I mean, I’m still fat and can’t fit into that leopard catsuit, my husband left me (the rat!), he also left me a rat (literally), part of my garage collapsed, I still have that weird rash, I accidently ate 2 ants and a moth, my mom found out I was having an affair with her boyfriend, my personal chef left me for Jennifer Lopez, frost bite claimed two of my toes, my book was published (but by someone else), I still don’t have a job, my computer crashed, I ruined my favorite sweater, I ran over a squirrel and finally, i am still abysmally stupid…

what does the new year have in store for me? tune in to find out.

my posts are behind
i have nothing to say, so
i haiku instead.

hey baby, do you
come here often? what’s your sign?
exit, please use it.

cute little cell phone
if you vibrated stronger
they would sell more phones.

don’t open that door
your car is too close to mine
i have a lawyer.

one sick day a month
it is my god-given right
to take it and slack.

i could use this day
to do stuff – but wait! behind
the music is on!

of course i am sick
deathly ill, can’t you hear me
hacking up my lung?

archives changed to monthly from weekly. just so you know.

i will not tell you that you are incredibly obtuse. or that the narrowness of your mind would boggle even the most vitriolic bigot. i will not point out that you treat people who are even slightly different as though they belong to some ancient culture rife with mysticism and rituals that you can’t comprehend. i also will not tell you that because you can’t understand something does not mean that it is wrong, or evil, or unfit for this world. and i will keep to myself the fact that ignoring something does not make it disappear.

i won’t explain that nothing in life fits neatly into the tidy little pigeonholes you’ve drilled in the wall of your brain, or that there are hundreds of shades of gray between the black and white which are the only colors you have agreed to acknowledge.

wait a minute! you’re right, you really can’t trust anyone who doesn’t share your religion and ethnic background. everyone who isn’t with you is, in fact against you. and every situation that arises can of course be wrapped neatly into a little square box and tied with a big red bow or miraculously solved in the last five minutes of the sitcom.

ignorance may be bliss for the ignorant. but for the rest of us, it’s pure hell.

i like free cable tv and sex. in that order.

you are very much like this melodramatic great great aunt i have. she stayed at a hotel once and rented the porn channel. then she watched it for hours with her hand covering her mouth and hollering to her husband can you believe what these people are doing on my television?! she was all righteously enraged and complained to the management that they were immoral and she would tell all her friends never to stay at that hotel. then she refused to pay for the movies that she ordered of her own free will.

my intention is not to shock or repulse you. that’s a pretty arrogant assumption, in fact, to think that your opinion counts so much that i spend my days contriving ploys to make you squirm. my life is not for you to love or hate or tolerate or reject. my life is happening, to me, all the time and sometimes it intersects with yours, like when you are driving to work and there is an accident on the bridge. most of the time, though, i drive around in the same city as you do, not following you or rolling down my windows so you can hear the offensive music i like to listen to while i am driving. i will not entertain your whining that the color of my hair is unfit for viewing because you are sitting there staring at it. you don’t like the color, okay, don’t dye your hair that color.

but it looks good on me.

screw mistletoe. forget milk and cookies. santa was late to your place because he spent hours at mine.

dear santa,

love,
emmie

when santa arrived, i was wearing that bikini i made. the left cup was printed with christmas trees, the right with shiny gold stars. the bottom was made of clear red cellophane wrap, so santa wouldn’t have to guess what was inside.

he seemed a little hesitant climbing down my chimney. he stood for a moment at the fireplace, glancing over my letter, and peered at me through his bifocals. ‘emmie?’ he asked, nervously. i smiled my stalking cheshire smile and nodded. the little bell on my red velvet choker jingled merrily.

i took his coat and offered him some eggnog. as i was pouring it, he said he was on the wagon and declined. i told him this wasn’t virgin eggnog, that it was definitely spiked. then i poured it down my neck. it ran over my tits and down my stomach, dripping from between my legs onto the rug. santa cleared his throat and crossed his legs.

i ran my finger through the eggnog and licked it slowly, closing my eyes and sucking on my finger. then i set the cup down and straddled his lap. i carefully removed his hat and set it aside. then i wound my hands up in his hair and pushed his face into my cleavage. santa (and little santa) sprung to life almost immediately, causing me to giggle with mischievous delight.

in my living room, colored by the blinking lights from the christmas tree, santa licked the eggnog from my body, pausing only to tear my bikini with his teeth. he removed his thick black leather belt and bound my hands behind my back. he put his cock in my mouth, and before i could finish the blowjob, whipped me around and began tonguing my clit. as i was about to come, he slid his cock into me and fucked me from behind. he held the belt tight around my wrists and used it to bounce me harder against him.

i let him have his way with me, any way he wanted, for hours. when we heard the reindeer stomping impatiently around on the roof, he decided it was time to leave. presents to deliver and all that. he asked if i’d have a merry christmas, and i said i would now. i also said that he could stop by next year if he could find time.

as his belly jiggled with laughter, he said he’d make the time.

but if we did, this is what we’d ask santa for.

go to a peep show.

not the kind from that madonna video where there are several little windows that get to watch one girl. i’m thinking more along the lines of the one-on-one booths where there is a comfy spot for both the stripper and the viewer, with telephones so they can hear each other through the dirty plexiglass. like when you visit someone in prison.

