So I made my regularly scheduled offer on Twitter for someone to purchase me, but today I found myself actually BARTERING via Twitter DM.
“I don’t know if it’s more ‘lol’ or ‘fml’” is a phrase I’ve had to use more often than I’d prefer lately.
Do you want to eat this? Do you think *I* want to eat this? I’ve been subsisting on Cheerios, salad, egg whites and boiled chicken for like 2 months. So I made “spaghetti”. Or “spaghetti soup”. Whatever.
I quit the PhD program! I’m saving up money and moving. Where should I go? It’ll take me until at least January, but I need to plan and shit. Since I quit, I’ve been sleeping ten hours per day. MINIMUM, BITCHES. I’m still teaching, but that’s only 3 days a week, Kick Fucking Ass.
First of all, I for real got an email from a student today with the subject line, “HORSEBACK RIDING”.
K, it’s related to an assignment, barely, and in a way that you don’t need to understand, but fuck that was weird. I’m still not sure if it’s more “lol” or “fml”.
Also, there’s this, from “funny likes on facebook” (forget who to credit this for, @GoodWhiteman maybe [Edit: it was @adamontherun, and the correct sn is @WhiteGoodman, anyway]):
This is for real my fucking playlist right now: http://blip.fm/profile/angelakdean/playlist. WHAT IS THAT ABOUT. It’s like, I’m a chick, or something. I know that most of you guys are male, but I also know that most of you work 9-5 and use headphones at work, and you can just thank me later for making you feel like a 12-yr old who just got her first period. And yes, Taylor Swift is present. And not because of my husby Kanye and his latest Kanye-Being-Kanye, it’s cause I DO WHAT I WANT.
So, I hate being a cocktail waitress most of the time, and especially when I have to deal with drunk guys trying to touch my hands (I fuuucking hate that (not from guys in gen, just from guys at the titty bar when I’m fucking hustlin’ and I’d probably be happier selling used cars)) and godknowswhatelse they try to swipe at. This right here for my cat’s chemo is why it *was* worth it, but I’m getting fucking sick of that environment. I need to find a diff job that pays on the quick and doesn’t involve old guys with hella alcohol breff trying to grab my ass.
I was told that I could actually embed this vid into wordpress, but either Dailymotion.com is a liar, or they take a while and it’ll show up like 3 times tomorrow. http://www.dailymotion.com/relevance/search/mazzy/video/x67um_jesus-mary-chain-sometimes-always_music. It was my favorite thing evar like 50 years ago. [EDIT: Yep, 12 hours later, they all show up. I left one below so you don't have to click.]
Well, firsties, I’m so happy to be typing and breathing in and out! I canNOT believe I walked away from that shit in one halfassitudinous piece. Had to get stitches up in my knee shit.
BEFORE:
AFTER:
I am the sort of moron who is just happy that they had pink bandages. And small pic of the car cause I can’t bear the image:
Anyway, they had to give me an ultrasound to check for liver damage because blah blah blah, and while the technician was rubbin’ the thing up on my belly and looking inside of me, I was like, “Can you see the baby?” And his face was like, 
*oh noes!* I gave him about 5 seconds of terror, then said, JK. Fucker was a fast one and then asked me, “What if I had said yes?” ”Then I must be the next Virgin Mary.” (I’m a virgin you guys, duh.)
*Thanks for the “cheer up” socks you gave, Robert! You have awesome taste in socks! :) 
I wore the “cheer up” workout outfit today at the clinic, too! Comfy!
From menses, of course. Stringy ones provide a whip effect.
Filed under: Jesus Christ, eating food, gross, mental, what a dick, working
Some fuckin’ people, am I right?
Anyway, GROSS ALERT I went to the doctor because apparently I have a stye. So I asked him if it was an eye tumor, because at virtually every doctor visit I inquire about something that I think is probably a tumor. He is of Indian descent, and a very good doctor, but when I asked if he was sure it was not a tumor, he was like “LOL, It’s nott a tuh-moh!” a la Arnold. Then I was like HAHHAAHA cause that one never gets old for me, and he was like 
.
Anyway twat sprinkles, what kind of plants/animals/children did you guyz have for breakfast/lunch? I had a sandwich and a xanax, because Monday Meetings can suck my dick.
