Imma go a' hookin'

I sincerely wonder how much money I can make as a hooker. Now that they almost shit-canned me from the office (they cut my hours in half and took away my benefits), I should probably take up a career in hookin'. I honestly give amazing head. And I like putting penis up my anus. This means that I am of high value I suppose. However, ATM is not my deal. So, please keep your penis with my particles of shit on your dick away from my mouth. I do not want E.coli unless I got it from eating raw beef. But in that case I would like mad cow. Thank you.

No, but in all reality I am happy as hell to only work part-time and make enough money to live. 3 days a week. I have Tuesdays and Thursdays off. I am stupid for not asking to only work Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. Because then I would have 4 day weekends. WOW THAT IS AMAZING. I'm going to have to change that, pronto.

So in the past week I have learned a lot of things. Working sucks - and freedom from a 9-5 desk job is 100x better, even with a cut in pay. I also learned that there really are inbred people out there. People who are so awkwardly built and are so blatantly stupid that you feel that abortion could never be illegal for this reason. What's sad is that these people are too stupid to realize that they should not be breeding with their brother/sister, so it's like abortion doesn't even exist. I am waiting for next season of Nip/Tuck to find out that Matt got his new found sister pregnant and they plan on keeping the child, move to the Ozarks and when their off spring grow up, they fuck them, too. I have also discovered that a Texan accent isn't so much a cultural accent, but rather, a lack of functionality in the brain. It's permanent verbal vomit.

So, Potty decided he would stop being a faggot and come hang out with my friends. My friends will probably ruin his life which is fabulous. He needs it - badly. And he'll probably read this and get all offended. He'll say WHY DO I NEED MY LIFE RUINED and then I will follow up the conversation and be like BECAUSE YOU ARE A STUPID ASS. CHANGE YOUR NAME TO STUPID B. ASS, ESQ. AND WHEN PEOPLE GET YOUR CARD, THEY WILL AUTOMATICALLY KNOW THAT YOU ARE A STUPID ASS! So, Potty, now that you have read this, do not ask me any questions. Please have sex with all my blonde friends. It will do you some good, child.

Anyway, tonight is the Sterling Williams fashion show at Vanguard in Hollywood. WHICH MEANS I AM VIP AND GET TABLES WITH BOTTLE SERVICE AND I AM COMING WITH MY POSSE OF 7 or 8 or 20 PEOPLE. But let me just say I got into a fight with my dad last night because he wants to come. Sterling invited my dad and I'm like WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU. NO! YOU ARE NOT GOING! Then he proceeded to tell me what a horrible person I am because I do not want to be seen with Old Man Gloom at a club in Hollywood. It's different when we go to Mastro's Steakhouse and blow $3,000 on dinner. Unless my dad feels like spending $10,000 on drinks, he is not allowed to come. He'll probably get drunk and make out with people (like the time we hosted a Halloween party and my dad made out with an 80 year old woman, because some fat lady brought her old grandma) and embarrass me, then I will be obligated to tell my mother and it's just not worth the hassle.

I guess that's it. I am leaving early to go shopping.

FUCK YOU ALL, AND DON'T GET A BIG DICK ABOUT IT!

Sorry, I was kidnapped by the Chinese.

My week so far:

CHAOS.

I suppose I'll have to elaborate on that later.

Asia is plagued with weird shit.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=eJLG85gn0bc




Last night Dom and I were watching a show called "HALF MAN HALF TREE." It was about one of a kind disorders - and this guy called by the name of "Dede" that lives in a mud hut with his freak show friends in Indonesia and Dede suffers from a "wart" disorder - where he is covered in warts and his human limbs are turning into tree limbs. I wouldn't necessarily call them tree limbs, but hey, that's what they are. He looked like a rotting palm tree. Now, don't get me wrong, because I have a wonderful life and I am not plagued with The Fug and over-all I am pretty healthy, but for crying out loud I can't help but by completely mortified over what I saw in the video. I mean, I'm familiar with birth defects and why things happen and blah blah - and I'm also familiar with "SHIT HAPPENS" but not disorders that just happen to turn you into a tree or that your face melts off. This is all new to me. Dede's "clan" was also featured in this documentary - We named them Penis Nose, Melty Face, Rotting Palm and Furnace Monster. What really disturbed me was their exhibition - it was a MODELING SHOW for little Indonesian girls in bikinis to be walking on the cat walk around these monster looking peoples. I'm sorry, but who would think to use a FREAK SHOW as PROPS? I mean, these people had not bathed in years because of their disorders and half of them looked flea ridden. I would NEVER let my scantily clad 6 year old get NEAR one of these said monsters. And it's not that they're monsters in a cute, Cookie Monster way - but the kind where they have been living in the jungle in hiding for years and years and come out to say peek-a-boo for little girls. This sincerely bothers me, in a way where I would like to bomb all of Indonesia. I swear these disorders are either from dietary insufficiencies or inbreeding. Only ONE other case has been reported in the Ukraine and it wasn't even to the extent of these tree frog people. Someone should test the water, or tell them to stop eating all these weird bugs they eat or SOMETHING. FUCK.

Whatever, if I were their doctor I would just put them out of their misery. I would put them down like I would an old dog. YOU WON'T FEEL A THING, JUST A LITTLE PRICK AND THEN YOU WILL FALL ASLEEP.

To the furnace you go!

Pets make me crazy.

