so, The Asshat has had this righteous bumper sticker, actually bumper magnet,  for ages now on his hideous yellow ride that says “put the CIVIL back into CIVILization.” it’s so sickeningly obnoxious, that at the beginning of the divorce, it mysteriously disappeared (weird, huh?). but he has an inexhaustible supply because it was the creation of his righteous father. you see, it always follows that the biggest hypocrites, i.e. Asshat & Co., have the most to say to the rest of us about how we should live our lives. they are of course, perfect and on the side of justice & bald eagles. there is no one less civil than this gnome family, but they all preach it from their self appointed soapboxes day in and out. his dear old dad came up with 5 of these sayings, had them printed up (that righteous moron spent like a grand on these things) and had wet dreams about marketing them to schools, religious organizations, vfw’s, and homeless people to bring about a mass change in our social consciousness. i wish i could remember all of them – but, 2 others were, “remember please and thank you” and “share some of what you have.” apparently these did not apply to stonerholio’s yellow bumper lifestyle. shocker.  anyway, dorkosaurus father in law, actually approached me several years ago about selling them on ebay i was like, shah, as if.  i’m sure it will be  a huge seller: cue eyeball roll & snicker. in fact the very concept of a bumper sticker is righteous. these people think that by applying a sticky thing on the back of their car, they  will change the planet by changing minds from the mere viewing of this sticker. people will suddenly stop what they are doing, change their votes, stop eating meat, have that unwanted child, slow down because there is a baby on board, find religion, get a cocker spaniel, give a shit that someone’s kid is on the honor roll  at that overpriced private Nerdly Academy they send their spawn to, or what obnoxious college said spawn attends; and in placing that sticker, the sum total of their social obligation is satisfied. it’s so pompous.

so, the other night, after viewing the backside of that asinine glowing vehicle during The Daughter Exchange, inspiration struck me: a line of swv bumper stickers. perhaps a companion product to the swv e-cards. as the antithesis to the groundbreaking Asshat & Co. Civility Movement (read: bunch o’ righteous pussies) and inspired by its very creators, i present to you, drumroll please….

the SWV bumper magnets:

you really put the ASS in ASShat

maybe jesus loves you, but the rest of us think you’re a dick

righteous people suck

your dad could have changed the world, had he only worn a condom

caution: asshat crossing

sucks to be my ex

someone should have told your mother about Plan B

you put the CREEP in McCREEPY

i found The Missing Link, then i divorced him

alimony is my pal

alimony: may your years be many & prosperous

i take paypal

i’m the bitch he has to payback

ask your kids what they really think of you

ever wonder why your wife buys batteries in bulk?

yes, she is faking

you’re not paranoid, everybody does hate you

the shire called, the hobbits said don’t come back.

Assholio: I know one

i had doubts

i wish i listened when my father told me i didn’t have to go through with it

honk if you married too young

i never liked your mother

i married a Mental Patient & escaped

500 million sperm and you were the best he had?

if you can read this, i got the car

yes, she is cheating on you

good mother by night, bad wife by day

my boyfriend says thanks for the new boobs

you put the douche in massengill

divorce pays!

marry for love, but divorce for money

need a raise? divorce a rich asshole

another hat-free day

TGIF: thank god i’m free

he fought the law & I WON

i am already working on fortune cookie inserts:

“your lack of personality is surpassed only by your lack of sexual ability”

“your wife’s lucky number is  1/2″

“the chinese word of the day is cock “

isn’t this what that saying about turning his nuts into peanut butter meant, or was it lemons into lemonade? – i can never remember.

the sunshine mobile of civility

more random & fascinating confessions most of which my mom shouldn’t read:

i am a major underachiever & huge procrastinator, but i did pretty well in school anyway. i am more of a street smarts, common sense kind of girl, but i always wonder what amazing things i would have accomplished had i truly applied myself. although, my english scores were very high, i was in basic skills math & retard science. i still struggled in those too. eventually i grew boobs and said fuck it.

i may have once slept with a mafia don. i am not investigating any further.

i stalked a boy in high school. okay, several. on foot. with binoculars.

uncle buck is my all time favorite movie. i named one of my daughters after one of the characters.

it’s not the posting of unearthed sex tapes or naked pictures (both of which i have never wittingly submitted to) on the web that concerns me. it’s if my gut looks fat or if you can see the cottage cheese on my ass that truly worries me.

i  find the smell of beer on a man’s breath to be sexy. that is really warped.

i still have all of my sticker albums. the stickers are in MINT condition. most still in original packaging.

when i get mad i shop. take that visa! i shopped a lot during my crappy marriage. this did not help my crappy marriage at all, but i have a kickin’ wardrobe.

i obsessively use the notes app on my phone to remember song lyrics so i can google them later to get the title & download them for my ipod.

i started a female pant suit revolution at my first job fresh out of college in 1993. i have authority issues. they breathed a sigh of relief when i quit. i am not meant for corporate life.

