HAPPY NEW YEAR 2013 ...

It is 10:50 pm and there is nothing on T.V. and I've been on Pinterest for the last couple of hours which led me to all sorts of different sites and then I started thinking ... because I get super creative late at night ... which is why I'll probably be up until well after midnight (thank god for Ambien), and I started to think about the coming new year and some of the things (goals, resolutions) I'd like to accomplish  

(personally, I hate "goal oriented" people.  I can't relate to people who make plans and have tasks) I'm only doing this because I'm bored.  

So 2013, the OBVIOUS is:

1.  GET A JOB.  As you all know, I have not been gainfully employed for AN ENTIRE FUCKEN YEAR.  My goal in 2013 is to stay that way.  (RELAX, it's only sarcasm ...) I figure that if I don't worry about it, then something will happen.  Like reverse psychology or an ether mind-fuck.  All last year I worried and sweat about every single resume I sent out and not one second of anxiety brought forth a prospect.  Did I get a job?  No.  So, I'm not doing that anymore.  A job will come, when a job will come and it doesn't matter if my resume does not contain the correct verbage that employer computers are looking for.  What will be, will be.  I spent half my afternoon on Huffington Post commenting and fighting with all the right wing tea-baggers who believe that people like me are unemployed because we're lazy and don't want to work.  I hope they all get laid off.  One guy by the name of JASON, replied to my comment about the difficulty finding work and said "that he would NEVER BE UNEMPLOYED BECAUSE  HE'S NOT A LEECH."  Fuck you Jason. 

2.  I WILL NOT WORRY ABOUT NOT GETTING A JOB.  This is crucial.  Though I will continue to send my resume to the countless establishments that are hiring (according to all the idiots on Huffington Post) and into the netherworld of cyberspace.  I WILL NOT stress, nor will I become a statistic by snapping and taking a chain saw to all the cars in my condominium complex when I receive yet another response to the submission of my resume and carefully articulated cover letter ...

Dear Deborah, 

Please do not respond to this email; it was automatically generated to acknowledge receipt of your resume. Thank you for your interest in the Legal Secretary-LA opening with our BIG FANCY LAWFIRM.  We have received your resume and are reviewing it against our current requirements. We will contact you if your qualifications meet our current requirements.

Sincerely,

Human Resources Department 

 

In the real world this means: 

  

In the past, receipt of such an email had me crying like a little girl. You will note how impersonal they are.  Direct and to the point, yet hurtful ... like getting stabbed with a butter knife.  Well ... no more tears.  Fuck you fuck-heads.

3.  I don't want to read any more positive, uplifting bullshit messages or get any stupid advice like "why don't you start a business?"  REALLY?  ASS-WIPE.  Yeah.  And while I'm at it, I think I'll start drafting the plans for the estate I'm going to build on my vineyard in Napa   

Regular people do not start businesses or want to be CEO's nor do they have the discretionary funds to "reinvent" themselves.  THEY JUST NEED A JOB.  How hard is that to understand? 

4.  I am not going to get all riled up by the likes of Kim Kardashian and Kanye West and the spawn they have created that will probably have a ridiculous, stupid "K" name, nor am I going to continue to hate Lisa Vanderpump for being rich.  It just takes way too much energy.  

I do, however, want to thank all of you amazing people who come by and visit my site.  I love that you "get" me and I love reading your comments.  I know you all understand that what I say, I say in jest ... I would be so disappointed if you thought that I took all these idiots seriously.  I mean, it's all I write about and I know you visit me because I'm all about the hating ... and that's what I like about you.  You validate my hatred ... and that's a good thing.  

So with that said, here's to 2013!  FUCK IT! 

OH. EM. GEE.

Kim Kartrashinan is pregnant with Kanye's spawn.

1.  Her ASS is going to get so big it will need its own zip code.

This is NOT normal.  She may have to deliver this kid anally.


2.  I hope the baby doesn't get his chin.

3.  Two narcissists who are in love with each other (she with herself, he with himself)

4.  Strategically waiting to make this glorious announcement - New Years Eve ... because Kimye knows how much we, the little people, look forward to their farts and shit.  (I bet if Kris Jenner would find a way to bottle Kim's farts she would, and then everyone on earth would rush to their local department store to purchase it).

4.  A new reality show awaits.

Dear GOD, help us.

FINDING YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE ...

As you all know by now, I am not a "glass half full" person.  I don't necessarily think of myself as a fatalist ... I think of myself as more of a realist.  So, a while back, I was on The Huffington Post and read an article by a gal who had quit her day job and was now living her dream.  Her dream consisted of:  (1) having more time to herself; (2) becoming financially independent; (3) having homes in other parts of the world; and (4) being able to travel.  She has now decided to help the rest of us achieve the same. 

