Strange as it may seem, this life is based on a true story." - Ashleigh Brilliant


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name: shanna
age: 28
sign: scorpio
live: louisiana
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The current mood of shanna at www.imood.com

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Saturday, August 30, 2003

It's a beautiful morning...

Not really. Today, folks, begins the nightmare that is LSU football. Even saying such a thing is going traitor against the vast majority of the southern Louisiana population; I might be taken out and stoned at any minute.

You don't know college football until you've experienced LSU fans. I read a study somewhere that said the most rabid, dedicated and diehard college football fans were Tiger fans. If you lived here, you'd already know that. It's not uncommon for families to pack up and follow the Tigers all around the country during football season; and don't be planning any major get togethers on game night. I know a girl who accidentally scheduled her wedding on the same night as an LSU football game. Two of her uncles didn't go...to the wedding! They played hell making her father and grandfather attend.

None of this insanity would matter a hill of beans to me except that I live right next to LSU - and home games mean being stuck inside the house and listening to the crappy music of the live band at the restaurant next door. Stuck in the house because the traffic is unbelievable. After the game, every road leading to LSU is closed off and becomes one, big, moving flow out. That's right, every single road turns into a one-way and the traffic is bumper-to-bumper on every one of them.

The loud, drunken revelry is another thing altogether. Something always ends up happening to Baret's car and the band next door plays until 2am. And they suck. This year, the restaurant is the location of the "official" post-game show...with all the radio shows and interviews with the coaches, etc. Oh joy.

This time of year makes me want to move...far away. No matter how much I love my apartment.

Thankfully, we won't be around for the hype. We're ducking out early and going to my hometown (Maringouin...try and pronounce it..come on) as we're taking my grandpa out to dinner. He's been begging us to take him to this little restaurant in Breaux Bridge called Mulatte's...where they have live Cajun music. It'll be a blast. My grandpa is something else...I'm sure he's already sitting at home and trying to decide if he's going to where his Passion or Old Spice cologne.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 7:44 AM
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I have officially jumped on the interview bandwagon. My first interview was given to me by a fellow Louisiana blogger Smash:


1. At what age did you consider yourself truly an adult? Why?

Like everyone else, at 18 I thought I was one. Wrong. Actually, I’m still waiting for the feeling. I keep waiting to feel like an adult…I’m still a young person playing at figuring out life. Guess I'll always be a Toys R' Us kid!

2. If you had a chance to mend a broken relationship/friendship from the past, with whom would you reunite?

Most people that know me think I would choose Spoon – my ex of four years, but I feel we've worked out all our karma for this lifetime. Actually, that would be with Lauren…my Terror Twin. Somewhere we went wrong…and I’d like to recapture the amazing friendship that we once shared.

3. What is the one object in your apartment that makes you feel most at home?

That’s a tough one. I’d have to say my bed…I spend a lot of time there. It’s like my little island.

4. What is the most fun you have had as an IT professional?

Designing databases would have to win, hands down. I like being creative and mixing that with my technical side. Anytime I’m creating a program or spreadsheet or document for a section of the agency, I love it.

5. If you could have the ultimate sex, with whom and where would it be?

Going with this on a complete I-wish-tip, it’d be with Angelina Jolie, no ifs, ands or buts about it, and where wouldn’t even matter. But since this is a fantasy dream, it’d be in front of a roaring fire in an isolated cabin in Cripple Creek. Coming back down to earth, and thinking more realistically, the ultimate sex would be with my soulmate; same location.

****
Great questions. Now you know the rules; if you want me to interview you, make a request in the comments. Actually, Smash, explains it much better so I'll just use those instructions:

Ok, so the way this thing works is this:

1. Leave a comment, saying you want to be interviewed.
2. I will respond; I'll ask you five questions.
3. You'll update your website with my five questions, and your five answers.
4. You'll include this explanation.
5. You'll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed.

If you wish to be interviewed by me, simply request it in the comments. :)


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 7:28 AM
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Friday, August 29, 2003

As I'm sure a plethora of blogs around the world are doing today, here's my synopsis of the VMA's last night.

Chris Rock rocked, as always. I still want to do very dirty things to Eminem. I'm very upset I started watching the show late and missed Madonna and Britney Spears kissing (wow). I don't even know what Good Charlotte sings. Jack Black making fun of the Michael Jackson-episode last year was hilarious. Justin Timberlake needs to stop being so damn nice…he’s making me start to like him. Props to Nelly for giving homage to us apple-bottom women. Wtf was up with Beyonce's hair - it looked like a gigantic, nappy, rat's nest? Snoop & Sandler actually made a good team, fo' shizzle. Metallica still sucks.

That's about it. If you missed it, don't worry. MTV will re-air it over and over and over and over...and over again for the next three months or so. Heavy rotation is their mantra.

Over and out - for now.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 7:41 AM
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Thursday, August 28, 2003

Can I just say that I am dying for a cigarette right now?!

I know it's an unpopular thing to do these days...smoke that is, and, likely, even more unpopular to admit it and gloat about it. But I do smoke and I do love it. Yes, I know it's bad for my health - my lungs, my skin, my teeth and my breath. Yes, I know about all of the wicked things the tobacco companies do to us poor, addicted souls and the evil things they spew forth to trap other ignorant fools (I've seen the commercials and I ,honestly, just laugh at them). I've heard every side of every pro-smoking and anti-smoking spiel.

What it comes down to is I want to smoke. I make a conscious effort to put a nicotine-tobacco-cancer-causing-stick to my lips and ignite it and I won't be one of those asshats that turns around one day and sues a tobacco company because I'm breathing through a hole in my neck. I'm well aware of what I'm doing, and the consequences. Same as when I drink. But smoking has become this huge thing now - I see it one day actually becoming fully illegal. There are many states where you cannot smoke, even on the street, and more and more public places are becoming completely smoke-free. It doesn't really bother me, as I rarely smoke when I'm in public places anyway (I don't want to hear them yakking on their damn cell phones, they don't want to inhale my second-hand smoke; I believe in the Golden Rule, ya know?); unless it's a crowded, smoky bar.

I never really even though enough to comment on the whole smoking tirade, even though I've voiced my opinion of those money-hungry idiots who sued the tobacco companies, until one day someone emailed me and said I must be a very interesting person since the photo in my Yahoo! profile was of me smoking. He said something about being very brave to post such a picture in today's society; I guess it was as if I was giving a finger to the haters or something. It really stunned me; it was never my intention to make any kind of statement, and the fact that such a picture did really got me thinking about this whole smoking silliness.

