My thoughts on the Kimye wedding

I’m always excited to get my weekly installment of People Magazine; it’s like my connection to the outside world, where I live vicariously through rich celebrities and their fabulous lives. But this came a few days ago.


FYI…I hate the nickname as much as I hate the wedding.

Contain your excitement! I know I could barely stand it, almost pissing myself like a Chihuahua, out of pure joy…not. (On a side note: My potty-mouthed counterpart, PM1 and I just had a pretty idiotic convo about how the use of “not” as a joke is played out. I’m gonna try to bring it back…not.)

But back to what this post is about. How could People Magazine do this? A full cover dedicated to the debacle that was the Kimye wedding along with twenty, holy fucking shitballs, twenty (grainy as hell) EXCLUSIVE pictures. Now imagine my shock when I saw this sitting among my mail. I thought it was over. The wedding took place, so I was hoping it would all go away and I could get back to reading about sweet fuck all on E! and Facebook and Twitter, but I was sadly mistaken.

Am I the only one who remembers that we indulged this self-absorbed pseudo celebrity a few years ago when she married that giant? And let’s not forget to mention her first shotgun marriage to that stepping stone up the B-list ladder, the music producer. (Oh yeah, and that sex tape “scandal”. Yeah fucking right, scandal my tiny ass. That was just a calculated jumping off point to begin the media blitz that became Kim Kardashian. When are people going to learn??? That shit gets leaked! If you don’t want your freshly wax crotch all over the Internet, don’t take a picture of it. If you don’t want your jiggly ass (trust me no one’s ass looks good during sex) plastered on freeporn or whatever, then don’t record it. Derailed…) Back to my point, not that I have one entirely.

Now I’m not going to sit around and bitch that she’s trashing up the sanctity of marriage and whatnot, because, let’s face it that was already shot to shit by the millions of Americans who get divorced every year. I have no problem with divorce, it happens. People are impulsive, as a society we make poor choices. Live with it. But this shit is what pisses me off. The overindulgence, the constant media frenzy that surrounds something that has little to no meaning, since it has been done so many times. Fine, get married three times, get married thirty times for all I care, but for the love of fucking everything, stop making it a moneymaking, ego boosting, self-absorbed dirt bag fest. Just because you’re wealthy doesn’t make this whole thing any less trashy than an episode of 16 and Pregnant.

Btw…just in case you were wondering, Jay-Z and Beyonce did show up, but Kim’s tubby brother didn’t. I feel your pain, buddy; I’d eat to drown my sorrows if I was part of this runaway train too.

Anyone want to start an over/under on how long this one’s gonna last?


Please, shut the f**k up…



So last night I went and saw X-Men: Days of Future Past. Yes, this movie was awesome, probably one of the best in the entire series. The ending in particular had me squealing like a Japanese schoolgirl in a Hello Kitty store. But that’s not what this post is about…PM2 and I will regal you in a separate post about how much we loved this movie and in particular, the boys in it.

No this post is about my movie going experience, which almost led me to punch a 7 year old kid in the face.

So being that this was an X-Men movie, I went for the premium, extreme screen and sound, fancy seats, more expensive option. I’m totes ok with this, it is after all, X-Men, I like to be comfortable when I enjoy these boys. What I didn’t count on however, was the 20+ kids that occupied the row behind me, supervised by 2 adults who clearly couldn’t give a fuck about anything, but especially about the fact that these kids spent the next 2 hours ruining everyone’s movie going experience.

Pretty much from the time the movie started to the time the credits rolled, these kids talked non-fucking-stop. And this was despite repeated, “shut the fuck ups” from me, and others, in the cinema. I don’t give a fuck how excited you are, no one needs a running commentary of every single fucking thing that’s going on in the movie. But I especially don’t need it from a 7 year old who has no concept of volume control or even what the hell is going on half the time.

