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Monthly Archives: April 2014
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It’s that time of year again, the weather is warm and all the dog owners have their canines on parade. Other than shitting everywhere and the occasional mauling, I have no real problem with dogs. Their owners, well that’s another story. I have a friend who compulsively pets every dog she sees. Hiking with this girl can take an extra minute depending on how many dogs we encounter. I understand dog people meet each other this way, but I don’t want to pet your dog. When I don’t bend down to gush, owners look at me like I’m calling their firstborn child retarded. Today, this girl had her puppy leashed to the fence during lunch – obviously baiting us with puppy cuteness. She acted annoyed when people “interrupted” her to fuss over her adorable babydog. You’re the one rolling one puppy deep on a sunny Saturday you attention-seeking bitch. Eyeroll. Back in college, I had this dumbass friend Marisha who was wandering around the city one hot summer day. A dog was locked inside a car with the windows cracked. Well-meaning Marisha, concerned for the pup, administered water from her plastic water bottle through the window crack. During the attempted hydrating, the ungrateful twatdog bit her hand. Moral of the story: other people’s dogs aren’t for you.
And pick up your pooch poo.
I’m all for going big on birthdays. I’m happy to be included in an ensemble dinner celebrating my friend’s birth. What I do not enjoy is picking up the financial slack for the other diners. Explicitly, attendance at a birthday dinner means you are communally paying for the birthday boy/girl’s dinner, drinks, and gratuity. I was recently at a dinner of about 15 people celebrating a friend’s birthday. I told the server to put birthday girl’s order on my tab. Whether the majority lack mindfulness or are just cheap, only 2 people of 15 attendees offered a contribution to the birthday girl’s portion of the bill. I can’t excuse such grotesque and tacky behavior. These grown folks should know better. Err on the side of generosity in dealing with matters that involve communal cash. Verify the bill is adequately covered including a generous tip for the server. If you are invited to such a dinner and finances are a concern, it’s your responsibility to budget for you + 1, which may mean you order one less drink or a less expensive meal.
Please tell me you watched the premiere of True Tori on Lifetime last night. It was everything. True Tori proves there are no bounds to Spelling’s self-delusion. First, we’re all supposed to pretend this is the only time Dean’s cheated. Tori honey, Dean cheated with you, and he’s been cheating on you. He’s a big fat cheater. Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow. Does anyone honestly believe this was an isolated incident? Dean strikes me as a guy who is as indiscriminately unfaithful as his opportunities.Tori had the audacity to say, “Don’t feel sorry for me.” Oh don’t worry; we don’t. She complained about raising 4 kids on her own. Do you think she thought about Dean’s then-wife Mary raising their 2 kids alone when Spelling went husband-snatching on the set of her sad little Lifetime movie 7 years ago? I suspect not. In a pathetic ploy to garner undeserved audience sympathy, Spelling shamelessly plays put-upon mommy despite my hunch that she has a fleet of nannies hovering conveniently out of frame to provide behind the scenes support while Deano’s trolls the inpatient ward for his latest conquest. Tori and Lindsay must have graduated from the same learning annex course on self-exploitation through bad reality programming. Both celebrities offer up publicist-curated versions of their mundane lives sprinkled generously with oversharing of their most private personal dramas – all whilst complaining about the constant paparazzi swarm who keep them on the covers of tabloids. Happy to whore themselves out to a reality show camera crew for personal monetary gain, these bitches clutch their pearls in outrage should anyone else profit off the insatiable interest in their misfortune. These two skinny bitches must have discovered hypocrisy burns more calories than Adderall.
I’m so over fucking Coachella, Burning Man, and any other bullshit that involves a hoard of entitled fuckers eating drugs in the desert pretending it’s art.
I’m so over Game of Thrones. Dragon dearth.
I’m so over guys who only care about their own orgasm. The girls in the porn aren’t actually climaxing you lazy, delusional douche.
I’m so over Jenelle Evans getting pregnant.
I’m so over Sonja Evans describing her outdated, ill-fitting ensembles by listing the designers. “It’s Oscar.” It’s ugly.
I’m so over people throwing cigarette butts everywhere. As if the smoking isn’t gross enough.
Even though I love my Clarisonic, the replacement heads border on prohibitively expensive. After eying the generic replacement brush heads on Amazon, I ordered to see if they measure up to the Clarisonic standard. Considering Clarisonic replacement heads are more than 10x as expensive as the generic, the potential bargain is alluring. So far I haven’t been disappointed. I can tell no discernible difference between the generic and the Clarisonic, save the price. Moral of the story? Pocket your money and buy the generic replacement heads. Change the brush quarterly.
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