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Category Archives: Inane Shit


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I only have one thing worth saying today.

Writing the great American novel is akin to saying you’re going to shove your foot up someone’s ass.

Comment away….


I’m Not A Self-Loathing Asian….

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I’m just going to come right out and say it. I’m not fucking Thai. Not that I have a problem with Thai people, their language, food, or customs; in fact I rather LOVE Thai food, but that aside, NO I AM NOT NOW, NOR HAVE I EVER BEEN THAI. Nor am I Hmog (from Laos), Filipino (and why do you spell the Philippines with a “ph” but refer to the people with an “f”?), Vietnamese, or any other ethnicity from those Eastern Asian Countries below China, which is not to be confused with countries adjacent to China.

Call me Chinese, ehhh, no big deal, Japenese, I’ve heard that before too.  Correctly guess I’m Korean and I’ll do you a song a dance right there. Where is all of this coming from….  The other day I was at the grocery store, looking at salsa (of all things), when this woman comes up to me out of no where, invades my personal space and asks,

Lady: “Hey you know that sauce.”
Me: “Uh what sauce, salsa?”
Lady: “No, that sauce that has peanuts in it, and you put it on stuff.”
Me: “Peanut sauce?”
Lady: “Yeah I think so. Do you know where it is?”
Me: “No, not really.”
Lady: “But aren’t you like, that type of Asian?”
Me: “What do you mean….”
Lady: “The kind that makes and eats that sauce.”
Me: “You mean Thai?”
Lady: “Yeah, that’s it, Thai.”
Me: “Nope. And I don’t know what isle that sauce is on either. Oh by the way, do you happen to know where the nearest KKK clan is?”
Lady: “What?”
Me: “Aren’t you that type of white person?”
Lady: “What.”
Me: “Yup, seems you are: totally ignorant.”

I think as this point this woman turned five shades of red and made some strangling gurgling noises as she more or less ran away from me. After my last fiasco in the grocery store I was going to make DAMN sure that this time I would say something, anything. I might have gone too far.  As I related this story to the phubster later he assured me that I am really totally rude (duh), and wondered aloud if I was a self loathing Asian. What. The. Fuck. Really phubster, you wanted to go and play that card huh… FINE.  Then I asked him, “if I just walked up to you in the store and said, hey can you put your hands in my front lawn and ask the grass why it’s dying, that wouldn’t be rude?” (I should mention that the phubster is one sizzling hot Mexican) That son of a bitch said (with a glint in his eye), “I’m pretty sure that’s a come on. And I’d certainly take you up on the offer.” GAH, BARF, EYEROLL. He’s so cheesy sometimes.

The point of all of this? I’m not even sure if there is a point. I just thought it was kind of funny. I mean really “self-loathing Asian?” Ok there was that one summer where I almost went blonde, and that other time where I got really tanned and tried to pass myself off as… oh just forget it. I don’t think I’m that self loathing, no more than the average adoptee. What, hmm… oh yeah that’s right I am adopted. Into a completely WHITE family. I’ve been suffering WTF looks my entire life. So you’ll see now that it’s totally understandable when I get touchy about being an ethnicity I’m not.  As my brother often tells me (who is also adopted), “we’re just bananas, you know, yellow on the outside, and white on the inside.” This is true.  For the most part our parents tried to give us cultural advantages, a couple of summers at “Korean Camp,” books, information, etc on our ethnic and cultural roots, but really it just wasn’t quite the same. The only thing I’ve managed to walk away with from all of that is a deep and pornographic love of Korean Food. I want it all.  This is ok with me. It really is. I just don’t like being lumped together in that “all Asians look the same, therefore they must be the same” category. I mean, should I just assume every white person I see is Italian or Irish? Nope, didn’t think so, works with Asians too. Self loathing–>no; people loathing–> Hell to the yes.

And since we’re talking about loathing…

I’ve been reading a blog… I can’t tell if it’s real or not. SERIOUSLY. I don’t want to link it here because if it is real and there’s a ton of traffic over there because ya’ll are checking it out, that doesn’t look so good. But in all honesty I can’t make up my mind. There’s a part of me that thinks this fucking shit CANNOT be true (it’s not a happy blog BTW), I Mean people don’t just do that to other people, this is NOT TRUE.  And then there’s that other part that’s like, OMG what if it is true, this poor girl, I mean fucking sickos out there. But the writing is so advanced and articulate for her “supposed” age, which I’ve had to take a guess at because she doesn’t actually mention her age, just talks about maybe enrolling in High School, and her home schooling studies, and if it is true then the girl’s a freaking genius because her ramblings are extremely intelligent, her concepts and connections are light years ahead of her peers, and then some.  I don’t know it’s confusing, like that time in college when I kissed that girl… I just don’t know what to make of it, it’s a hot mess. I mean are there fake blogs out there? Sort of new and naive to this whole thing, I guess it’s a possibility.

