zufällige sheiße dienstag

Helloooooooo  (in my best Ranjit voice --  HIMYM? Anyone? No? Moving on)

Random Shit Tuesday back in the house. Are you ready to have your mind blown? HA!

So -- in case you're all curious, YES. Yes, I did make that all important email and ask for my job back. I had a former coworker of mine Mr. Peacock (who still works there) proof read my email. He's been great about my neurotic questions about what should it say? Should I address him as "Mr."? Etc. etc... I emailed on Thursday afternoon, so it was after office hours on the east coast. He DID EMAIL ME BACK Friday morning. All it said was Anne, Give me a call when you have a free minute.  I’m at ext 2**** . That's a direct quote. No signature. No nothing. So I called an hour after the email came in, about 1:30 EST. And I got no answer. I triednot to get too worried since it was a Friday after all, and who knows what's going on in the office. Then Monday. NOTHING. So, after careful advisement from Mr. Peacock yet again, I set my alarm for 6am PST to make a "first thing in the morning" call. Voicemail yet again!! However, it rang once, so that usually means he's on the other line. Anyway... I'll be sure to keep you posted. I'm really excited about this though. I realized once I hung up and I was shaking that I pretty much really wanted my old job back. Like for reals. Kind of exciting, but scary, cause you know, they may not want me back. *sigh* And now I wait...

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I am SOOO in love with this show.

The Walking Dead, on AMC

 The Walking Dead is freaking Gah-REAT! I'd heard some people on a local radio show talking about it one day and realized I really needed to see it. Its basically a zombie movie, but a tv show. Its based on a graphic novel that is "intensely character driven". I love anything zombie and they've done a fantastic job on this show. Great special effects and, in my opinion, great casting (I had no idea the main guy was actually British!) I'm not sure when season two starts, but I'm super excited. Season 1 is only six episodes, 1 hour each. I just happened to catch a marathon on AMC the other weekend, when they showed it pretty much back-to-back all weekend long. I'm sure its on the usual online viewing places. Totally check this out! TWO THUMBS WAY UP!

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Note to self, don't read books about food, when you're on a two day fast. Especially this one

nothings turns you into Homer Simposon worse than drinking leek soup broth all day long and then looking at this

mmmmmm... quarter pounder with cheese....

Although I highly recommend this book. Well, any one of them actually. Other than the mouth watering pictures of stuff you're not supposed to eat they give you somewhat healthier (and i use that word loosely) options for some of your favorite places to eat. Granted I try to avoid eating at fast food places, or in chain restaurants as a rule, but sometimes you are stuck eating there, whether for work or someone in your family chooses to eat there for their birthday. Its nice to know you're not secretly eating the 1,700 calorie / 62 grams of fat chicken salad at Chili's but something a little less bad for your ass heart.

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Have any of you seen THIS?!

 I saw a commercial for this monstrosity the other day, and I have a few things to say about it.

FIRST OFF -- if your dog is fat, its YOUR FAULT . Unless he's escaping every night (also your fault) and eating out of dumpsters form a Chinese restaurant, you're in charge of feeding him. This means you don't give your dog Doritos. Sweet Jesus, even I don't eat those, let along give them to my dog. My dad is notorious for giving his dog saltine crackers. What the fuck?! Talk about empty calories. Anyway. If you can't manage to restrain yourself from giving your pup too many treats, or God forbid, use a measuring cup when feeding your pooch, you don't deserve to own a pet. Seriously. They are genetically engineered to eat whenever and whatever they can. In the wild, its feast or famine, and your dog is only a few generations away from being a wild dog. 

So WHYYYYY  would you spend all this money on a "diet system" for your dog? Its pre-measured food (um... ever heard of a measuring cup?) and pre portioned treats (uh yeah, you don't know how to count?). THIS IS WHAT YOU'RE PAYING FOR. What the shit?! Laziness to the millionth degree. Let me guess, you're incredibly over weight too. *sigh* This is why the terrorists hate America. Hell, this is why I hate America.

 ----

Where the hell are my W-2's!!!

I worked for a company that went out of business, thank youuuuuuuu Hollywood Video, and I'm hoping I get my W-2's soon. I wanna get my refund baby!! Mama wants a new tv!! The 22" tube monstrosity just isn't cutting it for me. Hellooo 42" LCD Flatscreen. YES!

