the skipping record

he organizes his baseball cards in the light of the TV

waiting for some beauty to appear on the late night show

oh that’s my girl — man she’s hot

later he’ll stalk his old crushes on facebook

and tell me about their weddings and babies and

trips around the world

i’m awake in the room, had to walk into the kitchen

so he wouldn’t hear my body shaking the squeaky bed

as i cried over 

over i don’t know

being over “over”

and never feeling good enough

for those who never question their ipod, prius, late night tv watching souls

and never feeling low enough

for those who always strive to come in just under the mark

with irony warming their days like asbestos insulation

so i’m awake

writing a poem like a teenager writes

because i can’t let go

because i want what’s real and nothing

seems real anymore

and i forgot how hard it is to end a rant


Reblogged from burningfp :

"And yet in modern American culture, sex is practically the only sin there is. When’s the last time a Christian kid got thrown out of the house because they coveted others’ possessions or they made fun of a homeless person? When’s the last time a Christian lawmaker made hyperbolic, slightly-unhinged-sounding promises to a church group to fight the sin of avarice? When’s the last time churches protested a movie because it depicted violence?"



thigh-high boots may be sooo last season, but I stumbled across some of them on amazon and couldn’t help but laugh.

Back in Georgia, we called those things “waders”, ladies.

Thigh-high boots..

And waders..

Apparently prada wasn’t the first to think that waders are sexy, however..

And the trend continues..


Reblogged from tesslynch :

Wipe Your Feet: I Hope You Dance

Pure hilarity.


I hope you never lose your final set of undies,

You get your fill to eat but still you get the munchies,

May you never shake my hand while sweaty-handed

God forbid you miss the bus that leaves you stranded

I hope you never miss it when they play “Slow Motion”

And never dunk your head into…


Reblogged from burningfp :

"‎Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, first make sure that you are not, in fact, surrounded by assholes."

William Gibson (via littleorphanammo)


Reblogged from topherchris :


Ideal for night blogging!

This package confuses me. Should I take some X and go to a rave (do those exist anymore?), or sit at my computer (in the dark?) and drink a triple grande soy latte?


Ideal for night blogging!

This package confuses me. Should I take some X and go to a rave (do those exist anymore?), or sit at my computer (in the dark?) and drink a triple grande soy latte?

(Source: inkedkate)


Reblogged from meredithremix :



I am another member of this age group who has not had children by choice, with the enthusiastic agreement of my husband. I never had much interest in having children. If our society provided what is available to families in Europe – health care, basic economic security, paid maternity leave, day care, vacations, etc. – I might have done it. But in this country people scream about “family values” until you actually have a family. Then they start screaming about how having children was “your individual choice,” and that society has no responsibility for you and your kids. Meanwhile, there is an orgy of judgment about your every move as a parent, like when you don’t bring 40 hand-made, locally grown, organic, sustainable pate en croute to your 3-year-old’s Halloween party (my kid would have been middle class). Thank God I saw this scam for what it was, and steered clear of the whole thing. 

As far as I am concerned, whenever someone or something tells you that as a woman you have an inherent biological need or “responsibility” to do something, there’s likely to be lots of boring, dirty, unpaid and unrecognized labor involved.

- a commentor on the article found here

This is why I don’t want to have kids. It’s a raw deal for any mother these days.. No support from anyone. Your job wants to fire you every time you need to take your sick kid to the doctor. You’re a monster if you feed your kid sugar or anything that’s not natural. Your husband probably doesn’t do half the housework that you do and - thanks to our society’s fixation with airbrushed beauty - he will probably find your body disgusting after bearing children. If your kid ends up having autism, it’s somehow your fault for eating pesticides while you were pregnant.

The government will continue to tax you until you’ve got nothing left, without giving you anything in return. (FYI, I’m all for taxes if they go for things we need and not to drop bombs in developing nations.) The educational system sucks, so unless you want your kid to be an idiot, you’ll have to spend 1/4 of your income sending them to private school. You’ll spend another 1/4 of your income on healthcare that won’t even begin to cover all of your expenses if you have a severe illness.

In other words, in order to have a family in this country you have to have a high paying job and/or you have to work 60 hour work weeks. In either case, you probably won’t get the vacation time you deserve and your kids will grow up not really knowing you.

No thanks, I’ll stick to having pets.



just realized that I had a twitter account I’d completely forgotten about.

now deleted.

(I love deleting accounts for various internet time-wasters. It gives me this momentary and delusional feeling of freedom: Take that, Internet! You don’t own me! This feeling is very similar to the feeling one gets when burning old love letters, or ripping photos of your ex into shreds before flushing the pieces of their smiling face down the toilet. It may make you feel better, but doesn’t really solve anything. You’re still in love, or in this case - still plugged in to the internet and its numbing flood of information. Sigh.)


chronicles of a quarter-life employment crisis

Ah, the smirk-faced question about having an ‘unstable’ job history. My favorite.

I always want to reply with something snarky, like “I know that by the time you were 27, you’d already been at this company for 10 years and now you’ve been here for 40 years because you have no imagination and have never wanted more for yourself and you’re boring me to death just by looking at me, but guess what, times are different now, grandpa.

