Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness | Tags: complaining, iTunes, music, Rant, sadness
- Trust no one. You can put a lot of love and devotion into your relationships, whether it be with a friend, parent, or piece of software, but they will probably still flake on you. It is totally possible that they will lose all your stuff, or that they will just disappear from your life.
- No one is perfect. Shit happens, you just gotta roll with it. Crying is a great stress relief, but beyond that, it doesn’t get you anywhere. Accept things for what they are. Be prepared for unreliability, mistakes, and a multitude of other faults.
- Shit gets lost. Remote controls, thousands of music files, and socks all get miss placed. So what do you do? Remedy the situation – fix it. Look for whatever crap is lost. You may never find it. But, if you do, I can guarantee it will be in the last place you look!
- It pays to properly name things. This rule applies to people, files, and cars. Frank Zappa may have named his children Moon Unit, Dweezil, Diva, and Ahmet, but that doesn’t mean you should. Files should indicate title and artist; there should not be spaces. Dates, track numbers, and other numerical data are also nice to include for filing purposes. Cars should not be named until they have been driven for at least a month. If you don’t name something correctly, something shitty is bound to go down.
- You always hurt those you love the most. iTunes, you have disappointed me yet again! I am losing patience- all too quickly. I don’t know what else I am to do. I care so much for your health and for my music. WHY? WHY?
- Jesus hates techno. That’s why when you add it to your music library, iTunes warns you: ‘Jesus hates techno. Are you sure you would like to proceed with adding this techno bullshit to your library?’
Filed under: Photo du Jour | Tags: Charlie Sheen, katieism, life, photo, Rant
I would like to say a few words…
I love Charlie Sheen. If I had it my way, I would do horrible things to Charlie Sheen. I don’t care if he is older than my father, or that he is drug addled, or whatever crap you have to say about him.
But I definitely wish I had the gumption to say “Who the fuck cares?” quite like Mr. Sheen can.
And in the stifling environment that is college, I find myself really complacent. There is nothing I absolutely love or absolutely hate. But man, when I look to someone with passion, I would say Charlie Sheen has it, for better or for worse.
I hope that one day I can shout “Who the fuck cares?” and really live for five minutes. Sky diving, keg stands, streaking. Whatever. I admire Charlie Sheen for actually being moderately successful while still sticking to his guns, him self, his core. That, my friends, is what is really most admirable in the guy.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness | Tags: happiness, life, Rant, slacking, sleep
It is 6:30 in the morning, and I am laying in bed, and it has been hours since I’ve slept. Surprise, surprise.
I’ve got a million and one things to do today, and I am thoroughly fatigued, and I have nothing better to do than sleep. But instead, I am wide awake, watching Netflix and playing games on facebook.
It’s a huge stupid waste of time.
When is this going to end? I always feel like I am busy with another waste of time. Even things of marginal importance are fleeting and ultimately make no impact on my ability to sink or swim. Going to the Phonathon is just another way to pass the time; homework is a means to an end; to do lists carry as much life as any rock or grave in a cemetery.
People can talk out their ass about how important college and learning and education and resumes are to my future, my life, my well-being, but I still can’t help but want to shout “Bullshit!” as if I’m at a basketball game bearing witness to a poor call for my team. Not that basketball matters, either.
Yet, in my most idealistic plans for the future, I am still a schmuck, not unlike Duchovny’s character on Californication, or even Dexter’s ditzy sister, Debra. Sexy and doing cool things, but still doing nothing, or at least feeling shitty nine times out of ten. I want to feel as good as people on tv look. But we all know, that’s never happening.
If I picked a career tomorrow, one that in the end would allow for the most happiness, or at least perceived happiness, I would tend bar. Eventually I could manage the place, and who knows; down the road I could open my own joint.
I would be Dee, if Dee were a brunette and lived in some city other than Philadelphia. (I’ll be honest- there just isn’t enough to do here.)
But in the midst of my midnight ramblings, I have discovered that despite my boredom, I have figured out the way I deem something worthwhile, or at least if it has the potential to make me happy. These may seem irrelevant, arbitrary, or at best, unusual. But, such is the case sometimes.
- Does it lead to a chance to drink more wine?
- How funny is it?
- Will it matter in an hour? A week?
- Can I still be sassy?
- Can it be done barefoot?
While the answer to one of these questions may not affect any of the others, if it meets all criteria, it certainly is something that I really, really like.