I like to smoke - no, I take that back - I love to smoke; and I don't really care what anyone says or thinks about it. And I realize that, in this day and age, such a statement seems to bother some people. I think those anti-smoking commercials are dumb and a bit over-the-top (let it go, people) and they never once have made me not want to smoke. Some day I won't want to smoke anymore, and I'll stop. I won't sue anyone, or turn into a smoking-hater. That's my thoughts on this whole smoking thing; care to share yours?


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 11:58 AM
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Right now I have the biggest grin on my face.

I've been having a really tough time at work - and it looks like it's going to get worse before it gets better. This has had me in a chain-smoking state of stress for almost two weeks now.

But just now something good happened. Really good.

As you may or may not know, I'm a web designer. I have a little business on the side, though I've only been hired to do two websites before for pay. I don't really advertise - it's just a word-of-mouth, great-if-it-happens little thing I do for some extra cash. But I love it - I love doing it more than I can put into words and if I could do it full-time; well, nothing would make me happier. Just last week, as I was busy patching laptops, one of our inspectors said he was looking to hire me to do a website for their church. Just this week, a good friend (who got me my first paid site) said he knew a company that was hiring out for free-lance web designers b/c they were swamped. As I just sat back down at my cube, after making a trek to the snack machine for some Rold Gold Pretzels, a man I didn't know came up. He said he'd heard that I designed websites, and he and his wife have a prize horse that they show and breed and need a website for him. I'm so fucking stoked!!

Being hired to do two sites is great news! I'm also currently working on two other sites for friends and the man who is doing my therapy (b/c he sees me for free since I am a special/termed 'hopeless' case). Could this be the beginning of doing more web design - and possibly making enough of a name for myself to do it exclusively? Keep your fingers crossed for me! I wonder what color candle is good to light for webpages...lol.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 8:05 AM
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Wednesday, August 27, 2003

If regular gum is called 'chewing gum', why isn't bubble gum called 'blowing gum'? Just a thought I had...


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 12:17 PM
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I honestly have nothing to say.

Not that I'm at a loss for words - that doesn't really happen to me. It isn't that life has been boring and I have nothing to post about - far from it. Not even that nothing in the world is going on that's pissing me off and I feel like bitching about - there's always room for a bitch-fest.

But sometimes I feel like "what's the point?" No one comes here and reads my blathering, no one comments on my life or thoughts. And what bothered me isn't that no one is coming and reading or commenting - but the fact that no one reading and commenting bothered me. Does that make sense?

Of course not - let me try to explain. I would never stop posting because on one comes - I write for me, first and foremost always. But it'd be ridiculous to say the hits and the comments don't matter to a blogger - to any blogger - because they do. No matter how much we try to say they don't; face it, they really do. And it's not that they matter enough that I don't even care to post with no one around - I'm bothered by the fact that I even notice it. Why should it matter? Why does it? That's what has me so bothered I'm neglecting to post with my usual fluidity and no-care attitude. Not that no one cares - but that I give a flying two shits that no one does.

I could take off all the comments and the hit-box - never give a rat's ass about who comes and who doesn't and what they think or don't and I'd still post to my blogger. That isn't why I do it - not why I started it in the first place. So why when I pop in during the day and see (0) comments do I get that "well, hell" feeling?

I think that's the draw of a blogger. It's a very personal journal - a diary of your innermost thoughts and day-to-day activities - that you actually get to share. You like the idea of people reading your shit - it's sort of like reality TV. Ever wonder why those people would get on TV and let their everyday lives be filmed like that? No privacy/nothing sacred? The same reason we post our private lives on bloggers and online journals. We get to pick and choose the interesting and dramatic parts of our lives and showcase them for a worldwide audience. We have the chance to re-vamp our boring, mundane days and make them interesting with some pithy and creative writing and have the world at large comment on them. It's a virtual mass of exhibitionistic voyeurism.

So it does matter when no one's there - because that's why we do it. Even if we're writing for ourselves, we're still putting it online to share. There's no getting around that.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 10:36 AM
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Monday, August 25, 2003

An interesting weekend, to say the least.

Friday night I attended the aforementioned fun party - had a good time. I'm the proud new owner of a red, gyrating, jelly, vibrating thingy, some menthol-tingly cream called Nympho's Niagra that I quite like, and an official "After Sex" towel (because you always need one). Just that little bit was around $60, so I didn't even look at anything else.

I spent the better part of Saturday combatting the huge hangover I had brought upon myself. After leaving the fun party, we went and met up with all of our friends at the Spanish Moon to see a Madonna cover band that sucked big dick. I got hit on by a deaf guy...I was so drunk and I just talk to everyone. I spent 10 minutes just trying to get him to get my name right before my friends came and whisked me away to save me. I barely remember getting home.

I was sick and went to bed at 6:30 pm, completely missing the other party I was supposed to attend, and woke up around 10:30. My bestest friend in the whole world called me at 1am and we talked until 4.

I spent Sunday watching two old movies on AMC, because they just caught my interest. One was "From the Terrace" with Paul Newman (I had no idea he was that gorgeous in his younger days). I caught the middle to end of it, but I really got into the "The Story of Eddie Duchin". It was so sad, as it was based on a true story about a famous pianist in the 30s, that I was depressed for an hour after watching it.

And here we are at Monday once again. Next Monday will be one of those rare exceptions to Mondays - it will be good. Because it is a day off. Though Labor Day is not a favorite in my family - we lost my grandmother on that day in 1998. So Mom and I are planning a little road trip - she can't stand to be around home on that day, and it will keep both our minds off of bad memories. But this Monday is just another crappy one. I wish I had something more interesting to say, but...it's Monday.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 9:38 AM
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Saturday, August 23, 2003

I want to post something...I really do. I actually have lots to share. Yet my hangover would turn every utterance into nonsensical babble. Could someone wring my brain out for me?

I'll get back to you on...whatever it was I was going to post.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 3:35 PM
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Friday, August 22, 2003

It's Friday. Finally, ohmigod, it is here. Now I just want it to be over.

This week has been exhausting. I have learned a valuable lesson this week, however. Exhaustion has nothing to do with the amount of sleep you have. I've been getting full nights of rest this week - a full 6-8 hours every evening and wake up feeling refreshed - but the second I hobble into work I feel as if I've been awake for ten days and was just hit with a mack truck after consuming 10 beers and a kilo of coke. I'm just drained. I've got three laptops on my desk as we speak, two that we had to do a clean install on and I'm having to load everything back on to from scratch, and another that just needs to be patched. I want to take a blunt object to each one of them; this would bring me immense pleasure.

On a happier note, I'm going to a Fun Party this evening. For those not in the know, it's akin to a tupperware party, 'cept it's proffering sex toys and various oils and lotions instead. My kinda party.

