My Saturday started out pretty normal. I slept way later than any human being ever should and then loafed in my bed on Facebook. My boyfriend had taken the commuter rail earlier that day to Boston to see a Red Sox game. His cousin invited him and only had one extra ticket and that's part of the reason why I was left to wallow alone in my misery all day.
When my roommate came home, we decided to run to Hannaford so I could pick up ingredients for trail mix and rent a movie from Redbox. Unfortunately, that Redbox was being a bitch and didn't have the movie we wanted to see. Instead of admitting defeat, we drove to the Stop & Shop in the next town over. Again we were disappointed.
As we were reaching our third destination (another Stop & Shop) I got a text from my boyfriend saying "OMG i may miss the train the redline was closed in a couple spots so i had to take a shuttle bus it took an extra 25 minutes wat time is the train at south st" (obviously he is against punctuation marks). So I sat outside in the car while my roommate ran in the store (only to be rejected by Redbox for the third time) so I could get in touch with my boyfriend.
After calling him about 22 times, I got another text "there is no way to get to south station the red line is down". I called him another 13 times and repeatedly texted him "WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?" The text I got back read, "I really hate boston". Like that helped.
I finally got in touch with him and found out that he had in fact made it to South Station (which is where he needed to be to catch the train back to our town). As I was talking to him at 9:30ish he asked me whether the train back was at 9:40 or 9:50 and I had to inform him that the train had left at 9:20 and the next wasn't until 11:20.
Now the events I have detailed so far don't seem that drastic. However at this point I had been sitting in Stop & Shop's parking lot (parked illegally in the fire lane as a matter of fact) and was supremely pissed off. And sick. And resigned to the fact that I had to drive into Boston at 9:30 at night.
So we set off driving, weaving from highway to highway, being careful to follow my GPS exactly (and not the GPS that tried to kill me, I put that bitch out of commission months ago). If you don't live in or near Boston you might not realize that if you make one wrong turn, you end up in Oklahoma. Fucking Oklahoma.
To my surprise we made it to South Station; surprise because I had a sneaking suspicion that South Station could only be reached by train or bus but never by car. Luckily I found street parking on the corner of where my boyfriend said he would be. And unluckily I didn't have the room or the chance to properly parallel park, so my ass was sticking out onto a relatively busy street. And there were buses. And they wanted me dead.
But during all this agitation and anxiety, where was my boyfriend? Not on the fucking corner where he said he would be. My phone call to him went like this:
ME: Where the fuck are you?
RYAN: I'm inside, I didn't expect you so soon, I'll be right out.
ME: Good.
10 minutes later...
ME: Where the FUCK are you?!?! My ass is sticking out and the bus drivers want to kill me!
RYAN: I was just in line at McDonald's, I'll be right out!
ME: HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING MIND?!
RYAN: No. I'll be right out.
5 minutes later...
ME: Is this some kind of sick joke?!
RYAN: What's your problem? I'm on my way out!
ME: I've been sitting here waiting for you for like an hour!!!
RYAN: Relax I'll be there in 2 minutes.
So my roommate sat there laughing and I sat there seething and scanning the doors where he should have been coming out of. Let me add that this entire time I was frantically checking my rear view mirror for any buses, taxi's or angry cars that wanted to kill me and probably mutilate my body for parking like I did. Then Ryan knocked on the back passenger window sufficiently scaring the shit out of me and my roommate.
Then we went home, took Sudafed and went to our next door neighbor's party and got way too drunk and dominated at beer pong and got drenched in beer and went home to cry hysterically in the shower. And by "we" I mean "me". But that's for another post.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
This Is Why We Don't Have Nice Things
So I haven't written a post in a few days and I apologize (to the 3 people who read this(not that I'm bitter)). One of my pigs was sick :-( but he's feeling better. I'll post about that another day.
