i go to bed every night praying for a war to break out.

and "war" is not a figure of speech used in lieu of "herpes outbreak".
i'm talking about one of those olden day kinds of wars with bayonette stabbing, military trench coats designed exclusively for mild weather and my all time fave: mustard gas.
sometimes i run around my neighborhood screaming "MUSSOLINI?!?!?!!?!?!"
we need another character who will do crazy shit where people will be all "where. did. THAT. come from...i thought he was such a nice guyyyy"
i do this not because i play video games
and not because i eat to many chocolate bars *spanish accent*

i do this because i'm majoring in history.
and if no one starts shit. i'm going to fucking lose it.

all i really want to do is be the author of the greatest history book on earth.

the "Menudopedia: the pediest of pedias (even more so than the 'encyclo' brand)"

and i'll hire a graphic designer. and the picture on the front cover will be the word ENCYCLO with a big X over it.
(it was between that and a picture of winnie the pooh doing in judy jetson. but i figured the latter would be some what inappropriate)

it'll be a book of all sorts of stuffs.
a little bit of brittanica...a pinch of guiness world thingy...a smidge of julia child cook bookery.
who knows..
who knows what i'll pull out of my hat (and by "hat". i do not. under any circumstance mean "panties")

if i dont do this. then random person i met will think i'm a liar.
and i don't think i can live with myself if that were to happen.
yes. i told a stranger exactly what you just read above.
then he called the cops.
then i slapped him in the mouth and ran away. got into my white bronco and there was a wild police chase on the los angeles freeway for about 3 hource. then i put the car in reverse causing a 36 car pile-up.
they eventually pulled me over where they discovered 300 pounds of uncut columbian cocaine in my trunk.

however, my main concern in this postage is.

what's the opposite of a "saussage fest".
flower fest? because bahina's (that's how ricky riccardo pronounces it!) kind of resemble flowers if you're thinking positively.
i'm trying to start a trend here...
a word that can be used when describing a weight watchers meeting
or a jazzercise class
a tupperwear party
the WNBA...
perhaps a screening of "rumor has it" starring jennifer aniston.

what if you were to say.
"this place is 'hole to hell-afied'"
cause i refer to my cooter as "the hole to hell".
it has teeth. sharp ones.
if you look close enough, you can see hitler and mao zedong playing table tennis..hitler (i call him 'dolfi') gets real upset cause mao ALWAYS wins but i'm like HELLOOOO of course he's really good at table tennis. then i whisper "he's asian" followed by stating the fact that he's probably also better at math, dance dance revolution, selling counterfeit handbags and giving manicures.

now.

re-read the part from "hole to hellafied" all the way to "giving manicures"

....

yeah. its alright. i did too and i'm like WOW.
i need to copyright that shit.
or just go around eeves dropping.
if someone ever uses the words "vagina", "Mao Zedong" and "sharp teeth" in one exquisite blurb of words.
i get to light them on fire. literally (as opposed to figuratively lighting one on fire).
i stand that they should give people who patent stuff flame throwers for that occasion where someone rips you off.

in conclusion
i am no longer granted entrance to "The Gynecology, China and Pirhana Museum"

...

sometimes. when i think really hard.
like. REALLY really hard.
this image is birthed in my brain.
and from this image.
comes the inspiration to move forward in life...








...

my future as homemaker thusfar...

has been a monumental FAIL on my behalf.
No one wants to have my babies. Ever.
I don't even want to have my babies.
for the sole reasons that

a) doing so will ensure the explosion of my body from an average size (meh) to the size of your average industrial-sized refrigerator.

and

b) I'd be the worst mother to ever walk the face of the earth.

I have 0..wait. scratch that out..Make that less than 0. like maybe -76 maternal instincts.

