I don't have an attitude problem...YOU have a perception problem!

Ok, so I get told that I have an attitude problem by my manager at work (TGI Bend Over and Take it in the Ass Fridays).

Let me say this however, my manager would love to get in my pants on any given day and has told me as much. Now this is my conundrum...I know I might have a tad bit of an attitude problem but c'mon...look where I work. The managers act like us regular employees, yet still try and pull rank. That can't happen if you want your employees to respect you. Also, you shouldn't let your employees know how bad you wanna break 'em off, right? That's what I thought. My question is...is he just trying to say that even though he wants to shag me, I can't always get what I want? Because, let me tell you, I usually get what I want at work. All I have to do is ask, and 100% of the time it works 65% of the time. (Haha, sorry I had to throw an Anchorman quote in there!)

Who knows. Enough of that because my blood is already starting to boil. I don't know how to approach him anymore because one day he gives me attitude and the next it's a different story. Who knows what goes on in the minds of men? I don't even think men know.

For the second part of my post, I need $600 to get my car out of the shop. I am debating asking my aunt for the money. Granted, I have never asked her for money before. I am willing to pay her $200/mo for 3 months to pay her back. I just need my car...like, yesterday. I just have no idea how exactly to approach the subject seeing as I am not exactly as close to her as I used to be when I was younger. Since I moved away when I was 17, all of my sisters continued life as usual while I was stuck in Georgia playing housewife for 5 years. I hate playing housewife, but that is neither here nor there. Apples and oranges even. We'll save that for a later post.

I guess this post is just a little update, not much sarcasm or wit involved, but hey...we can't all be amazing writers ALL of the time, can we? Ok, shut up, you probably can...but I'm only human!

In The World of Flakes, Stoners are Flakey, but Non-Stoners are Snowmen!

Sure there has been a few times that I've made plans, sat at home, got ripped and not gone out. However, I called those persons way ahead of time and let them know I wasn't going to make it, therefore not inconveniencing those persons involved.

I have realized that people who do not smoke weed as a rule are the flakiest sons of bitches alive. These people have no excuse. They can't say "yah, I got pretty ripped and really couldn't make it out." They have no excuse (other than they are just flaky trick ass hoes!)

I recently have had a sparring match going on with one of my ex-good friends. It all started when we were supposed to go to the auto show. I had taken off the day at work especially for the damn thing. Day before, I get a text saying "I can't make it on Tuesday." "What the fuck?!" I exclaimed as I read my texts. I immediately text him back and express my unhappiness as he PROMISED he wouldn't fuck me over. Yet, he did. Also, when I reminded him of his promise, he simply said "you know I don't keep my promises."

Again...what the fuck?

Ok, NO I wasn't aware of the fact that you are a gargantuan douchebag, but now that I know, I won't be making any plans with you in the future. I proceeded to remove him from my top friends on Myspace. *GASP!!* I know. It sounds so damn pathetic. "What? You're an asshole? You're off my friends list on myspace." That is the ultimate insult (haha).


His excuse was that he was trying to see his kids on Tuesday. Ok, no biggie. However, after he did NOT see his kids on Tuesday, I asked him about going again and then he said he didn't have the money. This is after he had just bought new light covers for his truck and got his ear pierced, resulting in making him look even gayer than before.

It wasn't just the auto show that pissed me off; that was just the straw that broke the camel's back. The icing on the cake. On top of ho'ing me out, this guy has no idea how to keep shit to himself. Anything that has been said "just between us" has made it out to all parties involved or uninvolved. All of the other things I have found unsatisfactory with this "friend" have made this pile of shit even smellier.



These actions on his part, I have found out, are only the tip of the iceberg. I have never met someone, much less a guy, who was so damn steeped in drama. Everything in this dude's life is drama. Well you know what? You can tell the drama to your mama, son because I don't give a fuck any longer.

I'm not bitter.

I'll sign out with this guy for now...

"The only way to have friends, is to be one" - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Broke as Shit and Still Buying Weed!

