It's my party, I'll get motorboated if I want to!

I celebrated my 25th with a ladies night out. It's impossible to feel old when you still have girlfriends who will stick their face in your cleavage...

Rub on your cleavage...

Blow on your cleavage...


Take cheap porno flicks with you...

or feel on your booty...



Thanks bitches for a wonderful birthday!!!

Bitch should have taken the stairs...

Also, now I need a word for the fear of old people or a phobia of old people, something in that nature. I think once we diagnose it and get me some medication, I can solve this problem and people won’t think I’m so mean.

If I were an assassin, I wouldn’t get punked by old ladies…

I went to see Wanted yesterday by myself. I like going to movies alone, but Wanted was one I could have seen with someone else. However, I didn’t feel like going through all the trouble of finding a compatible schedule with a guy or a friend just to see a movie, so I said “f*ck it” and went stag.

I get into the theatre and there were about three other people in there as it was a matinee. One guy even cracked a joke as I sat down, “I’m sorry ma’am, but I don’t think there are enough seats left for you to watch this movie”.

I smirked a little, copping a seat in the handicap section. You know the place right in the middle where there is a gap between the bottom rows and the top.

Halfway through the previews an older couple comes in. I’m chowin’ down on my nachos not really paying attention to them as they are looking for seats. That is until the old lady comes right up next to me and asks if anyone is sitting where my purse is. I’m sorry, because the whole theatre is empty. I have bad luck with old ladies, so I decided to just get up and move one aisle up instead of arguing with her.

“You don’t have to leave,” she said.

I know I don’t, but I don’t understand why out of the entire deserted theatre, you have to sit your old crusty ass right next to me. I don’t want to sit next to you, humph.

The old man did have a cane, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt.

The movie wasn’t how I thought it was going to be, but it didn’t suck either. Seriously though, if Angelina Jolie is in one more movie as an assassin, I’m going to start thinking she is one in real life.

She looks like one, sh*t. I bet she is training all seven of her children to kill.

Although, I wish that when my life sucks and I have a panic attack, I could get in on my dad’s secret life as an assassin and substantial bank account. Being if my dad were an assassin in the first place. I could take out old ladies who think that just because they are old they can steal my movie theatre seats.

*hi-yah!* Bitch I’m a ninja, I will cut you!

On a side note, I found my soul mate in the blog world. He is a redneck and hilarious, check him out!

Also, vote for me here! I’m under humor and I gets no love… =(

I F*cking Love You B*tch!

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I am NOT a babysitter...

Actually, if anyone knew me at all, they wouldn’t want me watching their children in the first place. I’m the girl who offered up the idea of getting a stripper when asked “what do you get a kid for their birthday party if it’s held late at night?”

Hey why not? A kid has got to learn somehow…

So anyway, in reference to my previous post, “are they paying you enough to make my job a living hell?” I can’t seem to get enough from the crazy lady at my job. Oh wait, let me rephrase that. I can’t get away from the crazy old hag, who is sucking the life out of me with her fangs at this very moment. I’m waiting for a tornado to come and drop a house on this wench of a woman. I want to watch her toes curl up and laugh an evil muah-ha-ha-ha-ha laugh.

A friend asked me the other day if I was getting along with the old hag.
"She actually isn’t that bad now,” I replied.

I must have spoke too soon, because she is bad, very bad. She proved it today. Working with her is like sharing a cubicle with my mother. Actually I would rather share a cubicle with my mother than work with this crazy old bat.

So if I haven’t mentioned it before, the shriveled old hag is a family therapist. Go figure. She has families that come in for sessions and often times the parent(s) leave their kids out in the lobby. I don’t know, for me to watch? And it's not that I don’t mind kids. I’ve even worked with kids before, offering up my services to be a nanny or camp counselor. However, the lobby is not a daycare center and I am not here to be the designated adult to tend to these children.

There are two types of children, by the way. There are the cute annoying children. Annoying because they’re cute and it is hard to tell them “no”. Or there are the ugly annoying children. Who are annoying because they are not cute. Today some really cute annoying children came into the office, three of them, all under the age of 8. And the crazy old hag left me with them for 45 minutes!

The kid who stood out the most was a little girl about four years old.

“Hi! My name is Hailey. What’s your name?” she said as she peered over my desk in her neon green overalls and pigtails. She was cute, until the second thing out of her mouth was, “uh oh, I have to go potty.”

Uh oh is right. Um ok. Little girl you are officially not cute anymore. I took her to the bathroom where she seemed very distracted by the set up of the room.

“Is this a boys bathroom?” she said. “It looks like a boy bathroom.”

“No,” I said as I unhooked her overalls.

