Rock, Whiskey, Pigeon?

Saturday night and I’m dressed like a boy again. Black jeans, tank top, boots and virtually no make-up. I’ve got my earbuds in as I make my down to the 7-11 where I’ll meet my girlfriend who is sure to be dressed the same; and no, we’re not lesbians – we’re going to a bar to listen to what is sure to be a terrible cover band. We meet up with our other girlfriend [also not a lesbian] and the shit show can begin. To be fair; we did not have a clue how epic the evening would be. Spray butter will never be the same!

For the record it’s 9pm and already past my geriatric bedtime, but I am in dire need of some levity in my life. This shitty bar seems like the perfect spot. As an alcoholic in recovery I was warned about what a “rough” place this was and how it’s only good for one thing – drinking. To this I say: bullshit. From what I saw, it’s good for shitty pool playing, live music, drinking, atrocious dancing and one night stands.

If any of us had gone in there wearing heels and a skirt, our intentions would have been clear. Instead, the three of us went in looking like something out of a fucking John Hughes movie. Jill was at least wearing makeup; I think people may have thought we were there to pimp her off until Jeff showed up. Suddenly people were very confused. First it was just Beth and I - and that made sense to people. Then Jill showed up with the make-up and the curled hair and people were like “Oh shit! They’re about to fight over the pretty blonde!” Girl fight at the local dive bar…rawk! When Jeff showed up he was suddenly the luckiest man in the room. I had already assessed the entire situation and knew all exit points and all available weaponry.

            Pool cues against the wall

            Large fish hanging on the wall above the cues

            Exposed wiring above pool table for lighting

            Bar stools

            Cocktail waitress carrying trays – so fun to use those!! Smash or Frisbee

            Indoor Christmas lighting makes for great hogtie

Rule number #1 of being a chick – know your fucking surroundings --- all the goddamn time.

The four of us are sitting at a little table when the band walks on stage. There aren’t words for what we saw. I’ll include photos at the end of this and a short and blurry video. I think Jeff said it best when he said it was if four random people just got on stage together because they knew how to play instruments. The lead singer looked like he crawled out from under a car he had been working on, the bass player looked like he had just come from his little cousins quinceanera – but like a real angry one and he had maybe just gotten out of jail, and the guitar player…hold on…I have to change my underwear. SPLOOSH! This dude is walking comedy.

Fabio is playing guitar. I shit you the fuck not! It was the strangest thing. The last time I saw this dude he was pushing spray butter. Sidebar: I’m fairly certain that’s what he uses to keep his hair manageable while onstage. I have to imagine his hair is way fucked up at the end of a show. I had to do a little research as to what model fan he uses during shows to keep cool and also provide maximum lift to his coif; but I am fairly certain I’ve nailed it. Fabio uses the Lasko 12.25 inch 3-speed velocity fan. It’s available at Lowe’s, has a 4.5-star rating and has a pivoting blower head. That shit is important! From scalp to nuts, this guy is cool and dry. And the kicker? It matches is ax. I am dying as I type this – I am back in that dimly lit bar making eyes at him; hoping…no…praying he looks my way. I tried so hard to get that arrogant twat looking in my direction. He has a go-pro on his guitar. A fucking go-pro! We’ll discuss that momentarily.

The whole evening was a culmination of me assassinating wardrobe, intelligence and talent of those around us, the four of us dancing, and roaring laughter. It was the kind of laughter that even drowned out the band and the many filters he was using to help give us the impression he had some semblance of talent. I think I could probably do better. Then again, I have a ginormous ego. He kept singing to this lumberjack chick in the corner too, so I’m a little resentful; maybe that’s it. I didn’t intend to have the brand of fun that I did that night. Beth looked at me at one point and said “thank God we didn’t drink together.” Amen to that, sister! I see our sexy asses in jail trading Ramen packets for anti-wrinkle cream and cat coloring books. That’s some fucked up and tragic shit. Jill is still on the outside because we need that hoe to bring us cupcakes.