Happy Tuesday everyone!

Smooches,

flashback friday: the hell train to prague

Lovely green fields sprinkled with glowers. Wild flowers in fact, of white and lavender. Then we enter the woods, tall green trees with grass and small shrubs scattering the floor. A lot like Oregon in fact. We are traveling awfully slow. I wonder why... This train seems to be dallying, letting me enjoy the views and landscapes of the Czech Republic.

This picturesque train ride is a bit lovelier than our Hell Train to Prague. Boarding in Würzburg, originating in Frankfurt, we boarded at 1 am or so. We enter and find every seat and compartment is filled. Maybe we should have made seating reservations? Oh well, too late now. So, not only are the seats filled, oh no, they are filled with drunken German football players. A whole team perhaps. Drunk, loud, smoking, singing and running from compartment to compartment, car to car. The five of us scurry on and try to find some seats. Any seats. The closest we find is some floor space outside the WC at the end of the car.

Scotty in the stairwell, Ester, myself and Walt, blocking the door to the bathroom. They plan was to sleep on this train, arriving in Prague around 830. We soon realize this plan will be unsuccessful at best. Jeanine and Scotty are sitting in the stairwells opposite each other. Every time the drunkards blow through the doors, they are slammed into Jeanine and Scott's backs. This I do not envy. However our seats on the floor are less than grand, with our boney behinds drilling into the floor, and our backs aching from leaning on the wall. Our backpacks make horrible pillows, but we try to make do.

Ester and Walt and I are all leaning on each other, attempting to leave a path for the drunks to move from car to car. Not that this matter much because they trip over us no matter what. They also try to talk to us, offer us beer, and spill beer on us, even though we are so obviously trying to sleep. They also want to use the restroom behind us, but there is no way in hell we are getting up every 30 seconds. We joke that we need a black marker and tape to put up an out of order sign up. A good idea, except for the fact that none of us actually know how to say "out of order" in Deutsch. Luckily there is a bathroom in the next car that we refer them to. One trip to that bathroom I en counted a man urinating in the stairwell. I guess he couldn't wait; when you gotta go, you gotta go. I however opt to wait, although the situation in that WC is a whole other story.

So we attempt to sleep. I think I may have gotten 20 minutes. Maybe. Walt and I decide to go look for seats. At the other end of the car we find 11 other Americans standing in the same place we are sitting. I realize there are no seats and am thankful that at least we an sit. Poor Jeanine keeps getting jammed in her back by that damn door. And every time it opens we are hit by the stench of smoke, beer and urine like a punch in the fact. So, at around 315 we arrive in Nüremberg. Passengers attempt to board, and turn around and get off. Full house, sorry guys. So we wait. and wait. and wait.

kill meeeeeeeee

Still sitting in Nüremberg a guy makes something like four phone calls to Lord knows who, laughing and yelling at the top of his lungs. No sleeping for us. The dude then attempts to open a beer and sprays half of it all over the floor and the other half on Jeanine. What a douche. Then we sit there for like another 30 minutes, for only Lord knows why. Finally we get moving. Jeanine and Walt talk, Ester and Scotty sleep and I attempt to rest. I am in a interesting state; definitely not asleep, but not really awake either. 4:10 the doors fly open. Passport check. We must be close to the border now. Some German guy runs by, yelling sheisse! Sheisse! SHEISSE!!! (shit!), and something about his passport being in another car.

Then somewhere in the Czech Republic people start gathering their stuff. Some guy drops his bag on me and wakes me up. There are 5 or 6 guys getting off at the next stop. Its only 430 so we definitely aren't in Prague yet. I stand up to make some room. We then realize that these guys WERE sitting and have left empty seats somewhere. I wake up Walt to ask them where. I picked up my bags and told Walt and Jeanine to go for it. What happened next was the funniest thing I've seen. I leaned over Ester and Scott and yelled, "SEATS! SEATS! GET UP GET UP! WE'VE GOT SEATS!" They literally sprang up from the floor, bags in hand without missing a beat. We weren't sure if the rooms really were vacant, but at this point we didn't care.