Her article goes on to have the reader answer a long list of questions -- FAST -- before you have time to think about it, then you add up your scores and VOILA!  Your life's purpose REVEALED.   

I don't need to take a test to find my life's purpose.  

Honey, EVERYONE on earth wants to have more time to themselves, become financially independent, have homes in other parts of the world and be able to travel.  EVERYONE.  And you telling me that if I do what you tell me to, I too, can have the life of my dreams?  Someone needs to be bitch slapped.  Twice.  

People like you make other people feel like crap.  People do not like to feel like crap.  You need to stop writing these "you can have it all" bullshit articles.  You CAN'T have it all.  Period.  Quit getting peoples hopes up and start writing more useful articles.  Thank you.  

Love,
Debbie
 

SO ....

I just finished sending my resume to ten prospective employers.  If the planets do not align on 12-21-12 and the end of existence as we know it does not occur, I can hope to hear back from any one of these prospective employers approximately ... never.  

While job searching, I happened to stumble onto You Tube where there were lots of helpful videos for the mature job seeker (aka useless humanoids) on how to interview successfully.  Such as "how to ask the right questions during an interview" or  "how to spin your biggest weakness into a positive and "how to explain resume gaps" (this is crucial because if you've been unemployed more than a hot minute you seriously have some esplainin to do); and my favorite ... "how to negotiate your salary" (LMAO). 
Everyone knows that drones do not negotiate their salaries.   

HOUSEWIVES AND OTHER REALITY NUT JOBS ...

Dear Kenya,

YOUR MAN DOES NOT WANT TO MARRY YOU.  PERIOD.

Kenya is suffering from a multitude of issues, mainly malignant narcissism.  She has major issues with her mother who abandoned her and does not acknowledge her to this day.  This would explain her need to compete with and cut down other women and flirt with their men.  Only ... this does not work Kenya ... it just makes people hate you.  Did you get that?  Not jealous.  Hate.  You need to find yourself a good therapist and work this stuff out.  I say this with love in my heart.
Oh ... and p.s. ... you might want to find a good dermatologist. 

Dear Phaedra,

You really need to keep that GIGANTIC ASS of yours covered up.  Seriously. 

Dear Kim,

I have no idea how you hooked such a nice, normal guy because you are such a shameless, foul-mouthed, tranny looking piece of trailer trash who thinks you actually are someone.  LISTEN CAREFULLY .... YOU'RE NOT.   

Dear Alexia,

What you did to Karent was MEAN, MEAN, MEAN.  Yes, she is a bit much to take but ambushing her the way you did with news of her cheating boyfriend in front of all the other ladies was really unforgivable.  You were practically giddy with joy as you told her you had proof of his infidelity and offered to show her the pictures.  Girl, you'd better pray this doesn't come back to you.  Because if it does, I'll be the first one laughing at your pathetic ass Cuban Barbie.

OK.  This broad right here - G.G. from Shahs of Sunset, is certifiable.  She has serious, SERIOUS anger management issues and is always threatening to fuck someone up.  She constantly demands respect from everyone but acts like a mad dog on crack.  I love these rich bitches who think they are so down and want everyone to be afraid of them when you know, that in a showdown between Miss G.G. and Clockstopper, Golnesa would piss on herself.   

G.G. my love ... if you are really that down why don't you hop in your Mercedes and drive on down to The Hood in Pico?  There are plenty of gals down here who'd be more than happy to rearrange your face.    

P.S. ... Doesn't she look like the bug from the Outer Limits?  Right!

SMOOCHES!

DREAMSCAPE ...

There isn't even a word that could possibly describe my dream life.  My dreams are like a parallel universe that I exist in that is ultra bizarre.  I had one the other night that I  have not been able to stop thinking about and I keep wondering how I could possibly get it written into a screenplay.

So the premise of the dream is this .... I am living in someone else's reality.  This reality is really dangerous, like life threatening dangerous and I am about to be murdered -- but I have no idea by who/how or where.  All I know is that I have to escape.  The means of escape is through several doors, which will take me into yet another dangerous reality, BUT, if I take the wrong door, I will return to the same reality I have just tried to escape.  So I'm basically fucked no matter which way you look at it.  (Prophetic?)

