For Your Own...

Gin Is Enemy

2009-08-08T15:11:00.004-04:00

I got so drunk last night on gin. GIN! Who does that? I was so trashed that I couldn't even go to the park and climb fences which I soooooo wanted to. I could barely make it to my bed (don't worry, I did).

I fell asleep with my "doors open, lights on, and the wrong way on my bed," according to a source close to the alcoholic.

For Your Own Clear-Headedness... fuck gin.

Adios, C!

2009-08-07T12:09:00.000-04:00

I'm sitting at work, talking with one of my interns about stealing some llamas. I’m just as confused as you. I think it spurred from a discussion about how the only trait we share in common is a love of getting drunk. She tried to write lame-o's. It came out lamos (she sucks at spelling and reading). We talked about stealing llamas.

The last day of this shitty-shit-fest has arrived. So excited. I am going to miss everyone in this department so bad except for the huge chunk of shithead (my boss) sitting in the back left corner of this used-to-be-cafeteria. I discovered yesterday that everyone in the office refers to him as "GP" when they want to insult him. What a great idea! The lettering reminds me of those giants from fiction novels that have no vowels in their name because they are so old and large, which is equally fitting for Guh-P.

Yesterday, after we strolled around, polled, and solidified our design for our upcoming A&A feature - he felt the need to strut over and cluck his beak away at the winning design. Haven't you heard? I'd be surprised if you didn't. He doesn't like it. All this chatter despite the fact that his boss (who is a woman with equal-sized balls, but is scary) made the final executive decision. He then proceeded to my cubicle and said

"I'm going to talk about you, in front of you"

and, although unwelcome, decided to talk to my peer mentor (who is the shit, see: below) about me and how if I wanted to come back to this dump, all I had to do was "keep in touch." Thanks, GP. Noted.

To give you something to take away from this post, other than the gift of me, I present you with this: Emails from Crazy People. It follows in the footsteps of Texts from Last Night (that is, before it fell into a disgusting rut of sex jokes verging on free adult fan fiction) in that it accepts user-submitted content, publishes the best ones, and lets us laugh at it.

I still don’t get why my text didn’t make it on there!

“Woot woot! It doesn’t matter what you say, so long as you can spin it.”

Now THAT'S a drunken text. Well thought out, properly punctuated, and nonsensical. I was so drugged up on sleep medicine. I don’t even use the word “woot" and the sheer stupidity and daftness of that statement should have awarded me the best-texter-of-all-time.

Yet, somehow,

“(631): I cant date a girl that sucks dick at sucking dick”

makes it on there. That’s not even funny! Like I said: free porn. And putting that in my blog just got me added to 300 spam lists. Fuck.

So check out the Emails from Crazy People site. It’s great. Lastly, because this will be the final time I can ever post a random statement from my peer mentor, she just informed me that some fucked up scientists created a bunny with the glow-worm gene so it could glow in the dark. It worked. The bunny died.

Presenting

2009-08-06T09:24:00.003-04:00

I think presenting is it's own shit form of artwork.

The best is when you say something and you have no clue what just came out of your mouth. And it's not as if you can start over or correct yourself so you just move on.

Most of the time it's not even that you're nervous - no one is listening anyways and you are 100% aware of your audiences catatonic state. It's just that what sputters out doesn't make a shred of sense and you find yourself questioning if you ever knew the language in the first place. Without a doubt, some distant estranged teacher from your past would smack you if they ever heard you piss on speech so bad.

"I've worked on everything such as forms of media in the business."

...right. Okay.

IMG00244.jpg

2009-08-05T22:05:00.001-04:00

Crucified like the swiggly demon deserves.

Sent from my BlackBerry ®

Edit: Because this needs to be pointed out: Enlarge the picture and look at the "toy in action" on the bottom left. Something about how horrified Omle looks makes me want to buy this toy just so I can see if that's what it really looks like.

Peer Mentor

2009-08-05T09:54:00.002-04:00

My peer mentor is the shit. Everyone should be awesome. Unfortunately, that would collapse the entire system and give us no one to gossip about between our 2 foot cubicles.

MKN: I don't know if you've heard but my photos are award winning.
PM: At least my camera isn't refurbished.
MKN: Ugh, you sound like someone else. (I'm referring to our snarky, enormous butchy asshole of a boss).
PM: Ew, no, don't compare me to THAT.

Perfect role model. The woman is going places.

Elmo

2009-08-04T18:02:00.002-04:00

For all those who are skeptical about one of my biggest fears or don't seem to understand the root of my trauma - this: is why I am petrified of that bloody rodent, Elmo (Omle backwards - which is equally terrifying). If the picture or my heinous scared rant doesn't make it clear...

This is, without a doubt, the most terrifying creature ever to haunt the Earth. I once read in The Tipping Point how Sesame Street was one of the most brilliant shows ever created. I suppose I can understand that. But, how the creators felt comfortable designing, spawning, and releasing a demon that will make even the most robust and omnipotent of men's balls jump back into their bodies astounds me. Seriously. WHAT. THE. FUCK?

I need a drink.

For Your Own Safety... avoid prepubescent television dramas about cracked-out fluffy serial killers. And I mean it: For Your Own Safety.

For Your Own...