Today I am lamenting me and my roommates' inability to have and keep nice things. It's kind of like we are just dressing up and playing the roles of adults without actually possessing the ability to be that responsible. Here are some examples:
To the left is a picture of a side
table that we bought from Ikea (You can see where the pressed wood has expanded and is lifting up out of its rightful place). Some time before the 4th of July, we brought this table outside to be used as a prep counter. When Ryan grills he always needs a lot of tools and when he doesn't have somewhere to put them, he looses it. So to prevent that, we usually transport this side table outside for him to use.
Now, we are no where near responsible enough to take it back inside every time we bring it out. However this time, we left it out there up until 2 days ago. Apparently 3 weeks of constant humidity and scattered thunderstorms ruin tables. Who knew?
We also ruined t he first broom we ever owned in this apartment. It was a really cheap one with a metal handle and sparse plastic bristles but nevertheless, it didn't deserve the ending we gave it. It is now a fire-pit-poker and its sole job is to move logs of wood or charcoal briquettes around the barbecue.
About a week after we moved in, we bought our first guinea pig. One week later we changed our evil ways and instead of purchasing our second pig, we adopted him. We also took on the project of building them a cage. That was a pain in the ass. But brings us to our next example of irresponsibility.
Downstairs we have a really nice sectional couch that we are renting from Rent-A-Center. Instead of cutting the chloroplast (affectionately nicknamed chloro-cunt) on the floor I used the one end of the couch. While in the middle of promising my roommate that I wouldn't cut the couch with the box cutter, I cut the couch with the box cutter. Luckily Rent-A-Center doesn't mind getting a couch back with a 2-inch slit and stuffing popping out. That's what insurance is for!!
Along with those three unfortunate inanimate objects, we have broken 3 glass cups, 2 dustpans, 2 toilet seats, and 1 toaster. We have only lived here for 4 1/2 months. We are in a 15-month lease. By my calculations we will have ruined 36.333333333333 household objects by then.
Today I am lamenting me and my roommates' inability to have and keep nice things. It's kind of like we are just dressing up and playing the roles of adults without actually possessing the ability to be that responsible. Here are some examples:
To the left is a picture of a side
table that we bought from Ikea (You can see where the pressed wood has expanded and is lifting up out of its rightful place). Some time before the 4th of July, we brought this table outside to be used as a prep counter. When Ryan grills he always needs a lot of tools and when he doesn't have somewhere to put them, he looses it. So to prevent that, we usually transport this side table outside for him to use.Now, we are no where near responsible enough to take it back inside every time we bring it out. However this time, we left it out there up until 2 days ago. Apparently 3 weeks of constant humidity and scattered thunderstorms ruin tables. Who knew?
We also ruined t he first broom we ever owned in this apartment. It was a really cheap one with a metal handle and sparse plastic bristles but nevertheless, it didn't deserve the ending we gave it. It is now a fire-pit-poker and its sole job is to move logs of wood or charcoal briquettes around the barbecue.
About a week after we moved in, we bought our first guinea pig. One week later we changed our evil ways and instead of purchasing our second pig, we adopted him. We also took on the project of building them a cage. That was a pain in the ass. But brings us to our next example of irresponsibility.
Downstairs we have a really nice sectional couch that we are renting from Rent-A-Center. Instead of cutting the chloroplast (affectionately nicknamed chloro-cunt) on the floor I used the one end of the couch. While in the middle of promising my roommate that I wouldn't cut the couch with the box cutter, I cut the couch with the box cutter. Luckily Rent-A-Center doesn't mind getting a couch back with a 2-inch slit and stuffing popping out. That's what insurance is for!!
Along with those three unfortunate inanimate objects, we have broken 3 glass cups, 2 dustpans, 2 toilet seats, and 1 toaster. We have only lived here for 4 1/2 months. We are in a 15-month lease. By my calculations we will have ruined 36.333333333333 household objects by then.
Monday, July 19, 2010
I Guess I'm A Violent Person...
So for the past three days my right hand has been swollen. Not the whole hand, just the back of it on the right side, like above my pinkie. I don't know what caused my poor hand to swell, but it hurts. Especially when it touches pants pockets, doorways, and oxygen.