when i was 21, i came home late from a date & i busted my dad smoking pot. we went into the house & he sat on the bed of my childhood room while i lectured him on the evils of its usage. for an hour.

i worked at the freehold raceway mall before it opened to set up the gap there. when it opened they hired all new people. working at the gap sucks. i still fold my jeans the way i was taught.

as a teenager & into college, i shoplifted from mostly any retail establishment for which i worked. i found it to be quite a thrill. i totally understand winona rider.

when i was a freshman in college, i briefly dated a high school senior. i went to his prom.

sometimes i wonder if the people on billboards look familiar to me because i actually know them or just from driving past them every day.

when i watch really old reruns & there are old people on the show, i say to myself, that person must be dead by now. conversely, i wonder how the child actors turned out.

in college i peed behind a dumpster. several times. i also passed out on the floor of the girl’s bathroom in my freshman dorm after puking my guts out. several times. i drank a lot in college. i was nicknamed “booter.”

i had a major obsession with garfield when i was kid. i drew him constantly, read every book, and set up a residence for him & his girlfriend in my room. i had about 30 or so stuffed garfields & pals. i also slept with one of my stuffed garfields (& a nightlight) until i got married. i still have them all, but i am trying to get rid of the husband.

after college, while looking for a real job, i was a bank teller. since, i suck at math, my till was short often. i got fired. i still make sure all of my money is facing the same way & in order of denomination in my wallet.

i was an ugly duckling: i was born with one eye that crossed in & wore bifocals from 18 mos to 16 yrs.  my feet turned inward and i had to wear shoes on a metal brace until they faced out. i was never allowed to sit “indian style.” when i was 12, i was diagnosed with minor scoliosis. i cleaned up nice though.

i used to get spontaneous bloody noses from allergies as a kid without warning. this was a fun party trick and most endearing to the hostesses.

at the end of my senior year of high school, a bunch of my friends & i stole a street sign with my name on it by knocking it down with a baseball bat. we were unaware that this was a felony. i still have it displayed in my home.

i had a “valley girl” sleepover party for my 13th birthday. everybody had to dress like valley girls & talk that way. i was like, oh my gawd, a huge dork.

mere days after i got my license and brandy new honda civic, i smashed it into a car that was pulling out of a parking spot at woodbridge mall because i gunned the gas instead of the stomping on the brakes. my bff was in the car. after the information exchange with the bewildered driver, we still went shopping. i bought a pair of sneakers which i then returned a week later but i made my mom drive me. it was years before i ever drove back there. the woman said to my dad, “meester, i don know where she came from.” my crazy bff still drove all over the place with me.

the manner in which i lost my virginity would most certainly be considered date rape today. it was over 21 years ago & i still have not forgiven that guy. i most likely never will.

surgeries: age 12: 8 molars removed age 15: nose job, age 18: 4 impacted wisdom teeth removed, age 21: breast reduction, age 30 & 33: 2  c-sections. age 35: lumpectomy (benign, thank god) age 36: corrective eye surgery for the cross. i sincerely hope i am done.

i secretly love lite fm. i have an entire playlist on itunes. i know all the words to most of the songs. brandy & wildfire are in my top 10.

i LOVE guinea pigs. i had 2 as a kid before it was cool to own them. i had a sleepover with my childhood bff & let “miss piggy” run around in her sleeping bag. the pig left many “gifts.” her mom was not pleased. the modern day guinea pig cult following pleases me to no end. i got not 1, but 2 for my kids when the divorce started. $200 later i realized they are cute, but a pain in the ass to take care of when you live immigrants style in a tiny room with 2 other small people. my kids lost interest in the piggys & i gave them away on craig’s list after 2 months. i still feel guilty & hope they are living happy little guinea pig lives. now i just collect guinea pig books & leave it at that.

my best friend in high school and i spent hours after school cataloging every possible way we wanted to be kissed. we didn’t have boyfriends, but we once hooked up in a foursome situation, latter dubbed “switcheroo with ____ & sue.” i was thrilled until i figured out they just both wanted to hook up with her and i was a mercy killing. she was & still is way hot, no matter how many kids she pops out. you know who you are, bitch.

when i 20 years old and flying home from UF for the holidays one year, i sat next this weird artsy couple. i had the window seat and was essentially trapped. the lady grabbed my hand & said she did “readings” and proceeded to read my palm without my consent. she told me that when i was 40 i would have a major illness but i would recover. i have obsessed about it ever since. when i was 36 & had a lump removed from my breast, and i wondered if that was the illness of which she spoke, but i couldn’t be sure. i have 2 more years to worry about it. so now i fear, “what if i am going through this terrible divorce (14 mos so far) and then i die (god forbid) or the world ending prophecies are true and i never get to enjoy my freedom?” sigh. i am sure she has long since forgotten me & that plane ride, but here i am 17 years later still worrying. it made me realize that you can have a lasting impact on people, positive or negative, long after you have moved on. so be more responsible, you crazy palm readers.