Not sleeping doesn’t have any of these qualities, aside from being barefoot. (It’s weird to sleep with shoes on.) College is also limiting in the sassy/funny category.
Life, however, should be all of the above. Life should not feel like a huge waste of time.
Filed under: College, Rants & Ridiculousness | Tags: Are you kidding me?, college, complaining, perks of college, Rant, Stress
Lately I have been preaching a lot of feel good this and that. Enjoying the small moments. Living for contentedness.
I don’t want to sound two faced when I say this.
But Jesus H. Christ, I just want to complain right now. God, I am unhappy and moderately miserable and very much pissed off. I want to bitch, whine, and complain with a cheap beer and a bottle of Jack. I want to throw things at brick walls, shout a neverending “Fuck” outside at the top of my lungs, and leap off a bridge… Into a large warm jacuzzi.
I feel like there isn’t enough coffee and ice cream to keep me from acting sane, normally, with civility.
If someone wanted to get into a boxing match right now, I would kick their ever living ass.
Please don't make me get all Muhammad Ali on your ass.
It is just one of those days, my friends.
With that being said, I also belief it is extremely helpful (and healthy) to get out your frustration with a variety of hyperbole, unhealthy consumption of food and drink, as well as to write scathing emails to, well, everybody. Fellow college students, especially lately, seem to totally understand my frustration. I don’t have to say a word- a piercing glare from down the hall will do- and they completely understand. They nod with approval, fist bump, and move along with their equally shitty day.
If you get this piercing glare, back off.
It’s the college code: don’t step on the feet of anyone who looks less than chipper. Let them ride out their angsty, wrathful afternoon. It will pass, and eventually they will step the fuck off. (Right?)
I like that. In high school, and at home, if you look mad, people are going to butt their nose into your business. Everyone has to know everything about everyone. But in college, no one assumes anything or asks any questions. If they really want to know what’s up, they will ask you later. If they really don’t care (which is usually the case and thank God!), they don’t ask any questions.
Bitch fit, pissy parties, and mental breakdowns are like animals at the zoo. You might watch for a little while, but usually you move on and do something more interesting, you know, that doesn’t involve animals in cages or zoos.
Tonight I am rip roaring angry as hell and I don’t want anyone to so much as look at me. People here are smart enough to know to leave me alone. Thank God for that.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness | Tags: bitch whine and complain, bullshit, class, complaining, deadlines, frustration, honesty, Rant, review, sleep, St Augustine, Stress, stupidity
I’m not sure if I want to scream, kill something, or throw my laptop off the roof of the business school.
I spent just about my entire night awake, writing a horrific essay on St. Augustine’s view of love. It was utterly painful to write, and certainly my acute writer’s block as of late was of no help. But I managed to shit out some crap onto four pages, enough to hand in for peer reviews today.
I am so pissed I spent my night writing this crap, when all we did today was have our peers edit our paper.
The paper itself wasn’t actually due to my professor, like I had anticipated.
I only cranked out this fluffy awfulness so my peer could do a half ass read over of my shitty ass essay on St. Augustine of all things.
I stayed up all night, writhing with caffeine, frustration and exhaustion. I got up early after my 5 AM nap to continue with this wretchedness. I was really actually concerned with my grade on this one. I made sure I had my shit together so I could get to class and hand in my paper on time!
For nothing. For absolutely nothing.
So some chick in my class could bullshit an “editing” of my paper. I see not one comment in the margins. Not one. Her comments were limited to the bare minimum required by my professor on the reverse outline. Single sentences. Seriously?
Sometimes I hate myself for loving to write. When I am assigned to edit someone’s paper, or a friend asks me to read it over, I provide all kinds of insight, information and mechanical information about their essay. I try to be honest, and I try to give my all into the advice I give them. I do this, not only out of the kindness of my heart, but because I would LOVE for someone to provide me that amount of feedback on my writing.
In total, I got less than 6 “sentences” of feedback on my four and a half pages of writing.
If you saw the paper I had read, you would’ve seen the margins and spaces littered with my messy handwriting. Comments, critiques, and arrows galore. WHAT THE FUCK?
Moral of the story: Shit happens.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness, Uncategorized | Tags: complaining, discomfort, drinking, family, holidays, katieism, kids, kids table, parade, Rant, ridiculousness, Thanksgiving
A good friend of mine is spending her first Thanksgiving abroad, or rather, is having her first year sans Butterball, hoopla, and football games. But being the friend that I am, I decided to remind her of the realities of Thanksgiving, or rather, that Thanksgiving is a kind of shitty holiday anyway, and that Chrismahanukwanzika/New Year’s/St. Patrick’s Day are way better holidays anyway.
