Loud talking, near my desk, when there is a plethora of other space available in the office is not welcome or appreciated. Nor is excessive phlegm hacking, which scares me to the point of contemplating the purchase of a bio-hazard suit.
PHEW. Now that I got that off my chest.
Trouble has told his last lie to me -- he's officially OUT as my dear Hetero Lifemate would say. Lifemate is so wise, always providing the best advice. BFF does the same, so let's not count her out. How hard is it to tell the truth? Apparently quite hard when you have more money than God and too much time on your hands -- I think Trouble needs that Millionaire Matchmaker bitch to kick his ass once or twice, would do him some good.
Never did go out with Fireman -- he thought it might be appropriate to compare me to his ex, I promptly lost his number. Additionally, anyone that does not realize that they can connect their iPhone to their computer cannot date me. I'm sorry.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
Drake in a Wheelchair
This, is by far, the most hilarious thing I have ever laid eyes on. I think simply by looking at this photo my day is infinitely better.
This is the same guy who can "make ho's wobble like a bridge in an earthquake." Really wheelchair Drake? Are you sure you don't need to swig from your Gatorade bottle first?
God, I'm horrible. This is exactly why I'm going to hell. I should clarify and say, I don't find disabilities funny, nor do I wish them on anyone -- its just rare we see such an epic transition from disabled teen role model to ho-loving rapper. This is the same dude that rolls with Weezy.
*shakes head.*
What can I say, I'm an equal opportunity shit talker.
xoxo
Nicole
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Trouble.
Dog and Cat are finally sleeping soundly -- thank you Jesus.
Cat has decided her new thing is meowing with a tone and volume that seem to signal "BITCH" -- loud, sharp, and far more aggressive than her usual purr. She does this while she lays next to dog alternately licking his face, biting on his jowls, and voicing her displeasure with my humanness.
Dog is pissed with me because we did not walk our 3 miles, as required by his royal highness. It was raining, I was tired, and to be honest, there is a First 48 marathon on. I gave him two bones and he decided that was good enough for him. He's now snoring peacefully.
There is a date option for Saturday, with a ravishing Internet stud I'll call Fireman. Fireman seems good natured, manly in that delicious way I love, but sadly apparently sharply conservative in values. As long as he doesn't lean Tea Party right, I think I'm fine with it.
This date may of course may elicit a gasp from those of you that know me, not because I'm okay with Fireman's Red-ness but because I'm going out with someone that isn't Trouble.
Trouble is a guy that is just as his name suggests, sheer awfulness packaged in the most glorious dirty rocker nerd ever. He is the immature, self-involved, egotistical, man of my dreams. Alternative, geeky, and the most insane kisser I have ever experienced. Yet, it seems as though Trouble views me simply as another stack of money to add to his proverbial bank account -- something for him to collect along with his new Lexus.
Truth is, I've simply had it with him -- I will always love Trouble so to speak... but I suppose that I just have outgrown my taste for breaking the law.
Cat has decided her new thing is meowing with a tone and volume that seem to signal "BITCH" -- loud, sharp, and far more aggressive than her usual purr. She does this while she lays next to dog alternately licking his face, biting on his jowls, and voicing her displeasure with my humanness.
Dog is pissed with me because we did not walk our 3 miles, as required by his royal highness. It was raining, I was tired, and to be honest, there is a First 48 marathon on. I gave him two bones and he decided that was good enough for him. He's now snoring peacefully.
There is a date option for Saturday, with a ravishing Internet stud I'll call Fireman. Fireman seems good natured, manly in that delicious way I love, but sadly apparently sharply conservative in values. As long as he doesn't lean Tea Party right, I think I'm fine with it.
This date may of course may elicit a gasp from those of you that know me, not because I'm okay with Fireman's Red-ness but because I'm going out with someone that isn't Trouble.
Trouble is a guy that is just as his name suggests, sheer awfulness packaged in the most glorious dirty rocker nerd ever. He is the immature, self-involved, egotistical, man of my dreams. Alternative, geeky, and the most insane kisser I have ever experienced. Yet, it seems as though Trouble views me simply as another stack of money to add to his proverbial bank account -- something for him to collect along with his new Lexus.
Truth is, I've simply had it with him -- I will always love Trouble so to speak... but I suppose that I just have outgrown my taste for breaking the law.
What the hell is a Fruit Salad Champion.
Gratuitous self important titles are without a doubt, the most annoying and yet entertaining concept of the working world.
How many people do you know who fancy themselves some sort of consultant, expert, model/actress/producer/champion sweater knitter. I know quite a few of those. In social media, my career path of choice, all kinds of tool bags with very little qualification are apparently, EXPERT. CAPITAL LETTERS. YOU BETTER RECOGNIZE.
OMGZ, I KNOW HOW TO WORK THE TWITTERZ. IM EXPERTZ.
Please, *eye roll*. There is no such thing as an expert in this business, outside of *pause for dramatic effect and respect for greatness* the most epic rock stars of life at Altimeter Group.
I digress.
So, one very borderline psychotic day at the office -- I decided that if everyone could have a title, I wanted one too. So, I wanted to be the fruit salad champion... because I eat fruit everyday at 11am. So there you go.
Basically, if you have a wondrous sense of humor, and feel like reading about a neurotic 20something going through what appears to be a quarter life crisis, read on.
xoxo
N
How many people do you know who fancy themselves some sort of consultant, expert, model/actress/producer/champion sweater knitter. I know quite a few of those. In social media, my career path of choice, all kinds of tool bags with very little qualification are apparently, EXPERT. CAPITAL LETTERS. YOU BETTER RECOGNIZE.
OMGZ, I KNOW HOW TO WORK THE TWITTERZ. IM EXPERTZ.
Please, *eye roll*. There is no such thing as an expert in this business, outside of *pause for dramatic effect and respect for greatness* the most epic rock stars of life at Altimeter Group.
I digress.
So, one very borderline psychotic day at the office -- I decided that if everyone could have a title, I wanted one too. So, I wanted to be the fruit salad champion... because I eat fruit everyday at 11am. So there you go.
Basically, if you have a wondrous sense of humor, and feel like reading about a neurotic 20something going through what appears to be a quarter life crisis, read on.
xoxo
N
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