But it got worse, because not only did they never shut the fuck up, on three separate occasions, they all decided on a mass exodus from the movie theater in a style that resembled a running of the bulls…or a herd of elephants…or 20+ kids who simply don’t give a fuck. Of course this was followed up with all these kids running back into the theater, talking, laughing and kicking seats as they found their way back to their row.

I mean, I really don’t understand why these adults wasted their money even buying them tickets. They probably only saw half the fucking movie and when they were sitting there “watching” it, they never shut the fuck up.

And yes I realize I sound like a crabby bitch here. It’s not that I don’t like kids, I do, it’s just that when I pay for a premium movie experience, I don’t expect to have it ruined by a bunch of 7 year olds who not only shouldn’t be watching a PG-13 rated movie in the first place, but who are supervised by 2 adults who simply don’t give a fuck.


Mouthgasm: A follow up to the fruit post


After the tragic fruit incident at work today, I needed something to help me recover. So, what do I do? I drive to Portillo’s and order an entire chocolate cake. Yep the whole thing. Not a slice…the whole fucking cake.

Here’s how that went down. I walked up and the girl at the register smiled at me and asked what I would like to order.

Me: I’d like a chocolate cake, please.

Girl: (No longer smiling) Um, ok. A slice of chocolate cake.

Me: No. The whole cake.

Girl: Um, ok. The whole cake?

Me: Yes. The whole cake.

By now I was getting a little annoyed, but I really wanted my damn cake. So I continued to have this idiotic conversation.

Girl: Is this for here or to go?

Before I could answer, she stopped me and informed me that I needed to purchase an entire cake at the catering counter. The register I was currently standing at only took orders for “regular” sized orders. What the fuck does that even mean??

Still needing my chocolate cake, I stepped down to the catering counter, which should just say, “Counter for fat ass ordering an entire chocolate cake.” And here’s how that went down.

Another smiling girl greets me.

Girl #2: Hi, what can I help you with?

Me: I would like a chocolate cake, please.

Girl #2: A slice of cake.

Me: (Growing really annoyed, I may have let out a small huff before responding.) No, the entire cake.

Girl #2: The entire cake?

Me: Yes. (I’m not completely sure but I may or may not have said, “fuck” out loud.)

Girl #2: Is this for here or to go?

Me: (Rolling my eyes and possibly letting loose another “fuck”.) It’s for here. I’m going to consume an entire chocolate cake myself. Just give me a fork.

Girl #2: Oh, ok. No problem.

Me: Hey, that was a joke. It’s to go.

By this point Girl #2 said nothing, just bagged my cake and handed it to me. I can’t imagine I’m the only person to ever order a whole cake from Portillo’s, but the two girls working the counter sure made me believe that I was.

But none of that mattered when I ate that first slice. AHHHHHHHHH-MAZING… It was orgasmic!

Don’t judge me, someone brought fruit to work today and called it a treat!!


Hubs B: What the f**k are you thinking?



When I met Hubs B I was nineteen and obviously blinded by love, because when he informed me of his favorite movie, I should’ve run for the hills. But I didn’t.

His favorite movie is one of those conversations that reappears on a fairly regular basis. Today was one of those days.

Hubs B’s love of this movie still shocks me because he is far too brilliant to think this movie is anything but shitastic. But he won’t budge on this one. While flipping through the channels, he noticed the movie was on and stopped to watch it. I gave a good hearty eye roll, but it only spawned Hubs B to defend his love of this idiotic movie.

Like PM1, Hubs B likes to list things in number order. Here’s how his lists went down in explanation of why his favorite movie is totally fucking amazing.

Btw…Hubs B’s favorite movie is Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit (Yep, just typing it made me LOL. For fuck’s sake, even the original Sister Act would’ve been more acceptable.)

