Cityscape Spew

Ah.. my building. I guess, Sir Stomps-A-Lot that used to live above me with the vicious, ankle biter dog and the heavy smoking has moved away. Awww, boo hoo. I'll miss his charming ways… But, alas, the neighbors around me have more than made up for his… moving on. I've got a party of four, that has moved in next to me, that apparently have gotten the police familiar with my building. *tipping my hat, Good Morning officer. Awesome. And I haven't even counted the boy band's mattress move this week, fucking up MY doorway, leaving remnants of drywall and chipped paint all over the place. I'm quite sure the dragon lady in the manager's office is going to love pinning that one on me. She hates me. For no reason. And she's ugly.

Add to that: I've got a new couple across from me that -at all hours of the day and night- argue and seemingly have a swinging door policy on chaos. Why do we slam the doors when we are leaving pretel? Oh, guess we are going to stand in the hall and har-har for 45 minutes about lame ass music. Perfect. Just how I enjoy my midday walk to the mailbox. And most noteably, last night, I was awakened by the sound of a woman, delicately dragging her flip-flop covered feet, in the common areas below my balcony, gently throwing up all over the sidewalks. And continuing to dry heave her way home… Oh. What's that? A hooting owl, distinctly echoing in the distance. That seems complimentary to her incessant puking sounds below. It's like drunken music to my ears. Did she have sushi for dinner? Never seen that image before. But, at least she quit after an hour and -eventually- stumbled home. Out of puking view.  The owl didn't knock it off until 9 a.m.

One day my sleep, will not be interrupted by instrusively behaving neighbors and chatty forest animals, but I do await the day I become numb to just the regular …sounds of the city. Oh geez. Yeah, right. The neighbor demographic has gone from families surrounding me to dumb ass, barely out of their teens, who've never lived on their own status. I just adore the trash they leave out and about for all to see… Great place for girls to toss their cookies into after a night of debauchery, while they try to make it home to their apartment. Whores. Oh my God. I sound like an old lady… Stop the noise! Don't make me grab my rifle! Damn kids! Get off my lawn!

I know this is the dragon lady's dirty work… I should send the vomit girl onto her doorstep. With a mattress. And flip flops.

The Moldy Berry Effect

#geeklife

So, the other day… Did you say… "eye" infuktion? Yes.  Yes I did. You may have noticed a ( brief) mention last week about said condition. Oh crap… you're going to go into it now, aren't you…. Yup. I do not even know where to begin with what has been going on with me the past couple months; But, after a few posts next week, you will be all caught up. Lucky you! So, let's start with the latest of infractions on my immediate life, the pink eye and the corneal ulcers… Corneal, what? Right. Exactly. Sounds like the beginning of a children's story, doesn't it? So, I am a long time contacts lens wearer. I don't mind my glasses but wearing them on the daily doesn't suit me and my active lifestyle. Ok, let's face it. I'm hyper. And, glasses just don't fit into my daily hyper routine. I know, I know… get Lasik. Lasik scares the begeebies out of me! Boo!

If I could begin by describing how the tribulations surrounding me have been pouring down like a rain cloud… Or hail. Ouch! Yes, hail is painful. It would be best demonstrated by illustrating -what was clearly-  facial stroke from a berry I ate a few weeks ago from the container without looking at it. I am not being dramatic, mother. My face literally, froze up, like a bad botox injection. Uh, you're supposed to wash that shit. I did. It didn't help. Because I couldn't see the damn berries. How so? That scrumptious little buddy had mold on it and it tasted terrible and before I could spit it out. Why did I eat it if it had mold on it, you ask? Uh, because I'm a ravenous berry-eating beast. And, my blurry eyes wouldn't let me. Anyone notice the scuba guys photobombing google maps? Focus. Anyway, before I could stop the mouth intrusion, it was too late. I was a frozen facial, moldy berry eating baboon.

