No More Blue Balls For Me

I don't know anyone as lame as me anymore.  Getting banned from a bar is almost as reputable as taking a bullet to the head and surviving.  The mention of it receives looks of shock and awe.  And rightly so.  But getting banned from playing racquetball at my own gym?  How fucking yag (my secret word that I use so that I don't offend overly dramatic homosexuals) it that?  Plain and simple, it's yag as fuck.  I got banned from playing a harmless sport, made popular in the 1980's by one Marty (Blue Balls) Hogan.  Let me surf the Internet really quick and see if I can borrow a picture of him, because without the visual, you'd never understand how harmless this sport really is... 

                                                (Times must be rough)
And you might be asking yourself why I even reached such low levels of pathetic behavior to end up in this situation.  You want to know what my offense was?  I got knocked up.  Seriously.  I was at the gym the other day after my prenatal exam (which I said 'fuck you' to the nurse and walked out on.  *note to readers: don't EVER go to St. Lukes.  American doctors are shitfaces, but this place gets the trophy).  I was so infuriated as I was leaving the hospital and had a psycho moment in the elevator.  After I was done filling the hallway with my favorite choice of profanities, I side-kicked the 'down' button on the outside of the elevator.  Yeah, people were around, but I didn't give a shit.  They couldn't understand what I was saying anyhow since everyone at that fucking methlab-looking hospital seems to speak EVERY language EXCEPT for English.  Can you imagine that?  I'm in AMERICA and I have to learn another language to accommodate the receptionist, so that she can accommodate me as the patient.  Unfucking real.  Honestly, I had half a mind to walk right out of that cattle ranch clinic when I walked in.  The waiting room was full of young Hispanic and Black chicks, bellies out to Jupiter and hands full of food.  I was the only one who had the person who inseminated me present and apparently the only person who spoke a lick of English because the receptionist looked up and said:

"Que necesitas" -meaning, what do you need?

I should have walked right out.  I should have.  But like a jackass, I gave them a second chance.  AN HOUR LATER I was called in to see the nurse.  They made me pee, I stole a bunch of medical shit that I found as punishment for making me wait an eternity, and then I went to see the nursein her office.  It was in her office that I came to find that all that I was there to do was to REGISTER with them.  I wouldn't see a doctor, wouldn't see the kid and waited AN ENTIRE HOUR to REGISTER.  Naturally, when I found out this tadbit of information, I went apeshit and left that bitch of a nurse holding my piss-cup.

Then came the side-kick...

Then came the elevator.  Looking back, I'm not too sure if they had cameras in the elevator, but if they did then it would explain the security guards face as I left.  Not only did he back up a couple of feet, but he looked like I was going to belly gut his old ass.  Oh my God.  The elevator.  Once I was in the elevator, I just fucking kicked the shit out of it. For two floors, I channeled Bruce Lee and expelled a quick moment of fury filled foot damage.  I haven't yet mastered his famous one inch punch, but being the height that I am, I have managed to put spectators in a state of gadzooks with what I like to call my 'Bruce Lee/Kareem Abdul Jabbar kick' (which some of you may remember from the classic: Game of Death).  For short, BL KAJ gets the crowds roaring ...and dents the walls of an elevator.  ...AND scares the shit out of a security guard.

So I left Harlem and went directly to Midtown.  My blood was about to burst in my veins so I wanted to simmer it down a little bit.  I needed to go to the gym.  As I entered the gym with my 'I'm going to kill someone' face, one of the managers came up to me and said "Hey, up for a game of racquetball?"  Normally, I would have said yes, but I hesitated because I just wanted to run on the treadmill.  But, like any other crack addict, it only took milliseconds for me to say "YES!"

Rewind to a week before:  I beat this same guy at racquetball all 4 games that we played AFTER I did my aquafit class with the old people.

Fast forward to the game:  I win again.  It was amazing to get all of that anger out and burn some gratifying calories in the process.  And I don't want to toot my own horn, but (toot toot) I ALSO had a nice crowd watching me play, which makes me a total ham.  I have had this love affair with racquetball since the age of 12.  It's my game of choice.

                                               (That's me on the right)                                                   
Now fast forward to today, but rewind to yesterday:  I finish my boxing class and dress to leave the gym.  As I was leaving, the manager comes up to me and breaks my heart.  He tells me that there is no more racquetball until I give birth.  Because I am almost 6 months pregnant, I'm not allowed to play racquetball, denying me of the only reason why I even joined the gym in the first place.  I don't get it.  I win five motherfucking games, this guy has the entire men's locker room laughing at him and the GM of the gym says that I can't play anymore because of my obvious stomach???  What?  When the fuck did pregnant broads all of a sudden become paraplegic?  It's my body so it should be my choice.  I'm willing to sign a waiver to play, but they won't even let me do that.  Meanwhile, you've got a bunch of dumb fucks in the free-weight area who have form that would make a gymnist vomit.  These people are at risk of SERIOUS injuries, yet nobody tells them that they have to stop doing what they are doing. 

