Tag Archives: stupid people

Stupid Business People Who Don’t Get Business

So, the thing about blogging is, we get weird questions and shit. Solicitations. You know.

Let me save you the suspense: No, I don’t want to “trade links”. But thanks for asking.

And if you want me to “add your link” because I seem like Little Miss Nice About Those Things, you’re probably in for a surprise. Like — well, let’s call her “Mae.” Continue reading

A Break From the Frou-Frou Love-Thyself Shit

Let’s all embrace pettiness for a little bit before we continue the mad march to being better people. I know we’re all pissed we return to work tomorrow. Embrace it! Enjoy this little weird Twitter clash from last week.

So, the night before New Year’s Eve, I was up, unable to sleep, hanging on Twitter. Chatter had broke out about Rush Limbaugh. I aired my stance, that I just didn’t give a fuck if Rush Limbaugh died. This isn’t the same as “DIE, FUCKER, DIE!” It’s more, “You know what? He’s an asshole. He tries to divide the world. From that standpoint, his absence wouldn’t be a bad thing. In real life, maybe he’s a good guy. So, ahh, whatever.”

But this NUTBAG right-wing chick jumps on me, starts saying all this weird shit. (I identify her as insane first, right-wing second.)

I know a lot of people like screen shots of Twitter fights, but I don’t want to be dealing with fallout from this shit ad nauseum, so I refuse to tell you her Twitter handle or show you her avatar. Fuck her if she wants to be 12 and prolong this. I’m done with this 12-year-old shit, but I’m sharing. Continue reading

Holy Return of the Libido, Batman!

Sex. It’s been a while. Honestly? It’s been two years.

As I’ve written about at length, I went on anti-depressants the summer of ’06, after birth control pills messed my body up something fierce, at the tail end of a relationship that turned to shit in record time, while getting laid off of multiple jobs in a short period with no EI remaining. Oh, good times.

The meds were a necessary evil and I knew I needed ’em to get my body sorted out along with my life — both of which I’ve been accomplishing somethin’ fab. Since the new year I’ve been gradually decreasing the dose (with my doc’s guidance of course) and I’ve been off now entirely for 10 days.

Holy shit do I notice a difference. All of a sudden, like a wild fire in August, my libido’s back and raging. Like, oh, my god, is it back. ZING!

Must. Have. Sex. Orgasm! Now! YOU, SATISFY ME! Rowrr!

So, naturally, I posted myself a Craigslist ad. I posted two, one in the relationships section, and then the other in the casual encounters section, and now I don’t care about the LTR responses because I know I don’t want the complications of something serious yet. My casual encounters ad wasn’t entirely common, though. It began:

“Are you tired of stupid people? Are you tired of having to choose between routine sex and freaky sex, and nothing in between? Does the prospect of casual sex both appeal to you and frighten you? I mean, honestly, there are some skanky people out there. Some of these players have been around more than a 1966 RCA turntable, you get what I’m saying?…”

The responses have largely been of your “I’m a dedicated pussylickr!” type with pictures of penises and hairy bellies. [Delete] Or the most unappealing thong shot I’ve ever, ever seen. From front and back? That was really necessary? [Delete] Or riddled with spelling errors and the bad kind of non-sequiturs with nothing appealing. [Delete] Or obvious form letters that did nothing to address my 750 words. [Delete] Or very much older men with bad teeth and dirty leering looks and an almost palpable air of desperation. [Delete] Or cute guys with not much else to offer, the kind I’d always be smarter than. [Delete]

But there’s a bit of promise to be found. No, really. Like a crack of light at the bottom of a coal mine’s shaft: Surprising. Hopefully a good date looms in the next few days. And sex soon thereafter. Because that’s the whole point, no? Continue reading

RANT: Just Another Stupid Comment

I’ve been torn about posting it here. I got bitter and decided to rant on my other blog. But a reader’s comment makes me think other bloggers might also relate. And, hey. I’ve wanted to say this for four years. About fucking time. Please read the comments for further clarification — I DO LIKE COMMENTS!

First off: When someone gets into a big long treatise or essay all provoked by what I’ve written, I’m flattered. When readers get into arguments with each other over something I’ve said, I’m flattered. When people take the time to write me to say why they identify with something I’ve written, I’m flattered.

THAT is why I love to write. All of those comments. They’re so awesome to get. I love them.

BUT…

This might be totally cunty of me, but I’ve got to say I’m getting really tired of people commenting and leaving me unsolicited advice when all I’m doing is blogging for the fuck of it.

Like I’m complaining on the other blog about my mild hangover after too much tequila on Saturday night and I get the whole “You’re probably dehydrated, you should drink more water” brilliance thing happening in the comments.

Yeah, thanks, Sherlock. You fuckin’ think so? God, how did I ever get to age 35 without knowing being dehydrated is a major component of hangovers? Wow, why do I never get these memos?

Holy overstating the fuckin’ obvious, Batman. Thanks for that pearl.

I know people mean well, but it’s really fucking irritating as a blogger, when you work hard trying to keep a blog with new stuff for people to read all the time, and instead of getting a comment that’s the equivalent of a pat on the back or something, we get emails telling us what we’re wrong about or some obvious stupid thing that the reader seems to think we need to do.

