Tag Archives: humor

Only the Lonely

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There are so many people out there who seem to know what’s best for me and what I need to live my life. It’s amazing I’ve grown to the ripe old age of 39 (several times now) and am still able to function and even dress myself. How did I ever get along without them?! People love to tell other people what to wear, what to eat, how they shouldn’t cuss like a motherfucking sailor, who to vote for, where to spend their money, how they should get married and have children, or at least get into a committed relationship, and on and on and on. I know they mean well but seriously. I’ve got this. Stop telling me what to do. Especially when it comes to relationships. As we’ve discussed before, I’ve been married. And lest the ex get too much credit for my views on relationships, I can honestly say he’s not the only one who’s ever broken my heart and left me for dead. It’s truly been a group effort. So when it comes to the boyfriend stuff let’s just say, my name is…no. But there are the brave few that continue to insist that I can find a man and that I should find a man and that I need to find a man.

reluctant brideBut…but…my cats and my tv!

Apparently, there’s so much in my life that’s missing because of the lack of on-premises penis. So I decided to take the majority of the arguments as to why I need a relationship and wreck the ever loving hell out of them. Just for funsies.

You’ll be lonely

Now, if I don’t get a man while the gettin’s good (and let’s face it, the gettin’s sliding downhill at an alarming rate), I will be cursed with an eternity of loneliness. Who will I talk to? Who will I share my day with? Who will I do things with? And go places with? Who will come see my plays? Who will bother me while I’m watching tv?

side profile of a young man arguing with a young woman

I can’t wait to tell you all about sportsball.

So how will I combat my loneliness without a boyfriend? I’m not sure. Let me ask Melanie, Jen, Mom, Melinda, Kim, Debra, Cory, Lindsay W., Lindsay A., Brandon, John, Brian E., Brian L., Carly, Kelly A., Kelly M., Kelly H., Linsee, Stephen, Dad, Janet, Alan, Bonnie, Nikki, Genesis, Pat, Fallon, Ashton, Nancy, Julie, Ravyn, Chris, Jan, Rex, Ingrid, Chrissy, Jamie or any of the other hundreds of family, friends, fans, and well-wishers I have. That I talk to. And do things with. And go places with. So loneliness is obviously not a valid reason to get a fella. And of course when it comes to good company, if all else fails…

catsCats. That is all.

You need children

As we’ve also previously discussed, I’m not having children. Along with all the reasons listed in the link, I have to say kids aren’t for everyone. They are real, live human beings. They have feelings and thoughts and needs. They do! I read it in a book once. They are people and not a trendy accessory or pastime. I refuse to bring another person into this world because (a) somebody else thinks it’s a good idea, or (b) I’m bored and don’t have anything better to do. I don’t care how much children have enriched your life and you don’t care how they destroyed your lady bits. I’m not interested. And also, I’m never bored. Especially since FXX became The Simpons Channel.

homer-simpsonWayyyyy more enriching than a baby. With lady bits still intact.

I don’t really have that time bomb or clock or whatever it is that makes women want to squeeze something the size of a wet St. Bernard through a hole the size of a cat door. But if the mothering urge does overtake me and all else fails…

scupsI have a real St. Bernard.

Who will do the man stuff?

Ok, I’ll admit it. There are certain things a man can do that I’d rather not. Like killing bugs and mowing the lawn and building things and fixing things. Of course, I can and will build my own blanket fort. And it will be rad. And no, you can’t come in.

blanket fortThe only rule of Fort Blanket is there is no farting at Fort Blanket.

God knows I hate bugs but I can use a can of Raid or hairspray or Febreze or whatever poison just as good as the next guy. I also have money, which I can use to exchange for the goods and services of a person who knows how to build and fix things, should I need them to do so. I’ve also found that a low cut tank top can get me all kinds of help from the all the men and about half the women at Home Depot. And if all else fails…

woman's tool kitThanks for teaching me this, Mom!

You’ll never get flowers and gifts

This one worried me a little. I adore flowers! And chocolates. And anything sparkly. But I had an idea. A wild crazy idea that just might work. So I went to Kroger. I went to the floral department and picked up a bouquet of roses. Only $10. I took a couple of steps away from the refrigerator case. I looked around. Nope. Nothing. Nobody ran up to me screaming that I can’t have these flowers. Nobody punched me in the face and took them back. I cautiously walked to the register. I handed the girl my credit card and lo and behold she let me buy them! Holy shit! I can’t believe that happened. She asked me who they were for and I said, “Myself.” And she said, “Cool.” Damn right, it’s cool! Now, I’m not sure if this will actually work for candy and shiny things but I’m pretty sure it will. So no, I don’t need a man to buy me gifts. If I want something, I’ll buy it for myself. Or ask Santa Claus. And if all else fails…

stealing flowersYoink.