Saturday I have another party to attend - this time a housewarming one. For all the fun I know I'm going to have and all the liquor I'm sure to imbibe, I still wish this was just another weekend of sit at home and do absolutely nothing. After this week, I need it - and I know next week will be more of the same. Truly, I'm a hermit-at-heart. I'd much rather stay home, fuck around, and do nothing than be out partying with my friends. Though when I get the envie for some rock-star revelry, watch out. It just doesn't happen as often for me as it does my party-hard friends.

Ah well...as a snippet of some of my favorite lyrics says..."take life as it comes, straight, no chaser..."


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 7:37 AM
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Thursday, August 21, 2003

Omfg - if I see another laptop get set on my desk today, I'm gonna scream.

Really, scanning and patching them isn't the problem; while it's tedious at best, it's no big deal. It's all the fucking little problems that pop up afterwards that are driving me insane. The dial-in stuff is all fucked up, some people's printers won't work, etc etc etc. And they get all pissed off when you tell them "You have to bring it back into the office." We're just learning about these problems, and figuring out how to fix them as we go. I can't fix everything over the phone (I'd rather not try and fix anything over the phone - nothing will make you want to scratch your eyes out quicker).

*phone rings*

"Shanna, my printer is doing this weird thing. The light keeps blinking and it won't print anything but garbage - ever since you guys messed with it."

Why do they always assume we are responsible for fucking their computers up? Could it be that the program we loaded might've changed a few settings? Could be. And might it also be possible that I'm the only motherfucking person who can help you fix it so you'd better not fucking call here and accuse me of stupid shit like that??? Could very well be.

*phone rings*

"What did you do to my computer? I can't log on." You should hear the accusatory tone, which at this point, makes me want to spit nails.

"I purposefully went in and fucked with a bunch of shit just so you couldn't log on - for the pure pleasure of it and because I'm an evil I.T. bitch and I can. Does that answer your question?"

And of course, it turns out that the only problem was that a screen popped up on start up saying it couldn't connect to one particular, non-important server and all he had to do was hit the goddamn CANCEL button. Look, it's not my fault that you're a complete fucking idiot.

Okay - thank you - I feel much better now. Back to scanning, patching, and fixing laptops for a bunch of idiot assholes.

Did I mention that I hate hackers????


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 6:50 AM
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Tuesday, August 19, 2003

Have you ever caught a glimpse of something - an advertisement, a book, etc - that has the name of some old, crappy 80's song emblazoned on it (rarely, if ever, in actual reference to the crappy 80's song itself), and suddenly that very tune begins playing in your head...for the rest of the day?

This morning I noticed a dirty shirt on the floor I'd thrown off last night. It was inside-out and the tag was showing, and in big, red letters it said "FREEZE FRAME". Immediately that song starts playing in my head - and I can't make it stop!! Has that ever happened to you?

Not that I don't like 80's music - in fact, I like a lot of it - but some of that stuff needs to stay buried in whatever deep hole in my head it has sunken into.

I bet it's stuck in your head, too, now - muwahahhaha. FREEZE FRAME...wooo!


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 5:04 AM
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Monday, August 18, 2003

Wait - I'd be wrong if I didn't update you on my crackhead of a neighbor - mainly because it's just been so damn funny as well as annoying.

He spent the weekend, it seemed, going through withdrawls. He was upstairs (which means I can see him as clearly as if he were in my room), and was walking around in circles shaking his head back and forth. Then he'd bang his head on the wall for a bit, flick the light switch on and off a few times (this seemed to amuse him as he kept coming back to it), walk into the closet for a few - then into the bathroom. The best part, though, had to be when I glanced up to see him walking out of the bathroom wearing the mask from The Scream. It was truly creepy, especially since he kept it on, turned the lights off and left. Um... Baret was freaking out that he was going to break into our cars and steal our radios for some quick cash to get another fix. (It wouldn't be the first time that's happened to one of our cars in that parking lot). But he returned momentarily, sans mask, and resumed the odd ritual given above.

Sunday he was in a foul mood. He stood and cursed at his empty patio for about ten minutes. When Dumb Bitch let out Yap-Yap-Dog, he started screaming and cursing at the dog (who just barked all the louder). Then he turned his music up even louder, and I was glad I hadn't planned to go to bed early (this was at 9pm). We were awakened last night a few times by the two of them fighting, and Crackhead slamming the front door and gate with all his might (he's been doing this for days now). I know I should call the cops - but he really isn't blasting the music anymore, and I can't very well call them and say "My neighbor is acting really weird - I think he's on crack." If it goes on again tonight (I can't see it not), I will call the landlord tomorrow, as tonight will make it exactly one week (7 days) that it has been going on non-stop. I'd like one night of peaceful, all-night-long sleep.

On a brighter-neighbor-note, a new couple moved in right next door to Crackhead and Responsible Boy. I noticed Saturday they'd put up a huge mirror across from their bed - which is as high as the low wall of the loft upstairs. They don't have curtains, either, so this gave us a completely full view of their bed. Now, I'm a pervert, and my first thought, that I shared with Baret, was, "I hope they fuck a lot." Oh, don't look so shocked - you'd be excited at the prospect of seeing your neighbors go at it, too, if you could. You know you'd watch. So, anyway, not ten mintues later, my Mom stopped by with my sister to pick up my dirty clothes (yes, my Mom still does my laundry - she enjoys it and why would I take that from her?). I pointed out to her that we had new neighbors and they'd put up a big mirror - and as we all looked over there at the same time, there they were going at it. My Mom thought it was hilarious, and I just thought it was cool. We didn't oggle them - I respect their privacy - but I did glance over now and again. I've dubbed them Ron (aka Jeremy) and Jenna (aka Jameson), my own, real-life, neighborhood porn stars. Reality TV isn't this good, folks. All I can figure, with that huge mirror positioned where it is, and the lack of curtains - they must want people to see them. They've got to know everyone can.

And to think, not but a week ago I lived in a quiet, boring little apartment complex!


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 2:22 PM
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I hate hackers.

I've spent the better part of the day updating our field inspectors' laptops with uber virus protection so we could re-enable their dial-in capabilities. Realizing it was going to be a slow process per laptop, I burned three copies of the disk I was using and started doing them 4 at a time. By 3pm, I'd cleared out all the ones brought to me today - 21 laptops total. No small feat considering our other i.t. guy only got 9 done doing them one at a time. sigh. No more worms for awhile, I hope.

