingdom

11

Philippines

6

Ireland

5

What I know

Some Stuff I Know for Certain

-          Pantyhose were created by men. Tights are a whole different animal, but pantyhose were for sure created by a dude. Chaffing and itchy yeast-inducing little sausage casings. You can say that they make your legs look better; sleeker and more elegant, and I’ll remind you of that when you pull your ham hocks out of those bitches and your things spill out and tears of joy form in the corners of your eyes. It’s damn near orgasmic. Your toes uncurl and an hour later when the indentation from the seam is gone from your belly you’ll vow never to do it to yourself again – until next month when you attend your cousin Beth’s wedding.

-          Trading clothing is only cool in one direction.  It’s hot when you come home and your women is wearing your t-shirt and maybe nothing else, am I right guys? Maybe she pulls a Julia Roberts from pretty woman and is sporting one of your neck ties. SUPER hot!!! Not so when you decide to try on her bathrobe. If I come home and my man is sitting at the table in my bra and panties, we have a lot to talk about – or maybe nothing at all.

-          If a woman (me…I mean me) repeats herself, it means she doesn’t think she’s being heard. PAY ATTENTION!! STOP WHATEVER THE HELL YOU ARE DOING AND PAY SOME FUCKING ATTENTION. This is universal ya’ll; it really doesn’t matter if I am speaking to a man or another woman, if I find myself repeating myself over and over I will either lose interest in the conversation or in you and the latter is more likely if we’re playing the long game. Besides, it’s just rude.

-           When you’re at the grocery store and you have more than 15 items and you stay in the express lane knowingly, a kitten somewhere dies. It’s a fact. Now that you know this, stop being a douchebag, we all have somewhere else we’d rather be and Mittens doesn’t want to die.

-          When your child throws a tantrum in public and you get angry, lose your shit, and either hit your child, demean your child or otherwise abuse your child; you’re the asshole. Don’t blame your child for the behavior with shit statements like “look what you made me do,” That’s some Taylor Swift shit and I’m not having it. You are responsible for how your child behaves. You are the adult and the one capable of controlling your emotions. And so help me God, the next time I see a parent raise their hand to strike their child in public I will single handedly dismantle their self-esteem in 3 minutes or less [I like to draw things out – for my pleasure]

-          Cats are assholes. This is not newsworthy, but bears repeating. That’s all I have to say on this matter.

-          Take and Bake pizza is overpriced. It would seem to me that if I am going to a location to pick up said pizza - expending my fuel to do so, then returning home to cook that same pizza, utilizing my utilities; shouldn’t it be less expensive than similarly marketed pizzas? Why am I paying roughly the same price to drive all over creation wasting gas and electricity and still do all the work??? Someone please help me with this logic…

-          My mother makes better sandwiches than yours does. Case closed.

-          They say opposites attract. Bullshit. It’s been my experience that when I meet someone that is a polar opposite I am constantly wondering why this person is allowed to occupy space and take up the oxygen supply around me. If someone is my polar opposite, that is to say they are likely to be an intolerant asshole.  I don’t want to spend time with them, much less be attracted to them. Take a moment to think of someone that is the exact opposite of you? Do you want to sleep with that person? Do you want to spend hours deep in conversation with that person? Can you build a future with that human?? Probably not because you have jack shit in common. That’s just some shit we say to people to make them feel better about being nearly 40 or 50 and still single. Guess what? Being single isn’t terrible. Diagonal sleeping kicks ass!!

-          Fried anything tastes delicious you just have to be willing to pay the price for it. Then again, if you’re sleeping diagonally in a bed with just your cats and a refrigerator full of moms sandwiches and take and bake pizzas, who the fuck cares. Life is short, do what makes you happy.

-          Dancing is good for your soul. Who cares if you look like one of Jim Henson’s Muppets, dance! Dance often and dance hard – life is short, make the most of the time you have. Sing out loud, play air drums, puddle jump as often as you can. We have very few years as children; there is so much innocence in those years. Some of us never get to experience them – for those folks, I am deeply sorry. I make my happiness – you can too. Manufactured joy. Joy Inc. I think I’m on to something….