Who will take care of you when you get old?

Statistically, women live about 5 years longer than men. So really, if a woman marries a man her age or a little older (as is the norm), she’s looking to spend her golden years taking care of a sick and dying husband and then being left heartbroken and alone when she’s too old and wrinkly to appreciate finally being able to strut around the house in the nude and bask in her newfound bachelorette status. Then, some people would say, that’s when you need those kids you didn’t have to come take care of you. Not so fast. Who’s to say your kids aren’t assholes who are going to throw you in Shady Pines and forget all about you until the will’s read? Why take that chance? I’m currently saving for my own retirement that I don’t have to waste by “sharing” it with someone else. My plan includes a lovely 401k, a small pension from SAG, some scratcher tickets, and my own retirement palace in my sister’s basement where I’ll live with my cats and enjoy my choice of Fancy Feast or Meow Mix, depending on what Social Security the Republicans have left me. My sister also has 2 kids though, so she said I can borrow one of them to love me and take care of me when I’m old. I’ve been working hard to form a tight, loving relationship with them, forged by gifts and currency so if all else fails…

kid moneyReplace your IV bag with vodka…got it.

What about…you know

Just say it. Sex. What about sex?! Now, my parents read this here blog so I’ll keep it brief. Parental figures, SPOILER ALERT, I have had/do have/will have sex. You might not want to read any farther than this.

unicornWe interrupt this blog for a rainbow and unicorn break.

Ok. You don’t need to be in a relationship to get laid. We all know it’s true. I can have sex whenever I want. The best part about uncommitted sex is that you’re not, you know, committed. You don’t have to talk about personal crap or care or get sucked into a tsunami of the feels. You don’t have to worry about taking him home to Mom, or him monopolizing your free time, or touching your stuff, or whether or not the cats like him. You can be friends, take care of your business, and move on with your life. And if all else fails…

batteriesHell, a lot of married women probably need these, too. 😉

Don’t get me wrong though. If the right guy came along, sure, I’d totally go for it. But I don’t believe in settling or talking myself into loving someone just because other people think I’m supposed to. There are so many amazing men out there. But if I’m confined by society’s dictates and don’t live my life honestly and with an open mind and heart, I might miss him. If I fall in love, it will be with a man who enhances my life; but he will not be my life. He will be there because I want him, not because I need him. Yes, I’m single. You know why? Because I’m worth the wait. And as RuPaul, the Mother of all Queens says…If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you going to love somebody else? Can I get an amen up in here?!

Weddings, Birthdays and Babies, Oh My!

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So I know that there always seems to be some sort of exciting event in people’s lives at work. You can count on it in any office, big or small. It affects everyone. It seems that I see the people in my office more than my own family sometimes so naturally (before the Prozac wears off), I feel inclined to share in their happy times. But it’s seriously starting to get ridiculous. I don’t know how many more lunches/cakes/gifts/gift cards/cards/flowers/showers/singing telegrams/bottles of liquor/decorations and so on that I can donate to before I have to choose between paying my electric bill and insulting Jack in accounting. And God knows if I don’t share in the joy of Jack’s 150th anniversary of being married to that horrid woman who calls the office every day and still calls me Christie (I hate that name), I’ll never hear the end of it. And if I don’t give $10-20 towards the gift, then he’ll be pissed because one time I gave Melissa a stuffed animal I won out of the claw machine when her cat died.

sad man(Geez, I hit a cat on my way to work this morning and I didn’t get squat!)

