Aliens Among Us…

My dog may, or may not, have burnt poop popcorn. There is a slight possibility that my want-to-be-a-hippie son burnt popcorn. But if he did, how do you explain the smell of burnt poop? I don’t trust my dog. Something very shifty is going on here.

Let’s start with tPortiahe facts. One: I’ve never allowed my dog to use the stove before. Not that she has ever asked. Because, holy shit, if my dog asked to use the stove, I’d let her make all popcorn she wanted – burnt or not! Two: If she was going to take up cooking, I’m pretty sure popcorn would not make the short list.

I’ve just had another thought. If the smell of burnt toast means you’re about to seizure – maybe I’m f-ing dying! For the love of god, I’m smelling burnt poop popcorn! This can’t be good! Another thing is that maybe I’m not smelling burnt poop anything. It’s just possible, in fact, more like probable, that I’ve been teleported to some crazy, freaky spaceship, where dog aliens are playing with my brain and I just think I’m smelling burnt poop popcorn! I know it sounds crazy. Right? But it would make perfect sense for dog aliens to make poop popcorn. Though you’d think after mastering flying a freaking spaceship they could make popcorn without burning it!

Why did this have to happen to me? I was asleep in my own bed. I wasn’t bothering anyone! This is just like those movies. The aliens always work at night. But who would have suspected their trusted dog? No one, that’s who! I think my dog hates me. That would explain why she called the dog aliens to come and get me. I should never have allowed her to watch E.T. This explains all those toys she has been dragging outside and throwing around. I thought she was innocently frolicking in the yard, when in fact, she was calling home!

Another thing, the next time I think I have the most brilliant writing experiences in the middle of the night – Pulitzer Prize winning shit – I’ll remind myself that I’m not always the brightest monkey in the box. Though I would like to know where my dog hid the burnt poop popcorn, because honestly, that shit stinks.

National Poverty Day. No Sex For You!

The first thing I would like to bring to your attention is your attitude. Holy crap, did you see that accident?! No? Wow. You’re really sick. I mean that nicely of course, as in whoa that’s sick! But not really. You like the title? Yes you do. Stop lying. Honestly, I think you may have a problem, but not with the lying. You’re super good at that. Now admit it, the only reason you are here is because you think poor people can’t have sex! You read the title and thought, Awww, that’s terrible. No one will have sex with the poor people.

So being a pervert is what brought you to this page. Hey, I don’t mind – fact is I knew you’d fall for it. I knew if I put sex in the title you wouldn’t be able to resist this page. I think you should know that I’m not actually going to write about poverty, or sex. Okay, now I’m lying. Thanks. I didn’t know lying was contagious, asshat. And just so you know, poor people are having sex. Rich people are having sex. My goldfish is having sex. The only one not having sex around here is you. I think it’s because you’re a perv. It’s really nice that you care about poor people though. There are lots of us out here. So I’ll give you brownie points for caring about the poor people. But the perv thing… that’s just creepy.

So now that we’ve talked about the sex and the poor people, I think we should address your pervieness. I was talking to the police about you and they said the only way to avoid getting arrested for reading this blog was to send them money… lots and lots of money. The police don’t really have time to be out collecting money from you pervs though, so they said I could collect the money for them. I’m thinking a cool $500 is a nice place to start. You can send me your money through paypal or just mail me your credit cards. The police are greedy so they will take anything. But let’s not tell them I said they were greedy.

They might get upset because they’ve been super sensitive ever since the government took their guns and tasers away and replaced them with fluffy kittens. They still get really riled up over pervs though. No one likes a perv, buddy, so just keep moving along – unless you brought your cheque book. Form a line to the right. No sex for you!

I’m a Genius and this is Important Shit.