In the blogosphere is there blogism (kind of like racism), just judging the blog by it’s category without actually seeing if it fits? There’s been a couple of other things I’ve read lately where I’ve thought to myself, “self, this is going to be about xyz,” and BAM, WAS I WRONG. In reality it was about vibrators, and IVF babies, and shit. Really Snarksters, I’m curious to know, is there a group of fake blogs out there floating around, am I being duped at this very moment, feeling sorry for someone who may not technically exist? I hate being duped. I will shank you.

So Lessons Learned:

1. I’m not Thai
2. I could stand to be a little more patient
3. I should not have a serious discussion with the phubster, or mention anything about lawns or grass because apparently that’s a turn on for him, fucking weirdo
4. Wondering why someone would post a fake blog is really time consuming and possibly pointless
5. Restricting yourself to boozing it up on Fridays and Saturdays only, SUCKS.

So… read any good fake blogs lately? Been totally rude to someone who thought you were some other kind of ethnicity that you are, in fact, not? Share…. I promise to be nice…….

My Funny Bone is Gone, and Might Never Come Back

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So Snarksters,

I don’t know if I’ve found my funny bone yet. I kept waiting for it to show-up and like a missed period, I got that fluttery sinking feeling that it might just be gone, for good (or at least nine months). It could be the sinus infection that sent it running off, or it could be that I actually had to do work last week at my job (this is shocking, I know. I mean how the hell am I supposed to post, when I have to work, tsk tsk). At any rate, it’s missing, and I miss it.
Without my funny bone I’ve become a regular old stick in the mud. Everything seems washed in sepia tones of BLAH. I was even (most likely), a very terrible patient this weekend because instead of laughing off my brush with death via my sinus cavity, I stayed miserable, and curled up on the couch, much like a hermit crab without it’s shell. All my squishy parts everywhere… it was NOT pretty. I’m also 100% confident that the phubster was not a big fan of said missing funny bone either. It could also be that I had him jumping around to please my every whim and desire while I continued to languish away.
Did I fail to mention that The CryBaby also has a sinus infection too. He was not a very happy camper either. In fact the two of us pretty much gave the finger to the rest of the world, and stayed miserable in ours. He also does not like saline spray. He may have back handed me several times for this abuse.
Tonight I will go to a “Back to School” orientation meeting for the Little Monster. It will be for her Four Year Old Preschool Class. I will sit there with all the pretentious mothers that act like their child is a genius, that their family is too good for this school, and that they have better things to do (like getting a manicure, or more botox) than to sit there and listen to what their child will be learning this year. As I back my Pontiac Vibe out of the parking lot, I’m sure to be cut off by various Mercedes SUV’s, Escalades, BMW’s and the like. I highly doubt I will find my poor little funny bone there either.
Oh and did I mention that this is State Funded Preschool Ya’ll….
I sometimes think that God/Fate/Devil/Destiny/Karma/Whatever the hell is out there is laughing at me. I’m pretty sure not only did they try to impale me with lemons, they also told me to shove them up my ass. I keep asking my Magic 8 ball for a better reading on the future, and all I keep getting is “outlook not good.”
That’s just fucking great isn’t it.
So, that’s it. I am now on the desperate hunt for my funny bone. I need it back. I need it back now. It may be the only way to survive the rest of this week/my life in general. Because we’re such good friends and all, should you find my funny bone I’m willing to do some type of menial labor for you in return. No–>I said menial, not demoralizing…. you people…. jeesh.
In the meantime, an open letter to my funny bone:
Dear Funny Bone,
Where are you? Please come back. I am losing my shit without you.
Ever lost something intangible and spent weeks trying to get it back? No, I don’t want to hear abut your grove…………..but share. Sharing is caring.