I simply cannot wait to go home and pop open an ice cold bottled Michelob Ultra. Yes, the low carb beer. Today I'm starting my lazy version of the Atkins diet. Just completely cutting out the high carb stuff - the regular beer, breads, potatoes, pastas, etc. Basically, everything I eat. I may have told you before that my four main food groups are frozen food, fast food, junk food and food other people make for me. I literally live off of Easy Mac, Wendy's $0.99 menu, Pringles, pizza and beer. I have good metabolism and my diet wasn't a weight-gainer until I became immobile (i.e. on crutches). For three months after the first surgery (and the two that followed), I was in bed. That's when I gained the weight, and since being on crutches doesn't make you all that active, I haven't lost it.

But I'm tired of none of my clothes fitting me, and not being madly in love with my body anymore. It's time for a diet. I am happy to report, though, that in my 25+ years, it is my first. Not that I was blessed with a naturally skinny bod or anything (puh-leaze) but that I was always too lazy to go on a diet. I've always wanted to be thinner (even when I was sickly so), but it was never a driving force. I was still comfortable with my natural curves. But this extra 10 lbs I've put on just ain't cutting it. Oh shut it. I can hear you now, "she's that upset over gaining 10 lbs??!" Look, when you're only 4'10", 10 lbs has a whole different meaning. I don't think I'm fat or anything, I'm just not as happy with myself as I once was - and it's that simple. So, hello Atkins, goodbye everything I once loved; for a little while anyway.

Not much else to report. Going to have dinner this evening with my favorite friend, whom I haven't hung with in way too long. That will be cool. Of course, not knowing about my new diet plans, he'd gone at lunchtime and bought the ingredients for french bread pizza - lol. We'll see if I stick to my new diet when faced with my greatest food love tonight. A true test on the first day - that's pretty cool actually.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 2:10 PM
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Sunday, August 17, 2003

Karma's a bitch. I often bitch about old people who shouldn't be allowed behind the wheel, and today might've been my griping of the elderly's driving practices coming back to karmically bite me in the ass. Or perhaps some old people are just mean and spiteful bags of saggy flesh.

I was accosted by an old woman in the Circle K this morning. I pulled up to see the only handicap space taken and no other spaces near the door available. The next spot was actually on the corner of the store - not really a space, but the ramp was right in front of it and I'm in a Miata (I don't take up much space), and everyone parks there. The Caddy sitting in the handicap space had it's door swung wide open. Considering the number of crackheads and thugs that constantly hang around this gas station, this surprised me. I pulled up, but stayed back a bit so I wasn't too close to the other cars. I went in and was doing my business at the ATM when I heard the little shriveled prune with orange-dyed hair say something about someone blocking her in. A thought passed through my mind that she couldn't be talking about me. Just then, she steps back in the store and yells loudly, "Who's in that little black car out there?" My car isn't black, but I'm well accquanited with Blank's Law. I look at her and say, "Me." She starts yelling at me that I'm blocking her in - she can't get in her car or back out. As she's going off, I'm running over the scenario in my head and know there is no way I am blocking her in any way, shape or form. All I could guess was that she was aggravated that she might have to close her door or move it (remember, it's swung wide open) to get into her car. Hello. Not my problem - nor my fault. I said something about needing to park near the handicap ramp (I'm standing there at the ATM on crutches, duh) and she starts yelling that she is handicapped and she has a tag. "So do I," I tell her and she says, "Well, you have to come move it!"

My first reaction was to yell back at her, "You wouldn't have trouble getting in your car if your door wasn't swung wide open, you old bag." But I'm not gonna go off on an old lady, no matter how bitchy she is, in a convenience store full of people. Instead, I just say, "I will" in a tone that says "when I'm damn well ready", and turn back to my ATM business. But I hate confrontation and this old bitch has just called me out in a store full of people. I was angry, and shaking - which pissed me off more. Still, I don't rush - no old wrinkled, bat is gonna make my crutch-usin' ass hurry to do her bitchy bidding. I then walk up to the counter, wait in line (with everyone giving me furtive glances) and buy my cigarettes. As I hobble out of the store, I see the caddy leaving the parking lot. Apparently she wasn't as blocked in as she thought she was, eh?

When I told this story to Baret, his natural assumption is always that I actually did something stupid and am somewhat to blame, so to prove my case, I drew a diagram. As the illustration clearly shows, I was not in the wrong, and the aged battleaxe was just a grumpy rich bitch who likes to start shit. (Make fun of my crappy drawing and I'll kick your ass - I was drunk, ok?):



I went and checked out my passenger side door - just to make sure the crazy ole' dame hadn't keyed me in retaliation or something. That would've been her liver-spotted ass. What a way to start out a Sunday.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 9:05 PM
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Saturday, August 16, 2003

So lately I've been on this hot wings kick. It started with an innocent trip to Hooters a few weeks ago. I was down, and figured if beer and wings served up with some nice t&a couldn't cheer me up, nothing could. Ever since then, I've been craving them. The wings, not the t&a.

Lucky for me two new chicken wing places have opened up in my neighborhood. Pluckers and Wing Zone. Pluckers has won, hands down, as my favorite - and they deliver; 'til 3 am. It's as exciting as when I found out I could order Papa John's pizza online.

So for lunch I had an order of fresh hot wings, and for supper I'll be eating re-heated hot wings. Not that it matters, or that you care, but I felt like sharing.

My family had a little get together Friday. I don't know how I did it, but was able to miss all the drama. Family get togethers with my bunch are a mixture of fun, beer, craziness and lots of drama. And beer. My grandpa was talking about needing to get a new fridge, and remembering an older fridge that would periodically spit pieces of ice onto the floor. "That's the beer fridge at your Mom's house now," he said. And I was struck with a thought - in that way that thoughts attack your head when it's swimming in liquor - a "beer fridge" is as common an item in the home as a toliet to the average coonass. There is nothing strange about having an extra fridge in your home for beer only...and I realized this is probably not true for the majority of the world. Or is it? I think I'm going to start a poll. "Do you or does anyone you know have a 'beer fridge'?"

Just some random ramblings on Saturday evening.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 7:51 PM
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Thursday, August 14, 2003

Ok - I know you're all dying to hear how things turned out with Big-Queen-Wannabe-DJ (BQWD). You are, aren't you? Well fuck off, then.

For those that are interested, I'm unhappy to report the saga only continued. The music blared once more at 9pm on Tuesday night as I lay down to sleep. Thankfully, exhaustion and the three beers I'd consumed blocked it all out and I slept through the same 7 songs being cranked out of a crappy system.

But last night, folks, was something straight out of Jerry Springer. Indeed, I need not watch reality TV - it plays right in front of my apartment at odd hours of the night.

