People Watching Episode 2: Voters

Hi folks. Today in America, we vote! Here is a chilling fact that I cannot wrap my head around:

Both Obama and Romney each raised well over 800 million dollars for their campaign. The sad part is, one of these dudes is gonna loose, and that’s over 800 million dollars that was wasted. What can we even do with that much money?

We can buy every American an ice cream cone!

We can pay off 20,000 student loan debts of $40,000 or less (We could probably create the same amount of jobs…)

We could pay over 1 million people’s rent this month.

We could hire 8 million people to kick Michelle Bachman in the face for 100 dollars a pop. Or! Everyone in America could do it for about 2 dollars a pop.

We could feed some starving kids.

We could pay off a puny portion of the national debt.

Save jillions of feral kitties and doggies and build huge fun house complexes for them.

Which loser am I going to vote for? Jill Stein of course! I just can’t bring myself to vote for someone I don’t agree with. Its not like my vote counts anyway no matter who I vote for.

What else could we do with 800 million dollars?

http://elections.nytimes.com/2012/campaign-finance

People Interactions Episode 2: Jealous Bitches (Men and Women)

I hate concerts. The only reason I go to one once in awhile is because I have so much respect for the artist that I feel bad for raiding other itunes and getting their music for free. Let me also add that I heavily prefer outdoor concerts as opposed to indoor ones. Fresh air is a beautiful thing.

Crystal Castles & Kontravoid were unfortunatly booked at the self righteous First Avenue, the First Ave. that boasts OMG THIS IS WHERE PRINCE GOT HIS START. I have some news for you First Ave, Prince didn’t need you for shit. He could have gotten his start on a pile of manure in one of Minnesota’s more sparsely populated counties because PRINCE IS PRINCE. The Artist Formally Known as PRINCE I should say. Because he is so fucking badass he has a symbol for a name. There’s a reason you’ve gone out of business before, First Ave. Its because you cater to the asshat crowd.

Anyhoo, me and my cousin got there when the doors opened and stood in the front row for over and hour, dancing to the random pre-party tunes and having a good time. Most GIRLS (I say girls because grown women don’t act like this.) in the venue were giving us the side eye, because how dare we wear actual colors, look smokin’ hot, and have a good time at their sacred Crystal Castles concert. There were also BOYS (Once again, grown men don’t act like this) Telling us that their midget asses were going to climb on top of us to see because tall folk need to accept being in the back of a crowd because being blessed with height is apparently the equivalent to being born with a gold spoon in your mouth.

Kontravoid was fucking awesome. His sound was awesome. I wish he was wearing a speedo. At this point more fish out of water women like ourselves (I.e. women who groom on a weekly basis AT LEAST and are not wearing a 100.00 ‘thrift store’ jacket from American Apparel) had weaseled their way up to us, probably assuming that amazons like ourselves would protect their adorable asses from getting trampled. WRONG. So WRONG.

Crystal Castles had taken the stage and from the moment they did it was painfully obvious that their crew either did the most half assed soundcheck in the world or was trying to sabotage them. Alice Glass opened her mouth and no sound came out (Well, there was sound, but we could only hear it because she was two feet away from us) And then, 30 seconds in, she decided to attempt a crowd surf. I knew our small humble cluster of women and tall dudes was fucked from the moment she reached out to us. All of the sudden it was just me holding her up because all the jealous dyke looking bitches had yanked everyone else’s hair and they all went tumbling to the ground, along with myself and Alice Glass who was gingerly plucked out of the cluster fuck by the one lone wirey looking bouncer.

Then the dozen of us that were on the ground got trampled and kicked. Someone stole my shit while I was down, and when I finally got up all the people who were around me were gone and some self entitled dyke kept trying to suck/bite on my tits.

Had the sound been good, I would have been content to be squished up against the the front gate with lesbos nibbling at my teats. But the sound sucked, the fog machine had gone awry, and someone kept farting, so the only air I was getting was filled with glorious red meat farts. It took me two songs to even work my way to the edge, where I had some dancing room and the air was less farty.