-          We are all misfit toys. None of us is perfect. That girl in Home Economics that you thought had it all together is at home with a high school education raising three kids now and has a husband that beats her. That fat kid you picked on in college is CEO of a major pharmaceutical company and thriving. The Hispanic girl in 2^nd grade whose name you couldn’t pronounce is a Dr. now and working on her tenure application. The Captain of the football team committed suicide because he couldn’t battle the demons he was facing anymore. Before you open your mouth, think. I crack jokes and make fun, but usually at my own expense first. I never know what another human being is going through and neither do you. Show compassion. Be compassion.  

That’s about all I know.

In remembrance

metronome

I have a metronome in place of a heart and it keeps time with the silent prayers of desperation and skips beats with mirth and delight, causing arrhythmia bringing me to brink of death; the sweetest ruination I've ever tasted.

Yuck Space - Population: Me

I live in black and white for the most part; at least where my own life is concerned. It’s all or nothing. I’m either unequivocally right or wrong and so are you. There was either never a contest to begin with - I won before we began, or you smoked me before the gun fired. I live in a little town called Contradiction. Population: me and whatever unwitting hostages I’ve drug with me. I’m a roller coaster ride sans seat belts. Perhaps that’s why I tend to keep company with myself for the most part; seems unfair to inflict this sort of pants wetting excitement on the general populous. On a good day, I’m a Lifetime (for women) special. On a bad day, I’m Unsolved Mysteries laced with Cops and sprinkled with Star Trek; because resistance is futile. I had a point…I’m certain of it. Ah…yes…contradiction. It seems that it follows me even if not of my own creation.

Yesterday I attended a festivity and celebrated some huge milestones with some acquaintances and friends. Normally when I attend these functions I say my hellos, shake hands and smile at people from across the room; when I can earnestly say that I have “put in” my solid 30-40 mins, I bail. It’s at this point that one of two things will usually happen: 1) you’ll have spent enough time getting to know me that you’ll grasp the full scope of my crazy and vow to never to speak to me again in one-on-one setting [fear is a great motivator] or 2) I’ll figure out that I don’t belong with regular people and try to squirm away awkwardly. It rarely has anything to do with you. My head is a yuck space [that’s the technical term according the PDR] and I’m still not certain it’s not contagious. I’d feel terrible if you caught what I’ve got. I’ve written my local representatives about finding a cure, but apparently AIDS, Cancer, and terminal illness take precedence; I understand. The longstanding fear of dying alone watching re-runs of Newhart and Wings I had, has become a comfort – my death Snuggie. Damn that got bleak – back to this party shall we?

I’m well past my expiration date at this party yesterday and still hanging on by my fingernails. Someone give this woman a prize! Bob, show her what she’s won – A BRAND NEW CAR!!!! We take a break from our horseplay and shenanigans to recognize the milestones being celebrated. A friend of mine gets up and receives recognition from his son for his accomplishments. He had originally had two other people in mind for the occasion but at the last moment they couldn’t attend. My friend doesn’t believe in accidents and after yesterday; neither do I. I feel privileged to have been witness to the exchange that took place. Watching his son acknowledge his father’s accomplishments and growth was both quietly beautiful and terribly loud and voluminous. The innocence of a 14 yr old brought me to my knees yesterday. Checkmate.

I returned home later that evening exhausted from the sun, the socialization, the emotional exchanges – I need to recharge the battery after shit like this. I did some social media grazing. That’ll help matters, right? LMAO!! Here’s the thing; many of you don’t react the way that I do to social excursions. After a day of socializing, not only do I need alone time to “recharge” but I also sometimes find myself immediately battling depression. The crash after all the time spent “up” can be brutal for me. The very last thing I should probably be doing is spoon feeding myself social media diarrhea and yet there I am scrolling. I happened across another friends post. Correction: his daughter posted it. She tagged him in it and called him out on what a shitty father he is. This man is a man that I considered family – an older brother - for most of my high school days. He is lost in a bottle somewhere and has been for at least the last 8 years. I’ve followed him still; but from afar. I will always love him, but some people you have to love from a distance. The dichotomy of what transpired at the party yesterday and what I was reading in that post was not lost on me. There you have it, black and white and polar opposites at work in my life. He had forgotten his daughter’s birthday. I know there are always two sides to every story and that it’s impossible for me to know it all, but my heart breaks for the boy I used to know and the man I know is still in there. He knows I’m here and waiting when he’s ready.