Back to my screwy eyeballs… So, I've been wearing Oasys contact lenses for a few years now and I've never really liked that brand best anyway; adding insult to twinkie squishing injury… My eyes always felt drier wearing them. Stickier. Crustier. Eyes getting veins in them, drier. Even though, they claim to allow MORE oxygen flow to the eyes. Lies. They don't. At least, NOT, in my experience. I tend to always get these cards dealt; Hence, this proverbial vomit I offer up to you all, week after week. You laugh; But, you love it. Oh, that's right, I heading to a point here… They're really uncomfortable, I could feel them in my eyes all the time and my eyes would end up more dry after removing them. It's not dry eye. That next big thing in eye problems being shoved down our throats through commercial advertising. Sneaky medical field. But, sorry pharmaceutical company… Not my pickle. Maybe its the silicon hydrogel material they're now using to manufacture the Oasys Lenses is contributing to this? I don't know… just saying, some women -long ago- have died getting silicon breast implants because they were allergic to the fluid leaking into the body. I don't think it be so far fetched to say it possible one could be allergic to these shitty ass contact lenses. So, instead of changing the manufacturer's brand to one I'm already familiar and didn't have trouble with… because the doctor said "they're the best." Or I was just to lazy to fight this battle… Most likely. I just dealt with the annoying effects of the contacts since I had already bought a supply of them. Until NOW. Turns out, while apparently the company keeps fighting to stop class action lawsuits against them and look into the fact that people can be allergic to silicon based materials -like I am and many others- the so-called "best contacts on the market" don't seem to be the BEST, at all. So, why continue to push them on people? Or revert back to the old materials used?

Conspiracy theory alert: The manufacturers know that these problems are happening. Awareness. Still paying off the doctors to push them to customers. Ka-ching! Eye problems are created. Eye Boom! Now they can make more money off the other drops and whatnot on the shelves. Ka-ching! Ka-ching! And, when customers eyeballs are passed the point of simple repair -ow, wah-  they now make MORE money off their pharmeceutical company investments. Ta-Dah! Oh yeah… Follow the money and you can always figure out why people are motivated the way they are compelled. Make it rain! I like cotton candy. Follow my cotton candy money trail… Booyah! Sugar madness, all day…

Relationship Pogo Escape

Getting what I want is… How do I put this? Wonderful. Dreams turned to reality. Or, wait, a scary fucking thing? The relationship conundrum stinks. Anyone else smell that? Time for my pogo escape plan…. I want the great guy. Nope. Schmuck. I find the great guy. Oooo pretty. I get the great guy. Pssttt… he has muscles. He meets all the expectations; well… the muscles aren't the only thing, I'm not that shallow. He is pretty though… But, meeting 75% of my check list gives me pretty good odds, I say. Bet on that horse! And yet… I can still find something wrong. Or imagine it. Either way, make-believers… it's there. My sister will be the first to tell me that I can find any illogical reason to dump a guy without batting an eyelash, and yet, be that silly broad that hangs on to the bad guy AND make neverending excuses for him. Sissy, he's a great guy; he just likes to build Q-tip forts. Wait. What… Excuse me? One would think this news would piss me off; But, it doesn't. Because I sit. And I sit. And I think about it…. Dammit. Looking back, I couldn't pick a good guy if my life depended on it. Good guy. Dump him. Great guy. Dump him fast. Bad guy. Ohhhh… keep him! He only bangs his baby mama behind my back; so I'm going to trust that one. Oh geez. How I can be so brilliant; Yet, so deficient sometimes, still astonishes me… And, with the few good ones that have crossed my path, I ran at the first sign of ANYTHING. He likes monkeys? I'm out. Which, was probably nothing. He's obsessed with down pillows? I can't take that shit. Deuces, feathery dust ruffle lover. So he wasn't an avid cleaner of his ears… sure, it could've been worse. Oh. No. Not, plush monkeys? Stop it. Ok, learning lesson. I'll sit on this pogo stick for a second. Plus, I can use it for my getaway. Boink. Boink. Boink. 

So, running at the first sign of a great relationship, got me to thinking. What the hell is wrong with me? Rhetorical, fuckers. I love, love. I am always fairly happy; for no damn reason at all… Seriously, I get excited about pink marshmallows. And glitter! I'm -sickeningly- positive about every other aspect of my life. I keep the light and abolish the toxic. So, why am I clutching onto my getaway pogo stick so tightly? Um, I think you're denting the metal Rita…  RUN! I mean, HOP! BOUNCE! LEAP AWAY!! Or, however you prefer to make an exit.


Or… Maybe? And, I may be pushing the proverbial envelope here. But, just maybe? Hang onto this one. PUT. DOWN. THE. POGO STICK. Hear me out. He's caring. He's loyal. He's probably the best thing that has happened to me in quite some time. Consider, not just a dip of thy toe into the water… But, rather, dive right into this pool and take a chance. You can swim dammit! Gotta say… I have never met anyone who actually gets ALL of me. My quirkiness. My belligerence. My awesomeness. Had to throw that one in there… because, uh, well, do I need to divulge? Didn't think so… You all know I'm pretty fantastic. I don't need to pound it into anyone's heads; that would be redundant. As for my getaway prancing shaft? It quietly sits in a nearby corner…ready to spring onto the 405 freeway… 

FILE THAT Under... ADORABLE!