So here’s what he tells me:

Top three movies of all time:
1. The Godfather
2. Shawshank Redemption
3. Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit

Lauryn Hill’s career maker:
1. Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit
2. The Fugees
3. Her solo career

I can’t even comment on this shit. It’s fucking ridiculous. Even better, Hubs B is currently asleep on the couch, while Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit is playing. Shitballs…this is my life.


You’re not my diplomat!


“You’re not my diplomat!”

This is a phrase that Hubs B coined a long time ago after a few too many beverages. Not being able to remember the word dictator due to his drunkenness, he tossed in whatever “d” word his cloudy brain could remember. Hilarity ensued, but what began this ridiculous statement, was the fact that Hubs B doesn’t like to be told what to do. He doesn’t like large corporations or advertisements that tell him to like something and he especially doesn’t like when something isn’t exactly right. (The world should be tailored to fit his needs.) He isn’t and has never been a “follow the crowd” kind of person. All of this leads him to host his own personal boycotts against things that piss him off, people that try to be his “diplomat” and whatever other random things that happens to fuck up his day. (I find all of this endearing, hilarious and completely entertaining.)

So last night while watching TV, an ad for H&M came on. Now usually we would have fast forwarded through this ad, but for some reason Hubs B let it play. Had he not, this blog post would cease to exist. Let me set the stage… Hot girl on the beach in a bikini. Hot girl turns out to be Giselle. Now most guys would enjoy the view and tune out whatever else was going on. Not Hubs B. Giselle starts singing while standing on the beach in a very tiny bikini and Hubs B is not impressed. He actually turned to me and said, “Why is she singing?” The annoyed look remained on his face for a few seconds before he responded with, “I’m not shopping at H&M again.”

Still in a huff, the show we were currently watching ended and he hits play on an episode of Chicago P.D. that we had recorded. The episode seems to pick up right in the middle and I can hear Hubs B mumble a few “what the fucks” (it’s a fave of his, too) under his breath. I turned to him and informed him that he needed to watch the previous episode of Chicago Fire, because this is a cross over episode. In all his Hubs B like ways he said, “Fucking NBC isn’t my diplomat,” and continued watching the episode. In the end, he watched the whole episode, whether he was confused or not, I’ll never know, because fuck knows he’d never say that out loud. But when the episode ended his response was, “Take that NBC.”

As much as I love to give him shit, it’s this kind of stuff that makes me laugh like crazy. Here’s a list of a bunch of other stuff he chose to boycott for ludicrous reasons. All of which are totally warranted in his eyes.

  • Cell Phones (This was circa 2001 when they became all the rage. He was keepin’ it real by not having one.)
  • Walgreens (They have a monopoly over the pharmacy world and they’re on every fucking corner.)
  • Wendy’s (Once they gave him a five piece chicken nugget instead of a six piece)
  • Facebook (Just a flat out refusal)
  • Jewel/Osco (They at one point had a card you had to use in order to get the sale price)
  • The entire city of Boston
  • The entire state of Texas
  • United Airlines
  • Expedia
  • The iPhone (He was all about his BlackBerry until he was forced by his company to get an iPhone)

The list is pretty endless and new items are added daily, so I never know what will show up. I’m sure I make this list regularly; he just doesn’t say it out loud.


(Kinda) Drunken Antics: part 2

Okay, I wouldn’t have considered myself drunk. I had a few ciders in just under an hour (I’m skinny), but I most definitely was not drunk. Tipsy, yep. Buzzed, totes. Drunk, no.

So, somewhere between my cider consumption and watching Game of Thrones on my DVR, I checked my email. Realizing PM1 and I were working on a blog post where we convo back and forth, I attempted to answer her.

That part went well, in my opinion. But my message back to her letting her know I responded was slightly incoherent.

Take a look…can you say shit show?