I have nothing to really bitch about today. I'm not at work wanting to stab myself in the eye, nor am I in need to castrate anyone today. My cold is going away, so I'm not dying either. Since I have a lot of horse-shit related thoughts in my head, I thought I'd write about it. This is my horse, Charm. The serious looking blonde is my bestfriend, Dani. Dani is a really amazing rider and trainer and I'm lucky enough to give her the sex in exchange for her riding my horse.
So, some batshit crazy man decided he would tell my barn owner that's 70+ years old and is half senile that I gave him the "OKAY" to ride my horse. Said batshit crazy man decided he would ride my horse without my permission. He actually decided to be it would be REALLY AWESOME to change all of her tack around to shit that she should NEVER be ridden in and gallop her around like she's a fucking rocking horse. He wanted to be a real machismo asshole and prove to the world he can handle a crazy horse by making her doing the Irish Jig like a lying Ashlee Simpson, proceeded by her tossing her head and trying to make her way out from underneath this crazy asshole man. Well, there's a problem with that. MY HORSE IS NOT CRAZY. My horse has never been crazy. My horse has always had a perfectly sound mind and she's never been flighty/crazy/spooky, nor has she ever chomped on her bit because I've always had her in super soft bits, she's never tossed her head and she's never done any of that nonsense. So now Dani has to try to fix her of all her fucking problems. We're already seeing dramatic improvement. I am SO damn lucky because my horse is amazing and she just wants to please. Most horses would have been sent to the funny farm after what this man did. With that said, I plan on taking his horse out and running it around until it breaks down. Anyway, here is video of Charm trying really hard to be a normal horse again.
Charm is out of shape. Period. There's no getting around that - she hasn't had any real work since October. Then suddenly she gets taken out on all these gnarly trails and galloped in the arena by this fucking asshole and so on and so forth. So, she's got a couple of little kinks to work out, but she will get there. She's dropping her right shoulder and falling on the forehand - I'm going to get a chiro out to look at her and see what he thinks. She also isn't tracking up at the trot - but she's out of shape. Dani stays off her back on the canter to make it easier for her to stay balanced. So no, she is not trying to be a jockey, she knows what she's doing. She's also bobbing up and down like a merry-go-round horse and in parts she'll fight with Dani and toss her head. Ugh. So frustrating. Imaging someone taking out your expensive BMW for a joy ride and then hitting poles and backing into shit, causing thousands of dollars worth of damage to your car. That is what happened with my horse. GOD DAMMIT I WANT TO KILL SOMEONE. I will probably force feed him vagina yeast if I see him again. I am so glad I move to the new barn next month. Fucker.

See this place to the right? This is the new ranch. It's deep in the hills of Malibu. I would have never imaged a place like this existed. In the distance is a jumper arena and right next to it is a dressage court. It's quiet. Peaceful. Serene. I am so happy to know that my horse will feel a hundred times better being here. I'm just waiting for the date to move. :}

Little Red Dress.

Last night I felt like a hooker walking the streets of Hollywood. If I didn't have my big trench coat on I probably would have been stopped by random hornies and asked what my going rate was. I probably would have said a million for the night but then some creepo might have been able to afford me so then I would have felt obligated to give him the sex. Anyway, I bought this little red dress at this really cute store in Hollywood that Dom's family has been telling me about. So here I am going I CANNOT SPEND ANY MONEY BECAUSE I AM MOVING MY HORSE SOON AND I AM ALREADY BROKE but then Gia and the resident gay are like OMG GIRLFRIEND, THIS LITTLE HOOKER RED DRESS WILL LOOK FABULOUS ON YOU. So I try it on and decide not to take it off. I mean, it was only $50.00 which looked 10x cuter than my Michael Kors dress that was way more expensive and definitely not as cute on as the hooker dress. Then I realized I'm wearing my platform heels and I say to myself, GOD I LOOK LIKE A HOOKER VERSION OF J.LO. Even the resident gay was like GIRL, YOUR ASS IS FABULOUS AND YOU LOOK LIKE J.LO HUNNY, YOU GO GIRL. Of course I never wear mini dresses or the color red so I was really uncomfortable for about 10 minutes - then I realized the street was littered with uglies so I stopped caring. I still can't get over the fact I bought a dress for $50.00 - I've never bought anything other than underwear for that cheap before. Crazy. But now I am regretting not trying on this green dress which was also $50. I'm just going to have to go back this weekend and buy it.

Also, last night I went to see some crazy guy do his little poetic political ranting about Bush with like a 20 person bad in some weird little red venue. I think I was there about 20 minutes. In this time he managed to squeeze out about 3 rants about Bush. He also slowly started to strip down as time went on.

His first rant was about Bush taking a shit.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU TOOK A SHIT, BUSH?

I look at Sab and I'm like, well, probably the last time he ate his bran muffin. He is an old man, afterall.

Then he went on for about 10 minutes about Bush taking a shit. Apparently he has an obsession with poop. I bet you he watches 2 girls 1 cup or better yet, 2 girls 1 finger on the daily. How else would he get inspiration? Well, I'm sure there are a number of ways... It wouldn't surprise me if I found out he was into coprophilia.

I don't know what happened between that part of his ranting about shit and then his ranting about bacon and eggs.

But his last song was ALL ABOUT BACON & EGGS. AND HOW BUSH RUINED HIS FAVORITE, SIMPLE MEAL - BACON & EGGS.

The song went as follows:

Bush, you ruined bacon and eggs.
bacon and eggs.
bacon and eggs.
bacon and eggs.
simple food.
bacon and eggs.
i hate you bacon & eggs because of Bush.
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
One of the 50 states.
bacon and eggs.
bacon and eggs.
You ruined my bacon and eggs Bush.
You ruined my simple wonderful breakfast.
bacon and eggs.
bacon and eggs.
bacon and eggs.

I can't believe it's only Thursday.