last year, i went on  a date with a 25 yr old. during dinner he got carded and i didn’t. i then strongly suspected he was not even 21. i went back to his dorm room anyway. i was curious.

i have had at least 13 different jobs i can remember & sucked at all of them. in no particular order: ceramics assistant at a camp   (i spilled an entire bag of slip), babysitter (i got nail polish all over someone’s table), grocery store cashier (before the days of scanners), marty’s shoes store clerk, gap sales person, gap kids saleperson ( hello, may i help you find a size?), secretary (for a day – i left after lunch & never returned), bank teller ( we know how that went), payroll sales person at ADP ( i  faked most of my sales numbers), interior design assistant (i helped her organize by throwing out most of her source materials), wallpaper/window treatment sales person inside a paint store (i prayed i got the measurements correct when it was time for pickup/installation), pharmaceutical sales rep ( i was terrified of the office staff & drs. & my main drug was a market dog), psychological study research assistant ( i fudged all of my “research” for some poor dude’s thesis), & interior designer of my own ‘firm” for 11 months (when i was 9 months preggers, i had to sue my very first clients for stopping a check. the entire endeavor actually cost us money. i gladly gave up that empire soon after the first baby came).

when i was 10, i became completely obsessed with puberty & getting my period. i had an entire “starter kit” full of the proper materials under my bed that was ready to go when the time came (it sat dormant for 5 years). i studied the book, what’s happening to me, way before anything was actually happening to me. i still own it. i was actually happy when i sprouted 2 armpit hairs one day. i did flips when i got a giant bush (subsequently, i became a fastidious groomer way ahead of my time when i discovered i could do neat tricks with a hair clipper). i was a strange child.

i have a problem with honesty. too much of it. this why i tell you people all of this crap that is better kept to myself. i most likely have a weird need for self-deprecating attention.

baby hershey, pig #1. way cute.

cuddles, pig #2. also way cute.

now that camp is finished for the summer, and the little monkeys are home full time, i have far less time than i would like to blog and entertain my adoring fans. i was all set to blog about my weekend in AC, but so much time has passed, i no longer feel inspired and truth be told, it wasn’t all that scurrilous. i sat at the bar and relentlessly scratched my 400 mosquito bites like a scabies carrier. nothing sexier than a woman with uncontrollable itching. since that is ancient history in blog time anyway, i am going to tell you about something a bit more current and waaaaaaaaaaay more juicy instead. what follows is for those 18 & over…

last tuesday, i was invited to a “passion party” at a pal’s house. yes, it’s exactly what you think it is. all kinds of toys, and not of the PG variety. the hostess invited her baddest girls: four in various stages of divorce and 2 who are happily married (who were  ignored by the rest of us. justifiably). btw, the hostess was turning all shades of embarrassed the entire time which amused the rest of us to no end. it was her party. her idea.

after plying us with food & drink, thereby further reducing our normally unstunted inhibitions, it was time for the “party.” the party is really just an elaborate exhibition of lotions, potions, toys, & club packs of batteries. there were 2 catalogs distributed: one labeled “nice” which was promptly tossed, and one labeled “naughty” which became our new testament. the sections entitled “for him” were immediately discarded. what followed was what was must have truly been meant by the saying, “if i could be a fly on the wall.” it was coined for this exact situation i am sure.  but i promise, no men were harmed in the making of this post…

so, we got right down to bidness immediately with the orgasm gels which were on page ONE. one gel was a gel that was guaranteed to ensure climax clitorally and was described by the MC as, and i quote, “the sensation of a york peppermint patty” on your hooha.  obviously a guest was needed to test it out to give us a personal endorsement. my chief bad girl volunteered and returned from the bathroom with the comment of, “it feels like a tiny snowman blowing on my clitoris.” naturally, we all ordered a jar. the second gel was to ensure g-spot climax. it goes on the dude’s wee wee. there were only 2 questions from the crowd: “can you OD on that stuff?” and “is it edible?” she assured us that although it wasn’t edible it was non-toxic which was good enough for us. a round of that was ordered as well. both were endorsed by  the show “the doctors” which was further justification for the 40 bux a jar.

next came one of the largest arrays of vibrators, i have ever seen in person. i ain’t sure if the black one was modeled after the real thing, but if so, i now understand why you never go back… there were all kinds of colors, lengths, thicknesses, & orifice specific toys, but he crown jewel was “the tongue,”  ( $60 retail) which is exactly what you think it is. it is no longer sold but the MC told us she could “find one” for us. apparently there is a black market for these things with the sex mafia. to me, it just seemed way too desperate, like the fake vagina for men. btw, i happen to know someone personally who sexed that instead of his wife. but that is a story for another day. a way fucked up day. an interesting footnote is that the vibrators from japan all have faces on them – which was kinda creepy but is the only way to skirt the indecency laws in japan. apparently, if it has face it is considered a novelty toy. hey, whatever they need do to export the stuff to horny american women is fine with me. but, the most curious thing i saw that night was the glow in the dark penis that stuck to the wall which you could mount in various places & styles. again, seemed way desperate, but you could always use it in a pinch when your night light burns out or there is a power outage.