because i am something of a germphobe i would probably take a bottle of disinfectant and some paper towels, so i could spray my side of the glass clean. her side i would guess is probably already clean. i am sure she does not get as worked up watching the men who pay to see her jerk off as they do at the idea there is a woman within three inches of them. also probably some paper towels to sit on, and those antibacterial wipes for the telephone itself and any shelf that may be there for viewers to lean on.

i would probably bring about a thousand pounds of quarters. or maybe they accept atm cards, like the luggage cart machines at the airports do now. either way, i would have to spend at least three hours there. i would ask her about her hopes and dreams (show me your nipples please) and what her childhood was like (spread your legs a little, that’s right). of course knowing why she took this job instead of being a secretary or a court reporter (yeah, i like that naughty librarian thing – my decimal system is all dewey now) is crucial.

if she was wearing red lipstick i would tell her to change it to purple, because purple is sexy and mysterious (maybe you’ll get lucky) while red is tacky and obvious (of course i’m a whore with lips like these). i would also enjoy it if she put the purple lipstick on her nipples. because who has purple nipples with flecks of gold glitter? nobody, that’s who.

and that would make her pretty cool to look at.

i don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

there is this picture of me where i am standing in the middle of no less than fifty people most of whose names i do not even remember although i am fairly certain that we were introduced and when i look at this picture i realize that there is this look on my face that distinctly says

why am i here and who are these people and what is that little box on your face that makes bright light when you click it?

but it is sort of compelling and i am unable to really throw the picture away or anything so i keep it in my desk drawer and just look at it when i am feeling really full of myself that knocks me off my high horse pretty quick let me tell you

i do not want to hear anymore from you

blahblah
blahblah
blahblah
blahblah
blahblah

so if you could seriously just shut up for the duration i would really prefer that

thank you for listening

you just slipped right into it like it was completely and utterly normal for someone to freeze a fly in an ice cube and surreptitiously drop it in your drink

tonight i will stalk him while he sleeps.

i will crawl into his window and into his bed and into his arms. he will whine a little and then moan in that aw-man-i-was-sleeping-but-wait-is-this-sex-because-i-always-want-sex-even-when-i-am-asleep way that is so cute.

i will climb on him and pull off his clothes and possibly give him a blow job. and then he will be wide awake, and i will fall into a contented sleep. he will pace around his apartment for a while and watch infomercials and possibly fall asleep around the time he is supposed to be waking up. i will have already turned his alarm off.

i will curl naked beside him on the sofa then, and cover him with my body. we will sleep for hours. he will completely miss work and spend an hour contriving a reasonable excuse for his boss. and he will bitch about that.

but he will like it.

me: this terrible thing happened! what do i do?
you: it’s okay. just calm down.
me: okay, i’m calm.
you: it’s all your fault this happened.
me: it is so not my fault!
you: well it isn’t mine!
me: i didn’t say it was!
you: so it’s nobody’s.
me: right. it just really sucks.
you: okay, so let’s just deal with this then.
me: what is our plan?
you: i don’t know. take care of it.

do i want you to force me to reluctantly make a major decision by myself so that i can feel empowered until you kick my ass for doing it wrong and make me feel three inches tall?

of course! who wouldn’t jump at such an opportunity for they are surely criminally insane. or just stupid.

BLOGGER!!

if you drop this post i will hunt you down and UNPLUG YOU!!!

he didn’t have anything to offer me.

and if he did, he didn’t know how to offer it.

and i’m not in the mood to be a teacher.

I was in the drug store the other day getting a prescription and I noticed that there was this huge display of “ReJOYn” products. holy shit it was hilarious. essentially they were drug store varieties of
a. cockrings
b. a penis pump
and finally
c. a dildo

I just find it amusing that out there there are people who can’t make it to their local sex shop. and it’s not like there isn’t your friendly local sleaziod sex shop even in the most booney-esque town. do they feel that the medically sanctioned (medically packaged, I mean) penis pump is better than the tried and true porn shop variety?
and come on people. a boring flesh (white boy) colored cock ring is not better than a purple leather velcro studded one.

here is some sex.

s e x

get your rocks off and go to sleep already.

here is what i have never understood.

my pr department is inundated daily with requests from people asking for free shit. and when the answer is no, because we’re like a business that wants to make money to keep the shareholders happy, they all flip the fuck out and call whoever breaks the bad news a fucking asshole with no sense of customer satisfaction.

excuse me but do you see a neon sign that reads “free shit here” outside our office? i didn’t think so. and in order to be a satisfied customer, you must first be a customer. customers buy stuff. this is the critical variable that your equation is missing.

or perhaps you have honestly mistaken us for that big shelter up the block or wheel of fortune or a bad mtv reality show. oh wait i know, there is a very large sign with a big ass red cross on it. it’s called the red cross. and they’re a bonafide charity or something.

they accuse us of price gouging and lying and unfair business practices because we follow a business model which is tried and true. meanwhile the person who started the fucking business umpteen years ago busted his ass to make a better life for his family than they had back home in his war-torn country where martial law ruled and innocent families were brutalized for sport. the media proclaims it a classic example of the american dream. and wall street analysts laud the business acumen displayed by our board of directors. because they efficiently manufacture products that people are willing to pay a reasonable sum for, and in doing so they can afford a personal assistant and several expensive suits. and the people below them that help make it happen can put food on the table and pay off their kids’ tuition loans. the best part is that it’s all perfectly legal.

so at what point exactly does the american dream become that hated hollow-souled entity called big business or corporate america? huh? oh, i get it. it’s when you want something that you can’t have.