Tragically, every time i hold a baby, i come marginally close to dropping said "creature of god's wonderful kingdom" about 14 times without their parent's knowledge. There they are thinking im so friendly with their bebe because i'm smiling but little do they realize that they are witnessing the nervous smiling of someone who nearly accidentaly killed their child like maybe 4 times in the last 2 minutes. With this, i have come to the haunting realization that babies have the tendency to move A LOT. and that motion tends to be generated in the unfortunate direction that is out of my arms and onto the floor. (face-first)

I'm like the opposite of a magnet. I'm like an infant repellant- like baby RAID. En plus, i know of maybe one baby that will stay in my arms without pulling a fit of the century. That and the fact that i'm there 2 minutes and i'm like "okay, take this thing away from me" but I don't actually say that. Instead, i take the highway of "whoa-hoho! look at that! she wants to come to you" and then i plop him/her (cause i know so many hermaphrodite babies) into the lap of the nearest animate object.
or inanimate. (I once dropped my baby cousin into the loving arms of a house plant)

An explanation for all this would lead to the simple fact that i dont have the ability and strength to love anyone more than i love myself. Loving myself and looking in the mirror while pouting seductively takes up most of the time in my day. Plus. babies need to be fed and stuff so that requires the patience that i just don't have.

I have been consistently hearing horror stories about girls my age getting engaged and it kinda makes me want to purge my breakfast onto the floor. I mean, personally, getting married at this moment or ever, for that matter, is very high on the list of things that completely disinterest me.

If someone were to forse me to get married right now, i would burst into tears because that would imply that i'd have to live in the shithole that is RDP for the rest of my life when my dreams lie far beyond that.
I live my life day by day in hopes that one day i will move to st. michel, quit my job and collect welfare.
(oh hells yes. what? did you think i was gunna go all soft? I think NOT)
Telling me i need to get married would be like telling me i have to work at a daycare from now on.

I know i'm going to be one of them 35 year olds that are single and no one really knows why (but they really secretly think you're gay). then everyone tries to set you up with their balding, loser relative that will be scared of you because you're not the "conventional" girl. By not "conventional" i mean not someone who sits their and smiles because that's the "cute" that has been instilled in their brains (that and REALLY liking the color pink).
I've read enough Jane Austen and i know he whole "spinster" deal. i don't really mind it besides the fact that in this day and age i won't get to wear a petticoat.
i also refuse to carry around and quote the bible.

i like to imagine hell

as being a little like having to take a greyhound bus from montreal to daytona beach while having to watch the movie "Evita!" for the entire 30 hour trek.

c'mon dont lie
you know you're in a situation of sorts when you have to begin contemplating whether or not said situation would be like hell.

i do this about 150 times a day

in line at mcdonald's at 8 o'clock in the morning on a saturday and there's like 19 people in front of you ordering cappuccinos and that takes like a zillion years to make esp if the person serving you is mentally retarded. and all you want is a gd percolator stylez coffee but no. cause you have to wait for the earth to collide with the sun in order to get your caffeine fix when all you wanna do is just SIT DOWN.

or how abouts.

waiting for the bus. when its -40 and the person in back of you keeps unnecessarily touching you and there's 2 annoying girls diarrhea-ing garbage talk out of their assholes and you kinda wanna turn around and say "WOULD YOU MIND?!" but you know you won't cause you don't have the balls. so then you turn the music louder and the bus finally comes after like 47 years. then you get the best seat on the bus right next to the door (and you think to yourself "shit. what if someone steals my ipod and runs out the door?) then this paraplegic guy gets on with his walking thing and he comes directly at you with his swagga and tells you to get out of the seat because its his seat. and you roll your eyes like you just been impaled by the horns of a bull (yes. THAT BAD). and you sigh a sigh that is so intense it almost sounds orgasmic. but like. raped orgasmic. like not good. then you have to go the the back of the bus where you're forced to sit next to someone who smells like mothballs and some douchebot that's listening to techno full fucking blast.

should i go for 1 more?

k k
k (OH FUCK)

gastro. you wake up in the morning and you're still half dead so you think "ouu a tickle in me throat" but non.
it's the big G (and by G i definately. most definately do not mean Gargoyle)
you wake up 2 hours later and you think "i feel like berfing" (that's not a typo)
then you drag your ass to the toilet. get on your knees and do your womanly duty (NOT)

you know how the rest goes. and the next 12 hours of your day. with a cameo appearance by 7up. and toast.
and lipton soup...i always ask the mother to put alphabet pastinas when i have Gastro in hopes that the words "MELISSA IS GOD" will come out whilst i be purgin'.

