Archive for the ‘Ramble on’ Category

I hate to say it, but yeah, I’m getting bored. So bored in fact that I played a little game during my day.

I brought out a little note pad. I viewed every driver in their vehicle who passed me. I opened two categories.

1) Ugly people
2) Good looking people

Of course the results are totally biased, but here are the calculations.

Ugly people: fourty-six
Good looking people: twenty-seven
Tinted windows, (unable to calculate) : six

One guy almost snapped his head off looking around to see what I wrote. LOL!

This is similar to a game I played in highschool with my friends when we got bored except we viewed people’s noses. Of course, it sent us all into hysterics and we got kicked out of class many times. Ha-ha!

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I listened to a radio show on my way to work this morning. Every day they do a contest to win merchandise. The topic chosen? 1970’s sitcoms. The station hosts played theme music and a contestant who called in had to guess the matching television program. Of course they didn’t guess correctly and I found myself yelling at the stereo system like a raving lunatic. “WELCOME BACK KOTTER, you freakin’ toe sock smelling idiot.” Did they have a banana bike shoved up their arse blocking out their brain waves? Crap! They missed an easy win. How dare that person not be brainwashed like the rest of us.

It’s been raining like a rhino pissin’ on a flat rock which makes my arm ache. I felt so much pain at work yesterday I almost quit my job. Then I noticed I got a Christmas bonus on my pay stub. That gave me a whole new – higher – pain tollerance. Ha -ha. Luckily, I finally got the phone call I’ve been waiting for today. I’m scheduled for an MRI next Wednesday at 9PM. Murphy defying miracles do happen.

I’m willing to share some life skills with y’all. Think before you do the crass, brainless shite you do. If somebody talks to you, don’t walk away while they are still speaking. I don’t care how rushed you think you are. Don’t be such an ignorant piece of whale skitter. Will it kill you to stop for two seconds and respond instead of making the person yell so you can hear them? I swear, I think most people reach in and get their manners out of a effin’ dunce cap.

I write these blogs to share my feelings with you. After all, it’s cheaper than therapy.   If you love my blogs leave your kudo and John Doe, below.

Seriously, get out of the Cracker Jack and learn the rules of the road.

When the Crossing Guard has his stop sign out it means stop. Stop you effin’ freaks! It doesn’t mean you step on your gas, go through his stop sign or hit him with your vehicle.

If I am in my vehicle and stop to let somebody cross, it doesn’t mean you zoom around me and hit a child. I’m stopped for a reason. Use your neanderthal-laden brain.

This is how you avoid killing me and others in the morning:

1. Make sure you get at least eight hours of sleep.

2. Lay out your clothing the night before so you know what you’re going to wear.

3. Shower the night before so you aren’t in such a rush.

4. Always put your keys in the same place so that you aren’t scrambling to find them in the morning.

5. Put your children’s homework in a designated place.

6. Give yourself enough time to get to your destination.

When it’s my time to die and God comes to collect me I don’t want to be wrapped around your car’s grill, a bloody mess. Call me crazy, but I don’t like pain.

Wake the hell up in the morning. Stop running on zombie mode. I don’t care if you have to drink a vat of coffee or use Fred Flinstone toothpicks on your lids. Punch yourself in the face, whatever it takes.

Why is it that I seem to be able to get to work on time but you can’t? Do you have to be so obnoxious behind the wheel? Have a little respect. We might be protecting your child or grandchild.

This has been a public service announcement.

You can take writing away from the girl, but you can never take the writer out of the girl.

A Winnipeg man at the Canadian/US boarder got fined for trying to bring across an Iguana under his hat this weekend.

I would have just put it in the trunk of my car and if they found it, scream at the top of my lungs and point. “EWWWW, how did that get in there? Keep it away from me!” You gotta be a bit of an actress to get away with owt, you know.

Can you imagine me working at the boarder? “Hey, is that an Iguana under your hat or are you just glad to see me?”

It seems that reptile under hat fashion isn’t the only new trend.

Grey is the new blonde. Um…what? It has sex appeal?

That’s right folks. It seems Lady Gaga dyed her hair grey and now many other celebrities are following suit. Kristen McMenamy, even Kelly Osbourne bares a new silver/lavender sheen.

I’m sorry to burst Lady Gaga’s bubble but grey hair was a new wave trend in the eighties. It’s been done. I had a few ultra modern friends who dyed their hair that colour.

She admitted that she used to dye her hair blonde to avoid being mistaken for troubled star, Amy Winehouse. Ha-ha!