The bottom line is this:  I'm good at what I do (even with a preggo belly), some old fuck with gray haired nuts got nervous and now I have to sit it out on the bench until 'monster baby' rips it's way out of my cooter.  I hate Americans.  Quote me on that.  And this is just a guess, but if I know him like I thik that I do, then Marty Hogan would share my same anger at this decision.  No racquetball?  They really broke my balls with that one.  Goddamn communist pigs.

The "Are you abusive' Quiz That Got Me So Mad, I Punched My Boyfriend In The Face.

I broke my own rule and slept on the couch last night.  I had my most girly/ethnic moment of my life yesterday and a fight ensued.  How did it begin?  Poppers.  Remember those little white sheets of paper that were filled with pebbles and bits of gunpowder?  Those things that you used to either snap between your fingers or threw at people?  I even had a couple of sicko buddies who snapped them between their teeth.  Sickos...

Anyhow, I was coming back from the city and on my way home, I stopped at the gas station to fill up on junk food.  Sadly enough, the food wasn't for my pregnant ass, but for my lover.  His sugar addiction is making me look like a heroin addict.  with my arms full of goodies, I made my way to the counter to shell out some loot.  And that is when it happened.  I looked to my left and saw the poppers.  Of course, I was at a habib gas station, so they pretty much could sell fireworks and pocketknives and not give a fuck.  That's why my automatic glee quickly subsided to a cool 'puhlease... poppers?  I see this every single day' attitude.  Inside though?  Jesus Christ, I was overwhelmed with giddy butterflies...

Fast forward to the apartment...

So I get home, give SSL his junk food which NEVER amounts to any weight gain on him and then while he is indulging in his sweet garbage, I casually throw a popper at him, it pops louder than expected and he jumps, almost choking on his chips.  So I laugh hysterically.  Not even five minutes later we are jumping around like two untamed animals from the jungle trapped in the confines of the apartment.  Our jabs go back and forth and then he finally says:

"OK, ALEXIS!  Damn, you play too much".  (His famous last words.)

But the fight wasn't over.  He then went into the bathroom to brush his teeth, meaning it was nearing the end of the night for him.  So while he was bent over to spit in the sink, I tried to goose him.  And for anyone that doesn't know what that means, then google it because I don't want to sound like a pervert explaining it.  When THAT bored me, and he was busy gargling his mouthwash, I tried to give him the heimlich maneuver.  SSL apparently has grown accustomed to this childish horseplay, so I got frustrated, turned around and grabbed my dildo that I keep in the bathroom (to remind him that there are other options and the fact that I chose him, he should be happy).  So I take the dildo and since it looks like a sword, I hit him with it.  And THAT was when in his mind, he was going to ruin my night.

When he was done brushing his cute ass all hell teeth, I went to take a shower.  Things got quiet, I though that he was in bed and then all of a sudden a bunch of cold water was poured over the shower and onto me.  Normally, I wouldn't give a shit, but my hair was straight and since the water only hit half of my head, I was going to end up walking around like Harvey Dent.  (I'm piping mad as I relive this...)  The next thing that SSL saw was my naked body lunging at him with my claws out.  It was King of The Ring for the next half hour.  Finally, I got even more pissed and said "Fuck you, I'm sleeping on the couch!"  And that is where I slept last night.  On the motherfucking couch.  Naked.  Looking like Harvey fucking Dent!

So I woke up this morning and said some more mean shit to him until he went to work.  And that is when I took this quiz below: 


              ARE YOU ABUSIVE?

***If you are unsure whether some of your behaviors are abusive, try taking the following quiz.

1. Tell your partner who they can talk to or hang out with?
YES
NO
*I would, but I like him to roam free so I can study him like an animal taken out of captivity and placed back in the jungle.


2. Call your partner names, criticize them, or embarrass them in front of others?
No
*By ourselves?  Yes.  I like to call him AnnaMae.  In front of others?  No.

3. Force your partner into doing something they don't want to do?
YES
NO

*It's not really "forcing" him.  I like to call it persuading him.