Fuck the fact that it's Valentine's Day. The problem with today is that it's Thursday. I am completely fucking exhausted. I am sitting here, rotting behind this computer again and my ass is growing roots into this chair. I sort remind myself of my horse's flaxseeds that spilled in my garage and started growing into a wet sock near the washer. I am the flaxseeds right now. Potty sent me a text message to WAKE UP. Then one of the old secretaries here said that my eyes look like they're behind held down by 200 lb weights. I wouldn't be surprised if trainwreck Potty walked over here to tell me he put roofies in my coffee as a joke to see if I would die. So while my heart is racing from the caffeine everything is slowing down around me. This is what I would imagine to be a really, really bad high. People are talking and I can't comprehend anything. I'll just sit here completely mum in hopes that no one will notice my presense. That would be great. So I guess I'll just keep rambling about nothing until I wake up... I guess I should say that I need to scan in this fucking amazing note that Potty wrote to me. Earlier he left this wonderful package of shit on my desk for me to file away or something with a note that had handwritten instructions with what to do with it. I IMed him on G-Talk and I'm like, HEY, YOU WRITE LIKE A 6 YEAR OLD CHILD. I AM GOING TO START TELLING PEOPLE I HAVE A 6 YEAR OLD SON. I must be training him well, because instead of getting completely offended like he normally does over everything I say, he wrote me a note.

It reads as follows:

1 Fish
2 Fish
Red Fish
Blue Fish

I may be 6 years old but I really am a lawyer. I date very hot girls that have defects, really awesome mental defects. But they all have legs that go on for days and when I get to the end they are spread wide open. I am really bored right now and I am suffering from a crippling anxiety disorder. I think I might kill myself if this day does not go by any faster.

Jackrabbits & Skeletons,

Potty Pee

This is true. He is a 6 year old lawyer. I still don't understand how he got through lawschool because he's ADD - worse than Dominick. Until meeting Potty, I though Dom was Mr. ADD. Now I know Dominick can do anything he wants in life. If Potty can, anyone can because Potty is a trainwreck who can barely keep it together for an entire work day. He should do what I do and be up all night and sleep walk through the day. At least when I'm having these vampiric episodes at work I am not preoccupied with all the shit that's going on around me. It's easy to tune people out and just do enough to make yourself look busy.

Speaking of which, I think I need to go in the back room and "find something" which means sleep on a stool for 15 minutes. I do this all the time.

That's Cross Dresser to you, ma'am.

You're probably wondering why I'm posting a picture of a man in drag. Well, I was browsing through MySpace looking for Sabrina's Tall Todd, the guy who sinned and God got pissed and felt that Sabrina should publicly shame him and his white trash family by finding his camera in a taxi and posting his photos all over the internet. Anyway, Tall Todd lives in Boston, and as I said we were browsing MySpace looking for him when we came upon this beauty. Well, actually it wasn't him - but it was someone that's linked to him through the "GIRLS THAT LIKE BOYS THAT DRESS LIKE GIRLS" community that we found on McFruity's page. Anyway, so Sabrina, Gia and I are huddled together on the couch like conjoined triples SCREAMING IN HORROR of the things we find on our precious, what we thought was just mildly-homosexual MySpace. Anyway, so BEAUTIMOOSE over here really got our attention. It's not that he's any uglier than the rest, because in a line-up they're all the same faggots in dresses, but because of the fact this was his default picture to his album... He titled it, "MY FIRST PHOTO SHOT." This should have been titled "MY THIRD PHOTO SHOT" for his first, last and NEVER AGAIN - because he SHOT himself in the fucking face. Obviously if he's referring to a SHOOT as a SHOT we've got good old Freud slipping in. So, Franken Faggot here seriously thinks he's sexy and embracing the woman in him with the 1989 Barbie metallic blue eye shadow followed by the pussy pink lips. This poor guy was probably beat as a child with shoes and dildos for him to grow up with a distorted self image to think that this make up is s3xXxi, or even to dress up as a woman is normal. I still can't get over that sexy face over here is trying as hard as he possibly could. I don't need to mention the Fred, or the hair, right? Right. Let's move on.

To your right is SEXY SALLY. I am not kidding. Where the fuck do they get these names anyway? That said, this is it's name. Anyway, this is a prime example of the number #1 tranny fetish: FEET. God, if my sister was reading this SHE WOULD JUST DIE. Apparently all trannys have foot fetishes. You can seriously dig through MySpace and find tranny feet everywhere. I'm not sure whether they're actually turned on by the foot itself, of the things the foot can squeeze into - like a 24 XW size shoe with a 5 inch spike heel or the panty hose - or... Well, what else is there? Regardless, THE OBSESSION IS FUNKY FUCKING FEET. So, here are a couple of feet pictures I grabbed from Sexy Sally's friends, Selene and Cheryl.

***HERE IS A BIG PAUSE***

I left this to be edited on my computer at home, that I left on all night after I had fallen asleep at 3:30 in the morning. It's now 10:45 in the morning and I'm at work, which means all the awesome things I had to say are no longer in my head. However, and this is a big however, it's still fresh in my mind that all these fruity men all have named themselves the fucking fruitiest names ever. I mean, I came across Vixen Valerie, Naughty Nancy and Chesty Charlize. CHESTY CHARLIZE. WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF QUEERBAG FUCK NAME IS THAT. Well, whatever - I don't understand why they need to give themselves stage names like they're performing in Camelot with that one queer from American Idol. Anyway, so I found this perfect fucking tranny to post right now that's like the epitome of fat, hairy pointy-titted tranny but apparently blogger and my work computer do not mix well. I can upload the picture but I can't move it, which means when I get home I will just have to edit this post. But really, I cannot believe people participate in this. At what point is this beautiful? Or sexy? I know beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and all that bullshit, but THIS IS NOT A NATURAL FUCKING BEAUTY. NOT EVEN YOUR STANDARD QUEER THAT LIVES A NORMAL LIFE DOES THIS SHIT. Anyway, I don't see the point in this post anymore because I can't post pictures from work. Fuck. This breaks my heart.

I WILL BE BACK WITH MORE PICTURES. Trust me.

I am rotting my life away behind a desk.