PROJECT: File Cabinet Redo. YOUR MISSION. Should you choose to accept it. Turn a plain Jane -UGLY ASS- file cabinet into something I can live with and NOT have to buy anything NEW! 

 

Initially, I wanted to dump this heavy piece of scrap metal. I mean, who needs this much file cabinet space anyway?! Unless you're stuffing a pinata into it… Or running a large business, with which, to store important documents; Otherwise, it's quite a useless piece of furniture. It's not like I plan on hiding a dingo in there or something. So, buying a cute little file box and downsize this oversized chard -for me- was the most likely of options. But, when faced with the idea of trying to bring new life to something old…  I gotta say -in all my creative glory- I actually ADORE the results so much more than I would have, having to scour the retail trenches for anything that would come anywhere close to the satisfaction I am getting from this piece of, art gallery quality, fertile resourcefulness. Yes, indeed, I boast!  But, hell, I have been stuck at home with the longest terms of eye infucktions, and freaking the boredom needed killing. Take that boredom! Bang! Pow! Boom!

                                    
I sanded, I wiped clean, I sprayed and I began the detailing process… When I looked online for design ideas though… I found nary a sweet looking motif that fit my glamorously detailed scheme. Polka dots? No. Stripes? No thanks. Plaid? Uh, definitely not. So, instead, I found a picture of a chandelier and had to free hand this sucker myself. I know, I know…  This glitzy blueprint isn't going to fit everybody's taste. But, IDGAF. It's girly. It's glam. And it has Rita, written all over it. (Not literally, duh. Figure of speech people, keep strolling along with me here.) I'm in love with it and now I will have to reorganize this bastard so it can be put to some good use… Maybe now,  I can finally house that litter of baby dinosaurs. Tired of them eating up my rhinestones. Pesky sparkle-pooing reptilian bastards.

Bar Slum Party Listener

I'm visiting my favorite bar - yeah… sadly, this is how I have been coexisting, as of late- and I find the characters visiting this fine evening… Evening? Yes, evening -not only fascinating- but ironically, annoying. When I sit down, the two fellas to my right are interestingly enough talking about finding the rich woman of their succubus dreams. Excuse me while I put vomit to the floor. Oh look! A quarter! And glitter! To my left, a couple of Irishmen (with the one closest to me, belching every… Five, fucking minutes. No seriously… Every. Five. Minutes.)

After the douchebag crew exit on my right, a woman seats herself... She appears sweet, and wiser in appearance of years... And she is awaiting her sire. In the form of a blind date. From online dating… And, after his legendary arrival and three minutes hath passed… It is decided. He's a loser. He's an old gent with a know-it-all complex, arms folded, and can clearly see that the louder and more all-knowing he professes to be, her insecurities shine through and she begins the dance of stupidity; Hoping the derfwad might be THE ONE. She complains about the online dating pool while he philosophically describes his take on the subject. I can't take it. It's annoying at best. And… suicidallly inductive at worst. Obviously, I have a big mouth, so i interject. Way too much… I know. I know. They're crappy convo is NOT my business. But if freaking should be. My ear space feels part of their date tango. Hey, party listener - or, rather… EAVESDROPPER- slum it at another bar! Ugh. I know… Hush.

Mind your business RiRi!! Time to retreat back to my wine. Wine glasses should really be the size of a large hat. And as if the liquer fairy conveniently and quietly refilled my chalice while my head was turned, I toss back a 3rd glass of Merlot. I seriously cannot take the crazy- THAT IS-  in this restaurant this fine luxurious evening… Or is it afternoon? Eh. Who cares. It's 5 o'clock somewhere. And as if, on cue, women whom I've witnessed -normally- works with are chiming in with their cackling and with their hen-like, mean girl group… They cluck, cluck themselves into my yackity-yack with the (cute) bartender, whom I want to talk to, and are even more obnoxious than the previous savants I've already had to listen to thus far. Savants used loosely, ironically AND sarcastically here. Really, where's a quiet library when you need one? Or a polka dotted giraffe to ride out into the ocean? I'm not picky. Library or giraffe.

Poking Ninja Monkey

There's something to be said about those close to me, or used to be close to me, who keep my name in their mouth; like they know what they're talking about. What you know about somebody while you are with them is all it is. That's it. That's all. No before. No after. There's no thereafter or pre-dated history that anyone could make a comment on. Caveman drawings? Unless they were there. Ah, you invented the wheel, got it. I've broached this subject before, and in light of current events, it's clear I must reiterate a couple points. Point one. My posts are not about you. If you think they're about you, then A. You're arrogant and delusional. Hmmm... Drugs are bad, knock it off Or B. Even if a post has similarities -relatable to you- no one else would even know unless you put it out there. Self- shaming in public? Don't monkeys throw poop on the streets of some exotic place? And C. If B applies to you then please refer to A. because... nobody cares. Especially me. But it definitely makes it entertaining for all of us! Monkeys and poo are always funny... Oooo, poopoo flinging bongo monkey. 