4. Make your partner feel guilty if they don't do what you want them to do YES
NO
*Well how else would he do what I want him to do?
5. Interfere with your partners work, or school work? YES
NO
*He blames me when he is late to work.  EVEN if I'm asleep 200 miles away. 


6. Prevent your partner from seeing their friends and family? YES
NO
*Especially when I need alone time.

7. Follow your partner when they are not with you?
YES
NO
*Well, does GPS count?  Just kidding...  Or am I?

8. Are overly jealous? YES
NO
*Only of the BBW porn that he LOVES.  Again I ask:  What the FUCK?

9. Check up on your partner a lot: listen in on their phone calls, frequently ask where they have been, call frequently to check up on them, or check the mileage on their car. YES
NO
*That is what a PI is for.

10. Blame your partner for everything YES
NO
*When I take the blame, it helps with the whole guilt game.  Duhhh...

11. Say that your partner's concerns and fears are not real or not important.     YES
NO
*There is nothing that a stiff drink and a scrumptious plate of food can't cure.

12.Prevent your partner from leaving by blocking the doorway or holding on to them? YES
NO
*I would laugh too hard and he would get away.

13.Push, hit, or shove your partner YES
NO
(And this is when it got serious...)

14.Have an explosive temper? YES
NO
(This I can blame on genetics.  EVERY female has this 'rage' in my family.)

15.Threaten to hurt or kill yourself if your partner leaves you? YES
NO
*I would if he wouldn't call my bluff.

16.Force your partner to have sex when they don't really want to? YES
NO
(And then this is when I started laughing so hard that the baby woke up and started kicking me.)

17.Damage or destroy your partner's possessions YES
NO
(I have only done this once.)

18.Threaten to harm partner, their family, friends or pets YES
NO
(His family or pets?  No.  Him?  Daily.)
THEY DIDN'T PUT A #19 HERE and #20 pissed me off so I erased it.
 21.Do things that make your partner seem scared? YES
NO
(Fucking hilarious.  More laughter when in my mind I replay his "scared" face.)

22.Force your partner to use drugs including alcohol YES
NO
 23.Threaten to expose partner's "secrets" YES
NO
*He's a Scorpio.  That would take the rest of my life to do.

24.Force your partner to use drugs including alcohol YES
NO
(I'm a drinker, but I do most of the abusing in a sober state, which makes me think that it's a HUGE problem... that I don't do it when I'm drunk as well.  Ahahaha.)

25.Threaten partner if they should tell anyone about the abuse YES
NO
*What kind of abuser with any skill needs to do that?  Let's just say that it's just KNOWN that he doesn't tell...

 

 

So that was the quiz.  This morning quickly became comedy hour because I couldn't help but laugh my ass off while I answered the quiz's questions.  And now I wonder how deranged that must have looked to a fly on the wall.  The results said that if you answered even just ONE "yes" to any of the questions, then you were abusive.  I love the hell out of him, so what gives?!?!

Bikes Instead of Booze

I'm sitting here naked.  Well, technically.  I stole a pair of boxers from SSL (sex-slave-loverboy), but now that I have been in them for more than ten minutes, I feel like ripping them off as well. 
Today is St. Patrick's Day and it is one of the largest parades in NYC.  While everyone and their mother (an already obsolete saying) is busy getting hammered, I'm stuck with ...the fetus.  It must be so bored in the womb- I hardly think that ONE (or twenty) drinks would bother it much.  Why should I stop it from enjoying itself?  I'm not craving beer right now though.  What I'm craving is a bicycle.  I woke up  at 6am with fury filled blood boiling through my veins all because of a bike...

One year ago to this day I was riding up 6th avenue towards central park just to silence the guilt of one of my Gemini friend's personalities.  I have only met three of them so far, but I think it was personality number two that started freaking out number one and number three.  The day prior to this was one of the most beautiful early spring days EVER.  I was supposed to be working at the dungeon, but once I got there, Gemini showed up and I told her to get her shit cause we were leaving.  We got on the D train, headed to the park and rented a couple of bikes with baskets.  The rental guy (some Dominican probably from my neighborhood) didn't even take any of our information other than her phone number in case we were late returning the bikes.  The rental was only for 1 hour...

About 28 HOURS later, we were bringing the bikes back to the rental area at the park.  What happened?  Central Park got boring, the West Side Highway, a couple of hotties, Mr. Softee, a psychic and a ride to Brooklyn.  We got caught up.  And the Dominican?  Yeah, he called...  About six hours after we rented the bikes, which was right on time for a Hispanic.  Here's that convo:

Oh shit.  He's calling.  You answer it!  I can't do this.