Now please focus your attention to the picture of my chubby hand. On the right side you can see where my skin has a bump on it that should definitely not be there.
So I went to my roommate Winnie and asked her to investigate. Here's how that went:
ME: Can you investigate my hand?
WINNIE: What am I looking for?
ME: I don't know, just poke and prod my hand until you find out why it's swollen and hurts so much.
WINNIE: I can't tell what's wrong with your hand. Did you hit something?
ME: No.
WINNIE: Maybe this happened when you were hitting Ryan the other night.
ME: I didn't even hit him that hard!
WINNIE: Did you miss and hit a wall?
ME: No.
WINNIE: Door frame?
ME: NO!
I didn't like her tone of voice. So a little while later I asked my other roommate Bilu (don't pronounce it incorrectly, its said like beeloo). Here's that conversation:
ME: Bilu, my hand really hurts. It's been swollen for 2 days.
BILU: Maybe its because you were hitting Ryan the other night.
ME: *stomps off*
I was done with my roommates and their stupid ideas. So when my boyfriend Ryan came home, I brought it up to him too:
ME: Hey Ryan, did I tell you that my hand has been swollen and really hurts?
RYAN: Probably from punching me in the sternum the other night.
ME: Actually, I'm beginning to think its cancer. The quick killing, in-operable, kind. I'll go to an oncologist tomorrow, but I honestly don't see the point, seeing as how I probably don't have more than a few days to live.
(Actually I didn't say that, I said something more along the lines of "WHAT THE HELL, I DIDN'T EVEN HIT YOU THAT HARD, CRYBABY!!!")
Now please focus your attention to the picture of my chubby hand. On the right side you can see where my skin has a bump on it that should definitely not be there.
So I went to my roommate Winnie and asked her to investigate. Here's how that went:
ME: Can you investigate my hand?
WINNIE: What am I looking for?
ME: I don't know, just poke and prod my hand until you find out why it's swollen and hurts so much.
WINNIE: I can't tell what's wrong with your hand. Did you hit something?
ME: No.
WINNIE: Maybe this happened when you were hitting Ryan the other night.
ME: I didn't even hit him that hard!
WINNIE: Did you miss and hit a wall?
ME: No.
WINNIE: Door frame?
ME: NO!
I didn't like her tone of voice. So a little while later I asked my other roommate Bilu (don't pronounce it incorrectly, its said like beeloo). Here's that conversation:
ME: Bilu, my hand really hurts. It's been swollen for 2 days.
BILU: Maybe its because you were hitting Ryan the other night.
ME: *stomps off*
I was done with my roommates and their stupid ideas. So when my boyfriend Ryan came home, I brought it up to him too:
ME: Hey Ryan, did I tell you that my hand has been swollen and really hurts?
RYAN: Probably from punching me in the sternum the other night.
ME: Actually, I'm beginning to think its cancer. The quick killing, in-operable, kind. I'll go to an oncologist tomorrow, but I honestly don't see the point, seeing as how I probably don't have more than a few days to live.
(Actually I didn't say that, I said something more along the lines of "WHAT THE HELL, I DIDN'T EVEN HIT YOU THAT HARD, CRYBABY!!!")
You Are So Useless You Don't Even Deserve Minimum Wage
Today my roommate Winnie and I went to Stop &Shop to pick up a few groceries for dinner, etc. As usual with us, "a few groceries" turned into more than half a cart full of crap. But we use the self scanner paired with the self checkout so no one can judge us.
After an hour of shopping, we confidently strode over to the self checkouts only to be severely disappointed. They were closed for the night because Stop & Shop was closing in an hour or so. Disheartened, we turned our attention to the nearest checkout with *cringe* a real live cashier.
She greeted us and I pulled my cart of groceries through so the bag boy, conveniently already stationed at the end of my checkout, could bag up my shit. The nice cashier lady took my self scanner and pulled up my order.
