After reading a street sign in Houston this weekend, Buffalo Speedway, I jumbled the name while trying to say it. I combined Buffalo Springfield and REO Speedwagon—resulting in Buffalo Speedwagon—and we’ve decided that’s what we’ll be calling my best friend’s unborn fetus thing.
…is way cooler than dead pop singers, thanks for turning that shit around New York!
IT’S ALL ABOUT ME!
(Oh and I’m celebrating Pride/Birthday in Houston, away from the Internet, so I’ll probably miss any birthday wishes—and really it would be hard to top last year’s Internet Birthday Bash anyway! Love you all and happy Pride.)
It's time for Friday (well-deserved) Flattery!
You have one of the best balances of snark and heart on these hollowed interwebs, and you make me homesick for Chicago. Thanks for the many smiles your posts have given me.
AWWWW, hug your neck. You’re fun to follow too!
Although I don’t know why I make you love Chicago (I don’t put weird shit on hotdogs…wieners maybe.) Was this intended for MoGlo? Or, some of the other fabulous Chicagoans on tumblr? I don’t care, I’m going to hugs this message tighter than I do my toilet after a normal Saturday night of boozing and whoring.
…which isn’t necessarily a good thing, as I now have a bunch of complicated projects involving SOX and shit I know about but wouldn’t normally touch with The Situation’s dick if I were asked to. I guess I got used to working for a four-foot-megalomaniacal-seventy-year-old woman who thought no one else on the planet had a brain. It seems like I’m constantly working everyday at ALL TIMES. Am I happier? Yes. But sometimes I’d like to just dick off on Jezebel or tumblr for a few minutes. At least I get Friday afternoons off—and lots of money—yeah, I’ll stop bitching now.
For A While I've Existed In A Magical Little World Where No One Made Fat Jokes
…or shamed people for their bodies. It involves a lot of selective reading. Then I read about this bitch. I’ve loved Gwyneth Paltrow for years, YEARS. So, I know everything about her that’s knowable if you don’t actually know her. Now that she’s on my shit list—prepare for the jokes. I’ll probably be banned for the epic amount of inappropriate jokes I’ve got on her just waiting for half a reason. HALF.A.REASON.
I’M NOT MIDDLE AGED. Also, who is this in response to? Everyone is talking about it while I write about salad farts.
After the “gay girl in Damascus” turned put to be a straight white dude apparently the “lesbian” behind lezgetreal.com is a middle aged married guy as well.
Are you secretly a teenage lesbian?
I’d like to come out of the closet. I am composed entirely of salad farts, which I only realized today in my poorly ventilated office. That’s right this blog is written by a source of scatological humor.
Why is it that when I have a post to draw/write I start being creative in other ways? Like thinking of a short story that would be really good, or wanting to bake, or thinking of mildly clever things that are only funny when spoken aloud and/or situationally funny—NONE OF WHICH TRANSLATES TO INTERNET HUMOR.
(I wonder if an Anthony Weiner pun would work? Are we all over that already? Heh. All over weiners.)
Reading Bluebear’s post about her man’s work woes reminded me of something that made me a little work pissy today. Our department sent out a company wide e-mail introducing all of the new employees and I was of course listed on there. When I took this job they said I couldn’t keep the title I’d had before because I didn’t have this certain degree (which is only offered at bullshit-party school universities.) I was like, who gives a fuck, because I wanted out of the work situation I was in.
Anyway, the company also hired a person who DOES have the title I really should have and he works in my department and I assist him. I thought it was dumb, but decided to let it go. Then I read his bio in the e-mail. Guess what degree he doesn’t have? That’s right, because apparently a degree in “learning how to grow plants” from Conservative Texas School For Jerks trumps a UT Permian degree in English & History. Oh, and he has a year less experience than me, but you know he plays golf and fucks women so I guess it’s all good. (He’s actually really nice and I enjoy working with him, so I can’t really talk shit about him.)
If anything it’s making me seriously reconsider grad school—I only have a little bit more of student loans to pay off, so might as well rack some more up, right?
BUT, I’m employed, paid well and don’t hate what I do or who I work with, so it could be a whole hell of a lot worse. (I need to write this last part down and tape it to my monitor.)
I Will Not Let Others Influence My Mood. I Will Not Let Others Influence My Mood. I Will Not Let Others Influence My Mood. I Will Not Let Others Influence My Mood. I Will Not Let Others Influence My Mood. I Will Not Let Others Influence My Mood. I Will Not Let Others Influence My Mood. I Will Not Let Others Influence My Mood.