I seriously feel my ass getting flatter and wider. I'm getting secretary ass. GOD HELP ME IF I GET SECRETARY ASS. So right now the office is quiet. No one is here except for the only old fart attorney that cracks jokes, but he's in a meeting in his office with the doors closed. All is quiet. The only thing I can hear is the tapping of my key's and the office Rottweiler walking around and breathing. It's peaceful for once - and I'm sitting here eating my steamed edamame with fresh squeezed lemon juice on it (because it tastes so much better this way and it helps me cut down the amount of salt I put on these fuckers) - and I realized something as I'm popping 3 pods in my mouth.

I REALIZED THAT IT IS BEAUTIFUL OUTSIDE TODAY. AND I AM STUCK IN AN OFFICE. AND IF I DO NOT DO SOMETHING WITH MY LIFE SOONER THAN LATER I WILL BE STUCK IN AN OFFICE FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE AND I WILL ROT BEHIND A CUBICLE WALL IN AN OLD CHAIR THAT IS NOT COMFORTABLE DOING WORK FOR PEOPLE THAT DO NOT LOVE ME OR COULD EVEN GIVE A SHIT IF I'M ALIVE OR DYING OF THE BUBONIC PLAGUE, AS LONG AS I GET THEIR WORK DONE AND I DO NOT GET IN THEIR WAY IN DOING SO. I WILL NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY. I WILL BECOME DEPRESSED AND MISERABLE LIKE A MAJORITY OF POPULATION IN THE UNITED STATES. I WILL BE UNHEALTHY AND I WILL BE ATTRACTED TO UNHEALTHY THINGS.

Pamela Levy (former CEO of Juicy Couture, the lady that's the "P" in "Juicy Couture, Love G & P") told my dad yesterday that if I needed her help that I should call her, and that as long as I keep my mind focused doing what I love that I will ultimately persevere as long as I don't give up.

So fine, I won't. I need to un-lazy myself and stop worrying about this fucking job. I wanted to leave for school once and the head partner here basically chewed my head off. He said to me, "WHAT IS MORE IMPORTANT, YOUR JOB OR YOUR SCHOOL?" So I stayed late that day - longer than I needed to and bascially cried for 3 hours. I should have said, FUCK YOU MY SCHOOL IS MORE IMPORTANT but I was too preconcerned with my paycheck and paying for my horse, my car, my gas, my dog, my this - my that - that I didn't really think twice. Then I realized something... WHO THE FUCK IS HE TO SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THAT. HE WOULD NOT BE WHERE HE IS TODAY IF IT WERE NOT FOR HIS EDUCATION. HE WOULD BE NOTHING. JUST SOME FAGGOT HANGING OUT IN WEST HOLLYWOOD LOOKING FOR SOMEONE TO GIVE HIM MONEY. He set goals and achieved them. He did what he needed to do in life in order to get where he is today. I'm surprised that a person that comes from his background would have the unmitigated gull to hold me back from my dreams - from doing what I need to do with my life. He knows damn well this is not my career, and I will be damned if being a secretary and rotting in this chair, behind this computer is the life for me. I wouldn't be surprised if I croaked one day and no one noticed. Well, Potty might because I wouldn't be responding to his IMs on G-talk. He'd surely come over here eventually and notice that I am a rotting corpse in my chair. He'd probably laugh and think I was just joking until he saw a fly come out of my mouth or something.

No, but really - today I am just dying to be outside. I know I say the sun is overrated but that's because I never see it anymore. I'm turning into a vampire, which is cool and all because now I'm immortal but I sort of miss being human. A regular human. That does things outside. I wonder if those type of humans even exist anymore. I think the last time I saw anything remotely close to the sun I was in a tanning bed 2 weeks ago.

So now that everyone is back in the office - I am going to continue doing what I do best, rotting in this Godforsaken chair.

Maybe one day I'll escape these walls and see the outside world again. Until then, consider me dead.

Dare I say it, something... SOULFUL? It's probably hidden somewhere in here.

I'm going to not try to get emotional on here, because - this is not the purpose of this blog. This blog is actually meant to belittle and castrate every idiot I know - and talk about the awesomeness that is Princess Pinche. So why am I changing the whole point? Because I hate MySpace blogs and I don't want to start an emo-faggot blog because I am not a complete emo-faggot. Although I think Dom's sisters would beg to differ since it's apparent I CRY OVER EVERYTHING THAT'S EMOTIONAL ON TV. Let's not talk about that.

Anyway, on one of my online equine communities is based around a small group of people that believes in 6 degrees of separation. As in, I personally know a few people from the board - who personally knows someone I don't know but I know that their online persona is really them from confirmation of the person I know in person, who knows someone that I know, and so on and so forth. Let's just say the equine community is small. OK. So someone posted something about how she has this immediate connection with someone that she's had for a long time and knows inside her heart they're soulmates but not in this lifetime and blahdi blahdi blah.

And - before I got ADD and stopped reading, I realized that I pretty much have thought the same thing for a long time. I want to say many moons ago a crazy Spanish woman was introduced to me through my grandmother and told me something along the lines that every man I want in life I can have and I will understand when I'm older. I want to say I was under 5 when this happened. Or maybe this was a ghost talking to me, as I can only remember her shadow and voice. This still sticks out in my mind vividly, as if it just happened yesterday. I CAN PRETTY MUCH SAY THIS IS 110% TRUE.