i was late for suck ass work. i forgot my suck ass badge and the suck ass security guard made me put on a suck ass visitor’s name tag. hello! my name is EMMIE. and also, i suck ass. and my suck ass boss had to let me into the suck ass building. which made me later still.

my suck ass lunchbreak was spent in a long suck ass line at the suck ass bank to deposit my paycheck which also sucks ass. i didn’t get any food, and someone who sucks ass stole my nutrition drink out of the suck ass community fridge. i got into a suck ass fight during a suck ass meeting and had to sit next to a coworker, who deftly smelled like and sucked ass for the duration of the fight as well as the boring presentation by my it department about how they envisioned greater sucking of ass. (they get paid an awful lot because they are the monarchs of ass suckdom.)

the network which sucks ass at high speed built by the suck ass kings crashed when they installed the new suck ass security patch. so i had to walk paperwork all over creation because i couldn’t use my suck ass e-mail. oh the suck ass elevator was also being inspected and therefore the steeply ass sucking stairwell became my new best friend.

traffic sucked ass due to a mass gathering of people who spent their suck ass paychecks to hear a so-called artist suck ass loudly and for a long time. i got a suck ass papercut opening a bottle of suck ass aspirin which i needed because the sucking of so much ass was a little overwhelming. suck ass telemarketers called me four times during the one really good show that i watch every suck ass week. i don’t know about the show because i didn’t see much of it, but the commercials, which i saw almost all of, sucked supreme ass.

i ran out of smokes and went to the suck ass convenience store where the clerk, who speaks very little english but sucks ass fluently, carded me. i left my suck ass id at home and had to go get it. while i was gone for three minutes, the suck ass place closed. so i got in my suck ass car and endured ten minutes of suck ass popular radio crap to get to the store which is further away but sucks ass after hours. they were so busy sucking ass that they forgot to order my brand, so i’m smoking a suck ass knockoff right now.

i am afraid to get into my bed for fear that the sounds of it sucking ass will keep me from sleeping anyway.

sometimes I feel bad when I bag on other chicks. as though I am being disloyal or violating some contract to not buy into the tendency for chicks to be at each others throats.

however, I have never had a lot of chick friends. it seemed harder to cut through the bullshit with them. there was always some

intrigue going on. I just cant tolerate that shit.
now explain this.. almost all of my female best friends are totally drama queens.
one of them is not only a drama queen, but recently (within the past couple of years) she has become a martyr as well.

i think my fatal flaw is that i hate people who allow me to push them around.

I dreamt I was out with noel. who I like sort of. but who I also kind of look down on for some reason. so she and I are out with three of her friends who I really don’t like as they are geeks in a bad way and they smell. one is fat AND hairy AND pompous AND way too old. so we go to this house, oh and we also have her kid with us.

this house has a play ground out in the back. it looks small but when I take sher (as we call the kid) out there I realize that it is a full scale Ewok house/village complete with amusement park. (WTF?). so she is really little and can barely walk so I have to help her a lot. and the railings are skimpy and rickety to boot. she runs ahead and I get really dizzy and realize I have to get the hell out of there.

I go back in the house just in time to watch noel start her famous flaming titty trick. which is actually hilarious and a great party trick. but as I know her really well I also know what it leads to and that is a huge messy orgy with whoever is watching. which irritates me further as one of the people watching is the fat smelly old pompous dude.
and she always expects me to join in.

and never understands that I don’t need fat smelly hairy and pompous dudes to what to fuck me so that I can feel special and that someone loves me. and that if I want to have an orgasm I will masturbate rather than have sex with said fat smelly hairy and pompous dude. and that if I want to feel human companionship with another person I will go masturbate while imagining that Brad Pitt’s face (sans beard please) is between my thighs.

so in my dream I am thinking all this. and feeling disgusted that I am stuck in the he house with no transportation and nothing to read. I seek out the bedroom that is supposed to be mine. however there is some snotty sorority chick in there reading a sweet valley high book. she tells me to get out. I find a storeroom with a few pillows in it. and suddenly sher is with me and I settle her down to sleep and go to sleep next to her to the melodious sounds of noel, her flaming tits and three other people fucking.

when I wake up I am in the car with someone. and I realize that I am getting hives and that I am swelling up to three times my size. I panic. I tell them I am allergic to their stupidity and they kick me out of the car.
but then I wake up on the floor of the store room.
I run out and find the concierge desk. there are three sorority girls doing there nails there. and I ask them to call me a cab. which they do. but then I am on the phone with the cab dispatcher and she starts telling me my life story and how I won’t be able to catch the el before it stops for the night.

and then I wake up. for real.

it is all about manipulation isn’t it?

an ego thing?

I feel like everything he does is some calculated move for attention.
why do people feel the need to make their every move known and acknowledged?
I fucking hate it. don’t try to make me pay attention to you. I don’t want to have to react a certain way to everything you do.
oh and it is so utterly predictable it makes me sick. really. that is sad. it’s like I can totally read your undeveloped puny male brain. with no effort what-so-ever.

I cant fucking stand the feeling that someone is waiting for me to act a certain way. holy shit it pisses me off.

and why do some people always take things one or two steps to far? I’ve noticed that this is a trait of the socially clueless. I just want to say “stop it!!! be cool will you!!!”
but as I am not in like 8th grade I can’t really say that.

really. you just don’t say things like “can I pet your pussy?” to a friends wife. jeez.

and stop your antics while in the car with me. I fucking refuse to acknowledge your buffoonery.