Bitches were still hating. Still yanking on my pony tail, punching me in the tits, throwing drinks on me. But, at the end of the day, I’m the one who got to sniff Alice’s pits. Take that, you sad sappy under 21 small town U of M dip shits. And yes, your dumb ass spent 6$ on a fucking can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. More power to ya.

Creepers Live: My Elevated Stalking Situation

Setting: My place of work. I work in a deli as a cook/baker etc. It is a nice job with good pay and flexible hours so I can do my ceramics mumbo jumbo on the side. I have worked there for a few years, since the store itself opened. I am very pretty in real life, but luckily this job allows me to hide in a giant white coat and stuff my hair under a hat so not a lot of lady hungry dudes can tell that there is a gorgeous unicorn slaving away doing manly man things like chopping up stinky fresh caught fish.

Since opening day, a man we will refer to as ‘Peeping Tom’ has come in multiple times during my shifts every single day to creep on me. Here are some of things he does:

1. Leers at me creepily from behind the salad bar.

2. Asks me creepy questions like where I live, what my last name is, if I have ‘relations’ with other workers, and if I think he is cute, or if he can send me presents or take me on scary trips to Nebraska.

3. Makes creepy unwarranted comments like ‘Nobody loves me!’ ‘I got punched in the face by a woman!’

4. Stands behind large indoor plants out of my view and eaves drops on my conversations with other workers and then asks me about it later. (SO IS THAT NISSAN YOURS?!)

5. Bought a matching car to mine. I can’t tell if he did this so I would notice or if he just didn’t want to be able to drive around when it blizzards anymore.

6. HAS SURVIVED 3 YEARS LIVING IN A FUCKING NURSING HOME. Honestly, who doesn’t just give up and die in the first 6 months? The average nursing home stay is something like 168 days. I wonder other things like… why does someone who still drives and walks around without looking like an awkward bird choose to live in a nursing home?

7. Has called the store multiple times pretending to be my dad or grandpa. Asks other co workers about me.

8. Waltzes behind the deli counter (And other employees only ares) like he fucking owns the place and claims he can because he has a tattoo of jesus.

9. Watches me through the window when I’m not looking/pretending not to notice.

10. Everything else.

So. Do I have a case? Apparently not. According to managers and police alike, I can’t really do anything until he ‘crosses the line’ like show up at my dwelling, because making me feel unsafe at my place of work and walking to and from work isn’t crossing far enough across this god forsaken line. Even when multiple customers point out that they think the sweet girl who gives them all their stupid gluten free muffins is being stalked, the line is still apparently uncrossed.

My boyfriend says he can hang out and punch him in the face, but I don’t want my boyfriend going to jail for punching an old man in the face.

The sad part is that only about one third of the people I talk to about this can pick up on the severity of the situation. And unfortunately only about 5 people in this large group of people that I ramble to are dudes. Most of the dudes I tell don’t think it’s an issue because they do creeping of their own. CREEPING IS NOT OKAY AND IT IS NOT THE WAY INTO A GIRLS HEART AND/OR VAGINA.

Let me repeat myself:

CREEPING IS NOT OKAY AND IT IS NOT THE WAY INTO A GIRLS HEART AND/OR VAGINA.

What the fuck am I going to do. WHAT THE FUCK AM I GOING TO DO.

Creepers Episode 4: The Needy Jerk Epidemic Part 1

Before I start, let me make it clear that I now have a boyfriend. My boyfriend is a man I that I pined over for too long while he ‘grew up’. He is still in the process, but everyday with him is a thousand times better than a million money-makin’ creep stories.

Nextly, lest us discuss the NEEDY JERK EPIDEMIC. Single ladies, (Even the not so single ladies) know what I’m talking about. (Yes, maybe even those heavy hitting Christian ladies whose parents pick out husbands for them might even know what I’m talking about…) There seem to be an abundance of men who are not only jerks, but then turn out to be really fucking needy as well.

Let me share a few examples from dating experience past:

Needy Jerk #1. College. 2009.: Let’s call him PRECIOUS. Yes. Precious. Precious bleached his teeth so frequently that they glowed in the dark and for some reason thought it was totally acceptable to don Abercrombie & Fitch from head to toe at the ripe age of 23. Precious was all douche-flirty at a party I was at. He told me I should be a model and then told my friend she should dye her hair back to its natural color. Not sure how this young lad obtained my number, but a few nights later I get a phone call from him asking if I could pick him up from the bar. My friend with dyed hair had ditched me earlier to hang out with some other needy jerk, so I was game for some chauffeuring.