Scene one:  I am in high rise office building.  I am in the coffee room taking a break.  I'm a temp worker.  The people there don't like me.  As I sit and drink my coffee I watch an old lady jump up and down until her underwear falls down to her ankles.  Several other workers race to help her pull up her underwear and then drag her away because she has obviously lost her mind.  Just then, I realize that if I don't make a quick get-a-way, I am NEXT and I know that if I don't get out of there immediately something terrible will happen to me.  I run out of the coffee room and escape into a stairwell where there are several large doors all offering a means of escape.  Above each door is the destination.  One door says, TO NEW YORK, another FROM TOKYO, another TO HARLEM and another TO LOS ANGELES.  I don't know which one to take.  I'm panicking.  I decide on the New York door ... I open the door and there is a little car on a rail -- like a roller coaster ... I sit in it and am immediately hurled into space through the New York skyline until I end up on a street right on my butt.  Just like in THE TERMINATOR movie, the bad guy has followed me and I'm off and running again!  Oh shit.  I run through he city trying to find a place to hide when I realize that I do not know this city at all and I have no idea where to hide.  So I do the only thing I can, and that is to find my way back to the DOORS -- to choose another reality -- I find my way back to the stairwell wherein I jump onto the TOKYO roller coaster and I am propelled into TOKYO.  It is night and I find myself in a beautiful hotel lobby, very eco-chic, lots of white lacquered walls with huge aquariums full of exotic, colorful fish.  I'm safe ... for a while.  I try to familiarize myself with this new place when all too soon I sense the evil presence and I once again have to find my way back to the doors.  I run through the lobby and get on the escalator.  I know that if I can find my way back to the stairwell, I will find THE DOORS and I can escape again. 

The dream continues ALL NIGHT and consisted of me desperately trying to escape all of these realities until I finally woke up in a panic and thoroughly exhausted. 
My personal interpretation:  I'm screwed and my reality sucks. 


THOUGHTS?  ANYONE?  

ALL ABOARD!! NEXT STOP ... "DANNYLAND"

It was a typical Sunday afternoon ...

Danny:  "Hon?  I know ... why don't WE make enchiladas tonight?"  (translation from Dannyspeak to English ..."WE" means "YOU").

Me:  "I don't know how to make enchiladas." 

Danny:  "Oh it's real easy."

Me:  "Then why don't YOU make the enchiladas?"

Danny:  "Ha ... ha."

Me:  "Besides, I don't have anything.  I haven't been to the market."

(I had been neglecting my own grocery shopping for the last two weeks because we were going to have Thanksgiving at my sisters and she just got a new job and didn't have the time to do all the shopping so I was helping her out and taking everything to her house, therefore, I had no food in my house which meant that I would have to go to the market to buy EVERYTHING for the enchiladas, then come home and COOK on Sunday ... the traditional day of rest ... but not for Debbie).

Danny:  "No really ... it's really easy.  All you do is get the chicken, shred the meat, chop up the onions, get the sauce ....


Me:  "Again ... if you know how to make them, then you make them."

(We like to play this funny little game, he and I, over how easy/difficult it is to cook a particular meal and I always end up losing because COOKING IS EASY therefore I ALWAYS end up making the meal ... even on the weekend ... because I am unemployed and I have to earn my keep ... because I'm a slave - ugh.)

So I go to the market, get the chicken breasts, buy an onion, get the tortillas and buy an apple pie for HIM because I'm stupid that way.

I call my sister ... "hey, how do you make your enchiladas?"  She tells me.  I do it.  I sweat and chop and cook and shred, I peel and saute and cook and cook and then I wash the  THREE pans I have so I can re-use them because they are the ONLY three pans I have because my husband is a tight wad and then I cook some more.  This equates to standing on my feet which are riddled with plantar fasciitis for over an hour which is killing me.  I get the enchiladas in the oven, then I start making the rice and the beans because you can't have enchiladas without rice and beans so this means I am standing for another half hour.  I finally finish in the kitchen and after having done two rounds of dishes ALL while preparing dinner I FINALLY SIT DOWN.

Me:  "Danny, YOU are going to clean the kitchen for me because I've been standing for over an hour and I made you the enchiladas okay?"

Danny:  "Yeah, yeah."

DINNER IS SERVED.

Danny:  "MHMMMM, MYMMMM, OMG, THESE ARE PERFECT!  MHMMMM".

Me:  "Awww honey ... It makes me so happy when I make something you really like."  

Twenty minutes pass.  We eat.  We converse.  We smile.  Everybody is happy.

Forty minutes later there is an empty Pyrex baking dish with remnants of tortilla, chicken and enchilada sauce which is rapidly coagulating.  Two pots, one with rice the other with beans which need to be transferred to Tupperware, a multitude of forks, knives, spoons and other cooking utensils are also hardening with various remnants of foodstuffs. 

Me:  "Danny .... you are going to clean the kitchen for me right?"

Danny:  "Yeah, yeah.  I'll do it in the morning before I go to work."

Me:  (I knew it)  "That's disgusting" I say.

Danny:  "What?????" 

Me:  "Letting food sit in pots and and pans overnight like that while the food hardens, etc.  Only pigs live like that."

Danny:  "I'll do it in the morning what's the big deal?"


OK.  I'm not even going to attempt to explain why I cleaned the stupid kitchen but I swear I will never, EVER make enchiladas again!  EVER.  And I mean it.  Really.