We piled into that tiny compartment, threw our bags up, slammed the door shut and shut the curtains. They couldn't kick us out even if they had wanted to. After this point we had a more or less uneventful ride into Prague. Arriving on time at 830, with more or less three hours of crappy sleep, we deboarded and tried to freshen ourselves up in the Prague train station restroom. Having the hell train behind us, we exited the station determined to have a glorious time in Prague, in order to make the hell train ride worth it.

The Hell Train? Totally worth it!

July, 2006

"my big dick" and other analytical questions

"miss your Big Dick!"
was literally just yelled into the street by my neighbors, as I was typing this...

yeah, my "big dick" is not in question...

Reasons Google has sent people to my website;

The joy of Google Analytics:

• dear liver (well, obviously!!)
• serenity now insanity later  (duhhhhhhh!)
• will serenity kill you (good question!)
• mcgriddle pants blog  (I feel honored!!)
• serenity fucking (is this a "thing?!")
• serenity now hangover (someone after my own heart)

and of course...

• moms that fuck in a camper (Ughhhh... whaaaaa?!)

YAY ME!
Thanks google!
And thanks to my dear readers!
I love you all!
Honestly :)

speechless wednesday

Not quite speechless per se, but I'm left baffled.
Here's the scenario. Rush hour, 5pm, Tuesday July 20.

via Google Maps. Awesome illustration via Paint. I'm a whiz with technology.

Me: Driving along, getting into the turning lane.

Hippie: Being stupid and hippie-like, not looking, probably blaming the Republicans for his stupid long hair, and expecting the world to revolve around his rusty-electric-moped-driving universe.

Sure the Focus has stopped to let him turn left across 3 lanes of traffic, but did I? NO! Didn't even see him...
and BAM! 
"X" marks the flattened hippie spot.

Well, not really flattened. Impacted, yes. Shot forward about 12 feet, yes. Flattened not so much.

He surprisingly jumped right up, and immediately began blaming me for hitting him. He proclaimed he was "being cautious" and that "he was signaling". Even though he forgot the part where I had the RIGHT-OF-WAY. I handed him his shoe, and waited for the cops to come.

THANK GOD he didn't appear to be injured. Just a scrape on his hand, although I'm sure he'll be hella sore and bruised up tomorrow. I would have been horrified and irrevocably scarred if I had seriously injured him in any way, even if it was his fucking fault.

Hippie ruins perfectly good plastic bumper.

Hippie Mobile, totally rusted out, now missing a fender. Which I'm pretty sure was previously being held on by a bungee cord anyway.

And after 6 hours at work, cause NO ONE would come in and cover my shift... I finally got to go to the hospital to get checked out, after my head was POUNDING, my neck was STIFF and my back was ACHING. (no I swear I'm not a whiny baby)

Hells yes, I was flashing people in my gown.

Vicodin. Hello old friend.

The fucking best part?! His electric moped is NOT REQUIRED to have insurance on it. So he darts into traffic, basically as a "bicycle", and causes a traffic accident.  
HE DAMAGED MY CAR, and my damn insurance has to pick up the bill.  
MY NECK HURTS and I have to put in a claim.

Fair? FUCK NO. I should sue him in small claims court for any and all damages I have out of pocket. Not that I give a rats ass about my bumper scratches, but I should fix it just so he has to pay for it. Grrrrrrrrr!

What a wonderful world. Happy fucking Wednesday. Me and my Vicodin are going to bed now. Hmmmph!

