My car is wrecked , my back and neck are all achy, and I am pissed as all hell.

How you gonna slam into me at 35 miles an hour…while I am STOPPED AT A FUCKING RED LIGHT?  Thanks lady, ya made my day.  Actually, besides that, it wasn’t a terrible day.  I mean, I got to get my head strapped to a board and ride in an ambulance!  Who doesn’t love that kinda good time?  Oh…and the X-Rays?  C’mon!  Let me stand here in this freezing ass cold room with nothing but a sheet on to cover my bits, and a neck brace immobilizing me, only to have total strangers wrench and tug at my head trying to get, “The Perfect Shot.”

Oh, and can I tell you how fun it is to call my boyfriend at the crack of dawn, “Good morning baby!  How’s your day?  Mmmhmm, yeah?  Ya don’t say!  Well, me?  Yeah, I got in a really bad car accident a few minutes ago.  You wouldn’t mind jumping in your car and coming to rescue me, as my car has to be towed, and my body will either be in the ER or the morgue shortly.”

Obviously, I survived.  Here I am, another day to bitch to you all.  Aren’t you the lucky bunch?

That said, here are my complaints for the week:

1) My car is busted.
2) My BlackBerry is having fits of rage.  It keeps shutting off when it gets sick of my shit.
3) My head and body are aching like a mofo.
4) J has a show in Seattle tomorrow, which come hell or highwater, I will be at, but as I stated above: busted car and achy body.
5) J helped me with my meds, only to find that my body rejects narcotics like a bad kidney.  That poor guy felt awful for putting me through the pharmaceutical nightmare that followed the accident.  And it could have only been made worse by the fact that I was up all night long kvetching and carrying on about how shitty I think vicodin and flexirill are.
6) I have so much shit to do and no time or energy to do one tiny bit of it.
7) The insurance companies can lick my sweaty balls.

Oh, and can I say this?  Hey lady…whose name I will leave out here…QUIT FUCKING CALLING ME!  You’re on your own!  I am not your bitch and my shit doesn’t come free.  You want me to work?  PAY ME.  I’m sick of people.

As I look back and the useless rantings I have spewed forth this evening, I realize that I am in dire need of sleep.  No one cares about anything I have just said.  Save for me, anyways.  Maybe my mind will snap back into something worth bragging about here pretty soon.

A-fuckin’-dieu.

Chained to the Arch with midgets.  White Volvo was fixed like you would fix a shoe.  Blow in their face…haha…Good one.

I have no idea what any of that means.  I’ve been suffering with insomnia for weeks and have been needing to take Ambien to get any rest at all.  Perhaps it is fucking with my head?

Anyways, I apologize for my lack of postage.  I started a new job (a real live JOB!), and with the house being built, Seth in baseball, and spending every possible moment with Jason, I’ve been slammed.

I PROMISE to post the SEVERAL items I have in my arsenal within the next couple days.

I love you Jason!  HA!

Arby’s is getting a letter.  That’s right, kids.  A LETTER!  I bet you’re all just so excited.

For those of you who have no clue what I am talking about…I like to write complaint letters to companies.  It’s good fun.  Come back and read it.

Nevertheless, I cannot do it this moment.  Its like 8AM, been up since 4.  I’ve been suffering with insomnia for over a week now.  I feel like total ass.  Jason is in Boston for a few more days, so I am all kinds of lonely and cranky about that…I think I am just better off saving the letter till this afternoon.  I’ll be back.

Today, I went to install a software program for a family member on their 3 year old computer.  The family member informed me that this same computer had just come out of the “shop.”

Me:  ”The shop?  What was wrong with it?”
FM: “I don’t really know.  The guy said it had a virus or something.”
Me: “Well, what was wrong with it?”
FM:  ”It kept crashing.  And even now, it still is crashing.”
Me:  ”Um…how much did you pay this dude?”
FM:  ”$200″
Me: “WTF?!?!”

So, I take a look at this thing, which, by the way, crashed as I was there.  This was no virus, this was a memory problem.  I checked the RAM, only to find that this Vista PC was running on a whopping 512MB of RAM.  Vista actually needs 1GB (twice what is in there) to run properly.  I set up this computer when it was brand new, 3 years ago.  In the setup, I installed AVG Antivirus, as well as Eusing Reg Cleaner.

