Construction Junction

EVERYTIME I pass a construction site I look to see if any belong in a calendar instead of a weight loss program. Most of them could use a spin class. Have you ever noticed though, there is ALWAYS one scrawny little thing alongside them? They must make him go in all the holes because he has a better chance of escaping should it start to flood or cave in. You would think the other guys would be more buoyant. 

I wonder if that's a requirement for some companies..."can you lift more than fifty pounds? Can you stand for long periods of time? Could you eat me out of house and home? Could you personally withstand high winds, possibly hurricanes? Yes? Good. Run the excavator... And let go of my lunch."

Just a thought. 

Hair of the dog..or a bitch.

Becoming pregnant is a lot like morphing into a werewolf. If you don't believe me, you're a man. 

When we begin to house womb humans, not so funny things start to happen. For starters...Growing hair. Everywhere. The hair from our heads starts to resemble friggin Rupunzel but in my fairy tale I pity anyone that climbed up there to save me. For the following reason..

Problemo número dos: hormones. Hormones is derived from "hor" meaning horrible and mones, also known as "moans of misery" GAHD DAMN! It's funny the pet peeves you think you have as a semi-sane and regular person. I assure you, when your uterus becomes a landlord you no longer think rationally and  the oddest things become your greatest hates. I, for one, could not...COULD NOT smell old spice wolf something or other (body wash scent) without actually going into a fit of rage. No exaggeration, I made Hitler look like Annie. Even now, I have PTSD like reactions to it. Justin isn't allowed to but it anymore without risking excorcism style reaction. As I wrote that, I got the visual and scared myself.

I don't think I cried a lot as a human driveway but having a baby parked behind my now enormous belly button was awfully trying at times. Like when I tried to get into double XL spandex and couldn't. Who the fack can't get into stretch pants?! This friggin heffer that's who and after 7 months of only craving twix and orange juice, you know why you're fatter than you need to be and just had material INTENDED FOR BIG ASSES REMIND YOU!! Yeah. THAT will make you lose your mind, I don't give a happy crap who you are. 

If any gentlemen or women disagree, I hope at some point you have to expel a cactus and then I will tell you you're overreacting.  

Come at me, bro. 

put the ass in class, not the rash in trash.

"when i leave brush my teeth with a bottle of jack and when i leave for the night i ain't comin back...." hint: if your favorite lyrics are written by a female who writes her name with a dollar sign and dresses in trashbags... your opinion can never be considered valid as you too, are a disgrace to vagina population. monologue THAT!

I dont understand girls and their facebooks. We post EVERYTHING on there, only to be really pissed off when someone else makes a comment about it.  what did you expect other users or 'friends' to do, pretend you're not there.  you'd get mad if they hid you or deleted you.. so if you don't like the attention, keep it to yourself....or tell a chatty cathy and she'll let everyone else know behind your backn and pull the  'but dont say anything' the whole conversation so you wont know we know.. win/win, hooker!

which brings me to next rant.

this is on my hate list, but also my love list ( and i only love it because it gives me something to hate)... when girls will post pictures of quotes about 'i'm a real woman, if you can't handle me at my worst, you dont deserve me at my best.." WELL let's break it down.. you could be a phenomenal female with so many wonderful qualities but if youre in PMS mode 24/7 and the only time you're bearable is when you're in a coma because we spiked your bartles and jaymes with melatonin, you're probably not being dumped because the man's not strong enough, you're alone because the men..dont like that shit. cut it out.

you can't actually believe posting a picture of marilyn monroe quoting how young and free we should be, is going to validate you or persuade anyone who might've thought differently before. It actually perpetuates others hate.. Posting a picture of something nice on a social network doesn't take away from the fact you wore a half a mini skirt to the bar (and getting into one in the Old Port with a dress code, doesnt mean you look classy FYI) and had your photo smeared all over their webpage doing shots with randoms and getting carried out by the bouncers. stop kidding yourself. if you act like a trashbag, you'll get thrown out like trash does.