What ever happened to Jeff? Well…they finally started playing Sweet Home Alabama and Jeff lost it. Tina had already told him where all the weaponry was and Jeff was thankful for that but he had bigger and better plans. He took Fabio’s pigeon and threw that bitch directly into the fan, he then took the mic from Earl the lead singer – dropped it and walked away. No one has heard from him since.  

Fabio and his go-pro still play and masturbate for masses. That’s what he does. He’s not even an accomplished guitarist if you ask me, yet there he was whipping his hair and lurching around the dance floor making love to himself and the neck of his guitar. Just a man and the frets. Fuck. I bet he misses his pigeon.

 

PLEASE NOTE THE FAN WILL MATCH HIS AX!!! LMFAO!!! 

How It Should Have Ended

I want to spend a day in a ‘How It Should Have Ended’ universe of my creation. A full 24 hours spent in my very own utopia. For those of you that are unfamiliar with HISHE, do yourselves a favor and google that shit. There is an entire nerd following associated with this. In a nutshell, it’s taking a film and re-writing the ending; usually in comic book form. The alternate endings are meant to be funny and sarcastic. Usually they’re pretty dope; sometimes they sink like dead men with cinder block dancing shoes. They can’t all be winners.

This might be a good time for you to check one out to make sure you fully grasp the awesomeness. I’ll wait here *Jeopardy theme song plays*

Great! You’re back and have educated yourself on HISHE. My geek is showing again; I try to keep it tucked in for the most part. Sometimes it sneaks out – like a rouge boob. I’m not ashamed of being a geek, it’s a badge I feel I have earned. So many school dances I sacrificed so that I could stay home and watch anime. So many date offers that I turned down so that I could play Doom. True sacrifices made. Just fucking with ya! I was fat and emotionally unstable as a teenager, nobody wanted to dance with me or be seen in public with me. I’m still unstable as fuck, I’m a pretty big nerd to this day, and if you put Doom on the PlayStation – old Doom, not the new shit – I will tear shit up. Off topic again…sorry.

I was driving to work this morning and I was thinking about incidences in my life that haven’t exactly panned out the way that I wanted and what things would look like if they had; but not in a realistic way because that shit is mad boring. I created some incredulous – ‘never happening in million years’ type bullshit. Some true HISHE crap. You’re probably saying to yourself: “Christina, that all sounds great, but I need help visualizing this. Can you give me an example?” Of course I can!

Actual events of last year – Paraphrased

Tina: Hey, James I’ve been doing some research on mean incomes for my position here and I’ve compiled data and a detailed list of my responsibilities and why I think I’ve earned a raise. When you have time will you take a look at it and we can discuss it.

James: How much do you want? [does not look at my work]

Tina: *states salary request*

James: *not looking up from his work* OK

HISHE Universe

Tina: Hey, James I’ve been doing some research on mean incomes for my position here and I’ve compiled data and a detailed list of my responsibilities and why I think I’ve earned a raise. When you have time will you take a look at it and we can discuss it.

James: How much do you want?

Tina: *states salary request*

James: *not looking up from his work* OK

Tina: LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU!!

James: *looks up* Huh?

Tina: Don’t be a rude asshole! I’ve worked for you for 3 fucking years! Show me some courtesy. I did research! I worked on this! I spit in your coffee!

James: *looks at coffee cup*

Tina: *getting heated and standing up over James while he sits in his chair looking bewildered* In the past 3 years I’ve done all the shit work here, taken all the bullshit phone calls, evaded all the dodgy fuckers that come in here looking for you – so the least you can do is hear me the hell out.

James: *gulps*

Tina: I want [desired salary] and you’re gonna start paying it or I’m leaving and not training the next bimbo you get in here. Oh, and I’m not writing the Craigslist ad to hire the little twat either. Think about that one for a little bit. While we’re at it, I would also truly appreciate some new office equipment i.e. a new chair and phone headset unless you’d like to pay my chiropractic bills.

  

James: *opens mouth to speak*

Tina: Shut the fuck up, James. Shut the fuck up! It’s my turn.

*Birds gently fly in from the outside and start circling the room around Tina and begin singing softly*

Tina: Some stuff is going to change around here; do you understand? Nod if you understand.

James: *nods*

Tina: Raise?