‘ku is like those chips
that you can’t stop eating, so
better refresh now.

they’re not even good
but you still can’t get enough
just like a train wreck.

clackety clack ding!
chugga chugga woo woo! crash!
bang! pow! ka-blooey!

mmpf mmpf mmpf mmpf mmpf
slobber slobber slobber slurp
mmpf mmpf mmpf mmpf mmpf.

these must have basho
spinning in his grave because
they’re about people.

go find a real job
that pimp of yours broke your jaw
now you can’t give head.

people you sleep with
say and do really dumb things
masturbate instead.

people read us cause
yahoo! thinks that we’re call girls
we do it for free.

who are these people who are doing internet searches for call girls? and finding us somehow?
hear me now: we are not hookers.

not anymore, anyway.

i am very white. this one time when i had a puerto rican girlfriend, i went to her place to pick her up for dinner. i was hanging out on the sidewalk in front of her apartment building, which is located in a mostly puerto rican section of town. she had gone upstairs to get her jacket and her purse.

as i stood there, this squad car rolled up with two hispanic cops inside. they had nasty sneers on their faces when they saw me and they pulled over next to where i was standing. they got out with their little pads and pencils, and one of them walked up and down while the other one came over to talk to me.

i said hello, and he asked for my name with pencil poised. i told him, and he asked where i was from. i told him that too. then he wanted to see my driver’s license, which is weird because i was on foot and had taken the train across town to get there. i gave it to him and he scribbled furiously for a few minutes, then looked closely at my picture. then closely at my face. then he handed it back to me and asked me what i was doing in this part of town.

i told him i was waiting for my friend and that we had dinner plans. he asked me where she was, and i pointed to the apartment building. he asked why she was up there and i was down here, so i told him, and he wanted to know how long she’d been gone. i estimated three minutes. he looked knowingly at his partner and scribbled some more. just then my girlfriend came back downstairs and greeted him in spanish.

i don’t know a lot of spanish but i’d heard enough to figure out that he was asking her all the same crap he asked me. he wanted to know what floor she lived on, how long she’d lived there, and did she have a key. then he looked at her license and scribbled again. she looked at me and rolled her eyes. when she addressed him again, her tone was agitated, and he said something in spanish about her parents and that she should be quiet.

i glanced around and saw a drug deal going down on the corner across the street. my girlfriend saw it too, and pointed it out to the cop. he seemed uninterested, and started asking her more questions. he wanted to know if i understood spanish, and she said she didn’t think so.

he turned to me and said that i was an awful long way from home, and wanted to know how long i’d lived at my apartment. i told him that i was renting it for the summer while i was looking for a condo. he told me there weren’t any condos in this neighborhood.

just then a teenage boy came running out from two buildings down. he said that an apartment was on fire with a sick old lady and some cats inside, and asked for help. the two cops looked at each other, annoyed, and actually had to think about whether to go help that old lady or stay here and harrass two bisexual chicks who weren’t breaking any laws. finally they went, and a crowd gathered around the outside of the old lady’s building because smoke had started coming out her window.

my girlfriend grabbed my hand and we ran away through the crowd.

people make plans for a reason. all you have to do is tell them if you’re going to be there or not.

but i have so much to do. i’ll be there if i can fit it in.

you don’t fit it in. what you do is you commit to being there and then you work your schedule around that commitment. if you can’t make that commitment then you say no.

they’re all grown adults. they don’t need to sit around and wait on me. it shouldn’t be all about whether i’m there or not.

yes but if you would just make a commitment to being there or not being there, they could go on with their lives. because your plans are all up in the air, so are theirs. and therefore you are making it about you. if you would rsvp it wouldn’t be.

they’re my friends, right? they’ll be my friends regardless of whether i show up or not?

it’s called courtesy. you should look into it.

courtesy is bullshit. why do people need to be coddled and catered to?

rsvping to your friends is just like making a doctor’s appointment and then keeping it.

yeah, i don’t keep appointments. i treat my friends just like i treat everyone else.

but because they’re your friends, you shouldn’t. you should treat them nicer.

just because i have a baby face and do not look my real age does not give you the right to reprimand me like a child, even if you are older than me. i am a grown woman and 95% of the people in this world would have done the exact same thing i did.

why do people in this country care so much about a person’s intent or their remorse when judging them?

someone kills someone else and then hires a fancy shrink team to “prove” that they were temporarily insane. excuse me but you are either insane all the time or you’re a murderous fucking prick. in both cases you should be locked up forever and ever. and YOU should pay for it too. you better start whoring your way around that cellblock so you can afford your room and board. if you don’t, off to the big pasture where we bury people alive you go. oh shut up, you know they fucking have money in there.

and because you are a smart cookie you also know that i have several mundane examples which are more relevant.

someone cuts you off on the highway because they are too fucking lazy to check their blind spot, forcing you to slam on your brakes and thusly inviting the mammoth suv behind you to take a nap in your trunk. they wave at you though and mouth the word sorry.

your boyfriend falls in love with your “best friend” and they run away and live happily ever after. when breaking up with you, he explains condescendingly that cupid’s arrow always finds its mark and that he never would have intentionally hurt you.

that girl who is going down on you suddenly bites your labia, completely derailing the first-class orgasm train you were riding. she says that she meant to nibble and thought it would excite you more, but that this is her first time performing oral sex since she got that tooth capped and she forgets that she doesn’t need to overcorrect anymore.

