Shove your secret right up your ass

 I'm a gossip fiend.  I live vicariously through other people's drama.  I'm a freaking vampire or some shit, sucking entertainment and sustenance through someone else's divorce, money trouble, or basically any failure at all.  Maybe this makes me a bad person...maybe this makes me awesome.  I'm not sure which, but I am certain of one thing: when I hear a story about you flunking a math test, crashing your car, getting cancer, and walking in on your boyfriend cheating on you with your sister, I know I've had a good day.

There's just something satisfying about knowing the details of people's lives and knowing that your day went just a little bit better.  I mean, I also love bitching about my day but I'd rather listen to the sordid details of whatever trauma has befallen you, or someone you know, than bitch myself.  As much as I love the sound of my own voice, nothing sounds sweeter than a bucket full of drama.

HOWEVER.

There are some people in this world who like to inform you that they have a secret, some tiny bit of information that probably isn't even significant anyway, but they refuse to tell you.  At which point it becomes the MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THE WORLD.  Everything else in your life is a distraction from your goal: you do not have to pee, you do not have to eat, you do not have to attend class and give a presentation about Nathanial Fucking Hawthorne.  You just need to fucking know WHAT THE HELL THE SECRET IS.  It consumes every fiber of your being until you are practically bursting with furious anticipation and desire.  You know that one of two things will happen in the near future: your friend will tell you the secret, or you will die.

I have a name for people who tell you there is something they aren't telling you and then refuse to tell you.

ASSHOLES.

Giant fucking cum-shitting assholes.  If you don't want me to know about your secret, then why did you tell me that you had one in the first place?  If there is something you are hiding from me, why would you arrange so that it became my life-fucking-goal to figure it out?  People do not realize that they are putting their lives at risk when they do this.  What if you were a spy and you let on that you had a secret?  You'd be a DEAD spy.  It doesn't work much differently for me.  I will threaten people at gun point if it comes to it.  A chain of events is set up when the words "I can't tell you" pass one's lips, and nobody is in control of it.  Could result in death, could result in torture, could result in lots of ranting and angry glares.  I can't really say which is more likely.

The worst part of situations like this is the secret-holders always act like it's noooot a big deal that I don't know. If it's not a big deal, fucking TELL ME ALREADY.  Clearly it's a huge deal if you won't open your mouth about it.

Though to be fair...it's usually nothing interesting.  Which begs another question: Why did you pretend that there was a secret in the first place? I have pondered all of this for quite some time and I have reached a conclusion.

All of my friends are dicks.

Cyborgs induce shitstorms because they're EVIL

Lots of people LOVE cyborgs.  Think they're really cool.  Want to become cyborgs, even.  Have a fucking gun instead of an arm like you're Barett from FF VII? GO AWAY I HATE YOU!  It makes my skin crawl, like there are 10329831231 tiny robot bugs dancing around figuring out ways to turn me into a machine.  I have seen way too many sci fi movies to ever think that cyborgs are a good thing.  They always do the same damn thing:

THEY END THE WORLD!

I cannot stand them.  I want to punch them all in the face, but at the same time, I'm fucking terrified of the fact that maybe if I touch them I'll somehow become a cyborg, too.  Even when I'm driving in my car and I hear about things like robot-assisted surgery and how AWESOME it is it makes me want to run over the old lady crossing the street with her grandchildren and puppies and then back up and run over them again before finally continuing on my way.  Of course, then I'd probably end up in a high speed chase running from the police and have to move to Canada and hide in someone's basement, but that's okay; I bet all of my Canadian friends would love to house a fugitive.

Over the spring and summer, I watched Torchwood and Doctor Who.  For the most part, everything is fine and dandy.  The Dalek are really creepy, but hilarious; Captain Jack Harkness is a pimp; Rose Tyler is the best companion of the Doctor; the Weeping Angels are EPIC.  But then there's the episodes that make me want to die.  Some of you might already know what I'm talking about..yes, that's right...

