My friend killed herself. That's all there is to it. It's cold, hard, unemotionless facts and I'm writing this while fairly drunk. My plan, in fact, is to stay drunk all weekend so that I don't have to face the reality waiting for me. My friend is dead, and she will never laugh with me...EVER again. She's gone. Forever.

That's such a terrible word, FOREVER. It means, "never again." It means that I will never get to piss her off by being a skinny bitch. I'll never get to see her sing Def Leppard "Pour Some Sugar On Me" doing the "Jenny Dance" while singing in a thin, and dear voice. Because she's dead and never coming back. I'll never come home and find her randomly on my sofa, because (stalkers and rapists take note) we don't lock our goddamm door. If I *DID* lock the door, I was sure to get a text along the lines of "Why the hell is your door locked?! I need to use the internet!!"  And now, no one will ever invade my fucking house to use my internet with my tacit permission.

My friend killed herself.

She's never coming back. I don't really know how to deal with this in an "adult" manner. So far, my plan has been to stay drunk as shit, eat pastry, cry, and listen to the Beatles. Did I mention that I'm doing a lot of crying? I miss my friend so much that it's unbearable. I don't know how to breathe. It feels as though it's a joke; she'll walk through the door laughing at me for being sad. "It's a joke," she'll say. "I'm still alive, I just fooled ya! Got ya good, didn't I?!"

But that's not what happened.

Instead, she killed herself and I didn't even know. I have been texting and calling her with no response, and finally I checked her Facebook page. There were a thousand messages saying 'RIP Jenny!" and "We'll miss you!" And here I am not knowing. It hit me like a fucking hammer to the chest. My friend killed herself. What kind of friend am I that I had to find out in such a remote and removed way?

Well, I'll tell you. I'm the kind of friend that has to stay drunk so that I can feel the pain. I'm kind of a monster in that way. I need to drink to feel emotion anymore. I'm listening to Radiohead/Johnny Cash/The Beatles and crying hystericall whilst eating cookies. A caracature? Sure... why not? I have no fucking pride left. Isn't pride what got us here in the first place?

I'm a terrible fucking friend.

I miss my friend.

I'm very drunk.

And my friend is still dead.

Where I live, the dating pool is fucking dismal. After my beloved ex fucked me over in more ways than I care to count, I am now being thrown head over heels back into that fetid hell-hole. You see, when I say dating "pool" what I really mean is "shallow, stagnant pond that is full of toads, and poisonous scum."

By some incredible co-incidence, entering this metaphor will still give you the same amount of diseases.

I have been searching dilligently, but to be honest... I think I give up. I really do. I have no idea how I'm supposed to find someone I even want to spend more than five minutes talking to, let alone seriously date. I don't really think of myself as having "high standards" but apparently in an area where family trees don't really branch, certain things can't be taken for granted. It's like someone took the US by the mexican border, shook it really good, and all the normal people held on making the freaks and morons pile up here in the North.

I swear to Nyarlahotep that I never had this problem when I lived in the southern part of California. It's only after moving up North that I noticed that people were... fucking undatable. Here's a quick run down of what I'm up against (or rather what I'm desperately trying to avoid touching at all).

Locals: I wasn't really joking about the whole "family tree looks like a telephone pole" thing. Many of the locals show what I would refer to as "inbred" characteristics; including (but by no means limited to) bunny teeth, receding chins and occasional lazy eyes. My intent is not to mock those who are ugly, or who have some sort of disability, but merely to point out that most of the population is a giant "Fuck You" to Darwin. Toss in the rampant drug abuse, and you have a winning combination! My ex is a local and although he was a little special looking, he seemed normal enough. Then you discover that cultural isolation is a bad thing. This guy apparently had no idea that the fifties ended... well, in the fifties. After dating me for two years we were both astonished when I turned down his wonderful offer of working both jobs and cooking and cleaning for him while he did absolutely jack-shit. Me, because I figured that he had to know that I never wanted that life. Him, because apparently he thought that whole "work for a living and be an equal" was all a phase.  Bottom line, run away from those that have been born and bred here: It ain't worth it.

This guy at least has a fucking job.