James: Got it.

Tina: Change?

James: Happening

Tina: Great! Glad we had this little talk.

---Tina turns to leave---

James: *relaxes breath*

----Tina turns back around---

Tina: Hey James?

James: *stammering and clearly rattled* Um…yeah?

Tina: The coffee pot sucks. Get a new one by Monday, ok?

James: Got it.

And THAT my friends is HISHE! The possibilities are endless! What does one of yours look like?

Below is a link for How It Should Have Ended - Have fun!! 

http://www.howitshouldhaveended.com/videos/

#halldark - Happy Valentine's Day

Janice

Abby

Linda

Meredith

        I can’t remember a time in my life that I’ve been happier and more fulfilled. These last few weeks you have shown me what true love is. Let’s spend the rest of our lives together! You’re the one!!

Happy Valentine’s Day to my one and only! 

#halldark - for when you care enough to send whatever!

Don't message me

If you don’t know me at all, please don’t send me private message photos. I will not answer them and furthermore, I will laugh at them and share them with other people. We live with the digital world at our fingertips; that doesn’t mean we have to use it every chance we get and certainly not every time the thought crosses our mind. Call me old fashioned, but if you want to talk to me – try sending me a message with words. The photo of you in a tank top or engaging in some sports activity is doing nothing for me. While using big words like “I think ur real pretty” is charming, at the end of the day it still leaves me wanting something more substantial.

It is a regular occurrence for me to open my messenger [Facebook lizards I’m talking to you] and find notifications in there from complete strangers.  Some are innocuous and some are downright lewd. My question to the folks that do this shit is this: where do guys purchase those balls that you’re carrying around? Has anyone ever told you that they’re too big for you? Sending me random photos is creepy. If we’ve never had a conversation and you just take it upon yourself to open the lines of communication with a photo of yourself and some cheesy recycled line about how beautiful I am, I am going to assume that you play Dungeons and Dragons, live with your mother, have skin issues or a gluten intolerance and have a rare arachnid collection. Seriously, sending chicks messages – especially repeatedly is the equivalent of flashing her your nasty little naughty parts while out on a walk in the park. Don’t do it. We don’t like it. We are laughing and we do share it with others.

Ladies: Don’t respond. It gives hope. I’ve made this mistake. Even asking why they’re sending you messages in the first place gives the message of hope. TRUST ME. I encountered this recently with a gentleman in a professional capacity. We’ll call him Water Boy. I could not get it through this man’s dense ass skull that I was not interested. I wanted to be nice and not hurt his feelings, but I’m afraid that in some cases where feelings should be, they have been replaced with pure sex drive. I can’t pretend to understand how the male brain functions. I will say that I give men credit for having HUGE egos… I guess. My self-esteem is certainly not as resilient. God bless you guys for getting the shit kicked out of you and continuing to suit up; you poor bastards.

In closing: men please stop making asses of yourselves. It’s really sad. If you want to talk to a woman by all means do so, but please try talking first. Lead with your good foot – not your face. Think BEFORE you do this too. Maybe talk to a trusted female friend. She can help you.

Women: practice patience…just kidding. Carryon. 

Vengo by Ana Tijoux - with translation

https://youtu.be/BN4k3mnJteo



I love this song and have provided the translation as copied from the web (best version I could find) because I'm too lazy to type it all out. Listen. Love it. I do.

I Come

I come seeking answers

with a hand full and veins open,

I come like an open book

eager to learn our ancestors' untold history

with the wind our grandparents left, which lives in each thought

of this beloved earth, earth

The one who knows how to care for it is the one who truly loves it.

I come to look again to deduce it and awaken the blind eye,

fearless, you and I

let's decolonize what they taught us

with our black hair, with marked cheekbones,

with fugitive pride in the tattooed soul.

I come with the glance, I come with the word,

that spoken word, I come with no fear of losing anything.

I come like the child who seeks in their dwelling

the origin's entrance, the crusade's return.

I come to seek silenced history,

the history of an inhaled earth.

CHORUS:

I come with the world and I come with the birds,

I come with the flowers and the trees, their songs.

