Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Lingerers Are Weird

Lingerers: Those silly mother fuckers that feel the need to stick around someone else's house, when they're clearly unaware of the fact that the residents of the household don't actually want you there longer than necessary.  That's my definition, so if you don't like it then suck a fatty.  If you have to think to yourself, I wonder if these people care that I'm at their house, the answer is yes.  They care and they're probably wondering why the fuck you are still sitting there, but take note, they will never say anything out of the sake of being polite.  However, if you feel this way, take this simple advice: Get up and go the fuck home.

Before you get your panties in a bunch, let me elaborate.  We love having guests.  We're a college house comprised of social butterflies, so come on over whenever it is that you'd like, let's hang out and stuff.  However, if we make an executive decision to watch a chick flick on a hungover afternoon, and you want to sit in the same room and rip on everything that seems remotely ridiculous in every scene.  Get out, your opinion sucks and I hate you.  If you bummed one of my final few cigs the night before, and your still at my house in the morning, don't you DARE ask to bum another cig from me.  I probably gave you one last night to get you to shut the fuck up, however this morning I am in an extremely different mood.  I obviously need the cigs I have left, seeing as I am not in any shape to go to the store to get more.  You can linger while we smoke the morning cig, as long as you have your own.  But then it's time to go.

Now I am sure plenty of you have had unexpected guests come home after a night that was creepy and weird, and in the morning you have that feeling in your stomach that tells you that the day will be consisting of hanging out over the porcelain gods.  If that isn't bad enough, you then realize your terrible mistake from the night before is still, for some un-fucking-known reason, in your bed.  This is when the trouble really starts.  You think, maybe if I leave the room and make some noise they will wake up and leave, so you bang in to everything you see on your way out.  You mosey around the house to find who else is up, and who else is trying to get someone out of their bed.  After some time goes by and you notice that no one has left the house yet, you back in there.  All you want to do right now is dump water on this creep's head and get him/her the fuck out of there.  But because you're being the considerate one, you wait a little longer.  For those of you who are slightly embarrassed right now because you're remembering a time when you stayed a little too long,  you should be.  Get the fuck out of my bed, my room, my house and my life.  The only exception is if I actually like you.  Then stick around, duh!

The moral of the story is, you will know if you are wanted around.  Most of the time we whine like small children if you are trying to leave and we want you to stay, sometimes even cry (cough, you know who you are).  If you're unsure, exit immediately.  Smoke your cigs once you walk out the door, we'll wave from the balcony.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Strangely Phenomenal Sunday

As we go back and ponder over what today has entailed, we cannot fathom being more content with the way things played out.  It was not only the strangest Sunday I've yet to experience, but it was hands down one of the most fun and memorable days to date.  I sit here with a smug smile on my face as the day comes to a close.  Let me break it down for you.

We woke up abnormally early this morning with plans of going to the Bengals game.  Usually our Sundays consist of waking up whenever that may be, while Vanstar departs for work around noon or really any time remotely close to that because, essentially, Pops is her bitch along with the entire facility of Good Fellows.  Once we awake, we decide to ease our hangover with pepperoni baseballs and cheese fries, and once this is done we lounge and partake in other bum-tastic activities.  However, today we got up around 10:00 AM and got ready for the Bengals game and went downtown to our friend's older sister's tight ass apartment.  For lack of better words, "tight ass" is really the only way to describe this place because it's exactly what it was.  There was free beer, skyline dip, along with a huge window that opens up to a balcony overlooking downtown Cincinnati, and is only about a hop, skip and a jump away from Paul Brown Stadium.  We drank as we pleased, had Alli uphold her side of the bet for passing out first at our latest party which involved taking a buttery-nipple shot Vanstar snagged for free at a random gas station (what?), and soaked up feeling like celebrities for a little while until we left for the game.

Our seats were conveniently placed right in front of these fantastic old men, who happened to be just as perverted as we are, and had a never ending supply of hand-warmers that they were constantly pulling out of their ass to give to us because I guess we looked slightly pathetic.  Whatever, they were awesome, pouring flasks into their pop bottles and everything, aka our lives in 30 years.  The strangest aspect, however, of the Bengals game was that they won beating the browns 19-17, which shouldn't be as surprising as it is, but anyone can beat the shitty Bengals these days.  So we were pretty hyped about that, obviously justifying their win with our presence at the stadium as good luck charms.  Obviously.  It's really strange how we bitched about buying beers for $7.25, while still continuing to do so hoping that the old men would buy them for us. Never happened.  Hell of a run, money, see ya later!