fahhh sho.

my life revolves around

the concept of never ever being raped.
that and quoting myself.
ever since i can remember remembering, i've had the most interesting fear of strange people.
we can all thank barney the dinosaur for that.
and barney rubble. he kinda looks like he rapes babies non?
en tous cas.
i walk around town as if someone is going to jump me from behind and stab me.
it's a little thing my therapist calls "anxiety"
it is annoying yes. but its better than having someone give you a "tic tac" and then you die and then they have sex with your dead body (not cool).
i already told my mother
me said:

"mom. when i die, if you're not alive. make damn well sure that everyone knows that my dying wish is to make sure no one has sex with my corpse, WORD."

she told me to shut up. and i said FUCK YOUUUUUUU (no i didnt)

so times when being a paranoid foo came in handy.. i can think of a couple.

mars volta concert. ghettoness parking. everyone leaves their shit in the car except me and my friend jess. i was about to leave urrthang but then i thought to myself

"i've been watching a lot of intervention recently. and i'm kinda convinced everyone is on crystal meth. so im keeping all my shit on me"

well low and behold. we get back to the car and the back window is shattered. everyone's shit is gone. and i look down and see my untouched belongings and think "shit...world: 32943298733- Me: 1"

from that day forward, i walk around screaming "everyone is on crystal meth!" and rightfully so. because im pretty sure them mofuggaz that broke into the car were looking for drug moneyzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

ezampole 2.

10 o'clock at night. 44 bus going from metro to ghetttttttttttooooosville. a group of hoodrats get on the bus...one of them is looking at my purse every so often with a perverted look in his eye (that look being the one of "i'mma steal your shit"). so i take my purse and wrap it around my arm like 7 times and hug it. so then they get off the bus and i'm all FEWF. then i just hear screaming. i turn around and those bastard stole some poor girl's ipod out of her hand and threw her on the floor as they got off the bus.

and i was like BINGIA! that could have been me. and that could have been my purse being sold to a pawn shop in exchange for crystal meth money.

so from now on. i hold on to my belongings for dear life at all times. i want to get mace but i'm probably going to be in a situation where i'll spray myself when i'm looking for a nail file or some shit.

on that note: i'll leave you all with something i google imaged. the topic was "creepy looking man'. i saw this and i was like "YES YES this totally encompasses the pervert-slut that goes around town molesting people, places,things and animals"

i'm gunna go totally "girl" on this one.

i want to grow my hair.
its long. but still. i want it REALLY long.
my goal is to be able to make it so that its long enough for me to scotch-tape my hair to my tats. and just walk around with my hair taped to my boobs.
it'll be the WORST thing ever but i dont really give a shit.
people have bad style as it is. so i figured what difference will it make if i pull a chestal cousin itt?
at that point i can do or say anything i want because people will think i'm so strung out on heroin that OBVIOUSLY i forgot to put on a shirt.
i'm going to do it. i'm going to wear a pair of high waisted vacuum-packed pants. bare chested covered in nothing but my own god-given glory of hair with the grace and poise of a unicorn sacrificed in order to save the mystical land of the WB.

the only prob is that i have really thin hair. like really. comb-over style. not. i wish. so if you know anyone who is willing to donate hair. let me know.
on second thought. that's a horrible idea.