I come with the sky and its constellations,

I come with the world and all its seasons.

I come to the starting point grateful,

I come with wood, mountain, and life,

I come with air, water, earth, and fire.

I come to see the world again.

I come with my ideas like a shield,

with human feeling to live this world

where the new man seeks harmony,

I come, hand,

I come like you, seeking the remnant of the piece of tree

and its bark that it keeps in its memory, the victory song,

when we see the earth we cry against euphoria.

Now we see this way, our arms so dazzled,

if we curl up to the origin of the times at the source of the universe,

where the feeling of living this beginning lies.

I come with red blood

with lungs full of rhymes in my mouth,

with torn eyes, with earth in my hands,

we come with the world and we come with its song.

I come to build a dream,

the shine of life where the new man lives,

I come seeking an ideal

of a world without class that can lift itself up.

CHORUS:

I come with the world and I come with the birds,

I come with the flowers and the trees, their songs.

I come with the sky and its constellations,

I come with the world and all its seasons.

I come to the starting point grateful,

I come with wood, mountain, and life,

I come with air, water, earth, and fire.

I come to see the world again.

I come, I come to see the world again.

I come seeking answers

with a hand full and veins open, I come...

I come seeking an ideal

of a world without class that can lift itself up, I come...

with our black hair, with marked cheekbones,

with fugitive pride in the tattooed soul,

I COME.

Water Boy

The guy that delivers water to my office is shady as fuck. When we first met I was completely convinced he was gay and I had a new best friend. We were absolutely going to go shopping together and he was going to be on speed dial for fashion emergencies; like whether or not I should be wearing heels or flats with my dress - or if in fact I could pull off a dope pair of sneakers.

Before you all get pissed off and up in arms about how insensitive I am…nah …I don’t care; you’d have thought and done the same if you were in my position. I pictured us walking side by side happily swinging shopping bags from our wrists as we sipped on smoothies while laughing at other shoppers as they passed by. My new BFF would foot the bill for most of my purchases because along with not having any taste, I also have no money and he’s a computer programmer on the side. He just delivers water to stay in good physical shape. Obviously!

He was a beautiful specimen of a man; 5’11” of dark flawless chocolate chiseled manhood. He had a perfect smile and the cutest little dimples. He would come into the office and after a period of getting to know one another we would joke around and spit lyrics to old 90’s Hip-Hop songs. He really was more flamboyant than my Uncle Hector and that very fine man dressed in drag at least twice a week. I have bonded with him. We are going to go dancing at some point, I just know it! I’m so excited. Maybe he’ll do my makeup.

I want to make sure I’m painting this picture appropriately: I have waged war with my co-workers - convinced Water Boy is gay and defending my Gaydar. I have planned excursions and concerts, sleepovers too and have considered letting my hair grow just so that he can braid it; I’m committed to this friendship. It’s real, yo! Remember those friendship necklaces in the shape of hearts? One friend takes one half and the other friend takes the other? Ok, so that shit was never going to happen because I’m not 13 yrs. old anymore, but it was like that. Swoon.

It came to be that one day at his behest we became Facebook friends. It seemed a natural progression at the time. We were already hugging goodbye when he came into the office. I’ll stop you guys before you say some dumb shit like: “why would you hug the water guy?” I hug everyone. I warn people when I meet them that I am hugger. If you have issues with needing personal space, you need to tell me that shit because unless you stink or you’re an asshole, chances are I will hug you. It’s just how I roll. So the two of us end up friends on Facebook and that’s when I decide I want to know what his shoe collection looks like. What kind of adventures can I expect to go on? Are there any pictures of him and his man? Maybe there’s a how-to on eyeliner application because for real, that shit has always stumped me. I inevitably always end up looking like someone with Parkinson’s disease tried applying it while in a moving vehicle [just having the disease isn’t enough to convey my ineptitude]. To my dismay and UTTER shock I found nothing of this sort on his page…

                               