After the game, we dropped off our friends Alli and Eric, while honking this really funny-sounding horn for a little, all the while pissing our pants at the sound until we snapped out of it. A few of us went straight to Good Fellows considering we were starving from lack of food, and got free beers. Score! Next thing we know, we're hanging out in the back of the kitchen by the fryers with our Canadian friend, Johnny, who let us partake in Canadian activities with him resulting in uncontrollable giggles.  Once we finally exited the secret kitchen party, it suddenly dawned upon us that we needed to get out of there asap.  We were in no shape or form to be in public any longer, and it was time to go.  However, we did make a pit-stop at Kroghetto for Zanzabar to pick up $9.00 cookies for her work party, but we couldn't go in at all until we chilled out and let the giggles reside.  You would've thought it was our first rodeo at this point.  It was kind of sick how much fun we were having as just the three of us.  Slightly embarrassing, yet I have no shame.

Once we finally reached our house and final destination, our minds were a little blown and slightly confused from all of the activities we had just taken part in, and we said no words.  Instead, we sat here in silence until we all drifted off into naps, inevitably watching the same exact shows over and over.  Again, next thing I know, I'm waking up at the same time as Vanstar and Annie is returning from her work party even more trashed than before.  We concluded our day with a midnight dinner from Taco Bell, and with big plans of being strange money-makahs come tomorrow.  If that's not outstanding, I don't know what is.  Be jealous, large audience, be really fucking jealous.
Ciiiiiig and goodnight!

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Good Fellows Is Strange

Working at an ever classy establishment on short vine, (For those of you who aren't familiar with short vine)  I witness a lot of crazy shit every time I work.  Now keep in mind I am a 21 year old white girl, and the bar I work at is majority black.  No big deal, I have been working there for a year so obviously I can manage.
So basically 86% of the customers are regulars, which means I know almost everyone that lives on or around short vine because they love mother fucking good fellows, it's their shit.  You can imagine when I first started working there, being a young white girl, people tried to fuck with me.  Okay, first of all I'm not fucking scared of you.  Yes, you may be an older black man with tattoos all over, but your not fucking scary, and if you were I would not be working here.  Quit fucking with me.  It's not funny--your not scary--and I know your trying to be funny.  Oooh cool you can fuck with a young white girl to try to impress your friends, real fucking classy.  This one man, probably around 43 (will remain nameless) has 2 tear drop tattoos, among others.  Mister, why are you crying? Are you sad? So to make a long story short, one fine evening after a number of tangs and brews, he tells me he as seen me in winton terrace.  Uhhhhhh great ya fucking creep now I can never go to the hausfelds house again!  This other clown is such an arrogant ass hole and feels the need to ask why I have an attitude.  Bitch, you are the reason I have an attitude.  I can't fucking stand you, and you know it.  Also you have no two front teeth!  This is not a joke people, he does not have his front teeth, and for some un-fucking-known reason he thinks he is a pimp.  No.  And I can't leave out the dick who, when I went around picking up empty glasses said "hey, I don't like white people touching my drinks"  The bartender was white, so really you have fucking issues.  And the glass is empty, so I know your fucking with me.  I would also appreciate it if you would not call me things such as "miss lady, mama, baby, hey you, sa-vaughn-uh" Thanks.  Now don't get me wrong, there are a lot of people that are super sweet who I love seeing every sunday.  Especially the ones who are nice AND tip well.  They are awesome and actually really really funny.  Your the best!
I work with some really cool black girls (I am the only white one), and there are a lot of cool regulars I know, but seriously there are some fucking caddy bitches that come to the GFels.  I am not your bitch.  I mean I kind of am because I have to clean up after your grimy ass, but you do not have to take advantage of the fact that I'm your bitch.  Clean up your shit.  There are garbage cans for a reason you cunt.  And if you are over 200 pounds, do not wear your fucking stilettos into this establishment.  Somewhat because it looks super fucking strange, but mostly because you literally make dents in the hard wood floor, which is why it looks like shit.  If your skinny and looking fabulous, you go ahead and do your thing girl, but if not save yourself the embarrassment and wear flat shoes and clothes that cover your cottage cheese.  And speaking of cottage cheese, this one night a 50 year old, 50 wearing velour short ass shorts and a tank top clearly displaying her sagging tits, thinks it is a good idea to dance on top of the bar.  As you can imagine, this sight disgusted me.  Her entire body was literally flopping around like a tub of jello--a big tub.  While this is going on, it for some reason encourages other younger girls to get on the bar to prove they were better dancers...it was a complete disaster.  Meanwhile, the bartender is wasted and instigating the situation, and the man with no 2 front teeth gave these 10 year olds (why they were in a bar at midnight with their wasted parents is beyond me) dollar bills to throw at the whores.  Two people fell off the bar that night, one being the jiggly old lady, which was definitely my fault she fell off, but that story's for another time and place.  And that is when I decided to never again work a friday or saturday night.  Okay, enough about whores.  You get the point, my job is fucking nuts every single day.  There are plenty of perks which I don't think should be discussed at this moment, but basically what I'm saying is I have a love/hate relationship with good fellows.  One perk being that every sunday I can count on gip and annie to come eat and hang out for a little, so now they are regs too.  And it is always a surprise when they bring a different person to join in the festivities and introduce to a whole new world, a dazzling place they never knew.  So if your looking for new horizons to pursue, take a gander over to short vine and stop in good fellows to holla at ya girl. (make sure it's a sunday)

Now to step in to the freezing cold winter wonderland...BOO WINTER.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Strange Christmas!


MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM THE ROHS HOES!

Facebook Statuses Are Strange

We all update our facebook status frequently, or at least log on to facebook once in a while to read the pointless shit people post on there.  And we all know the giggly feeling we get inside when we log on and see at least 4 people have "liked" our status, or even commented! Well hey there ms. popular!
There are those certain occasions, however when some douche completely ruins the mood with a gay fucking status.  And I don't mean gay as in homosexual (well sometimes), I mean just flat out dumb.  Like for those of you who feel the need to tell me exactly what you are doing that day and the next, and the next, fuck you.  I don't give a what what!  That's what away messages were for,  not facebook.  If you have to work, COOL. So do I.  And why do you think I want to know that you are going to the mall, picking up your sister and writing a paper later?  What, do you want me to meet you at the mall?  Or do you just want people to know that you actually do other things besides sit at your computer and update facebook.
I would like to take this time to thank all of you girls that do have boyfriends, for taking the time out of your day to try to rub it in my face.  I am fully aware I am single and god dammit I enjoy it.  You are not the only girl in the entire fucking  world that thinks your boyfriend is the best.  And I promise you, he is not  the best.  Maybe you think he is but the rest of the world does not.  By all means, if you love your boyfriend and you think he is a fucking god, you go ahead and be happy.  But please leave facebook out of it.  How about instead of preaching about how fucking sweet he is you go enjoy that bastards company and see a movie or bone or something. For the love of god, just stop burning my eyes with your sappy statuses before I gouge them out in your honor.
Further, please stop complaining to the world about how shitty your life is.  If you're hung up over a guy and you want to tell all of the Facebook nation how much you hate your life and hate guys (or girls for all of you pussies out there), here's a big fucking whoopty-doo for your lame ass.  We really, REALLY, do not care.  If you haven't noticed, which I simply can't believe, you're making yourself look completely and utterly pathetic.  Like are you seriously that depressed that some guy played the fuck out of you? If so, why? Think about it, you naive little pansy.  Not to mention, you're all blatant attention whores.  I can't stand I see a status that reads, "Fuck this. I hate my life so much just don't care anymore!!!!! >:(", at which all of your kiss ass friends reply, "OMG babe what happened?!?!?!?" and then you write back "Text me...." Seriously, if you're going to be all pisspants and make a status begging for attention from others, the least you can do is let everyone in on what you're upset about.  You know what I like to call that? Fucking idiotic.  You're leaving all of us attentive followers of your invigorating status updates in the dust, and we are upset because of it. Sike.  Get a life and get a backbone, you look fucking stupid.
If you find yourself shaking your head in disagreement, it is probably because you actually do these things and are mad we called you out on it.  If you agree with us completely, kudos to you!  You may or may not be a tool. Plus we're always right so it is probably to your benefit to agree with us.  Go ahead and post your new facebook status, but for the sake of my sanity please at least make it worthwhile.  Throw a little joke in there or something, make it juicy.  And for pete's sake, lay off the hearts! <3 they fucking suck and are close to being the cheesiest thing on facebook.
BYE you HELLO porch.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

People with Fanny Packs are Strange

Why do people that continue to wear fanny packs think they are so goddamn funny? There's not too much I can elaborate on for this topic because it's just stupid.  Assholes, fanny packs were cool in the 80s and that's it.  The fact that you're still wearing them out and taking pictures of yourselves wearing them with a big two thumbs up thinking that you're funny makes me wanna back hand you.  It's not funny and it never has been.  It was a fad in the 80s, aka stop fucking wearing them.  If you're being an 80s person for Halloween, go the fuck ahead and wear one then, whatever.  But for the love of god, don't go around on some ego trip thinking that you're humoring everyone with your fanny pack because you're not.  For your own sake, I'm telling you this from the bottom of my heart, you look like a chauch.  People aren't laughing with you, they are laughing AT you, plain and simple.  And don't give some excuse like, "But it helps me not lose all my shitttt.." hello? Did you forget about pockets? Purses perhaps?  These little gadgets were made solely for you to carry your shit in and not lose it.  If you have holes in your pockets and you lose your purse, then that's your own damn fault.  But do not give credit to a fucking fanny pack because in no way, shape or form does it justify anything.  I hate fanny packs and I hate all of you.  It takes everything inside of me to not rip that thing off of you and drop kick it into the abyss while muttering the words "fuck you" while this is taking place.  I may seem angry, but I'm just merely annoyed.  I know what funny is, but apparently you don't because fanny packs do not have a designated spot in this category.  Sorry if I burst your bubble, that's life.
On a brighter note, Happy Birthday Zannzabar!
Squirrel time!