I paid her the money, received my change and turned back to my cart, fully expecting to have at least half of my half a cart load of groceries already bagged. Nope. Of course not. The useless minimum wage moron was just standing there sneaking glances at my crap but with seemingly no plans to ever place it into the recycled, brown plastic bags.
I was pissed. I stood there for another 45 seconds, watching my roommate pay for her groceries before I had had enough. I started bagging my own shit, awkwardly leaning over the mini bagging counter because I was on the wrong side for optimal bagging accessibility. The bag boy just stood there watching me. So instead of making myself uncomfortable and to prevent myself from pissing myself off, I walked around and planted my ass right in front of him and began the daunting task of bagging groceries. Again, he did nothing.
After a few minutes of me bagging (instead of the idiot that was getting paid to stand there and bag my crap) the bag boy simply walked away to stand next to the cashier. And I was thankful. Thankful because if he wasn't going to be useful to me, he could get the fuck out of my way.
Now I have seen a lot of young people who were getting paid minimum wage and hated their jobs, hell I was one of them. And I have seen teenagers who were getting paid minimum wage that weren't very good at their jobs and didn't care to improve. However, I have never seen anyone just stand there and watch someone else do their job. Not only did he just stand there, but when he got bored of watching me do his job, he walked away. He just fucking walked away. Un-friggen-believable.
P.S. This post took me about 45 minutes longer than necessary to write because the movie "Independence Day" has captured my brain (rendering me completely useless and not even able to bitch about my experience at Stop & Shop). Now with fewer commercials! For the second time this week. Haha.
After an hour of shopping, we confidently strode over to the self checkouts only to be severely disappointed. They were closed for the night because Stop & Shop was closing in an hour or so. Disheartened, we turned our attention to the nearest checkout with *cringe* a real live cashier.
She greeted us and I pulled my cart of groceries through so the bag boy, conveniently already stationed at the end of my checkout, could bag up my shit. The nice cashier lady took my self scanner and pulled up my order.
I paid her the money, received my change and turned back to my cart, fully expecting to have at least half of my half a cart load of groceries already bagged. Nope. Of course not. The useless minimum wage moron was just standing there sneaking glances at my crap but with seemingly no plans to ever place it into the recycled, brown plastic bags.
I was pissed. I stood there for another 45 seconds, watching my roommate pay for her groceries before I had had enough. I started bagging my own shit, awkwardly leaning over the mini bagging counter because I was on the wrong side for optimal bagging accessibility. The bag boy just stood there watching me. So instead of making myself uncomfortable and to prevent myself from pissing myself off, I walked around and planted my ass right in front of him and began the daunting task of bagging groceries. Again, he did nothing.
After a few minutes of me bagging (instead of the idiot that was getting paid to stand there and bag my crap) the bag boy simply walked away to stand next to the cashier. And I was thankful. Thankful because if he wasn't going to be useful to me, he could get the fuck out of my way.
Now I have seen a lot of young people who were getting paid minimum wage and hated their jobs, hell I was one of them. And I have seen teenagers who were getting paid minimum wage that weren't very good at their jobs and didn't care to improve. However, I have never seen anyone just stand there and watch someone else do their job. Not only did he just stand there, but when he got bored of watching me do his job, he walked away. He just fucking walked away. Un-friggen-believable.
P.S. This post took me about 45 minutes longer than necessary to write because the movie "Independence Day" has captured my brain (rendering me completely useless and not even able to bitch about my experience at Stop & Shop). Now with fewer commercials! For the second time this week. Haha.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
The Day My GPS Tried To Kill Me
So a few years ago I got it into my head that I needed a GPS. I am originally from Long Island, NY, was going to school in New Hampshire, and often went home with my boyfriend on vacations to his house in Massachusetts. Now, those are a lot of states to know your way around.
There was also that time that I brought my Japanese roommate home to Long Island for Thanksgiving. On the way home I had her reading the MapQuest directions while I drove. Not only could she not properly pronounce any of the names of the exits, but she also kept falling asleep. So there I was on I-95 driving with the dome light on and sneaking quick glances at the directions while simultaneously trying to not wreaking havoc on the unsuspecting commuters. It was terrible.
