Month: September 2011

Alabama, Cut the Shit.

If Alabama were a child I would beat its backside with a hickory stick a million times over right about now.  Now is the time for Alabamians to hang their heads in shame.  Please review the following link before continuing with this blog.  I would like you to understand a little bit about what I’m writing about before I start ripping Alabama a new one.

Read it?  Good.  Now I can verbally bitch slap the pathetic excuse for a state that calls the “land of the free” its home.  How dare you, Alabama?  How dare you take away basic human rights from good people; people whose only crime was being born on the wrong side of the border?  So many people travel here at great personal risk just to better themselves and you dare punish them for that?  I know that this country is all about cracking down on immigration lately and I can understand that, to a point.  But I need to say this, Fuck Bill 56.

Have we forgotten that every single one of our ancestors was an immigrant (unless of course you are of Native American heritage, in which case, you win.)  First, that Italian jackass accidentally “discovered” the country which was already inhabited by tribes of Native Americans.  After that, the Brits decide to come, take over and force the natives out.  Then, many years later once the colonies broke away from England because the Brits were pissing them off, everyone was happy for a bit.  It was just them and their slaves.  (Let’s not forget that fun period of slavery where blacks were treated like cattle!)  The years went by and more Europeans decided to come to America where they too could be treated like shit by the people who were here “first”!  Oh how times have changed.

NOT.  Here we are, still treating newcomers like shit.  Leave them alone already.  They are here to make a better life for their families, something I wish more Americans could say for themselves.  That age-old argument that they are stealing jobs from Americans is a bunch of bullshit.  They don’t have papers and therefore they are limited to certain kinds of jobs.  And what jobs are they?  The jobs you don’t want to fucking do!  Can you really tell me that you want to slave in a hot kitchen for 12-13 hours a day cooking for a bunch of ungrateful assholes?  Or would you like to clean that same disgusting kitchen at the end of a long, busy day?  Bullshit.  Have you ever stood in those kitchens before?  90 degree temperatures sometimes with the most disgusting conditions to be cleaned up after.  (I’ve worked in restaurants; I know.  I hate to say it, but it’s not pretty behind the scenes).  So quit your complaining that these poor people are making your life harder.  The truth is, they make it easier.  You’re too lazy to cut your lawn?  Hire a Mexican.  Don’t feel like cooking tonight?  Go out to dinner where yet another illegal is cooking your food because your lazy ass didn’t want to do it.  Think it through before you dare look down on someone else.  Different skin color, different language, different passport.  Why should they make a difference to you?

Alabama is trying to make it so that these people are committing a crime with almost every move they make, as are those that are aware of their illegal status.  This includes children who arrived here as babies, children who know only one home, America.  What, are you guys just looking for another Underground Railroad to start up again?  Need some excitement in your lives?  Under this bill, illegals cannot even attend church without committing a crime.  On top of it, the parish that allows them to attend is committing a crime as well.  A doctor cannot attend to a patient without papers under this law.  Alabama would rather that these people die than allow a doctor to legally save their life.  Does that sound right to you?  Does it?  Because if it does, you don’t belong on this blog.  Police are able to ask for immigration documentation.  That means all you American born hispanics driving through Alabama will most likely be stopped and asked for papers.  Yay for racial profiling, right?  I mean, we need some more of that.

This bill is calling to make racism legal and if this country doesn’t wake up soon we are most definitely headed towards certain demise.  Knock it off, Alabama.  I say the same to the rest of the legislators and citizens alike across this country who share Alabama’s sentiment.  Knock it the fuck off.  All of us in this country act so entitled, but it’s just luck.  We are no better than anyone else in this world.  If Alabama allows this bill to pass, they will have officially taken one thousand steps backward.  If they allow this bill to pass, they are throwing progress out the window.  They may as well bring back slavery.  I worry for this country.  I worry a great deal.

Job (Dis)Satisfaction

Life is never what we expect.  I suffered through four years of college (and by suffered I mean that I had the most awesome time of my life) and turned around to expect a career that I would appreciate in the same way; difficult, yet rewarding.  Oops. 