I’ve Been Slacking Like A Tired Trick

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Well Snarksters,

What can I say. Only two measly, last kid to be picked for teams, scrawny posts this weeks. For SHAME, for utter and complete despair and total gloom and dourness.
In a reality check moment– my life is actually not that funny all the time, and while my internal voice has been yacking non-fucking-stop about things we think are funny, it hasn’t been translating well. To be fair there were a couple of post attempts…
Failed Titles Include:
Harvesting Organs is a Great Way to Make Money for Shoes
I May be Addicted to Violence
My Kid Needs a Prozac
I’m Most Likely Going to Suffocate My Husband With A Pillow
DHL Ruined My Bob Damn Life
Mother-in-Laws Make Life Cringe Worthy
When I Grow Up I’m Going to Try to Be Nice
So you see, I really was thinking about, and half starting to write some great posts. But they just weren’t coming together. They would start funny and end really tragically. In the midst of rolling around in pure mirth and enjoyment there would be a total downer of a moment. Like the time I turned in an essay in Zoology about nothing in particular and wrote “and then the dog got hit by a bus, his innards were smeared across the road and bits and pieces of him scattered everywhere and stuck to everything causing most bystanders to be traumatized for life,” and still got an “A” on it (experiment to see if my teacher was actually reading the papers we turned in–> apparently not). Just sort of “oh, you’re so not funny, and that was awkward and inappropriate” moments instead of my casual wit and frothy banter. Not that this is really any better, but at least it’s not sooo painful to read, right……. RIGHT.
So in lieu of a life altering post on why “The CryBaby has a Better Backhand Than I Do,” perhaps just a quick catch up is in order. You know, in case you were actually wondering what I do all week, in between not posting….
DHL ruined my BOB DAMN Life all last week and it carried into this week. Sensitive work materials had to be shipped from the US to Europe. Not only did they re-route the package to the WRONG DESTINATION, when it got there instead of holding it for pick-up (as confirmed by numerous calls and emails), they simply sent it BACK to US office. FUCK YOU DHL, and your mind games. Our relationship is SOOOOO OVER. Anyway, after much wailing, weeping, shouting and threats, said package did get to the right person in the right country, eventually….
I had a fight with the phubster. It was over something inconsequential like why I can’t get on a full on tummy tuck, boob lift, and skin rejuvenation treatment package right now (<– that's not what our fight was about actually, it was just up there in the "what the fuck are we fighting about this shit for" category), but it was a total MOOD RUINER (oh fancy that, another word to add to the lexicon). Mostly because we like to fight over the phone. We get pretty hot and heavy with severe finger jabbing at the screen and exaggerated taps to "the end button" to hang up. It's ok though because once the red mist receded from my eyes and the brain thing started thinking logically again I realized that FUCKING SHIT, that BASTARD is RIGHT AGAIN. GAH. So, the fight passed.
Little Monster–> It’s a hit or miss with the sleep walking. Nights she doesn’t walk she talks A LOT, a WHOLE LOT in her sleep about random/disturbing things. I’ve been collecting said items for show and tell…
“I don’t want to share. Go play with the fire.”
“Stop it. Stop it! You’re making me breathe, and I don’t like it.”
“I told you, no more dinosaur soup. It tastes bad.”
“My mommy says you’re not supposed to say bad words like shit, or damn.”
“Santa sees you all the time, even when you’re being bad or going to the bathroom.
I know right, WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT. THE. FUCK. None of it makes sense really. She seems perfectly fine and adjusted during the day… but these night time ramblings have me locking up the matches, not cooking soup, making sure all dinosaurs are safe, watching my mouth, explaining how we need to breathe and instilling the fact that Santa doesn’t see you when you’re in the bathroom….
I also hit a pretty good sale at Ralph’s. No coupons. I am over coupons. But the sale didn’t require any so I was in the clear.
So you see, my week has been pretty eventful… really.
I also may be dying from walking pneumonia, but that’s a whole other can of worms. I might even have to go to the doctor and take medicine. But only if someone is going to buy me an ice cream after….
So that’s it Snarksters, the wrap up. Not the pee yourself funny you were expecting, but hey! Sometimes I’m just regular old me, Becca. (See that, see that VampireS, GAH).
How was your week, sum it up, wrap it up, and let it go……and if you happen to find my funny bone while you’re out and about, can you send it back to me–> just don’t use DHL. They will fuck you up.

It’s Monday, and I Suck Balls( figuratively, ok shit maybe literally too)

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I swear I had pink eye this morning. I mean the left one was totally inflamed and itchy, like an embarrassing burning itch. It was also a little pink. But me, being the amazing worker that I am, I went to the office anyway to spread around any possible contaminants with tender loving care, because that’s who I am, a tender, loving, caring person.
As it turns out I don’t have pink eye. (Sigh). Instead I have Idiotitis. It was really simple to get rid of too. I took out my contact and rinsed it, and when I put it back in, no more burning, itchy eye. What can I say, I should have gone to fucking medical school. I’m pretty sure the idiotitis is a chronic condition that comes and goes. It’s also really fucking infectious.
Case in point, not after more than an hour of being at work, my co-worker walked into a glass door. This was remedied by keep said door open. It’s the little things that make a big difference people.
In other news, little monster still sleep walking.
My home as become an Olympic track course. Gates as tall as hurdles littered everywhere, door knob covers that require a PhD to open, and no, no cat bells yet. Although I was informed by the phubster that I could “sew those shits into the hem of her shirt.” UM mother fucking no.
Ok I know this is bordering on painful to read. Before you commit harakiri (or as us morons pronounce it harry karry) or go play with razors, I’ll leave you alone.
I’ll try to be funnier tomorrow. I swear.
GAH MONDAYS, Fuck ’em.