The thing is, I like Melissa. She is my friend and she is a super nice girl. She knew all about that rash and the kerfuffle at the free clinic and she didn’t tell a soul! She’s fantastic. But I don’t like Jack. Jack is a dick. He is rude and lazy and a liar. He eats people’s lunches out of the fridge and thinks we don’t know and if you call out sick, he tells everyone you’re either hung over or knocked up. Why should I spend my hard earned money on someone like that? We’re not friends; we’re co-workers. Then there’s always the email that goes around stating, “If you would like to give toward the office gift, see Jane. But you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Yeah, right. More like, “You don’t have to give if you want to be known as the bitchy office cheapskate.” I’ve worked in small, medium and large offices. It doesn’t matter. Everybody knows everybody’s business. If you don’t give, they’re going to know. I’m not stingy but I could go bankrupt from buying pastel colored gift bags alone. It’s not that I want to be mean but jeez! It seems the gift giving requirements are getting more and more demanding every year.

office gossip(She can afford to get lunch from the 7-11 but not chip in for Mavis’ cruise? What an uppity bitch!)

I mean, congrats on your new baby. Babies are great. I don’t have one but I hear they’re endlessly amusing despite the smell. One of the attorneys in an office I worked at had no fewer than five, count ‘em folks, FIVE baby showers! And yet I’m still supposed to give her something!? What the hell else could that kid possibly need? It’s dressed better than me at this point. It’s insane. Who has that many baby showers and still asks underpaid staff for more gifts?

AngryBaby(Yes, a baby massage table is a necessity. I HAVE STRESS!)

And if you don’t pony up, you get that look of, “What did poor, pregnant girl/bride/birthday girl ever do to you?” or “Why do you hate babies?” or “Oh, of course you don’t want to give the bride a gift. You’re divorced. You hate love.” No, I don’t hate love. I just hate your love. But if I try to argue the point, I just look even more pathetic and hateful. It’s better just to hand over some cash and keep my mouth shut.

kid money(Congrats on your bris, kid. Though this won’t be much comfort about a half hour from now.)

I want to know when us single people are going to get showers and parties. There are always a few of us in any office who are not married and do not have kids. We’re getting stiffed here! Shouldn’t we get some sort of gift-related recognition for being able to properly use a condom and not joining our lives to the first person who asks out of fear of dying alone? I think we should. Not gonna happen but it would be awesome.

redneck couple(Yeeaahhhh, totally worth it. Maybe my standards are too high.)

Bottom line, I am sick to death of being guilted into buying anymore gifts for anyone in the damned office. If we’re close, I will know what’s coming up in your life and be happy to gift you for it and vice versa. As for the other 98% of the office, let’s try “don’t ask/don’t tell”. Don’t ask me for gifts and then I don’t have to tell you no. That policy has to be good for something.

embarrassing(No, no, don’t explain. I should’ve known to knock before I opened the supply closet.)

There are, of course, birthdays. I think it’s nice if the office wants to have maybe one cake per month for all the birthdays in that month. It would save us all a lot of time and money. As for me, I love my birthday. Yes, I’m sprinting towards middle age like a starving cheetah on crack with the Sizzler in its sights but I still love my birthday. It’s actually more of a week span of celebration but I still call it birth-day. I have my family and friends who are required to celebrate and appreciate me accordingly. I don’t expect anyone at the office to get me anything. If you notice me wearing my birthday tiara and want to say “Happy Birthday. I can’t believe you’re only 29”, that’s great. And we can go to lunch together but I can pay for myself. Unless, of course, you insist. But if you are not family or appointed friends, then don’t spend your money on me. Just cover my donation next time Jenny gets knocked up again.

lots of kids(Dear God! Don’t you people ever just watch tv?)

The 11 Secretarial Commandments

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Please take note of the following commandments as they apply to any and all administrative staff in your realm. I have written these down so those that plead ignorance shall be ignorant no more. These are truly words to live by.

1. Thou shalt not interrupt thy secretary’s lunch. If I am eating, or on my way to eat, do not try to stop me. My stomach has been on the same schedule for many, many years. It will be bad for your digestion, should you mess with mine. Do not text or call or try to speak to me at lunch. It is my time away from you. The reason you pay me is to do work for you. I don’t do it because it’s fun or I particularly like it. Therefore, on my break time, I am not thinking about you nor do I want to. Whatever you want can wait 1 hour. If not, it’s probably beyond my help anyway.

lunchtime

(I told you. I get cranky when I don’t get my lunch.)

2. Thou shalt not look at pictures of my sister on my desk and say “Damn, she’s hot!” I know she’s hot. And in mentioning her hotness at all, you are obviously stating how un-hot I am in your pointless estimation. I am your secretary and I don’t need your drool all over my desk. I have spent my entire life knowing she is hot (and I am funny). You don’t need to remind me. Also, if you think saying this will encourage me to make some sort of connection with my hot sister, you are sadly mistaken. The last thing I want is to see more of you because you are dating my sister.

sis photo

 (Dude, were you like adopted?)