Water Boy is married and has children! Hey dumb-shit, if you’re going to hit on women you may want to think about dummying up another Facebook account – one sans family. It was monumentally stupid to give me access to your life information. MONUMENTAL!! You’re so very lucky that I’m not in the business of hurting other people unnecessarily these days when it’s not my business. You ought to be fucking ashamed of yourself!!! You have 3 beautiful children and a lovely wife, numbnuts! When I confronted him about his family I got this: “Well, we weren’t going to stay together, but now I guess we’re working it out.” Oh, you guess you’re going to work it out? I’m sure your wife is going to be thrilled to hear that. It’s people like this that make me want to run around with scissors and cut the crotches out of all of their expensive pants and shit in their shoes. Now, in fairness, I know women can be just as crappy, manipulative, and self-serving but my experience wasn’t with a woman – it was with spineless Water Boy. I write what I know. I know my Gaydar is off.

You would think it ends there. Brace yourselves…

I’m forgiving as all get out, so in an effort to not have it be weird at work [and to be a complete pussy and really just avoid confrontation] I let the whole thing go and tell him he just needs to be professional and I forgive the transgression. A short time passes and I think things are cool. Then I get this message that basically thanks me for treating him like a human in spite of his bullshit. THEN THAT MOTHER FUCKER ASKED ME OUT AGAIN!!! WTF!! Shady ass piece of shit; I feel I ought to have shit in his shoes. He lives far away though and that’s a true commitment. Maybe if we were friends. I guess I really hurt his feelings on this last round because he posted some sad sappy shit about deleting his Facebook account. Oh, so sad…said no woman he ever hit on that found out the truth. I am so pissed! I was so looking forward to French braids and sleepovers. Fucker. He probably deleted it so I don’t contact his wife. I have no interest in destroying marriages, he’ll do that on his own – I’m certain of it.

This is not exclusive to men, ladies do this shit too; we’re just better at it. On second thought, I feel a bowel movement coming on and a 40 min drive sounds just about right. A little wind in my unbraided hair…

 

#halldark - Merry Christmas

Uncle Jerry is drunk and hitting on the neighbor’s wife again. Timmy is pissed he got the wrong toy in his stocking and is setting things on fire in the backyard. Aunt Janine is medicating with pills and white wine. Grandma Delaney is praying in the corner and the ambrosia salad still looks like something left over from 1942. Thank God for Xanax.

Merry Dysfunctional Christmas

#halldark - Happy Birthday

I spent 30 minutes picking out a card that wasn’t too sentimental, too religious, too funny and didn’t have glitter and annoying singing animatronics. I’m tired now, the clerk thinks I’m creepy and you’re stuck with this ITunes card.

Happy Birthday!

 

#HallDark - For when you care to send whatever...

SOLID RANT

I learned a very important lesson today: I don’t play well with others. Apparently, what sex you are is irrelevant also; I disqualify people equally. I’m an only child, I don’t share, I don’t like you – get the hell out of my sandbox!

It’s Friday and I’m feeling pretty good about things on the whole. I have a little bit of money in my account, gas in my tank and food in my refrigerator. I am looking pretty svelte in a little blue number and some Italian heels; haven’t tripped once and it’s nearly 1pm. Life doesn’t suck. I’m still getting zero love on Twitter, but I’m not political, I’m not a feminist and my profile photo doesn’t show tits; so Zuckerberg is stuck with me. Think it would be creepy if I sent him a teddy bear for Christmas and a sweatshirt with our photos on it? I post more in one day than most families do in a month. Too bad there isn’t some type of reward system other than that surge in endorphins when someone I barely know hits that little ‘like’ button. Sploosh! If there was a reward system in place, I’d have enough points amassed to trade in for a Japanese knife set or a Vitamix blender. You hear that Zuckerberg?!?! I want my rewards points!!!

Around 12:45pm I get the phone call that would end all of my merriment and Friday musings from a woman I am certain hasn’t had sex since the Clinton administration. Now let’s be cool and change her name to protect her identity, and call her Anna from Oceanside [actual name]. Anna [actual name in case you missed it the first time] calls in to our office and wants to speak to the appraiser who worked on her file. There’s a shit ton of bureaucratic red tape around why we aren’t allowed to speak directly to the clients; proper channels and all that jargon. ‘All requests for revisions and reconsiderations of value must be submitted in writing’…yada..yada..yada. All that shit has to go to the Lender, and then that shit comes down the pipe to us. There is a trickle down. It trickles down - right onto our heads. Follow me? Cool. Anna was not cool. Here’s how this shit went down.