I know, cocky of me to say. But I don't mean it like that. It's not like I'm running around going HEY. YOU. HOT MODEL/ACTOR. COME HITHER. It''s not like that and I've never been that way anyway. However, I will say that I've had connections with people that have come about later on in life. Case in point: My boyfriend, Dominick. I guess he would be the greatest connection I could ever speak of. When I was 12 years old I had a HUGE crush on him. For some reason I never bothered with it because deep in my heart I knew "one day" it would happen. Then I got the mentality of a 12 year old and went boy crazy and I LOVED ALL BOYS. See, so I'm not a lesbian. Anyway - The point is that I forgot about Dominick after the age of 12. I had gone years forgetting who he was all together. Then by chance I re-met him and it's like FIREWORKS GOING OFF IN MY HEAD THIS IS THE ONE FOR ME. DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. It's not because he was super hot, because the way he was dressed he looked horrible. GOD those white K-Swiss shoes and baggy pants HAD. TO. GO. Anyway, obviously he felt the same - and the connection I have with him despite the bumps in the road that we've had are greater than anything I've ever felt. And it's not just a physical connection, although technically I can say that. (insert laughing shark from Strange Wilderness here). No, it's a spiritual connection. It's cute actually, because we're on such a connected level that I'll pick up the phone to call him and he's already calling me and vice/versa... Just random stupid shit that people take for granted. I don't know how people go through like without it. I am lucky... I guess every once in a while I need to realize how lucky I am. HOPEFULLY HE REALIZES THAT HE IS LUCKY TOO, despite that I am a haggard old bitch 98% of the time.

God, this emotional shit is draining me. Time for me to post about how stupid people are in my office or something.

Oriana is going to be the subject of this post.

Ori is my boyfriend's youngest sister. I mentioned her before - about her being 8 going on 25. This post will be short, but I just wanted to say this young woman has absolutely no filter and that's what I love about her. I'll be clicking around on the internet and she'll see a friend's picture and she'll say something like WOW THAT GIRL IS SO FAT or GOD SHE IS UGLY. The best is when she sees someone that I don't particularly like and she'll say about how disgusting said person is and how said person should remove herself from Earth. I just showed her a picture of said person. I said, Ori, I need your honest opinion.

OH MAN!

Ori:

Okay. First of all. She is disgusting. She has a double chin, maybe triple. She has zits all over her face. Why does she wear no make up? What is wrong with her? She has a big nose. The only thing that's cute about her is her dog. Coochie Coochie. But really, she is ugly. She should die.

This is the reason I need to take her home. She can be my reality check at all times. She'll be honest with me and tell me I'm getting fat, or that I have a tiny brain. She LOVES telling me that I have a tiny brain, which is pretty much true. For some reason I have a permanent bran fart - I'll think of something, my brain will hurt and take a fat dump, then I'll continue with what I was saying... I do this often. Anyway, I got distracted. Okay. But she's great. She'll yell at the TV and say how people are stupid and how people make her REALLY REALLY angry. She is destined to be in my family though. If she sees Rachel Ray on tv she'll go OH MY GOD I HATE HER. SHE IS STUPID AND SHE HAS NO TITS AND SHE'S REALLY FAT. *click*

I need an extra large rat trap.

Mousey, the office clerk, is driving me fucking up the wall today. Potty and I call her the Shuffler, because she shuffles when she walks. But it's not so much that she actually shuffles, it's that her hips are so wide and her ass is so flat that her pants are baggy around her ass and when she walks they make this terrible shuffling noise. I just hate it when she talks to me. She creeps up behind me all the time (which, I'm going to be honest, I keep looking over my shoulder to see if she's sniffing me). Usually I can hear her because of her pants, but sometimes I get so focused in what I'm writing that I tune out all noises.

Anyway, so she creeps up behind me today and puts like her finger on my shoulder as a 'tap' and says my name like she's being followed by a ghost with a bloody knife. I am NOT kidding you.

"ErRrrrrRRRRRrRRRrrriiiiiiiiiIiiiIiIIIkkkKaAAaAAAaAAAAAaaAA!?"

I turn around slowly with both my eyes rolled up in the back of my head. "Yes?"

She pinches her lips together and her nose moves back and forth like a mouse. "Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm........... Can you help me change my ink cartridge?"

I look at her completely confused and I'm like, "What printer?"

She squints and says, "Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm..... I think mine."

I'm thinking to myself..... HOW TO YOU THINK IT'S YOUR PRINTER. EITHER YOU KNOW OR YOU DON'T.

So I go in the back room with the screaming copy machine and her stupid printer. She hands me a cartridge saying she doesn't know how to put it in. I' m like, WELL FIRST YOU OPEN THE STUPID BOX IN COMES IN, THEN YOU REMOVE THE RED TAPE, TAKE OUT THE OLD ONE AND PUT THE NEW ONE IN THE OLD ONE'S SPOT. I mean. Someone that had a lobotomy could have done that.

I think to put it mildly, I am just sick of mousey. My mother actually think she looks one of the green fish on Dr. Suess' cover to "One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish." I sort of agree because I made this up, but now she doesn't agree that she looks like a mouse. But that's because my mom never talks to her, she doesn't physically see her nose moving back and forth like a mouse when she talks. But I wouldn't be surprised if she came from Whoville. I feel sort of bad making fun of this girl because she's actually jealous of her ugly younger sister who's 21 and has a baby. I figure if you're that naive and think that's what like should be like then you're an idiot, or you have a really fucking weird perspective on life. She once told me in confidence that she wishes she would have married her high school sweetheart and had a baby with him.


WELL I GUESS IT'S NOT IN CONFIDENCE ANYMORE.

Get over it. It's been 5 years.

But did I mention she's my age? She's 3 weeks older than I am. I'm going to be 23 this year. What the Hell is wrong with this girl? I bet you anything she'll be one of these women posting pictures on her child on her blog that she conceived via turkey baster.

Mousey just never does anything right and it pisses me off to high Hell. I am leaving work now. Maybe I'll have a life between now and when I'm back in 16 hours.

Shit, that pink and red holiday is coming up.