My advice to her: “I encourage you to have a beer, watch a bootleg version of “A Christmas Story”, and read this list of the top reasons why Thanksgiving Sucks, and You Aren’t Missing Out Anyway.”
So here it goes.
1. Watching your parents get drunk all afternoon- It’s one thing if it’s the summer and everyone is kicking back margarita’s at the BBQ. But in the winter, it’s a bit different dynamic. Everyone is bitching about their job and their shitty football team. Plus getting drunk with other family members is entirely different from getting drunk with neighbors. Family feuds, old slides/photographs from the Triassic era, and handle races surface. (Okay, so maybe not handle races, but it certainly does seem like your father and your uncle are trying to see who can drink more of that Johnny Walker, doesn’t it?) Best part of all: you get to be stone cold sober all day. Gotta love being underage.
2. The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade- Parades are overrated, and that is fact. It’s one thing when firefighters (or Apple Blossom Queens) are chucking tootsie rolls at your 8 year old head, hoping they get extra points for getting you in the eye, but it’s another to watch idiots-dance-on-floats/giant-balloons-of-characters-from-children’s-television-walking-through-a-city hundreds of miles away… on TV. The coverage is always littered with commercials, people singing about Christmas (you got the wrong holiday, dumbass!), and obnoxiously perky journalists dressed like they are stuck in the Tundra (wimps- like New York is even cold.)
3. The Kids Table- Personally, I have been sentenced to Life at the Kids Table, (even though I was already taller than my Grammy at age 10.) Since graduating high school, I am now not only sitting at the kids table, but I am Resident Bitch (RB) of the Kids Table. I wipe snot and ketchup off their grubby faces, make sure no one eats the stick of butter, and that a food fight doesn’t erupt. And, in my free time, I listen to the chillens discuss the latest from Pixar and Thomas the Train, while I cut their turkey into bite size pieces and their parents get sloppily drunk off cheap booze in the other room. It really brings joy to my heart knowing that I am helping the community. Not.
4. Being Uncomfortable- It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving if I didn’t sit in an exorbitant amount of traffic, sleep on a futon, or have to get crammed in the middle of five people in the backseat of a mini van on the way to the high school football game. But Thanksgiving doesn’t stop at physical discomfort; there is always social and mental discomfort too. Like when Great Aunt Emily comes to town, so does her nasty choke-up-mucous-and-old-lady-cooties cough, and questions about my bowel movements and dating. The Thanksgiving visit might only be a pregame to Christmas, but in and of itself, the discomfort of dealing with her is still one hell of an ordeal.
5. Black Friday- Great, I can buy dvds for $2.50 a piece; yeah, if I buy at least ten, and I arrive before 6 AM with my store flyer, a frequent buyer card, and manage not to get run over by a frantic woman driving a Hummer through the parking lot. Pass. Selections suck because everything gets picked over by the time your hung over ass feels like getting out the door (okay, okay, you snuck your own whiskey from home with you), crowds are uncontrollably large, rude and demanding, plus you lose an hour of time alone circling the damn parking lot for a space (you settle by parking half on the curb, half on a melting snow bank, and cross your fingers you don’t get a ticket from that mustachioed cop near the store entrance.) It’s the shit show of all shit shows. I’ll take Cyber Monday. I do much better with beer and a computer.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness | Tags: Are you kidding me?, commercial, drug companies, innovations, Lysteda, marketing, menstruation, period, pharmaceuticals, Rant, ridiculousness, side effects, women, women's health
I was minding my own business at the gym, listening to crude rap music and sweating off my weekend indulgences on the elliptical machine. I was relatively unaware of my surroundings. But my attention was drawn to the silent television, which had the words “heavy monthly bleeding” on the screen.
Now you have my attention.
I proceeded to watch the rest of the commercial in a state of mild disbelief, as women of all ages pranced all over (like anyone goes for a walk when they have their period). But once it was over, I was in a state of shock.
What the hell is this!?
A pill to help deal with “heavy monthly bleeding”? Is this necessary? Is this what the world is coming to?
I have several things to say, before I delve into my rant:
A) I understand that there are some women who have painfully and/or unnaturally heavy periods.
B) I understand that the world of pharmaceuticals is crazy. (Exhibit A: Restless Leg Syndrome)
C) I am a woman.