Anna starts getting heated when I tell her that any requests for revisions will absolutely be addressed but need to go through her loan officer. She starts yelling at me (YELLING) that her loan officer has done his job and documented all of my appraisers mistakes and it’s my turn to start fixing things because this affects her financial future. First off: Good for you for getting yourself a loan officer that does his job. Hate to break it you sister, but if he was doing his job, that reconsideration of value you’re talking about would be something that I’m having someone work on and not just something your crabby ass is bitching about. Second: Oh, I’m sorry your financial future is uncertain. JOIN THE REST OF US AND QUIT BLAMING OTHERS. Put your big girl panties on [or maybe they already are, maybe that’s the problem] and start acting like an adult. Yelling at me will get you nowhere real fucking fast. If I’m the front lines, it would behoove you to stop being a cunt, right?

I’m really good at staying calm so instead of saying “Hey Anna, take the dick out of your ear for a second and listen to me, honey. You’re being a condescending snatch and it’s not helping. I understand you’re upset and I want to help you – really, I do.  In spite of you talking down to me and generally walking all over me, I’d like to help you, but first you have to shut the fuck up and let me talk.”  I think I said something more along the lines of “I understand you’re upset, but I’m not sure how else I can help you. My hands are tied in situations such as these” If I were to loosely translate this in office speak it would sound like this: “For fuck sake, what do I have to do to get you off the phone?” My resolve is diminishing. Mayday!! Mayday!! I put Anna [still that hoes name] on hold while she was still talking/yelling; finally telling the appraiser he needs to handle this. I don’t get hazard pay and I am not going to jail. I have this woman’s address in front of me. Don’t underestimate me.

Here’s where it gets fucked up – as if it weren’t already. This woman who has been yelling at me for the last 3 minutes and trying [like, really trying] to make me feel ignorant and unimportant [nice try hoe bag, I do that well enough on my own] is now able to speak to the appraiser and once she is on the phone with him; her demeanor completely changes. HOLD THE FUCK UP! No way lady! You do NOT get to change tunes and start singing sweet, sweet songs because Mike has a penis. Do you think you owe him some debt of respect? Do you think that he is in a position that commands more respect, more dignity? Mike doesn’t change the toilet paper roll, has NEVER fixed ANY of our office equipment, wouldn’t know a PDF, TXT or XML file if it slapped him and you are going to roll over and show him your belly? Fuck you! I don’t need to go stomping through the weeds in the Summer time burning our bras together, but I do expect a little bit more camaraderie amongst women. Sociocultural bomb dropping. Bullshit is what it was. I might as well have been mopping the floor at McDonalds.

The absolute best part and finale to this rant: She’s talking to Mike about what her issues are with the report he submitted and she flat out tells him that she submitted all of her concerns to her loan officer and her lender as well. The lender seems to be in agreement with Mikes report. We’re supposed to change the data and the comparable home prices in her area though because the value isn’t what she wanted to see and her financial future is uncertain? Hey Anna, if everyone thinks the report is ok except for you…maybe it’s ok…maybe you have the problem. Might wanna see someone about your issues. You need some referrals? Give me another call, I fucking dare you!

Update

I promise to get back to ranting about shit people. I know you must miss the swearing and train wreck that is my mind.

I did in fact have a situation today that warrants a FULL BLOWN RANT and I promise to deliver; but I am actually trying to be somewhat productive today. I think they pay me for this 8-5 bullshit I do.

Pretty please stay tuned for the mini drama that transpired. It was dazzling. There will be F-bombs, I may use the C word, and we will even talk socio-cultural aspects [I know, I was surprised too].


~Thanks for sticking this mello blogging bullshit out with me. You guys are troopers!!


As always, feel free to email me: rantsandswears@gmail.com - Let me know you're out there and you exist. Drop a line to let me know what's working for ya and what's not. I probably won't give a fuck, but you can do it. :)