Sep 30, 2009

How Was Your Summer?

I have been dreading running into people in my hometown in fear that they may ask "Hey Amanda, how was your summer?"

I have been avoiding local hotspots like the grocery store, in fear that the below response would fly out of my mouth:  *This is intentionally 1 sentence.*

"Well I didn't have a job which meant that I barely went out and when I did, I would be sweating so much that the front of my hair went curly while the back was straight and my skin was oily so no one talked to me  at the bar so I ended up drinking a lot because I felt so unattractive and the drinking caused me to have major heartburn the next day which mimmicked a heart attack and created a lot of anxiety which in turn made my road rage intolerable which increased my bitchiness so when I got home to my parents place which I just moved into at the age of 28 and where I will die, I would fight with them because I was dying of a hangover and lingering road rage which would cause me to eat my feelings and stay up all night watching documentaries on deadly bear attacks and repeats of extreme home makeover in between googling "celebrities with cellulite" and eventually I would fall asleep for maybe an hour or two and dream of what it would be like to have sex then I would wake up and think about the time I thought I was pregnant and immediately be turned off then remember I live with my parents so chances of me having sex are like the chances of me discovering the cure for cancer and then I would think about how much cellulite I have and want to stay in bed all day, but that wouldn't be possible because of the telemarketers that call our house 4 million times a day so I couldn't sleep so after I thought about it, I would get my fat scottish ass out of the bed to go down and stand in my parents fridge for oh... I don't know- about 30 minutes and then promptly complain that there was nothing to eat, squeeze in Law and Order at noon, sit on facebook for a couple hours, think about something witty to say in 140 characters or less to update my twitter page of which I mainly follow celebrities because their lives are far more interesting than mine only to update my status and have no one @tweet me, then I would try and catch a nap before Ellen started but that was impossible because I was continually thinking about not having a job while rubbing anti-wrinkle cream on my forehead wrinkle and then I would get a text from Meagan about her latest date and then think about how I am not dating then go on a dating website only to be verbally accosted by complete strangers whose tag line was "I would do anything for love." which really meant "I am fat, desperate, socially inept and super creepy and have a really small penis" so they would message me and ask me out which caused me to hide my profile and swear off online dating then my mom would come home see me in my pajamas and tell me that I needed to get a life and then I would say "with whose money...yours?" then she would tell me to "fuck off", at which point I would grab her car keys take off in her car in my pajamas and drive around the neighbourhood and scream sing "Billy Jean," while simutaneously crying and wishing that my summer was better. How was your summer?"

Sep 24, 2009

I Need A Muzzle

If you haven't noticed, I am awful at keeping this blog up to date. I wish I could say it's due to my chronic dating addiction and Maxim photo shoots but no such luck. (In reality it's more like I have been busy with my addiction to internet porn and Betty Crocker.)  I have however, been interviewing at a few companies and have been offered a job. I immediately took it and am very excited about it...looks like I won't be dying a spinster in my parents basement afterall. All my repenting for being a tad slutty in my younger years has finally paid off.

I am not quite sure how I managed to pull off my first interview. I know I can be charming but I actually sounded incredibly intelligent. I was so proud of myself. I didn't sweat, swear or mumble which in my books, is a good day.

However, in my second interview, I really felt the pressure to "bring it,"  because I knew it was a good sign they asked me to come back. Despite the fact that my ass had been eating my pants all morning and my wedgie was splitting me in half, I managed to pull off another great interview. I felt incredibly comfortable. So comfortable in fact that when my boss asked me what I was doing this weekend, I told him "pole dancing." Which wasn't a lie. I was going to learn how to be an exotic dancer at a bachelorette party I was going to.  It literally just flew out of my mouth. He stared at me with a blank look on his face. At this point the oxygen supply was limited to my brain. I felt my face turning purple and the awkwardness between us was unreal. He then followed it up with "Don't go moonlighting as a stripper, " and thankfully, began to laugh.

Holy fuck. Was I really having this conversation with my new boss who thinks I am smart and professional?

Wait, it gets worse.
I decided to take the spotlight off of me as he was walking me to the elevator so I asked him "What are you doing this weekend?" Now please keep in mind that I had been working on my positive attitude prior to this interview so my response to everything would be enthusiastic and it would appear to others that I am not an empty shell like I have felt for months.

"Well, one of my colleague's father passed away suddenly so I am going to the funeral home tonight..." before he could finish, I responded with great enthusiasm  "Nice!" I immediately had a flashback from the movie P.S I Love You when Harry Conick Jr. asks Hillary Swank "What did he die from?"
"A brain tumor."

Thankfully, my boss continued talking without the acknowledgement of my inappropriate conversation skills.

No doubt I will be back on the market in no time for another job.

Keep it real bitches.