When it rains, it pours. The dude that coined that phrase probably had karma shitting on him like I do.

When it comes to the point that you have to choose between gas (hot water, stove, heat) or paying to get your car out of the collision shop...to put it lightly, it blows. Not blows in a good way either, like you have the bong to yourself and you just toked it up and blew out the biggest hit known to man or your girl just gave you a "welcome home from work" blowjob...but blows like Hurricane Katrina. Blows like a motherfucker to put it plainly.

I am a recreational smoker. Mind you, I can find entertainment in anything I am doing, so I like to be baked. All the time. Being stoned helps me escape from the mundane task at hand (like work, ha!) and it opens my mind and my creative juices start flowing. I smoke when I'm bored, when I watch tv, before I eat (because it makes it taste THAT MUCH better!), before I go to bed and when I am stressed, which seems like all the time lately.



Therefore, weed being my escape, I still buy it when I'm flat broke. I know it's dumb but it helps me forget that I'm broke as shit.


"Let's drink until we don't feel feelings anymore!" - Peter Griffin

Diary of a Stoner: Cereal and the Places We Love to Eat It

Cereal maka the worlda go rounda. You can eat cereal any damn time of the day. I will say that I rarely eat it for breakfast, yet I eat it at least twice a day. "Twice a day?!" you say? Yes. I believe it is an addiction. The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, right? Of course!

So...I'm admitting it. I am addicted to cereal. Gimme Cocoa Pebbles, Lucky Charms, Golden Grahams, Cinnamon Toast Crunch (Oh, this one is my baby) or the daddy of all cereals...Count Chocula and coming in at a close second, Count Chocula's bitch...Peanut Butter Crunch. Oh hell yes. A bowl of any of these is like zen. In my mouth. I will hover over my bowl of cereal like a bulimic on a food binge. I have been known to stab with my spoon.




Now the vessel that holds my cereal is another story. Most of the time it is a glass bowl, or one of those kickass plastic bowls with the straws attached so you can suck all the milk from the bottom (GENIUS!). However, I have been known to eat cereal out of coffee mugs, tupperware, pots, and one desperate time...a ziplock freezer bag. Don't be hatin' cause I know all you true stoners have at least eaten out of tupperware, because as we know, potheads are too lazy to do dishes in a timely manner.

Moving on to the places one would eat that magical bowl of heaven; I usually eat it cross legged in my "captain's chair." Let me enlighten you...the captain's chair is my chair. It is where my ass and I have spent many a night on the phone, watching tv, reading and smoking a bowl. It is my belief that everyone has a chair or at least a favorite place to sit and if not, they should get one. I have another large, squishy chair right on the left of the captain's chair with a little coffee table between the two which is imperative for keeping the bong upright and visine handy. It also has an ashtray, a drawer for my j roller, papers and the trees. I'm sure there are some remote batteries stashed away in that guy as well. The co-captain's chair, sister to the captain's chair, is where my partner in crime sits. Whoever is smoking with me, gets the chair. However, if there is more than one individual at the scene of the crime that is inhaling the chronic with myself, it goes in order of seniority. Whoever has been my friend the longest...gets it.



Now let me tell you that I have seen fist fights over this chair. The leather love seat that completes the happy family of furniture in my tiny ass living room, is like the red-headed step child. No one ever wants to sit on it. Why? I have no idea. It's real leather and comfy, but yet everyone wants the co-captain's chair. It's just something about the stained, forest green upholstery on that comfy chair...that probably smells a good bit like bong water...that just makes an ass want to call it home.

Nothing beats coming home after a shitty night at TGI Fridays, changing into PJ pants (yet another love of mine...but we'll save that for a later post) and sparkin' up the bowl in your favorite chair...followed by a container of your favorite cereal. I'm jonesin' you out right now aren't I? Stoner.

Let me leave you with this golden nugget of inspiration...

Ximinez: So you think you are strong because you can survive the soft cushions. Well, we shall see. Biggles! Put her in the Comfy Chair! ~ Monty Python and the Spanish Inquisition