helenI’m the kind of person that people go to with their problems. I think the reason for this, is that they want good advice and since I’m so smart and have the perfect life, they think they can trust me. (Which of course, they totally can) Now I don’t mean to blow my own horn – except I totally do or I wouldn’t be on here telling you this- but I give the best advice! If you have a cold, I might suggest chicken soup. Then again, I might suggest that you find every enemy you ever had and French kiss them. Haven’t you always wanted to make your enemies sick? Wouldn’t you love to see those mofos hacking phlegm and snot all over their shoes? Of course you do. Nothing would be more fun. Well maybe shark fishing with my ex-husband’s head.
For the next few minutes we are going to imagine a tranquil meadow covered with our favorite wild flowers. Aren’t they beautiful? The colors so vibrant. Breathe… breathe. You can also hum if you like. Humming totally helps! (Unless a bear or fire breathing dragon show up in your meadow. Then you should shut the hell up.) I’m pretty sure my soul is smiling now. I feel so much love! Remember, when we hate others, we keep ourselves in prison! Love is the answer. Unless you have a pet shark and there isn’t any evidence. Then sharks are definitely the answer.
The thing about being a genius is that I feel so good when I give advice to the people I care about. Another thing that is nice, is how they always follow my advice to the letter! And why wouldn’t they? I mean, if I’m a fricking genius, why would they not do as I say? They came to me for advice. Right? They ask what they should do. Right? They must think I know a thing or two about something. Right? Right.
So then here’s the thing, why don’t they take the fricking advice?! Why did they spend hours talking to me and asking all these important life changing questions, when they weren’t going to do as I advised?! Why did they waste my time? Where can I buy a shark? What time is it on Mars? Seriously, do Martians switch to daylight saving time?
My cousin had a squirrel once that threw acorns all over her driveway. Pretty sure she had it coming.

You’re Not Nice

You’re not nice. There, I said it. I’ve wanted to say it for a long time. I’ve wanted to tell you that nobody believes you. We’re not stupid. We know an act when we see one. We know you don’t really love us. In fact, you probably don’t even like most of us, but that’s okay – we don’t like you either.

In truth, I almost feel sorry for you. I say almost, because every time you spew forth your phony rhetoric, I feel this almost uncontrollable urge to wretch. Why, you might ask, do I feel sorry for you? The answer is fairly simple. It must take an unbelievable amount of energy to keep up such a farce; to love, when what you really feel is disdain

I almost feel sorry for you because you must have real self esteem problems or you wouldn’t feel the need to constantly tell everyone how wonderful, intelligent, creative, kind, loving, supportive, giving, and industrious you are. How you’ve faced every adversity and adversary possible, yet came out this wonderful, nurturing individual. From the way you talk, I’m sure you must float out of bed each morning on a ray of sunshine. I bet even when you fart the gases permeate the air like lilacs.

I almost feel sorry for you because if for five minutes you could stop playing the part, if you could stop trying to control every situation, if you could let go of the bullshit and just be real; if you could let someone else have an opinion; if you could stop thinking only you have a brain, then maybe, just maybe, you could have and be a friend. The fact of the matter is, nice people don’t have to tell others how wonderful they are. Anyone can bandy about a few hugs and compliments. True kindness come from the heart.

In case you need clarification, I’ve been so kind as to provide a link: http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/kind

Unfortunately, you are too afraid to let go of the power you believe you need. You are afraid to let people get to know the real you. Instead you choose to stay locked in your imaginary world, where everyone loves you and you love everyone. I almost feel sorry for you because you don’t know the jig is up. Hugs can only go so far. We see the rage behind your eyes; your inability to really connect with anyone; your need to own us. We are no longer amused. If it’s minions you want, take your business elsewhere.

If you’re wondering why I never told you this before – the truth is – I’m nice.