Growers: We grow marijuana here... that's just what we do. This area never had much going for it and with the collapse of timber and fishing and being a backwater pit, pot is the only thing that brings in any money. It's such a part of the culture here that it's easy to forget that it's still totally illegal. Growers are nice, polite, love dogs, and will totally shoot your ass if you stumble across one of their grows. It wouldn't even be so bad if they just grew on their own property, but these guys have plots in the public forests and parks and they all have an itchy trigger finger. Sure these guys have money, but they live in constant paranoia waiting for the DEA to find them, or an enterprising thug to come shoot them and steal their crop. Dating one of these guys is a cross between dating a filthy, filthy hippie and the crazy homeless man with the tinfoil hat that swears the government is following him in that orange van. Of course there's never a dull moment as you dodge rival growers and the cops in your quest for true love, but this is too much work for me. Also, growers are often locals (see above).

OH, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!!!

Illegal Immigrants: Seriously? I didn't think this was something that I needed to be specific about. "Must be a legal citizen of the United States" was something that I didn't think I needed to include. I don't really have a beef with undocumented immigrants (unlike Arizona) but I don't neccessarily want to be dating one. Again, I have a vast dislike of jail and the law (My ex is a fucking Corrections Officer and I WILL NOT go to jail to see his ugly mug smirking at me) coming down on me like a hammer. If I want to piss off the government, I'm going to date a grower because they have cash and I has bills to pay. I like Mexican culture, I'm used to it, and they have fantastic food... however, I'm also not in a huge hurry to get married and I kind of resent being seen as a desperate Green Card dispenser. 



Might actually be kind of cool to date...

Bi-sexual Furry: Again... I didn't realize that this was something that I needed to specify. I have nothing against people that swing both ways, but I did kind of want someone that was single. This person has a boyfriend and wants me to be a girlfriend. Also, FURRY. If I have to explain why I was like "fuck no, what is wrong with you" then you are either a furry, or an innocent.

For obvious reasons, you cannot be both.

Married Men: YOU ASSHOLE, YOU WASTED SIX WEEKS OF MY GODDAM LIFE THAT I'LL NEVER GET BACK.





She's more lenient that I would have been.



Mid Life Crisis: I did specify that I am in my late twenties... why the fuck is the average age of the responder 49?  I'm not the prettiest person in the world, but I'm not entirely hideous to behold either. Keeping this in mind, I cannot imagine the size of the ego that thinks "awww yeah" and then sends me pictures of hideous, flabby midsections and messages that can be paraphrased as "Let's fuck!" If I'm going to "hook up" it will certainly not be with Captain Beergut. What bothers me is that these guys are literally only looking to fuck and think they have the goods to pull it off. If I'm sleeping with someone that looks like a potato sack on frog legs, they have a great personality and are in it for the long haul. Also, see above... NO married men! What the fuck, do I need to write a guide to dating where this is clearly spelled out?

Oh. My. God.

With all these fine selections arrayed before me, is it any wonder that I'm permanently between boyfriends? I am perfectly fine being single, but I do enjoy having someone to share my life with. I want someone that treats me like a real human being, likes my pets (or at least tolerates them), and isn't a dick to my friends. I go to bars every so often, and I drink a bit. Sometimes I even smoke when I drink, but I'm in good shape and I stay home more often than not. I work, and I have my own car. I'm not the greatest catch, but I'm not a complete waste of space either. I also believe that I should pay for my own stuff and if the average whining male is to be believed, that shit is worth it's weight in gold. All I'm asking for is someone that I have a realistic chance of dating and enjoying their company. I don't think this makes me "high maintenance" or even "high standards." I don't actually care how they look as long as we always have something to talk about (in fifty years, we're all going to be dead or ugly anyways).  Why is there no one not gay/married matching this description anywhere to be found?

Seriously, this is the man that's been in my life the longest.

At this rate, we all know what my inevitable descent into complete and utter madness is going to look like.





Bonus: They eat you sooner after you die than dogs do, so I guess that'll save on casket and funeral expenses.



So, I am at heart a bit of a desperate romantic. I realize that it’s a stupid thing to be and I completely hate it, but that’s how it is these days. I seem to find myself…permanently between boyfriends, and it has begun to wear on me. I know am looking for a decent person to share time and space with, and in this particular area of the country these people are few and far between. I’ve had people ask to drink my blood, ask if I’m OK with dating another person at the same time, people with balloon fetishes, furries, and undocumented individuals.

Fucking no, just... no.

I’ve found someone who seems interested, and he’s pretty cute. He sets off some red flags, but since he reminds me strongly of my first and incredibly shitty Ex, I’m willing to admit it might not be anything wrong with him. So I thought I might start flirting back a bit. Just a little bit, but he seems to be receptive. My biggest problem is that the only place I see him is his place of employment, and I have a strong resistance to flirting with people where they work because nothing says “Date me!” like getting someone fucking fired.