College taught me that you can be frustrated beyond belief and still enjoy exactly what it is that you are doing with your life.  Does it suck to study for an exam for five hours every night?  Does it suck to write a really painful essay on the Holocaust?  Does it suck to pull an all-nighter three nights in a row just to make it through final exams?  Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes!  Is it fan-fucking-tastic to go out and party whenever you feel like it?  Is it better yet to live away from home without the stress of actual adult responsibility?  Is it reassuring to know that all of your hard work is to achieve a true goal; to get that damn degree that you’ve worked so hard for?   You bet your ass it is!  College may not have been all parties and giggles but the experience more than made up for the stress.  I earned my degree, enjoyed doing it and of that I am proud.

I foolishly, and with all the naiveté of a brand new college grad, thought that my work experience might give me that same kind of pride; my mistake.  I and so many others like me had the misfortune of graduating in the midst of a terrible recession.  In other words, we got fucked.  I took a job as a host at a local restaurant because I didn’t have the experience to become a waitress.  I remained at home with my father and used my poor excuse for a salary for necessities.  Eventually, I worked my way up to becoming a waitress which helped increase my wages by about 2%.  (I fully admit that I was not the best waitress but in my defense I was still very new!)  I decided that one year of working in a restaurant was about all I could take.  It was time to move on.  After a brief stint at my local Starbucks, I was offered a desk job at a small company located only ten minutes from my house!  Sweet deal, right?  Wrong again.  If it seems too good to be true, it is.  Lesson learned. 

I remained at this company for approximately eight months.  The first few months were perfectly fine, frustrating from time to time but my new big girl salary more than made up for that.  The position was about what I expected from a desk job, nothing glamorous but do-able.  About two or three months into my new job, there was a change in management and everything was downhill from that moment on.  It was my very own ‘Office Space’.  (I finally understand that movie now.  Although I never took a baseball bat to a copy machine, I fully sympathize with the sentiment.) 

The new management team no longer cared about its employees.  Employees were no longer looked at as human beings but as a giant machine that needed to be continually poked and prodded until it worked the way they saw fit.  I would expect this from a large corporation but from a private company that only employs about fifty people?  I expected a bit more understanding, and much more tact.  It became apparent that management showed no concern for those working beneath them, taking credit for work that was not their own, expressing blatant favoritism, and a complete disregard for professionalism.  Work became a living hell.  Not only did I not receive credit for the work I did but I was forced to take the blame for things that were not my doing and god forbid you stood up for yourself, that’s not allowed!  Everything I had thought to be true of the work world was slowly being proven wrong. 

Things I learned from my first big girl job:

  • ·         Professionalism will get you nowhere.

  • ·         Lying will get you everywhere.

  • ·         Respect is for chumps.

  • ·         Blaming someone else for not doing their job is more important than doing your own job.

  • ·         Condescension and lack of communication are the best ways to manage.

Forgive me for not being impressed.  Perhaps I expected too much from the “professional” world.  I can admit when I’m wrong; this must have just been a miscalculation on my part.  I’m sure that no matter what company you belong to, you will experience the same atmosphere.  Forbes Top 100 Companies must live by the aforementioned rules as well. 

Needless to say, I felt it was time for a change.  I didn’t respect myself anymore.  Working for this company made me feel physically ill, scouts’ honor.  I couldn’t subject myself to an environment where I was constantly made to feel like less than a person.  I am a good worker.  I don’t claim to be the smartest person in the world, or the best worker, but I do my job to the best of my abilities.  For what?  To be treated like a child?  Many people disagree with my decision to leave a “good job”, but to them I say, bless you.  If you can stomach the thought of settling into a position that makes you miserable, living your entire life with that feeling of emptiness and despair, to you I say, bless you.  I cannot live my life that way.  I will continue to search for a career that fulfills me, a job that makes me feel like I am working towards a goal; a job that makes me feel like I am worth something.

For those of you who choose to remain in that miserable job, I leave you with this:


False Celebrity

The oh so sexy Me.

Don’t you just hate seeing pictures of yourself plastered all over the news, in magazines and on the internet?  And all of the gossip they talk about you??  I mean, I didn’t even notice the paparazzi!  Come to think of it, I don’t remember posing for Vogue either…

The ever talented, Lea Michele.

Oh wait, that’s Lea Michele, not me.  Silly girl.

