Category Archives: Belly-aching.

Bitching, whining, complaining, carping, grumbling, etc.

What I really think about this cold.

So far, it hasn’t totally taken me over (yes, I just knocked on wood.) And yet still, the sensitive lungs, sniveling, nose-blowing, explosive sneezing, and sore throat are no real delight. I am exhausted from fighting off this cold bullshit and all the while attempting to altogether ignore Christmas… so tired I can’t even get up and go to bed.

I largely blame college for my pumped-up immune system. While living in a dorm I think I got and passed around more illnesses than ever before–and I don’t mean that in a slutty way at all. But I do think it super-boosted (yeah, I made that up) my immune system. How nice, you might think, to so rarely get sick. No! It has made me soft!

I’m just a big common cold pussy.

I guess it’s a hazard of the trade–what I get for passin’ the peace pipe with sickos.

(Don’t worry Alisha, you were so worth it.)

 

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What I really think about Christmas.

Oh, yeah, it’s that time of year again. Time for the holiday bitch.

Every single time December 26th rolls around, I let out a massive sigh of relief and continue to demolish a large pile of holiday chocolates, crossing my fingers that this day will go away forever.

So far, I have been unlucky. Christmas still lurks in the shadows, right around the corner from Thanksgiving, (one of the best holidays of all time) an impending doom.

In all honesty, with the amount of holidays we celebrate and observe, I wonder how many I actually care about. And so, I have formed a list of my favorite holidays.

1A. If Taylor is asking, her birthday is my number one favorite holiday!

1B. But for all intents and purposes, 4/20 is my all-time favorite holiday. This had to be somewhat expected, as the celebration of this day just includes an over-indulgence in one of my favorite hobbies (habits).

2. I love Thanksgiving Day. Another excessive day, only this time it’s the gluttony that I find so pleasing!

3. New Year’s Eve/New Year’s Day–honestly, I don’t care that much. This is a holiday that is not unlike a birthday. There goes another year, and yet I don’t feel any different… However, it does sometimes feel like a renewing, fresh start, and there is usually a great party involved and your neighbors are willing to forgive you for having loud, screaming, drunk people peeing in your yard in the middle of the night.

4. For a little Latin flavor: Cinco de Mayo–for lack of anything better and because, really, any excuse to drink margaritas.

5. Earth Day, because who doesn’t love a little trash clean-up?

6. I guess, but really just because I feel like I should have more on the list, I’ll include Halloween. I have actually found that I kind of hate carving pumpkins (still) and I usually get drunk and eat too much candy, and can’t be bothered to give any away to the costume-clad little children running up onto the porch while we holler and smoke cigarettes. Also, as an alternate form of amusement, this last Halloween someone drove into my neighbor’s house–sad, but at least interesting.

The holidays that certainly did not make the list:

1. Christmas— oh you are so evil. You twist my arm into going to church, rob me blind of my hard earned money (and there is never much of it), and force me to see members of my family who I would prefer to forget about. Oh, and I forgot to add to that list the wretched music and the ridiculous decorations. Of course, I do get to hand out a few modest, well-thought-out gifts to people I love, and I do get to spend time with some great family, and so you have (very) few redeeming factors.

2. Mother Teresa’s Birthday (oh, yes, by the way, this is also my birthday.) A day that is usually built up and yet so very anti-climactic. Usually brings feelings of loneliness, some sadness (“Why hasn’t my mom called?”), the inevitable doing of chores, because you were so sure you had to day all planned out, and in it’s execution you find… it’s just another day.

3. Veteran’s Day/President’s Day/Labor Day/etc.: What strange holidays… Maybe the bank is closed, the library, the post-office… I usually don’t get paid time + a half for working them, and there are no parties. Plus, anymore, people don’t really observe them. Maybe in passing, or in a classroom, or (and more because of the good weather) you have a barbecue.

4. Independence Day: Or, less formally, the 4th of July. There isn’t much to say. I love the food, but overall wish the day would burn down–which I don’t feel would be so hard, perhaps we could accidentally shoot it with a firecracker.

5. Easter: I have more than strayed from the religion with which I was raised, and so this holiday has just become silly. Trying to find colored eggs, either hard-boiled or plastic and filled (and anymore, they put healthy treats in), never really made sense to me, and now that I’m “too old” to participate, it’s even more ridiculous. I guess I enjoy brunch, but church? No, thanks.

The moral of the story is… Well there really isn’t one, and I’m tired of typing and don’t feel like really concluding. But, Christmas sucks! And I wish there was no such thing as holiday obligation. Or Catholic guilt. Eek.

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What I really think about slackers.

Will I ever make a blogging comeback?

 

I miss you, WordPress.

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Filed under Belly-aching., Critiques., Interludes., Recommendations., Thoughts.

What I really think about July 10th.

It’s too fucking hot, all the time.