I’m Going to Have to Minimize My Guest Posting Rights… Fuck… Just Kidding….

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So Snarksters,

Here it is… the aforementioned and highly anticipated post by Ms. VampireS herself. Can I just say that the fact that she DID NOT post about vampires and brownies has pretty much ruined my fucking week. GAH. Anyway…. she does have a point somewhere in all this rambling about life lessons like forgiveness, friendships, blah blah fucking Hallmark blah blah. Ugh. Not to worry though, I’ve livened up the place with a few strategically placed editor’s notes. The editor would be me. Oh SHIZ NITZ, please add that onto the ever growing list of talents I have and that you suck at. I know, I know, you’re thinking to yourself, “oh no she din’t.” And HELL YES, I did.

P.S. I’m one of the biggest fans of Ms. VampireS, and she knows it. She also knows that I’m joking around with her in my most Snarky way. If you take upon yourself to leave her a nasty comment, I will sharpen my fucking pencils, and I will Bob Damn Find You. Did I mention I’m in a gang……..

My mom would just die if she knew I was blogging. It’s ok because it’s not my blog and really this is an act of chivalry. (Can girls be chivalrous? Or is that an act saved for the male species?) You see I feel the need to save my BFF from herself [editor’s note: I like going down in flames, not saving necessary]. I read these blogs of hers and while I chuckle (ok laugh my ass of in an actual LMAO moment) I can’t help but say oh B darling, why the foul language?? [editor’s note: because I fucking love to Bob Damn mother fucking curse. Shit.]
So when given the much coveted offer of a “guest post” I couldn’t help but say “YES! YES… oh god..” So after much ado (and hopefully not about nothing) here it is folks.
Now I know you were all promised brownies and vampires [editor’s note: I’m sorely disappointed, I still want my vampire brownies] but I have a new idea. I apologize for anyone who was waiting on baited breathe for that post. Actually no I don’t. Get over it. [editor’s note: well screw you too]
Moving on…
A few years ago, after a couple days or maybe even weeks of dodging my best friend’s phone calls (no not B) I got quite the nasty gram from him. My response? “Sorry I’ve been really busy.” … if this is the part where you think it went over well, you’re wrong. “Don’t ever say that to me, I always make time for you. I’m busier than anyone I know.” At the time I thought OMG how dramatic! Cry me a river, we’re not dating or anything. But as time passed, and as I got older (and ironically enough, busier) I started to encounter more and more people that just didn’t have time for me. Some of this was just natural growing apart as we matured and to avoid the awkward painful conversation of “I just don’t like you anymore” we both pretended to be too busy to get together…. Letting our relationship dissolve in the ephemeral [editor’s note: sometimes Ms. VampireS uses big words. I know, it’s ok I don’t know what they mean either]. But I digress…
There were others, those hurt more.
Now that I’m older, and less dramatic (shut up! I am I swear [editor’s note: um no you’re not]) I get way less offended when people don’t have time for me… nope now I just get pissed.
So when today, I had 4 different people (yes all male) tell me “I’m sorry, I’ve just been SUPER busy lately.” (or some variation thereof) you can imagine how fucking pissed off I was. Like really? That’s all you got?
Case 1 – guy I know, that everyone I know can’t fucking stand, who has been giving a million chances and is on his 1 million and 1st chance… in the proverbial king sized dog house. Who, if he really wanted to make up to me big time as promised, would really find some time. And not a lot of time, I mean clearly any girl who forgives you so much, really wouldn’t require too much time. But I guess that’s the point isn’t it, he knows I forgive… (look at me digressing again.)
Case 2 – guy I know, who after finally convincing me to go out with him and acts, well let’s just say quite odd on our 1st date, complete with trying to kiss me and ending up in my ear and then texting me as I drove away to say, “um can we hang tonight?” … um we just hung out… did you mean to call someone else?? “nope you, I meant to call you silly.” Right…. [editor’s note: please do not go out with the guy again because I don’t want to have to ID you at the morgue. Thanks.]
Case 3 – my GD assistant who actually had the audacity to tell me “I’m too busy, you’re gonna have to do that yourself.” [editor’s note: as a “professional assistant” this is unacceptable, and I would tell him to go Fuck himself six ways to Monday]
Case 4 – no, I don’t think B’s readers are quite ready for case 4. [editor’s note: I’m not ready either]
What the fuck is with telling people you are too busy? There are some people you get “un busy” for, and there are some people you lie to about being “busy” and there are some people (and yes this would be me) [editor’s action: big time EYEROLL] that you’re just never too busy for.
The girl who has giving you a million and one chances, the girl whose ear you kiss, the girl who could sink your career… you’re never too busy for that girl.
So my best friend was right. And I was an ass. … is this my penance? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure JC himself would agree I’ve paid my debt to society and deserve once again to be showered in the love and admiration of those around me. … oh well, B loves me [editor’s note: sure I do, when I don’t want to break your knee caps with pencils].
PS… wanna guess who is the only guy I forgave? Case 1,2 or 3 ?…. yup case 1. Convincing argument? Nope… I just need real mental health treatment [editor’s note: agreed, I’ll drive you just cuz we’re tight like that].