channeling emily post

Etiquette rules, according to McGriddle Pants 

1. Ladies, buy a full length mirror. Take a good look. Turn around. Inspect yourself, before you wreck yourself.
2. If you're going to be late, CALL. And APOLOGIZE. Let them know when, or if, you will be arriving. Others time is just as precious as yours.
3. Hold the door open for people behind you. The door is not that heavy.
4. Mind your fucking child. If your offspring is spazzing, or having a "moment" TAKE THEM OUTSIDE. In a restaurant, theater, or grocery store, it should not be everyone else's issue to have to listen to your psychotic child. I remember being drug out to the car when we were eating dinner at a restaurant as a child. And I'm not a self-involved little shit as an adult. Remember we're raising future members of society, not The Real World. Discipline, or remove. Period.
5. Please do not sit directly in front of me at the movie theater. Seriously. If there are any other seats, sit there. Once all other seats have been filled, ONLY THEN should you sit DIRECTLY in front of me. I try very hard to never sit directly in front of someone. Always off to the side or in another row. EVERYONE likes to put their feet up on the seats, so be courteous and let them. Sit elsewhere. (The same goes with sitting behind me, you seat kicking little assholes).
6. On that note, turn off your fucking phone at the movies. Your texting, even if silent, is BRIGHT, and incredibly distracting, no matter how subtle you are. Your friends can wait 112 minutes to reach your ass.
7. Share you vicodin with others. (like me!)
8. Always make a big deal out of birthdays. You don't have to celebrate getting older, but everyone should have ONE DAY a year that's just theirs. To be an drunken asshole or a party pooper. It doesn't even have to be on the actual day. Just do something. And do something for others too. Fawn over them. Buy them a present, even if its a handle of booze. Its the gift that keeps on giving.
9. In public, no one wants to see your midriff. No one. *This applies to men and women.*
10. Obey all traffic laws. Even in parking lots. Right-of-way is no laughing matter. Don't wave me on if its YOUR TURN TO GO. (yeah Rhode Island, I'm looking right at you). This also means don't stop if you DONT HAVE A STOP SIGN. And for the love of God and all that is Holy, learn to properly use a turning lane, and USE YOUR GODDAMN TURN SIGNAL!!

That is all. For now.

River Time!

Something about the warm weather that halts my creative juices! To the river I go! Catch ya later!

i loves me some starbucks. but sometimes...

Riddle me this:
Lady goes to starbucks. Takes a good 5 minutes to come up with an order her coffee, her hot water, and her cold water. This seriously confused the dimly lit bulb at the register. She then uses 3 separate gift cards to pay for the transaction. She still owes another $1. Rifling through her change she comes up with the dollar. THEN she wants to add $10 to one of her gift cards, and puts it on her Visa. Really? Really? Hurry the fuck up. This is of course after I made the decision to NOT use the bathroom first, but to order my drink, then use the potty, and then pick up my finished drink. Holding strong I place my drink order. The usual, grande non-fat Cinnamon Dolce Latte.

DimBulb: "So that's non-fat?"
Me: Yes.
DimBulb: "Do you want whip cream?"
Me: "No thanks"
Me thinks: No, that kind of defeats the whole non-fat thing dumb-ass
DimBulb: "So, sugar free syrup?"
Me: No.
Me thinks: That would be a Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte. That shit is gross.

Then as I rush to the potty, two women come in from outside and LITERALLY cut right infront of me, and they BOTH go into the restroom (if any of you are aware, starbucks only has one toilet per restroom). As my eyes bug out I shake my head. The man reading the paper laughs. I stand there for about 30 seconds listening to them chit chat and laughing and I decide to use the men's room. Seriously.

THEN I go to pick up my drink, and DimBulb didn't actually write "NF" on the cup, so the barista accidently made a regular one. I felt bad for her having to work with DimBulb.

Finally...

I go to St'Bucks today. Order up my drink and sit down in a cozy chair to read my book. And I look over to the other chair, and what do I see?

Yeah... that indeed IS what it looks like. 
FUCKING FINGERNAILS. 

I'm out. *barfff*

a good weekend

If you woke up tired, you probably need more sleep.

If you woke up drooling at your desk, you probably need a new job.

If you woke up with a headache, on a ferris wheel, at the Idaho State Fair, wearing a toga, you probably need answers.

And if you woke up married to an Elvis impersonator, you probably need a lawyer...

working on my fitness

McGriddle Pants on going to the gym...

After having belonged to many gyms, I'm used to the grunting/heaving/sighing weird noises coming from the weight lifting area. Who can forget the Jersey Shore like "WHAAAAAT!?" dude from My New Haircut. However, I am not okay with the moaning noises coming from that area last week. I swear to ba-Jesus that it sounded like someone was having sex. Uuggghhhhh. Uuugggghhhhhhhhhhhh. Ahhhhhhhh. Uuughhhh. Gross! Stop that shit!