So I found a GPS on eBay and convinced my mom to buy it for me for my birthday (which wasn't for 2 months). Betsy (the GPS) wasn't new, but for the first few weeks everything went pretty well. After a while she started to act a little screwy like taking longer to load, and not talking at all during long trips. Small irritating things like that.
Then one day my roommate Cassie and I decided to find a nail place near our school. It was about 40 minutes away but with Betsy by my side I wasn't worried about it.
That was when Cassie started to get snarky with Betsy. When Betsy would repeat directions such as "Turn left at the next road. Turn left at the next road. Turn left at the next road" Cassie would scream expletives like "SHUT THE FUCK UP BETSY, I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME" and "BETSY YOU'RE A STUPID WHORE" and so on and so forth. This is what I believe, drove my GPS to try to murder us.
Betsy had simply had enough of Cassie's bullshit and wanted to show her who was the fucking boss. So there we were, following Betsy's directions faithfully, fully confident in her ability to find anything. I remember that I first started to suspect something when she directed me off the main road and into a residential area. The more we drove, the further away we got from civilization and the creepier the houses got.
Finally Betsy told us that we were close to the nail salon and we began to look for a sign that the trees were thinning and that civilization was near. While we were desperately looking for this damn nail salon, Cassie saw a creepy ass house that she claimed looked like "A fucking ax murders house".
This was the kind of house you avoid at all costs. If needed to pee like you have never peed before, and your bladder was swollen so much that it is pushing on your other organs and possibly causing cancer and they had a port-o-potty out front, you would cross your legs and drive on. If you were trick or treating in the area and they were offering BMW's you would just deal with the old car your grandma gave you that still smells like cat food. That kind of house.
This was a house that wasn't remarkable in any way except for its creepiness. The paint was peeling, most of the shutters were no longer attached to the house and there was a shed behind and to the right of the house that you just knew they use to cut up wayward travelers to put in pot pies. To make matters worse, across from this scary ass house was a field that was lined with trees. The kind of field that gave you a false sense of security when you are running across it away from the ax murders and you think you can make it but don't ever even reach the tree line. That kind of field.
Now back to Betsy's plan to assassinate me and Cassie; just as we were passing by and remarking on the sinister nature of the house, we hear "you have reached your destination".
And that's how my GPS Betsy tried to kill me and my college roommate. And all because Cassie couldn't keep her fucking comments to herself. :-)
There was also that time that I brought my Japanese roommate home to Long Island for Thanksgiving. On the way home I had her reading the MapQuest directions while I drove. Not only could she not properly pronounce any of the names of the exits, but she also kept falling asleep. So there I was on I-95 driving with the dome light on and sneaking quick glances at the directions while simultaneously trying to not wreaking havoc on the unsuspecting commuters. It was terrible.
So I found a GPS on eBay and convinced my mom to buy it for me for my birthday (which wasn't for 2 months). Betsy (the GPS) wasn't new, but for the first few weeks everything went pretty well. After a while she started to act a little screwy like taking longer to load, and not talking at all during long trips. Small irritating things like that.
Then one day my roommate Cassie and I decided to find a nail place near our school. It was about 40 minutes away but with Betsy by my side I wasn't worried about it.
That was when Cassie started to get snarky with Betsy. When Betsy would repeat directions such as "Turn left at the next road. Turn left at the next road. Turn left at the next road" Cassie would scream expletives like "SHUT THE FUCK UP BETSY, I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME" and "BETSY YOU'RE A STUPID WHORE" and so on and so forth. This is what I believe, drove my GPS to try to murder us.
Betsy had simply had enough of Cassie's bullshit and wanted to show her who was the fucking boss. So there we were, following Betsy's directions faithfully, fully confident in her ability to find anything. I remember that I first started to suspect something when she directed me off the main road and into a residential area. The more we drove, the further away we got from civilization and the creepier the houses got.