Just pick it up.  It's not like he can find us.

Ok...  (Gemini answers her phone)  Hello?

Hallo?  Jou have bikes?  We closeeng soon.  Bring back the bikes.

Listen.  Calm down.  I'm a trustworthy person, but I can't bring back the bikes.


(muffled sounds)

Listen!  We are in a STICKY situation!  (At this point we were on our way to the psychic)  I promise that I will return the bikes tomorrow.

No good.  My boss...


If I can bring the bikes back tomorrow, then I will make love to you.  (And yes, this is verbatim)

Ok baby.  Bye.

*click*

He fell for it.

So the next day we bring the bikes back while the parade is in procession.  Do you know how fucking hard it is to swerve through thousands of drunk people and traffic?  We found the Dominican, gave him the bikes, his boss tried to charge us more money, we spit on the ground like disgusted foreigners and went back to the dungeon.  That was a year ago.  Since then, I have stolen four more bikes, had them all stolen from me in a twist of karma and now, what I'm craving the most (besides a Newport) is a beach cruiser and a basket.  Can I have that little slice of life that I took for granted and abused?  Apparently not, since I have been banned from renting bikes at Central Park.  Irony is funny.  In New York, people act like they have their heads so far up their asses that they can't remember normal people.  BUT, in all of the millions of faces here, they sure as hell remember someone who stole four bikes from them almost a lifetime ago.  Fuck this shithole.  *And I DON'T mean that in a homosexual way.  I'm going back to bed...

About five hours later...

                    (They had no clue it was me with my friend's sunglasses on)

                                    (She doesn't do the whole 'picture' thing)

Some dreams DO come true...

The NFL Lockout

The NFL.  It makes and breaks lives.  As a female who does not partake in football, I am still bombarded by it's backlash.  This damn lockout has more guys pissing and moaning than a bunch of females at their marriage counselors.  The only reason why I watch bits and pieces of football games is to check out firm backsides.  I'm a butt connoisseur and football uniforms have allowed me to pretend that I'm doing good for humanity (by merely watching the games), but in all reality, I'm just making deposits at the spank bank.  In  my humble opinion, the players have become lackadaisical about their appearances.  I mean, if the cheerleaders still have to maintain their physique, then why was it that this past season, I had to watch a bunch of flabby asses traipse across the television?  HD hasn't made things much better, since now I can see every dimple in each player's ass cheek.  It's becoming a growing problem.  For the chubby chaser that I am, I wouldn't have suspected that out of shape asses would really dry me up.  But, they have.  In my opinion, the only team that still has trophy worthy asses are the Ravens.  Bubble butts, sexy struts and (wishful thinking) ...sluts?  I mean, they MUST be sluts, right?  An old wives tale goes a little something like this:  Guys that have nice bubble butts are great in bed.  Why?  Because their asses get their shape from all that in and out movement.  A guy who just lays on his back and lets shit happen usually has a flat ass.  Is this true?  You be the judge.

More about the lockout though...  At first I was so overcome with joy that my body was shaking from the pumping adrenaline.  No football?  Has God really shined a light down on me?  While ESPN made it news, SSL and I were at each end of the couch- both in tears.  His?  Pure and utter sadness.  Mine?  Sheer joy.  *(FUCK.  I have to go to an interview.  Can you hold that thought?  Give me a couple of hours.)....

I'm back.  Where was I?...  The NFL lockout.  I hate football.  Yeah, I said it.  I hate football.  It's not the sport that I hate, but what it does to males for almost a third of the year.  It's not like they don't already lack long attention spans, but then some dipshit had to go throw in a sport that totally captivates them as well.  For the entire season, guys who are into the games walk around like functional zombies.  Sure, they get work done, have coherent conversations and remember the bigger shit.  But while they are doing these things, the rest of their brain is going over stats, replaying plays in their head, making sure their fantasy football team has a good lineup, weighing the possibilities of taking out another mortgage so they can get tickets to the games and ...sex.  The sex part I don't mind, but with all this testosterone bonding, they might as well have one huge fruity orgy with all of their football friends.

So I'm happy about the lockout.  Or at least I was initially.  Upon pondering all of the things that we could do on these extra Sundays sans football, I came to the realization that this whole lockout is going to ruin many relationships- and if it gets too bad, quite possibly the world.  Aside from having Sundays to myself and doing whatever the hell I wanted, I'm also going to have to deal with a PMS-like lover.  Once fall comes around, a shift is going to take place.  Males are going to become babies and mope around the house, dragging their feet, and become bothersome.  Then they will become cranky, irritable, and act like they are all on the rag.  The DT's are going to ruin them.  I'm going to wake up in a pool of my lover's sweat, have to rock his crying ass to sleep and try to console him throughout the winter.  And I'm not the only one who is going to end up dealing with this bullshit.  Females all over are going to have to.  Either that, or let the guys become psychos and REALLY create havoc.  It's a shame that a sport that they don't even get paid to play runs their lives.  Males...  The simpler species.