     Aside from a very “distinguished” nose, I just can’t see the likeness! (Important Side Note– There is no appropriate way to tell me that I have a big nose.  I’ve heard it all and it’s insulting every time.  Out of all of these insults, I have chosen “distinguished” as the least likely to get you punched in the face).  You would be surprised at how many people tell me, “You look just like that girl from Glee!”  I choose to take it as a compliment whether it’s meant as one or not, but I can’t help over-analyze this celebrity look-a-like phenomenon.  (I over-analyze everything, so of course I would analyze something so petty.  That’s just how I roll.  Go with it or go google something more important, like the mating ritual of a mandrill.)

     Back when I was waitressing,  a whole year and a half ago, patrons would walk in and ask if the “Glee girl” could be their server.  This happened at least twice a month.  Once, I even got, “You sure you’re not the Glee girl?”  Sir, you are a genius.  How could I hide it from you?  I, Lea Michele, have decided to stay based in New Jersey, waiting tables at your local sports bar, because honestly, my dream job and millions of dollars just aren’t fulfilling enough.  You caught me!  Now, would you like steak fries or waffle fries with your burger?

     Will I forever be a poor man’s Lea Michele?  I can’t sing, I can’t dance, and I can’t act.  Well okay, I haven’t completely accepted the fact that I can’t act yet so let me just hang onto that pipe dream for a bit longer.  Let’s say, just for kicks, that I become famous one day; I will forever be “the girl who looks a little like Lea Michele.  What’s her name again?  You know, the one from Glee!  Oh no, that was Lea Michele too.”  Malin Akerman, I feel your pain; always having to compete with Cameron Diaz.  Poor girl.

     Perhaps one day this gift or (curse?) will come in handy.  I may decide to drastically change my lifestyle and try sneaking into an incredibly exclusive restaurant BUT I won’t have to sneak because I will pass myself off as Lea Michele, or Idina Menzel, or Vanessa Lengies, or one of the other ladies I supposedly look like.  There are tons of shows using that same plot line on TV right now!  Illegal you say?  Damn you television, polluting my brain with nonsense!  Oh well.  It’s official; it’s a curse.  I will forever be a poor man’s Lea Michele.

     OR, as a last-ditch effort, I can start a youtube campaign to put me on ‘Glee’ as Rachel’s long-lost sister!  Who’s with me?!  That thing about me not being able to sing or dance…that was a…lie?  Yeah…let’s go with that!

Phooey, perhaps a love letter to Ryan Murphy is in order.



Allow me to clarify:  Prisoner of Shitty Internet Service No Longer Missing In Action

Yours truly has returned.

I apologize for my disappearance.  Comcast decided to hold my internet service hostage for no reason other than to make my life difficult.  To be fair, isn’t that the goal of every major corporation, shit on the little people until they get so fed up that they cry under the bed with a teddy bear and a box of chocolates?  That doesn’t happen to everyone?  Oh…anyway…

My Chinese food feast (mostly my fortune cookie) last night has inspired me to write yet another brilliantly inspiring post.  (My thanks to the fallen fortune cookie for its great sacrifice).

“If you want the rainbow, you have to tolerate the rain.”  Wow.  Deep, right?  I’m impressed, Fortune Cookie.  You spelled everything right this time too!

          Whoa, whoa, whoa.  What is this now?  Do I see that the great Dolly Parton is responsible for this quote?  You’re a damn thief, fortune cookie!  That’s what you are!  Where is that ancient Chinese wisdom I look for with my mildly satisfying after dinner snack??  You Bastard!  You deserved your fate!

           Ok, that’s enough of that.  I happen to love this quote and Dolly Parton.  It is simple and yet profound.  Before the good, comes the bad.  Life is a rollercoaster, you must go down before you can come up.  Yada yada yada.  There are so many variations of the same saying, all telling you to shut the hell up and take the shit before you can then turn around and ignore all of the good coming to you.  (Humans, we’re a riot, ain’t we?)

          We’ve all heard it but it tends to go in one ear and out the other because when you’re in the middle of a huge storm, it’s hard to see two inches in front of your face let alone into the distance.  I am most definitely in the middle of a storm right now, not hurricane status just yet, but a pain in the ass nonetheless.  Thank god I am able to blog again, this forum is my umbrella, the only thing helping me see what’s in front of me, reminding me that it’s not all that bad.  My advice to those of you in the same situation, is to go out and find your umbrella.  Something, anything that will help you keep grounded until the sun comes out again.