The Goddamned CYBERMEN.  The first ever episode about cybermen that I watched was the Torchwood episode where what's-her-metal-tits decides to turn her azn doctor into a cyberman but FAILS SO HARD OMG IT IS TERRIBLE.  Blood fucking everywhere, metal shit shoved through his head.  It's a disaster and it took sooooo much vodka for me to regain control of my bowels after watching it.

I was a wreck for so long.  Then I watched all of the episodes of Doctor Who with them and it was just as terrible.  Watching characters that you kind of knew, like otheruniverse Jackie, get turned into cybermen, you quickly learn that it could happen to you too!  GAWD.  FUCK ME. >_>  I DO NOT WANT TO BE SAWED APART AND THEN TURNED INTO A MACHINE GET OUT OF HERE NOW!

And then there was the time that I tried to watch Caprica.  I don't watch Battlestar Galactica, so I had no idea what was in store.  Everything was going great, I liked the plot line, kind of enjoyed some of the characters...and then this bitch gets her consciousness SHOVED INSIDE A ROBOT.  Not even a part-human thing like doctor who.  A FUCKING ROBOT.

People need to stop coming up with shit about cyborgs.  I don't give a flying fuck if you lost your leg saving an orphan from a man with a chainsaw or if you're too old to walk: YOU DO NOT NEED ROBOT LIMBS.  Cyborgs will be the end of humanity.  I know it!  So let's just forget about them forever, suspend all kinds of AI or other robotic research, and start trying to heal people with magic.  Everyone knows that magic is way safer than cyborgs anyway.  With magic, humanity always wins.  With robots, we die.

And now that I've written this, and thought about these effing shitbombs, I have to go curl up into a ball and reassure myself that everything is going to be alright and that cybermen aren't going to burst through my wall and try to convert me...and maybe pour myself a glass of vodka.

Life Goal #1: I want to become an alcoholic.

I know what you're thinking: "ADAM NO!  ALCOHOLISM IS SU BAD!"  Well, yeah, you're probably right...though not as right as you could be.  Thankfully for everyone in the world, I'm a MAD sober and a HAPPY drunk.  This leads to people trying to get me all boozed up quite regularly, and who could say no to that?  But that's not what my goal in life is...no.  I don't want to be a party drunk, though that's fun and I will continue to get completely smashed at least once a week until my liver finally gives up on me.  I want to be: a Functioning Alcoholic.

"THERE IS NO SUCH THING ADAM!  I MUST SPEAK IN ALL CAPS TO IMPRESS UPON YOU HOW SRS I AM!"  Yes, yes; I know how super serial you are, Al Gore.  But hush up for a minute.  It's not like this is a bad thing.  This really ties into one of my other life goals (becoming a professional housewife), but we'll save that one for later.

I want to spend every moment of the day with a glass of wine in one hand!  I think I'll become quite good at multitasking with it.  In fact, I'm planning on learning to type with one hand so that I can booze up while I troll the interwebs...totally not learning to type with one hand for any other reason.

Get out of the gutter!  I see you there, you filthy little bitches.  Now hush, I'm trying to tell you a story!

Anyway, I really can see myself flitting through a house, not a care in the world.  I flop down on a sofa, trashy romance novel in one hand, a full glass of Pinot Grigio in the other.  Of course, in this daydream, there's also five empty bottles sitting on the coffee table...because I'm starting on my sixth bottle of the day.  I look at the clock: three in the afternoon.  Time for Ellen!

So go ahead, be productive.  But I know you're not going to have as much fun as I will.  All of my memories will be wonderfully clouded due to an omnipresent drunken haze..but they'll still be clearer than Slughorn's.  And that's really all that matters, isn't it?

So yes.  I only want the essentials in life: internet and booze.  Is that too much to ask?  And hey, I might accidentally become a wine connoisseur along the way!  Booya.

My mother is the laziest chef in the world.

Thanksgiving!  Yay turkey, lots of delicious food.  Sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, cranberry shit, stuffing, green bean casserole, turkey, and PIE.  It's one of the best holidays EVER, and super super American: a holiday that only involves stuffing your face and then sleeping the rest of the day.

But not in my house.  No, no.