Ok.  Problem solved, need RAM.  But…that’s $200 in the toilet.  So…what did this cat do for $200?  This worthless piece of shit tech uninstalled both AVG and Reg Cleaner, but, GET THIS!  He managed to trick Windows Security Center into thinking that both those programs were still installed, so even though UAC was on as well as security alerts, there was no notification that AVG was missing…AND…Windows Defender was not running scans.

I’ll give you one guess why this cock-smoker (in the immortal words of Jason) did this.  Fuck it, I’ll just go ahead and tell you.  He convinced my poor family member to toss 200 bones at a 3 year old computer.  Of course, with no AV running and the registry a disaster, all hell would eventually break loose…and then…RETURN CUSTOMER!

Well fuck you, dude.  I guess my family member forgot to mention that he has a REAL tech, hell…PROGRAMMER…in the fucking family.

When I reinstalled AVG (which, by the way, I recommend to all my clients:  FREE and AWESOME) I got a virus alert.  SURPRISE!  This guy didn’t do jack shit but try to rip off my family.  And if you know me at all, you know…DON’T FUCK WITH MY FAMILY.  So, suffice to say, this fella is dead.

Speaking of dead…I almost ran my car into a tree today.  Not because I am a bad driver, but because Lynnie was listening to some of that hip- hop music the kids are listening to these days.  The song is scarred into my memory.  It went something like this: “You say you like the way my booty pop, you say you like the way my booty rock, you say you like the way my booty drop. Drop it low girl.”  What the hell does that even mean?  Is her ass falling out of her pants?  Or is this some pirate talk that I am just not putting together?  If you drop it, who is picking it up?  I don’t understand.

I am watching this video as a I work.  HA!  She says at the beginning, “Go home, pimp!”  Now, that’s something I can get down on.  I think I will say it to Jason.  He should really appreciate that.  Hey!  This lady is the black, more full figured version of me.  I’ll be damned.  She’s got my hair.  Oh!  Hey, it’s that wife-beater guy.  I wonder if he is going to wear a wife beater in this song?  Hmmm…there is a lot of colorful spandex goin’ on here.  To be fair, that was a pretty entertaining little show there.

But my G-d!  The music these days is TERRIBLE.  I guess there are far worse songs than this.  I suppose this might be fun to cut-a-rug to, but I can’t drive on this shit.  It’s way better than that rubby ducky song.  Oh yes…you remember the rubber ducky song!  I posted it on my old blog many moons ago!  Oh?  You forgot?  Well let me bring that joy back into your life!  Ah hell…never mind.  When I Google “Song about lady masturbating with a rubber duck,” I just get lots of pr0n results.  I’m not in the mood for malware.  You get the idea from the search string.

I’m so glad that Jason and I like the same music.  Metal is safe.  He, a Slayer fan, me, OTEP, of course.  It works.  If he were into that crazy music, I might have to let him go.  But alas, his saving grace is his love of metal.  And his everything else.

I totally should be working, as it is almost 10PM on Wednesday.  I’m gone all weekend with J, as of tomorrow…well, we’ll be here part of the time, but I don’t like to work when he’s here…So, I guess I should bid you all a-fuckin-dieu!

Sometimes I like to Google things just to see what happens.  I was once dared to Google, “Google.”  It was a frightful moment when I thought for sure I would break the internets and the world would collapse in upon itself.  Just to give you comfort, nothing particularly spectacular happens when you Google, “Google.”  You just get a lot of Googley results (about 1.8 Billion Googley responses).  Speaking of Google, I read in Discover magazine that Google is used 67% of the time, followed by Yahoo which comes in around 13%, and then a breakup of the remainders, most notably, MSN/Bing at 2%.  FYI, I think Bing is utter shit.  Sorry, Bingers.

Today, I took the search term, “Blog.”  Why?  I don’t know.  Curious, I guess.  Everyone is blogging these days and I wondered how many bloggers blog about blogging.  You know what?  Kanye-muther-fuckin’ West’s blog came up on the first page.  Serious?  Am I to believe, given the intricacies of the Google Spider and robots, that KANYE WEST is providing something that say, CNN is not?  Who is this fucker’s SEO Agent?  Kanye West is a twat.  I have no interest in anything this douchesack has to offer.  Why are people reading whether he thinks Beyonce is better than some little country girl?  I thought we were all done with him.  Maybe it’s the passionate distaste we all have for him that is giving him such high Google returns?