This blows my mind. Women have periods- there is little way around that, aside from turning 50/menopause, and birth control pills that mess with your cycle. Sometimes one period is worse than another. But that is why we have Midol (aka “that legalized form of crack for women”). So pop one, put your sweatpants on, call in sick from work, and watch Steel Magnolias on demand. It’s your goddamn legal right!
I would like to be the first to call BULLSHIT with this Lysteda. What woman over the age of 15 can’t relate? We have all had a time where our whole bodies hurt, you bled like a dying man, and you retreated from “normal” living to just take care of yourself. This is all marketing. “Here, take this, it will help you feel less awful during your period, and you will lose less blood.” Funny, haven’t heard that before. I am sure that by Christmas, hoards of women will be showing up at doctors’ offices across America shouting “Hey! I bleed like fresh cut steak! I need that medication! Give me that!!!”
But get this: the side effects of the drug are the exact same symptoms of getting a period in the first place!!!! Verbatim from the Lysteda website: headaches, sinus and nasal problems, back pain, pain in your abdomen, pain in your muscles or joints, anemia and fatigue. WebMD’s side effects of getting your period: pain, acting like a total bitch, bloating, cramps, headaches, feeling fucking tired!!!!!!!
I don’t know what makes me more angry: that there was someone smart enough to market this drug, or that there are people dumb enough to take it. Honestly, the only way they could better market this one is to either A) give out free samples in tampon boxes at KMart or B) give out plates of brownies with your purchase of a one month trial prescription.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness | Tags: bitch whine and complain, bitching, BWC, complaining, friends, katieism, Paige Calisi, Rant, whining
A friend of mine asked me to explain the rules to a BWC.
And it suddenly dawned on me: people don’t know what a BWC is, or how to effectively host one.
A BWC is a Bitch Whine and Complain Conference. The term was coined by Paige Calisi circa 2006. While it started off as a lunchtime ritual on report card day, the BWC has evolved over the years to accommodate a host of different problems, including men, parents, shoes, and just about anything that could possibly piss you off.
To keep a BWC from getting out of control, usually there are some unspoken parameters.
- Everyone has to have a chance to say their piece.
- Try to avoid bitching about specific people, especially if in a public setting, but really, anything goes.
- There should be a time limit on the BWC. (An hour is a good maximum.)
- Once the BWC is over, no one is allowed to complain about any of the subjects discussed in the BWC until 24 hours has elapsed, or until another designated time (which should be predetermined before the BWC begins.)
Any number of people can participate in a BWC. Sometimes it is nice to give everyone a turn, like Chick A starts first, bitches for 10 to 15 minutes with others chiming in, then Chick B goes, then Chick C, etc, etc. This let’s everyone’s complaints get heard, and ensures that everyone feels the wonderful relief of the BWC.
Sometimes a moderator is nice, too. The moderator should try to abstain from giving too much opinion or having a whiner moment themselves. The moderator really should stick to their task of moderating.
The goal of a BWC is to cleanse the soul of nagging negativities, annoying afterthoughts, or gregarious gossip. This is the best way to share with a group, yet also make sure that everyone gets rid of their bad mood at once. Talking it out facilitates a purge of the bad energy, and gets everyone on the right page together, making for a better second half of the day. (While BWCs usually occur in the afternoon, there is no set time they have to occur, although I recommend avoiding any time before 9:30 AM. I mean, c’mon, at 9:30, if you aren’t still hungover, you can’t have possibly had something so atrocious happen that you feel the need to ravage a village or start drinking again.)
I encourage all friends to practice BWC and to embrace it for its healing powers.
Sometimes there is nothing better than hashing it out and forcing others to listen to you go on and on about something you absolutely hate.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: alcoholism, comedy, laugh, Rant, Robin Williams, stand up
“As an alcoholic, you will violate your standards quicker than you can lower them. You will do shit that even the Devil would go “dude…” “
Check it out around the five minute mark.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness, Uncategorized | Tags: college, confusion, epiphany, happiness, life, money, monologue, Rant, running, sadness, work
I had a bit of an epiphany today.
It wasn’t meant to be an epiphany, and it wasn’t meant to be philosophical, and I had no intention of having a really deep conversation with Katelyn today. But I did.
It came at the right time. I was listening to Big D and the Kid’s Table rant on about living life with a checklist, after four days of extremely fucked up sleep (three nights barely able to fall asleep, and one sixteen hour snoozefest), and an entire afternoon of writing an essay on tyranny of all things.
