Tag Archives: anger

Things That Make Me Angry


It makes me angry when people are out for a Sunday drive on Tuesday. I got fuckin’ places to be and I don’t be having the time to be poking along at 35 mph.

It makes me angry when stores that shall not be named here (except for that their names rhyme will Narget and Walfart) have 47 lanes to cash people out at, yet they only have 2 open.

It makes me angry when my stretchy jeans that hug my ass in just the right way also hug my front butt enough to give me camel toe.

It makes me angry when people in places of higher power than I insist on “coaching” me, even though they are only at my place of employ one day a week.

It makes me REALLY angry when I am horny and my Rockstar insists on going to bed without assisting me in the making of me being not horny.

It makes me angry when Minnesota Revenue continues to steal moneys out of my checking account at various intervals without asking. As if my $82.73 is going to heal the national debt.

It makes me angry when my Rockstar’s Daughter insists on saying, ” Our house is OUR house, not yours.” Even though she’s been repestedly told to desist.

It makes me angry when the disastrous mess of curly pubic hair that resides on my head refuses to listen to my Big Sexy Hairspray.

It makes me angry when I have to go to work when I’m in the middle of deciding whether Fifty Shades of Grey is worth reading.

It makes me angry when I answer the phone at work to take a delivery and when asked what their address is, the person on the line says- “Ummm, well I don’t know the EXACT address.”

It makes me angry when I try on shirts that are SUPPOSED to be my size, and then must call for a dressing room attendant to come and assist in the removal of said shirts when they get stuck going over my excessive boobage.

It makes me angry when no matter how often I clean the kitchen floor, there is always crud lurking.

It makes me angry that Carrie Underwood is considered a country music star.

It makes me REALLY angry that Taylor Swift is considered ANY kind of music star.

Most of all, it makes me angry that despite my numerous attempts to contact him, Chris Meloni still hasn’t shown up to receive his booby squish.

 

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A Stealthy and Cowardly Assault


So I am pissed right off.

I have every right to be.

I will explain.

One of the joys of becoming an amazingly gifted Manager of Pizza Sluts is taking a required class that is an hour and a half drive away that takes up your entire weekend. My lack of blog postage in the last few days may prove that this was, in fact, that weekend for me.

While I was not exactly thrilled to go hang out and perform team building rituals with strangers, (such as manager-employee role-playing and LEGO building)  I was somewhat happy to be going to stay with my brother after the class on Saturday night. (Even though Frenchie text me and begged for me to return home because apparently my restaurant cannot live without me). As my brother’s home was considerably closer to the training class I had to return to on Sunday, I decided to go with my original plan to visit him after my class finished up on Saturday night.

My brother and I hung out and talked of various mutual interests such as music and movies until we settled in for the night to watch DVDs of The Big C (an excellent show based in Minneapolis if you’ve never heard of it). I zonked out around 3 AM and was not fully awake when I prepared myself for another fun-filled day of managerial training on Sunday morning.

I hugged my brother goodbye and sauntered out to my chilled car in my fuschia heels, (I needed to wear SOMETHING to brighten my classmates’ day) and was immediately perturbed to find not one, but TWO tickets annoyingly decorating my windshield. A parking violation and an expired registration ticket.

About the expired registration- Yes, I realize that one is my fault, as my tabs expired in November. However, my shoe addiction has rendered me penniless as of late, so lack of tab fundage has occurred. I made sure not to mention the reasoning for my lack of dollars to the semi-hot cop who pulled me over on Friday night to point out my expired tabs….I believe he found me irresistable in my filthy Pizza Slut uniform- or perhaps D’Odour d’Pizza that wafted from me temporarily washed his brain- but anyhoo, I talked myself out of a tabs ticket on Friday night, only to receive one on Saturday night because I was not actually present in my car when the ticket was written. Piss me off.

The parking ticket? NO FUCKING WAY. Here is the thing. My brother lives in a row of apartement buildings that comes complete with a parking lot. However, this past summer the apartment manager made a rule that no cars not belonging to residents of the buildings may park their cars in said parking lot. While I am willing to break such silly rules, I am NOT willing to go down to the Car Pound to retrieve my car when the asshole living in one of the buildings who has nothing better to do calls the tow truck. So I parked on the street, where there were no parking restrictions, behind another car.

Where the fuck else was I supposed to park?! Since I am no longer allowed to park in the parking lot, or apparently on the street, and the aliens in my head are not willing to beam my car up until any certain time, I really wanna know.

Not only was I irate at receiving a completely un-earned parking ticket, but I looked at both tickets and discovered that IT WASN’T EVEN THE SAME FUCKING COP WHO WROTE THEM BOTH.

This is where I get truly wrathful.

My brother lives in North St. Paul. While not comparably crime-filled as say, Detroit, North St. Paul is without a doubt AT LEAST #3 in the most ghetto-like, illegal-activities area of Minnesota. bUT NO. INSTEAD OF ARRESTING UNDER-AGED DEVIANTS OR CHASING DOWN SHOP-LIFTERS AT THE LOCAL WALMART, THESE FUCKING LAZY PIGS HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO THAT WRITE ME NOT ONE, BUT TWO FUCKING TICKETS WHILE I AM INNOCENTLY VISITING MY BROTHER. INSTEAD OF TRYING TO MAKE THE LOCAL CRIMES SECTION IN THE PIONEER PRESS LESS THAN 3 PAGES LONG, THESE POPO FUCKERS, (NOT ONE, BUT TWO) ASSAULT ME WITH THEIR WEAPONS OF CHOICE (TICKET BOOKS) WHILE I AM HANGING WITH THE SANDMAN. FUCK THAT SHIT.

My racism for Minnesota Fuzz has in the past been reserved for State Patrol. (That’s a story for another time) No longer. Now, when I see ANY police-issued vehicle cross my vision, I will be throwing up my middle finger and secretly wishing I had a grenade, or a 357 Magnum I could point in their direction and say, “Are ya feelin’ lucky today, punk? Well, are ya?”

P.S. And the next time I get pulled over for expired tabs, I’m going to say, “It’s your fucking fault, you dipshit. If you wouldn’t hand out tickets left and right because you’re too lazy to do something useful, I could have bought 100 tabs. But I have to pay my fucking tickets, so fuck off.”

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