it’s called sarcasm | Pants, pants, PANTS!

Entries Tagged as 'it’s called sarcasm'

One of These Things is Not Like the Other One

November 13th, 2008 · 25 Comments

My sister and I are so different I’ve often wondered how we came out of the same vagina. I’ve had thirty-two years to ponder our differences and hope that one day, she will accept me. I’m beginning to realize, this is not a very realistic hope.

It hurts my feelings that she is incapable of expressing happiness or support for anything that is not directly in line with her own beliefs. When she calls me to talk about her new church calling, or her daughter’s baptism, I support her. I don’t say, “BAPTISM?! Pshaw! You’re having your kid baptized into that cult founded by the pedophile, sex offender, douchebag?!”

I treat her as I would like to be treated. I support her. It’s called the motherfucking Golden Rule! And I wish she would apply it to her own life.

I’m sick of double standards. So what if I’m making decisions that don’t line up with her religious beliefs? My decisions are MY OWN! They don’t line up with my parents’ beliefs either, yet they manage to love and accept me, as I am. When I tell my mother I’m planning a gang bang she replies, “That’s nice. I’m sure it will be lovely, dear. I’m happy that you’re happy.” I’d appreciate a similar response from my sister instead of a flat, unsupportive statement.

Categories:Childhood Cult, it's called sarcasm, my dysfunctional family is better than yours
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I Need More Cats

October 14th, 2008 · 25 Comments

I am sick to fucking death of dating. Not that I’ll be stopping anytime soon, because I was raised in a (loving) dysfunctional household and I don’t know when to say when.

A few months ago I had an interesting conversation with my dad about dating. (Weird, I know.) He said the shitty part about internet dating is that you don’t have a “real” connection with the people you are meeting*. Well, except that you both pay to meet people on the internet. All you can do is cross your fingers people are genuine because you aren’t going to see them again through mutual friends, or run into them at some shared activity. There is no accountability. Don’t want to talk to someone anymore? Pretend they don’t exist. The end! I’m guilty of this, as well. Sometimes it seems silence is more kind…which leaves me wondering: what the fuck happened to make (insert name of anyone interesting I’ve dated since moving to stupid fucking God’s Country) disappear? I feel like I have been doing a pretty good job of not being the crazy girl. My boundaries have improved. I’m not fucking each dude within the first 20 minutes (I’m all way up to 40 minutes of conversation before sex in the Starbucks bathroom). And I wait at least 5 minutes AFTER sex before I profess my love for him, tell him I want to have a million of his babies, and that I can’t wait for him to meet my cat.

Communicating with men via dating websites the appropriate amount of time, graduating to personal email or phone, then eventually in person is exhausting. Especially when you meet and you immediately know it’s not gonna happen. Whether it’s because he’s educated to fucking infinity but has yet to discover the joys of deodorant, freaking you the fuck out by attempting to destroy all the boundaries you’ve set (HELLO! Red flag d-bag!), or you’d rather tongue kiss your cat. All of which makes it more frustrating when seemingly decent men disappear.

Does anyone know who Random Carol is? ? I’ve been receiving referrals from her, but her blog is private.

And to the person who is coming here by way of a “what to ask to my future husband” Google search, you are in the wrong place. (I don’t know why I’m the second result either.) If you continue to return, I may be forced to write a list of things to ask the lucky fucker.

*I hate it when my dad is right.

Categories:boys are the dumb, Club Celibacy, cobwebs in my privates?, confession, emotional impotency is not hawt, fucking paradise, hell is for single people, it's called sarcasm, I’ve lost that loving feeling, my milkshake brings all the hobos to the yard, obviously crazy to leave the bay area, The Crazy
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My Future Husband

September 24th, 2008 · 33 Comments

I have been going back and forth, trying to decide if I should share an online dating jewel with y’all. After a little discussion with some friends and family, I realize it’s toofuckinggood not to share.

Yesterday I received this email, by way of nameless dating service, from a 59 year old man:

“Have you ever considered going out with an older man?”

He also included a link to a personal website (which I am not posting to protect the innocent guilty save my own ass).

On this oh-so-lovely webpage, there was a picture of the gentleman (Exhibit A) and A LOT of poetry. I immediately thought of Nick Nolte’s mugshot (Exhibit B). Though I think Stefanie deserves an award for recognizing similarities with The Dude (Big Lebowski, Exhibit C). Don’t believe me? See for yourself.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

Exhibit C.

Rather than post a gajillion pieces of poetry, I will share two of my favorite snippets.

she was deeply cut
bled out
it took a long time to heal
pity

WOW. Cut deeply? Bled out? Bring on the skin suit! Let us get to a remote location ASAP.

I would bring you gifts of flowers
to make a garland for your hair

I suppose that would be preferable to boyfriends who forget my birthday or “don’t believe” in Valentine’s Day.

What is the best part about his webpage, you ask? Embedded Celtic music!

I sent this all of this to my sister, who frantically called to ask what on earth was going on. I explained he’s an older man who contacted me on namelessdatingwebsite. Then I said maybe I should consider responding and meeting up with him. He’s the same age as our parents, so that would (obviously) be great; they would have so much in common! Plus, there’s the sweet music and gentle poetry. When I told her that I thought his ears would smell fantastic and I couldn’t wait to have like 100 of his babies, my sister drew the line: “Don’t you EVER say that again. It’s so gross you just made my uterus throw up.”