I waited for him and saw him emerge from the bar literally beating drunk girls off of him. One stubborn one held on until he got to my car and he opened my door a crack and slid in and she just kind of eventually slid off. He skipped through the CD that was in my car and screamed like a small child: “OMG SNOOP DOGG!!” He gave me really botched directions to his house and when we finally got there he got all weird and handsy-hands and when he realized I was not into it he started BAWLING. I asked what was the matter and from his snot bubbled mumblings it was a cross between all of his past girlfriends cheating on him and his dad’s disappointment over his quest for a real-estate license. He still tried to get all handsy-hands despite his epic pity party, so I swaddled him in his cologne scented blanket/towel pile like a wee baby until he fell asleep and BOLTED.

The next morning, I was standing in on some retarded middle of nowhere college art critique when my phone would not stop going off. Low and behold it was Precious Captain Bleach Teeth. I got around to calling him back and he was exploding at me because apparently, somebody side swiped his roommates car, and the only logical suspect was little miss sober sensible pants me. He demanded to see my car… I said yeah go look it’s in the top corner of the parking ramp by that big black graffiti penis… He was like nooooo come over! I was like no way cry baby and hung up. The dude kept calling. He called for like 3 weeks ‘just to talk’. It was the freakiest shit ever. He’d be like “heeeey what are you up to? I’m going to the bar wanna hang out after?” Finally I just lied to him and told him I was actually a man with no penis. He believed me and I have not had to deal with him (Or return to that god forsaken middle of nowhere college) since.

More to come.

Business Adventures: Episode 1: Starting Out

It may or may not be known, but I recently graduated with a degree in Public Education with a minor in Studio Art. I already had a job when I graduated (Natural foods sales, customer coddling) so it was a good place to be when I realized I’d rather get molested by an elephant’s dirty old wrinkled trunk than set foot in the highly corrupted Minnesota Public School system ever again. (Not to mention get paid in peanuts and then use those peanuts to buy all my education materials for a classroom packed with 30 neglected children. No thank you.)

I ventured out with the other half of my degree in hand and am slowly but surely building my own business. What kind of business? CERAMICS. Here are the first few things I have thought to consider during this process.

1. Standing out from the other ceramic artists. How do I do that? By not throwing housewares on the wheel! That’s how. After being exposed to many an art show and many a ceramic artist, I realized that about 85% of these artists are all making bowls and cups and mugs and jugs. How many bows and cups and mugs and jugs does this word need? Better yet, how many 25$ mugs do people need? Do these people not realize that you can wander into some weird company promotional event and walk out with free mugs and cups galore? I’ll stick with hand building thank you. Besides, what seems to be more reasonable: A $25 mug or a 25$ sculpture? I’m going to go with the sculpture. People don’t fall in love with mugs, they fall in love with ‘art’.

2. Promotion. Although it is widely believed that today, more than ever the internet is our top promoter for all things that exist, LOCATION is also key. Living in the Twin Cities (my home town!) is going to be far more beneficial than if I had wandered north to work in solitude. A. I already have a job here. B. The more people around the area, the more potential customers you have. Not to mention all the piddly diddly craft shows I could enter. If I lived in the middle of the woods I’d probably waste all my profit driving back and forth from rural craft shows.

3. Funding. I can’t be stupid and quit my day job. My day job is what funds this. Along the line, maybe I will be able to. But until then I can’t go all ‘Dreams come true!’ attitude on everyone. I have to accept that this will be a mountain. It will be hard. It might even suck. But working a regular hourly job while doing ceramics on the side is much better than being a teacher who constantly gets shit on everyday for practically the same wage. (Probably less, I’m guessing.)

Was my education degree a waste of time? Perhaps, considering my grades were 90% straight A’s and anything less (A-) was because I just didn’t feel like proving myself with bullshit jr. high level reading worksheets. College is a waste. Don’t go unless your dream REQUIRES a degree. Would I be where I am now without mine? Probably, and I would have some extra thousands of dollars laying around to boot.