one of the party-goes was one of my girls, a purist, who said that she won’t use a vibrator because she thinks “it will diminish her desire for the real thing.” okay, that is absolutely, positively. bullshit. it’s just a substitute to get you through the dry spells or fill in when your orgasm buddy ain’t around. that notion of “diminished desire” is total insecure male propaganda. sometimes you need a quick hit. maybe you just don’t have time or desire for the “real thing.” we are independent, self-serving women these days. you got 10 good fingers & a gross of batteries, you may not need a partner. sometimes we wanna rollover  & pass out too. you give yourselves way too much credit for being the only sexual predators. guys, don’t get all whiny & insecure. wah, my tiny, fragile, male ego is hurt. snore. be glad your woman takes control of her situation when you’re not around. shut up and be happy she ain’t bugging when the fucking game is on. we have no issue with your need for solo fulfillment. so, get a fucking grip. expand your gd horizons. if you’re that worried about her alone time, figure out how to make that toy work for you. an orgasm, mechanical or human, is an orgasm. i’m just sayin’…

so after an hour or so of a very professional presentation of the most magnificent display of goops, creams, vibrators, c-rings, gels, stripper glitter, sexay underthings, anal plugs, multi-insertion beads, glow in the dark toys, & commercial lubes, it was time to place our orders. we were offended that there was sales tax. clearly these items are a necessity, but like getting coverage for women’s health care, we will have to lobby congress.

so $187 later, i am eagerly awaiting my shipment, but until then i have old reliable, mr. showerhead. 12 speeds of stress relief in 60 seconds as long as you remember to lock the bathroom door so the kids don’t bust in…

it always come down to pledge week doesn’t it? you’re enjoying mutual of omaha on pbs, a lion is massacring a gazelle when they cut in & ask you to give them money for an ugly tote bag. well, i too must interrupt your regularly scheduled blog-gram for this important message. i ain’t having a telethon to ask you for money, but i am asking for your e-support. while i am so grateful to you, my facebook following, because you guys have given me major support & fabulous feedback (you all must have known i don’t handle constructive criticism very constructively), and i am beyond honored to entertain you, i need to branch out & see other followers too. nothing personal dahlings, it’s all business. so all i ask is that you sign up to follow me on the rss feed. you know, subscribe. why you ask? well, 4 reasons:

1. word of mouth will help my fan base grow: perhaps you send your pals the link to sign up & they send it to their friends & so on & so on. like that cheesy fabrege organics commercial from 1976. remember it? at the very least we will all have great hair…
2. if i am ever going to take this thing hollywood (or anywhere outside of my sad little pre-divorce dorm room), i am going to need a respectable following beyond my dear college pals & my aunt shel.
3. my ego is fragile & needs you to.
4. it’s anonymous and only a minor inconvenience like flossing.

so for less than it costs to feed a child in zimbabwe, or buy a cup of fair trade coffee, you can support a fledgling blogger & continue to enjoy outstanding blog-gramming like: my rack & i, the adventures of CT, i was married to a mental patient, & more. plus, you can say you were there when it all began. because, gosh darnnit, people like me & single with vodka: good girl gone bad is going places baby! come along for the ride. i haven’t even scratched my bloggering surface yet…

so check out those cute lil’ links across from here that say “rss feed,” and “register” & please just do whatever annoying things they ask of you & eventually i will have a real fabulous website that won’t be such a pita which, is in the beginning phases of construction. every time you visit, something will probably have changed until i feel like it’s just right. my blog and i are moving on to bigger & better, just like in my life…

thanking you very much in advance!

xoxo,
your sueness

so, here is the eagerly-awaited vacation post*. settle in because it’s loooonnnnng…

so, last week, charles in charge took the girls to disney with his mommy & daddy. his mommy actually came over the week before to pack & shop for the girls because mr. i want full custody couldn’t handle such a taxing proposition. but i digress. the reason i share this is that i am a huge opportunist & i saw my chance to grab a simultaneous vacation of my own. after much arranging, i decided to visit my cousins in LA & sandwich in a vegas weekend.

i used to love traveling: my parents took us away a lot. for many years my chanukah present was to visit said cousins on my own over x-mas break. after college, i backpacked through europe for 6 weeks, 3 of which, were on my own. the mental patient and i used to travel a lot until the babies came and even then we did our fair share. but unfortunately, i eventually learned that there are 2 kinds of travelers: the happy, laid back, excited to be going anywhere traveler = good traveling companion & the uptight, anxiety-ridden, miserable, generally nasty traveler = horrific companion. guess which one of us was which? enough miserable vacations over 16 years dulled my taste for travel & i came to dislike it. i no longer wanted to go anywhere. then, after the worst vacation i was ever on with the eternally whiny traveler, i finally realized it wasn’t travel i hated, but the companion. and it struck me, if a person can not be happy on vacation, he can not be happy anywhere.