Obviously I’m dehydrated after drinking tequila. I thought I’d spare you from the obvious and write about the funny part of it rather than the what-every-person-with-a-brain knows, that one should drink water after getting drunk.

A week or two ago someone left me a comment about how to make an em-dash. See the assumption is that I give a shit. In fact, I don’t. I feel kind of badly for writing that reader back privately and telling him to stop with the fucking “helpful” advice that, instead of being helpful makes me feel like I’m being condescended to, not appreciated on the basis of the CONTENT of my blog rather than just its grammar, or any other number of feelings.

These guys are not exceptions. Sadly, this shit happens pretty regularly for any blogger.

Fuck, people. I work hard enough, working 40 hours a week, exercising up to 10 hours a week, writing and editing another 10 hours a week on top of that, doing the basic caring-for-myself eating/washing/shopping/house-cleaning that takes another 25 or 30 hours of my week. The last thing I need to start giving a shit about is putting a proper em-dash into motherfucking Blogger, for whom alt-characters don’t work. Life’s too short. A double dash works fine for me.

Besides, my job uses double dashes because of its 1980s software, so I may as well stay in a frame of mind more conducive to getting my job done faster. But does the reader take any of this into consideration before saying what I SHOULD do as opposed to what’s been working fine for me? No. Does the reader assume I even KNOW what an em-dash is? No, they condescend to explain what it is. I’m an EDITOR for a LIVING. I get PAID to understand the constructs of the English language. Like I say, this guy isn’t the first dude to jump to ignorant conclusions.

I don’t get PAID to write this blog. I do it for the LOVE of it. So I take shortcuts. So fucking what? Don’t make the assumption that I’m somehow unhappy with what I’m putting out there, because that’s an insult, as if I’m somehow settling for something crappier, when all I’m doing is choosing my priorities.

There’s the whole “Oh, just ignore it” mentality that someone else may want to suggest I have about those comments. You know, sail through life in “ignore” mode. Or I could just tell people to fuck off and have it done with.

So, let me say this on behalf of any serious bloggers out there:

When we WRITE blogs — not just throw up four links and call it a fucking post, or use some easy picture as filler with a 15-word wisecrack and call that a day’s content, but we really, really WRITE blogs — and we put our fucking hearts and souls into it, COMMENTS are the juice that get us energized and keep us going. So, when the only comment you get after, say, two days of no comments or a week of no comments, is something about grammar or punctuation or “drink water”, the first reaction is, “Have I got a bitch-slap for you!”

Like, have the respect to write about the content or saying hi or patting us on the back, rather than just throwing advice or grammar tweaks at us, or don’t write at all. We don’t need it. Really. It’s a big world full of “shoulds” and criticism. We can do without yours.

If our writing provokes a thought with ya, comment. If you liked what was said, comment. If you take issue with what was said, comment. Absolutely. It’s a dialogue. So let’s do that.

If, however, all you want to do is patronize the blogger by assuming they’re not smart enough to know anything outside of the 600 words they’ve just written, then put a cork in it.

I know I’m getting really fucking tired of the condescending advice emails that make the assumption I’m just some stupid chick who needs a little extra hand-holding to get across the street. Seriously.

“Drink water” after waking up from passing out from tequila? Gee, YOU THINK? Sigh. Fuck, man. Wanna tie my shoes for me, too?

Stupid is as stupid does

I’m doing the online dating thing. Let me say ONE THING: Your opening line is EVERYTHING, boys.

So, the guy who just opened with: “May I have your panties?” Uh… Where to even begin on the lameness scale for that one?

Remember, “block this person” is the most valuable tool you have when doing the online thing.

Block, block, block. Fucking twit.

______________

So, Dear Readers, I’d like to ask you to stay tuned. Starting next week, I’ll have more time on my hands and a more diligent writing schedule, and I have a few ambitious ideas to tackle. Hopefully this place’ll be hopping again. In the meantime, I’d like to leave you with this lovely image.

Why this image? Because I’ve been pursuing the online thing more of late, and my GOD am I getting frustrated.

Okay, here’s a mini-rant.

Men are willing to go off to war. They’re willing to scale mountains. They’re willing to do all manner of stupid, life-endangering things, like running with bulls, but god-fucking-forbid they have the balls to cancel on a chick or see through some plans. (Obviously, there are awesome men out there who are not these guys… WHERE ARE YOU? Come HITHER. Now.)

As far as I can tell, these guys all want me. They’ve said so in countless ways, but as soon as our plans roll around, the guys are typically forgetful men and they often FORGET the dates. Instead of having the balls to say, “Shit, I forgot,” they pussy up and never contact me again. And the amusing thing? I’m usually pretty cool about that sort of thing. I’m a busy chick, and I like my time alone, so getting a night to myself is often a bonus, not a horrible event.

I’ve always thought I was pretty decent at decoding men, but these days, I’m getting just a little flustered. I tell you, I’m five minutes away from walking into a bar and laying it on a guy. Trust me, I could easily walk in, and walk out with a dude on my arm — I just hate the got’em-at-the-bar kind of deal.

On the flipside, meeting a nice CHICK someplace seems like a fuck of a lot LESS (ed. note: seems I forgot the most important word in this sentence earlier… AHEM.) hassle. I tell you, I’m so close to being driven to dyke by the dicks. So very close.