When I think about Valentine's Day I start thinking about how everything is red and pink with cut-out misshaped/deformed hearts plastered everywhere. This holiday sort of makes me angry. I feel like if I'm FORCED to be all lovey-dovey, then I'm going to get pissed off and take it out on my boyfriend that usually doesn't derseve it. Anyway, Valentine's Day is almost here and I decided to boycott it. Dom, if you are reading this, PLEASE NOTE THAT I WILL NOT BE CELEBRATING VALENTINE'S DAY. However, I think we should still give each other the sex. But I prefer for us to fight about something stupid and THEN give each other the sex. Everything always ends up much sweatier this way and I like it.

I mean, why waste money on a stupid card, stupid flowers and candy and shit that's not NEEDED. It's REALLY NOT a Hallmark holiday since it's been celebrated long before the monopoloy corporation that is Hallmark, but I think it's stupid anyway. All I really need is maybe an extra hour or two of sex. And that in itself will be my present to myself and to my boyfriend. I think all women should think like me and just want more sex and not material bullshit gifts. BUT... And there is ALWAYS a but. - If Dom just so happened to turn into Rockefeller himself and decided to buy the entire Louis Vuitton store on Rodeo Drive and the Tiffany & Co. store that's directly across from Louis Vuitton on Rodeo Drive I guess I would not complain. I could swim in diamonds and printed gold and brown leather and tell the world how much better I am than everyone because I was lavished with millions of dollars worth of shit I don't need. Speaking of which, my big Louis Vuitton bag that I use every day is getting disgusting on me. I should probably get a new one... But I'm horse broke. So when I'm un-horse broke I should buy a couple of them. I think if I didn't have my horse and sold her I could probably buy a huge house... But although I rarely see her and one of my bestfriends is riding her, I love her. I just wish I had more time for her.

Anyway, back to what I was saying.
...
Oh yes, Valentine's Day.

There's a woman in this office - I call her Skeletor. She reminds me of the Space Needle only melting. If you need to look up the Space Needle, you are an idiot. But yes, I am comparing her to an inanimate object, because that's what she basically is. So Skeletor spends a majority of here day here in the office on Match.com - she leaves every Thursday and Friday to go "work out" but you know it's for a date because sometimes on her lunch she'll get her "hair fluffed." Whatever that means. So, Since Thursday is Valentine's Day I'm wondering what excuse she'll have for leaving early an hour or two early. I'm sure because she's single and disgusting that she'll leave an extra hour or so early to get EXTRA ready for her EXTRA GOOD Valentine's date that I can ASSURE YOU she met on Match.com. What's even better is that I over-heard about one of her dates. Apparently one time she DROVE ALL THE WAY TO PALMDALE, which, from her condo in Camarillo is like driving to Vegas for a date to meet some poor sap at his house. Apparently when she got there at 9:00 pm at night he lived in a trailer with like 30 dogs that shit all over his house and had not been cleaned in a long time. Pretty awesome. The smell was "aweful" but she stayed anyway. This is how desperate a woman can be. IF YOU NEED TO DRIVE MORE THAN AN HOUR AND SOME AWAY TO GET A DATE AND HE LIVES IN A TRAILER PARK WITH SHIT ALL OVER HIS 600 SQFT TRAILER, I WOULD SAY YOU ARE A DESPERATRE WOMAN. Apparently he had a huge dick as promised by Match.com and she fucked him while she was probably bent over a couple plies of dog shit.

I actually signed up on Match.com as a 50 year old man to see if I could find her profile. Eventually I did, and she has erotic type photos plastered everywhere. Under her interests it says "skinny dipping." I'm sorry, but a woman that's been suffering from anorexia her entire life that has absolutely no fat or muscle on her body and her skin is hanging off her bones does not sound like someone that I want to skinny dip with. Plus, her vagina is probably so lose that someone could easily jump in there. But I wouldn't be surprised if people went spelunking in there to find coal and bats. Just spare the canary. I imagine her labia to hang down to the floor and the reason why she wears nylons every day and underwear is to safely and securely lift up her roast beef labia to a normal position. God, I have disgusted myself - and that takes a lot to do. I wouldn't be surprised if she brought Valentine's Day cards for the UPS guy and the FedEx guy. OH MY GOD she probably will bring one for the midget Indian man that is our attorney service. Now THAT guy is a creepo and totally at her level. Her vagina level that is. She probably likes that, that sick, sick woman. And I am just as sick for thinking she probably likes that but if you knew her you would know that she does. AM I MAKING ANY SENSE HERE? Good. Maybe I will try to take a picture of her on Thursday and post it. ANY ONE WANT TO BET ME SHE WILL BE WEARING A NEGATIVE AMOUNT OF CLOTHING!? COME ON. SOMEONE BET ME.

Potty Pottymouth.

It has come to my attention that my friend Potty could possibly be someone worth writing about. My friend read my blog last night and she's like I WANT TO HEAR MORE ABOUT POTTY. What she really meant to say is WOW. THIS GUY IS A FUCKING WRECK AND HIS LIFE, AS COMPLETELY FUCKED UP AS IT IS, IS REALLY HILARIOUS. I WANT TO KNOW MORE.

So where do I begin with him? Okay, so we have established that his life is a wreck, he's my new bestfriend and he's crazy. Okay, maybe we didn't talk about the crazy. Let's begin that now. First let me say is that he categorized himself into his very own "good" category. But that is because he is from Michigan and apparently only good people come from Michigan and they must be Dutch and Protestant. That's cool with me. He is probably right about that. Everyone in this world is fucked up anyway. I am definitely one of those fucked up people.

BUT WAIT. HERE IS THE KICKER.