You there! 6' tall, stick-figure super model look alike, 20 year old girl!! Ya you, in skin tight pants and top. Get out of the gym! If I wanted to feel bad about myself I'd sit at home and watch America's Next Top Model. I don't need to see this shit at the gym. Go home and eat a bag of Doritos!

Never, ever go to the gym when the trainer is doing his own work out. It will make you really feel like complete shit about yourself and your own work out. He was balancing, and stretching, and lifting all over the place. Then he gets on the tread mill next to me and starts jogging backwards. I seriously couldn't help but secretly hope that he trips and falls. Showoff.

WHY IS THE FOOD NETWORK ALWAYS ON?! Seriously. When trying to be good with your diet, and on minute 47 pounding away on the treadmill, why oh why is Paula Dean on the TV making some fatty, buttery deep-fried dish y'all?

--

In the mean time I'm enjoying my new black Columbia fleece pants that I picked up from the outlet mall at the beach. As my friend Adri says, they "reek of unemployment!" I love it.



Mr. Man and myself catching up on some Dexter. I love that too.

f*cking facebook

Yes I stole this post.
Yes its very funny.

We all know these retards (sorry Sarah Palin) who are status whores on Facebook and just won't shutthefuckup. I have friends on The Book that I can pick out from every one of these "types" listed below. But so they don't get sand in their vaginas, I won't name names.

About a month ago this article was posted on cnn.com.

Here's an edited and funnier version by Ian

at the The Daily Dose of Reality

who guest posted on Daffy's page

which is where I stole this post from

Since you may be like me, and hate going through links to read stuff, I re-posted it here. Full props to cnn.com and Ian, none to me!


Most Annoying Types of Facebook Status Updates:

The Let-Me-Tell-You-Every-Detail-of-My-Day Bore. "I just woke up", I'm "eating dinner", I've "just gotten up from a nap", "going to sleep now". Who the fuck cares? When was the last time you picked up the phone to call a friend of yours to tell them that you just woke up? Whoa, good for you. You woke up. Maybe you deserve a goddam medal!

The Self-Promoter. OK, so we've probably all posted at least once about some achievement. And sure, maybe your friends really do want to read the fascinating article you wrote about beet farming. But when almost EVERY update is a link to your blog, your poetry reading, your 10k results or your art show, you sound like a bragger or a self-centered careerist. The only difference to this is if you have a fan page. Aside from that you need to stop that shit.

The Friend-Padder. The average Facebook user has 120 friends on the site. Schmoozers and social butterflies -- you know, the ones who make lifelong pals on the subway -- might reasonably have 300 or 400. But 1,000 "friends?" Unless you're George Clooney or just won the lottery, no one has that many. That's just showing off.

The Town Crier. "Michael Jackson is dead!!!" You heard it from me first! Me, and the 213,000 other people who all saw it on TMZ. These Matt Drudge wannabes are the reason many of us learn of breaking news not from TV or news sites but from online social networks. In their rush to trumpet the news, these people also spread rumors, half-truths and innuendo. No, Jeff Goldblum did not plunge to his death from a New Zealand cliff.

The TMIer. "Brad is heading to Walgreens to buy something for these pesky hemorrhoids." Boundaries of privacy and decorum don't seem to exist for these too-much-information updaters, who unabashedly offer up details about their sex lives, marital troubles and bodily functions. Thanks for sharing.

The Bad Grammarian. "So sad about Fara Fauset but Im so gladd its friday yippe". Yes, I know the punctuation rules are different in the digital world. And, no, no one likes a spelling-Nazi schoolmarm. But you sound like a moron.

The Sympathy-Baiter. "Barbara is feeling sad today." "Man, am I glad that's over." "Jim could really use some good news about now." Like anglers hunting for fish, these sad sacks cast out their hooks -- baited with vague tales of woe -- in the hopes of landing concerned responses. Genuine bad news is one thing, but these manipulative posts are just pleas for attention.

The Lurker. The Peeping Toms of Facebook, these voyeurs are too cautious, or maybe too lazy, to update their status or write on your wall. But once in a while, you'll be talking to them and they'll mention something you posted, so you know they're on your page, hiding in the shadows. It's just a little creepy.