Finally Betsy told us that we were close to the nail salon and we began to look for a sign that the trees were thinning and that civilization was near. While we were desperately looking for this damn nail salon, Cassie saw a creepy ass house that she claimed looked like "A fucking ax murders house".
This was the kind of house you avoid at all costs. If needed to pee like you have never peed before, and your bladder was swollen so much that it is pushing on your other organs and possibly causing cancer and they had a port-o-potty out front, you would cross your legs and drive on. If you were trick or treating in the area and they were offering BMW's you would just deal with the old car your grandma gave you that still smells like cat food. That kind of house.
This was a house that wasn't remarkable in any way except for its creepiness. The paint was peeling, most of the shutters were no longer attached to the house and there was a shed behind and to the right of the house that you just knew they use to cut up wayward travelers to put in pot pies. To make matters worse, across from this scary ass house was a field that was lined with trees. The kind of field that gave you a false sense of security when you are running across it away from the ax murders and you think you can make it but don't ever even reach the tree line. That kind of field.
Now back to Betsy's plan to assassinate me and Cassie; just as we were passing by and remarking on the sinister nature of the house, we hear "you have reached your destination".
And that's how my GPS Betsy tried to kill me and my college roommate. And all because Cassie couldn't keep her fucking comments to herself. :-)
It's too early in the morning for me to think of a witty title for my first blog.
So I guess this is the part where I tell you all about what to expect when you read my blog. Taking into consideration that I can't actually predict what I will eventually do, I'll do my best.
First of all, the name of my blog, "Heather-ish" can be applied to anything from the ridiculous things that I do, to my inability to keep my mouth shut when I should, to the things that happen to me that don't happen to normal people, to my overall disposition. And yes, I understand that it kind of defeats the purpose of describing someone when you say a girl named Heather is Heather-ish but hopefully one day it will make sense.
Now before we go any further I want everyone who reads my blog to understand that I AM NOT AN ENGLISH MAJOR. I am not perfect, I don't know a single thing about grammar and I sometimes say things like "lol" and "jk" and "omg". There are even some acronyms that I use that you-all don't even know yet. And that's how I get down with acronyms.
Also be warned that I rant. I am a ranter. And I'm not ashamed of it. If you don't like reading rants, then unfortunately this isn't the blog for you.
I am insecure. I like to think I am (occasionally) funny. I am lazy. I am friendly. I am a worrier. I love the Discovery Channel. I am picky. I am Heather-ish (shameless blog-title plug, I know)
So pretty much take it or leave it (but I hope you take it). I will (attempt) to make a semi-decent post tomorrow but in the meantime, I think you should start "subscribing" to my blog now so you don't miss out on anything. So OMG I hope you like my blog JK of course you will LOL (HA)
First of all, the name of my blog, "Heather-ish" can be applied to anything from the ridiculous things that I do, to my inability to keep my mouth shut when I should, to the things that happen to me that don't happen to normal people, to my overall disposition. And yes, I understand that it kind of defeats the purpose of describing someone when you say a girl named Heather is Heather-ish but hopefully one day it will make sense.
Now before we go any further I want everyone who reads my blog to understand that I AM NOT AN ENGLISH MAJOR. I am not perfect, I don't know a single thing about grammar and I sometimes say things like "lol" and "jk" and "omg". There are even some acronyms that I use that you-all don't even know yet. And that's how I get down with acronyms.
Also be warned that I rant. I am a ranter. And I'm not ashamed of it. If you don't like reading rants, then unfortunately this isn't the blog for you.
I am insecure. I like to think I am (occasionally) funny. I am lazy. I am friendly. I am a worrier. I love the Discovery Channel. I am picky. I am Heather-ish (shameless blog-title plug, I know)
So pretty much take it or leave it (but I hope you take it). I will (attempt) to make a semi-decent post tomorrow but in the meantime, I think you should start "subscribing" to my blog now so you don't miss out on anything. So OMG I hope you like my blog JK of course you will LOL (HA)
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