Potty, in no way, shape or form a "GOOD" guy. He is always on the prowl for women. But he prowls not out of not getting ass and he's not a creepo. He just enjoys being a pimp. I will admit he's a good looking guy, but he is crazy so in my eyes he is no longer good looking. Anyway, Potty juggles like 7 bitches at a time. Then when he dumps one for no good reason he's like ERIKA. I HAVE THIS BITCH AS A STALKER. WHAT DID I DO WRONG. Then I say to him, WHEN YOUARE SEXING 7 BITCHES AT ONCE AND CALL ONE BY A DIFFERENT NAME IN THE MIDDLE OF SEXY TIME, OF COURSE SHE IS GOING OT BE A BITCH AND LURK YOUR SHIT. He has this problem a lot. The last one he told me about and sent me pictures of was RIDICULOUSLY HOT. We called her Hot Donna, like the character in That 70's Show, but she looked nothing like her. This "Hot Donna" was actually hot. I told him if I were a lesbian I would scissor her. Even though I found out she was indeed crazy I still think I'd put on a strap on and bend her over because she really is that hot. But I guess after Potty had put his naughty bits in her she went crazy after he didn't talk to her for like 24 hours and started texting him with, "I KNOW YOU HAVE ANOTHER GIRLFRIEND. DON'T LIE TO ME. HOW COULD YOU!"

So then he gave her the boot. Of course. It would have happened anyway, sooner or later, but I think he should have put up with the crazy and given her the sex a few more times. Or at least he should have for my sake and told me about how her titties bounced. I am telling you... I am not a lesbian but this chick is totally hot. I am jealous he got to touch her.

Okay, so where am I. We have established that he has a fondess for hot women and that he is crazy.

I think I also mentioned his an associate here in the office. So now that he's officially an attorney he decided he should hang himself because he chose the wrong career. This morning I walk into the office kitchen and look into his fishbowl office to wave hello - he quickly grabbed his phone and wrapped the chord around his neck to show me how much he loves his job. I figure it must be bad today, because normally he'll just make a gun with his fingers and shoot himself in head. It's funny because he's making good money, but over all I think he would rather lay bricks and sex hot chicks rather than use his brain in a difficult job.

I guess this is all I will write about Potty for today. I mean, I can't give you all the FABULOUS details about him all in one post, can I? No.

However, I did tell him that I am blogging about him and he told me the following:

"Please post that I am looking for a 'Swedish Super Vixen.'"

So, if you're a SWEDISH SUPER SEXY HOT VIXEN please e-mail me your photo and a little about yourself to ERIKA@CASCULTURE.COM - if you are hot enough, I will send your photos his way and I'm sure he will be giving you the sex within 24 hours from receiving your sexy photo.

Mother, may I?

I can't believe how many lonely stay-at-home mothers post on this shit. Now that I'm awake again I decided to click the "next blog" button and end up browsing though 500 fucking blogs of women posting pictures of their little ugly children. What's worse is that I'll read the first sentence and I'll say to myself, WHY ARE THESE PEOPLE REPRODUCING?! This one woman - ohmygod. I have no idea how she got knocked up in the first place. She probably went to a sperm bank with her turkey baster and asked for a cup of whatever she can get. That poor sperm. Anyway, this woman was the size of my house. Realistically, she was the size of the copy machine I was talking about earlier.

So I read the first sentence went something like this:

This is my son (insert name here). He is 2 years old. This is a new picture I took today. I hope one day he will be like his dad who drives a bus in Oklahoma. I am not sure when I want to put him in preschool. I might put him in home school so then I can teach him a good school. He will be very smart this way.


So, now that if you have half a brain you have established that this woman is an idiot and she should have never had sexy time with the bus driver from Oklahoma - or maybe she should have not read the profile the sperm bank gave her from the donor. Whatever one came first. The donor at the sperm bank was probably 1-upping his life and he was really a crackhead. The kid looked a lot like the wombat posted above. Anyway, I feel bad for this kid because he'll grow up with a mom that will tell him that everything he does in life is because Jesus told him to do it. I hope he wakes up one morning and stabs her in the heart and he's like "Jesus told me to do it."

But enough about Jesus and stabbing. I just wish that all these pathetic fucking women would do something like CARE FOR THEIR CHILDREN than post blogs about how ugly they are. There's got to be something else in the world to do, like bathe their children because they are all dirty. God, I hate children after blogger. Thank you blogger for making me hate children even more than I already do.

Just to prove that I am not a cold heartless bitch, I will admit right now that I almost died when this little girl melted my heart once. I was getting in the elevator in my building and this little girl comes running out of Merrill Lynch with her top exec dad. He was "talking business" on his crackberry and she came running up to me and grabbed my leg. Normally I would shake off a child like I would a rabid animal but she was so cute I just wanted to pick her up and call her my own. THIS IS MY CHILD. DO NOT TOUCH HER. She had these BIG green eyes and this light brown hair and this perfect little face. Her mom was probably hot and stupid because super exec dad was an ugly douchebag - and those guys find hot women to breed with. Anyway, she was wearing a little fucking pink tutu and her little ballerina slippers. She was really fucking adorable. I wanted to immediately go out and spend 200 grand on a grey hunter pony for her that would always put her in the ribbons at shows.

I am done talking about children. Suddenly after thinking about that little adorable girl I want to breed with my boyfriend. Luckily, we are both really super fabulously sexy and we're both smart. So our child will be really super fabulously sexy and smart. See, there is a pattern here.

Office Space.