The Kid Needs A Damn Cat Bell

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Oh readers, friends, comrades, followers and those of you who have been forcibly made to read this blog upon pain of death. You my funny snarksters (add that to my ever growing lexicon of words that I invented) are going to be sorely disappointed today.

My bees knees snarkster friend = EPIC BLOG FAILURE. Due to conflicting schedules she did not write her post as promised and therefore I had to break off our friendship and break her mother fucking knees, with pencils. It was bloody, there was screaming, and she’ll never walk again.
Ok, ok I kid. I would never break her knees with pencils, I’d have to use a couple of three ring binders and industrial staplers instead because it’s totally more humane to do it that way. But can I just say for the record that I was LOOKING forward to a great POST about Desserts, Vampires and Brownies. Now I must subject my loyal snarksters to more inane ramblings…. I Blame you Ms.VampireS. And thus I have dubbed you forever more in my posts to be referred to as Ms.VampireS. Don’t like, don’t not do your damn homework for me. (Hmph!)
Actually I’m willing to cut Ms. VampireS a break. She was a bit busy last night, and she did mention she fell asleep while texting me, therefore let it be known that you have earned yourself a stay of execution. And before you feign outrage, did you really think I wouldn’t blog about you not getting your post ready for my blog? Think again, just about anything is game for posts…
Along the same lines: how are you, dear snarkster lEfty (and you know who are) going to leave a comment that says “Don’t blog about me” and then seriously expect me to not post about you. You walked right into it my dear. I promise to post a good one about the good old days pretty soon. It would probably start something like, “One day in eighth grade….” Please note you’ve be fore fucking warned.
On an unrelated note, my little monster is sleepwalking.
(Pause for dramatic effect)
Yup that’s right snarksters, sleepwalking. The other night the phubster (after a frantic search) found her downstairs on the couch sleeping. No lights were on, and the door to our bedroom was closed (I should mention she sleeps in a toddler bed in our room). She has no recollection of how she got downstairs.
Then last night the little monster got up and paced in front of the bed with her eyes wide open, not blinking and incoherently mumbling. My first thought when I woke up to this sight was, “Oh my Fucking BOB, the Bob Damn RING come to life, and now my soul is going to go straight to hell while this she ghost demon infects me with her evil spawn and I shrivel up with lesions and convulse to death. FUCK ME.”
And then after blinking a few times, protected from my see no evil blankets, I peeped my head out again and realized it was just the little monster sleep walking. I got out of bed and gently guided her back to her bed. She didn’t get up again, and I did not have one finger or toe sticking out from beneath the sheets just in case there really were demon spawn out to steal my soul.
This morning I relayed the sleep walking story to the phubster.
His one comment, “the kid needs a damn cat bell.”
Well played phubby, well fucking played.
Be that as it may, I don’t know how appropriate a cat bell is to put on a small child. I think it’ll be better to just put up the safety gates and sleep with one eye open. Oh sleep how I miss thee.
In other unrelated news my home girl (I’m in her gang yo) Elizabeth stopped on by and left me a comment to which I secretly (ok not so secretly) swooned to, and then giggled about like a damn school girl. Check out her awesomeness here:
I may have also had a post of mine re-posted (and edited, sigh) here
What can I say snarksters… I am one talented bitch. It’s like I was telling Ms. VampireS, I should be writing for SNL or something. I’m pretty sure that my comedic talent is being totally fucking squandered and that my nuggets of wisdom will never get the warm the cockles of main stream America.
And on that note, I’m out yo.
After all it’s the fucking weekend and I plan to be sippin on gin and juice, laid back…..
More Snark on Monday………..