First, I should point out that the entire front of my loft apartment consists of windows. Me being the voyeuristic exhibitionist that I am, I have no curtains. Really, it's just too much of a pain to put some up. Anyway, my neighbors across from me don't have any either so we have a fairly clear view of their place, minus the blockage from my crepe myrtle and their elephant ears. Back when they first moved in, there had been two major fights between the men - once the cops were called, another we heard them screaming and throwing stuff around. It was apparent, from overhearing the fights (I wasn't trying to, we were barbqing on the patio) and seeing who is always home, that Responsible Boy is the bread winner - while BQWCD sits on his ass all day watching TV (seriously - all day).

Last night we went to sleep to the sounds of crappy music. We were awakened about midnight to shouts and screams. Apparently, Responsible Boy (RB) had come home - and was pissed. The past few days, I've been watching BQWD do some weird shit - I really swore up and down he was on crack. He was just acting all bizarre, along with the music playing, taping weird shit up on his fence and throwing trash down the walkway. Apparently, I called that one. RB was yelling at BQWD for letting crackheads into the house - "How could you let those people just come in my house?" he yelled "You don't even know them." BQWD was so fucked up he couldn't even form words! He was obviously blasted out of his mind - just kept yelling back "Motherfucker. Bitch. You crazy." That was the extent of his end of the fight.

RB finally went inside, and locked the door. BQWD stood outside yelling those same three things over and over to no one. Then just talking and yelling to ...the door? Who knows? There was no one there. This went on for hours, until around 3am, when RB came back outside and the fighting ensued once more. At one point he yelled at BQWD and called him a "crackhead", to which our brilliant music man replied, "I'm proud of who I am!" You go, girl.

Needless to say, this was another night - the third to be exact - of being awakened every hour to music, and now fighting. I didn't call the cops b/c I felt sorry for RB, though I wished he'd of kept his voice down. I don't think the music shit will continue now that RB is home because I saw him apologizing to a neighbor that was walking by about "everything that's been going on" with "I haven't been here".

Just another exciting night on Blank Street....


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 12:58 PM
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Not at all trying to steal someone else's post - let's clarify here that I first found this link at alex the girl. It's just so cool, I think it needs to be shared.

I know all the sexy and perfect women in magazines are air-brushed. I know this, but you still seem to think of them as sexy-to-start, not needing much work. This site gave me the full meaning of "air-brushed". You think "touching up"? These women really and truly do look like real people. As I said, you and I know this, but for some reason, seeing it makes a huge difference.

So for all the beautiful and real women out there, this link is for you.

(And remember, Marilyn Monroe was a size 14!)

(Sidebar: After all the negative and vile posts of the past few days when I was on the rag, thought I needed to be a little more happy and light-hearted! lol)


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 10:11 AM
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Quick note on my absence. Been hit hard with the worm at work, and we've been going crazy trying to get everything stabilized again. First time I've been at my desk almost all week.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 9:30 AM
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Tuesday, August 12, 2003

And you're wondering why I'm here posting on this blog at the ungodly hour of 5am on a Tuesday morning? Simple - I couldn't sleep because I have the most inconsiderate neighbors in the world. Oh, I'm sure there are those out there that top them but those don't live next door to me so I'm not concerned with them. I am only concerned with Big-Queen-Wannabe-DJ and Dumb-Bitch with Yap-Yap-Dog - which are the reasons I am awake, smoking a cig and posting to this blogger rather than sleeping in my warm, comfortable bed blissfully unaware that the alarm will sound in an hour and a half.

I was originally awakened at the more ungodly hour of 3am by Yap-Yap-Dog yapping his little, fucking head off. As I come groggily into consciousness I am aware of music - loud music that I had been hearing, I realize, in my dreams for a good while now. For a few hours I'd been teetering on that brink of awake and not really awake - and I see now why. Big-Queen-Wannabe-DJ lives across from me and is apparently trying to "mix it up" on his patio. At 3am. Do you know what it's like to have to hear the gay house version of any J. Lo song at 3 in the morning? That's the kind of thing that drives people to murder. All of the lights are on in his apartment, his door is wide open and I see him bopping over what I assume are turntables on his patio. Does he know what time it freakin' is??!

This has never happened before, so I try to ignore it - hoping it will be a one time thing. Dumb-Bitch lets Yap-Yap-Dog back in the apartment so that's stopped, and I try to go to sleep as it seems the music has gotten a little lower. Apparently not, as certain songs just seem to blare louder than others. I'm wrestling with going over there and asking him to turn that shit down for those of us that have to get up for work in less than three hours, or just staying my crutch-usin' ass in my warm bed and hoping it would go away. Staying in bed won out, but when Dumb-Bitch let Yap-Yap-Dog back outside at 4 so he could join in the chorus, I about lost it. It finally all ended - as I write this - at 5 fucking AM!!

What's wrong with people? It's times like this that you wish it was legal to beat the living crap of assholes who deserve it.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 3:10 AM
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Monday, August 11, 2003

Holy fuck, is it Monday again?? It would appear that it is.

As of this morning I am, once more, a part of the telephone-having population. Sadly. Did I ever mention that I hate the phone? With an intense passion? No? Then allow me the pleasure of indulging my distaste here and now.

It rings - I cringe. Goddess knows what I did before Caller ID because if I don't recognize the number, I don't answer it. Generally it's telemarketers wanting me to let them lower my credit card rates (I don't own any credit cards) or bill collectors checking to see if I'm alive (if I had your money, you'd have your money). I'd rather not talk to either of them. Sometimes it's friends - not usually. My friends know better than to try and reach me by phone. I don't normally return calls and it's even rarer that I actually answer. It's not that I'm a bitch or that I don't love my friends. None of that. It actually stems from the fact that I'm a hermit at heart and I don't like to talk on the phone to anyone ever. My answering machine used to actually say, "This is me, obviously I'm not in. You can leave a message if you want, but knowing me, I probably won't call you back." I took it off after enough people complained it was "horribly rude". I thought it was brutally honest.

(Allow me to go off the phone rant on this small rant-tangent, please) -sigh- People say they want honesty all the time - my advice? Don't listen to them. They don't know what they want, but it sure isn't honesty. Honesty hurts - it is especially damaging to fragile egos. If someone asks your opinion or asks you to "be honest", it's best to lie to them.

So I hate phones - always have. I own a cell phone (which I hate) that I never use. I pay $39/month for a small piece of plastic that stays in my car 24/7 because it won't hold a charge if it isn't hooked up to the car charger. Why should I get it fixed? I only bought it "for emergencies" anyway - in my car. Most people say that, then end up not being able to live without the thing. I'm not one of those people. It stays in my car and no one calls me on it. Ever. But, back to the point, I do now have a phone. Please don't call me.