i dig traveling. what i abhor are all the things you have to do before you can actually do it: making the plans, running all your last minute pre-travel day errands (my to-do lists are endless & in no way achievable. see chronoptomist in urban dictionary), putting the house on lock-down, major shopping, pre-trip grooming (it’s thorough and i wonder, “why do i feel the need to be waxed, pedi-ed, mani-ed, colored, cut, & generally fabulous for other travelers/vacationers i will never see again?”). but what i hate most is the packing. i despise it for one reason: i am a bit of clothes-horse/wanna-be fashionista and get antsy when separated from my closet. packing gives me anxiety because i need wardrobe options. how can i know what i want to wear for dinner 3 days from the day i am choosing outfits to bring? i normally dress on a whim. i put on & take off 27 different articles of clothing before settling on one outfit. i do that several times a day. i need to be dressed just exactly right for the venue/activity to promote optimal self-confidence (unless i am hooked up to a vodka drip). i need a plane outfit too. i want to be all glam like those asian chicks in the dresses & heels at the airport, but i just can’t. comfort wins & i look like a barely fashionable slob. don’t even get me started on the agony of choosing a finite selection of shoes. so the obvious remedy? O V E R P A C K. i packed enough for a month, several different climates, 2 time zones, & any haberdashery caprice i might have. i was leaving for 5 days for 1 climate. i schlepped that bulging suitcase to my car with only minor damage to the sheetrock. miraculously the suitcase came in under the 50lb limit. barely.

then after all of this intense, heart-wrenching packing you have to be prepared to never see your beautiful, perfectly planned outfits (with options), again if you are planning on checking the bag. basic physics dictated that i was not getting that giant suitcase under the seat in front of me. it had to be checked. so i said a little prayer to gloria vanderbilt, the patron saint of checked luggage, and hoped for the best. i usually say, “goodbye clothes, until we meet again. you have served me well. hope to see you again, perfect outfits.” i am sure this is what shakespeare meant when he wrote that, “parting is such sweet sorrow.” if you truly love something, set it free right? and giving them that bag is so final. all your faith is in that tag they stick on your luggage, the hope that you kissed the bag checker-inner’s ass well enough, and the kindness of strangers behind the scenes to ensure your bag will join you on the other side. i have had my bag lost several times. there is no more naked a feeling than when you are the last person standing there still optimistic after 90 minutes and no more bags are coming out of the chute. you defeatedly trod over to the lost luggage counter to fill out the paperwork knowing they don’t really care if you are ever reunited with your shoes again…

there is the “getting to the airport” routine which is an experience in of itself because it requires figuring out a precise time line in which you must derive the exact moment you need to be at the gate. it takes a degree in quantum physics. once you get that settled, you must decide the mode in which you shall transport yourself to the airport. will you drive & chose a parking option: long term, short term, off premise, monorail, shuttle, or pack-mule? should you just get a car to drive you? this is cool when you return because you have your very own driver to whom you can say, “home james.” i grew up with a dad that was “the early guy.” we always got there hours before & he had ants in his pants until we boarded, but he was never nasty. i remember the good ol’ days when you only had to be there 1 hour before your flight. then one day some assholes flew some planes into the WTC & now you have to be there 3 hours before to get through security. maybe you are one of those last minute people that are sprinting into the airport to make it on board in time. helpful hint: never have one of these people drop you off, or as my pop called it “the dump & run.” all that aside, getting to the airport is generally the easy part. it’s actually getting on the plane that is the challenge…

after waiting for all the clueless people in front of you to figure out the nearly useless e-ticket machine, it’s onto the horror show called (cue ominous music) security. you know i have to bitch about airport security. no airline travel rant can overlook that hot mess. can someone tell me why i still have to take my gd shoes off to go through security? is shoe-smuggling still a major threat to the country? are there roaming violent packs of 5’0 women wearing platforms diverting planes to nordstrom’s? do toddlers really need to be put through that torture? as far as a 3 year old knows, she is never getting her shoes back & that warrants a colossal melt-down. now the airport smells like feet & is just a giant case of athlete’s foot waiting to happen. there are podiatrists opening up offices in the terminals. and oh, god, the fucking liquids. i threw a full size bottle of saline into my carry on meaning to transfer it to my suitcase but forgot it was even in there. needless to say i caused a stir at the x-ray machine & narrowly escaped a full cavity search because apparently, it is common for most terrorists to wear contacts that dry out on the plane. ummm, TSA? just a thought, but perhaps, once you uncover a terrorist plot involving shoes & liquids, they have moved on to bigger ideas. do you think the terrorists got together & said, “we use 3oz bottles & higher for the liquid TNT. got that, habib? nothing under 3oz – let those dirty americans have their travel size toiletries to carry-on, but that’s it.” but, you sure can check all the liquid you want. you can pack a keg of nitroglycerin in your suitcase & that’s not a problem at all as long as you pay the oversize baggage fee. makes no sense to me. i suppose the terrorists don’t check bags. seems to me someone could be making a lot of money on efficient airline security technology.

