Daddy isn't doing a long term prison sentence? He isn't MIA financially and emotionally? He's not an abusive drunk who should stay 100 yards away from you and the offspring? You know who the father is and he participates in your child's life? Congratulations! You're not a single mom! We're all tired of the hemming and hawing about your supposed parenting status. You haven't worked outside the home for years, receive enough in child support to buy a medical marijuana prescription named "L.A. Confidential", buy the latest hippie clothes, and have several tickets to banjo festivals that you attend while your ex watches your children. You are currently living with a guy who has a mom fetish and who willingly helps you care for your kids. Please stop talking all the time about how hard it is to be a single mom, because you really aren't one. Until your circumstances change, damn you for not letting the aforementioned ladies and that one woman whose child's father is in a coma have that title.
People are pussies. Oh it's cold is it? Yet you live in Oregon. It's May. The weather is nice. Yet you still are wrapped up in all your layers. Can we open the window? Noooo, you'll close it because it's cold. Learn to live. Learn to breathe fresh air. It's wonderful.
When you look at an inanimate object that you have a problem with, or is scaring you, or is giving you grief, then you look at me without saying anything like I know what you are talking about, and I will understand, but the truth is I don't give a diarrhea's shit about what you have a problem with, nor do I want you to enter my thoughts.
There's a noise ordinance from 7am to 10pm. I say this should involve talking on the phone too. It's not even 630am, yet you are yapping on the phone. Learn how to be alone, and be independent, yet you always have to yap.
You take up the aisle seat on the bus with an open window seat while the bus is crowded. And what's hilarious is you pretend to move and care as someone walks near you.
You use your Oregon Trail card, as well as your coupon for your fruit, and then ask the cashier about it being on sale.
You are everything I hate. You are what's wrong with human nature. Greedy, inconsiderate and selfish dumbass.
Happy Fucking Friday!
Dear shiftless co-worker:
Could you not fucking shove food in your lazy gullet while talking on the phone to customers (horrible) or other colleagues (stupid)? It's so fucking nasty to hear sloppy, muffled words between chomps of high calorie trash, and you think that people on the other end have not idea? When food goes in, words can't come out. BARFBAG.
I realize that maybe you don't the fundamental proto-human organizational skills to figure out when in your miserable "busy" day you can stuff your face - between (1) mindlessly talking to your friends on the phone about aimless bullshit, (2) checking facebook all the fucking time as if there is a world where that matters, (3) chatting with other shiftless, loser co-workers about nothing, and, of course, (4) performing a mediocre-at-best, but more like unbelievably shitty-on-average job, it's hard, I know. But eat or talk, Dummy, not both.
Some of us productive folks who have to metaphorically wipe your ass and carry your dead weight are distracted by your offensive grossness. We would all gladly pool funds to get you a huge fucking 24K gold-encrusted E for Effort that you can hang on your cube wall next to pictures of your futile life, if you only figured out how to operate with a minimal of level self-awareness and mutual respect. Prove my heart wrong by being better. And wipe your phone off from time to time. Jesus. H. Christ, ESQ.
Dear former landlord,
You fucking lied to us. After renting out your house for 3 years, you said you wanted to sell it and would like us to buy it. We got all our stuff in order and qualified for the agreed amount. You hemmed and hawed as everything was going as planned and then you decided that you wanted to move back in and fix it up for more money, as our lease expired. Pretty tricky!
On the last month of living there, we both took turns shitting whilst in the shower and squishing the logs down the drain with our feet. We did this until the drain stopped draining. We put raw shrimp in the heat ducts, pissed a ton of asparagus pee into the dryer, and put a hefty supply of nail clippings under the burners on the stove.
Enjoy your $ummer!
Jerks! I'm your IT person. Everyone needs a little help from time to time. This time, you stopped by to ask how to set your Out Of Office when you're out of the office. So I demonstrate on my own screen what happens when you are at home and log into your mail account via web browser. How you get a text verification on your phone and enter that in browser to proceed to inbox and finally set automatic reply. Then you leave and I realize, "she's sick!" Why didn't you email me? I could even demonstrate remotely. This on top o f the person who's already out with the flu asking me to set up remote desktop for them. No. Not touching your keyboard to confirm remote is enabled on that machine. You're not a remote worker. Stay in bed and don't come back until you're NOT sick. I'll monitor your email and make sure all is addressed. We have very generous PTO policies. Take some serious medicine and fuck off. You're not the only one with work to do. And neither am I. When I'm sick, which I guess will be soon thanksalot, I don't compromise the health of my co-workers and their families at home by playing the martyr without whom the office can't function. Quarantine yourself, please.