“Should I be doing this?” I thought to myself. “Does she know how to do this?”

After her pants were down she started trying to take off her shirt.

“No,” I said. “Honey, just take your panties down and sit down.”

She was spacey, but pretty obedient, because she did as she was told. I went back to my desk thinking I had did my part and the worst was over, but oh no. I came back into the lobby to find four sets of eyes watching me very intently.

“ I want to color,” said the other little girl about seven or so.

“We don’t have stuff to color with here,” I replied.

“I’m thirsty,” she replied back. I got her some water and that’s when the one-year-old boy chimed in.

“Thirty too, thirty too, thirty too, thirty too,” he repeated over and over again.

“Don’t give him any,” said the seven-year-old. “He can’t hold the cup by himself.”

So being the good receptionist that I am, I tilted the cup into the “thirty” boys mouth.

I handed the kids some books to read, but that lasted about two minutes.

"Mommy?" said the one-year-old.

"Your mom will be out in a minute," I said.

"Mommy!" he yelled.

Great, just great. By now about 20 minutes had passed since I had left the four-year-old in the bathroom. I was just about to send her sister to go check up on her when a sing-song voice echoed through the office halls.

“I’m done! I’m done! You can wipe me now!”

It was right about that time I decided to go on my lunch break...

Do they pay you enough to make my job a living hell?

"All I've ever wanted was an honest week's pay for an honest day's work."-Steve Martin

I got a job as a receptionist for the summer. A quick pick-me-up from my last job. (I’m still in college, so I’m taking this as an opportunity to weigh my options and buy some more time in “finding myself”.) Granted I don’t do much, (work on my blog) but it is required for me to show up every day. If I do, I get paid.

Everyone here is for the most part friendly and it isn’t very often that I have to bite my tongue because someone else is having a bad day. There really isn’t much to complain about, the hours are reasonable, there’s air conditioning and I get to write.

Nevertheless, there is always that one person at your job, where they are this close, in getting a foot stuck up their ass.

I work with this very rude old lady.

No, let me re-phrase that. I work with a shriveled up, 80-year-old hag, who probably hasn’t gotten laid since 1972. I also think she picks an outfit out on Sunday and wears it continuously throughout the week.

She has been running her business out of the same office for the last 20 years, so apparently she comes with the building. I think her name is actually on the lease right next to ‘utilities included’ it says, ‘old hag’.

When I got hired, my boss made light of the situation that they’ve had problems with the old hag in the past. She told me that if the old hag gave me any problems to let her know immediately. I made a note of it, but figured I could avoid any mood swings she threw at me. Growing up with younger siblings, I have mastered the art of ignoring people when I want to.

Plus, regardless of what anyone may think of Ms P, I have respect for my elders, or at least I used to…

The old hag started off by making rude comments to me in front of clients, as if she were testing me to see if I would defend myself. She would ask me questions like, “do you know how to do your job?” or “didn’t they train you?”

In my head I would answer her questions, with a rhetorical question like, “when was the last time you got laid?” or “shouldn’t you be dead by now?”

I swear the nerve of some people, right?

I didn’t play into her stupid questions like she wanted, and it got old fast. So she moved on to just plain old torturing me. Asking me to do little favors for her, running errands, things she knew I wouldn’t say no to.

Eventually, it became clear to me that she was not grandma, but that old hag I work with and this was getting ridiculous. It got to the point where it was well beyond helping an old lady out. She needed to realize she’s not a celebrity and I am not getting paid to be her personal assistant. So, I talked to my boss about her “favors” and well it’s not in my job description, so I politely told her no.

I think her interpretation of that conversation instead was, “this means war!” “I’m still a cranky old hag and I’m going to take my life’s frustrations out on you!”


So the other day she comes up to me and asks for a long ‘pen’. So I handed her a ‘pen’.

“No!” she screamed at me. “Not a ‘pen’, a ‘pin’.

“Oh, I thought you said a ‘pen’, I said. “I don’t think that I have a pin though.”

She ignores me and starts riffling through the top drawer of my desk. Ok, by now I’m irritated, but I’m trying not to let it show.

“I don’t think you are going to find a ‘pin’ in there,” I told her.

“Oh, does it bother you that I am in your space?” she snapped back.

No please, dig away. When you’re done with my drawer would you like to look through my purse?

“This is my project,” she said. “Why are you trying to get in my project?”

Your project? Um ok?

“I’m not, I just don’t want you going through my drawer.” I said. “And I don’t have a ‘pin’, sorry.”

She looked up from my drawer, giving me an evil-eyed stare, before she turned and hobbled away.

You know, there comes a time, where Ms P takes a moment to step back and look at a situation and think, “now that, is one crazy bitch.”