I lost my own son for 3 years. I didn’t lose him, I let him go. I let him go so that I could hold on to what I had with two hands. Yesterday I watched people celebrate having the whole world in their hands and their feet on solid ground. Maybe I ought to stick around for a while and stop eating shit when I get home. I don’t ever think I will be normal, but then again, neither are you or you wouldn’t still be reading. 

One size does not fit all

If I had a dime for every time someone called me fat

I’d own a strip mall

And house the homeless

If I had a dime for every time I heard “she has such a pretty face”

I’d have enough for a boob job

Then I’d make real money somewhere else with my pretty face and big tits

If I had a dime for every time I was picked last at a school dance

I’d buy a value meal at the nearest drive thru

And cry into my fries

If I had a dime for every time I compared myself to someone else

Las Vegas clubs could come to me for loans

And referrals for plastic surgeons

If I had a dime for every time I lusted after a boy that didn’t like me back

I’d have enough to buy out a large magazine

And write real articles about shit that really matters to young women – build them up instead of destroying their concepts of self with articles about “How to Keep Your Man”

If I had a dime for every time I read the nutritional label and questioned whether it was a “good” or a “bad” food

I’d have enough accumulated funds to give companies like Lean Cuisine a run for their money

The sodium counts on those things are deadly and I’d hardly call it “cuisine”

If I had a dime for every time I cried myself to sleep

I could pay for some much needed therapy I didn’t get

And you wouldn’t be reading this shit

A nose like Roxanne

I want a bigger nose. I want an extravagant nose – a nose with its own zip code. I want a nose like Steve Martin had in Roxanne. I’m incapable of sniffing bullshit upon approach with the current model and I’m hoping that the upgrade will help cut down on my interactions with dick-noses and twat-waffles. Remains to be seen but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Drawbacks:

Ridicule – obviously, but it will give me good practice at witty comebacks too. I do love a good challenge, and the chance at making someone cry is always worth the effort.

Heightened sense of smell – Ever used a Porto-Potty at the Renaissance Faire in the dead heat of summer? Ever had to use a public restroom in virtually any bar in any city – ever?? Yep, you now have super human sniffing powers. You know what the guy two restaurants away had for lunch…two weeks ago! Good luck with that shit. (literally)

Sunglasses – I would think that with that much nose, finding the right pair of sunglasses would be a pain in the ass too. Is it like buying jeans? Do you need to find the right size and shape frame to go with your nose?  I can just see myself at the counter now trying on countless pairs and getting discouraged and finally outraged. Taking them off the slamming them on the glass case cursing my shapely nose. “It’s ok baby, you’re just too much nose for those glasses to handle. We’ll find you a pair that understands your needs, that can hug you in all the right places and support you. You deserve that.” Positive affirmations – that shits important; this much I’ve learned.

That’s about all I got on the list of “Why I shouldn’t go under the knife” if it will help ensure, or at least cut down, on the number of asswipes in my life. Maybe I could have lightbulb installed. An asshole detecting lightbulb. Like the Operation game! Any time I am in the vicinity of a known jackass my nose will glow; and depending on the measure or expanse of your douchery the light may glow dim to burning red. If it actually honks at you, I just kill you on the spot as a favor to mankind. You are obviously a blight and must me snuffed. It’s just how it works. I don’t make the rules; I just play by them. It’s all there in the pamphlet. Ages 12 and up. Parental supervision suggested for ages 16 and under.

Oh Christina, you’re so melodramatic. Yeah, and??? You say that shit like it’s not entertaining. Listen, I do the best that I can with the poor coping skills and dark sense of humor that I have. Honestly, you’re lucky I have the modicum of decency that I do at this point or I’d be name dropping and calling people out on the carpet. The reality is that I have a part in all of this bullshit too. We’re not going to pay attention to that though. I guess I’ve just felt really mislead lately. Hansel and Gretel were for sure pissed off when they got to that witch’s house and that hoe tried to cook them. That’s how I’ve been feeling. I have people in my life that have done me wrong [someone please start singing some blues in the background] lately and I’m battling the urge to start car fires and damage other personal property. Voodoo doll making is still a thing though - I have workshops Tuesdays from 6-7pm. Hit me up if you’re interested.