I have a little more to bitch about, so stay with me, please? Thank you; you're too kind. Have you ever met an adult (i.e. a seemingly grown-up person in physical appearance) who talked "baby-talk"? We have this woman at work that talks like a child. Always. She thinks it is cute. It is not. It's about as cute as bad children running amok because their parents won't scold them. Their parents think they're "just so cute" when in fact they're "just so fucking annoying". She'll come to my cube, make a mock pout face (and she isn't cute to begin with so just imagine), stomps her foot and says in this little, girly voice, "I need help! I just can't get my 'puter to work!" She then huffs like a 5-year old and gives me this plaintive look. My first reaction is to pick up my very heavy, black stapler and chunk it at her 40-something-year-old-wrinkled-face that is contorted to appear child-like. But company policy frowns on such things. I explain to her how to fix her problem the best I can right where I sit. I refuse to go and help her. No, not just because she's an adult that utters every statement like a 7-year old girl, but because she's an incompetent moron who cannot do her job and expects me to go over to her cube and hold her hand through using the most basic programs. That's bad enough. But when she comes over and starts talking like a goddamn child I want to bitch-slap her, grab her and shake her, screaming, "HOW OLD ARE YOU???". If you've ever been around someone who does this for a considerable amount of time you would understand.

In case you couldn't tell, I started today. -big smiles- Don't fuck with me.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 1:22 PM
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Friday, August 08, 2003

It's like, no matter how hard I try to put myself in a good mood, life keeps knocking me upside the head and right back down.

Not that my troubles are huge, or even, compared to some, significant. It's just that they add up and I'm stressed out and I want to just kill someone. I spent yesterday evening crashing cars and murdering people in creative ways for a few hours on Vice City just to blow off some steam. It does wonders.

So I woke up today in a little bit better mood. Fuck Bellsouth - somehow I'll come up with the extra money to get the phone cut back on. It's kind of nice not having it ringing and I know next time to force them to give me something in writing when we work out a payment plan. But then I got an email from the cool lady I'd ordered my Madonna DVD from. I had emailed her just the night before; it had been over two weeks and I'd hadn't gotten it yet. She said the tracking number showed my post office had received it, left me a notice and was waiting to hear back from me!!!

I most certainly did not receive any notice. This got me all pissed off - all over again - at our retarded fucking post office. I've had problems with them ever since moving to Baton Rouge. Get this shit. When I first lived here with my ex, they wouldn't take our mail. Even shoving it half out the mailbox failed to have it taken by the postperson. After a few bills were late because of this stupidity, I called them. Imagine my shock when they said, "Oh, they don't have to take it if they don't want to. Just go stick it in one of those blue mailboxes." Yes, they did.

So, folks, if your mailman takes your mail consider it a privilege. Apparently they don't have to. When I moved back to Baton Rouge, in the same area, a few years later - same thing. So, now, when I want to mail something I have to go to the nearest "blue mailbox" to do so. So I've had this package sitting there since July 28 and they have not let me know a damn thing!

Then I get to work and mother-fucking state trooper is parked in the handicap space I always park in - closest to the door; all crooked in the space. Let me tell you something - that is as fucking shitty as it gets. Had another one of my co-workers been parked in that space - had anyone parked in that space that didn't have a handicap tag - they would've been given a ticket. I've seen cops turn on their lights just to run a red light, then turn them back off again. That's abuse of power and that pisses me off - but to park in a space that handicapped people need because they're too damn lazy to walk their fat asses a few more feet is just unacceptable. I almost wrote his license plate number down and reported him to his higher ups. But what's the point? The last thing I need is a pissed off state trooper hunting me down. And I don't hold it past someone that's rude and self-centered enough to park in a handicap spot like a fucking jerk.

Life will just not let me shake this damn bad mood! I had one cigarette last nite. One. And no money - not even change left anymore - to go and get some more. I would light it, take two hits, then snuff it out. By time I stopped crying and logged on to Vice City, I was ready to shed blood. Oddly, I find it comforting to blow the little 'toon people away with my sawed-off shotgun or run them over in my expensive little car. -sigh- Ah, Playstation...take me away.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 6:15 AM
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Thursday, August 07, 2003

Today did not start out good. I woke up in pain from a new physical therapy session I started yesterday on my leg (will post about that later) - but this is the one that is going to get me walking again. I woke up hung over from the Chardonnay that I drank last nite to help ease the pain (I don't like pain pills even though I have a never-ending supply of Loratabs). I woke up to a dead phone.

I called my number using Baret's cell. "This number has been temporarily disconnected..." the all-too cheery voice told me. "Wtf?" I say - headache growing stronger, stomach rumbling louder, feeling of rising bile coming too close. This is not what you want to deal with when you're hung over and in pain. But I know what it is - I already know.

I have an over-due phone bill - for $488. Don't ask how it got that high - you wouldn't understand. That's not the point - the point is it is there and I have to pay it. Unable to fork over that much cash out of one paycheck and still make rent and other bills, I call Bellsouth and work out a payment plan with them. This was two weeks ago. $244.53 on July 25th and $244.00 on Aug 8 - my two paydays. So why is my phone cut off when I'm scheduled to pay the bill tomorrow?

Like I said, I already know. This is what my dad has referred to for years as Blank's Luck (substitute blank for my last name which I'm not putting on the web). Blank's Luck is "Murphy was an optimist". This sounds funny - unless you're a Blank; which I am. If anything can go wrong, it will - even when something should go right, it doesn't. People think we over exaggerate this seeming curse - until they have been around us awhile. And then they have to agree something just isn't right. I call the phone company only to have confirmed what I already know - the woman put down that I was going to pay the bill on the 25th and the 1st (last Friday).

I remember distinctly asking the lady to read back to me what she had put down for the payment dates - because I know Blank's Law. The 25th and 8th - I was looking at a calendar when she said it. Yet, here is this nice lady on the other end of the line telling me the computer says the 1st. There is nothing that can be done. I told her the bill would be paid tomorrow - when I get paid - as originally planned. Then I will have to pay extra to get my phone cut back on. -sigh- I might just leave it off forever; I hate the damn thing anyway.

I hung up the phone and burst into tears. I try to be responsible and take care of my shit - I'm busting my ass this month to get this particular bill paid (leaving me with not enough money to pay other bills and no money left to live on) and the damn phone got cut off anyway. It all seemed so fruitless then - I never was good at this "grown-up/adult" shit anyway.