Categories:going to hell, hell is for single people, holy rad, it's called sarcasm, OH MY HORRORS
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Hey, Dirty, Baby I Got Your Money

September 18th, 2008 · 17 Comments

What’s the title have to do with me being broke? Nothing really, except that I’ve got Ol’ Dirty Bastard stuck on my mind and I’m about to bitch about finances.

It turns out I’m not the only one stressed out over being a broke-ass student. Before I went to visit my friend last weekend I had $30 in my bank account and nine days until pay day. So I did what any self-sufficient thirty-two year old woman living in her parent’s basement would do: I snaked $12 in quarters from my dad’s ski fund. The TSA agent freaked out when she saw my backpack in the x-ray machine and asked me if I had a roll of quarters in my bag. Apparently, stealing borrowing quarters from your dad is a crime against aviation.

Since then, my financial aid arrived (FINALLY!). For the moment I have some cash, but I’m freaked out to spend it because I can very easily be back in the same broke-ass situation. There are a few things I need to do, but I’m torn about spending the money (other than repaying dad’s ski fund and purchasing an external hard drive). I’m debating whether or not to take a trip to the bay area next weekend for a friend’s wedding reception. The bride wants me to save my money and visit during Christmas break when I have more money (HA!) and time (so we can visit this place). Which I totally think I should do, except that my cousin and her new baby are going to be in town (because of me) and my dear friend Lulu just had her first baby and I don’t want to let either of them down.

The only solution I’ve been able to come up with, thus far, is to get my hands on some anthrax vaccine. I heard and ad on the radio offering $500 CASH MONEY to plasma donors who’ve been vaccinated for anthrax. Plasma proceeds would be wisely spent to visit my family and friends and maybe to purchase a hooker wardrobe for the next time I’m hurting for cash.

Categories:crap, getting my learn on, if anyone needs me I'll be drinking in my closet, it's called sarcasm
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Only in Utah

August 6th, 2008 · 31 Comments

I received a postcard from a friend last week that said, “I pretend you’re on a really long vacation…it is easier that way.” It made me cry a little, but I’m trying to keep the same mindset.

Here are a few awesome things, unique to Utah, that I’m putting in my Utah Vacation File…

My almost-two-year-old niece. She drew this super awesome picture of a “boogie” this week. Watching her grow blows my mind.

Old school bff, Stephanie; we’ve been friends for twenty years! I love her butt. How freaking cute are her kids?

Religious stickers at the grocery store. No explanation necessary.

Theatrical releases of Mormon movies. The Errand of Angels will be in theaters shortly. I don’t know much about it…other than it’s about sister missionaries and watching it would make me vomit. This doesn’t seem to bother people who’ve lived here for a long time, but I find it FUCKING WEIRD. All sorts of creepy religious movies and my motherfucking zombies are no where to be found? Total crap.

Freaky modest clothing shops for people who need longer sleeves and less legs. So much better than the alternative Ho’s in Training shops I’m used to in California.

My Grandma.

Cheap Holly Hobbie rip off stenciled public restrooms.

Religious statues, ripe for the molesting!

My parent’s cat…who has become my cat. My jewelry, pacifier, tampon thieving cat. He is so damn naughty.

Categories:friends, I miss sleeping, I want my fucking zombies, it's called sarcasm, jack jack, Uncategorized, Utahrds
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How to Make Bishop Deal Go Mother Hen

June 3rd, 2008 · No Comments

Tell Bishop Deal that a friend of a friend sent you a wiener photo that directly violated the rules and regulations of Club Celibacy.
Wait for Deal to IM you the word “ew” a gazillion times and ask if the picture was really from this guy.
Assure Bishop Deal that is was, in fact, this guy and that he put “a lot” of work into the picture.
(Choke back vomit.)
Tell Bishop Deal you’ve never met the guy, but now if you do, you’ll be all, “What’s up mister penis pants camera phone picture dude?!”
Wait for Bishop Deal to beg you to meet this guy in a public place and confess to feeling worried and “mother bear-ish” for you.
Let Bishop Deal know that you have no intention of meeting mister penis pants camera phone picture dude. Especially because it’d be a bitch to return to the repentance process. (ha ha)

Categories:Bishop Deal, Club Celibacy, cobwebs in my privates?, crap, it's called sarcasm
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Sad

May 30th, 2008 · No Comments

I wanted to write about how much I miss my friend Stephanie and post pictures from last weekend with her family, but don’t have them with me…so here are some recent search phrases. Yes, I’m that exciting. If finishing sewing my sister’s birthday handbag and making jewelry doesn’t interfere with my exciting evening of prison documentaries and quality time with my cat, you may get pictures later.

lonely heart broken people – How sad is this?

get to third base – I wish.

“bay to breakers” 2008 “cock ring” – Wish I was there.

birth control breakup – Sad.

Categories:if anyone needs me I'll be drinking in my closet, it's called sarcasm, Liftetime TV Network is the new pink
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