I feel like a monkey trying to fuck a coconut. We have this new fucking copy machine here in the office and it makes me want to turn into the incredible hulk, pick up the machine and throw it off a 30 story building and have it crush some innocent bystanders. I mean, this thing is ridiculous. It probably weighs a ton and it's bigger than a standard size sedan. The funny thing about it's size is that it literally has no room for paper. I think it only takes two rheems at a time... Which doesn't make sense. I work in a law firm of paper pushers. WE NEED MORE ROOM FOR PAPER. Okay that's not the point. The point is that this thing makes you feel stupid. You touch the wrong button and the alarm goes off that the ENTIRE OFFICE can hear. Then it starts spitting out paper in little shreds that are supposed to get clipped together and the fucking thing starts SCREAMING AT YOU LIKE IT'S YOUR FUCKING FAULT. God, I hope it dies. I literally was dreaming recently about the demise of this machine. I was hoping and praying that in the middle of a major copy job it would catch fire and blow up, killing the office clerk that sits in the copy room because she's really like an over grown rat suffering fetal alcohol syndrome. She also squeeks when she talks and she really loves cheddar cheese. She also wears the same ballerina flats every day like Amy Winehouse pre-sobriety, so I wonder if she's got her own toe jam & cheese going on.

I guess the only thing that gets me through the day is the fact that I am surrounded by dramatic people. First and foremost, I work for my mother. I am her assistant. She's a paralegal that spends all day on the internet reading legal codes about oak trees and how we can cut them down, or how the coocoocachuwokasplat frog is not really endagered and how we can kill it because it has no purpose in society. It's pretty standard, really. Then we have this new associate... I will call him Potty. Potty is a fucking trainwreck but he's hilarious and he's my bestfriend here in the office and he's working on being my bestfriend in the world if he keeps up being a total tragedy. He categorizes things into "good," "bad," and "terrible." He'll say something - it could be about ANYTHING - and he'll follow the end of his sentence with his one-word category. His entire life is a fucking wreck - or he'll give the sex to someone even more tragic than he, who will start to stalk him, so then he and I will try to talk it out and straighten his life again, or at least until it's back to it's normal 75% dramatic fucking mess.

Then we have this sleazy dirtball who's a FABULOUS attorney but his personal life is a fucking wreck, the closet-faggot who would be much happier if he came out already, the hot educated one that came from the hood but made his way out. He's beautiful to look at - but then he opens his mouth and out comes verbal vomit. SOMEONE calls it "gigabyting." Pretty awesome. I do enjoy talking to him though... Or maybe I enjoy tuning him out and just looking at him. I think over all I would just like to rip out his vocal chords and stare at him until I get sleepy. But I think I think that of most men. Then there are some other people... I sometimes forget who they are. Then there is the PERFECT ONE. He is the one that even my own very straight boyfriend would sleep with because he is simply that delicious. Wait, let me get all Ingrid Hoffman and say "SIMPLY DELICIOSO." Fuck, I hate that bitch. Anyway, what makes him hot is that he drives a chopped up fucking 1940-50 something Ford something or other with flame throwers, on airbags and who knows what else. Probably speed. Then he has his SS Chevy truck. Then you walk into his office and it's covered with PUNK RAWK POSTERS and all his furniture is black - but when he presents himself he's as cleaned up as can be and you cannot see his full sleeve for the life of you but YOU KNOW IT'S THERE. Plus he's also really hot and really smart. It makes you want to pee on yourself a little bit. My boyfriend thinks it's okay that I drool over him because secretly he does, too.

Anyway, this is where I surround myself on the daily. I will get out of here eventually, once all you assholes start purchasing my items for pleasure. I mean. sale. yes. That's exactly what I meant. Launch time is in March. I expect to be rich by April Fool's Day. But the million dollars in my bank account better not be a fucking joke.

All I want is a bucket of fries.

I'm at work and it's almost lunch time. But it's not like I'm ever included in this "lunch schedule" bullshit because I waltz in the office around 10:30. At least this morning my excuse was I had to pick up the Rotweiler at the pet hotel and they don't bathe the dogs until late morning. Usually I come in like a zombie with my hair unkempt and my right eye rolled in the back of my head. I usually do not move from my chair until after 1 pm. You'd think I was a raging alcoholic or I was a full-time stripper, but you would be sorely mistaken. I just naturally am a vampire, and I currently feel my skin burning off from the light creeping through my boss' window. I don't see why people need to function during the day. Day time is overrated - and this is because when you're doing something illegal you would absolutely get caught doing it.

So now I'm sitting here with a cup of coffee, a whole bunch of fake sugar and fake cream in it with a hard boiled egg. This will be my fabulous lunch. I wish I could teach myself to be bulemic so I can just eat an entire bucket of french fries from McDonalds, BECAUSE THEY ARE THE ABSOLUTE WORST FOR YOU, and after spending about 10 minutes being really satisfied and guilty, I could just run to the bathroom and vomit them back up. My problem with this is that I'm afraid if I ever develop bulemia, it would highly interfere with my dick-sucking capabilities. That is my livihood, and probably the only reason I have kept my boyfriend for so many years.

Anyway, the point is that I'm really thinking about french fries. This is because I'm a lard ass and I hate dieting, but I eat healthy forthemostpart anyway. This weekend I ate pizza with basil, tomato and a RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF GARLIC when it should have been frech fries with a RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF GARLIC and salt. At least I wouldn't be sitting here completely miserable thinking about fucking french fries.

I can no longer put together words. I can't believe it still feels like someone took a massive shit in my head. I need to get it together today.

I once had aspirations.

I am too young to be saying I feel like a fucking wreck after spending only 2 days of drinking. Maybe because I don't drink anymore and when I do I somehow cannot stop until I'm either sleeping, vomiting or dead.

Today I was vegging out on Dom's couch with his 8 year old sister, who was screaming about how she wanted to grow up to be a groupie/rock star and would like everyone with a "tiny brain" to kill themselves. I think this included me today.

Her conversation to herself went something along these lines:

"GOD. ALL THESE FREAKING PEOPLE. DIE."

Followed by something about wanting to watch something "so madly."

I love her. 8 going on 25.

Anyway, my dad turned 50 today. We celebrated at Mastro's Steak House last night in Beverly Hills. I think we go there too much to celebrate shit, but not enough on a daily basis. I am really craving some oysters on a half shell.

Fuck all of you - and Andy Dick, too.