Spontaneous Hilarity is the Best Kind!

So yesterday I was at the Post Office doing Post Office-y type things and I see this little boy of about six or seven with his mother. This kid's being your run of the mill little bastard: banging stuff around, asking too many questions, squeezing his toy kitty cat which meows at a ridiculous volume, etc. Well, this little kid and his mother do their business at the counter and then head out the door. I drop off the postcards I was mailing and also head out the door. As I'm digging for my keys, which have inevitably fallen into the depths of my bag, I see a slight commotion ahead of me. I glance up, only to lay my eyes on one of the most fantastical things I have ever seen. The aforementioned kid had apparently taken a tumble as he was skipping down the corridor towards the exit. Not only that, but when he fell... his pants fell down too. So I look up to see this little boy struggling to get up and pull his pants up at the same time. He was kinda doing that hop and jump thing people do when pulling their pants up that makes them look like they were participating in a bean bag race. And when I say his pants fell down, I mean they fell down. I saw this poor little kid's entire butt. HA! HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!

I laughed so hard I almost shit myself.

Outgoing Message

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This is what they call tough love

Britney then:

Britney now:

Britney then:

Britney now:

Then:

Now:

What happened Brit? You used to be America's sweetheart. Every guy wanted to touch you all over. And now this. I'm not harping on you for the weight gain, I mean ,you popped out two babies in the time it takes to make a microwave bag of popcorn. But why do you insist on dressing like you shop at the Magic Mart? Or the store where strippers get their "costumes"? Why do you wander around in minuscule skirts and no underpants? Why do you always look like you're on the last leg of a cross country road trip and the only sanitary measures you've taken are a whores bath in a restroom outside of Clovis, NM and a pack of Handi-Wipes that you found in the glove compartment? Stop effing around, take care of your kids (and I mean you take care of your kids, don't just hand them off to the nanny or your mom or the latest guy that you threw up on), quit dying your hair, or at the very least, WASH your hair and take some time to regroup. Maybe hit the spa... or the gym. I'm just saying. I promise we won't forget about you if we don't see your swimsuit parts for a couple of weeks. Ok?

Insomnia and the Undead.

Since Bear's been gone I've been having trouble sleeping. It started with me being very tired but not being able to "turn off" when I was in bed. Now it's switched over to not being anywhere near tired until about 3 or 4 in the a.m. I don't care for insomnia. I find it tiresome and tedious.

Last night, or this morning rather, I had a horrific dream about zombies... AGAIN!! This has been my psyche's nightmare of choice since my brother introduced me to Dawn of the Dead about 2 years ago. (Before that it was Leatherface from TCM.) Like in every dream it starts with a quickly spreading epidemic of the undead and ends with TERROR!!! This dream was different, however, in that I would lift out of my body and see what other people were doing. At one point, the man I was with (Everyone else had gotten lost or eaten) slipped off to get supplies. (We were in a shopping mall or maybe a train station or possibly a school.) Well, as he slipped off, I slipped up into the air and watched him as he found a barely "live" zombie and began to drink it's blood. For those of you out there who are unfamiliar with zombie lore: This is a giant NO-NO! You don't want any zombie fluids getting near your fluids because that is how you become said zombie. So I basically see this guy commit suicide by turning himself into a ticking time bomb. And the second I see him do it, I know that he's done it because he's going to kill me. This isn't some "If I'm gonna go, I'll go on my own terms!" type of thing. The man is planning on becoming a zombie when he's alone with me so that he can devour my flesh and turn me into the UNDEAD!!!!

Obviously, I quickly returned to my body, which was waiting patiently where I had left it, and got the hell outta Dodge... but not before taking the time to equip myself with some badass weapons. Max Brooks would've been proud.

I have no idea what the dream meant, if it meant anything. I do know that I walked around the house this morning in my nightgown fully expecting a zombie to come tumbling out of the closet... or the bathroom... or the dishwasher. Fortunately, I had one of those shine boosting treatments for my hair so I occupied myself with that for a while to take the edge off. There's nothing like super shiny locks to make a gal completely forget the irrational and illogical fear of the undead.