Ever since my parents took over the duties of cooking Thanksgiving dinner, it's been a fucking disaster.  Now, I'm not trying to say that I'm an iron chef or anything like that...but when I cook or bake, I do it fucking correctly goddamnit or I don't do it at all!  Making things from scratch is the ONLY WAY TO GO.  It's not that hard to mix a bunch of ingredients together and make something delicious.

Take pie crust, for example:

• Flour
• Sugar
• Salt
• Water

YOU SHOVE IT ALL TOGETHER AND SHIT OUT A PIE.  IT'S NOT HARD.  And it tastes great.

My mother, however, is the LAZIEST PERSON I KNOW.  And considering I know myself, and I'm really freaking lazy...that's a telling statement.  She almost never makes anything from scratch.  Cookies, pies, cakes, potatoes...anything.  It's really quite upsetting.  And it leads to things like a TERRIBLE THANKSGIVING DINNER!

Usually she buys a bunch of the pre-made stuff from the grocery store that you just have to heat up and serve.  This year, she was exceptionally lazy.  My sister was only able to be here last night, so she decided that we would have Chinese food with my grandmother for Thanksgiving dinner.  It was bad enough that we were eating it on a Wednesday, but that we weren't even having AMERICAN FOOD was especially distressing.  I like Chinese food as much as the other guy...but not for a holiday.

And then there was today.  She bought all of our food...frozen.  And cooked it up.  We didn't have turkey...no, we had chicken cordon bleu.  Instead of potatoes, we had curly fries, and instead of cranberry sauce, we had that shit that comes out of a can.  To make matters worse, she didn't even buy wine!  WHAT IS A HOLIDAY WITHOUT COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF WINE?!

Now that might just be the alcoholic in me talking, but seriously.  I needs lots of booze to make being with my family even remotely entertaining.  And with my sister gone, I need freaking hard liquor or something.  I'm seriously considering leaving early and returning to my apartment before the weekend is even over, because spending time with my parents makes me want to slaughter a village of Amish people.

But hey, maybe I'll survive...with my store-bought pie.   Dx

At this rate, we'll probably be getting take-out McDonalds for Christmas instead of a fucking ham.  Maybe I should offer to cook the dinner...then again, I'm exceptionally lazy and this is not my job, since I'm still the child.  :(  Sad day.

UPDATE: Just thought of another thing to complain about. -cough-  With no turkey, that means tomorrow I'm not going to have delicious turkey salad to eat right out of the bowl because I'm fucking boss and don't need anything to put it on. ROAR!

Christmas Shopping is Gay

Christmas sucks...okay, not really.  I fucking love Christmas.  I love Christmas songs, and I love presents, and I love the lights, and snow, and DINNER, and PIE OMG PIE I LOVE PIE, and the fact that my BIRTHDAY IS ALMOST HERE, and the spirit of giving.  Hell, I even love the Christmas Eve service, and I'm not exactly the greatest Christian out there. ;D  Jesus was born so that Santa would exist and creep around my house and give me toys and eat all of my food.  And everyone who has an issue about the commercialization of this holiday can stick a dick in their mouth and then go buy me a present.  DON'T CARE.  FUCK OFF.

What really sucks about Christmas is shopping. I hate everything about exchanging gifts, other than the fact that I get free shit.  Free shit is awesome and everyone should send me piles and piles of it. ALL OF YOUR RICHES ARE MINE!!!

This is a really great segue into a side-story how I think being a gold digger is an excellent profession and totally legitimate.  Old people are really gross, so sleeping with them must be the ULTIMATE act of nastiness. Being with an old person is basically like being a high-profile, short-term prostitute and then never having to work again for the rest of your ridiculously rich life.  It's a fantastic investment.  Life goal of mine?  Maybe.  Just have to get over two of my biggest fears: old people and ugly people.

I can do that, right?  Just have to make sure their mansion doesn't smell like a nursing home before moving in.

