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Posts Tagged ‘bad ideas’

Red Alert

We are at RED ALERT here at PartofthePrecipitate Industries these days.  In likely karmic payback for the worst thing I ever did ;. I have been struck by a quirky case of identity theft.

You see, it’s my crazy-pants sister.

I’m not going to shine my saint halo too much here, but I’m a bit flummoxed.  Of all my siblings, I’d say I was the one who treated her the nicest.  Now don’t get me on the “Aha,” anonymous friend.  I’ve never told her it was ok to rob me blind, I just never beat the shit out of her.  I also remembered her birthday and never got mad at her for having a disorder.

So today, I’m calling my credit card companies trying to piece together what has been done. I have thus far found two accounts that weren’t authorized.  Apparently the fraud was rampant enough to completely shut down my instant access to credit reporting as well, because I could not get mine online.

We are on red alert, dear reader.  I guess all I have to say today is, “Thanks for the Identity Theft, Sis!  Merry Fucking Christmas to you too.”

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I lied.

I am not in the holiday spirit.  I wouldn’t give away bees.  Not even killer bees.  Dear anonymous friend, true confession: I don’t like the Holidays.

They make me go, “Bah Humbug.”

December drags me down.  When I feel it coming, I put up my privacy fence and don my crash helmet.  I get quiet.  I let it win.

I enjoy the opportunity for a little introspection.  Did you notice how I didn’t blog, for like, a year?  I was introspecting.  The people around me get down too.  The cold is too wet, the cold is too dry, the cold is too cold, etc.  Instead of introspecting, they get festive.  They force themselves out in public, to parties, and on the roads.  They make bad decisions about speed, holiday sweaters, and political opinions to angrily share with relatives.

While you celebrate your holiday this year, whether grump or elf, take a few minutes out of your day and allow yourself to say aloud, “Fuck all this plastic shit.  Fuck everything in my year that wasn’t good.  Fuck everything that didn’t work and fuck this stupid sweater.”

Follow that simple step for a merry and bright new year.

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I Had a Goldfish Once

It was a bad idea.

But i did everything to keep this goldfish safe and warm. As warm as goldfish care to be, that is.  But unforch, this goldfish died within a couple weeks.

I didn’t know what to do with it.  I didn’t own my house so I didn’t feel like I could bury it.  When you rent a home, you aren’t supposed to flush anything that you didn’t eat first and I am a vegetarian.   I am not going to eat this dead goldfish.  Besides, it probably had kennel cough or whatever they get at the puppy mill.

So, in a fit of inspiration, well, not inspiration, without thinking about it: I dumped the entire fishbowl down the drain.

I can’t explain the sound, and I won’t, but I am still perplexed by the sense of relief I had once I had solved my burial problem.  As penance, every disposal I ever have in a home, I nickname “Frank,” just like my goldfish.

Update:  Dissenting opinion here.

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Employed Again

After being funemployed for 4 months, I finally got a job. I need one, but man, I am not looking forward to actually having to do stuff again.

I am out of the loop of responsibility. Did I tell you that I live with my mother? That she washes all my clothes, dishes and my sheets? I have a funny story about the sheets…

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Machete

Two weeks ago, I went to the local flea market.  Right now isn’t the high season, but it is still an enormous space filled with some of my favorite kinds of absolute garbage.  Cheap Chinese electronics, Taiwanese “Shoupie” Markers, it was amazing.

However, everyone was charging some ridiculous Inflationland prices.  A pack of “Shoupies?” $3.  You could get the real Sharpie(tm) for a few bucks more and have a more solid guarantee of it’s quality and colorfastness.

So the prices were shit and no one wanted to bargain.  Except for one booth.

One booth had bins.  Rows and rows, covering a space larger than Pizza Cottontail’s cabin.  Granted, his cabin is small, but what I’m trying to say is that this booth had a lot of shit.

6 packs of bras for $10 (That’s cheap, if you don’t know what bras cost.), PandyPaws for $3 (probably a pet health hazard), and in another bin, for just two dollars, machetes.

This Thing is Fucking FierceThey even had sheaths.  I don’t know what came over me, but in a very disappointing display, I did not buy it.  Friend, this is a very stupid thing for me to do.  I basically live alone in a big scary city now.  This is no longer the boonies where it isn’t a problem to leave your door unlocked.  This is the big city.  There are city rats.

Ever since I didn’t buy this very useful tool, I have had dreams about Very Scary Things.  Last night, I dreamed that I lived out of my car and had parked in the woods.  Then the aliens came and started killing everyone and I did not have a machete.

The night before, I dreamed that my cats were not cats, but smother-monsters and I did not have a machete.

Obviously, I must remedy the situation and buy a machete, but the problem with going back is the $4 parking fee at the fairgrounds where the flea market is held.

The machete becomes a $10 investment at that point. ($4 for my initial park, $4 for my second park, and $2 for the actual salvation knife.)

And that’s why I am making vegan mayonnaise.

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