Or at least get in fu**ing line. I. swear. to. god. Why can’t people fathom getting into a straight line sorted by when you got to the checkout counter? I went to JC Penny’s tonight with mom to do some last minute shopping and you’d think that the whole “line concept” had never been brought to anyone’s attention before. People were just walking up to the cashiers willy-nilly as they pleased and totally cutting off the few of us “line people” who were actually standing in line (!) next to the sign that said “Form Line Here and Wait for the Next Associate”. The lady in front of me might have taken that crap but I sure as hell didn’t when it was my turn. Asshats.

Here’s just a hypothetical *cough*true story*cough* situation…

Say I meet you for the first time and let’s just say you tell me you’re a “hacker”.

And so in JEST I snarkily (it’s a word! No? Ok.) reply

“Oh, so you uh, like, know how to hack Gibsons?”

And you say “Yes.”

And you’re actually serious.

It kinda tips me off that you’re NOT a “hacker”.

And it’s a pretty good bet the conversation is going to halt right there.

And I’m going to pee my pants from laughing so hard.
—
It boggles my mind that people still watch that damn movie and BELIEVE it.

Normally I try to avoid posting “news” articles but this one is such utter bullshit that I can’t help myself. Most of the stuff below is just an off the cuff rant.
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So in case you’ve been living under a rock I’ve been out of town since Sunday night and have had WordPress auto-publish posts for me whilst Drivin’ Mr. Daddy. I wish I would have had the interwebs available because lotsa stuff happened this week (in no particular order here’s a few for your reading pleasure):

-Old Guy Grabs My Ass in Line at Schlotzsky’s : Ok, now I understand that Wranglers are jeans that make my butt look good. However, this doesn’t give the entire free world license to touch me or my pants…ever. I wear those jeans for work because they are cheap and I prefer not to destroy a $50 pair of pants while doing messy work so I wear $17 jeans. While hanging out in my happy little buggy world ordering my sandwich an old man (and I mean old…we’re talking 80′s+) come up behind me and proceeds to tell me I’m pretty and then grabs my ass as he walks away. Chuck Norris roundhouse kick to the head anyone?

Fucking. Ew.

-Random Homeless Guy Taking a Very Loud Crap in the Public Parking Lot in PLAIN VIEW: Things I NEVER want to be around again….DING DING fucking-DING! I get that you don’t own a toilet man but for fuck sakes go into a convince store and ask to use their can. Or! Or! Or! You could like go somewhere that no one can see or hear you! After I realized what was going on I had a newfound interest in the ground all the way across the lot (and oh what a long walk it was)…my eyes wouldn’t leave my feet.

Fucking. Gross.

-Handmade Soap Arrives: I had ordered a bar of Sweetgrass Cedarwood and Sage handmade soap from Serra last week and it arrived here at my lil’ casa while I was outta town. It was a nice little surprise to come home too, smells wicked awesome and is nice and big so it’ll last me a long ol’ time! If you’re interested in scoring some go watch her blog and she’ll post updates on what stock she has periodically

Fucking! Yum!

-Cleaning-Impaired Women (and men) : Apparently there’s a whole group of middle aged women who need to get schooled in fucking cleaning supplies and what actually works (I know it can be confusing but what the fuck?). Their grubby apartments attest to the fact that their idea of clean is wipe off the ashtrays with a napkin and call it a day. I spent one whole day teaching these ladies how to clean and what the best stuff is to do it with. I’m thinking of setting it all down into a post because I’m sure at least one person reading this doesn’t know the difference between anti-bacterial and the anti-Christ.

Fucking. Duh.

Ok that’ll have to do for now, I’ve got a fuckton of work to catch up on…TGIF dudes!

P.S. And thanks to everyone who wished ol’ pops well, he’s doing great!

Y’all I’ve got a rant. It’s not so much a full blown rant but more of a mini-pet peeve that’s been gathering steam. As many of you know I turned 21 at the beginning of August. Since then when I’ve gone out to buy alcohol, go to the casino or get into a bar I’m running into a whole new breed of people. People who think they are not only funny but also are deluded into thinking that they are the most original jokesters out there.

Allow me to illustrate:

I went up to a casino in Payson this weekend, not to gamble but to take in their delicious $2.99 Sunday breakfast special. The ID Checker Lady saw those automatic sliding doors whoosh open and as I stepped through she knocked over old ladies and pushed aside pregnant mothers just to get to me.

“Miss I’ll need to see some ID” she says as condescendingly as possible in her breathless state. Meanwhile, folks try to help up a blue haired old lady whose bucket of tokens were knocked to the floor in the mayhem.

“Sure thing Ma’am.” I whip out my nifty shiny license knowing I was steps away from sizzling bacon and fluffy eggs of goodness.

ID Checker Lady inspects it in minute detail running her bony finger down each line making sure it’s the real deal.

Her finger stops at the Date of Birth line and her face contorts into a scowl. I can hear her subtracting years and months in her head. Much to her chagrin she finds she is unable to “bust me” and looks up.

Then it happens.

The line I’ve heard from gas station cashiers and cocktail waitresses the world over, always said in a hokey-jokey voice that’s meant to be funny.

“Ah, you just barrrrrely made it!”

Then she looks up at me with those expectant eyes, waiting for my reaction to her mind-blowing wit.

Some days I’ll humor the person and giggle while nodding my head like a ditzy moron as if their words were the funniest thing I’d ever had land in my ears. That particular day this pathetic attempt at humor I’ve heard a billion times before just made me realize the time between me and my eating of scrambled eggs has just been extended. And that makes me an unhappy camper.

I give ID Checker Lady a blank look, take my ID and walk away.

Sometimes people just aren’t worth the effort…