At first, what I thought was a miraculous occurrence, soon shedded light as one of the worst things possible to happen to mankind.  No football?  Well, why don't we ALL just suck on some bullets?!?! 

Me And My Beotch

Dinner is busy burning and the laundry sitting in the washing machine is starting to mold because I can't stop thinking about Kreuger.  Is it Kreuger or Krueger?  Let me find out really quick.  Hold on....  I was wrong.  It's KrUEger.  My little impish pet...

Pugs used to be my favorite until they started reproducing like Hispanics.  I see them on every corner these days like washed out hookers.  Note to Pugs:  The dream is over.  The jig's up, tootsie.  You're days in the spotlight are finished.  Before they got too full of themselves and people started carrying them around like kids, I would have given my left nut (or ovary, since I'm a lady) to own one of them.  I even tried to get my brother to create a diversion at a pet store once, just so I could steal a Pug puppy.  And if he wasn't such a stick in the mud, I'd be giving my dumbass Pug death stares right now as it was in timeout in the corner.  The Pug's offense?  Becoming a run of the mill, ordinary, overpriced beotch.  I hate to do this, but I guess that in hindsight, I should thank my brother.  ...Just this once though.

 

                                          (I stole this picture from the internet)

My new craze?  Between me and you, EVERY SINGLE TIME I see a French Bulldog out in public, a trickle of pee escapes me.  Just a trickle.  Oh my GOD.  I can go on forever about these dogs.  Why are they so overpriced?  Why can't I find one roaming around in the streets?  Why can't one just show up at my doorstep with a note around it's neck that says "Please take care of me :) "? (Wow.  That got a bit crazy.)  Anyways, I hate to be honest about this, but I'm more excited about the dog that I'm planning on owning in the future than the kid that I am going to have this summer.  Is that crazy?  Well, fucking throw a bottle at my face if it is.  It has gotten so bad that I had a dream that I was in labor and a fully groomed puppy popped out of my crotch like a little rocket and landed in the doctor's arms.  I woke up soooooooo happy that morning.  ...I'm going to Hell for this one. 

This is my plan.  Outfits.  I want Krueger to own more outfits than me.  He will be dressed in so many different pricey outfits that it's going to look like he's walking a hobo.  I kind of want an all black dog too, so I don't have to wake up one day and want to kill Kruegs for shedding all over the place.  And I want him to have rainboots.  And a hat.  And a cape.  And the best part of all?  I won't have to feed or clean up after him.  Ask me why...

You know how animals sometimes eat their own poop?  I'll teach Krueger how to do it, too.  I'll just feed him once and he'll keep recycling the same meal throughout his entire life.  It will be a match made in Heaven.  My lovechild Krueger in my basket while I ride my bike down to the beach and the baby will be back at home in front of the television.  How else do you expect it to learn?  Oh FUCK!  My food really IS burning!  Shit!  Gotta go...

Threesomes: Good for the environment?

"I'd rather be shot in the face with a shotgun than eat out a chick.  The thought of it makes me want to fucking vomit.  You know what?  FUCK YOU!"
                                                                                                

                                                                                                          -Alexis (her entire life)



"If we have a threesome though and I mess around with the chick (shudder), then can I have sex with another guy?"

                                                                                                 










                                                                                                            -Alexis (this morning)

What has my sex life come to?  When has it become one huge negotiation process?  Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life?  Out with the boytoys and in with the constant tug of war?  Mercy to all horny beings on this merciless planet!  Ok.  Here is the problem.

I have never had a threesome.  That isn't the problem; just some background information.  But, like I said, I've never had one.  Surprise.  And call me whatever you want, but if I had to chose, and a gun was to my head (in a non role play situation), then I'd have to go with the guy/guy/girl threesome instead of the girl/girl/guy one.  I don't think that tons of females would admit to this, but you know what?  Fuck it.  Someone has to explain...

