There's a (Slight) Chance I'm Going to Hell

Lucy and Steve, like many a married couple, scored a shit-ton of sweet swag when they got married. Which, in turn, means I also scored a shit ton of swag, just on a smaller scale. Lucy got a shiny new blender, I got the old one. New ceramic containers? Score for me! No more keeping my flour and sugar in the bag like a schmuck. Mixing bowls, knives and wooden knife block, etc., all those things made their way into my kitchen after the blessed event.

Now, I consider the wedding registry thing to be a necessary evil. Sure, on the one hand, its seems a bit presumptuous to just tell people what you want then to buy for you, but then again, If I by chance ever happen to sucker some poor schlub into a life of wedded miser-uh, bliss with me, I’ll be damned if I have to return three blenders, sixteen sets of pot handles, five crock pots, and two vacuums.

There are still those who print out the registry and go, “WHAT? You don’t need an iron, I’ll buy you something you can REALLY use, like a diaper bag or a deep fryer!” and proceed to buy random shit you don’t want or need.

When Lucy and Steve left on their honeymoon, I happened to have a spare key to the place and I planned on surreptitiously sneaking in to do a load or two of laundry. I thought I was being really sneaky because I technically hadn’t asked. I justified it by telling myself I was just doing laundry, not having a wild sex orgy in their living room, right? Right?

I walked into the living room, kicked off my shoes (not being rude, this is actually an apartment rule), and all around the living room and dining room were the signs of wedding aftermath. Boxes of bottles of wine were stacked in the corner (I made a mental note to ask for a few bottles later); a popcorn maker, two Spot Bots, and various other already-opened wedding gifts were lying about. The magnum opus, however, sat propped up on Steve’s bean bag chair in the corner. I stared at it with mixed awe and horror, all I could utter were the words, “Oh…my…God…” That's right. To ensure my sister's house would be a blessed, happy, holy place, someone had given her a big dead Jesus.

Now, imagine you’re me for one second here. Your standing in the religious spectrum is shaky to begin with. The last time you went to mass, some Mexican kid with a bowl cut crawled under your chair and the Asian family with four kids (all under age five) sitting next to you wouldn’t shut the hell up, you walked out before you pulled little Eusevio out by the ear and screamed at the Asian kids that the devil was going to eat their faces if they didn’t shut it. I’m pretty sure my reserved parking space in Heaven was revoked when I was nine and looked up “sex” in the dictionary. I already felt guilty because I was technically using my sister’s washing utilities without asking, and now I have this, sad, bleeding, face to remind me I'm going to spend the afterlife in eternal suffering, probably being forced to watch reruns of Jersey Shore or Twilight movies.

The only reason I have agreed to return to the apartment since is that BDJ now graces the bottom shelf of the coffee table. His little sad, plaster eyes can't pierce my soul there.

*NOTE: I went back to edit the post and the past paragraph wasn't working to my liking, I naturally went into a murderous rage and snapped, "Oh my MOTHERF***ING GOD!"

...and that, my friends, is why I'm going to hell.

Standby To Copy...

Sorry folks...I know I said I'd start blogging again and I'm working on my next post, so be patient. Blasphemy takes time. (that statement will be explained when I finally get to the damn post)

Technology Hates Me

So back in February, I decided that I didn’t want to wait until April to update my phone, seeing as how the current one and I had stopped getting along. We no longer saw eye to eye. Phone found it necessary to delete text messages and shut off at random intervals.

(note: I tend to anthropomorphize things. A lot. Like, my car, guitar, and gun all have names. So if this bugs you, it’s probably in your best interest to stop reading. )

So I decided to terminate my relationship with Phone. I went to Verizon with the intent of getting a nice, simple little flip phone because I think flip phones are nifty. I walked out with a Blackberry. It was free and I wanted one. So there.

This has turned out to be both a good choice and bad choice all at once. Good choice, because it has maps and I get lost easily, so when that happens I no longer panic and yell at random people (I do that anyway. More on that later). I have interwebs, which I am too cheap to get for my laptop, and when I forget my IPod I can listen to Pandora at the gym. Bad because 60% of the time it does something and I have no idea why and then I panic because I think I spent all this money on a lousy phone.

I have gone to the Verizon store for phone issues several times in the last month. Every time, the salesman will explain gently what the issue is, pat me on my yellow-helmet clad head, and send me on my merry way. Last time though, I think I was in the right. Observe:

Me: I’m having phone issues.
Verizon Guy: What seems to be the problem?
Me: the LED light keeps flashing, even when I don’t have any type of notification.
VG: That happens sometimes. (He then goes on to tell me about some other lady who came in with the same problem and she hadn’t checked a missed call and it made him look smart and the lady look stupid.)
Me: But I don’t have any missed calls (read: no one calls me).
VG: It can be a bunch of other things, like Facebook maybe? Text messages? Updates?
Me: NO. I delete all text messages after I read/reply to them, it’s not Facebook, THERE IS NOTHING MY PHONE IS TRYING TO TELL ME. It just keeps flashing and I don’t like it.
VG: (repeats the drivel he said before about stuff I haven’t checked)
Me: IT’S NOT THAT. (unsaid: moron.)

Verizon Guy then proceeds to take the back off my phone, take out the battery and thus restart the phone. That’s IT? That’s the magical solution?

He then tells me that the next time it does that, bring the phone in. So basically if I get a text at work and the light does not stop flashing even after the text has been read, replied to and deleted, I have to let the light flash for hours until I can take it to the Verizon store to have them look at it. Thanks Verizon. You rock. Not.

Shouldn't I Be Working?

So I decided to start blogging again. I deleted the other one because the last time I wrote in it I had just gotten fired from RSO and eeehhh yeah. Kind of a bummer.

Besides, if I wasn't here typing random, meaningless drivel, what else would I be doing? Working, you say? Earning my $13 an hour? Such silliness. I will not hear of it. Away with you.

Anydangway, I decided to start blogging again because too much damn stuff happens to me daily that I keep thinking I need to write down because I find it amusing/interesting. You might not, though. Please don't hate me.

Aside from not working, this is what else I do with my time:

RAWR!!