I came into work a few hours late - bummed out and headachy and leg-achy. But I started telling a co-worker whom I'm good friends with about my therapy session. She was really excited for me. Another co-worker overheard and came to listen - and she was all excited for me. The whole office has seen me struggling with crutches for over a year now, and they've been rooting for me. Their enthusiasm got me all excited again - and put a smile on my face. Then I spoke with the co-worker who first led me to the neurotherapist that is doing all of this (for no charge b/c he wants to help me) and she was even more excited for me. "You'll be dancing by Christmas," she said. My first instinct was to say "I hope so" but I stopped myself. I'm doing a whole attitude adjustment about my condition - have been for a few weeks now. "Yes I will," I told her with a smile. Yes I will. What a wonderful Christmas present that would be - I don't want anything else - ever. Just to walk again - to dance again! The regain my mobility - to no longer be a cripple. That's what I am going to get for Christmas this year.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 10:01 AM
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Wednesday, August 06, 2003

Forgive me father, for I have sinned.

First of all, I'm not even christian - but this seems to work for some, so I thought "Why the hell not?"

There is a small, innocent animal that I have had fancied doing evil things to. I am normally a lover of all things cute and furry - well, of everything living on this beautiful Earth except humans! But there is this one small exception...and I feel awful about it.

But you see, in the wee morning hours of a weekend morning, when I'm in a perfectly pleasant slumber, this yap, yap, yap pulls me rudely from it. I have a new neighbor and the new neighbor has a cute, skinny, loud, yapping little bitch of a dog. I'm sure she's a sweetie - but's got a mouth on her that cries for a muzzle. Every time I walk by the patio - and her Momma has left her out in the heat - she yaps at me - she yaps at any and everything that walks by. Since Momma lives in the first apartment - she yaps constantly. I usually just bark back at her - but in those wee weekend mornings, I want to strangle her.

So, forgive me Lord (and Lady, naturally) for having wicked thoughts against a sweet, innocent animal. Is it okay if I still wish for her Momma to buy her a muzzle? Even if she only used it on weekends? No - okay - I hear you. Thanks - talk to you later.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 1:25 PM
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According to the article Lawsuit Filed Over 1939 Stuttering Study certain orphans were put under psychological stress - mainly belittling them for the slightest speech impediments - to figure out whether the same done by parents was the cause of children stuttering.

By today's standards of such studies this seems barbaric. I felt they had a fair right to be upset - I wasn't so sure if they had a fair right to sue after so many years, but I read on looking to be able to take one side of the fence are the other. It came quickly...

I was all for their getting the money 'til I read this pearl sentence:

None of the test subjects became stutterers. But that has done little to temper the anger they have felt in the three years since they learned what was done to them.

What do you mean "three years since"? They didn't even remember it until someone told them "Hey, we did this shit to you all that time ago..."? They are suing because they are claiming "lifelong" damage....yet they didn't even realize it happened to them until three years ago? Couldn't have been that damaging.

Just sounds like another way for some greedy people to try and make a quick buck to me. I'd like to know more about this - see exactly what these lifelong damages were and I might change my mind. But for now, yet another case of sue-itis.

Could we making sueing illegal?


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 1:10 PM
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Tuesday, August 05, 2003

This is just silly. Why do women need a special beer all their own? Beer is beer.

Paula Waters said the British brewing industry had become too set in its ways and the number of women trying real ale had declined.

"Someone in the industry needs to lead the way by launching an all-new beer aimed at women -- the world's first Fem-ale. This will help dispel the myth that beer is strictly for the boys," Waters said on the first day of the Great British Beer Festival in London.


There's no surer way to prove that beer is "just for the boys" than having to create a "special" beer just for women. Does she realize she's creating an oxymoron here?

Trust me, I don't care who beer is supposed to be "for" - I love it and I drink it just as much as any self-respecting south Louisiana coonass does! Down 'ere, cher, even da babies drink de beer when dey dis high! It don't matter none whether they be un garçon ou une fille. Dat's fo' sure!


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 10:04 AM
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I am so sick of seeing this shit in the news.

Who gives a goddamn, flying fucking, motherfuck if he's gay? Who cares if he's white, yellow, purple, black, or polka-dotted? Who cares if he's French, Spanish, Dutch or Irish? Who care's if he likes to sleep with men, women, or animals? Can he do the job? That's all that matters. Is he qualified for the position? That should be the only determing factor.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 5:19 AM
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Monday, August 04, 2003

Man, everywhere I go on the 'net, people are all about this gay marriage thing. Blah-blah. There always seems to be this huge misconception going on though, on both sides. The pro-gay-marriagers believe the nons hate gays (this isn't always, probably not even mostly, true) and the pro-no-gay-marriagers believe the pros are all bleeding-heart liberals (even less than true). Even Bush - I really don't believe he hates gays. Thinks they're "different" and believes they're probably going to hell, sure, but I don't think he personally dislikes them. He's a big Christer - you know how they are - "hate the sin, not the sinner" shit.

For the record, if you don't already know it, I'm for legalizing gay marriage. Why the hell not? The country is supposed to be about equality - for all - 'nuff said. Personally, me, I can't see why in goddess' name anyone would want to be legally joined in marriage. But - whatever floats your boat. If you want to, you should have the right to do so. Who cares?

But enough of all that bilge. It'll happen someday. It's happening all over the world, eventually it will catch on here, too. Or it won't - either way, everyone will still feel the same about it in the end.

What I really got on here for was to ask you a question. Yes, you. And you, and you - and that guy over there with the strange, green hat. Have you been having a really bad week? Starting last week, did things start just getting shitty, did your attitude take a dive into the depths of hell? Did you wonder why you were PMSing again (men, too - men most definitely PMS)? The reason I'm asking is I have been having a horrible last month - even before it started. Last week was awful, this week doesn't look to be more promising. But the topper is that my attitude needs a serious adjustment. Not three weeks ago I was happy-go-lucky, picking daisies and singing in the rain (I should've been slapped I was so happy). Not that life itself was any better - but I could deal with it. It was no big deal. Right now, everything is pissing me off.

While this, in itself, is not rare - I'm bonafied bitch at times - I noticed this in other people. I started asking around and everyone was having bad times, bad attitudes and unaccounted for rage. So I started wondering why?

I'm of the belief that nothing is coincidental and everything that happens does so for a reason - the universe is truly that intricate and perfect. Being the astrologer that I am, I always look to the stars - what's going on with the planets right now? (If you think the planets can't affect us, you are way wrong, bub - you think only the Moon is capable of doing so?) I didn't see anything in the skies that explained what was going on. The Sun is in Leo - generally a happy-go-lucky time and the Moon just finished its trips through Leo-Virgo-Libra last week; nothing in the major luminaries that could explain this rash behavior. The summer heat? Unlikely.