I just want to state that if I get through the day without fucking killing someone it will be a fucking miracle. Not only am I an idiot and dealing with my own stupid shit, but am dealing with the stupidity of others. And if the fucking ass hat down the hall does not stop his loud barking phony laugh I will fucking start screaming and never stop. Fuck this banal fucking life. Fuck everyone.
Dearest Mercury peers: As a learnèd, renowned philologist, my loving embrace of the diaeresis often prompts many an eye-roll. Perhaps I am but a naïve curmudgeon, clinging to vestiges of the past, but better this than slumming it with the literary hoi polloi! Engulfed in my nightly musings, without exception, I find myself in a zone of wondrous phantasmagoria, fluid thoughts racing to the page through my fingertips, a strange miasma of color and sound engulfing me, letters and words bantering, articulate nebbishes, my dearest Chloë shouting out desperately, “I am not a diphthong!” Omitting necessary trema where required, or deigning to substitute a lowly hyphen, would be anathema to my core aesthetic and fill me with unbearable horror and nausea, as if a poisonously banal verse of Nickleback had been inserted into the complex, symphonic beauty of a John Zorn diatribe! Yet in the spirit of coöperation, lest I be mistaken for merely a pedestrian pedant, or insecure hipster failing to ironize correctly (as is so often the case!), I’ve been reëvaluating my noble stance, my doggèd insistence on preserving the beauty of the past as only a zealous steampunk aficionado might appreciäte, and in the midst of deep contemplation, almost succumbing to the slow pejoration of our beautiful English language, alas quite another emotion sprang forth, reïgniting my commitment to truth as it reëntered my consciousness, reässerting its dominance, the mighty fury of... mom! no!! no onions! jeez!!
We have only been seeing each other for a little over a month now, but I think I love you. And, I think you love me too; I see the way you look at me, especially when you learn something new about me.
I don't want to get overly excited because people always seem perfect when the relationship is young, but I cannot seem to get you out of my head. I just cannot stop thinking about you.
Ultimately, I will never tell you that I love you - well, maybe someday. But, there is just something about you. I think I love you. No. Wait. I do. I love you.
I'm so sorry. I am having a horrible two weeks. You turned left onto Hawthorne right by Barmuda and almost hit me and my boyfriend. I yelled at you that we had the right of way. You rolled down your window and I thought we were about to go all out. No. You simply and politely apologized for not seeing us. I felt so bad. I'm so sorry, lady in the white prius. You are a nice person and I'm a piece of shit.
15 years ago, I sailed into town with fleet week, and decided I would live in Portland one day. I finally moved here a little over two years ago on a whim, scored a reasonable job with an established company, and bike to work, and rent a decent bungalow in a decent neighborhood. Every day, I see you bitching and moaning on facebook or reddit about newcomers. You know what? Fuck your day.
I have found my people, and I contribute to my little subculture. I'm happy here, and my friends are happy I'm here. If you don't like new people showing up, move to Detroit or Cleveland. No one moves there. You'll have nothing to complain about.
I've lamented the change that Portland is going through for the past ten years and I'm tired. I accept it now. It's a reality, it's the future and, as humans, it's the way everything goes. We evolve; things change; cities change; it can't be stopped. I don't want to be the old "fuddy-duddy" complaining about the good old days. I want to embrace this new city, seek out the good, the positive and the energy. I want to find my place. No more complaining, no more griping and no more whining. We're all Americans, this is our country… and to all you new transplants, I welcome you with open arms. Welcome home…
You know what REALLY gets my goat, truly? Cashiers. No, not at one specific local but nearly every goddamn where, every goddamn day I make a purchase that requires me to strategically pack my own backpack, or with 'do-gooder' status with a reusable bag in tow. What's with these cashiers? Yeah, I once was one and I acknowledge that it's a mind numbing, soul sucking form of employment. Sure, I get it. You had HIGH HOPES when you pursued your Americanized right of passage to trek across the country. You had strong motivational pursuits to acclimate amongst this whitewashed version many associate as a Mecca. Your dream failed you. Now all you have to show for yourself is a few dollars above the minimum wage and not a leg to stand on regarding your artistically inclined career. Only art school debt and maybe a curated piece for a group art show at a neighborhood cafe. The real world is such a drag for adults sometimes. But, please, as a fellow customer, just give us A FEW extra seconds!!! Seriously, it's extremely rude to push me and everyone else out the door before we've had a moments time to place our cash in our wallet and our shit in our bags. You've got nothing but time, time, time on your side as a bloody cashier. So slow it down and out of common westernized decency, wait to start ringing up the next compatriot until we are ready to move along the drudge that is capitalistic complacency.