  I'm more likely to give a high five and pat on the ass to the chick that puts herself out there, as she actually is.  for instance, i'd like to see a status that says "i woke up this morning after having an awful dream that my boyfriend cheated on me, i knew it wasn't real but i was mad at him all day anyway. i am being irrational but i dont care, i';m gonna make him pay because i need to blame somebody" Pretty sure that'd get alot more likes because the rest of us would be thinking "phew, someone else does it too"

  Or... "Instead of going out to sushi with my best friend today i have to do laundry becaues for the last two weeks i've come home from work and felt sorry for myself and ate ice cream while i watched rock center with the sound off, because brian williams looks good despite what he's actually saying. who needs to be heard when you can rock that tie, so hard?!!"

i know i'd be the first to comment "PREACH IT!!"

brian williams is sexy. i dont care who knows it.  but if he were to get in a fight with anderson cooper, my whole world would shatter.

but i digress....

 

Oil of O'Laid.

being sexy for some is wearing make up and wearing a well stuck thongs, while for me...   i'd be better served sitting on my couch, with a bag over my head.


i dont know how girls in porn make showering look so good or so easy. They stand there, their hair perfectly soaking up the hot water (but not everyone uses soap, so beware) and it falls so beautifully down their face.  Their waterproof mascara doesn't come dripping off their lashes resulting in a permashadow on your cheeks.  Sidenote, can we just come to an agreement that waterproof simply means, "can't frigging wash it off later"  When they run their hands through their hair, their fingers dont get stuck on a hair knot caused by the stupid amount of hairsppray and gel used to kick a cowlick's ass.

Porn girls have perfect tanlines and they're so well put together. My tan lines, regardless of how many Sun Tan City sessions I put in look like I lay on the sun with a plank on my chest. I can't get those little suckers to take some color! My boobs pigmentation is casper and i need to deal with that. Whew.. coming to terms is hard.
Porn girls also, dont seem to have any vision problems. When I take my showers I can't wash my face or my damned mascara off without having at least one, if not both, of my contacts curling into the back of my eye.  Then, I get nervous it'll get lodged back there or find it's way to my brain and come out my ear so I reach for it.. before rinsing the soap off my hands. So in my attempt to save my vision I almost blind myself.  This doesn't feel good, in fact it's painful so it throws off my balance.. which inevitably ends in me slipping and hitting my face off my conditioner. Once my head knocks over all my necessities, I try to pick it up but slip on the bottle of body wash that's fallen in the mess and land on my razor that I can't ever, ever seem to remember to recap.

I'm gonna google how to shower like a porn star and maybe take some pointers. I have never seen one exfoliate, so I might have to add that on my own time.

One thing is for sure, there's not enough maybelline in this world because baby.. I'm just not born with it.

Thpeech.

Quick Thought: any point I'm ever trying to make immediately becomes void when I fail to pronounce "statistically" correctly. Friggin lithp.

Big Red Balls and Small White Titties

tonight.  i witnessed the song "rack city, bitch" come to life.

It's been a couple months since I've seen my mother so I was delighted when she informed me she'd make the long trip down here for Veteran's Day weekend. when my family visits it always means I'll be blessed with groceries, some new clothes and guaranteed laughs. tonight however, I was given much more than a laugh. I was given the opportunity to throw dollar bills at my Mother, like a lost soul on a pole... in a department store. Only this wouldn't have quenched any thirst for a dirty fantasy had by anybody that got a little hot at the thought of a good bargain.

When you walk into Target, you're greeted by large red balls... I love being greeted by balls, that are really big and in your face. They're so inviting and fun. That's why they make pits full of them.. most sports involve them and let's be honest you were not expecting me to be talking little spheres. pervert. Another thing I was greeted by this night was the blinding proof that my mother does not use her own tanning beds or common sense.

We were walking down the aisles digging into each rack of clothes like the harder we looked the cheaper the clothes would get. Tags were flying, the booming of Silver Bells was over powering my ear drums, my own exhaustion from the day had me feeling a little delusional and then I hear it...

"nichole.. do you think this buttom up is nice?""yeah i dont mind it. with those orange pants?"
"yeah but i need to try it on first..."