"yes. i know you grew your hair out in order to donate to wig makers for cancer patients..but i have this friend who has a really cool outfit idea where she wants to make it so that her boobs look like the fucked up girl from the ring."

do you think the guy from the black eyed peas kept his hair? the asian looking guy that doesnt really do anything besides scare the shit out of me. and now he has the whole "middle aged mom" look going on and its like this is even worse. did this inspiration come from a long evening spent with his hairstylist and a water bong watching an all-night marathon of the real housewives of atlanta or some shit? this is not a good look for him. i miss the days when he looked like the 2$ noodles guy. i can no longer go to 2$ noodles and scream "BLACK GUY'S PEEEEE". seriously. ruined. EVERYTHING.

this is a BAD idea.
similar to the time i was dead set on being able to fit my hands full circle around my waist.
like put the tips of your fingers together like you're holding a sandwich...that small..
then i realized in order to achieve that amazingness i would have to remove like about 3 ribs and i would have to give up solid foods for a very long time (on the plus side i get to tempt them boyz by asking them if they want to see my "feeding tube". little do they know i'm not being kinky).
and unless i'm considering a career in burlesque whoredom or joining the cast of mad men. this is completely pointless.
i was going up to people and i was like ITS DONE. ITS DONE. IM ON IT LIKE WHITE ON A MOTEL BEDSPREAD. (i didnt say that)
but people were like ARE YOU CRAZZZZZZZYYYY and i was like "are you even asking that question? of course i'm crazy."

who in their right mind would be willing to even consider making the sacrifices in order to have a 16 inch waist?
like sands through the hour glass. so are the days of our lives
i want to look like that god damn hour glass. with a MEH face (that hour glass has the face of all the angels combined. that of which i cannot compete)

yes. i'm patting myself on the back for my second reference to "Days" in the last 2 posts...the worst part is i didn't even like days of our lives that much. i was on the Passions bandwagon.
its cause there were 2 characters on that show and their names combined was LUIS MIGUEL which resulted in a 12 year old version of myself exploding panty juice all over the walls of my house (and those walls are brick. my mom was PISSED.)
their last name was Lopez-Fitzgerald.
so basically. if tequila and guiness beer met. and they fucked. LUIS MIGUEL would be the by-product of that magical evening (ps LUIS MIGUEL is never NOT capitalized. your goal is to sound like a hysterical espanol woman when you say it. then you put your hand over your forehead and faint ever so gracefully to the floor)
they also had a sister theresa. but fuck her.
and then their was the doll "Timmy". then he died. that was sad (note: i always say "that was sad" when i mention the dead doll...sometimes i blow everyone's mind by adding a "SO" before the "sad", but only when they least expect it)
i wanted to marry every old man on that show especially if all you could hear was their voice.
and all the older women were buxom while all the younger ones had inverted chests of non-tittyness.
i liked that show.

the formula is simple:

silly love triangles + social class tension / devil worship = GENIUS

and then i waste 6 years of my life.

on that note i'll leave you with this



SO sad.

call center etiquette

besides being a full-time bad ass. i'm a collections agent. i collect moneyzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. over the phone.

people call me. i do not call them. and i just thought it'd be a total gas to point out some major dos and don't of the proverbial "call center"

- speak up. we are discussing pertinent information. unless you're currently hiding from the gestapo, anne frank, there is no need to whisper into the receiver.

- on the opposite spectrum of whispering. please do not place your mouth onto the receiver whilst you speak. I am not hearing impaired (yet), and nowhere in your phone manual is it recommended to make out with or swallow said receiver. i know you want to sound like the singer of metallica but things are gunna take a lot longer for me to process when it sounds like i'm having a convo with the devil that posessed marlena in days of our lives.

- speak english properly. i cannot tolerate another phone conversation consisting of "ees...ees...ees porque i'm not workings chu knoowwws...do..do ju have any hayjents who speaky spaneesh"

- do not swear or act condescending towards me. i speak using a very neutral, non-threatening tone. by swearing and or being a male chauvinist dickhole, you will only make me want to destroy you with my fingertips of money collecting glory.

- don't ever burp, fart or take the phone to the bathroom with you. I say this only because it has happens countless times. if you burp, i will hang up on you. if you fart, i will hang up on you. if you're in the bathroom and 3 minutes into the conversation i hear a toilet flushing. know that i am totally going to tell my colleagues that you're in the midst of an after din-din poo.

- don't cry. unless you have cancer or someone just died. i'm probably laughing at you or am going to laugh after i'm done servicing you

- don't you dare cut me off at any point of the conversation. i understand you're antsy. but you have to understand that you're probably wrong and you don't know what you're talking about.