I can't stop stalking you online. If you knew how much I know about you I doubt you'd keep your social media accounts public. You probably don't know much about me at all. I know who you've dated, what you eat, that you're now engaged, and that you just got accepted into law school. You take a lot of selfies with heavy filters. I visit your Instagram and Facebook almost every day, waiting for another update. I'm the girl your boyfriend left you for six years ago and I can't stop stalking you.
You want to know why we basically paid you off to leave? YOU BROUGHT A BEE HIVE INTO OUR GARAGE.
You lied to us.
You have no occupation. Beekeeper is not an occupation. i dont care how many honey awards you win.
Your girlfriend is nutso. Completely overboard. Mocking us because we won't box with her and then putting us in headlocks while you idly stand by and do not assist?
Dude im a guy and if i wanted to hurt her i could have. You are lucky one of my roommates jumped in or you would be facing assault charges for not controlling your beast.
Gluten free lap dances?
Taco Time or Bell?
The weekend grocery store crowd?
Why can't you sit still? Grab your iphone. Eat your power bar. Ruffle through your bag. Take a swig from your thermos. Ruffle through your bag. Another swig. Sit Still Bitch!
Fatty riding a bike with a motor on it. No pedaling involved. That's how you do it, you serious dumb bikers.
Eating your bowl of cereal while driving on hawthorne in morning rush hour traffic? Yes!
Why is it that every time some buttwhistle plays music loud on his phone on the max, he thinks it super cool? But it's really terrible music. It's never good music.
Suck it. I hope it rains.
Met you the other night, my new downstairs neighbor. You seemed like a decent person; pleasantries were exchanged. You said you were an "Apple Genius" who worked downtown. I, in an attempt to strike up a possible like-minded conversation told you that I too "work with computers" (albeit in a more professional capacity), and admitted to still owing about $75K in student loans. You saw my phone and rolled your eyes as it was not a iPhone (it was a "crappy" Samsung Galaxy S6). I made a playful joke about the iPhone 6 still using the exact same camera since the 4s and you went all "Apple Apologist" on me. I steered the conversation away from that apparently sensitive area, you attempted to make fun of my shoes and it started getting more awkward. I offered my hand and a "no hard feelings, it's been a long day", and you eyed it like I was offering you a fist-full of dog shit and said: "Uhhhh, not this time, pal."
I wasn't trying to belittle you or make fun of your job, honestly. I know you probably won't see this but maybe after the trolls on this site pick this submission apart I can perhaps learn some better social skills when these situations eventually come up.
I love you all for what you do. I care about each and every one of you. Please don't needlessly beat people up but beat the hell out of the ones that deserve it. Stay safe.
According to you, an ex once tried to stab you and the same woman once tried to run you over. Having had you in my life until recently, (and yes I realize how much of an idiot I was for remaining in contact with you), I can now understand why that woman could be driven to such extremes. I know I would never want to do either of those things to another person, don't condone violence, and don't wish you any ill will, but I certainly can empathize with her on the "he drove me crazy with his bullshit" front. It's odd that you work in recycling but don't realize that people aren't disposable and don't deserve to be treated like trash. I got over you not loving me not long ago, but haven't got over you littering your "I still care about you"'s on my soul and then running away from me like I am a number six plastic that has gotten co-mingled with the scrap metal.
I was hoping my crush on you would fade, but the more I hang out with you, the worse it gets. We sat and talked for two hours, I didn't notice until after the fact. I wanted you so badly. There would be no issue, but you have a boyfriend, though you would dump him from the way you talk of him, but I am married with kids. As much as I want you, it's not easy. My relationship may not last long term, but I am not ready to give up cause I love my kids and don't want to lose them, sadly the reality for Dads. It's been all weekend, and I can't stop thinking about you. I can avoid you, but only to a point because of our shared social circle. I wish it was just lust but I enjoy spending time with you. I fantasize about a relationship with you, but I might as well leave my wife, cause that's where that would lead eventually. I guess it's time for more counseling with the wife, though I seem to bring out the worst in her these days, I am seriously fucked in the head, objectively I should just leave and try and find happiness, but I'm too emotionally fucked to do it. Maybe when you hinted that you weren't with guys like me anymore meant you really aren't interested, but the look in your eye said something very different. I don't know you that well, and I know there are no guarantees, least not with love. I'm glad this temptation does not happen very often. Maybe writing this will help.