And you know what else? It marks three months and five days since I last posted an entry on here… I find it seriously depressing that I can’t even motivate myself to blab in blog form. The whole idea of this was to unblock myself, write through the block, and really, I structured it in a way that would allow me to pretty much bitch about anything I’d like.

And I love to bitch.

What I’m trying to say is, I think I’m back, y’all.

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What I really think about writer’s block: Part Deux.

Really?

If you didn’t know, I have a blog entitled “Blocktherapy”–a way of forcing myself to write through my writer’s block (even if it isn’t really what I want to be saying.)

And, if you hadn’t noticed, I have been failing since going back to work.

How am I ever going to become a novelist, without also being broke and unemployed, if I can’t even keep up with a weblog while working in retail?

I suuuuck.

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What I really think about the munchies.

It’s time to get back on track, and this blog has been a long time coming. And a long time in the making.

Countless hours of trying to fend off the munchies, countless methods of attempting to satisfy them once and for all, too many dollars to count spent on powdered, raspberry-filled doughnuts, cheesy/oniony/sour creamy potato chips, candy bars, lemon-lime sodas, hot dogs, and various other impulse purchases.

In my opinion, there are few pitfalls to the stoner lifestyle, and they are entirely conquerable–if you feel you are awkward around people, smoke more and get used to it, and get out of your head. If you think you’re being lazy, get up and do something.

There are only two serious downsides that I have yet to overcome, the first: total exhaustion.

What the hell is it about smoking that makes you feel like you’ve been awake for four days, alternately crying, and sprinting with 50 pound ankle weights on? I can barely stay awake when standing upright or engaged in stimulate conversation, don’t even get me started on the difficulties I encounter when someone puts a movie on the television or dims the lights.

But even worse than the sleepies are the munchies… No matter how hard I try to suppress them, or prepare for them, or satisfy them, I never really have, without ending up feeling hungry, or nauseated.

There is the never-ending search for the perfect munchy food, something sweet and something salty… Or something sweet and salty, like caramel covered Bugles. Once upon a late night I saw these at the convenience store down the road, and I thought I had discovered the answer to my problems. But, alas! they were a sticky mess, and the caramel made the Bugles soggy, and they are nowhere near guilt-free.

But perhaps this ode to the munchies, or rant about them, comes at just the right time. Tomorrow, Taylor and I are doing the 21-Day Vegan Kickoff. I think it might actually be a vegetarian thing, but I guess we’re just upping the stakes. And for the most part, we keep away from meat, so going vegetarian would be too easy, in my opinion. I’m hoping that trying out the vegan thing will not only help the good eating habits I’ve already developed, but also make me healthier and more aware of the stuff I’m putting in my mouth. I will have to study many more ingredient lists, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all.

We start tomorrow! Which means that I need to go grocery shopping real, real bad. We’ve got lots of support–we’ve told all of our friends and roommates, and several of my family members have offered up recipes and cookbooks. Whoooo!

Let’s hope this goes well, and since smoking is a totally vegan thing, let’s hope I find some easy, quick, amazing, veggie dish to whip up and satisfy my munchies! Otherwise I’m gonna be pretty hungry for a while.

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What I really think about armpit hair.

Ahhh, the long-debated and never resolved, to shave or not to shave?

As the occupant of a rather liberal city, who occupies rather liberal circles, I can safely say I have encountered my fair share of armpit hair, in both men and women. And while I was never especially a fan of it on men, I (oddly) happen to think women who are liberated enough to grow out their pit hair and raise their arms high above their heads while wearing a tank top are sexy as hell.

And yet, I don’t care for it on men–I would almost go so far as to say that it sort of grosses me out. And this double standard makes me feel like a hypocrite, or some sort of sexist, backwards feminist, or some sort of represser of males. Of course, I would never expect them to shave their armpits constantly for my sake, nor do I find it enough of a turn off to actually have an influence on anything… So why do women feel so compelled to shave? Does anyone really care that much about some hair in an armpit or two?

Let me say (as not only a liberated woman, but a lazy one) it has been a long while since I have taken a razor to my underarms, and I am damn proud of that. My two little patches of hair resemble those of a pubescent boys’, but I think they are fun, and for as long as I keep them, I think they are a bold and confident statement of feminism! Har har. Up to this point, however, I have felt obligated to remove any sign of hair from my underarms, as though it were never there at all. In fact, at this time last year I had equally under-groomed underarms, and began to feel uncomfortable at work while reaching up for items on display higher up. As soon as I started to reach for them I would break into a cold sweat, worried that I would lose my sale or make customer run away, screaming at the sight of my overgrown underarms.

And for what reason? Why does hairlessness = beauty?

Well I’ve had enough! Popular culture and opinion can put that in it’s pipe and smoke it!

But you’re probably right, I’m just trying to justify my own laziness and cut down on my overall shower time. Now there’s an idea–conserve water, quit shaving!

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