- no, you have not reached canadian tire, the bay, or kentucky fried chicken hotline.

- the whistle guy. ever since i've started taking phone calls at work, the infamous "whistle guy" has entered my life and turned my whole world upside down. sometimes you're lucky enough to hear him/her take a deep breath but if you don't ,prepare to be deafened in one ear for the next 25 minutes or so.

- DONT EVER refer to me as "Lady", "Buddy" or the ever so popular "Michelle"

- if you're living in a canadian territory or on a reserve, i probably don't know how to pronounce the town you live in. get over it.

- there is never a moment where i'm not praying that asking someone "what is your name" does not result in a response such as "Mary Titscockanus". I can't do it. I'm too immature. a man called in once, his last name was "thongs". i lost it. so if your name has anything to do with bodily parts, fluids or women's lingerie. please call when i'm not working. thanks.

- stop asking if i can give you money. its not funny, i don't have any and if i did i would be spending it on drugs.

so that's pretty much all i have to tolerate at my jobbity-job.
i work like never times a week which gives me a lot of time to concentrate on school and being carmen sandiego.

longterm life goals part 14.5

i am going to shit in taylor swift's mouth.
i'm serious.
this is how shit's gunna go down (pun totally intended)


1) i'm going to take a plane to los angeles.
2) i'm going to get in a cab.
3) ask the cab driver to take me to the nearest taco bell.
4) i'm going to order like 16 enchiladas.
5) i'm going to devour each and every single one of those cheese goozing jesus pockets.
6) beat the shit out of random cheer leader. steal her get-up.
7) put on said cheerleader get-up
8) look for taylor swift.
9) find her (probably eating frozen yogurt with one of those disney retards).
10) i'm going to go up to her and say something snarky like "write a song about this!" or "write a song about that!"

yes. 10 steps which end in me ultimately choke-slamming her to the ground and then making the #2 into her mouth.

it will be epic.
and at that very moment.
the hallelujah chorus will be blasting from the mountain tops, all wars will end, poverty will be extinct, so on and so forth.
just because one girl was bold enough and had enough balls to take a shit in that bitch's mouth.
AH CAN I GET AN AMENNNNNNNN-AH!

say hello to my little friend

i woke up this morning with a south pacific island discovery on my forehead. the lost fucking city of atlantis.
all the boys want to lick it.
i know they do.

I love this thing.
his name is Basil.
he plays badminton.
his lazy afternoons consist of watching re-runs of murder she wrote.
enjoys the sunday crossword
pays for sex
his favorite meal of the day is brunch. because that's the only time "eggs benedict" is available on restaurant menus.but the white sauce gives him indigestion.
he's subscribed to the new yorker.
he dislikes traffic.
he suffers from type 2 diabetes.
he likes the smell of fresh laundry
when he was a kid, he dreamed of being a pilot.
enjoys movies starring matthew broderick and/or greg kinnear.
the sound of popping chewing gum annoys him.
in the evening he likes to unwind by drinking a tall glass of pinot noir while listening to john coltrane.

if you havn't realized it yet. i'm personifying the pimple on my forehead.
a result of negligent parents who dropped their offspring on the head as a child (thanks m&d).

exploiting the biche.

My dog's a fascist.

her name is:
Missy (legitimately)
Miser Stevens
Miserelli
the shnoot
bichon biche
food slut
and my all-time personal fave...Misstina the Dogulera (circa "dirrty" cause she humps urrrrthang)

i call her anything associated with the word "Missy" when she's shaved (cause it brings out the true chola bitch that hides beneath her fur) but when she's all fluffy i call her "fluffazzzz" (appropriately so)

This dog, is the craziest bitch i have ever had the pleasure of meeting. she has to be the reincarnation of some fabulous creature who spent their days smoking cigarettes mounted on a long stick, draped in diamonds and silk, drinking champagne with a plethora of slave men fanning her with giant banana leaves.