Thanks for your wisdom, Dolly.  As for the rest of you, I leave you with a song from the beautiful Ms. Dolly Parton. 

(For those of you who didn’t know, Dolly wrote “I Will Always Love You” and sang the hell out of it before Whitney Houston could even drive!)

Living the Dream

     I used to despise reading and then came “Harry Potter.”  All I can say is, God bless J.K. Rowling.  The woman is one of the most talented authors that I have read to date.  She was able to keep my interest (and foster an obsession with her writings) as a pre-teen, which mind you, is no easy feat.

At first, I was leery of reading “Harry Potter”.  I wasn’t much of a reader outside of what they forced me to read in school but I am so so glad that I gave in to peer pressure and read the book that all my friends were raving about.  I couldn’t put the damn thing down.  No, really.  My mother would get so annoyed because I refused to go to bed at a decent hour.  I would stay up all night reading “Harry “until my eyes started to burn and I eventually passed out on top of the book.  I think it most annoyed her when I refused to get up for school the next day because I was so exhausted (and when I refused to do things, it was like dealing with a two-year old.  As a matter of fact, my temper tantrums are still quite epic).

My obsession with “Harry Potter” is surprisingly not the reason that I set out to write this blog.  I just watched “Magic Beyond Words, The JK Rowling Story” tonight and I was in awe of the life that came before Harry.  Joanne Rowling did not have an easy life and although I had heard some stories, I very much appreciated seeing it played out for me.  It made it that much more real and brought tears to my eyes; first out of pity, then out of happiness, and then out of jealousy.  I often wish that I could find that kind of success doing what I love but I also fear that reality will prevent such a thing.

Rowling was chronically unemployed, struggling with jobs that left her feeling empty, lost her mother at a young age, married an abusive man and then supported her daughter as a single mother with the help of the state.  Not exactly the best of times for Ms. Rowling.  Luckily, her talent and perseverance brought her Harry and with Harry came piles of money and a great deal of fame.  So many success stories seem to have had difficult pasts, so does that mean that I’m doomed to a life of mediocrity because I’m not a poor, drug-addicted orphan or something equally as depressing?  I sure as hell hope not.  I don’t aspire to be rich or famous (although I most certainly wouldn’t turn it down), all I want is to feel validated by my work.  I want to make a contribution to society!  I don’t care if that makes me sound cliché, it is what I’m searching for in this life and I will not rest until I find it and I will find it.

For this reason I will continue to blog and continue to write until hopefully, one day, something comes of it.  That means, for those of you who like my writing, you better buy my book when I finally get one published!  And don’t think I won’t be stalking your asses telling you that you need to go buy it!  For now I will continue these little blogs as I attempt to write my book and a screenplay.  Just be patient and remember me.  Please?  🙂

“Why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. I was set free, because my greatest fear had been realized, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so Rock bottom became a solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you’ve lived so cautiously, that you might as well not have lived at all.”- J.K Rowling

Love and Doritos

Hello my lovely, darling readers! 

Tonight’s episode is brought to you by wine and Doritos so please forgive me if I am not as coherent as I would like to be.  (Side note, for those of you who have never tried this combination, please do yourself a favor.  Get a bottle of blush wine, my choice being a White Zinfandel/Chardonnay blend, chill it and grab a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and you have a snack that is the equivalent of the purest of loves.)

Now that we’ve established how high class I am, let’s talk about love.  I have drunkenly decided to discuss relationships tonight.  What better way to discuss a relationship, right?  I could easily sum up relationships in one sentence:  THEY ARE HARD AS HELL.  But I suppose that would defeat the purpose of a blog.  So let’s dig a little deeper, shall we?