it’s a really good thing you apologized or fucked up without any malicious intent, because that just makes everything all fucking better now doesn’t it?

okay so i didn’t stay home and watch porn. i actually did go out. and it was an okay day apart from the great big flaming meteor that landed on my roof while i was at work and caught my house on fire. i mean, it annoyed me that everyone stood around roasting marshmallows and laughing their asses off at my saucer-eyes when i pulled onto my block.

but they’re neighbors and they let me borrow cups of sugar and weedwhackers so i forgive them.

today i will not leave my house i will simply sit here in my cushy office chair and surf the web all day perhaps pausing occasionally to download some foreign porn which is always entertaining because even if you don’t like porn and hey who doesn’t you can always laugh at what can only be dirty talk in other languages which you do not understand unless of course you use that online translation software but even that probably only understands anatomically correct terms and let’s face it nobody in porn movies ever says please place your tongue on my clitoris because how hot of a thing is that to say to someone who is about to go down on you i mean that is a sensitive act of caring for your orgasmic well-being and they really do deserve better than that don’t you agree

in case you are wondering what sheer terror sounds like, it goes like this:

please god please no please please don’t let her come over here and hug me or anything.

it is somehow immensely appropriate that a caller who is inquiring about the panty color of the first female that answers the phone should be randomly connected to she who wears melodrama like smelly cheap perfume. and who also has probably the largest panties ever seen, which is not really optional when your ass is that big.

do they make those in red or only in granny off-white?

there has been a lot of guilty discussion lately about whether or not it is okay to wish bad things on other people.
my vote is yes. lets face it folks, if we WERE filled with sweetness and light the answer might be no. but I’m a bitch. what I would like is for that self righteous fucking cunt to get in a car accident and have her right hand cut off. THEN were would she be? maybe she would need people to be nice to her or help her? who knows, but that person sure wouldn’t be me.

I don’t know, maybe I am losing perspective here. but there just seem to be these people out there who have it all and flaunt it rudely. am I overly sensitive or do they really rub my nose in it all the time?

i was in the bookstore, perusing the women’s studies section, which of course contains all manner of lesbian content. which is eminently fascinating. as i was browsing through a lovely collection of lesbian erotica, this somethingteen pimply boy eyed me and sniggered loudly. i could be imagining, but probably not, that he muttered, ‘fucking dyke’ under his pizza breath.

i coolly ignored him for a few minutes, while he grabbed a lesbian sex manual, looking for pictures. little did he know i’d had bean burritos for lunch, and was prepared to use them.

i waited until a really fat guy was blocking the other end of the aisle. then i laid a big fat silent but smelly fart and walked away. it was so deadly that it hovered there, waiting for an unfortunate passerby to victimize, which it found a few seconds later in our own pubescent cretin, who nearly suffocated and collapsed against the bookshelf. handcrafted lesbian erotica and feminist theory spilled about his ankles, creating a quaint ruckus.

he knew it was me, but i didn’t care. i took my book of erotica and headed toward the checkout counter, pausing to

smirk

at him, knowingly.

dear ms. prissypants,

don’t think that we don’t all know that your husband is filthy rich and that you only work here to occupy your time. we know you’ve been with the company since before the dinosaurs and that you like all your shit just so, including your shifts and your blessed cubicle space. i know that when the person sharing your cubicle put their personal belongings two centimeters into your territory you nearly started a land war in asia. additionally, the younger generation of your colleagues is less than impressed with your enlightened fucking advice that marital fidelity is overrated because men do whatever they want anyway and so should their wives.

god forbid a light should go out near your desk because then you will whine to everyone around you that you can’t see what you’re doing. feel free to remember that you work on a fucking computer all day, and that light doesn’t matter. it’s not like you’re writing or reading something on hard copy anyway. oh, and of course when a colleague handles a client according to the rules in their contract, by all means consult said colleague and ask them about it. then go ahead and break the contract rules for the client, much to his glee and the chagrin of management, who will never, ever fire you because you are older than their parents. everybody knows that people with more seniority are automatically better employees and that when they get caught doing something wrong it can all be settled by selecting a younger scapegoat and having a few glasses of wine with your superior.

your numerous contributions to the toxic working environment are fully appreciated and you will receive a twenty percent raise each year along with retarded benefits, all of which you don’t really need anyway because you have a rich husband and no bills or kids to feed.

love,
emmie

ps: and yes, that whole body odor issue at the employee committee meeting was about you.

on the long trek from the ground floor up to my department i am invariably caught on the local. is it too much ever to ask that the elevator go directly from the lobby to the floor which is my final destination?

of course it is, emmie, we gods of karma have to have some entertainment now and then and there is nothing quite like you trapped in an elevator with someone you either do not know, do not like, or are a lowly underling to.

oh i see. well i guess your entertainment is actually pretty boring because there are a few standard conversations that happen over and over, and that must get kind of boring. for example:

scenario #1
me: (yawning because work is in fact the most boring part of my whole day)
person i don’t know: you too? i’ve got another six more hours in this place.
me: heh. poor you?
p.i.d.k.: i’ll say. how much longer are you in for?
me: only till six.
p.i.d.k.: wanna trade jobs? (belly laugh as though it is the wittiest remark ever)
me: heh.
p.i.d.k.: that’s my floor. hang in there!
me: heh. thanks. you too?