she's also the horniest son of a bitch to ever surface this fine earth. She is a humping machine. and i do not exaggerate when i say so. My mother "feels bad" so she enables this fetish by purchasing "toys" for her (contrary to her beliefs about my sexual health ie. immaculate conception is a possiblility) first there was mr. burr (or mr. bear if you're not lil' wayne) and then there was the lovin' lobster..both of which are currently disfigured (bitch likes to beat her lovers). besides that there's always piles of dirty laundry, infant legs and most recently her bed (like dog-like owner)

when she dies *knocks on wood* i'm going to cut off her paw and turn it into a keychain just so i can scare people by touching them with it.

follow-up.

k remember when i said that i was gunna open stores of sorts in an small italian neighborhood..and that i was gunna call one:
vaffangouls and goblins.

the other:
vaffanjewels and diamonds.

well low and behold, me haves come up with an even better idea.

listen hurr
initially i was going to create two stores...the first a halloween costume store. the latter a jewellery store (duh). but then i realized that that would be too much work. and vfg's and gees would only really be a plausible store around halloween time. and the rest of the year it would suit the needs of transvestites, little children that for some reason insist they dress up as a nurse in public or like. yeah. thats pretty much it.

so instead
i'm going to combine the two.
all year round we're "vaffanjewels and diamonds". we'll be that bad ass jewelery store that everyone goes to and knows about. like casa dynasty or standa or *dare i say it* pina and carmelo sacco.

but from october 1st to 31st. we transgenderize.
we morph into mighty morphin powa range--azzz.
no. that's a lie.
for that whole month the store is called "Vaffangouls and Goblins"

"the store that caters to your every halloween need" (code word is "mississipi mud pie" if you want cocaine)

and for that whole month, anyone who asks for jewellery or fancy table cloths will be shot in the head.

joke.

they'll just have to go somewhere else.
and you know they're gunna go to their family and say:

"ma you know vaffanjewels and daimonds went faillite...yaaa...i went there and there was poupatz everywhere...fuckin-a skeletons.

and it doesnt matter cause then this woman's son will be all:

beh yeah thats because from october 1st to 31st it's a costume store and...erm...mississipi mud pie."

so there you have it.
i'm gunna be ballinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn'
like stalin (ohhhhhhhhhhhh shit.)

i have a really big problem with

people who make it a point to sing out loud or like mouth the words to the song they're listening to on their personal music listening device whilst waltzing through the street that i just so happen to be standing on.
its like. by all means, make it so that those around you think you're a schizoid (schizo's are fucking sexy)
on the complete opposite side if the previous mention is.
people in my conference group who write the words "Armenia for Life" on their pencil case in white-out.
This girl in my conf group last semester had exactly that and i swear to god, i was about to tap her on the shoulder and ask her hand in marriage. (i have the words "French Polynesia for life" written on my chest in cheese spray)
I have this thing where i need to convince as many strangers that i'm mentally unstable. it's like my own personal olympics (if i were actually an olympic athlete. hands down. pole vault ice dancing rhythmic gymnast. yes i google'd the word "pole vaulting" because the fact that i havn't capitalized a word ever would imply that i care about how i spell the god damn words i write)
I get off on people thinking i'm a sociopath.
especially when they kinda can't get out of the situation because you're in the line for a unisex bathroom or something.
i told someone i'm my neighborhood's villainess. i told them that i go on the roofs (or is it rooves? reeves. CHRISTOPHER REEVES.) of houses with a sniper and shoot random people.
I told him that i wear a red beret. it's my trademark
they call me the red beret bandit.
his response was "you're cute and entertaining"
and i was like NO YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO THINK I'M CRAZY!
then i peed.
on the floor in front of him
(JOKE! it was my turn for the b-room.)
and then i walked away.
it was good (my pee that is.)
it wasnt yellow if i remember correctly. so that means i was healthy at the time and not dehydrated.
yup. healthy enough to walk out of that boshroom and find my next victim
*insert the song raspberry beret by prince here*

ps. i also asked him if he liked my outfit. then i told him i picked it out of a garbage can. the end.