So... your weekend just opened up then?

I’m not entirely certain how to go about this thing, but my inner bitch has a totally insane plan that can never work and is so incredibly stupid that I’m somewhat ashamed to have any part of inventing. It relies on subtlety, superhuman powers of observation, and a series of coincidences and an extreme lack of propriety. It’s the sort of saccharine drivel that chick flicks serve up on giant platters… and I want it.

In my dream, I am witty and clever. I drop hints to the gent in question and he understands that I would like to see him in a different venue. I tell him about a song that I love and find extremely romantic (he has a lovely voice), he sings it and we both maintain eye contact the entire time. The people in the bar realize that this is different… somehow, in some ineffable way. There is only quiet and for us there is only the other person in the crowded hall. He arrives at the final verse and begins to leave the low stage and walk towards me. I walk toward him, he finishes the song… and we fall into each other’s arms and kiss. Cue credits, cue music, cue happy ending.

And if you ever cheat, I'll fucking cut you!

Blah… I deserve to be whipped, tarred and feathered, then run out of town. This is the sort of drivel I find on “Twilight” fan-fic sites. Christ, it’s like my brains have been replaced with pink glittery mush.

This is your brain on Nicholas fucking Sparks.

UPDATE: The son of a bitch is married and completely failed to mention that... Thank Cthulhu for cock-blocking co-workers. 

Let me be clear from the get-go: I have never been a particular fan of Unions. I recognize their place in the world, but I still regard them with suspicion and suspect them of being fronted by the Mafia still. I get this attitude from my father, who works as a teacher and has for the past 30+ years. He used to tell me that the Teacher's Union was going to put a horse head in his bed (fun fact: I've always been a very literal person with an almost non-existent sarcasm meter, and horses were my favorite animal as a child) because he talked so much shit about them.

Not pictured: My childhood innocence disintigrating

In addition to my inherited dislike of the Unions, I was dating a guy who worked for a local unionized supermarket. We were two years into the relationship and had our troubles, but the whole thing really imploded when the Union decided to strike. For almost an entire year. The financial problems exacerbated underlying issues and the result was a pretty traumatic relationship explosion. I still blame the Union for not taking better care of him as they were offering a measly $400 a month for 80 hours of picketing. For those of you who hate math as much as I do, that's $5 an hour which was well below the California minimum wage and therefore next to worthless.

I also didn't like the Union's tight control over everything. Supposedly everyone had a voice and the Union had "voted" to strike, but as several large supermarkets were involved in the strike it seemed that most of the workers didn't actually remember voting to strike. Many of the workers lost their homes, their cars, and many relationships were strained and broken. Looking back on it, it's an eery echo of the stories of woe from the Recession. I guess life was trying to prepare me for the shit-storm that was looming on the horizon like a veritable turd-hurricane.

Word.

So now I find myself in the very odd mental position of being one of the more outspoken defenders of the Teacher's Union and Union's in general. I wrote earlier about all the bad stuff that I associate with Unions, but the truth is that most of the things we really like and see as absolute rights came about as the results of hard lobbying by Unions. A few of the things we can thank Unions for are safety standards, public education, universal sufferage (meaning that EVERYONE could vote... as long as you had a penis and were white that is), and getting rid of imprisonment for debt. One of the earlier Unions was even fairly progressive: The Knights of Labour welcomed women and black participants (despite sounding like something backed by the KKK and being extremely anti-asian) and is one of the first organisations of ANYTHING to begin to break the "color barrier."

Later proto-unions would waffle back and forth on welcoming blacks and immigrant laborours into their midst, but they did begin to diversify in terms of allowing businesses (small ones) to join instead of being restricted to only workers. America has slowly killed all but two of its political parties (Yes we have; the Libertarian Party is the vote-wasting party for the Democrats the way the Tea-Party was going to be the Votey McWaster party for the GOP) so Americans don't know (because we also don't pay attention in school) that Unions and Labour organisations continue to be politcal parties and powerhouses overseas... and that we once had our own Labour Party here in America.

Again, we in America apparently all got low grades in school so I'll remind people that Once Upon A Time, Unions actually fought for their rights. The Haymarket Riots are in fact one of the reasons (the non-pagan reason) that May Day is observed as a holiday. The others of course would be "The May Day Riots" and its association with workers rights, unionists, anarchists, and communists.