Nothing in this world will ever be perfect, so it’s stupid to think the “best thing to happen to your life” would be simple.  Nope, relationships are hard work just like everything else in this life.  The only difference between this kind of work and the kind you get paid for is sex and sometimes they have that in common!  (Ooooh, low blow.)  I apologize.  Actually, no, I don’t.  That statement is entirely true and I will neither rescind nor apologize for it!  (Someone’s a little bitter…)

Truth is, love isn’t all peaches and cream.  Your prince charming isn’t going to ride up on a white horse, or a magic carpet, and sweep you off your feet  (Damn you, Disney)!  The sooner you realize that, the better.  Love is grand and love is great and because of that so many people make the mistake of idealizing it but from that point on, they are doomed to fail.  Stop using every tiny flaw as an excuse to end a relationship.  We have already established that nothing and no one is perfect, so knock it off.  (Now, let me remind you that these are the words of a very bitter, fearful, commitment-phobe.  I am young and a child of divorce so you have every right to take what I say with a grain of salt, or perhaps if you continue reading you will come to realize that I’m right; like I always am.)

I know far too many people who give up a great relationship because they are too curious of what else might be out there, they are unsure of their financial situation, they are afraid of love, or he wears his hair the wrong way.  Let’s be serious now, folks.  EVERY relationship has its difficulties; maybe he works too much and she feels neglected, or she’s a flirt and he feels threatened, or he wants all of her time and she needs a little more room to breathe.  Whatever the problem may be, take a second to seriously weigh it against its consequences.   So he works too much but he does it to support her and give her the life she always wanted.  Still a problem?  So she’s a flirt but you know that she would never betray you.  Better to leave her for the bitch that doesn’t flirt but throws fidelity out the window as soon as you turn your back?  Maybe he’s crowding your space, but have you told him that you’d like some time alone?  COMMUNICATE, YOU LAZY BASTARDS!!  (Says the girl who can’t express anything without a keyboard in front of her).  I’m not talking about abusive relationships, or those with drug dependencies or alcohol problems.  Those relationships require the help of a professional and I do not blame you or think less of you for getting out.

This blog is directed to those of you (perhaps some in your quarter-life crises) who want to run away from a good thing because you’re scared or confused.  I speak from experience.  As a young, bitter, child of divorce with commitment problems, I completely understand.  My instinct is to run at the first sign of difficulty so as to avoid any future pain.  It takes a conscious effort on my part to stop and think, “Are you overreacting again, dumbass?”  The answer is most often, yes.  My advice to you is to stop and ask yourself the same question.  Before you make a decision that you can’t take back, figure out what it is that you’re really worried about.


Yours truly,


P.S- This isn’t even what I set out to write but that’s what wine’ll do to you! 😉

Quarter-Life Crisis

I had two options in writing this blog; I could either sit down and write the damn thing because it’s the only kind of therapy I can afford or I could cry for another hour.  I chose to write, but mostly just because my throat hurts from choking back so many tears.

For those of you who don’t believe in a quarter-life crisis, I say: Fuck you.  You’re probably the same assholes who deny that the Holocaust happened or worse yet, a Scientologist.  If you are one of those people, steer clear of this blog or prepare to have your mind blown.

I am beginning to understand how middle-aged men can claim they are having a mid-life crisis and start buying Ferraris, trading in their wives for the twenty-year old model, and dying their hair an ungodly shade of black.  Hell, I wouldn’t mind a Ferrari, or a twenty year old model and I promise you, I have an appointment to dye my hair in just a few days time.  Add that to the fact that I suddenly have the urge to pierce something and I think there might be something to this “______-life crisis” thing.

I haven’t even reached twenty-five yet but I am a college graduate, stuck in a miserable economy with little idea how I want the rest of my life to play out.  Okay, okay, I know that I’ve said before that not knowing is part of the journey, but guess what.  Not knowing is also the cause of many an anxiety attack.  Deep down I do believe that life isn’t meant to have a plan.  I do.  Where would the fun be living in a world like that in “Brave New World” where everyone knows their own destiny or “1984” where you live by a strict set of rules and if you venture to be different, you’re tortured?  I value the argument that free will and the thrill of not knowing are important to living this life.  Now, will someone please tell that to the neurons and hormones that are having a breakdown in my brain?