                           Reasons That I Would Rather Be In A
              Guy/Guy/Girl Vs. Girl/Girl/Guy Threesome

REASON ONE
I'm possessive of my current fixation.  It's a 'Crazy Lady' trait, I know, but I am such a tyrant and I'd wait until SSL was sleeping to step on his face with cleats if he ever boinked another broad.  So sue me.  And if you have a problem with that, then think of it this way:  Say that you own a car that drives you wild.  How would you feel if you woke up and found out that someone else was driving it?  You would rip their fucking throat out.  And if you didn't feel any tug at your heart, then I bet you're currently driving a piece of shit, counting down the days until you trade it in for an upgrade.

REASON TWO
I don't want some broad's crotch in my face.  When I talk to my guy friends about chicks and the subject of 'head' comes up, I refer to it as 'sloppy joes'.  DO NOT adopt that phrase because I have claimed that as my own.  Why the name?  Because once a guy resurfaces, his face is a wet mess.  I'm not saying to stop doing it, but I'm just saying that I don't know how you guys do.  Plus, I just don't want crotch juice in my mouth.  Ewww.  It's just the messier option.

REASON THREE
What the hell am I supposed to do when they are busy having sex?  Am I just supposed to sit there and watch that bullshit in horror?  Maybe if it was a guy that I didn't care too much about.  If that were the case, then he could be with another chick in front of me while I casually smoked a Newport, because I honestly wouldn't give two shits.  If it got to that point, then I'd be using him for entertainment purposes anyhow, so why not?  Live porn?!?  GET OUT OF TOWN!

REASON FOUR
And lastly, I wouldn't want to have a girl/girl/guy threesome because when it was over, the girl might be clingy.  Once I'm done having sex, I want to pee, eat, and then go to sleep.  How the fuck would I find time to do that if I had to chit chat with the broad?  It's not like once we were all done having sex, then she would automatically get her shit and kick rocks.  The after therapy would be too much for me to deal with.  And I would end up dead from hunger pains.

So all in all, I'd much rather the less complicated mesh of two guys and one girl.  Socially, it's the more slutty combination of an already slutty experience, but technically, it's the less clusterfuck of both.

And as a side note:  If a guy wants to have two chicks, then he's a fucking stingy ass bastard if he won't let his girly girl have two guys.  And if he wants to say that he doesn't want to have any accidental physical contact with another guy, then he should sympathise with my feelings and just let me have another guy without him.  Since he wants to try another girl.  Fair is fair, right?  

No Pictures Of Dead People

I'm being forced to write something.  Just so you know.  I really don't think that anyone gives a hoot about my trip to the Mutter Museum the other day.  Although I saw an eight foot long colon and a skull collection (*must acquire one in the near future), the museum was ...ehh at it's best.  Here are some boring visuals.

This is a body from the 1800's.

Borrrring.

       Here is a midget skeleton.       

                  Frieeeend.                 

Usually I would be completely tantalized by the skeleton, but right after I took this picture with my ultra-covert and WAY outdated (but free after the rebate) camera phone, an over sized security guard, who should have been an exhibit himself, came lunging at me like a damn linebacker because even though I read the 'No Pictures' sign, I never thought that the staff would fully impose such an asinine rule.  Why no pictures? 

Two things that I REALLY abhor in this world are waiters who don't bring out enough lemon for my water (that I'm NOT making into cheapskate lemonade) and authoritative figures.  It just really kicks my shins when I have to deal with rules, especially in human form.  When I see signs that state the rules of engagement, I know that the signs can't enforce the rules, so I have no problem breaking them.  And if I get caught breaking the rules, then I can always use the defense of illiteracy (a growing problem in America).  It's easy to overlook signs...

My new way to go about rules on signs, is to just simply not read them.  This sounds pretty easy, but when it comes down to it, forcing yourself to remain oblivious is fucking hard to do.  I love to read, so when I see a sign, my brain automatically scans it and reads it.  So now with the new and improved Alexis, I'm forced to make a split decision when I see any type of literature in front of my face when I am out and about in public.  It's like when someone is about to divulge something that you KNOW you don't want to hear.  They come up to you ready with some juicy gossip and you just start singing any random song, or cover your ears and go "ahhhhhhhhhhhh....  mmmmmmmm.... eeeeeehhhhhh...." until they stop talking.  I can't use that same tactic with the signs, so I just automatically divert my eyes to something else.  I've practiced this for some time now, so when I'm in public, it usually works.  ...Except for at the museum.

I'd like to leave a note to that bastard, Mutter: 
      Thanks Mr. Mutter for exploiting your scientific findings.  Way to make a circus out of genetic anomalies that leave human beings afflicted by them, in hour long crying sessions late at night in their beds.  I am also grateful that you offer discounts at your museum.  As a piece of advice though, please don't create a freak show out of these innocent people and expect me not to take pictures.  Really.  No pictures of the gangrene hand in a jar of formaldehyde?  That is a disgusting (not to mention stingy) rule. 