I recently got a request for my first custom ceramic order. Its a biggie and can run into the the 3 digit price range. Updates to come. Pray for me so that I don’t fuck this up, and I can later rub it in some doubtful faces.

People Interactions Episode 1: The Helicopter Parents and their Victim, The Peanut

As someone who once dreamed of being a teacher, I have a lot of faith in kids. I speak to them, not down to them as most people do, and I trust that they will speak to share their observations, ideas, and concerns. (Which they also usually do.)

Unfortunately, the rise of the overprotective I-Have-No-Faith-In-Anyone-Else’s-Decision-Making Helicopter Parents (And a few childless activists to boot) have demolished the rights of school age children and adults alike across the United States to enjoy peanut goods on school grounds and other public venues.  Why just peanuts? There’s 8 top allergens, not just one! (Fish, shellfish, dairy, soy, wheat, peanuts, tree nuts, and egg.) Why are we targeting the peanut?

In the last classroom I worked in, there was one child (out of 30. Get that? A classroom of fucking 30 kids and one teacher. No wonder our system is failing.) who had a peanut allergy. He was eleven, so he was well aware he had this allergy.   He knew that he shouldn’t eat peanuts or go around french kissing other girls and boys who just ate peanuts. He was a bright and capable young man. 

We had a Valentines Day party and snacks were made available. Peanut butter cups were involved, and contrary to what his mother believed, this kid was well aware that he should not be eating peanut butter cups. The party was great, lots of awkward valentine exchanges, and everyone went home unscathed.

Apparently, allergy kid gave his peanut butter cups away on the bus, but was polite enough to collect everyones trash and candy wrappers before he got off at his bus stop.

The next day I arrived to school and heard this weird squawking sound coming from the principals office. Then I heard the principal say “There’s the student teacher maybe she can provide you with better answers.”

Holy shit. Here came stay-at-home helicopter mom barreling straight at me, complete with no gainful employment and all the free time you could ask for. (Thank you principal, for pawning her off on me because you avoid all forms of parental confrontation.)

‘Squawk squawk squawk peanuts squawk squawk allergy squawk squawk COULD HAVE DIED!!! Squawk squawk you are a horrible person and influence squawk squawk squawk!”

“Your son didn’t eat any peanuts ma’am, he knows he is not supposed to…He’s a bright and capable young man.”

“SQUAWK!! He came home with peanut butter cup wrappers!! SQUAWK SQUAWK!! He ingested peanuts HE COULD HAVE DIED SQUAWK SQUAWK!”

“Um… I believe your son is well aware that he cannot eat peanut products… Besides if he ate them wouldn’t he be in the hospital right now?”

Her face contorts to ‘lemon’ expression. This tells me that she was full of shit to begin with. At this moment I look out the window and notice her kid making the weird ‘pussy eating’ hand gesture at some other… boys…

“Perhaps we can shift your concerns to your sons playground behavior?”

She ignored my comment and stormed back into the principals office and continued her squawking. After that fiasco everything that contained nuts was banned from our school building. Imagine that. Because one dumb bitch can’t trust that her own eleven year old is capable of not ingesting peanuts, the whole school has to suffer. (May I also make note that there were more students with fish and milk allergies at this school than peanut allergies but we still served fish sticks and milk at lunch… hmmm…) I also found out this year that most schools in my district have banned all things peanut. And if I’m flying on a plane with someone with a peanut allergen, low and behold because I am in the ’10 row zone’ I have to settle for nutrient devoid ginger snaps instead of a wholesome mini bag of peanuts because I might be vindictive enough to sprinkle my left over peanut dust on their head.

I understand that allergies can be a scary thing. They can lead to death. But I trust  that those who have them are capable of educating themselves and picking and choosing the right environments and making their own inquiries.(i.e.: Not going on a tour of Pearson’s Nut Roll Factory, asking the right questions at a food establishment, reading food labels, playing it safe, etc)

There is no need to deny everyone certain foods (nuts, soy, wheat, fish etc.) in establishments that would normally have those things because a small percent of an even smaller percent of people forgot their epi-pen at home. (Or have Helicopter Mom hovering over them…) If you can’t even be in the same room as a peanut how do you even leave your house everyday? I’m not hating, just really goddamn curious. WHY THE PEANUT?!