Reality is that from the runways of spring and summer shows at Dior and Chanel in Paris, to the hair salons of New York, young women are going grey.

Ya see now, just let your hair go to pot and you’ll be in with the top fashion. Ha-ha. Who needs hundreds of dollars to be with the “in crowd”, anymore. Just let nature take its course.

Do I happen to like that look? No. Older people are always looking for the fountain of youth and now young people are paying good money to look old. Figure that one out.

I actually prefer to combine both looks together.

I recently started playing a game online called Sorority Life.

I thought it would be fun to collect outfits, accessories and other types of glamor. You know, hang out with girls and do girlie things.

The experience didn’t turn out quite like I expected, however.

Although there ARE some really nice girls…one of the most popular girls became very nasty to me for no reason. She called me horrible names, accused me falsely and pretty much controlled the whole situation, blocking me from playing the game.

She hurt me and I really don’t enjoy playing the game anymore. That doesn’t make me weak, it makes me human.

Think about your actions online, folks. There are real people on the other side of your monitor.

In saying this, there is something that I want you to know.

I am not perfect nor will I ever be. I am not better than anyone else. I make mistakes but I strive to improve.

I’m not mean, nor do I want to be. I walk in the light not darkness. I don’t like to hurt people’s feelings or make them feel bad about themselves. I don’t want to take away somebody’s enjoyment of playing a game in the name of being a bitch. I don’t want to belittle or single somebody out making them feel unworthy.

It doesn’t make me happy to crush somebody’s self esteem. I gain nothing from that.

I want to be kind, build you up and make you feel good about yourself. I want to congratulate you and celebrate in your successes. I want to inspire. I want to make a difference in your life. I want to entertain and make you burst into uncontrollable laughter.

If I am popular I want you to like me because I am a true friend and you respect me, not because you feel intimidated by the things I do.

If I choose you as a friend it’s because I see something exceptional.

If popularity means I have to be wicked then let me be unknown.

Maybe this is a life lesson for me. Perhaps there are some games in life I really shouldn’t play.

Hello

When I read most people’s profiles, blogs everyone seems perfect. There are no lazy slobs, no wankers, no hoarders, no OCD’s and nobody has gas. Everyone is exciting and lives an active life.

Okay, here’s the truth: You have a pot belly. You eat frozen dinners, your house looks like a dust heap and mites are your new pet. Your stinky socks could have been used by the Germans as a form of torture. You’re a hoarder not a collector. The most excitement in your life is when you fart and stench out your entire family. Haha!

Face it folks, you aren’t fooling Marya.

I’m still pondering about my new job. The problem is that everything interests me.

Writing, government, EMS, construction, extermination, mechanic, nursing, technology, therapist, counseller, comedy, real estate, working with animals, chef, television, entertainment.

I want to do everything. Sigh! How am I going to decide on something when I want to do everything? (As long as it doesn’t involve snakes or gaters). There’s just not enough time in the day.

I guess if I had a choice writing would be my first choice but jobs like that are scarce and pretty much non-existant as a full time position. Could I be another Lois Lane?

Lois Lane with a melted computer. Help me, SUPERMAN! Things have got to get better for me, folks.

Here’s an idea. How about saying hello after you read my blog? It’s a start

I went for a walk around moms house, I crossed a couple of male high school, neanderthal-oafs. One of them forcably sucked a big wad of mucus into his throat, spewing it right in front of where I have to walk.

Oh my gawd! What a clueless, disgusting twit. What ever happened to manners, especially around a lady? (Any cheeky remarks and I’ll have you).

I pointed at the frothy puddle on the sidewalk and my eyes widened. “You’re so ignorant,” I barked.

He looked at me dumbfounded. Absolutely clueless. He reminded me of a bobble-head.

I walked directly behind him. Gee, I dunno. Why wouldn’t I want to trudge through a big wod of viral, greenish-slimy spittle? If the wind blew any harder it could have whipped me in the eye.

These kids are the future of our country? It just goes to prove that books smarts does not equal common sense. They aren’t just lacking, it’s non-existant.

I wish they’d pull up their effin’ droopy drawers while they’re at it. I don’t understand the school system. The Catholic school board makes students wear a uniform but it’s okay to wear the pants half-way down their ass so you can see their crack? Talk about Charlie Chaplin fashion.

In Canada when I was a student, if I didn’t wear my uniform pants properly the teachers were more than happy to help me pull them up whilst administering a good, stiff smack to the back of my noggin.

I’m moving to my happy place where no teenagers are allowed.