So it’s really great that not only do I have the SARS (I’m really ill and pretty sure this is what SARS feels like), but I also have Three Big Meetings tomorrow.
Two of the three involve PowerPoint slides accompanied by my voice, and I’m seriously considering wearing my SARS mask so people will get creeped and want to GTFO as soon as possible.
Yeah, you’re gonna want to wipe down your monitor after leaving here.
1) Find a napkin
2) Put it on
3) Pick out some weird shoes (key for distracting your question-asking opponents)
If you’re out of napkins, something like this’ll do:
That’s right. I just set women back 50 years. Tell me something new.
Dudes I have a doc appointment today, because I have pneumonia and I’m probably going to die. I decided it this morning. I swear there is fluid in my LUNGZ.
Only doc who would see me today is Creepy Large Samoan Man Doc who’s really into poking, prodding, and breathing on me. I foresee a Rape Shower this afternoon.
Filed under: Pro-tips, embarrassing, farts, fashion, gross, old people, teaching, working, you
Shit just gets WAY too real in there. Thrice I have been privy to things of which I shall not speak. Talk about the clinical definition of awkward. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be a guy, standing next to your boss at the urinal while both of you hold your thingies? Do you feel obligated to make small talk? :(
So I made a “What I Wore” feed over to the left, because IT NEVER ENDS, DOES IT. ”Vainglorious” redirects to here . Apparently God and I are getting a divorce (on the grounds of my forsaking him for my own image, always with the forsaking.)
The five-dollar answer:
(Thanks, Zerokewl!)
So he got dropped from Kellog. Who fucking cares.
I AM GETTING CROTCHETY AND OLD. I don’t think I used to bitch so much about everything. Isn’t this what really old people do?
So I tried not to look at this while I ate my dinner last night:
I’m not really into tentacles. At all. Would you describe something as “tenticular”, “betentacled”, or “awash with tentacle”?
That, my peeps, is what this clam-flavored beer tastes like. Real talk. I know I said I would make a vid of myself drinking it, but I honestly can’t get beyond one sip and you’ll just have to take my written word for it.
I don’t know this poor human male, but that’s what one looks like while tasting a delicate blend of sweat and menstrual blood.
That also happens to be the lyrics to one my favorite songs — THX, Casiotone for the Painfully Alone
The upper-middle class mothers are up in arms because:
a) the grossly inequitable distribution of world resources
b) Darfur
c) their beautiful (nope) pics of exposed breast with baby mouth attached were removed from facebook.
The answer is neither “a” nor “b”, but this is making NATIONAL NEWS. They are fucking *pissed*, even thought it does violate facebook TOS to display your areola. The pic above does not even display full-on breasticle, so it is actually acceptable (as the term applies to legal sensibilities, not my own, yikes). But IT IS NOT ENOUGH. ”I MUST SHOW THE FULL-ON ACTION.”
Breast-feeding is good for baby. I don’t know if being punched in the face with a pic like this of a friend on facebook is going to change anyone’s mind about the topic.
*Granted, I have complained (as I was reminded by Sir Robert) about “My BANGZ needing to get the shit out my FACE”, and other such nonsense, but I’m not sitting on my living room floor and petitioning to have my post-preggo boob shoved in someone’s face. Maybe I’m just angsty today. I have to give an hour-long-talk for work on a really hard topic this Friday, and I’m concerned because as of today, I DON’T GET IT. Not even a little bit. Hopefully I will be fired?
My friend’s friend has taken us all to school. BURGER-ORDERING SCHOOL. Or FATGIRL SCHOOL.
Bravo. That is nasty.
We make our own beds, don’t we.
So I’m standing in line at the gas station, mindlessly fingering around in the ice tub of gigantic beers. I pick up and begin fondling this clam-flavored beer, trying to get some answers, when I notice that the chick behind me is observing with great intensity.
The result: I kept it => that lady does not think I’m a girly-man => now I have to drink this beer. Oh, and also, FAIL.
—–
Unrelated: Zooey is engaged to Death Cab?
Filed under: Iowa, beer, bored, farts, gross, mental, oh fuck, old people, scotch, trips, what a dick, you
OK guys: FLIGHT CANCELED. If I could bitch-slap the weather, I would.
I was so looking forward to NOT THIS. Since I am an emotional handicap, I’m pretty sure the entire airport knows I how I feel about my extended stay in Iowa.