It’s not my fault your generation screwed everything up and now we are in school for 21 years of our lives, fed with false promises, then released into the wild with only service industry jobs and a meaningless degree to show for it, and yes I changed service industry jobs practically every year but I hardly see how that makes me unstable or why I should be particularly loyal to a restaurant (!!!) that pays me minimum wage.

Please just go ahead and retire with the money that you pillaged from your employees and probably from the poor and maybe even babies, you life and economic resource sucking zombie, so the world can move on and look back and condemn you properly.”

I don’t want your job anyway.


more rejects

best wedding cake (are those dead pigs??) ever:

Russian boxer?


WTH?! I know Rosanne is crazy and all, but whoever photoshop-created these had poor taste..


Photo rejects

When I was searching for the photos to use for my rant on Russian bread, I came across some photographic gems that I have to share. Check these out:


russkii hleb, a photo essay

I seriously have the best timing for going to the grocery. 

I was perusing the bread aisle this evening when a young man invaded my personal space. I turned around, took one look and a whiff of too strong, the-store-suddenly-smells-like-a-Moscow-dance-club, wtf-you’re-just-grocery-shopping cologne and knew the guy was Russian. Plus, he had no sense of personal space.. so Russian. Also, he was sporting a Russian hipster mullet, very similar to this:

He and another early-20s dude were looking visibly irritated at the bread. I’ve never seen anyone look more like they wanted to use rocket propelled missiles in the grocery store. Suddenly the one that’s too close for comfort says, “Shit, all this bread is really big!” (roughly translated)

Now that probably doesn’t sound like a huge dilemma to you, and certainly not worthy of busting out WMDs. But if there’s one thing I’ve come to understand about Russians over the years, it’s this: they are bat-shit crazy about their bread. THEIR bread - Russkii Hleb. It’s the only kind of bread they want. No russkii hleb = one cranky Russian.

Some of you might be asking, as I did before I learned to shut my mouth about russkii hleb, “What’s so great about Russian bread?” I know the answer, but you have to promise that you will never, ever repeat this to a Russian and if you do, that I won’t be responsible for the ear-raping tirade that you will get in response. The answer is….


Not only is Russian bread not the most delicious bread you’ll ever eat, it is occasionally some of the worst bread you’ll ever eat. It’s dry, bland, and a lot smaller and denser than American bread. Basically, it tastes like the bread that I bake once a year like clockwork just to prove to myself that I still can’t bake worth a shit. (I also do this with cakes and cookies. It’s bad.)

But even though it’s as thirst inducing as a mouthful of wood shavings and bland like old gum, there’s something behind the Russian love of Russian bread. First there’s the cultural status of bread - it’s considered a staple of human existence. In Russia, “bread” was used as a political stand-in for “food stability”, hence the Soviet motto, Peace for the people, land for the peasants and bread for the hungry!

Then there’s the fact that most Russian bread is still made in nearby bakeries with natural ingredients. That’s probably a huge reason why Russians are skeptical of any bread that lasts for longer than a week without sprouting something living. And hey, maybe they’re onto something.

Anyway, you can now guess why the motto for one of the big Russian bread companies is “Русский хлеб. Каждый день для каждого из вас!” - “Russian bread. Every day for every one of us!”

So the question is, what’s the one food that Americans are really particular about?


Recent job cover letter

Dear Person Who Should Give Me a Job:

"I was born to write. But like a character in a low-budget, made-for-TV movie, I’ve found the path to my dreams blocked with myriad obstacles, including the economic recession and an annoying obligation to pay my rent. Melodrama mostly aside, I do consider writing to be one of my greatest skills, second only to my ability to eat and followed closely by my aptitude for sleep.

I started writing for pleasure in high school: not passing notes (though I did a fair amount of that, too), but blogging. I continue to blog nearly every day, despite my mother’s admonitions that the Internet is a dangerous place. (To which I roll my eyes and reply, “On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being a cloud made of kittens and 10 being Detroit, where would you actually rank the Internet? Last I heard, the Internet didn’t have a homicide rate.”) I like blogging because I get to express my very personal, extraordinarily unique and attention-worthy perspective on life through an impersonal medium. All this to say that writing is one of favorite ways to pass the time, not least of all because I can do it in the comfort of my own home, which saves me from skin cancer, getting hit by a streetcar, catching the bird flu and everything else my mother warns me about through dire emails in comic sans font.

While passion is a great, if unconvincing, reason to consider yourself good at something, I feel that I have other writing credentials that are worth mentioning. You may be surprised to discover that I can write with correct grammar and quite appropriate use of parentheses when necessary. I have demonstrated this ability in college and beyond, during which time I conducted numerous hours of research on topics ranging from obscure Slavic dialects to wealthy New Orleans businessmen (don’t ask), and wrote many papers, proposals and synopses. My academic achievement in college and high performance as a development coordinator indicate that I am a committed and hard-working individual.

Finally, I believe that I would make an excellent New Orleans freelance writer because I love my city. If I could marry a city and have lots of weird human-tree-street-building hybrid babies, New Orleans would be the one for me. So, I hope you will consider fulfilling a young woman’s dream, if not for my sake and the sake of my starving, unborn children, then for the sake of New Orleans, which deserves only the best.”

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