Surprise, surprise

Y'all wish you were skinnier. Hit the stairmaster; stop facebooking. Medical notes mean you don't have to write exams or hand in term papers!	0 (0%)
Prescribed meds = getting craaazy stoned and lucid dreams ALL DAY LONG	2 (20%)
I'll finally be able to fit into those jeans that (pre-mono) I've been too fat for	5 (50%)
Pity presents from Mom & Dad	3 (30%)

Still too good for my former Euro Trash employers...

I quit my job on Sunday. Yep, no more corporate suits, nose-jobbed trophy wives, under-age dealer groupies (and their dealers, of course), shitty 'house' DJs, Quebecois celebrities, stripey-shirted douche bags, Arabian oil lords, seedy-yet-entertaining strip-club owners, or ignorant and rich little princesses who ask for no dressing (instead, salt and lemons) on their garden salads.

Well, at least for four months. Fear not, loyal readers, I will be a bar star once again and live to tell the many humorous tales.

So I asked my boss why I wasn't awarded the schedule I deserve. Why, oh why, may I not be the one privileged enough to serve vodka-Red-Bulls at a high volume to unworthy yet cash-bearing patrons?

"Well, you're not really enthusiastic enough. Sometimes you don't look like you're happy to be here." (this is code for: "You don't party here on your days off with us, and you don't grab our asses as much as we grab yours, and well, that is what enthusiasm means to us.")

Working for these boys isn't a job; it's a lifestyle.

Fuck that shit. I've got higher aspirations, like being a barmaid at some other shitty, $9 Heineken bar. But in the mean time, allow me to celebrate with the money I will no longer be earning! YAY!!!!!

You can send donations (food stamps, cash, drugs, clothing, non-perishables) to my unemployed ass at my mom's house (leave a comment and I'll send you her address).

Uncool

THIS IS SHIT.

I hate this magazine. I loved Reese Witherspoon in Legally Blonde, but for her to call Cosmopolitan 'the Bible' is the most regressive statement this woman could make to millions of people.

Do you turn men on?
Are you a good flirt?
Do guys think you're sexy?
How mysterious are you?

I want to throw up all over these glossy pages and bubble-gumely templated website.
I know, I read Vogue. I am not hypocritical; I am Third Wave.

Post-feminism and Cosmo can go and fuck each other on a weighing scale and then cry about it.

Y'all dig crying in public because...

I like to be pitied	3 (25%)
Crying in private is gay	2 (16%)
My life is like a movie	6 (50%)
I have never cried in public, and I am lying	1 (8%)

Esteemed readers, I am pleased to announce that the crying in public survey polled an all-time high of twelve votes! Ilovestagemoms is on the rise in the blogosphere!

Now, allow me to slap six of you across the face to tell you that you do not transcend reality, nor do you have a camera crew following you around with Coldplay blasting as the original score to this self-indulgent crying that is "like a movie."

Your life ain't like a movie. You want pity. Liars.

Don't forget to vote on my next poll!

My laptop keeps me from leading a balanced lifestyle

Yesterday evening, my plan was to go to the gym for some elliptically-induced cardiovascular exercise and a steam. I put on my spandex, sneakers, and sweat band, got my ipod and water bottle, and went to my check my email quickly-- you know, in case anything minute or drastic has changed on my voting poll.
I sat, I sat, I sat at my computer. I stumbled, I googled, I blogged and I DID NOT GO TO THE GYM. I just sat there.

They aren't funny, Mal. They're not.

This is how I feel about puns:


My roommate, Mal, is a huge fan of puns. This puts an enormous strain upon our relationship.
Her answering machine is always presented as a pun. Always.
The worst part of puns is when the punner pauses afterwards, asking with an idiot grimace on his or her face, "do you get it?" And then they proceed to explain the intricacies of some stupid phrase that you'll probably hear them utter two or three more times to other people throughout the lunch break, and with greater emphasis each time.

I mean, at least being ironic or newly antiquated means you don't have to follow it up with a stupid catch-phrase. Punners everywhere should just stop talking and start wearing Mickey Mouse tshirts.