The Crank. These curmudgeons, like the trolls who spew hate in blog comments, never met something they couldn't complain about. "Carl isn't really that impressed with idiots who don't realize how idiotic they are." [Actual status update.] Keep spreading the love.

The Paparazzo. Ever visit your Facebook page and discover that someone's posted a photo of you from last weekend's party -- a photo you didn't authorize and haven't even seen? You'd really rather not have to explain to your mom why you were leering like a drunken hyena and French-kissing a bottle of Jagermeister.

The Maddening Obscurist. "If not now then when?" "You'll see..." "Grist for the mill." "John is, small world." "Dave thought he was immune, but no. No, he is not." [Actual status updates, all.] Sorry, but you're not being mysterious -- just nonsensical.

The Chronic Inviter. "Support my cause. Sign my petition. Play Mafia Wars with me. Which 'Star Trek' character are you? Here are the 'Top 5 cars I have personally owned.' Here are '25 Things About Me.' Here's a drink. What drink are you? We're related! I took the 'What President Are You?' quiz and found out I'm Millard Fillmore! What president are you?"

credit: cnn.com

academy award winning douche bag

Does anyone else get filled with rage and get a little disillusioned when you hear the words "Academy Award winner Matt Damon" ??



Yeah, you wrote a screen play that turned into a great movie. This, does not mean you can act well nor should there be any implication that you are an Academy Award winning actor. Ugghhhhh.

maybe they'll be gone by MLK day

Oh. My. God. Really?
Its January 7th already. You don't have to take them down, but at least turn the fuckers OFF.
My brain hurts. I have to go drink something. Strong. Make it a double.

coat check? yes. but what about the child check?

Kids. Kids? Kids!

Don't get me wrong. I looooove kids! They're fun and annoying and smart and great and ... lots of things! What I don't understand is why must people bring their children E V E RY W H E R E. Yeah yeah I understand, that you don't have a baby sitter, or you can't afford one, or you just don't have the heart to give them up for adoption, or the guts to leave them at the mall all day.

But whyyyy must people bring their kids everywhere?

Families are great. I love mine. I love my friends. But other people's? Strangers? Get those little screaming-crying-rugrats away from me!

Camping two weekends ago, my friend and I (she has a child but didn't bring her) went to the mountains of Washington to get away. A ladies weekend. Fun times with lots of beer, sunshine, campfire and some dirt. Ya know? Quality time. And I understand that lots of people bring their kids camping, its a family activity. But we were literally SURROUNDED by children. There must have been every campsite with at least 2 children, some up to 4 or 5. And all between the ages of 3 and 9. Seemed that all the pubescent children had no desire to hang out in the wilderness with no cell reception.

But we could not get any quiet. No peace. No harmony. It was ridiculous! I know, I'm sort of bitching about something that we really can't do anything about... but can we?

Is it too much to ask for an 'adults only' section of the park? How about sections of a restaurant? Children? or Non? An airplane? Children? or Non?

Wouldn't that be heavenly?

I know, many of you are disagreeing, but I think it would bring a lot of peace and harmony to many adult minds.

I've chosen not to have children at this point in my life. I've mastered the extremely complex and elusive art of birth control. Why should my sanity be punished by others?

Just some food for thought.

serenity now serenity now serenity
now serenity now serenity now serenity now
serenity now serenity now

twouble with twitters

this is what i think of Twitter.
Rubbish!
I have the facebook feed... what else could i ask for?

i want chicken... i want liver... meow-mix meow-mix please de-li-ver

okay people, this time i think we've gone TOO FAR!

Appetizers? For cats?!? REALLY??!?!?
Since when do cats need food, before their food?

"Yes Bob, Fluffy has had a rough day and she really needs to unwind before the main course with some White Meat Chicken & Flaked Tuna and a glass of chablis."

Barf. What's really sad is that there are morons out there who are going to buy this. Not even realizing that its just regular cat food in a different package. And now they're gonna feed their cats TWICE and then be confused why their favorite feline is gaining weight.

Where's my appetizer in a can?
Where are my chicken wings? Mozzarella sticks? Bloomin' Onion in a can?
Life can be so unfair.