I’m so good at seeing through shit where others are concerned. I can see that shit from 4 football fields away. Why am I always the last to see it when it’s in my backyard? Fools are walking out of my house with my personal belongings [analogy] and I’m like “Yo, that’s my panini press!” I am always the last person to see the true nature of someone’s intentions or character. I want to believe that you/she/he/they are not complete scum buckets, but you/he/she/they just fucking stole my panini press. I have friends [2 – I have 2 friends] that approach me with situations they’re going through and it’s so easy for me to see the inner workings and manipulations at play. Why do I let myself get played like a chump? Let’s pretend for a second that I have a good and kind heart and that I believe in the goodness of humans. You with me so far? Pretend. Good heart. Faith in humanity. At a certain point I still have to wise up and tired of getting burned right? There is a limit to how many times you can repeat the same tests before you memorize that shit and ace it, right? Not so with me.

And so it was that I found myself this morning contemplating cosmetic surgery. I was in the shower and I think it started when I was thinking about my boobs and whether or not I would really want to get them enlarged. Running would be harder to do, my wardrobe would have to change [I hate shopping and spending money even more than the actual shopping] and come summer time they would just collect sweat under them. I’m real picky about where I collect pools of sweat. So it became “functional cosmetic surgery,” which really only left me with one option. The Operation-Super-Huge-Glowing-Asshole-Detector-Nose! Secretly you know you’d get one too. I thought about hair extensions and thickening but again, summer and sweat and heat…blah, blah, blah. The nose serves a purpose in freeing my life of duplicitous fuckers and hopefully I get my panini press back too.

If this works, I’ll keep everyone posted. We could have a society of olfactory enhanced peoples. If not, it will be a fun experiment and give me good practice at snappy comebacks and counter attacks on the very personal level. Disassemble you in 30 seconds or less; that’s my goal. 

Model Employee

1)      I’m always just cranky enough to fly under the radar. There is no such thing as a violent mood swing with me; I make sure to have these at least once or twice a day. My thinking here is that if this is the norm and they are prepared and understand that this is typical behavior for me, they will cease and desist with stupid questions like “are you ok?” and “are things cool at home?” I really like it when they say shit like “We’ll pray for you” No, please don’t pray for me. Instead, how about you give me more money? Shoes would help this. Shoes, sunglasses, a pair of good butt jeans and maybe a Slurpee. I think it’s important to stay even-keeled at your place of employment. I didn’t say that temperament had to balanced and well-adjusted, just even-keeled. While I’m thinking about it, yes, please pray for me. I can use all the help this dirty soul can get.

2)      I always order enough supplies. This shit isn’t on my dime so I like to make sure that when I order, I am doing so with the forethought that I will be taking home some toilet paper and hand soap at some point. Coffee filters and copier paper too if I’m being real with you guys. I can’t have the supply levels here at the office dropping because I’m too lazy and poor to shop for myself; what kind of Office Manager would I be if I let that shit happen? Ok, there was the one time (or three) that Tim had to use paper towels for coffee filters here because we were out and I hadn’t yet placed an order, but fuck that dude! He’s nasty and pisses all over the place. YOU HAVE YOUR OWN RESTROOM, QUIT PISSING IN MINE!! I’m not above leaving tampons in your office dude, try me. Model employee…

3)      Friendly phone demeanor. I am totally capable of being spoon fed hot piles of shit over the phone without retaliation.  Across the wires it is so easy to pump up your feathers and tear someone down. I know, I do it all the time when I’m not here and my paycheck and depends on how well I can hold my tongue. Whether I eat chicken or Ramen for weeks on end is contingent on whether or not I can keep a straight face when you ask me some absurd shit and then talk to me like I’m a toddler or say some rhetorical shit and wait for an actual answer. I’ve gotten really good at this. I’m also missing my pinky finger on my right hand from gnawing it off in an effort to stop myself from telling you to FUCK OFF and have broken the toes on my feet at least twice on each side from kicking my desk. Ok, I still have my pinky and I only broke my toe once, but believe that I put the fucking phone on mute and bang the hell out of the receiver while swearing to anyone and everyone who will listen about what a twat you are. Model employee…