after you barley make it out alive from security, there is the boarding adventure. this where you get stuck behind the family with 4 children & 15 carry-ons because they didn’t want to pay the extra ransom of $15 per checked bag (each way). there is no way all that stuff fits overhead but they are determined to do it even if they hold up the entire boarding process. when i finally find my seat, i heave a sigh of relief that someone else isn’t already sitting in it. its like airplane roulette. will they have randomly given my seat to someone else even though it was promised to me more than once? (this why my dad made us get there uber early & race down the jetway like it was the last stretch of the NYC marathon as soon as they let us. that was before the days of boarding you in numerical order. don’t even think of trying to pull that shit now.) if my seat is actually vacant, i always get stuck in the middle between 2 giant people that feel they can spread out in the extra space around me. w r o n g. i may be small, but i overpaid for this seat & i want every centimeter of it to myself. god forbid i should even think about asking mr. aisle seat to get up so i can pee after holding it in for 2.5 hours. he is visibly annoyed. perhaps you didn’t realize having the aisle seat means 2 other people are trapped next to you & are at your mercy for bladder relief. gawd. or should you dare to try to pee too soon after take-off, you are met with the major disapproval of the flight attendants akin to catholic school nuns. i promise i will never ever again say to my kids, “but, you just went,” or “i told you to go before we left, now you have to wait.” i now know how infuriating that is. apparently, you are only allowed to empty your bladder when you are perfectly horizontal to gravity. i actually found myself asking permission. i paid 600 bux to sit in this sardine can & i am asking the snarky male flight attendant if i can go potty? fuck yeah, i can go. if he says no i will pee on his shoes.

but i do love the airplane honor code. the code states you can leave anything in your seat or under the seat in front of you when you go to the lav & no one else will touch it. it’s a strict honor code that is never messed with. you could leave a wad of cash when you get up to use that tiny loo & it will be there when you return. you could get sucked out that super jet propulsion toilet into space when you flush it & never return & your stuff will still be there. you’re all in this together while the plane is in the sky. but before or after its survival of the fittest.

next you have to sit through that whole asinine “turn off your electronic devices.” rant. this is a huge farce. the plane is not going to crash if we all have our ipods & cells on. they just realized no one pays attention to the safety speil anymore which is generally a ridiculous video now. they want to hold you captive & force you to pay attention to the life vest/oxygen mask/seat as a flotation device demo you have seen 400 times and will completely forget how to do should the unthinkable happen & the plane has a “water landing (i.e. crashes into the ocean at a zillion mph).” forget the life vest & squeeze the charmin, because if that happens, i am gonna shit my pants. and they are so pushy about the electronic lock-down. don’t even have your earbuds in place because they will make you show them that your ipod is indeed black-screened. ditto on trying to recline a millimeter before takeoff or landing, because the 180 degree position the seat is in is unnatural to any biped with a spine. they will forcibly push your seat forward while reprimanding you loudly in front of your fellow passengers like your first grade teacher. when did the flight staff get so surly even though they “realize i have many choices for air travel?”

after you listen to the safety rant, you have to listen to the captain do his schtick. how come they all sound the same & are unintelligible? they introduce themselves & then babble about flight coordinates & wind sheer like we care. our main concern as passengers is not dying in a crash. basically, please don’t kill us. that’s all we want to know from you. then just as you are nodding off the captain comes on to tell you about the turbulence. really? no shit. is that why my internal organs are trying to exit my body all at once? or they want to point out shit to look at like we are on a tauk tour. shut up & fly the fucking plane. tell me when we’re there. but i will probably figure that out on my own anyway when we bounce off the pavement at 1000 mile per hour during your smooth landing, cap’n crunch.

all that’s left is to sit there & fly armed with the knowledge that we do not belong up in the sky in the first place & could plummet out of it at any minute. to take your mind off of that haunting vision, there are distractions provided to you: drink, food, A/V, & in seat shopping courtesy of skymall. first you get a drink. you have to beg for a whole can & they are not pleased with your greediness. just because you paid over 800 clams to sit in coach does not mean you can have an entire 50 cent can of soda. the best part of the whole damn thing is when you get a plane where each seat has its own tv. that is flying nirvana. then what follows is the presentation of a loose confederation of molecules they claim to be food. we all know how repulsive it usually is. it’s palatability is rated on a scale of horrible to not that bad. after you’re done eating, the flight crew is very particular about how you give them your trash. they are really bitchy if you don’t do it properly. and then i live for “sky mall.” where else can you buy a $300 portable microwave or hot dog toaster? learn 59 languages while asleep or buy a set of stairs for your stupid mutt? it all seems brilliant in the sky but on the ground not so much.

finally it is time to land & get out of that tinder box. what is it about travel that makes you look like you have just been released from a work camp? i always look like hell when the plane lands. i try to freshen up before landing, but i wind up settling for looking “mildly disheveled.” then, its basically the reverse schtick as boarding, except now you have to pee, your legs are cramped and you have to wait for the same idiots who stuffed all that crap overhead to get it out. but you have made it. another safe flight, thank god.