A writer, writes from experiences. Yes. But can also elaborate, dream, be grandiose... and even -get this- use their imagination- to give a story, fullness. Direction. Crowd-drawing interest. And even Make shit uppery! I know. Crazy right! For one to believe that all stories I write are about them, in any way, is both ridiculous and hilarious. With all I have going on, my outlet is here. On my blog. For me. For you. For pure entertainment. There is most times, a very small, factual basis, with which I draw; however, this isn't my end all/be all for my content. I'm a creator. It's involved and always evolving. It's Like I'm a literary butterfly. And a cocoon. With the larva... And the sticky icky cocoon larva journey thingie... webbed up on the branches of a tree... You get the idea. Right. Moving on... 

So dear friends... Laugh at what you read. I do. I laugh at myself all the time. And, as Im sure grandpa gets a few good laughs off, when he bought the largest bottle of liquor -and only that bottle of liquor- at the grocery store yesterday...  while babysitting his little granddaughter. At 9:30 am. Literally throwing money at the cashier. Grumpy drunk ass. Smdh. Travesty. Guess he needed that drink. But hey, I could assume all sorts of things. I'd, mostl likely, be dead on thougj... in that particular accident, waiting to happen. But, alas, most of the time; you just gotta take it at face value. We all post on social media in a proverbial codec to convey our feelings in some way. A DOS faction of words to elude and protect those who remain unnamed.... Not that they deserve it; But, you feel me. And Instead saying, I took a poo today. One would opt for, my toilet cried a whole hour this morning. And it is no ones job to interpret those posts, internalize them, nor is it the responsibility of anyone to stalk said postings and try to go all...  Inspector Gadget. James Bond? Lego Ninjago? 

One thing you should never do though? If you post a comment, talking shit... Deleting it -with the misconception that I won't see it...when my email notifies me- it is more cowardly and embarrassing for you than owning up to it. Bottom line... Haha bottom. Be entertained. Enjoy life. And LAUGH. Being a martyr never got anyone anywhere... Eeyore. Foghorn Leghorn. Squidward. Gosh, feels so elementary school, doesn't it? Neanderthal. 

Hot Guy Hack

How long is too long to text with a guy before moving toward the official date? Well, I don't know about you, but for me? ... if it's longer than a week,  Im over it. Did someone hear the egg timer go off? And I'm already bored. And I burned my cake. And most likely over the new prospect as well. Anyway, I don't care how hot you are. How great a catch you might be. Or how busy you are either. My theory is, if you are interested in dating me... Uh, date me and stop fucking pussy-footin' around. Let's go grab a squash and have a picnic already! Texting me questions deeper than "how's the weather?" Will get you a few days with me of texting but not too much more of that. Yes, I adore fuzzy socks too! And if you're asking me personal questions that are better suited to a face to face? Later gator. How do I like my steak? Oh good grief. I'm out. Taste the dust from my stilettos! 

Recently I met a gorgeous, tall, engaging fellow who asked me for his number and since I found him quite accomplished and -i must mention- very easy on the eyes, I gave my number to him. He texts me that evening saying how he enjoyed meeting me and the great conversation we had, and looks forward to going out. I'm giddy. Like a school girl. Got my pigtails flopping in the wind as I skip down the sidewalk. We go back and forth for about four or five days, the weekend is approaching and still no request for an official date. I like a man who plans. And I will NEVER be available for a guy last minute. So, I'm getting irritated and starting to respond a little less frequently. Saturday night. He texts, "Hey! We are going to the club, want to roll with us?" What the.... Uh, no. But, since sometimes I do have a filter, I reply, "no thank you I already have plans." I know right! I had manners when he clearly did not. Mark it on your calendars, friends. There must've been a blue moon. Listen, hot guy hack, Im not going out with you and your friends. To a club. Last minute. When we haven't even gone out to see if I even like you enough yet! 

He texts the next day. I don't respond. He texts again. I don't.  Til finally he says, "Hey, what happened to you." Heres the bottom line guys, make an effort. If you half ass the energy into someone; you're going to get even less back. I'm  not mothering a guy to be a gentleman because if he is really interested, he will be. And he WILL put in the effort. Unless his mother didn't raise a gentleman then that's a whole other issue...