Listen to me when I say this:  When you read something on the internets, Google is watching you…like G-d Himself.  Google doesn’t really give two shits who you are, but it certainly cares whether you’re reading Kanye’s blog.  And you Kanye readers are bumping that guy up in SEO.  Don’t give this man more than he deserves.  He’s an idiot.  I could be wrong, but I actually think that dude is a self-proclaimed “genius.”  You know what I call self-proclaimed geniuses?  Deluded Narcissists.

Despite where you think I might be going with this post, I am not actually going to even attempt to bump Kanye in the results polling.  I can honestly admit that I have no chance.  To be frank, I would actually HATE to be on the first page of the results for “blog.”  I am unworthy, as is he.  It should be reserved for legitimate blog servers like Blogger or Wordpress.  Maybe toss in some good news sources.  Google’s own blog is on there, as it should be.  Of course, their SEO team is the best of the best, and they deserve all the credit in the world.  But Kanye?  Really?  Fuck man, even the White House blog comes after Kanye.  THE FUCKING WHITE HOUSE!

kanye west wins the internets

The Apocalypse is upon us, friends.  Better go buy some Spam and canned beets.  We’ll be living in holes underground within the week.

So, you may or may not know this, but I am in the process of building my own home.  At this time, the framing is almost complete and my roofer starts Monday.  Very soon, the electrical and plumbing go in, and alas, the drywall will start going up.  I’m really looking forward to the drywall.

I’ve got this plan for my bathroom.  And it is what one might call “paramount cool.”  That is, of course, if one speaks that way, which I do.  So, I guess I am the “one,” that I am referencing here.

My bathroom is going to be a graffiti room.  WHA?  I will have a variety of Sharpie pens available in the bathroom, which guests will be allowed to use to scribe clever little anecdotes with.  I’m really looking for some clever shit.  The walls will be progressive artwork, as it were.  Please do not write on the mirrors, fixtures, or cabinets.  But go hog wild on those walls, ok?  I plan on having an housewarming (that sounds awkward…”an” housewarming, but do you have to say “an” when the noun starts with an h?) ((Oh shit, I just clarified, only use “an” before an h when it is a silent h, like, “an honor.”) )  Where was I?  Ah yes, I plan on having A Housewarming party this summer.  Each guest will get to go in and write some shit on those walls.

I’m really looking forward to certain people jotting stuff down.  My friend Tasha, who is easily the most witty human being alive; Jason, because it will say SLAYER and if you’re going to have any graffiti on your wall, SLAYER better be in the mix; Lori, if she can make it out, because she loves me and says wonderful things that stick with me forever;  My cousins Chris and Nick, because they are both pretty crazy and will write things that might scare small children (which is really the ultimate goal) ; and so on and so forth.  If Jeff comes, perhaps I will get some awesome Deftones reference.

I think this is going to be the epitome of awesomeness.  No.  I KNOW it is.

If you are not my friend in real life, but have some witty shit you’d like up there, let me know.  I’m taking suggestions.

*Please do not send, “PLEASE DO NOT EAT THE URINAL CAKES.”  Though I appreciate this classic piece of graffiti, my bathroom won’t have a urinal, thus no urinal cakes…so, ya know…not funny.

Last night I dreamed of Sinbad, the comedian.  He was driving this really cool old BMW that looked sort of like an El Camino.  Some guy parked a truck next to it, but perhaps a bit too close and ended up doing a pretty substantial amount of damage to the BMW while the truck was pulling away.  So, Sinbad could not drive his BMW.  Sinbad rounded up a bunch of folks (present company included) and we all got the BMW moved into a position to be towed…by the (wait for it) prison bus that the rest of us were riding.

As we got on the bus, some lady started talking to me.  I don’t know if she was some kind of prison therapist or what, but she sure had a lot of questions.  She told me that as we were coming into Seattle, she would give me a speaking tour as we passed by landmarks.  I said, “I am from Seattle.”  She said, “Ah yes…the other Seattle.”  I think she meant to say that I was from that rat hole, Tacoma…only claiming allegiance to my fair city of Seattle.  Bitch.  I am not from Tacoma.