What the fuck am I doing?
The back of my hand is blue with ink of all the things I need to do. I can’t remember the last time I took a shower, all I know is that I’m due, at least from the looks of me. I’m not eating all my meals. Time is never in numbers; it’s “in class” or “out of class” or “sunny” or “night.” I haven’t been brushing my teeth regularly, and not because I’ve neglected to, I can’t even remember to. Definitely no make up. Gym? What gym?
Katelyn was rather poignant:
She said exactly what I was thinking: I don’t know what I want to do with my life anymore.
Who the hell am I to abide by conventional standards? I was a good student, but beyond that, as a kid I was never exactly one to follow the rules or normal conventions. Recently, I have continued to pave the way for this life (or “rebellion” as my mother would probably say.)
But really, when it boils down to it, I am definitely at a crossroads right now. I have no idea which direction to go in. I know that I want to go abroad, but do I really want to be in school and have to go back to school when it’s all said and done? Not only that, but my poor Nannie doesn’t want me going abroad. She concedes, “I’m being selfish, I want you here with me,” which is understandable. I love my grandmother, and I wish I spent more time with her. But really, why shouldn’t I go abroad? I have lived in the godforsaken bubble for all those years. It’s natural to be angst-y toward where ever you grew up, but I’m missing out on a lot. Even my dozen or so trips into Philly, and countless hours on busses, travelling with all walks of life, it’s been enlightening. I want to learn something about living, not what makes a business successful. I mean, think about it: businesses are going to exist whether they have my money or not. Many of them will outlive me. What does it matter if I understand all their ins and outs?
I want to write. I want to observe people. I want to ask them what they are doing with their lives, and drink coffee with them, and see their band play at the pub, and tell everyone else about their lives, no matter how outwardly insignificant it may seem.
Last week, I listened to two women talk about how they won the Pulitzer for some crazy investigative reporting on rogue cops in Philadelphia… What started off as something kind of small soon turned into this mammoth report, that lasted several years, and grew and grew and grew. Barbara and Wendy just CAPTIVATED me with their story, their adventure, their work! I was awestruck with how amazing it all was. I don’t want to go into exactly what they did, but they inspired me. I want people to know who I am, to remember me for something, to say “Hey, I like that. That’s cool.” I don’ t know if I can really do all that within the confines of Villanova.
What do I do here? Study for tests, read text books, examine ancient literature, wake up early, stay in on weekends, eat an inane amount of sandwiches (because God forbid there be any decent to above average food within walking distance, or even food worth eating), raise my hand, listen to people talk at me, and pretend to be school spirited, happy, and generally normal. (Notice how sleep is no where in that list.)
I have tried so hard to break the mold. I am going to the Steven Colbert/Jon Stewart rally this weekend, and I plan on interviewing strangers and taking a shit ton of pictures and soaking up all that America. Okay, so maybe that sounds a little cliche, but I am going to live it up, and experience that march/rally/insanity to its fullest. Last weekend I saw Phoenix play live at the Tower Theater; I got to dance on the stage. No joke, I danced on the stage. With Phoenix! I am ferociously writing letters, to as many people as I can, all the time. I am making plans for the future. Christmas break is filled with skiing in Utah, and in Canada, plus two concerts. I have an appointment on Tuesday with the office of International Studies so I can make plans for next year. My phone calendar is over flowing with seminars, meetings, and movie times. I am trying. God, I am trying.
But I still can’t help but feel like it’s all shit. I am still just a rat in a race, pretending to give a fuck so I don’t get beat down by my parents.
Honest to God, what am I doing? Where the hell am I really going to go from here?
At least, if I stopped everything and moved across the world, I would be conceding that I don’t know what I am doing and that I don’t know what I want. But if I stopped everything and moved across the world, I would still be doing something about my indifference/confusion.
I’ve always had it good, but I am positive I can live without a lot of it. If Facebook disappeared, it would be as if someone was doing me a favor. No car? No problem. Shave down my clothes, my collections of crap, any DVD I’ve ever touched, anything that could be considered fancy, and the illusions of awesome. I’m sick of it all, anyway. I want life to feel a little more real, a little less like a constant “Go get ‘em” and a little more like I’m actually alive.
Today I am a half dead college student, paying way too much in tuition, who has only developed my bull shitting skills since I cut my summer short in mid August.
Tomorrow? Well, maybe I’ll still be talking about nothing and selling out.