Now, let me interject my own conversation and describe my mother's attire (which is not unlike her)... Bra, Tank Top, Button Up Cardigan and a scarf. oh and pants. Now on my way out of this interjection, I'll leave you with, she was not wearing one of those items.
It seems as if the world turned to slow motion as I turned my head back to see if the shirt she had picked out in fact did fit her. However, as she lifted her cardigan sweater up in the middle of the aisle of the very busy, very lit Target I realized she wasn't actually wearing her tank top that she had been so confident in. I tried to call out to her..

(in slow motion voice) "Moooom. Nooooo!"
"whaaaat?"(in really high pitched voice) "MOM! YOU'RE NAKED!"

Her arms crossed all the way above her head, with a handful of sweater in each fist as if she was holding onto that blue friggin diamind when the Titanic was sinking,  and the rest of the cardigan sitting at her elbows, while her breasticles and belly were feeling out the room's temperature is when her reaction began. It was similar to that of when you're getting undressed in the bathroom to take your shower and someone walks in...you're not sure which part to cover first so your body goes into a tourettes like defense trying to cover all your goodies at once. Well imagine my petite little mother, trying to cover ONE part of her body with her hands in a knitted vice, stuck above her head as if she was waving to onlookers "NUDITY, AISLE FIVE!" Victoria's secret and my worst nightmare was on the table... my mom and her bits all out for the discount shoppers to see. I'm just glad she wasn't wearing a mistletoe necklace or shit could've gotten real weird, real fast.

I tried very hard to shield her from prying eyes but the laugh that erupted from me was more of a call of attention than a plee for avoidance. At this point, she's bent over with her shirt still over her head because she can't get her arms down, so I did what any daughter would... I grabbed her by the back of the neck into a submission type hold and without letting her lose conciousness I pulled her shirt down. Felt like I was in a hockey fight, all I needed to do was punch her but in this instance there was no need for violence.

I'm just glad stores dont let you try on thongs, who knows what would've happened next.
God Bless America.

I Lick Brick

As if my day to day life wasn't complicated or full of public bafoonery enough, I walked in public and tried to be professional.... tried.

So my short term relationship with my part time job ended abruptly when I, forgot to go to work. Understandably, but that job was like having a girlfriend that was always on her period... looked good on paper but what's the point?? As a result I've begun to look for other jobs.  So, I took to the streets.

I was dressed in black militial style knee high boots, black leggings with the slightest shimmer and a black dress. No, I'm not in mourning but I do like to look skinny... and those were all the things I found on my floor this morning while I was getting out of bed.. VOILA, outfit practically chose itself.

I was feeling confident about my appearance and my matching jacket and purse so I drove into the city feeling like this could be my day, I'm gonna carpe the shit out of some diem. There was an event I guess because every single place I looked to park laughed at me. not out loud, but I could feel those meters judging me. It did seem however that every open space I actually found, also had another driver vying for the spot and I would almost get my car's ass kicked to get into it. After driving through the city I decided to park on the water and just make the trek by foot.. like a road warrior.

I took my cute boots and my sweet ass up to the street with the places I was interested in obtaining employment...with no troubles.. easy peezy baby. I should have known as the crisp air breezed through my long hair and the touch of winter pressed on my lips that my painless, easy trip was soon to be ruined by the ever failing feet I call my own.

I dont know if any of my fellow city street walkers are aware but the sidewalks of Portland are a deadly game of slip and slide by the Devil's hand. I took such a fall you could call me "Season" and I am quite literally, surprised I didn't break the ground with my schnoz. It might not have been so bad if I couldn't add the fact that my beloved leggings had fallen half way down my ass to the list of things that had suddenly gone drastically wrong. Luckily, the way my purse came flying onto my face prevented the traffic jammed street from seeing my pain as I yelped out like a Terrier would if it had tried to outrun it's leash.

As quickly as I had fallen, I picked myself up. I made sure my applications were still in my purse and not spread on the sidewalk with my dignity. When I'd determined all was well and that I didnt recognize any of the eyes watching me, I darted for my car. Now I sit wrapped in a fleece blanket because I can still feel the chill of the red brick on my neck... I fear I shall never recover.

I wonder if I should put "resilient bottom pillows" and "can take a blow to my face" to my list of qualifications for the job...

I'm just trying to get a big tip.