i met my aunt at the baggage claim. she almost fainted at the sight of my 49.5 pound suitcase, but i assured her i could handle it. i am small but mighty, like the little ceasar dog. i inhaled the familiar smog of LAX, stepped into the bright california sun, caught sight of the gently swaying palm trees, made a mental note to go blond, & smiled. i was back in my old stomping ground, LA. without kids & free from dreadful travel companions. i was ready to party…

this post & all those that precede or follow it are for entertainment purposes. it does not represent any real people, living, dead, or zombies, or events. it represents the OPINIONS of the author & is based on a compilation of events, stories, & personas.

so suck it, whiners.

of course, you know a nasty rant directed at steve jobs, was brewing deep in the bowels of my left hemisphere. i considered writing him a letter, but a friend of mine told me no one would give a shit & i realized that was probably true. my pal said, “blog it out, baby.” so i am. let’s begin. shall we?

first of all, i am the marketing wet dream demographic for apple: a loyal pc user who finally got sick of the constant crashing & burning of my pc, who was ready to switch over to the alternate mac lifestyle, and who could actually afford their damn overpriced mac. their trendy commercials with the cute guy & hipster music finally got to me. i was finally convinced that the superstylin’ mac was the answer to my technological prayers. so, one day i was so po’ed at the ETB (ex to be) & i decided that was it, i need my own laptop, i am going to go spend way too much money on a mac. i stormed out of the house and straight to the mall.

i walked into the apple store & angels sang. i had never seen anything like it. it’s clean minimalist design was like walking through the gates of heaven. beautiful displays of macs, mac books, a clever rainbow of ipods, & sparkling iphones with endless “apps.” it was gorgeous. a sing-song voice in my head purred, ” you belong here. ” a voice which i would later identify as satan’s, because that can only be who turned it all around for apple. and not only did the staff wear color coded t-shirts, but the service was magnanimous. so helpful. finally, computer geeks who treated me with respect and they didn’t even work on commission. the salesnerd actually could have cared less if i bought anything. and i bought their speil about how the mac was finally “friendly” to pc users & compatible with pc programs. “seamless integration.” so it seemed. if the extensive table area devoted to “mac school” didn’t tip me off to the world of trouble i was about to sign on for, then the gd “genius bar” should have. instead of thinking, “is it a problem that there is a need for a free service area devoted exclusively to helping you fix glitches?,” i thought, “how nice, a free service area devoted exclusively to helping you fix glitches” mistake number 1. but i was oblivious. i had fallen in love at first sight and there was no stopping me.

and people can’t buy these macs fast enough. they have absolutely mainstreamed. the store is crowded with masses of sheep no matter what time of day or night you go. if you say,”hey, i will come back later when its not busy. when is that?” the answer is “never.” even if you elect to wait, they will tell you there is no guarantee you will be served that day. on the weekend, there is a line out the door with an actual rope akin to those at disney rides during high season. it is the new dmv. and the suckiest part is, those f*n techno-nerds are immune to womanly charms. cleavage & batting eyelashes will get you no where with them. that is generally my go-to schtick with male service people. fans, my natural wit & charm only go so far on their own.

what follows is the horrifying aftermath of my formerly proud purchase. once home, i took my spanky brandy new mac notebook home & gingerly unpacked it. i inhaled its new computer smell & imagined how my life would immediately change & my laptop & i would live happily ever after. oh sure, i liked the styling of the sites & the fresh applications so much that i was willing to overlook that learning a whole new vernacular wasn’t as easy as promised. i imagined instead how i would edit photos, make home movies, build websites, become a graphic designer, & finally evolve into the self-sufficient techno-geek i secretly longed to be. like any new love, it started out dreamily, but then things between us quickly got rocky. after a month, there were issues & i was searching mac self-help sites for ways to fix glitches on my own. extensive, endless articles on numerous sites. i had no patience to read even 1 of these lengthy articles. forget reading all of those nerd threads & posts. this was clearly not a good sign. and i hardly had time to learn all the new mac apps, much less use them. one day my email & internet access became spotty and the next, the unthinkable happened: 2 days before my year long warranty expired, the hard drive crashed & burned & i lost everything. i called it the “great hard drive crash of ’08,” and although the dorks hidden in the secret mac store back room replaced it, when i asked about all the stuff that was lost, they asked if i had been backing up the hard drive. NO! that’s why i asked, asshole. turns out that unless i had an extra grand laying around for them to “send it out” & only attempt to retrieve my info, no dice. for 1000 smackers, i wasn’t even guaranteed any info could be retrieved. so, i decided to rebuild my itunes library (they are generous enough to resend all of your itune store purchases, but you are warned only this once), take new pix of my kids, & resolved to back up my hard drive forevermore (which i still haven’t done because, apparently, i still haven’t learned my lesson). even though i made the warranty period by 2 days (thank goodness for small things), the damage was done. i had fallen out of love and now i was stuck with an overpriced crappy piece of hardware. get this too – when i asked the dweeb why the hard drive would crash like that he said, “it could be from being moved around too much.” from being moved around too much. it’s a gd laptop. movement is in inherent in the design. otherwise it would be a tower & non-portable. OMG! i was fallng out of love quickly.