scenario #2
me: how are you? (not really caring but having to ask because they know me, sort of)
person i don’t like: whew! wishing i were somewhere else. how about you?
me: nah, i’m a masochist so i actually can’t wait to come here.
p.i.d.l.: (not knowing what a masochist is, really) i know, right?
me: not really, that was just a joke.
p.i.d.l.: oh. see you later, then.
me: (thinking) god, i hope not.

scenario #3
me: (thinking) oh, shit, that’s the big boss. i hope he didn’t hear me singing that annoying pop song that is stuck in my head.
the big boss: (pretending to really care who i am) well, hey! i haven’t seen you in a while. been on vacation?
me: not lately. you?
t.b.b.: i wish! i’m positively swamped with the budget reports.
me: heh. that’s why they pay you the big bucks.
t.b.b.: some days i would give it back to have your job again.
me: yeah, but then you’d have to carpool to work instead of driving a lexus.
t.b.b.: well, there’s that. have a good one!
me: (thinking) a good what? a good day? impossible. a good life, because you’re about to fire me? a good fuck? not with anyone around here.

as you can see, there is really not much interesting about such stupidly polite exchanges. none of those people get the fucking joke. by that of course i mean the fucking joke that is life. there are some hysterically funny things about, if you know under which rocks to look. but then my job is lower than dirt so there is no chance of any hysteria whatsoever.

oh. well we never thought of it that way before. you make a very good point. perhaps we will go somewhere else and do something more interesting, like pruning our shrubs or having a rumble with those demons over there. (singing) when you’re a jet…

a wise decision indeed.

you are sitting alone in a section of the department for a reason. and no matter what you think people think, they do not like you. they are in fact frightened of your size and your overbearing demeanor. nobody wants to get caught in the elevator, or the hallway, or the bathroom with you.

possibly the best way to handle this is not to broadcast some cheesy-ass comments that nobody wants to hear by projecting your voice at a volume which shakes the floor. it could very well be that this only adds to the discomfort of your associates and gradually push them so far from your desk that they are working in the parking lot.

from man to man to woman to man to husband to husband you run. you don’t have the discipline to even hold a job, but you expect other people to work and give you money while you fuck around.
Other people have to work a shitty job so that you can… pursue art? find yourself? be a lazy-ass fuck?

you realize that you can not take care of yourself? doesn’t that bother you?

and then you DARE say something shitty about my job? yeah my job SUCKS. but some people have to take care of themselves. so don’t fucking say shit like you would never have a job like mine. damn straight you would if you didn’t have some sucker paying your rent and buying you food and clothes.
bitch.

and sometimes you actually fucking make up excuses to avoid doing things that you don’t want to do. however, you are more creative in your avoidance. simply admit that you are too lazy or that you don’t feel like it right now or that you are procrastinator extraordinaire? how passe’! no, a creative genius like yourself can surely contrive a way to avoid a mundane task with artistic perfection! pay attention.

me: could you get me this report, please?
you: i’ll do it later.
me: but i need it now.
you: but if you have it now, you’ll have all of your data ready.
me: and this is bad because … ?
you: well i know how you thrive under the stress of an impending deadline.
me: . . .
you: i’ll give you that report later so you can have that adrenaline rush.
me: i don’t want an adrenaline rush, i want my report!
you: did you know that scientific studies show adrenaline rushes are helpful in both losing weight and quitting smoking?
me: what are you talking about?
you: well you want to lose weight and quit smoking, right? so i’ll help you.
me: @#$*&@#!!

people like you are the reason i got my first gray hair at the tender age of 23.

why the fuck do you bother asking me my opinion when you’re going to do whatever the hell you want to do anyway? huh? please explain to me the exact point of making a big deal over asking for my input only to completely fucking disregard it when the time comes to make a decision? i know it’s hard for you to believe this, but you are not always right about everything. additionally, there are fucking things i know more about than you do because i’ve done them and you haven’t.

you have made it painfully fucking clear that things which are important to me are of no fucking consequence to you whatsoever. all that has ever mattered is what you fucking want and even when i disagree i am somehow guilt-tripped into giving you your fucking way. and everyone i know says to me, emmie, why does that person do those things? why don’t you complain and force their behavior to change? and the answer, you fucking snide people, is that i am incapable of changing someone who will not be changed. there is no amount of money or sex or love or gifts or any number of other incentive that will accomplish such a thing.

them: i want to do this. what do you think?
me: but if you do this, it costs more money than if you do that.
them: so you want to do that instead of this?
me: it seems more logical to me for reasons a, b, and c.
them: i’m going to do this.
me: i’ll fuck you if you do that instead.
them: okay, let’s fuck.
(fucking)
me: now let’s do that.
them: i’ll see you later, i’m going to do this.

so in reality it is i who am the one getting fucked. only it’s up the proverbial ass with no lube in sight.