There was a bomb and Anarchists. Go look it up on

Wikipedia. I refuses to paraphrase the article.

Seeing as how Unions may be despicable Mafia organisations, they still seem to have done an admirable job sticking up for the worker. I could give several more examples of how famous civil rights movements were tied in with Unions (*cough* cesarchavez*cough cough* UFW*cough), but again... I'm not here to teach you what you should have paid attention to in eighth grade. I'm here to try and slap you in the face and ask WHAT THE HELL WERE WE ALL THINKING in response to the new wave of politcally motivated Union-busting that's making its hateful way into the mainstream.

The country is in dire straits, and since the Powers That Be are desperately trying to make it look as if cheating, greedy, campaign-donating folk are not the ones to blame (spoiler alert! They totally are), Unions are the new/old scapegoat. Companies that are NOT Unionized are consistantly in the media eye for shady labour practices, hiring/exploiting illegal immigrants, and good old fashioned gender/race bias (http://www.alternet.org/story/151303/five_of_the_nastiest_examples_of_wal-mart_evil/) and they are also making huge profits. The PTB look at them and instead of thinking "OMG, that's horrible!" these people think: "Huh... I should be taking notes."

And these are the people that support the politicos in their campaigning... so we get this:

Good job guys!

So... despite the fact I always thought it was impossible (barring the invention of the TARDIS) we have, in fact, as a nation travelled backwards through time. With the simple expedient of ignoring our history teacher and swallowing elitist propoganda we are now returning to the 1860's. I hope you weren't fond of your paid lunch breaks, because those are a product of the enlightened future.

I dunno about you, but my Irish-Anarchist blood stirs and is beginning to think it's time that someone threw a bomb up in here. Is that really what we're coming to?

Well, I guess it's true when they say "Those who don't

learn from History are doomed to repeat it."

Am I my brother's keeper? Or my sister's... and her twelve kids... and her cousin?

I live in a really small city (or a really big town, depending on how you look at it) in a more northern area of the US. It doesn't snow, but only because we're on the coastline so the humidity keeps it too warm to snow (for the most part). This area is known for being pretty liberal (although we have our share of redneck conservative types as well), and as a result of being a hippy-haven we have tons of bums. Everywhere. All the time. Demanding money, being rude, and just generally being obnoxious. Most of them are passing through; younger people wandering "the road" with their guitars and their dogs (they ALWAYS have dogs).

                                            Yeah, real cute asshole. Get a fucking job like the rest of us.


These younger "hobo" bums are the real problem. For the most part, the homeless (non-PC, but I refuse to call them "houseless") folks around here are regulars and work regular corners. They have their regular signs, and their regular dogs, and they aren't as irritating as the young ones. They don't really break into your car or start swearing at you if you don't give them money (You wanna protest "the man" then you get none of "the man's" money). This has given me a bit of an ethical dilemma.

I feel sympathy and pity for the homeless people, I really do. But come on... I can spot a tweaker at 200 yards, and I know someone who's nodding out from heroine as opposed to someone who just has narcolepsy. I recognize DT's, pill-poppers, and a myriad of other conditions that are ALL related to hard core drug use. I see a few "clean" bums, and these guys are usually all Vietnam vets or people who are just down on their luck. I don't see them very often as they tend to move on, or to, you know... get a job and get off the streets.  Most of the bums panhandling and following me screaming for some of my hard-earned cash are useless drug addicts. Where does my responsibility to them begin? Or end?

                                                   Ha ha! You might already be feeding two dogs,
                                                             but I'm going to guilt you into feeding mine too!


I find that I get unreasonably annoyed when people ask me to donate money to the Salvation Army (althought that could always be because they discriminate against the LGBT community, and therefore will get no money from me), or contribute to food drives. Why should I lift a finger to help these people? Obviously they aren't interested in helping themselves. There are more resources (especially in this area) for people looking to clean up and get off the streets than there are resources for one person working two jobs and struggling to make ends meet. Why should I waste time or money when no-one is going to help me in return? I have to pay for my food, these guys can get EBT funds or attend soup kitchens... all without changing their life style one bit. Hell, they can go do this while tweaking out of their mind on the drugs they got from stealing my car stereo... meanwhile, I'm eating ramen for two weeks because I had to pay $200 to replace my broken window... forget the stereo, that's a luxury.