#1photo1#2 photo2


#3photo3                             #4 photo4


Okay, now after re-reading these cider-loaded messages, maybe I was tittering more toward the drunken end than the tipsy end. But whatever. We got a good laugh out of it, yo. And PM1, stop giving me shit. You’re just as bad…girl, please. 🙂



I’m not mad at you; you’re just a shitty friend



PM2: We all have them…shitty friends. The older I get, the more I realize it’s hard to find good friends. We all have friends that come and go and that’s okay. They are there to serve a purpose. See, PM1 and I met through a mutual friend, who incidentally is no longer friends with either of us, but she’s the reason we met, so in the end it’s fine that our mutual friendship disbanded. The purpose was served. But these are not the people we’re talking about. We’re talking about those fuckwits that make you wonder why the fuck you tolerate them and all their bullshit.

PM1: Yep these are the peeps who firmly believe that friendship is a one-way street, pointing only in their direction. They’re happy to be there for you when you can offer them something, but would never think to just be friends with you because of you. And worst of all, they are the friends who are happy to fuck you over, often at a moments notice.

So why do we have these friends? Well that’s a good fucking question and I think ultimately it comes down to one very important point.

We like to believe that people just wouldn’t treat us this way. That being grown ass women/men (but let’s get real, it’s usually women), we’d actually act our fucking age for a change and not like we’re back in high school, only with a heavy dose of crack thrown in for extra fucking-you-over-ness.

PM2: Now PM1 might sound a bit bitter, but one thing I’ve learned about her in our lengthy friendship, is that she hates to be fucked over and she doesn’t forgive easily. She’s a one shot deal. I’m the forgiver. She’s the fuck you. (I’m kinda scared of her. She’s a hardcore bitch. I might have had too much to drink tonight. Excuse me if this is gibberish.)

But in the end, she’s right. Why do friends suck so bad? Honestly, why do girl friends suck the worst of all? It is like high school. And when you finally grow up and move beyond that, you still find friends who perpetually live in that world. Like the “shit-talker”.

You know the shit-talker… This is the friend that talks behind everyone’s back and when she leaves, you wonder what the fuck she’s said about you. Even when you call her out on her bullshit, she’s the one who somehow turns the whole situation around on you. Why are we friends with these people again? Remind me, PM1 why we put up with this shit?

PM1: Who the fuck knows PM2, who the fuck knows. All I do know is the shit-talker is right up there with the fucker-overer…the friend who thinks nothing of promising you something and then proceeds to go back on their word and do sweet fuck all. Worse still, said “friend” then goes on to act as though nothing has happened, expecting you to sweep it all under the carpet and forget about it.

Fuck that.

I left high school many, many years ago. I hated it when I was there, a perpetual Mean Girls-Goundhog Day mash up, and I have no desire to go back to it either. Yet somehow now, in my thirties, I find myself right back in it, frequently, and I have to ask myself, WTF?

Are we really that insecure or childish that we just can’t be genuine with each other? True friends, who are worth their weight in gold, just don’t treat you like that. True friendship is a two-way street and you know what, true friendship should not be hard work.

PM2: I hear you, PM1. The fucker overer friend is far worse than the shit talker because I don’t think they even realize they suck. Their way of dealing with their friendship shittery is to just ignore it. My favorite is when they call or text acting like they didn’t just screw your ass to the wall. How do you respond to that? Who the fuck knows…

But I also hear you on the true friendship thing. Real friends are few and far between and even when you think you’ve found them, bam… they find a way to fuck you. Makes you wonder why you even bother.

Okay…this has taken a turn down Bitch Street. (Seriously PM1 and I are not super bitches…okay maybe PM1 is a bitch, but not a super bitch.) We all have these friends and yep, they suck hard, but we also need to give a quick shout out to the good ones. PM1 is one of my besties. I adore her. PM1 is my friend when I’m a hot ass mess, when I want to complain and when I need someone to laugh with. She’s genuine and even though we do behave like we’re in high school, it’s the good kind of high school. The one where you get drunk and eat mass quantities of Twizzlers and laugh till you cry.

So cheers to good friends and here’s to drinking because of the shitty ones!