‘How Not To Get Fat At A Labor Day Barbecue’: What?!?!?!

I was checking my e-mail when this lovely article came a blazin’ through my feed. I decided to break it down for the faint of heart, or for those who don’t feel like reading 30 paragraphs of Mayonnaise is the Devil.

Before we get started, I will tell you the real secret to ‘not getting fat’ at a labor day barbecue. Or at all. Drink water all the fucking time. Dehydration happens way more often than we think. We often mistake dehydration for hunger. So. If you are hungry, drink 16 oz of water first. And if you are at the fatty pants labor day barbecue, keep chugging water the entire time. You’l be too full to indulge in seconds. Hopefully.

So! The article rambles on an on about how many calories are in each item. Well, of course they have calories, it’s real food your article is talking about here, lady. Not the tasteless fat free shit.

1. Mayo Based Salad: To each their own. I’m smart enough to be able to tell when a ‘salad’ is ‘swimming in mayonnaise’. That means it has a mayo based sauce, like potato salad or chicken salad. Luckily, You can either pass, eat a little or a lot, or choose a different salad. Obstacle avoided. Its not like you plan on pigging out on potato salad for the next two weeks.

2. Hot Dogs: Everyone who pays attention to anything knows that hot dogs are loaded with everything unpleasant but they taste so goddamn good. Eat one? Fine. Just don’t eat more than one. No news here, moving on!

3. Dip. Fuck you lady, I like my dip. I’ll eat 7 layer dip until I turn into a pinto bean. Loaded with calories? Yeah. The mayonnaise based dips. But don’t you go hating on beans cheese lettuce tomato chives olives and sour cream. Cause the only ingredient that will do nothing for you is the sour cream. The rest of those ingredients your body can use and poop out later.

4. Chips. Another no-brainer. As long as you come away from this barbecue not finishing an entire bag of chips, I will consider you unscathed.

5. Loaded hamburgers. Apparently a burger can run you up to about 700 calories. Well, I’m sure the number can be cut in half if you have a nice little 3-4oz  burger patty as opposed to the man’s man half pounder. Room for more calories!

6. Frozen Margarita and Daiquiri mixes. This lady says you should put a lot of liquor in each one so then you’ll magically limit your self to 1 or 2. This woman has obviously never drank before. She should have just said take a bunch of shots of low calorie Bacardi with a little sprinkle of mix added to it. You’re sloshed and it didn’t take 250+ calories to do it. Woot!

7. Baked beans. Okay, other than total fat-asses and baked bean enthusiasts, who honestly even eats AN ENTIRE 400 CALORIE SERVING CUP of baked beans? When there’s all this other stuff around are you seriously going to go beyond a spoonful of beans? That’s not even a cup. This lady is bean-biased.

8. Ice cream. Yeah I’m going to eat ice cream. I don’t care if its almost 600 calories for a monster serving that I won’t finish. Its the end of summer and its depressing.

9. Fried chicken. Apparently one piece of fried chicken is 300-350 calories. And apparently in this lady’s crazy world fried chicken must be the only food at this picnic because once again, unless you’re already fat, why would you load up on more than two pieces? And are you really gonna sit there and gnaw chicken to the bone when you have beans and dip to eat?!

10. Fruit pie. As mentioned before, unless I have a shopping bag for a stomach, I don’t think I will be indulging in fruit pie after my ice cream. Save it for the host’s leftovers. Their reward for having all these hungry creeps at their house.

Another perspective: It’s not like your going to down this 1500 calorie fest in one sitting. You’re at a barbecue. You’ll be there for hours. (1500 calories in 4 hours? that’s like 375 calories per hour. Do you plan on eating every hour on the hour for the rest of the day? I hope not. You’re safe.) Hopefully there’s more going on than everyone sitting around and eating. Hopefully that weird golfball attached to a rope game is set up. If you’re really that worried, you can always stick your finger down your throat and barf it back up.

Happy Labor Day! Stay Hydrated!