The Randomist

Someone, who shall remain nameless, has used my name and  number as a reference on things in the past.  When you're a reference and said person changes addresses and phone numbers, you get called.  A lot.  So you tell these collectors of bills that you are NOT that person, do not SPEAK to that person, and sometimes that you don't even know who they are.  Please remove my information and let's not speak of this again.  Please and thank you. And then you tell them that repeatedly over the course of a few years.  And then you report one or two of them to the Federal Trade Commission for harassment or for phishing or scamming or because their voice sounds stupid. And then you get fed up. Like, righteously and mightily pissed and well beyond fed up because JESUSCHRISTIDON'TOWEYOUMONEYWILLYOUPLEASESTOP! And then the yelling happens. Today I awoke from a nap because my mother was currently screaming at her oxygen provider because they wanted to re-b...

I suck at this.  I don't even feel that bad about sucking at it either because I just really never WANT to do it anymore.  I've had SO many things that I could have entertained you with over this last year and I just didn't feel like it.  Those moments are gone and so is the rage that would have carried me through the posts that should have accompanied them.  And that makes me mad.  Those moments needed to be recorded for more than altruistic or entertainment purposes, which I will sort of cover in a bit.   I do feel that I owe you at least a brief-ish explanation as to why I just disappeared for so long.  I'm not going to even try to make this funny but it may happen on accident.  It really just depends on how angry I become. I made the truly horrible decision to injure my shoulder at work last April.  I compounded that stupidity with the truly enormous load of dumb ass known as filing a Worker's Comp claim.  My work life took a ...

This happens more than it should.  You start off asking a perfectly innocent question and then shit starts getting real in Oz.  I'm not sure if I'm pleased with the turn of events or ashamed of myself for having no control. Hannah   ** also, if anyone has any tips on caring for 4wk old puppies that the mother stopped nursing but they weren't ready to stop...that would be greatly appreciated. 12 hours ago   ·   Like Heather   Facebook ate my comment. I'll try this again. ***Related to post and not entertaining*** 10 hours ago   via   mobile   ·   Like   ·   1 Heather   You should feed them 3-4 times a day at regular intervals and aim for the same time every day. You can try to schedule when they dirty bomb your house with their unexpectedly rancid surprises. If you know what they were feeding the mother, try to feed them the puppy version of it. Might help minimize the damage from the aforementione...

There’s a very long excuse explanation for my taking over a year off from blogging.  Long, as in, I don’t feel like typing that shit up one handed.  ß  Clue #1. Zoloft, working for giant pieces of shit, work related injury followed by shoulder surgery for same six months later.  Six.  Months.  That’s how long it takes for them to realize “Ow.  That shit hurts.” means something. That’s all you get for now because my dominant arm is bound up in one of these bitches:

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 ...

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...

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 hot...