It’s starting to get a little blurry now…You know how dreams are.  If I think of anything else, I’ll add to this later.  In the meantime, I have a new blog to write.

I need you to send me suggestions on what to write.  Back in my old blogging days, the LETTERS were real popular, so I’ll be bringing those back.  I’ve got one in the works now.  Somewhere I actually think I still have “The Bread Letter,” which was a classic.  If I can find it, I’ll repost it.  In the meantime, go ahead and use my contact page to send me requests.  No worries…it’s confidential.

I would like to say that I won’t be doing any political blogging.  I used to do it a lot and I figured something out.  It’s not that I give two shits and a handshake what your feelings of my political agenda is, but it actually makes ME really angry to write that shit.  I’m not going down that road.  So just bear it in mind when you send your suggestions.

Recently, I cam across the MP3’s of “The Serenader.”  Now, that was good shit, right there.  So, I will blog and post those here pretty soon.

Thanks fuckers,

Andie

I came home today to flowers being delivered.  They are ProFlowers, so I honestly couldn’t even imagine who they could be from.  You can be anywhere in the world, pay an arm and a leg, and have them delivered to me.  So, I was like, “cool!  Flowers!”  If you’re unfamiliar with ProFlowers, let me tell you how cool these things are:  They come from California and are not in bloom.  They are cut per the order, then carefully shipped in a protective box.  So, unlike standard floral delivery, they don’t arrive half dead and beat to shit.

Now, I say I couldn’t imagine who they could be from…For the record, I have a boyfriend.  And in the world of boyfriends, he is truly the best.  However, part of what makes him so awesome is that he is a lot like me.  He’s not overly mushy…just really sweet if the occasion calls for it.  I like this, since I am not big on overt displays of affection.  Suffice to say, I actually did not think they would be from him.

I opened the box.  Now, the way these things are packaged is pretty intricate.  The box has multiple levels.  There is a compartment for the flowers, which contains extra padding and whatnot.  There is a compartment for the vase.  There is a little slot for things like flower food and care instructions, a little area for chocolates (which my flowers did include), and finally, atop all that, sits a special little cut out for the card.  So, when you open the box, you don’t actually see the flowers.  They are hidden away, safe from harm.  The card however, is right there for your peepers to see…

I was on the phone with Lori:

Me: “Man, I just got ProFlowers!”
Lori: “Are they from Doctor?”  (That’s what she calls him).
Me: “I dunno.  I’m opening them now…….(and the voice cracks)”
Lori: “Oh my!  Are you crying?!?”
Me: “Yes…they are from Jason.”

Now, I hadn’t even seen the flowers yet.  And to boot, it wasn’t that they were from him that made me get all weepy and shit.  I mean, I WANTED them to be from him, but that wasn’t the issue.  I’m not going to share what the card said, because it’s really personal and dear to me, but it was lines to an Otep song.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?  How much more awesome can J get?  This guy manages to rifle through all of the hateful rage in Otep’s lyrics (which, by the way, is part of the reason I love her so) to find this one special line that kinda says it all.  He doesn’t even listen to Otep!  He would have had to actually go online and sort through lyrics on all her albums to find this one, short little chorus…and he actually did it.

And then…the flowers.  Sweet crap on a cracker.  They are incredible.  They are still buds, and as I sit here typing this, I am watching them soak up the light and the water.  They are slowly starting to open their tired, road weary eyes.  Absolutely beautiful.

I guess what this little post comes down to is this:  I am a little surly; rough around the edges, as it were.  But, I have tried to show kindness and love when it was deserved, and many times when it wasn’t.  For years, I have been enduring a pain that I felt was some kind of karmic retribution for my own failures and mistakes.  About six years ago, I started to question when I would finally start seeing some reciprocity for the good things I do, the love I give, etc.   Over and over, I kept wading through shit.  But today…I think I finally feel like I have come to a place that is reflective of the good side of me.  I’m not kvetching about how long it’s taken, because I believe that I would not appreciate it as much as I do had it happened sooner.  I don’t delude myself with thoughts of joy forever, but I certainly am enjoying this small speck of time where I am truly happy.  I guess that is the best we can do…one good moment can be worth a lifetime of the other.

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