FUCKER!!!

my mother once told me that she tried smoking when she was a kid. she and her friend got totally busted and my grandmother made them smoke an entire carton in 24 hours to teach them a lesson. she said she got violently ill and never touched cigarettes again.

she harrasses me about smoking like almost every time i talk to her. which kind of annoys me. at the same time, when it hits me that i’ve been smoking for almost fifteen years, that kind of freaks me out, too.

i know certain people who are completely unreliable individuals. they are irresponsible, thoughtless, inconsiderate, and never punctual. dealing with them (as i have to) drives me out of my fucking mind. but then sometimes it suddenly makes sense why they are that way. observe.

a) it doesn’t take any special effort to forget birthdays or miss appointments. thus, you save energy which is better spent on things that you really want to do.
b) if everyone thinks that you are selfish, they won’t ask you to do anything that isn’t for yourself. which is cool, cause that’s what you want to do anyway.
c) when people realize they can’t count on you to give them a ride or be on time to that fundraiser, they won’t expect you to do it. and that means they will not be utterly crushed when you don’t make it there because something comes up. which something always does.

so while you’re not a hero or by any means anyone’s favorite person to make plans with, the up side is that at least you are not the asshole who promised the moon and only delivered a small cupful of rain water.

the horribly unfair thing about people like that is that other people who try to be punctual, reliable, responsible, and thoughtful get shat upon when they are not immediately available at a moment’s notice. and somehow that translates by the person doing the shitting into poor pitiful me, i have no real friends anywhere around me. which is fucking bullshit.

is it better to be not considered a friend ever, or is it better to be considered a good friend until the one day that you drop the ball for whatever reason and then be exiled to the Isle of Bad Friendom (which by the way is simply crawling with big nasty beasties who exist to stalk you and suck out your soul when you are sleeping)?

i think that it’s been
far, far, far, far, far too long
since our last haiku.

any comments implying that i’m on the wrong side of the fence and asking where my sympathies for victims are will be utterly fucking ignored, because victimization is a family tradition where i come from. and i know all about it. this is my (our) blog and we’ll say what we like. if you want to debate with someone about important social issues, get the fuck out of here.

we don’t have to explain ourselves to you, particularly not here.

have you ever noticed that people only cry sexual harrassment when it’s perpetrated by a) someone they don’t like or b) someone they used to like but who did something to piss them off?

i had a teacher who i thought was pretty cool. he was nice, he was my age, and he knew his shit. he also had a girlfriend, and i never once got the feeling that he would hit on me or wanted to. he singled me out as the top student in the class, and encouraged me when i succeeded. he would show me his latest art projects, most of which incorporated nudity or naked girls. he was really good at what he did, too. according to the legal definition, this type of overt sexual imagery in a place where i am supposed to be learning (the class was not about sex or about nude photography), can be construed as sexual harrassment. but i never once thought of it that way.

another teacher i had a few semesters later did the same thing, and it utterly offended me. there was a broader age difference between us, and he did not have a wife or girlfriend. i saw him on several occasions attempting to flirt with female teachers. he also singled me out as the top student in his class, and he sort of picked on me about it, implying that i wanted to be the teacher’s pet or that i had no life because my grades were so good. at the same time, it was clear that he picked on me because he liked me and didn’t know what to do about it. he never flirted with me either, but i know if he had i would have felt sexually harrassed.

it seems to me that much of what people consider harrassment stems from their impression of that person’s intentions. the first teacher i knew was completely harmless, and even if he’d flirted with me, i wouldn’t have cared. the other teacher obviously had some type of problem with women, and seemed to be on the prowl for anything in a skirt that would give him the time of day. i would have nailed his ass to the wall, had he flirted with me directly.

these cases are of course completely different from a case where a teacher insists upon sexual favors in exchange for a good grade, or the workplace equivalent. i’m just saying that the definition of harrassment has become so bloated and ridiculous that most everybody commits it technically on a regular basis.

ever cursed in the presence of your coworkers? forwarded a sexually suggestive e-mail? cracked blonde jokes at the company party? guilty, all. i know one man, a vice president in his company, who was threatened with a lawsuit because he threw the word ‘fuck’ around in meetings. not ‘i’m going to fuck you now,’ but more like, ‘where are those fucking statistics i asked for?’ and ‘what do you mean they cancelled the fucking meeting?’ he could have stayed had he censored himself, but instead he left where he’d worked for like 30 years in order to not be around people who had in a big way humiliated him.

i love words. words can have unbelievable impact, and invoke every emotion known to man. however, whether the words are just words that glance off your armor or actual daggers that penetrate the vulnerable spots is determined solely by your background and your relationship with the person that speaks those words.

which really isn’t a solid basis for legislation.

here’s me, at the mall.

me: (peeing)

enter a mom with three fucking kids, two of whom are girls and have every right to be in there. the third of whom is a boy, one old enough to pee on his own while having a rational conversation with mom about why he doesn’t need to close the stall door because they’re the only ones in here. (wrong again, sport.) he must be at least six.

okay, i can see bringing him in there if it’s just her and the kids, because of those horror stories of little boys being molested when they are alone in public bathrooms. whatever, i get the whole child safety thing. but then i hear the following:

boy: (after washing hands) mom, i’m going out, okay?
mom: no, wait for me.
boy: i’m gonna go talk to dad.
mom: okay, but you guys wait for me out there.

okay, stop the fucking presses right fucking there. where is dad? did you just say that he’s waiting outside? outside, where there is a men’s bathroom three feet away?

then why the fuck, lady, are you bringing your six year old boy into the fucking ladies’ room? huh? please give me one good fucking reason. what’s that? there isn’t one? except that you’re a fucking idiot? and your husband is a lazy asshole for not taking the boy into the restroom named for his very gender? oh, now i understand.

i fucking hate the mall.

apparently i am something of a cynic. or perhaps a pessimist. today i decided after a particularly irritating meeting that i needed to find a happy place. somewhere that i can imagine i am with some deep breathing and a mantra.

