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Showing posts from 2011

I Can't Feel My Face

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I now present to you my trip to the dentist, as told through a series of text messages and Facebook statuses.




Me: Fuuuuuuck. They’re running behind. No fix for me today. Yay. Why can’t they just handle this in one fell swoop? I hate sitting in this place with these people. 10:59am. (I was in the dental office at the Health Department… because I’m poor and they charge less.)



Me: I’m starting to feel poorer, pregnant, and less smart…. I’m a terrible person. 11:08am.



Me: These kids across from me are borderline creepy… and I think the woman with them is slow. Most of these kids are just emitting some kind of annoying pheromone. There should be an adults only day. 11:13am.



Me: This one kid seriously looks like an old man. I’d take a picture if I could. 11:15am.



Quasi-Mexican: Gross. I take it you’re off today? 11:17am.



Me: Yes. What a way to spend it. I think one of these crotchlings has shit… Something smells… My ovary just shriveled up and died. 11:18am



Me: Nope. Pretty sure it’s the mother th…

Lazy Bitch

I’m lazy, okay?

This whole “getting famous” thing is taking a lot fucking longer than I had initially anticipated. I’ve dreamed of fame and fortune since that long ago day when I picked up my first guitar with the plastic strings, popped the collar of my red jacket, and began to strum and swivel my hips while watching myself in the mirror.


I was five.


Okay, I have to admit that that wasn’t my initial dream.  I gave up on being a fireman after a bad pull from a wishbone and I set my sights on marrying Elvis.


Then I found out he died before I was born.


And THEN I decided that I’d just BE Elvis. I feel like this is pretty fertile grounds for some kind of analysis about stalkers and psychosis and maybe people that wear other people’s skin.

Five minutes ago I had absolutely no intention of writing any of that.

The point, somewhere, is that I know that I need to be irritating the shit out of you with new blog posts, perhaps even two a days until I whip my slack ass into shape, but you know…

And Then I Threw Up

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Okay, I have to get this out of the way before I can move on to the hilariously violent rage that I keep bottled inside of me at all times.


You guys are the most amazing fucking people I have ever had to pleasure of communicating with. Seriously. Never forget it and if anyone tells you that you aren’t, I’ll come bite their ankles off… right after I stab them in the face with a pen. It’s more fun when they run first. All of the comments have done what months of therapy and bottling could not. I feel … light… again. I feel free. I feel pretty and witty and fun. And there the moment goes.


A Brief Lesson on Grammar and Common Fucking Courtesy. Asshole.



“I stay down in Pageland.”


“Yeah, that’s where we stay.”


“Where do you stay?”


Completely ignoring the fact that ‘stay’ means that you, well, fucking STAY somewhere, as in, you don’t ever fucking leave it or it’s only for short periods of time, I’m going to point out how stupid you sound.


You stay in a mother fucking hotel.


You stay THE NIGHT…

Now For an Unfunny Change of Pace

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I’m coming out.

That deafening roar you just heard was 95% of everyone I’ve ever known shouting “I KNEW it!”

Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not coming out of THAT closet. My sexual preferences lie where they always have, mostly in myself.


I’m coming out of what might be a scarier closet. There are certainly more skeletons in this one. It’s a door that everyone wishes would stay firmly shut, but I’m going to open it, again.

I want to stand up today and introduce myself to you. I want you to meet the real Heather Heartless. Not just the bitchy angry one, not just the one that makes you laugh, but the one I keep hidden away.

My name is Heather and I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder… among other things.

On March 14, 2009, I looked out the window of the gas station where I was working and saw two men approaching on foot from the road. My very first thought, honest to God, is “They’re going to rob me.”


And they did.


Violently.


No one asked for money. No one said “This is a stickup!” No one…

Tasteless Merchandise to Fuel My Pillow Addiction

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Do you want to know what I was doing while I wasn't blogging?

I was creating a Zazzle store called Mo Waffles.

Jenny Lawson is to blame for this.

Why is it named Mo Waffles?  I have no fucking idea.  Just like I have no idea why I created anything that I did or why Zazzle lures you in with promises of setting your own royalty rate when if you set it to 80% your t-shirts are priced to sell at $53.74.

This is a small sampling of the tasteless products I have to offer.



Goof-Off can't fix this mistake by MoWaffles
View other Tasteless T-Shirts

The front says "J/K", you know, for potential un-rapist boyfriends.



Dear Rapist by MoWaffles
See other Random T-Shirts

And because the movie Teeth freaked me out...



Vagina Ventata by MoWaffles
Become a clothing affiliate at zazzle.com

Please don't hate me...


... and go buy things.

The Five Seasons of North Carolina

It is universally recognized that most places on this big green ball have four seasons.

Winter – It’s cold.

Spring – Shit grows.

Summer – Shark Week.

Fall – Shit dies.


That being said, I would like to point out that the state of North Carolina actually has five seasons each year. Some of these seasons overlap for maximum discomfort and they’re known to us by slightly different names than the aforementioned.

Season 1: Buy Milk and Bread


Seriously, winters are coming, you better be prepared. If there is even a slight chance that a single snow flake could fall from the heavens, the grocery stores are going to be packed and then emptied of everything but candy wrappers and sadness.

It is a state law that mandates that when there is a winter weather advisory, you must go buy all the milk and all the bread in all the lands. You could perish in the temperate winters of the South. We’ve seen Alive; we know how this story ends. We’re prepared to eat our neighbors if we have to.


