Pardon?

Okay. This will be short, but not sweet. I am writing a formal complaint letter to the record label that made the awful decision to pick up an artist who CLEARLY has an undiagnosed speech impediment, which resulted in the blunder that is Sean Paul. Excuse me, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU EVEN SAYING? Is it english? No, no it can't be. But, first thing is first.... lets get your name right. Is it Sean Paul or Sean-uh-Paul? Actually............ I don't care. Just get the fuck off my radio.

Bathroom Etiquette

Ladies... let's get it together. Don't talk on your phone when you're in the stall. You should know that neither I nor any other bathroom traveler wants to hear your conversation and if you didn't know... now you do. This conversation could be had elsewhere, both the ill-fated phone call receiver and I would both really appreciate it. Its weird enough that I'm within a foot of a complete stranger going pee, I don't need to hear about the vacuous daily happenings from the type of bitch who talks on her phone while going pee in a public zone. And no... it's not enough that you've parked it in the furthest stall away from me... the large one for handicapped people (ruderuderuderuderude). Because clearly your personality is just so huge you need all that damn space. Then again...I don't mind because all of the mouth breathers WOULD pick the stall farthest way... I, on the other hand know better. Perhaps the best kept secret of the Women's Restroom = the first stall is always the cleanest and an A++ in my book ... minimal repulsiveness. HA! I give my harpy pronouncements interminably, but give my wisdom sparingly. No need to thank me this time.

Nose Hairs

Parents who let their rug rats run rampant...a word of advice: STAY AT HOME. I always scoffed at parents who travel with their wee ones attached to leashes (darlingly disguised by a cute little monkey backpack)... now I applaud them. Lazy? No. How dare you say that. They're responsible. Last week while taking advantage of Sushi Happy Hour ($4 Large Sake and $4 32 oz. Sapporo...kidding meee?), I realized the ingeniousness of a feral invention such as a child tether. I had noticed when walking into the restaurant three juvenile offenders were walking on their knees...in crocs... pretending their knees were their feet. First of all....who the fuck dresses their kids in crocs? These people should be flogged in open court. Make them wear Jellies, so much cuter. Anyway, already peeved by a first glance, I held myself back from giving the dwarves a little tap with my shoe as I passed by. After sitting down I noticed these poor asian waiters were doing Mexican standoffs (asian/mexican...stand off? it just doesn't make sense) trying to get past them to promptly serve the dipsomaniacs such as my friend Candace and myself. Helloooo? I'm trying to get inebriated as possible before happy hour's cessation; any obstruction of such plans deserves punishment. As I furrowed my brow and whipped my head around to see a parent leap into action, in return I received a blank stare back from the flighty progenitor. One of her pint sized piques grazed my foot. MY FOOT! ewewewew. I was about to reach into my purse and pop an adderal in the child's mouth. All of this could have been avoided...by keeping your little nose hair at home. Bitches.

Traffic

I meannnnn! Memorial Day Traffic. I'm sorry but what don't you people understand, take the fuckin bus! Carpool! Do awful, awful things for a ride! Goodyear blimp! I don't care how you get there, but get the hellllll out of my way (with the exception of riding a bicycle, I do not condone such in-my-way idiocy) I have about six Bloody Marys with my name on them at my next destination and my second hang over of the day is kicking in. Move It. Or I will lose it. My angry under-my-breath mumblings can and will quickly become all windows down psycho bullshit. I'll be crawling on my knees home later. I dont need to crawl in traffic too. Bitches.

FAIL

My mother recently gave me a gift certificate to Beach Bunny Swimwear. For those who don't know what Beach Bunny Swimwear is, it is basically lingerie that somehow passes for pool wear and in reality you really must stay on the look out for police while wearing it in public as it is borderline public indecency. I strolled in, overcome by the smell of "Angel" perfume which smells something like slutty teenage prostitutes, gold digger and desperation (I too wear this, but I can hate on it because I was not wearing it at the time and considering the sources that it was oozing from), I see two SASSY Latinas with the dressing room wide open. I heard one complain loudly about her huge ass. But she didn't need to tell me that such an ass existed as I had already noticed, with her and her big ass none the wiser. After years of judging and mad-dogging bitches, I have mastered the art of pretending not to look, I will probably end up with a lazy eye or something because of it, but we'll deal with that issue when it arises. Sometimes when I feel like being a meanie, rather than being blatantly rude and wishing to not get beat down I choose to say something passive aggressive a.k.a. doing it with a smile on my face, or I say something like "that bathing suit looks great on your butt!" Lies. Lies. Lies. This was an odious lie! Hehe, I'm such a gem. Anyway these bitches WERE NOT having it, even though they had no idea I was telling a serious lie... a momentous thing happened, I was caught in my own game. She replied, "Yeah you too." I was in sweatpants. BURN! She won this bitch-off. A failure of epic proportions on my part. I died a little inside and awkwardly pretended to look around a little more and walked away with my horned tail between my legs. To add insult to injury she yelled out, "Keep drinking your HATEORADE." Actually it was Smart Water. That bitch shoulda picked some up. But my horns go off that loca lady who put me in my place. Maybe I should post this on Craigslist's "Missed Connections".