3. Thou shalt not contact me before or after my appointed work hours. I will work hard for you between the hours of 8:00am to 12:00pm and 1:00pm to 5:00pm. Don’t call or text or try to find me on Facebook. Any and all drunk texts will be kept in a file entitled “Why I Deserve a Raise For No Reason”. Be warned ahead of time. This behavior may also result in my cornering you to show you pictures of my pets in hilarious/adorable situations and forcing you to listen to me sing Christmas carols when it’s not even Christmas so you will understand what “Don’t bother me” really means. Never forget, I can make your life a living hell, so let’s play nice and keep work at work.

old lady texting

(Thk u, Mr. Johnson. Now fwding this 2 ur wife. Lol, Myrtle.)

4. Thou shalt not question. I have been a secretary a long time. I know what I’m doing. If I said I did something or I’m going to do something, I will. Don’t ask me to “call and confirm”. That is a waste of my precious time and it pisses off the people that also know how to do their jobs. Trust me. We must have trust to make our relationship work. If there is a problem, I will let you know. Otherwise, believe in the power of the secretary. Her powers are stronger than yours.

signature

(Are you sure I sign here? Maybe I should sign at the top. Can you check on that?)

5. Thou shalt remember Secretary’s Day and keep it holy. This speaks for itself. Do not ever try to “IOU” Secretary’s Day. There better be flowers and food involved at the very least. Cash is acceptable as well. A mere card is unacceptable and don’t even try to get me to make reservations for lunch in my own honor or order in and expect me clean it up. I deserve better. And if you remember me, I will be more willing to do extra nice things for you because I feel appreciated.
treasure chest

(Eh. It’s a start.)

6. Thou shalt not expect me to babysit your kid(s). If you choose to bring your spawn to work, they are your responsibility. I like kids. They’re cool. But you are paying me to work. I will say hi, and pat them on their cute little heads but do not expect me to feed, potty or entertain them. I have enough “kids” in this office that need my attention to keep them out of trouble. I do not have any time left over for yours.

kids in office

(She said the least I could do is make myself useful and make some copies.)

7. Thou shalt not steal my pens. I know you have them. I’ve seen you chew on them and now I don’t want them back. I hate when I have 10 pens in the morning and none by 4pm. You know where the supply closet is and it is not my desk. Your arms did not fall off. Get your own office supplies. And what did you do with the 10 pens you stole from me yesterday? Use one of those. That also goes for paper clips, sticky notes, binder clips, folders and paper.

Woman with Pencils in Hair

(No, I have not seen your damn pencil. Paranoid much?)

8. Thou shalt look upon my face and not my funbags. Yes, I know I have a great rack. I do my best not to flaunt it too much but by the time you get to be a grown man (or grown lesbian), you should be able to have a conversation without checking out the girls. They can’t talk back to you. Only my face can. I measured it and it’s exactly 13″ from my eyes to my boobs. You can look up at me. I know you can do it.

butt touch

(But I’m not looking at your boobs!)

9. Thou shalt protect me from screaming phone calls. If your colleagues, clients or wife call and yell at me, I expect you to tell them not to talk to me that way. I don’t take screaming from you or even my loved ones and I sure as hell won’t take it from a stranger. Just like I will protect the receptionist from people who scream at her, I would like the same from you. Or the permission to scream and curse back. That would work, too.

yelling on phone

(He says he doesn’t return your calls because you’re a fucking bitch who smells like ball sweat, ok!)

10. Thou shalt not ask me to do personal things for you. That includes jury duty, driving school, kids’ plays, etc. If I want to go to driving school, I will get my own ticket. I have my own jury service. I do not want to help you do your taxes or anything else like that. I have enough to do without keeping track of how many carbs you’re eating behind your wife’s back or when your mother’s birthday is. Now I will gladly tell people your door is closed because you’re on a conference call and not because you are really taking a nap. I will tell a client you’re on another call when you’re really playing “Wheel of Fortune” on the computer instead of taking their call. That’s fine. But let’s keep it business, ok?

prostate

(Why won’t I take your prostate exam for you? Let explain again…)