When you live in a p…

I Broke My Brain

The last few weeks of my life have been terrible and confusing and I had to take time off from blogging to have a small nervous breakdown.

I also think that I broke my funny.

Seriously.

I hold my own well in conversation, but Jesus the shit splattered off the fan too fast for me to keep up with it. This is why I still think that I need a stenographer, you know, for those special moments. And because I’m too lazy to write any or all of it down before I forget it.

For your sake, I will be breaking the chain of events down into small portions to make it easier to digest.

Why I Tried to Make Auto Zone Employees Cry

Holy fuck balls, y’all. Is there some kind of competency test they give their applicants and only the people who fail get to work there?

The condenser fan motor on my car went out. This is the fan that cools the compressor so that you can have cold air coming out instead of blowing your shit up. I went to various used parts stores and junkyards trying to find one, but theirs we…

Eat Pray Love Makes Me Want to Kill Myself

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I’m a little late in coming to the review game on this one, but I couldn’t hold it inside any longer.

I’ve never hidden my feelings towards to movie “Eat Pray Love”. I’ve also never truly expressed my feelings about it in such a public arena… until last night, when my rage was renewed.


The following took place on Facebook.

HCW: I never get tired of watching Eat Pray Love. :)

Heather Ray: Really? That movie made me hate Julia Roberts... and I kind of wanted to kill myself five minutes into it. I seriously would have cheered if she'd been hit by a bus at the end.

HCW: Hahaha I thought it was a very calming movie..like a "im feeling depressed so I'm gonna watch eat pray love and eat an entire carton of ice cream" movie.


Heather Ray: I can’t stand her character. Somewhere towards the end of Eat and the middle of Pray, I warmed up to her a bit, as in I didn’t want to stab her in the face quite as much as I did before, but as soon as Javier Bardem came into it, I was real…

Dolls Creep Me the Fuck Out, Y'all

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Yes, I'm still on the kick about inanimate objects that scare me shitless.  When I finished the original post, I realized that I had made a huge mistake.  I left out the one that scared me the most.

Dolls. 

Mostly of the porcelain variety.
You have to understand a few things about me.  I don't scare easily.  I'm the chick everyone wants to take to a haunted attraction or horror movie because I laugh my way through them... and also because I can point out exactly where, when, and what is going to pop out at you.  The success rate is roughly 95%.  Paranormal Activity 2 fucked up my perfect record.  Only because I thought it was safe to look directly at the screen when it was day time to them and because those cabinets were really fucking loud when they opened.
I was that weird kid that was reading 800 page Stephen King novels in elementary school.  I watched Pet Semetary and IT when I was a toddler and never had an issue, which is saying a lot when you have this staring back …

Sometimes I Don't Like Learning

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This is probably going to become a regular thing on here because I inevitably learn things that I never wanted to know on a weekly basis.  I'm not talking about finding out that your parents are still having wild sexual gymnastics parties involving swings and your childhood bed, but random facts that I pick up here and there, like how there's pig skin in gummi bears.  Although now that I've put the image of your parents having athletic sex in your head, what I'm learning you today is probably a lot less horrifying.

I'm a HUGE fan of learning things.  I like to be smarter than everyone else and whip out my scholastic prowess at random to impress the masses.  I also love to read and I do it quite frequently.  I even read shampoo bottles when I'm in the bathroom when I can't quite bear to gaze upon fine Swedish home furnishings one mo' again.

However, in my educational and literary journeys, I often come across things that appear interesting, so I research…

Three Inanimate Objects That Scare the Living Hell Out of Me

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I have a lot of fears that other people don't.  I'll blame most of them on Stephen King.  Trust me when I say that this is just the short list of weird and probably unfounded phobias.

Take storm drains for instance.  What is there to fear about a seemingly innocuous hole in the ground?  I'll tell you.



You'll just be sailing your awesome paper boat down the flood water when this fucker pops up.




Just count that boat as a loss, man, 'cause he's going to eat you.

I told you.  "It" didn't make me fear clowns, but it did make me afraid of storm drains because that's where they live.
Banana Boats
Again, seemingly innocuous, but they aren't.  I will NEVER ride one of these.  Ever.  I like watercraft, but I hate banana boats.  You'll just be riding along on your yellow phallus, not a care in the world....

 
You're just chillin', having a good time, looking at the camera and the next thing you know...



Something is going to fucking eat yo…

Things That Irritate the Shit Out of Me

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The title doesn’t really leave much room for a preamble, so let’s get this party started.



Rachael Ray.



People who talk like Rachael Ray. I will break that fucking bottle of yummo delish EVOO all over your head, asshole. The point of an acronym in to make a short word out of a series of longer words, not to spell out the acronym. Eeevooo. Say it with me. We don’t call it N-A-S-A or S-C-U-B-A, do we?


Microsoft Word Spell Check. Only one of those sentences up there is a fragment. Also, I’m sorry that you recognize Ebonics as our official language and not English, but you’re not correct.



The fact that I can’t eat generic “fudge pops” without getting a ring of chocolate all the way around my mouth, which is exactly what I’m doing right now while trying to type this with one hand.


The fact that I type faster with my left hand than my right.


The fact that fudge pops look like shit on a stick and still manage to be appetizing.

Having to wipe chocolate ice cream from right beneath my left e…