do you know who i am, motherfucker?

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daisy chainsaw

i moved into a house with rosebushes in the front. i have never been big on roses; i think they're trite. even for my wedding when the florist lisped "for your bouquet, roses?" i rolled my eyes.

so from what i was told, the rosebushes had to be pruned, cut back to about 8 inches off the ground. granted, i should have googled this first, because im not sure on the reliability of the source. but the bushes, as they were, were as tall as me, which is about 5 feet, so there was a lot of cutting to do.

i have never gardened before, unless a chia pet herb garden counts. but i got some pruning shears and gloves and decided to do my pruning today as it was reasonably warm and sunny.

at first i was timid, just a snip here and a snip there. the thorns kept sticking me, which made me think of that stupid poision song which i had to force out of my head. bret michaels is a washed up douche. soon though, i was not just snipping, i was whacking. i was not just trimming branches, i was slaughtering them. i was moving with a quickness, butchering everything in my path.

these little grass-like plants next to the roses, i had been advised, needed to be trimmed as well; i grabbed them in my hand like a little girl's pony tail and whacked them at the root, waving the plant over my head like i had just scalped a white man. if i were more talented i would have done a native american battle cry for effect.

i began singing "anarchy in the uk", first in my head, then inadvertantly out loud, putting special emphasis on the "i want to de-STROY" portion. coincidently i looked a little like sid vicious in that one picture where he's slashed himself and is bleeding all over, what with the roses slicing the shit out of me. i hadn't even noticed until afterwoads as the entire time i was transfixed on the roses in this crazed, trance-like state. MUST.DESTROY.ROSES.

when i had finished there were branches, leaves, grass, buds...all kinds of crap...everywhere. i might have gone a little overboard, however, the whole thing was strangely, almost perversely, theraputic.

gardening. who'd have thunk it.

don't cry for me argentina.

i've been doing some research (if google-ing things counts as reasearch) on how often the average person cries, but i have yet to find anything conclusive. it probably stands to reason, however, that i cry more than the average person and more, in fact, than anyone i know.

many people think of me as this perky, happy cheerleaderish chick with a renegade streak. it is ironic then that a person known for being either giggly or tough-as-nails would be the biggest crybaby on the block (notice my correct use of irony....see last post).

i have been described as many different things in my life, most often rabble-rouser, troublemaker, bitch, or some diminutive of the three. i have, however, never been described as a crybaby, mainly because i took the credo "never let them see you sweat" and altered it somewhat into "never let them see you cry"...and in this case "them" refers to pretty much everybody.

here are the following reasons i've cried in the last week, alone. each time listed denotes a completely separate incident,unless otherwise noted:

1. when i thought of my mfa program ending and how sad i would be.
2. when i thought of my crush's mfa program ending, how i would probably never see her again ever in life, and how completely heartbroken i am over this. i cried over this three different times this week.
3. after yelling at the water heater company for refusing to give me a new water heater and sending me some stupid new part instead, when the water heater is clearly defective. (don't worry- i cried, got back on the phone and the badass in me set them straight. the new water heater is on it's way, bitches).
4. after spending hours moving stuff into my new house by myself because certain people were too busy to help. i cried about this three or four times this week.
5. when i thought about how i will probably never realize my nearly lifelong dream of moving to LA.
6. when my car started making a fucked up noise and i thought i fucked up a tire or something (as it turned out i had a piece of duct tape stuck to my tire that was making a thud when it hit the car's undercarriage). this was not just a cry, but a full-blown temper tantrum involving lots of profanity-screaming, door-slamming and tire-kicking.
7. when i was having issues with my stupid bangs growing out. again, i reverted to three-year-old mode and threw a brush across the room.

this adds up to 11 or 12 times in the last week. pathetic.

it's enough to make me want to cry.

literally, you suck. isn't it ironic?

i think it is time to school society on the proper usage of the word "literally".

i heard both of the following today:

-"when you lay on this bed you literally hear your muscles go ahhhhh!" (if she can't use the word 'literally' correctly i guess i cant expect much from her in the way of grammar- it's LIE not lay)

-"i was in iraq and it's like another planet. literally, it's another planet."

so evidently my muscles have suddently developed the ability to speak and apparently our space program is keeping secrets from us because iraq, which i thought was in the middle east, is actually not even on planet earth.

and then there is the word ironic. for some reason too many clueless people (probably led by the equally clueless alanis morisette) seem to think that irony is either a simple coincidence or an unfortunate instance. if i run into a friend at the grocery store, that is not ironic. that is a coincidence. if there is a "black fly in [my] chardonay", that just sucks. it is not, however, ironic.

irony is, say, the classic example of the shoemaker's kids having no shoes....or, better yet, something that's ironic is the fact that the people who are reading this probably aren't the people who need to be schooled on irony.

like, literally.

Because This Isn't Mr. Roger's Neighborhood

How do you become friends with someone when you are an adult?

As a kid, it was much easier to befriend random strangers. Like, say, in kindergarten... it was perfectly acceptable to go up to someone and ask him or her if he/she would like to be your best friend. As a twenty-something adult in polite society this is generally not the case.

So while in social situations it is easy to become friends with those around you (work, classes, social groups, volunteering etc) how do you become friends with someone you randomly interact with without looking like a creep, con artist and/ or total douche? I am fairly confident that if someone randomly came up to me and said "will you be my friend", I'd run full speed in the opposite direction screaming "stranger danger"or something of that nature.

I relocated 18 months ago and have not had much luck making meaningful connections in this hellhole I call home. However, the barista at the coffeeshop I frequent seems like the coolest person ever and I want her to be my friend.

I welcome ideas and suggestions. I do not welcome requests to be your friend.

can taylor swift read?

i dont make it a habit of listening to taylor swift, but if there is nothing else on the radio i will keep that stupid "love song" on for a minute until i can find something better. its no weezy, but...and i will deny that i ever said this....that one song is tollerable in very small doses.

so it was on the other day and i was actually listening to the lyrics. she sings the following:

"you were romeo, i was a scarlet letter".

i had to wonder, seriously, did this girl actually read either of these stories?

i get that she's trying to work this whole "love story" motif, hence the name of the song, but did she even think about what she was saying?

because romeo dies.

and because the scarlet letter was an A, as in "adulterer" or whatever...but it might as well have been a W because it basically branded hester prynne a whore.

so taylor swift's love story, and message to young girls is she is a whore and wants a guy who's going to off himself.

a love story, indeed.

foot in mouth disease

i am moving into a house this week and had to spend the last 3 days cleaning it so as to make it move-in ready. the things i encountered as i cleaned disgusted me to no end- piss stains, used band-aids, toenail clippings etc. however, the most vomit-worthy specimens i had to clean were the previous owners' renegade pubic hairs. the whole experience was both traumatic and humbling.

today i made an appointment for my monthly brazilian wax. i began thinking that when my esthetician asks me what i've been up to the last few weeks this horrific venture into cleaning other people's messes would come up as lately it's been in the forefront of my mind. "i had to clean up other people's pubes! seriously! it's repulsive! who wants to touch someone else's pubes?"

i am glad i had the forsight to save myself from having this conversation.