What type of sick fuck are you?

                                                                      
                                                  I wish that you weren't dead, so that you would read this,
                                                                                   -Alexis

America Is FULL Of Rapists

Maybe I am the only person who feels this way.  I have to say though, I don't particularly care for public molestation.  I don't.  I mean, if I were the one who was doing it, then that might be another story.  But to be in public and feel like someone was about to rape me?  I'd rather be fed my own eyeball with the same spork that was used to gouge it out in the first place.

Yesterday AND EVERY DAY of this year so far (I'm guessing...) I have been in public and wanted to coldcock some motherfucker for trying to rape me.  Case in point?  Ok, so I'm in line at a deli and there are like five people in front of me.  I get in line about four to six feet away from the last person that was in line.  In walks in the nominee for Douche Of The Year and practically humps my leg like a Dalmatian in heat because I don't move up in line and hump everyone else.  Apparently if the person behind you in line gets questionably uncomfortably close to you, the line moves faster!  It drives me shithouse.  At times like this, I wish that I were The Human Torch so I could roast the hell out of these line-rapists.  My personal bubble has some obvious technical difficulties these days since people can't see where the hell it begins and ends.

I don't get it.  I'm in line.  You're behind me.  Then, there is a space between me and the person in front of me.  So you feel like if I humped them as well, then that would increase the productivity behind the counter?  Yeah right.  Rico Suave back there doesn't give a shit how the people in line feel.  He still makes minimum wage (whatever the hell that is these days) and is going to make your meal at the pace of a-.... well, at the pace of Me (since I move at the rate of death).  I need at least a foot and a half of space between me and the next person in line.  I really don't think that that is asking for too much.  And neither is getting my MOTHERFUCKING ORDER RIGHT, MR. SUAVE!

I don't give a F-U-C-K if you are young, old, male, female, shemale, in a fucking wheelchair even.  If I feel that your body (OR wheels) are getting too close to me, from now on I am going to look at you (my predator) dead in the eyes and interventionally say "Ma'am/Sir, I don't know if I was sending the wrong signals, wore something inappropriate or naturally look the part, but I would appreciate it if you... (and this is when I would yell the rest so that everyone else in line knew that I meant business) STOP TRYING TO RAPE ME!  ...thank you".  (*note* as I said this, I would also make eye contact with Rico and make the internationally known sign (that I created) for "if you fuck up my sandwich one more time, I'm going to give you a Mexican Necktie"). 

And then once they back up and give me enough space in line to breath in fresh air, I will turn around and calmly resume waiting to place my (bound to be fucked up) order.

I've had enough of this bullshit.  Don't believe me?  Try me...

I Loathe New York

I'm bored out of my mind.  This is a common occurrence, too.  Why, in an area of the United States that is boasted as one of the best travel spots, do I feel this way?  Because New York City is one fat assed bowl of horseshit.  There.  I said it.  Now go to your therapist and get over it.  Besides good old California, New York has got to be the most regulated police states.  It's no fun.  You can't even fucking BREATHE without some type of law prohibiting you to.  I guess that New York is like a puppy at a pet store.  It lures you in with some fake ass promise to excite and comfort.  It has so much going on on such a small mass that it sets on tractor beams and you go in for the buy.  Then,  when the dog gets older, you dispose of five piss stained rugs and wake up with your favorite shoes soaked in what looks like drool (and punctured with tiny bite marks), you consider euthanasia.

That's what I'd like to do with New York (and about 98% of the people there).  I'd like to euthanize them.  I'd like to wake up one day, go apprehend a bike from one of those scam artist bike rentals over at central park, take that bitch downtown to one of the buildings, go upstairs to the observatory and dump a pail of thumbtacks down on the crowd.  And this is how frickin retarded people are there.  They would SEE the tacks hitting the ground around them, yet they would STILL be stupid enough to look up and see where they are coming from.  Morons.  And that is why I won't feel bad when they look up and get thumbtacks lodged in their eyes.  (Maybe I shouldn't be writing about this).  Oh wait.  But, it's not like I'd be able to get upstairs with the tacks in the first place.  Since you have to be molested by security guards these days just to enter a building, I'm sure that I would be stopped.  Which is why I am going to scale the building...

