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Rant #1 : Fuck you, Oprah.

Everyone has, of course, heard of the travesty of racial injustice poor Oprah Winfrey suffered at the hands of those frog-eating Frenchies at Hermes.

Fuck her and her stupid money.

Anyone who has EVER worked in retail will tell you that when a store is about to close, they don’t let new customers in. My first job was in a department store. Who wants to postpone getting off work after being on your feet peddling whatever crappy merchandise you had to all day so that some moron can waste even more of your time so that they can shop, because they were SO busy with their obviously much more important life to come earlier in the day?

FUCK HER.

Fuck her and her money and her fame. And fuck her for making the president of Hermes go on her show and kiss her ass like a little pussy and blow up that ginormous ego of hers even more so that she can continue to act this way.

I love the audacity (it’s called spellcheck, stupid) of Oprah’s audience to gasp in disbelief when he said that the particular employee who told Oprah she couldn’t come in didn’t know who she was (and even if she did, it shouldn’t fucking matter. Especially since Oprah said “I never use who I am to get special treatment at stores.” Uh, yeah. Ok.). Like it’s so incredibly inconceivable that someone might not know of the great and powerful Oprah Winfrey.

Ugh.

 

Rant #2: Fuck you, Oprah, AND Jennifer Aniston.

ABC has been promoting the shit out the season premier of the Oprah Winfrey show with Jennifer Aniston, like it’s going to be so good you simply can NOT miss it.

You know what Oprah talked to her about? Yoga. And Mexican food. And her girlfriends. And yoga. And… that’s all.

Who gives a good goddamn about her stupid yoga? People only give a crap about her so that she’ll call Angelina a skank and a homewrecker, and she’ll admit how heartbroken she is and stop acting all cheery and happy about seeing her ex-husband on the cover of every magazine toting around Angelina’s rainbow coalition of children.

And, hello - who can blame him? First, she’s Angelina. I mean, come on. I’d leave my spouse for her, and I’m a girl. Plus she’s running all over the place saving children and doing all of her UN Ambassador crap, and adopting little third-world orphans.

What’s Jen doing? Yoga.

Hmmm… Jen has four movies coming out. That means she filmed four films in a row in the last two years, meaning she probably was away for home for 18 of those 24 months. Might the fact that you never saw each other have something to do with the demise of your marriage?

Just a guess.

Now, go do some more yoga. I think that water you just drank went right to your hips.

 

Rant #3: Dear God, please make Celestia a bird, so she can fly, far, far away.

I have said, so many times, I’ve asked Jesus to make Celestia go away. In whatever way he sees fit. It doesn’t have to be brutal, just gone.

If I have to listen to her talk to her boyfriend on the phone again, I’ll slit my wrists. I’m serious. They fucking live together, and they talk on the phone at least five times a day. Now, if they talked about important things, that might be one thing (ok, probably not), but the conversations are so boring and monotonous that I don’t understand how her boyfriend hasn’t taken his own life yet.

“Hi. What time did you leave this morning?

…

What did you have for breakfast?

…

What are you going to have for lunch?

…

What’s Max doing? Let me talk to him. Maxie, Maxie, what are you doing?? How’s mommy’s little boy?

…

What should we have for dinner?

…

What songs did you load on my iPod?

…

What time are you leaving?

…

What are you doing right now?

…

Is it busy?

…

Where’s your Dad?

…

Was there a lot of traffic this morning?”

Blah, blah, blah.

This goes on for about twenty minutes, each time he calls. Isn’t this the kind of retarded conversation you have at home? What can they possibly have to talk about when they get home from work in the evenings? I just want to slam my head into my desk every time he calls. I mean, she talks to the fucking dog. As wacky as I am about my cats, I don’t call and talk to them.

Rant #4: Why is “Joey” still on?

Seriously? Why does this shitfest get a free ride when the funniest show on television, “Arrested Development”, has to beg for an audience so that it can stay on the air?

That’s wrong.

Wrong, I tell you.

Rant #5: I’m done with dating. DONE.

This is why.

“YOURE PRETTY I LIKE GIRLS WIT CURVS AND A GREAAT SMILE WHO KNOWS HOW TO HAVE A GOOD TIEM AND BE HERSELF WITHOUT BEING SO SELFCONSCIOUS AND WHOSE SMART AND INDEPENDANT AND HAS A GREAT CENTS OF HUMOR IF YOURE INTRESTED HIT ME UP.”

God bless it. What the hell is wrong with these guys?

First, let’s discuss the photo. Now, I am not picky about appearances. I have often said that I am much more attracted to a man’s brain and sense of humor above all else. However, this sort of picture is not even going to get you in the door. It is not one bit attractive, regardless of his face. It’s just stupid. And unappealing.

And, no matter HOW good looking he may have been in the photo, fully clothed or otherwise, that spelling and grammar is truly frightening.

How does someone who spells so horribly even dress themselves in the morning (though, to be fair to this guy, he doesn’t wear much)? It’s called punctuation, fucko. USE IT.

And then, there’s this guy:

I just LOVE it when guys take pictures of themselves in really nice, expensive cars and try to pass it off as theirs. Because girls only care about what kind of car a man drives, right?

I also love when guys who don’t know me use pet names, or call me “sexy” as if it’s my name. Also not appealing. In fact, I find it pretty repulsive.

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So, my friend Scott, who thinks he’s so cute and clever, suggested this might be an appropriate birthday gift for me.

Ha.

Ha.

Ha.

Just because I’m single and live alone, and think of my cats as my kids, and have taken hundreds of pictures of them, and spoil them, and talk about them incessantly does not make me the crazy cat lady. Right? RIGHT??

It’s a good thing he ponied up a real gift. I just hope none of my other friends find out about this damn doll, because those assholes really WILL buy it.

And speaking of my cats (come on - can you really be surprised I’m talking about them?), I had a scare yesterday. I turned out of my neighborhood onto a major street, and as I was turning, I saw a little black cat laying in the street that had been hit by a car. I immediately turned around, and ran all around my apartment looking for Boo, my little black cat who had to become an outdoor cat due to her constant use of my entire apartment as her litterbox. I didn’t see her. I went to work. I came home on my lunch break, and looked again.

I asked a few neighbors, and none of them had seen her. I asked The Hot Mailman, because she LOVES him, and follows him around on his route all the time, and he said he hadn’t seen her. I left to go back to work, and saw that someone picked up the cat, and laid it on the median with a towel over it. I drove, sobbing, because my poor cat was laying in the middle of the street because I made her stay outside all the time. I felt so badly.

I went home, and looked around again. Nothing. I shook her food container, and called her, and still nothing. I was completely heartbroken.

Then, around two in the morning, I heard that crazy angry little meow I hear whenever she’s hungry. I got up, and ran outside, and started yelling at her and hugging her at the same time, reminding her how crazy I had gone all day. I am not joking when I write that the words “Do you know how worried you had me? What were you thinking?” did indeed come out of my mouth, at a volume loud enough for my neighbors to hear. But thank god she came home.

Again, I reiterate - I am NOT the crazy cat lady.

I’M NOT!