4)      Grace and dignity. On any given day there is a good chance that I will fall and hurt myself. Entertainment for the whole office! To date I have had a filing cabinet fall on top of me. As it turns out, you can have one drawer open at a time and preferably not the ones at the top. Then there was the time I got my dress caught underneath my chair and tore the crap out of it. I’d like to say it repairable and that it wasn’t a disaster. It was a hot mess and I had to go home. FML! Making matters worse was the fact that I was in an emotionally fragile time of the month and it was my favorite dress. I’d had that dress for years. I felt like a pretty, pretty princess in that bitch. I went from being very sad about my beloved dress to being very pissed off about it…very publicly. Not a woman in sight where I work. All men. All very confused. I’m swearing and throwing paper around my desk with tears forming in my eyes and trying to gather the hem of my dress around my legs so as not to expose myself all the while fighting the urge to yell at Mike and Kevin “What the fuck are you looking at?!?!?!” Model employee…

*so many more examples, so little ego to spare*

5)      OCD – Not only can I not handle my desk being out of order, but your shit being messy fucks with me too. I am also not your mother. CLEAN YOUR SHIT UP! Or don’t that’s fine too - just gives me another reason to bitch, complain, take shit upon myself to do and then ultimately ask for a raise. Maybe I ought to master the art of filing stuff without having to recite the alphabet out loud to myself before insisting on this raise. I have things pretty cushy where I work. I get to do this stuff (writing ad nauseam) while on the clock (technically getting paid?) AND I get to make a group of men uncomfortable at least two weeks out of every month? I’d say I’ve got things pretty good. So I work with slobs, should that get me down? Nah…I’ve got OCD issues; I can use that to my advantage too. I’ll just sneak around and move things slightly here and there. I’ll put things “away” and they’ll never figure that shit out. “Hey, where’s the tape measure??” *Me: shrugs shoulders* Model employee…

One of Life's Great Mysteries Decoded

One of Life’s Great Mysteries Decoded

As Labor Day weekend comes to a close I want to pass along some thoughts on a situation I found myself in earlier today. We’ve all been stuck behind that one driver on the road that dives 15 mph below the posted speed limit on a one lane stretch of road, right? The douche nozzle that has to hug the curb before commencing to turn from five or six feet before the actual turn all the while neglecting to use a blinker - that asshole. Been there, right? Why? Why do people like this get to have licenses? Why are they usually driving cars better than mine? It just doesn’t seem fair that this asshole should get to drive a Tesla at 20 mph and still not be able to locate the turn signal. If you’re only traveling at 20 mph why is your dexterity compromised? Why is it that you can’t find the little lever on the left that helps let other drivers know what your plans are? We need to know what your route is so that we can be sure to travel in the exact opposite. I can pluck my eyebrows at that speed, what’s stopping you? At first I thought maybe they’re just busy texting. I get that; one hand on the wheel one for texting, but that seems too simple. There has to be more to this? It seems to be an epidemic. There are far too many people out there that are afraid of rule breaking. There should be some free hands out there people! Flipside of that argument:  I’ve been popped for texting and driving. It’s a cheap ticket – gotta say it won’t scare me out of tweeting a reply if I think I’m witty. The only explanation left…there must be some mass confusion. People everywhere must think that somehow the use of their blinker is tied to funds in their checking or savings account. Each week or month you’re allotted a certain number or signal uses, you go over that number and funds are withdrawn from your account each time you use your blinker. It’s the only damn thing I can think of. Fools are trippin when they accidentally flip that bitch on and realize they’re in a turn only lane. Fuck! That’s $2.50!! Can you imagine?! Ok, so it’s not the cure for a terminal illness, but if I’m truly on to something here, can you fathom the number of jackasses we can save? Road rage fatalities would drop drastically and I can go back to safely plucking my eyebrows and texting while driving. Brilliant!

I’ll keep this short and sweet for tonight but I’ve got a storm brewing…sleep tight friends.