I was on the train the other day and was popping my bubble gum.  Yeah, I said it!  I was POPPING MY BUBBLEGUM.  There I am on the D train surrounded by a bunch of city robots that do whatever the law tells them to.  I'm listening to some music (perhaps ANOTHER enjoyable past time to be outlawed in the future) and chewing on some gum.  So I'm busy listening to my song and daydreaming about all of these ominous Aruba ads that have been plastered inside the trains, taunting me since day one.  Then, I wake from my dream, realize that I'm still on this godawful train and start to pop my gum in disgust.  And that is when I am forced to realize this:

I popped my gum (something that people have been doing for years) and I might as well have been loading a semi automatic in front of a six year old.  Everyone on the train jerked in their seat in shock, braced themselves and looked around with frightened eyes.  What pussies.  Seriously.  That was a pusssy move on their end.  When have people become so scared to live?  It's fucking bubble gum for Christ's sake.  Bubblegum.  You mention 'New York' to anyone outside of the city and they have this look in their eyes that goes 'oooohhhh' like it's a huge deal.  Here's the fucking truth.  New York and everyone in the confines has been officially renamed by me "Pussyville".  Maybe twenty years ago when it was more corrupt and free would I give it kuddos, but in this day and age, NYC is like Nike.  It lives off of it's name.  Just like Nike's shitty shoes (which were once quality), NY lives entirely off of a name that invokes memories.  Cause New York right now?  ...Well, it sucks dick.  Maybe I should rename it 'Whoreville'...  NYC is like a slutty looking, hot chick who's a dead fish in bed.  Puhlease.  Been there, done that.  Moving on...

Late Night Munchies

*Ok.  This hit home like a ton of bricks that fell twenty stories and pulverized my face.  I don't know how many other people who have had this happen to them, but this happened to my "friend".  How do I explain this?

(Ahem)

So...  My friend has been together with this guy.  Although she once told him that she "should have kept you as a boytoy, but the deli across the street from your apartment made really amazing hoagies, which is why I spent the night so many times", things ended up progressing past casual dating and landed into relationshipville. 

Fast Forward to now, but then Rewind to last week.

Lately, my friend has been typing on her lover's computer until her fingers bleed.  She used to have her own until her mother dropped it on the ground and busted the hard drive.  It is now used as a coaster in her friend's house, while he "fixes" it.  If it isn't enough that she had to get used to this new computer with the most finicky keys around town, she also has to find a way to relieve herself of the pain that was inflicted when her very own computer died.  So she types away, hoping that the action is rehabilitative enough for her heart.  ...And so she doesn't get so bored that she slits her wrists.

Just last week, my darling, angelic friend who wouldn't harm an earthworm, woke up with an idea to type about.  I think that she said that it was about her visions on feeding every needy child by rallying people and hosting charity drives.  I'm sure that it was some shit like that.  So get this:  She turns on the computer and you know how if it isn't turned off properly, it goes back to the last thing that the last person on the computer looked at?  Yeah, well this broad turned on the computer only to find some low rate porn engrossing the entire screen.

A little background information...  My friend is normally around 130 pounds.  Although she just passes the five foot mark, the pounds on her are kept tight and placed in appropriate places.  It's not like she had a frying pan smashed in her face either.  She looks like an average chick walking down the street.  And the best part about her is her affectionate heart.  She loves EVERYONE.  I swear, this chick is the closest thing that we can hope for when it comes to a modern Mother Theresa.

And the porn?  It was of a chick that had to be about 350 pounds.  This bitch was a WHALE.  She looked like she was put in the (I'm guessing that the bed was reinforced with professional grade steel) with a forklift.  At first my friend laughed a bit.  Was this a joke?  A tasteless joke?  It must have been.  So she pressed the back button out of curiosity and guess what.  Another whale.  So she pressed it again.  And ANOTHER whale.  Her laughter soon trailed off and was replaced by disgust.  And then she called me.  I'll just reiterate what I'm sure she wanted to say.

My friend's mind:
Are you fucking kidding me?  This is what he jacks off to?  You've gotta be kidding me.  What the hell is he doing with me if what he wants is a goddamn orca whale?  Talk about resurfacing for motherfucking air.  I can't believe this.  I mean, yeah we both are skinny assholes that are secret chubby chasers.  Well, I'm not so secret with it, cause this shit right here???  This shit is on another level.  Goddamn!  I'm appalled. 

So this is why he buys me all of the sweets that I want and this is why he contorts my body in different positions to make the skin ruffle up and make me look heavier.  Christ...  What a sicko.  I thought that I was bad.  He just took the cake.  Literally.

*So people, if you ever wake up at 4 in the morning to type on your lover's computer and find some crazy shit like this, you're not alone...

Prison Salad

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