Don't even get me started on the people that have kids... homeless kids is a terrible thing. I don't blame the kids, but I really have to blame the parents. You can't keep it together long enough to take care of you OWN CHILD?! And now I'm expected to step in and help you out because I'm not willing to see your kid starve to death?

                                              Give me cash! I demand that you feed me and my child because
                                                                                 I'm not going to do it...

 Let me make it clear to everyone: I am not living in luxury by most people's standards, but having lived in my car for close to a year I know how much I DO have. I have lots of food (I actually horde food since it was always in short supply when I was in my car... I have a subconcious fear of starving), I have a nice warm bed with an electric blanket, and I have the internet and cable TV. I even have a car that (mostly) works! I am well aware of how all of that can disappear and how much this really is in the grand scheme of things... I have sympathy for people that don't have access to this comfort.

On the other hand, I work two jobs. I hunt down odd jobs on the side, and I budget very carefully because I don't have much money. I am counted as living below the poverty line on the census. I am not a wealthy person... I don't have enough money that I can afford to be losing/giving/wasting it away. So how responsible am I for taking care of other people? I feel like I have a responsibility to my community for sure... but I also have a responsibility to myself and my dogs (you know, the people that DEPEND on me for food).  In the end, I mostly just wing it.

I will almost NEVER give cash to a homeless person, but I once gave a muffin that I was not enjoying to a young lady and her dog. We had a pleasant conversation, and I thought that I had chosen wisely. Once, while leaving a restaurant, a thin man with a desperate face asked for money. I told him (honestly) that I had none and offered him my bread pudding that I had left. He took it and then looked like he thought I might take it back and turned tail and fled. I actually looked for him after I got over my surprise because I was going to see if he'd like a real dinner, but I never found him. There was one time I got more chicken than I could eat and gave the rest to a girl and her cat (regular bums, she's always covered with meth-sores... the cat disappeared a few months ago).  I don't know if what I'm doing is enough, and some times I think any aide is too much.

Fuck it, this ethics crap is so much harder than it looks.

                                                Merry Christmas! We're dependant on your charity!

I need my space! Wait... where are you going? I'm lonely...

I live in a small house with two roommates, two cats, and two dogs. For those of us that can do basic arithmetic, you'll notice that this means I share living space with six other living beings. Six living beings that make noise, demand things from me and make a mess (although, I am the biggest mess-maker of all so this complaint is slightly hypocritical). Normally this is not a problem, but every so often... about once a month or so, I get cranky. I don't want to do things, I don't want to hear things, and I DON'T want to be bothered. Sadly, the dogs and the cats are mine so this is exactly what I am at the moment.

Today has been sort of a strange day for me. I woke up and took the dogs on a nice walk downtown with a friend of ours, and then came back home. I intended to take the dogs walking again, but then I changed my mind... so they've been enjoying one of the last sunny days in forever in my yard. I looked up Bikejoring with them, but I think they'll kill me (they are kind of stupid) so then I looked for a kick scooter. I also got distracted by Hulu with it's new episodes of Bones and Castle.

Which brings me to my roommates. I love them, and we've lived together for longer than most people stay married. I'm a forgetful slob with animals who gets cranky and screams at people (randomly), our male roomie is a chainsmoking alcoholic that has a wierd knack for only finding married and insane women (not on purpose or anything, just his bad luck), and my sister is a thirty year old cheerfully-cynical goth with a piercing laugh and the innate ability to terrify men. She's also hopelessly addicted to Facebook apps which irritates the hell out of me, although I have no idea why this should be so (in my defense, she uses my computers and I swear FB fucks them up somehow).

In any case, we live together because we can't stand other people and other people can't stand us. As I sit here on my sofa, the Queen of Empty Tapioca Pudding Cups (I have craved them like crack for the past two weeks... no, I don't know why) my sister wants to know if she can use my desktop to play FB apps. I don't know why this annoys me as I am clearly using the laptop and the desktop is literally just gathering dust. I graciously agreed, and it was entirely not a problem... making me wonder why my mind insisted that it was.

My roommates then left for work (surprise! We got called in) and I am alone... so alone. I have no idea what my problem is, but apparently it makes me unfit for company. I went to see my boyfriend for some hugs, explained that I was being crazy and left for a BLT with fries. I think I feel better now and will waste the night playing on the Xbox.

 Now I hope they stay away for longer than a work shift... except for when I'm lonely.