I'm that guy in the crowd who uses any opportunity to initiate a round of applause when the speaker is already taking too much of your time and annoying you.
Nobody wants to applaud to show their appreciation. It's insincere and awkward and wastes time. But once it starts you all feel like you need to put your hands together because everybody else is.
I just wait for the keywords like thank you or calling attention to another person and then start my clapping, slowly at first then with a certain rhythm until the rest of you sheep get stirred up.
It's totally ridiculous but then again so are you. Thank you for your participation.
Now why are you clapping again?
Ok, you okcupid ladies. I'm getting tires of this same pattern over and over again. We meet somewhere, hangout a little while, you seems to have a good time, we hit it off, so far so good. Then we order some food to dine on. You always get some kind of curry thai vegetable or the likes (anecdotal observation). I, out of customary tradition because I'm old fashioned, foot the bill. You're welcome. So we sit, stuff our faces, and chat a little more. If I'm lucky I get a hug before we go our separate ways. [Scene II] Usually I try calling you 2 days later. First call, no answer, goes to voice mail. Second call shortly after, goes to voice mail again. I leave a message. Nothing serious, just a "hey, what's up?" Third time, if do call a third time and no answer, I get the hint. So my question is why don't you just insist on paying for your own lunch if you know for a fact that you aren't interested in a guy? Is your calendar that full of dates, you're going for quantity over quality? Is it because we are in economically tough times? Well men have faired far worse than the fairer sex in this recession. This ritual of exploiting lonesome men has to come to an end! Note: not all women seen to be this shallow; just the more attractive ones. I am not a misogynist. Next time I'll take all the leftovers you box up home because my blood, sweat an tears went into that meal. Sorry, I feel better now. Sooo, is tuesday at the micky dee's good?
Every day I see people taking photos of themselves on the Burnside bridge with the glittering Made in Oregon sign in the background. The University of Oregon grad school that inhabits that building, however, has betrayed the city it sits in. I go there daily, a beacon of intellectual Have's in the middle of gritty Old Town Have-Not's. This school will fool you with it's "open to the public" policy, but rest assured, if you don't "look like you attend/work here" you will be flagged and tagged by security. The local homeless population is huge in this area- and though in theory all are welcome to come in, sit down, and have a look at the art displays and chill in the library a while- it's not uncommon for discrimination to happen the moment someone walks in the door, particularly if that person looks like they could use a break. People are watched, followed, and sometimes asked to leave just for the crime of making the pretty people uncomfortable. So many of the students and faculty there have NEVER gone to bed hungry once in their lives, and ironically, attend architecture school there to build homes- how dare they vilify the homeless? That school accepts state and federal funding. It isn't a private institution. You want to design sustainable homes? Here's a few hundred people at your door that could offer input. UO, your attitude doesn't belong in Portland.
Fuck you, assholes with beards, with your stupid hairdo's, your stained pants, and your overpriced sunglasses, I don't care about your band and I hope you and your art project fade into oblivion along with your bros that filled up the local pubs and drowned out all the quality conversation. Fuck you, yoga studios with whimsical names, with your elitist personalities and your "open community" that's 100% white and sits where a long-time family business once stood; pushed out by sky-high rent prices and forever changing a neighborhood that's unrecognizable after gentrification. The city itself is unrecognizable with so many fucking people everywhere, choking up the roads and affordable housing that make this town the funky destination it once was. This place sucks with so many new apartments and condos going up, it sucks now with no where to sit when I go out to eat, and worst of all, it sucks because the people that came here are the Yoko Ono's of my generation. We've been invaded by talentless, elitist, trendy, selfish, hollow-eyed Ewoks in yoga pants. Go fuck yourselves with a selfie-stick.
Shit, now that all of you sheeple from California have decided to descend upon PDX in hideous droves, we might as well change the name of the city. Seriously, driving home from work each day I see more and more Cali-yuppian and Tex-ass plates and I want to smash...destroy..burn. Thanks for ruining my commute, and replacing the funky grittiness of old PDX with condos, euro-trash automobiles and bad norm-core fashion. Please crawl back south and die.
I made my car2go reservation. I arrived at the vehicle 20 minutes later and entered. I was greeted by the most cabbage-y, rotting garbage-y fart I've ever been subjected to. Good on you, and kudos! That was totally clever. You hot boxed a car2go with a dense ass rip immediately before exiting the car, knowing that the rich scent of your bowels would still be lingering when the next driver got in. I'm so impressed by your prank, that I'm publicly promoting a city wide car2go competition. May the best crop duster win. Cheers!
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