8.09.2009

like finding nemo. in hell.

I went to the aquarium the other day. What an absolute hell hole. $30 to walk around in a dank, half-underground cave, looking at ugly little fish, whose faces reminded me of that disapproving look my father used to get upon reading my high school report cards. I had to suppress the urge to explain to the fish that I don't need school anyway, because I'm going to be an actress and damn them all for what they think of me.


To top it off, the place was absolutely teeming with small children. I could hardly turn around without nearly knocking over some drooling brat or two. I understand that the aquarium is typically a family destination, but being 6 doesn't mean you automatically get first dibs on everything fun. Or that you can run around shrieking about mermaids and everyone will find you precious. Children really need to be trained like dogs: keep them on a leash until they can comport themselves in a well-behaved manner.

That would, of course, be presuming that the parents of said spawn had any modicum of consideration for their fellow fish fanciers. Obviously, not the case. If they weren't shoving past me and my camera to press their bouncing babies up against the glass while cooing "look at the fishies, look at the fishies" -- what else is it going to look at, lady, you have it's face laminated against the tank-- it was only because they were too busy ploughing through the crowds with their armored strollers (complete with cow-catchers) to get to the next sea creature before anyone else. I think one woman expected me to climb in next to the octopus in order to get the hell out of her way.

On the other hand, SEA OTTERS!


5.11.2009

geriatrics are beating me at life

In my renewed attempt to not be such a fat fuck, I went for a run this morning. By run, I mean that I alternated between minute-long spurts of half-hearted jogging and carrying my sorry ass along as fast as my stumpy legs could manage whilst swinging my arms in a humiliating attempt at "power" walking. Obviously.

I am so embarrassingly out of shape. There were senior citizens out there, and they were KICKING MY ASS. And being chipper-as-can-be, each of them smiling and greeting me as I tried to avoid eye contact, hoping they wouldn't notice the sweating, panting hot mess of a girl blundering past them. Oh, I'm sorry, I'm just trying to decide if the burning sensation in my chest is my lungs threatening to retire or the beginnings of a heart attack, but yeah, GOOOOOD MORNINGGGG.

Fuck off, old people. Stop rubbing your vim and vigor in my face at 7 am.

4.21.2009

and it's not frapp, it's frappUCCINO. assholes.

I'm just going to put this out there. If you don't like coffee and you don't like tea, DON'T FUCKING GO TO STARBUCKS, MAYBE? JESUS.

Any Starbucks beverage that doesn't have coffee or tea in it is a waste of your money. Why the fuck would you pay five dollars for a Vanilla Bean Frappuccino, when you can just go get a goddamn milkshake from Dairy Queen or some shit, and it will taste better and be WAY cheaper? I mean, ordering any Frappuccino should automatically disqualify you from life, but Strawberries & Cream? Suck a dick.

Also, don't grab a juice from the front case and then ask me to blend it. I don't really have a good reason for hating this, other than the fact that you've taken a simple drink that requires no effort and turned it into a slightly more complicated drink that requires a minimal amount of effort. I don't want to make an effort, all I want is a fucking cigarette, OK?

AND TO ALL YOU VIVANNO-DRINKING PRICKS: FUCK OFF. I HATE YOUR FACE AND WANT TO SHOVE IT IN A BLENDER THE SAME AMOUNT OF TIMES IT TAKES TO BLEND YOUR GODDAMN, PIECE OF SHIT PROTEIN SHAKE. WHICH IS A LOT. YOU SHOULD KNOW, SINCE YOU JUST STAND AT THE HAND-OFF COUNTER AND STARE AT ME WHILE YOUR DRINK BLENDS FOR THE 27TH TIME. AND THEN HAVE THE BALLS TO ASK "Ummmm, excuse me, is my drink coming?" UMMMM, EXCUSE YOU, HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IT THROWN IN YOUR FUCKING EYE? FOLLOWED SHORTLY THEREAFTER BY MY TINY FIST? I hate you all.

It's no wonder that anyone who has ever served me at Booster Juice has always looked like a miserable cunt.