Sep 14, 2009

The Littlest, Creepiest Librarian

I typically avoid going to the local library since my incident last summer and the fact that printing on the library's paper has now afforded me the option of only sending one of my future children to University. It's so effing expensive. Did Jesus touch this paper? Was it recycled from the menus of "The Last Supper?" Jesus.

Anyway, this post isn't about the cost of paper (BORING) it's about the creepy 4 foot tall woman that swears she knows me and eerily watches me from her desk everytime I go in there. Before I even go into the library, my heart starts to palpitate in fear that the elf they have employed there is going to touch me inappropriately behind the book shelves.

It was last summer when I was at the library quite a bit doing some research on doing my post-grad studies when I went to check out a movie (Win a Date With Tad Hamilton. Fuck he's hot.) that Tinkerbell struck up a conversation.

Her-"I know you from somewhere."
Me in my head-Tell me I didn't sleep with your husband.
Me for real-"Oh really? I grew up around here."
Her-"Your name is Susan."
Me in my head- Shouldn't you ask me if that's my name and not tell me?
Me for real-"Oh, I'm sorry it's not. You must have the wrong person." (Even then for some reason, I had a funny feeling that this could turn into a scene from Misery with me tied to a bed and her standing over me with a sledge hammer.)
Her-"Yes it is." She stared right through me. Ugh. Gives me shivers.
Me for real-"No. No it's not. My name isn't Susan-it's Amanda."

It went silent as her beady little eyes just looked up at me. I took my movie and ran.
A couple days later, I went back in hopes that she wouldn't be there. Sure enough she was and has been subsequently every time I have gone back. Each time I go back, I see her become slightly aroused that I am there. She gets this odd look on her face and this head tilt as she watches me. (I have exceptional side glancing abilities.)

Tonight, I just went in for a couple minutes to print some things and there she was. The devil-all wrapped up in a little, short weird package staring at me like I just ran over her favourite cat. Ew. Just writing this I am baby barfing in my mouth a little.

So OF COURSE, the computer that I am using isn't able to print my stuff and there are no other computers available.(I had to make this visit short as Intervention was coming on and I started to panic.) Anyway, I frantically looked around to find a librarian that wasn't busy but to my luck and instant horror I saw the anti-christ walking towards me. Game time decision-do I ask her for help and risk winding up dead in the forest by my house? Or do I wait patiently? Patience is not my virtue so out it came-
"Excuse me? Can you help me with my computer?"
She didn't say anything. Nothing. She just stared at me. What the fuck do you do in this situation? SO WEIRD. So I just turned around and walked away-she followed me.
I got back to my desk and sat down and she literally came up behind me and pretty much rested her head on my shoulder. I am talking like she was blowing in my ear.
"Give me the mouse." She whispered. Ahhhhhhh...She's so creepy.
I sat there and didn't move a muscle.

Her garlic breath wafted up my nasal cavity and into head triggering horrible memories of eating pizza after the bar. I thought to myself as her dirty nails gripped the mouse, "Is this going to be the last thing I remember before she jumps out of the glove compartment of my car and smothers me?" God help me.

Before long my pocket sized friend had my problem fixed and THREW my papers at me. I am really not sure what to make of this situation. Should I just tell her my name is Susan to avoid being a 48 Hours Mystery special?

You say it best, when you say nothing at all.

When in doubt, don't say anything. Which is what I told my father the day after the vagina monologue aired  in my parents house. (See below blog post for further explanation.)

I wasn't able to choke on the feathers in my duvet so I eventually went down stairs and faced my Dad. At first, I just stuck to speaking to my mom. My dad, feeling left out looks at me out of no where and says "I used to wipe your bum." For some reason he had to get yesterday's episode off his chest.

"C'mon. Fuck. Dad, " I yelled. "Is it necessary to bring this up? Jesus." I could feel my face turning as purple as his as my mom stood chopping onions and scream laughing in the kitchen.

Why say anything? Really? I understand that verbal diarreah runs in the family but it's kind of an event that you don't speak of. For instance, it's like the first time you have sex with someone and talk dirty and the other person looks at you and says "what?" You just don't bring it up. Ever. It's like it didn't happen.

Anyway, felt as though I needed to follow up and let you know that I survived.

Sep 1, 2009

Tiny Blog

Today a homeless man on the street told me he wants to "give it to me good." After stopping to contemplate his offer, I decided against it. Although looking back there have been no other offers on the table lately and technically I wouldn't ever have to tell anyone. It's not like I would tell my friends " I hooked up with a homeless dude yesterday behind a dumpster." Oh well, life is full of regrets.

This is off topic but is anyone else wildly sick of hearing about Michael Jackson? Don't get me wrong he is a legend, but let the man rest. Speaking of rest, his father looks like he hasn't slept in... oh I don't know, about 60 years. He looks a bit like this pimp I used to work for man I used to know.
Anyway, I will be going offline for a couple days until I get wireless access at my parents. Oh dear Jesus help me.