A well deserved rant

Ok. Let me preface this post by saying to any of my blonde pals out there who might be reading: This post isn't directed at you. You are all lovely folks and I love each of you dearly.

Now let's get down to business. While Bear and I were in WDW I saw a gal, blonde, walking around with a shirt that said "I had a nightmare that I was a brunette." Ummm... is this highly offensive to anyone else?!?! That's like wearing a shirt that says "I had a nightmare I was black." Gross, right? I didn't choose to have silky, espresso locks, I was blessed with them which is more than I can say for the OBVIOUS dye job on Little Miss Bad Taste in Shirts. And in the Happiest Place on Earth of all places...

So my feelers are hurt over this lame girl in her nasty t-shirt and I'm still feeling salty about the whole thing when I turn on the tube to watch 30 Rock and there's Jane Kakrowlsakhfdodiufhi telling Tina Faye that she can't have been serious about becoming an actress because... SHE'S A BRUNETTE!!! WTF?!?!?!?

AND THEN I'm watching The Girls Next Door (a show where I love almost every person but especially Bridget because she's so cute and so sweet and she cries when people are nice to her and her breasts are real and she's the definition of zaftig) and Kendra says that the girls deserve to be on the cover of Playboy because how can one brunette even compare with three hot blondes? Ok, I agree that the girls next door are gorgeous and I'd kill to look like any one of them (even Kendra is who rather gutter snipish as Bear puts it) but come on!

When did brunettes become the red headed stepchildren? Oops! Well... you know what I mean.

Are the blondes in the world starting to feel threatened by brunettes? I mean, why all the hostility all of a sudden? The thing that gets me most about all this is that I know pretty darn well that none of the aforementioned blondes were natural blondes! They've all been dyed to within an inch of their lives. I bet they were that nondescript ashy dark blonde/light brown color too. Hmph!

In the immortal words of "Romance" from the hit tv show I Love New York: Unprofessional.


p.s. I can't for the life of me figure out the difference between blonde and blond. If I've used it incorrectly in this post just let me know. And consider it payback, you hateful bitches!!

p.p.s. I apologize for the rather incoherent nature of this post. I'm tired and a wee bit cranky and Bear's been gone for like eight weeks it seems and it just all got the better of me at 12:28am. Meh.

This was undoubtedly one of the weirdest experiences of my life.

It's always a little unsettling to have Tigger tell you that he knows you...

It's times like these when I have to tell myself "Don't be a twat."

Coming back from a vacation when you're unemployed seems is a bit anti-climatic. On one hand there's no stress or rush to unpack and do laundry. On the other hand, there's nothing to do but unpack and do laundry. Sigh...

I think that I've handled this whole no job situation pretty well. I've discussed, and truthfully I might add, how I'm excited to get out and see what else is out there, to experience new places and new things, to learn from new people, etc, etc, etc. However there is also this part of myself that cringes inwardly when I hear about the folks around here starting work back up. There is that little part of me that wants to pout and sit in the corner whining "Why them and not me?" That's when I have to tell myself not to be a twat. I don't want to be that gross girl that people are afraid to talk to because they're scared that I'll say something vile and make the whole situation uncomfortable. No one likes that person. I certainly don't like that person and therefore want to avoid becoming her at all costs. Still... it's hard sometimes.

My biggest fear is that I won't get any job offers and I'll have to see the look on people's faces when I tell them that nothing came through. Gack! It's that look of disappointment and pity that I hate. And then I get defensive and start thinking mean thoughts and I have to tell myself not to be a twat again. See?! It's a never ending cycle!!

My biggest hope is that I get a cool job offer that will teach me a lot and will also let me have two weeks off in November for family time. A job where I'll get to work with cool people, or do something I'm scared of, or improve on areas where I need improving. A place where I'll laugh a lot and be happy. That's the big hope.

That's the brass ring, as they say.

I wonder if "they" ever got let go from a job they loved.

Something to think about...