What I can't do is stop freaking out when I'm shopping for other people.  I don't understand why we don't just give each other money or something.  I'm always scared that I've not spent enough money on someone, that their present is more expensive and therefore I'm an asshole.  I stress from the moment that I pick out what I'm getting them about it.  It's constantly on my mind.  "This book cost me $10!  What if Kelly spent $15 on my present?!  OMG I'M SUCH A DICK WHAT IS WRONG WITH MEEEE!"

Of course, it also works in the other way.  If I spent a fuckton of money buying someone something that they love and treasure and they buy me a sock, I am going to hate them for the next year or so.  I just can't help it!  I'm very conscious of where my money goes and HOW MUCH COMES TO ME.

SO IF YOU DON'T WANT ME TO FREAK OUT FOR THE REST OF THE CHRISTMAS SEASON, YOU SHOULD LET ME KNOW WHAT THE APPROXIMATE VALUE OF YOUR PRESENT FOR ME IS OKAY WHORES?  GOOD.

And as always keep in mind that puppies are worth more than anything else.

Anything.

But Lady Gaga comes close!

Cuteness Overload

I have this friend named Heather.  She's kind of a bitch, which is probably because she's French.  I'm not English so I can forgive her that...however, what I cannot forgive is her never-ending need to send me into cuteness overload.  What's that?  Think epilepsy plus anaphylactic shock with a little bit of angry black woman all shoved into your forehead trying to get out at the same time but it can't because it's just imaginary but it REALLY FUCKING WANTS TO.

Remember that.

I'm going to fucking steal her dog.  The first thing that I want to see when I wake up in the late afternoon is a pillow on top of my face preventing me from being alert enough to roll out of bed and die my way to the bathroom (where I then de-fug myself--the de-fugging process is important and everyone should have one.  And at this point, I'm really thinking I should rename this post "I hate ugly people."  Whatever.).  What I don't want to see is CUTEXPLOSION!

His name is Dylan and he is the best dog ever the end.  It doesn't even matter what he's doing.  He could be...

Chewing on a bone...

Swimming in a kiddie pool...

Sleeping...

Or really doing absolutely nothing at all, and my cute sense fucking overloads and crashes and kills me because I can't pick him up and put him in my pocket and carry him around with me everywhere I go.  Sometimes, cuteness overload induces spontaneous violent outbursts.  For example.

He's dressed up for Halloween.  This picture makes me want to do three different things at once:

1. Hug him until his little bones are ALL BROKEN.
2. Find and purchase a hot dog puppy of my own.
3. Slaughter mass amounts of babies just to make the cute go away. 

But I can't do any of these things.  Nope.  Dylan the Superdog lives too far away to hug to death, I live in a dumbass fucking appartment that doesn't allow pets unless you pay them 38947234r5238===D~~~~ dollars a day because you know, dogs shit on ceilings and cause irreparable damage, and killing babies would get me sent to jail.

I keep trying to get my female friends to make me some black market babies to kill (or sell for booze money) but they won't do it.  Being pregnant is the best birth control method out there.  NO PERIOD FOR NINE MONTHS.  And I don't care how many recreational drugs you do while that hell on wheels is inside of you because it's dying the moment it makes a whiny baby bitchfit cry anyway...unless it's got downs.  :(  Then I'll be too overwhelmed with cute to move and the vicious cycle will start all over again.

I'm too pretty to go to jail.  And while I like buttsecks as much as all the other kids, I don't want it from nasty hairy old men or whoever lives in prison.  Also there are TOO MANY UGLIES in prison, if what I see on TV is any indication.

And now my faggity haggity, Kelly, has a cute dog, too, and she's dressing it up in hoodies and shit and I just cannot HANDLE this nonsense.  I AM THE ONLY ONE ALLOWED TO HAVE NICE THINGS.  People need to learn this. -.-;

So what's the moral of this story?

Mail me your pets.  They love me more anyway.

ALSO: Since I feel the need to justify naming my blog after a random comment in an MSN conversation - your dog is not a child...therefore it is adorable and doesn't deserve to die.  Also I DESERVE TO HAVE IT.  While you deserve ugly baby spawn screaming and crying and pooping and sucking away all of your money for the rest of your life until it kills you to get its inheritance so it can support its World of Warcraft addiction.