Please, someone talk to me. I’ve already tried screaming SERENITY NOW!!!! but that pissed everyone off.
I’ve started drinking.
That smile was captured en route to the Airport of Sadness. It has been turned upside down. A couple-few more heinekens and we’ll right-side-it-up again.
Filed under: Iowa, bored, chillin today, eating food, farts, gross, mental, oh fuck, old people, scotch, trips, you
Relatively Constant Circumstances:
- Softwater
- Going ANTIQUING against one’s will. Oh yeah I am being super-cereal about this
- Where is the tobasco? Do I have to eat the fish eggs
- Can I put this down your garbage disposal / do you like your dishes in the dishwasher facing North? [AGAIN, super-cereal] / where do I put my empty glass bottle?
- Had to leave all my recreational “God made dirt => dir’t don’t hurt” plant life at home
- B&W movies, of which I don’t have an across-the-board prob with, but who watches “The Day the Earth Stood Still” in its original version when you have 20-something guests in your home?
- Sneaking alochol. Hoping no one planned to put scotch in their eggnog, as I have stolen and hidden it in the basement guestroom.
2) 
3) 
7)
Consequences of the Above C ircumstances
- I cannot get clean, no matter if I rinse long enough to freeze myself out when 6 other people are taking/have already taken showers. Filmy soap scum is an evil, slippery force.
- I’ll show you the rest of my “finds” shortly.
- I am not satiated. Not hardly. The W.T. in me doesn’t like fish eggs.
- I don’t want to be a pretentious dick about your refusal to recycle so let’s all get uncomfs when I ask where to put the empty glass .
- I could handle this whole thing in a more civil manner if I had some herbal assistance and had decided to bring my Wii. My lungs are sort of thanking me, though.
- Actually, who wants to see either version? OK, if you’re a guy with the guy retard gene, may-hap you wanna see the remake with KEANU. Full disclosure, I have the retarded chick gene that has caused me to watch Kate Hudson’s “How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days” 130492x.
- When there isn’t 50 people up in the kitchen, must spike whatever is on hand, and with a quickness.
Bonus glass of FAKE WINE of TRICKERY:
P.S. I hope you guys hearted your ecards if you requested one. If you still want one, send me an email at halfassitude at gmail. Wuv you guys, would rather hang out with you via interton any day.
Guys, do oysters have sex? Or do they make love. But seriously dudes, my google is broken or my fingertips are delicate and I still want to know how they reproduce. I’ve never seen “oyster penis” on any “Bizarre Foods” type of show, so I’m assuming the bebes arrive via stork.
I was facing a giant plate of raw oysters yesterday (with no penises – I checked), a situation I continue to put myself in only to grimace my way through. What other things sound good, but actually aren’t?
- Degree collecting
- Substituting powdered coffee creamer for milk in scrambled eggs or anything else
- Eating raw ginger
- Letting a pug sleep with you on the hammock (cause every time you need to get up, it’s precarious and like Pug Jenga — NOT a pug’s favorite game)
*I wore those candy-cane tights to work yesterday, and of course ran into my boss, his exec assistant, his mother, etc. They each seemed to be having conversation with my tights instead of with me. Just want 2 b me and wear authentic tights.
Dudes I am ovulating like whoa. Ready to drop this egg and get on with my shit already.
Know where the worst place to bleed is? A freezing cubicle with a plastic bag ‘o pads, sandwiches and wet-naps. Next person to come over here and speak to me gets his face removed.
I got some new boots, yo. Can’t fit into anything I else I just bought, due to the 10 LB’s I packed on since I started teaching. I’ve been going to McDonald’s 3x a week as a breakfast reward for waking up and going to a JOB. So now I can’t fit into clothes anymore. Like, any clothes. I have to swaddle myself in whatever fabrics I can rustle up in the morning and pin myself into.
Especially if purchased from the the price-inflating gas stations, and especially if you plan on drinking it. That Suze Orman organism is beginning to get to me. Bitch be makin’ me paranoid. Look, the cork wouldn’t even go back in (cause the wine is THAT BAD):
Mmm, can’t wait until noon. I think the saran-wrap-as-cork allows the spirit of the wine to mingle with the atmosphere in such a way that it is going to taste even more putrid. But tough times, they come-a-knockin’, and this American is ready and willing to answer the call. I think. I’ll let you know shortly.
