Daddy Almost Killed a Man

Today is my dad’s 72nd birthday… would have been. Driving home from work last night, I started to cry because for some reason, the street I took reminded me of him. I cried while eating dinner. And then I made an ass of myself later that night around friends crying like a bitch. I miss him.

My dad was a dick.

He told me a story about how he almost killed a man once. My dad was racist. He hated gays and blacks. So in his own words, not mine (because my favorite people are the gays and I’ve always wanted a black friend)…

I was asleep and all of a sudden, I hear someone going through my shit in the camper. I wake up to a nigger taking my wallet and whatever cash I had inside and he runs out of the truck when I yell, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” I chased after him, ready to kill him when he begs me to let him go. He starts to cry and tells me his wife makes him steal. I felt bad for the guy because women are bitches, so I let him go.

My dad was a truck driver. He loved tequila and beer. And I miss him.


Breaking Sad, a letter to Heisenberg.


Dear Heisenberg,

I am truly heartbroken about the end of Breaking Bad. I can’t say I followed you since the beginning because I’m a late bloomer. I binged on your show less than a year ago. I immediately became hooked on you and everything you were. The White family suddenly felt like my family, Jesse like my good friend, Mike like a grandfather-figure, and let’s be honest, you were my role model… not because I’m in the empire business, but because you had the balls to stand up to cancer, Gus, the cousins, Tuco, those two morons you ran into outside the hardware store who wanted to sell meth in your territory… the list is endless.

Sundays will never be the same again. 8 PM will roll around and what will I be doing instead of watching you kick ass on tv? I’ll probably be getting high on meth and crying blue tears of sadness… they’ll be 99% pure… pure of sadness.

You were the person all of us with shitty jobs wish to be. You’re the person everyone who hates their boss wishes they could be. You’re the man who gave us all average Joe’s hope that one day we, too, would become the one who knocks.

Although you’re gone, your legacy lives on. We will never forget the man Walter White grew up to be. Walter White was the kindest man who only did bad things for the sake of his family. He grew up to be Heisenberg, a man no one fucked with without facing the consequences. Blue Sky may be gone forever, but the legend lives on.

RIP, bitch.

Karma karma karma chameleon.

My karma has changed over the last four weeks. I haven’t had much time to blog. Work was cray cray. You can read all about it here

I started cleaning up my karma as of lately. I apologized to someone and within 48 hours, two old friends apologized to me. And shortly after, an ex-boyfriend from a million years ago apologized for being a dick.

I used to experience bouts of depression that have no changed to bouts of elation, which is very weird to me. 

Nothing too exciting has happened besides me getting a little fluffy around the belly. I like sleep too much. But yeah… I need my endorphins. Endorphins and pizza.


I have a bad habit of complaining about my job all the time to my best friend, who then recommended I begin a second blog solely related to work. I finally got my shit together and did just that. Make sure and click here and follow.

So if you hate your job, click here.

Rant Shmant

Little rant for the morning:

where attention was not given, she will find it elsewhere. 

I love being ignored. It’s common courtesy to reply every fucking now and then unless you wanna be sucking your own dick from now on.

I also love how angry everyone at the Starbucks parking lot is until they pick up their coffee.

Seriously, two shots of espresso later and I’m on fire. I’M A PHOENIX, BITCH!

Why I’m a Wannabe Smoker

ImageAlthough I have an obsessive personality, I do not have an addictive personality so smoking has never stuck with me although I’ve taken up smoking a few times for no longer than the timespan two packs of cigarettes lasts (two cigarettes a day at the most). I have a terrible oral fixation. When I get nervous or anxious, or feel any negative emotion, I have to start biting. I have this thing called dermatophagia, which is a form of OCD. What I bite is my fingers and I’ve been doing so since I can remember. It’s a disgusting and very painful habit that I’ve tried quitting many times and I’ve yet to succeed. I’ve gone to therapy for it and although I received services from a great woman with a great future, and great insight, I still couldn’t quit.

I have terrible anxiety about 70% of the time and obsessive thoughts that trigger it. I pick up an idea and it never leaves my head until I perform a “ritual” or I simply forget about it with time. Yesterday, I couldn’t sit down on the toilet to pee because I kept thinking a snake was going to crawl out and bite my ass. I sat down and got back up three to four times. Although I’m not Catholic or Christian, if a negative thought about family or friends dying or getting hurt comes to mind, i have to do the sign of the cross three to four times until I feel the thought wash away. I don’t like shaking hands and lately the fear of a widespread infection has been freaking me out. I’m not as bad as I’ve seen some patients at work be, but the biting is the one thing I wish I could quit. I’m usually hiding my hands from strangers. I can’t get a massage in peace because they always have to fucking massage your hands even when you ask them not to. One time, a Chinese guy was massaging my hands and then asked if he was hurting me. I told him, “No, dude. I seriously can’t feel shit there.” It’s gotten to the extent that my right thumb has lost about 60% of feeling.

Which leads me to the part where I mentioned smoking. I’ve been suggested suckign on candy instead of biting. I don’t like cavities or diabetes, so that’s out of the question. As much as I bite, to replace that, it would take about 2/3 of Willy Wonka’s fucking factory to satisfy me. I’ve bandaged my fingers and it helps them heal, but as soon as they’re better, I just do it again. I’ve used a rubber band around my wrist to snap instead of biting, but really… biting has only strengthened my pain tolerance so a rubber band isn’t going to do much. Smoking at least gives me a sense of euphoria that lasts a few hours. So now I have to think about whether I’d rather get cancer or fuck up the nerves in my hands and never write again? Yeah, I’ll go for lung cancer.