11. It puts the work in the basket. Use the inbox. Remember that scene in “Silence of the Lambs” where Buffalo Bill had the girl in the well and he would lower the basket down to her and say “It puts the lotion in the basket.”? And by God she put it in the basket, didn’t she? Scared out of her mind, wounded, hungry, almost completely in the dark and dealing with a mad man, she still managed to follow the simple basket directive. And Buffalo Bill’s basket didn’t even have a label in pretty, bold Monotype Corsiva font saying “IN BOX” on it! That girl still knew that was where the lotion went. In the basket. Not on the floor, not in the bucket he dropped her food in, not in her pocket, she didn’t throw it out of the well. She put the damn lotion in the basket. Do I have to toss people in a well and dress in drag to get them to understand “It puts the work in the basket!”

basket

(Is it just me or is my cubicle getting smaller?)

I had to make 11 commandments because I have a thing for odd numbers. I’m sure there are more but I’m tired now. Take the gift of these words and heed them well. Your professional life can only be enhanced by it. The hand that types the papers, rules the world.

Getting a Taste of the Back-o-Me Hand

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So this blog is going to be about the day to day stuff that aggravates me to near violence. I could’ve titled the blog “Pet Peeves” but that doesn’t nearly display the irrational irritation I feel at the things I’m about to describe. Also, “Pet Peeves” sounds cute. It’s alliterative and sounds like pets-kitties and puppies. Not the things that people do that make me want to punch them in the throat. Some of these things bother me way more than others. And some of these things my friends do but I love them, so it doesn’t bother me so much. But when other people do it…I start feeling real stabby.

(Go ahead. Sing “It’s a Small World” one more damn time.)

Butchering the English Language

Some of you may be saying, “Why do I have to talk and spell good English? I ain’t never going to England.” Well, my friend, this is America. We actually do speak English here. In order to be a functional member of our society, you really should be able to speak and spell correctly in your native language. Now it takes some brains to be a legal secretary (my current day job). When I started at this office, I noticed the secretary before me had made labels to opposing counsel for every case and saved them on the server. Thanks, Ex-Secretary! Except she spelled it “lables”-every single time. How can you work at a job like this and not even be able to spell “labels”? Needless to say, my OCD took over and I renamed every file properly. Here are a few honest to God posts BY ADULTS as seen on my Facebook.

“Dont take it rong.”

“Your not specialer then me.”

“That’s beutifull.”

“She past the test!”

“Text me. I’m board.”

Wow. Just…wow. And these are sober, grown up people, who have high school and/or college educations. Do you have any idea how ignorant you look? How did you pass school? Did they just kick you out because they were tired of trying? I am appalled by this. It drives me insane!

(Me no function beer well without.)

This also goes into the new generation of texting. Omg srsly, y do ppl shrtn wrds lik dat 2 txt? Tbh, idk. Plz n thx, tho. As Melanie says, “Where did all the vowels go?!” I do use things like “omg” but I get to do that because I know if someone put a gun to my head, I could actually spell it all out properly. And I know without a doubt there is a huge population of up and coming youth that could not make that same statement. This type of communication is becoming more prevalent on Facebook, Twitter and all the other social media as well. The site Tumblr can’t even spell its own name right. Won’t someone please think of the vowels!

Time After Time

Everyone is late sometimes. I get that. Especially in L.A. where traffic is a bitch and you’re sitting there forever while you have to pee and Grandpa is trying to figure out how to cross 5 lanes of freeway because his exit is 100 feet in front of him and you just want to scream and ram into the car in front of you so it will just fucking MOVE! Sorry. Lost myself for a moment there. So yes, sometimes we’re late. But chronic lateness is just rude. It basically says to the people who are waiting on you that they are not important. It’s disrespectful. Oh Lord, I just sounded like my mother. If I start saying “Don’t dismiss me, young lady.” then we’re going to have a problem. Anyway, some of my friends are going to be late for their own funerals and I accept that about them. But it’s those other people. The ones who do it on purpose because they just don’t care about anyone but themselves. I don’t want to have to sit and wait 10-15 minutes for a meeting to start because someone, who already knew the meeting started at 9am, has to get coffee and go to the bathroom and check their email one more time before they can show up. I have to be at work on time but apparently, that rule doesn’t apply to everyone. Some people get to wander in whenever they damn well please. And not because of traffic or helping old ladies across the street. Just because they don’t feel they have to be in on time. If I, and millions of other Americans, can get our asses to our desks by 8:00 a.m., why can’t you! And that shit pisses me off like almost nothing else.