I would love to sit down, and tell myself that no matter what I do, everything will be okay.  But I, and many others who have the unfortunate gift of experiencing these crises, can’t seem to remember that as often as we need to.  Instead, I sit down and wonder, “Is this a mistake?  Should I have done that?  Should I do that?  I can’t do that, the world will explode!”  Common sense and rational reasoning just fly out the window when the life crisis hits.  All I want is a change.  I want to feel like I can get out of this rut.  I was able to escape one miserable job, but can I avoid jumping into yet another?  What decision is the right one?  What is a waste of my time and what is worth it?  What color should I dye my hair?  These are life-changing decisions!

Instead of taking initiative, I spend my time reminiscing about the good ol’ days.  You know, pretty much any day before puberty sets in.  If only the world were run by toddlers, perhaps we wouldn’t be fighting a pointless war in Afghanistan.  I mean, think about it!  The world would be one giant play pen with no adults to ruin your fun!  I’ve gotten off track again.  See what I mean?  I’m just not motivated to grow up.  I am revolting against being an adult.  I would much rather be Benjamin Button-esque and just go in reverse.

I admire those of you who have accepted your fate and decided to move forward as adults.  Bravo, I say, bravo!  It will take a bit of extra work to convince myself that maturity doesn’t necessarily rob me of my youth (I still say it does, at least a little.  See, it’s going to take work).  Hopefully, sooner than later, I and those like me will be able to escape our own minds and discover exactly what it is that will make us happy.


Disclaimer: (Because I watch too many legal dramas.)

Just kidding!  Alcohol is not the answer to your problems!

Just mine. 🙂

I had toilet paper in my shoe…

Many people manage to survive an entire lifetime never having to live the shame of walking around blissfully unaware of the toilet paper in their shoe.  I am not that person.

Oh, you bet I made it look sexy.

Friends, I share with you now an embarrassing fact and I encourage you to laugh at my misfortune.  (It’s okay guys, that’s actually the definition of comedy!)  At the tender age of 23, almost 24 (yikes!) I have already battled the toilet paper war twice.

I remember my first time like it was yesterday.  We were in Atlantic City.  The casino was alive and bustling with its usual crowd of alcoholics and gamblaholics.  All of a sudden; I knew.  It was time.  I had found my way to the ladies’ room.  It was a lovely room; very clean and fancy-looking.  (Insert the uncomfortable part where I use the facility here).  As I washed my hands, I took advantage of the very pretty and large mirror hanging above the sink and fixed my face and hair quickly before exiting.  Pity the mirror was not full length, for not a minute after exiting the bathroom, I felt a tickle on my leg.  I looked down at my bare legs beneath my skirt and saw a piece of toilet paper stuck in my left stiletto.  After a brief moment of my heart forgetting how to beat, this classy gal ran right back into that classy bathroom!  It turns out that not only was the toilet paper in my shoe but it had somehow also clung to my skirt.  Go big or go home right?  It was a mortifying experience but luckily there was only one witness before I was able to make my bold escape.

Yesterday, my right shoe met the same fate.  I went about two hours before I noticed that a little piece of toilet paper had somehow snuck its way into my shoe to evade the elements.  The little punk.  What bothers me most is that it took me two full hours and another trip to the bathroom before I even noticed!  This is what clutziness will get you; a shoe full of toilet paper.  Well, that and lots of bruises.  (I can only imagine what ridiculous things will ensue when I reach my 80’s.)

Surprisingly enough, I did not set out to write this post purely to embarrass myself, although my masochism obviously took hold of my hand for a moment there.  I began writing this post because somehow, toilet paper in my shoe has become a euphemism for my life.  I seem to walk through life blindly, not noticing what is right in front of me.  I notice all of the toilet paper and the embarrassing and bad things that seem to slap me in the face, but I overlook all of the good.  How dare I walk around blissfully unaware of the good that has been bestowed upon me?  So many of us make that mistake.  It is so easy to focus on the bad in life.  I haven’t quite settled on the reason for that, but I believe it to be true.  Even as I sit here and write, I can remember so many horrible situations, but I have to rack my brains to remember a warm and fuzzy moment.  Is it just me?  Am I the only pessimist out there?  Doubtful.  We all need to take a little more time to ignore the toilet paper in our shoe and instead marvel at the butterfly that just flew by.  (Once, a moth flew IN my eye, but again…I can’t focus on that.  I need to focus on the butterfly….pretty pretty butterfly…)

Pretty, pretty butterfly...