Hating The Man

You know what the hippies were right about? I’ll tell you. They were right about The Man. It’s true. The man is out to get you. No I am not paranoid. No I have not been smoking anything. I’m just telling a universal truth. The old saying – you can’t fight city hall – it’s true. Now I know there are bigger issues in the world. I know children are starving. (Don’t even get me started on that one!) I know there are wars and atrocities that we cannot even begin to fathom. Trust me. I know. I try to keep up. Bradley Manning and Edward Snowden will be granted asylum at my house forever. (The Man is behind these as well.)
Shit. Well, that kind of took the wind out of my sails. I was ready to REALLY swear and everything! Now, I’m feeling a bit silly for my coming rant. But the hell with it, I’m ranting anyway.
Today I went a little crazy. Pretty sure they’ve posted my picture at city hall and have tightened up security. (They can afford to. How do you spell a**holes?) (Poor dad must be rolling over in his… jar?) Sorry. I digress. I do that… A lot.
So let me take you back. It was a cold and blustery winter day on the prairies. (Everyone who lives here thinks I’m an idiot. It’s always cold and blustery in the winter, on the prairies.) Sorry… digressing again! So I’m sitting at my computer (in my jammies) when I noticed this… (What should we call him? Commissionaire? I think I’ll go with d**kwad), so I notice this d**kwad (This was before I knew him. At which point he graduated to full-fledged-a**hole!), so this d**kwad is putting a ticket on my car. I jump up and run outside in my jammies. (I’m sure he thinks I’m on crack as I basically rolled out of bed and stumbled to my computer. I also live in a ‘questionable’ part of town.) I’m not stupid. (Some might argue that. Sit down in the back! This is my f-ing rant!) So, not stupid me meanders up to the d**kwad and asks in a very calm and nice voice, “Excuse me, sir, may I ask why you are giving me a ticket?
Before I go any further I must explain that in our lovely part of the world we get snow. Not the ‘oh look it’s snowing. Isn’t it lovely?” kind of snow. We get REAL snow. So the city likes to plow the snow into large snowbanks so that it becomes impossible to park our cars. They like to do this so they can ticket us for parking ‘more than 300 mm from the curb’. Of course we are parked more than 300 mm from the curb you d**kwads! There is NO WHERE else to park!
And now back to the story. We begin where the heroine (Me) first greets the d**kwad (d**kwad). “Excuse me, sir, may I ask why you are giving me a ticket?”
I would be here all day and you guys would be long gone if I told the entire story of what happened next. (Assuming you are still here?) So here is the gist of it: D**kwad explains that I am more than 300mm from curb. I explain I have no choice, said curb cannot be found. By now elderly neighbor lady is outside trying to nicely tell d**kwad that he should not be giving me a ticket. This is the point when d**kwad man turns into full-fledged-a**hole. (It was quite impressive really. Kind of like watching Mark Ruffalo’s character Dr Banner turn into the Hulk, except that I am not envisioning d**kwad man with no clothes.) Full-Fledged-A**hole tells elderly neighbor that had we been nice he would have kindly ripped up the ticket. If we had been nice?! How much f-ing nicer could we be? We were polite. We approached with caution. We did not, however, offer money or chocolate cake. Maybe we should have offered cake. Maybe my elderly neighbor should have stripped down right there and offered herself to d**kwad! Our mistake? At this point I asked full-fledged-a**hole why mine was the only car on the street he was ticketing? He told me that was none of my concern. I think full-fledged-asshole was afraid to ticket anyone else. He’d already dealt with delusional jammie woman and elderly neighbor. He was getting out while he could. It was at this point, he was getting in his car, that I told him I would be taking pictures of all the cars on the street. Then and only then did I call him by his first name: A**hole.
Court day came and I was armed with my pictures. It was then that the prosecutor told me to leave the pictures at home as they would do me no good. (I kind of felt like Bradley Manning. None of my evidence was going to be admissible in court.) So, long story short – Full-Fledged-A**hole blatantly lied in court. He drew a diagram of how I was parked and said that I was eight feet away from the curb! He also claimed that I had come out of my house screaming and swearing at him. When I finally had my turn to speak I explained to the judge (who, frankly, was about 80 years old and more than a little confused) that full-fledged-a**hole was lying. I also explained that every car on the street had been parked like me as we had no choice because of the snowbanks. Full-fledged-a**hole spoke up and said that I was the only car parked eight feet away. The other cars were only four feet away. I again explained that full-fledged-asshole was lying. It was then the judge told me he would have excused the ticket had I only been four feet away like the other cars. It was then he said I should have brought pictures. Unfortunately, you cannot tell The Man that the prosecutor and full-fledged-a**hole have conspired against you. Who is the judge going to believe – the prosecutor and full-fledged-a**hole, or the villenous parker? For a moment I saw the judge begin to sway my way, but the prosecutor quickly stepped in and explained that even if everyone on the block was parked eight feet away from said curb, that did not give me the right to break the law! She went on to explain that if he let me go, what was to stop me from say… parking in school zones or bus stops! OMG! I would have found me guilty as well! Her arguments were so strong and filled with raw emotion! I knew I was doomed. The judge had no recourse. He found in favor of The Man. Full-fledged-a**hole had won. The judge found me guilty. I would have to pay the ticket.
It’s been several weeks since that fateful day in court. I had stood against The Man and lost. Still, I held my head high as I went to city hall this morning to pay the ticket. I guess The Man wanted to twist the knife a little deeper – as I handed the ticket to the teller she informed me that they would be adding an additional $40 to the fine. Apparently, they like to add on these extra dollars just so they can squeeze every last bit of blood out of us citizens. I explained to the woman behind the counter that I was not upset with her. I was upset with The Man. So if anyone is looking to start a new/old movement sign me up! I’ll even make the cake.