(It’s pain o’clock, jackass!)

Miss Manners

I don’t know if it’s because I’m from the South or just because I was raised right but where are the manners in this world anymore?  There are certain inalienable things I have carried from childhood to adulthood. 1. A fierce hatred of Spaghetti-O’s; 2. Sticking your finger in any head hole and wiping it on your sister is funny; 3. God is real; 4. Being rude will get me a smack upside the back of my head, regardless of age. I really hate being smacked in the back of the head, ergo, I am polite. The use of such phrases as “Please”, “Thank you”, “You’re welcome”, “Ma’am”, “Sir”, “May I” and “Excuse me” are rarely heard anymore. I hate that! Saying “excuse me” when you’ve just severed my Achille’s tendon with your Wal-Mart cart would really take the sting out. When I first moved to L.A. and was waiting tables I said, “Yes, ma’am” to a customer and she asked, “What part of the South are you from?” I asked her if my accent was that bad and she said, “No but no one here says ‘ma’am’ unless they’re from the South.” True story. Men don’t hold doors for ladies. Actually no one holds doors for anyone. We aren’t nice to each other anymore. It’s kind of sad. Oh, and here’s one that burns my potatoes. People who talk on the phone while they are in a public restroom. Ew!

(So then I says to Mabel, I says, “Gurrrllll…”)

Yeah, you’re gross. There is NOTHING you have to say that cannot wait until after you pee. I promise you. Either hold it or call them back. I will not control any bodily function if I hear you on the phone in the stall next door. I can promise you that. There are not enough barns is the U.S. for all these rude losers to have been born in. And if I had talked to my mother the way I hear some kids talk to theirs in public, I would’ve eaten my teeth. Maybe that’s it. Kids just aren’t being beaten like they used to. Ok, this is getting a little long so let’s do a quick written montage of a few more things…(please hear Bon Jovi’s “Dead or Alive” as you read this next part. No good reason other than I heard it on the radio on the way home and it’s a great song that should be stuck in someone else’s head besides mine right now.)

Other Stuff Deserving of a Kidney Kick

“Have you seen the…uh…” finish your sentence. I’m not Kreskin or Madam Cleo. I can’t help you unless you finish your thought. If you can.

“I hate seafood, you know. I have so much work to do, you know. My husband’s member is tiny, you know.” Yes, I know. You just told me, moron!

“I was all like ‘Hi, Greg.’ and he was all like ‘Hey baby.’ Like so cool.” You were not “like” anything. You said <insert insipid conversation>. He said <etc.>. Ease up Valley Girl. This is a new century. A new beginning.

“I went to the mall and had to return that top because it was too small. Does that make sense?” You spoke simple English. I understand simple English. Yes, I freaking understand. What a stupid damn question!

“She looks like a whore with all that makeup.” Says the girl wearing twice as much makeup and half as much clothes. Don’t call people out for something you’re doing yourself.

Liberry is not a word. It’s library.

Thee-ATER is not a word. It’s just theater.

Irregardless is not a word. In fact, spell check just underlined it in red. The word is “regardless”. Look it up. The internet can do more than just deliver lightning fast porn.

“I have 5 dollar and 24 cent.” No, idiot. You have 5 dollars, 24 cents and zero brain. It’s called plural. Again, look it up.

“Look at question number B.” I HATE this one! I get this from actual attorneys at work. Doctors of Jurisprudence say “number B”. B is a letter, not a number. Say “Look at question B” or “Look at question lettered B”. There is no such damn thing as number B!

“I could care less if he gets hit by a car.” No, you couldn’t care less. If you could care less, that would indicate you care some. God, I’m starting to get eye twitches writing all this crap down!

Lastly (for today), DO NOT treat me like I’m stupid. I’m no Stephen Hawking or anything but I am an intelligent, well-read woman who is a good secretary and a great actress. If you talk down to me, you are asking for it. If I don’t know something, I’ll ask and I’ll learn. But never assume you have to talk to me like I’m an idiot or a child. That’s just asking for a swift kick in the nuts.

(Yes, I know the difference between “your” and “you’re”.

“You’re” getting kicked in “your” balls right now!)

Thank you all so much for your time and attention as I vented my spleen. I feel much better now. What are some of your pet peeves?

And if you like totally like hart my blog, share it with your freinz, you know! I wood be soooo =D. Lmao. Peece out, biches…