Then it hit me - doh! I recently read (and even put on the side of the blogger over there) that Mars is coming closer to the Earth than it ever has in recorded history. By August 17 Mars will be visible in the night sky - as clear and bright as the Moon. Exciting, no doubt, to the common layperson - fucking awesome, I know, to the avid astronomy-buff and telescope-gazer. To the astrologer it means much more. Mars is the planet of war and aggression - passion and fire. The male vibration of the complete energy that forms all life. It stands to good reason, now that I see it, that everyone would be feeling angry and aggressive when Mars is coming so close to our planet's surface! Just a little Mars fire heating things up. Aries Linda Goodman would've been so excited to see it happening - her ruling planet giving such an intimate preview. Now that I know the reason for it, I'm not so angry. In fact, I'm thrilled.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 11:49 AM
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What is it with asshats on the road today?

Every morning serves up a fresh plate of slow-old-people, doing-everything-in-their-car-but-driving, yakking-on-the-cell-swerving-all-over-the-road, and all of the other morons that make up my morning drive. This morning I had the enormous luck of being behind the village idiot. This woman shouldn't even have been in a car - she was no more paying attention to driving than a gay man fantasizes about women.

First, she sat at a green light for almost two minutes - never realizing all of the cars in front of her were long gone. I was coming up behind her and had she not moved at that precise moment, I would've had to honk at her. Then she proceeds to drive at 20 mph. 20-fucking-mph. Come the fuck on. Yet the most amazing part of this was that she was swerving all over the road! I still have yet to understand these people that cannot control their cars when they're driving at a snail's pace! She eventually speeds up to about 30 (the speed limit is 35), and then we hit a curve. Not a big curve, barely a curve at all, but the dumb bitch slows down to about 10 mph to take it. As we come around the curve, I see that the light is green. She starts hitting her brakes - over and over again as we get closer to the light. It turns yellow and she is going through it still hitting her damn brakes. "WTF are you doing?" I yell at her. I'm right behind her, so the light turns red while I'm in the middle of the intersection because she keeps hitting her brakes. As we carry on down the road, I see a pasty, meaty arm lean out of the driver's side window with a big-gulp cup and pour the contents on the road. Naturally, gravity and speed being what they are, said contents ended up all over my windshield. Thanks bitch.

Finally she turned left at the next light and I, blessedly, went right. Had I had to drive like a grandma behind that whore and watch her swerve all over the road for one more moment I might've rammed her.

And yet again it is Monday. It seems like it was just yesteday I was posting in here about how much I hated Monday - and here it is again. How come Friday doesn't seem to come around as often?


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 6:17 AM
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Sunday, August 03, 2003

Right now I want to kill someone. I'm in a rage.

I woke up in an okay mood this morning, but then a bunch of little things started happening that just pissed me off - way more than it should've, granted, but still. I'm PMSing, ok??

I left to go and get some McDonalds' breakfast - a damn sausage biscuit b/c they're only $0.69 and I'm broke as fuck. (Really, my lunch today & supper tonight will come from the $0.99 menu at Wendy's - there's no food in the house either).

As I step out onto my patio, I'm blinded by the gleaming, white concrete. The stupd-idiot-fucks that my landlord calls "maintenance men" came by this past Thursday and pressure washed all the sidewalks. This sounds like a good thing, and it would be if these men weren't such stupid-idiot-fucks. Last time they came they did a "touch up" paint job on the exterior of the place. In stupid-idiot-fuck language this means smearing some paint on a few dark spots and leaving the more obvious stains and chipping paint alone. Why? I dare not ask. I could've cared less about their feeble attempts at fixing up except they dripped paint all over my patio. There was more paint on my plants, barbq pit and Templar cross (that I'd just recently bought in New Orleans) than on the damn walls!!! I was furious about the cross - I called my landlord up and complained. He sent the fucktards back and they cleaned it up.

So this morning I step out and notice the rug has been moved a little - likely from the cats running across it at break-neck speeds - and the cement showing from under it is grotesque! It's made even more garish by the clean, white cement all around it. Somehow the stupid-idiot-fucks managed to break a flower pot and shoot my cat bowl half across the patio whilst cleaning but they were too damn lazy to pick up the mats and spray under them!! I hate them.

So I go to McDonalds - pissed off because my $0.69 biscuit is $1.08 with tax - get home and realize the dumb bitch didn't put any fucking napkins in my bag! Grrrr I have no napkins at my desk, where I'm eating, and I'm not about to get off my crippled ass and hobble down the stairs for ONE paper towel. I have nothing to wipe my crumbly, greasy hands on. Murder is now on my mind (I've always thought the asshats at that particular McDick's must be related to the stupid-idoit-fucks my landlord employs as "maintenance men").

So I'm sitting here, pissed off, PMSing, greasy...but at least not hungry. I think I'll go listen to some cool, calming music now...Sunday mornings are always a perfect time for jazz....


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 7:21 AM
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Friday, August 01, 2003

"I believe in the sanctity of marriage," Bush said. "I believe a marriage is between a man and a woman, and I think we ought to codify that one way or the other."

So, again, I have to say - whenever the officials start talking about this gay marriage thing, I never hear them talk about the legality issues it would raise, how it would effect the govm't, etc. All I hear them talking about are their own, personal viewpoints. That's not right.

If Bush would stand up and say "We cannot let gays marry because of this and this..." and stated good, solid reasons for it then fine. But for him to stand up and say "I just don't think that is what a marriage is" - no, I don't think so. I really don't care what he thinks a marriage is. What I care about is living in a country that is supposed to be about equality but instead is a whole bunch of hypocrisy.

And what is marriage? These officials have been crying over the "sanctity" of marriage...what's so sanctimonius about it? 50% of marriages end in divorce and I'd put all my money on the bet that half of those still-married-50% are completely unhappy in their marriage and can't or won't leave. Think I'm being pessimistic? No one likes to hear marriage debunked. We all like to think that someday we will find that one, perfect person ("the one"), we'll be wed in the perfect wedding and spend the rest of our days in wedded bliss. Everyone likes to believe in that fairy tale when reality is staring us right in the face saying, "It ain't that way, bub - ever." Think of all the married couples you know. Now think about all of the ones that are happy - no, no not simply content with their station in life - happy. Think of all the divorcees you know - bet they're not singing roses about married life. I've seen two happy marriages in my life - and the only reason they were so is because the couples were about as bland as two communion wafers. Real people aren't happy in marriage - not forever.

I keep waiting for the administration to give me a good reason why we should not let gays marry. Is it going to hurt the economy, is it going to screw up preset laws? Give me something other than "I don't like it". You cannot base your decision on your belief that god will punish us with fiery wrath or that acceptance of gay people will morally corrupt our entire nation. That's your ignorant and personal views - and are destroying the equality that America is supposed to stand for. It's the same bullshit we went through years ago - claiming to be "equal to all" yet denying women and black citizens the right to vote. We'll never be equal if we keep being run by a bunch of hypocritical, religous ignorami.


- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 6:18 AM
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