another few months went by & i tried to make this doomed relationship work. i really did. and we got along the mac & i. my trust was being rebuilt. then one day i completely lost email access. after another trip back to the geniuses, i learned that after they get you hooked on your pretentious dot mac email address, and you officially change over from being a pc user to a mac user, they neglect to tell you that it cost 100 bux a year to “rent” that space on their server they so happily gave you when you bought the mac. my year had run out. ok, fine i shelled out their ransom because i didn’t feel like finding a new email home or having to update all of my contacts. oh, AND also, all of my saved emails that i needed for my divorce were being held hostage on their server until i paid them their blackmail money. ok, so another major let-down, but we got back on track yet again. what choice did i have?

once again, mac & i lived in harmony for the most part. oh there were issues, but nothing i couldn’t handle. then the gd dvd drive stopped reading discs. the drive would swallow the cd until i forced it out. of course, i had refrained earlier from paying for the $99 extended warranty after the great crash, because, well because, i like to gamble in the extended warranty/service plan arena, & mostly i am an idiot. i let it be & i decided i would deal with the dvd drive later knowing i would have no choice but to throw a lot of money at it at some point. then the face plate also cracked for no apparent reason and was immune to any kind of glue to repair it. what an all around piece of shit! i officially hated the mac now.

a few more months went by & then after i posted my blog on july 9th, the internet blacked out. everything else worked on the laptop except of course anything that required the use of the internet which, by the way, is EVERYTHING. there was nothing wrong with the wireless connection in my house. i am no schmuck – i had already checked that out thoroughly becasue that’s always the first question they ask you, “well, did you plug it in?” yes, bitch, i did.

so after i checked in for my appointment with the concierge today, whom, by the way is the hot chick nerd, which makes her the fucking snot-ass homecoming queen of the apple store, the trekkie fixed it today. he fixed it, not by fixing safari, but by installing a new browser. he still has no idea why safari stopped working. he only knew he had 137 people after me to process. furthermore, the cheapest option, his exact words, for replacing the “optical reader” (that’s nerd speak for dvd drive) would be $300.00 & involved “sending it out” for a week. know why? because i decided not to buy the 99 dollar warranty several months ago. i opted to hold off on that fabulous offer. aaaaauuuuggggggghhhhh. it seems the only answer to fixing the mac involves endlessly spending more money. everything is an add-on with these fuckers. apparently nothing is included with a 2000k laptop other than a fancy light up apple on the front. so now, i am stuck in a dead end relationship with this obnoxious piece of caca. it will be easier to get out of my marriage than to get a new laptop. i don’t have that kind of funding anymore.

there is a reason apple never dominated the pc market. its not the bill gates conspiracy theory apple likes to sell us. it’s because their products suck ass. even the first day i had my ipod it froze & i couldn’t use it for the 5 hour plane trip for which it was specifically purchased. the airport had an ipod kiosk & the dude’s answer was to let the battery run down & try again. oh really, einstein? stellar advice i never would have figured out on my own due to the fact that i couldn’t do anything other than exactly that BECAUSE IT WAS FROZEN. so not only was i up shit’s creek without my music paddle, but i was out 200.00 clams. yes, the damn ipod eventually worked but randomly freezes whenever it feels like it. like for example, when i want to use it. plus apple likes to come out with a new version of the overpriced gadget you just bought a week ago which is really irritating. oh they will let you upgrade, but you are now inconvenienced again. why not just tell people to buy it next week? jerks. and they just can’t get you hooked in enough. integrate everything. make it all wireless. let your mac talk to your pc. let your iphone talk to them & to your email. let your iphone own your soul so when it craps out you are a shell of a human who forgot that you actually used your own brain independently at one time.

sitting there today waiting for my laptop to be fixed, i watched an endless stream of people with laptops, giant towers, ipods, itouches, & iphones wait in line for a visit with the “geniuses.” it finally occurred to me way too late, if the apple products were so damn good, then in theory, the genius bar should be empty. if the stuff is so easy to use, why the need for “mac school?” it’s supposed to be a seamless transition for us pc users to mac use. all a colossal bunch of bullshit. other than the lack of worry about computer viruses, macs are no better than pcs. just a more flashy operating platform with snob appeal & a huge advertising budget. i am less pissed with mac for packaging a piece of shit as a gold bar, than i am with myself for the fact that i considered myself so savvy, but fell for their brilliant marketing campaign. kudos, mac! i could have gotten another sucky pc and paid half as much for the same amount of inconvenience. and to think i had also actually contemplated getting an iphone. no freakin’ way now, boys.

so, from the bottom of my heart, fuck you apple. you’re just plain rotten.