i didn’t know how to select a happy place, since it seems the key is to have the same place all the time, and i can’t think of anywhere so amazingly cool that i’d want to be there all the time. i mean, i have a short attention span, so everything gets boring kind of quick.

this girl i work with gave me examples of some happy places she’d heard of from friends and family. then she told me her own happy place, which involved lots of free money and a ridiculously large mansion with a swimming pool. or something. whatever.

she told me to think of someplace i’d been or something i’d been doing that made me happy once. and that it should preferably involve a member of the opposite sex. (why? what if i’m really into a girl? will it not be quite as happy? jeez.)

my first thought was that i was really relaxed once while making out in the sun on a trampoline with my boyfriend. we’d just had a swim, and were all soaking wet and sort of baking and making out, while bouncing. so my friend told me to use that place, but that guy eventually abused my trust and marred my eternal impression of him. i can clearly not use that.

she tried to have me substitute someone else for him. i told her that memories aren’t jpgs and you can’t just cut and paste stuff around like that. she didn’t understand why because she’s kind of thick.

i tried to think of other things that are supposed to be gladly remembered, such as prom night, which utterly sucked ass. beaches suck because sand gets in all your important crevices, and sunburn really hurts. and because i’m such a cynic, none of the stereotypical crap appeals to me.

someone find me a happy place. please?

i’m making a girlsinthebag swag cafepress store. so those of you who actually like us can take us with you everywhere you go. sort of. but i’m going to need some art, which is of course ellie’s department.

ahem.

friends are those people who will help you plot to seduce someone that you totally cannot have for any reason. they are also the people who stand outside the bedroom door while you are having completely forbidden sex with said victim. and they bring you another condom when yours breaks. friends are the people who remind you of what that guy’s last name was so you aren’t a total slut for not knowing. they are the ones who critique your oral sex performance on a beer bottle in a bowling alley. they lie to telemarketers and say you’re not home. and you can trust them with the knowledge that you are fucking your boss.

i swear to god if i had the money i would totally build a soundproof dungeon room. with a secret entrance behind a big pretty painting. i would put thick velvet drapes on the windows (there would have to be windows for those times i feel a little exhibitionist). purple, i think, to match the big peacock feathers in the decor. which could easily be plucked and used for tickle torture. also a hammock and one of those swings, and a four-poster bed designed to restrain at least one person and possibly two.

i once read a book that anne rice wrote that was sort of about sleeping beauty. replete with a big s&m manor and lots of slaves who were actually ex-rich people. some of them were ordered to stand in the garden naked and totally still, like some rich people decorate their gardens with big naked statues. everyone was forced to fuck everyone else, or else to be tortured by wanting to fuck and not being able to.

the best part was when the chick that ran the place tied sleeping beauty up naked on a big wooden barrel. then she poured warm butter between her legs and called the cat to lick it off.

it’s not quite bestiality i guess. or is it?

i do not have a box really. rather i have various places around the house where important sexual paraphernalia is stashed. here is a list, not complete or exhaustive but all i can think of without rummaging around. and i have a guest in my bed, so i don’t want to wake her.

one ex-vibrator which broke and is now simply a dildo
one tube of k-y
one travel sized bottle of astroglide
frederick’s of hollywood body butter, assorted flavors
some kind of lotion that gets hot when you blow on it
two strings of anal beads
one big vibrator, black and white marble colored, with a g-spot curve and lots of ridges
various pornographic magazines (mostly penthouse)
various pornographic videos (one starring me)
naked polaroids of me and a … friend
leather fur-lined wrist cuffs with chains for restraining
a leather riding crop
two or three copies of penthouse letters paperbacks
one vibrating egg
several nasty lingerie ensembles
two leather studded cock rings
a bunch of condoms, fairly new
a videocamera

okay, the videocamera is totally innocent. so far.

should I take it as a sign that I don’t like my job that I sit around in meetings thinking about dildos? or is that just a sign that I love dildos? a dildo does not care how you feel nor does it want you to constantly talk to it and take it to movies and stuff.
for all those reasons and more I love them. but then… where ARE all my dildos?
okay, I know you don’t know. ’cause nobody does. except me.And I just don’t care.
the big ‘ol box of sex toys I once so joyfully employed is now in the back of my closet collecting dust.

what’s in that box you wonder?

• 2 lengths of nice white soft rope you can get at the hardware store. one thick and the other skinny
• a purple butt plug
• “the duke”: the perfect size black dildo with fabulous suction action for attaching to chairs and the like.
• various vibrating eggs
• various and sundry clip type things:clothespins, black plastic clips
• astroglide – in bottle and in travel size
• some condoms
• some never-to-be-used dental dams
• a smaller thinner and harder dildo, purple in color.
• dildo harness
• leather wrist cuffs
• several collars
• some chain : gotta that cold chain against the skin!
• rotating vibrator

what is in your box?

i am tired of exploring the wonderful world of raves and video games.

i don’t own an outfit that covers more than 45% of my body. i do, in fact, braid my my pigtails. my brother’s name is bubba, and he taught me to use a shotgun when i was six. i’m a drinker, a smoker, and an easy lay.

i have a pet raccoon and live next to a creek in a double wide. there are no less than four gutted pick-up trucks in various states of rust in my yard. i keep my hunting dog tethered in the backyard next to the moonshine still. i lost my virginity when i was ten to my third cousin while we were playing hide and seek in the deer blind.

i wear fire engine red lipstick, all the time.