Drink

2009-08-03T18:15:00.003-04:00

I am so tired. I am so tired I am actually incapable of coming up with anything witty, funny, or sarcastic. Normally I can hit one of those points, if not all three at once.

However, I will say that I noted a few things today:

1. I love driving. I love driving so much that even when I have a Long Island driver asshole up my car's asshole... I still love it. Everyone should drive always.

2. I do not like driving for anyone else other than me. Get your own license. I say that with love and care. I'm thinking about you, really. I want you to experience how good it feels to drive for yourself and for no one else.

3. Lastly, and most importantly, after this Friday I will be getting my drunk on. I will be so drunk, my eyeballs are going to pop and I am going to need some serious AA rehabilitation meetings to get me to return to any sort of normalcy. My internship has had me way too tired to spend time with the love of my life. But, come this Friday, Skyy and I will be reunited once again. God bless inebriation.

I will also miss my job. But, let it be noted I will be too drunk to care.

For Your Own Enjoyment... get a license! And don't combine it with alcohol, because that would make you a shit. Separate the two, but enjoy them equally.

For Your Own...

Officially: Not for Me

2009-08-02T20:39:00.003-04:00

I must have pulled the lucky twisty straw (haha, those are so fun) when I got placed into internet marketing. The people here are youthful and full of zest. They’re so zesty. I will miss them. Outside of my cube, though, it's a freaking zombie den. Only the zombies here are dumber and, as weapons of choice, have giant poles up their asses instead of razor sharp teeth. I want to come up with a clever metaphor, but I’ll just find a less awesome way to say it: the Underground Railroad is to slave states what having fun (and possibly improv sessions) is to C. My presentation didn’t fit the corporate standard. Don't worry: the logo now has its precious 6,000 pixel white border so the fragile celebrities (and, boy, do I mean celebrities) of C know what useless meeting they are droning through. We won't keep them long, though, so they can get back work on their cookie cutter wives (who are sleeping with all the neighbors) and their oversized beer guts they've had since college.

Life is way too short to pretend things like ample border space and open toed shoes actually matter. Fuck you, I like seeing people’s toes. And fuck you, you can suck it. If nothing else, I hopefully made some lasting friends here. Don't take it personally when I say I hope I never have to see any of you in this shitter ever again.

The sad reality is that we all have to do what we have to do for money. And I really did enjoy everyone in my department. Okay, almost everyone. One of the people from my department got fired last week (presumably by my boss). Since my boss is such a big piece of useless that he’s clearly incapable of both mentally and physically recognizing his own ass, I don’t feel bad saying: Don’t worry, GP, everyone hates you and thinks you’re a giant (and I mean GIANT) tool. Please continue your behavior so your employees can continue to make fun of you behind your broad back. It gives them something to do when you’re blocking their sun - both mentally and literally.

"Just grab the easy-carry handle and go!" Can't say the word "go," as this would imply that it comes with a battery. Or that it doesn't need a battery! This would further entail that it is a living, breathing mini compact printer meant to take over Manhattan and shit pictures on everyone to death. I'm not sure what's sadder: That legal actually has to correct the word "go" to "tote from room to room" (ha!) or that people were actually stupid enough to care in the first place.

For Your Own Integrity… don’t sell out to the man.

For Your Own…

Oh, CMO

2009-07-30T20:38:00.000-04:00

The problem with getting involved in the world of blogging (specifically when it's tailored to marketing and advertising) is that you begin to notice patterns. Your eyes widen so far it hurts and the crap that filters in sometimes makes you wanna barf. That being said. Barf.

People with over-inflated heads and egos who know too little and should know less pretend they know it all. They constantly make comments about a specific company doing A right or B wrong. It's all poppycock (yeah, that's right - take it). The load of shit you could shovel from any one of these blogs is enough to fill up John Goodman twice and solve world hunger.

Case in point: Doug Meacham posts on his blog about an exchange he had with the Chief Marketing Officer of Best Buy, Barry Judge. Apparently there was a price discrepancy between what was online for his precious toodaloo camcorder than what rang up in-store. The kiosk set up for customers and employees to check such discrepancies DID ITS JOB ::gasp for dramatic effect:: I fuck you not. The issue was resolved and he was charged the lesser price. End of story? Ha. Don’t you make me laugh, now. Douchey Meacham feels it necessary to go onto Twitter and piss his mouth off at someone who has many other things to deal with - so many other things that I'm surprised he didn't track Douchey down and beat him to death with the precious $50 he undeservedly saved (okay, maybe his original point was sanction). But, it doesn't end there. When CMO Barry Judge didn't respond with the utmost respect and diligence after being rudely snapped at and accused, Douchey Boy continues to whore and whine his ass all over the place. Publicly, no less.

Now, what's really interesting about this story (aside from the fact that there is a 12 year old girl trapped in a 40 year old man's body) is that you would think after the junior high bitch fest that Mr. Ma-Kaw would feel a little ashamed. You know, come to his senses. Possibly realize that he was getting his first period and MOVE ON. But, instead, he continues to be that constant headache that won’t ever go away until you take three Benadryll and two NyQuil and pass out. He then posts the entire TwitTwit conversation on his blog for all of us to see. Is it me or am I missing something? Why would he want anyone to see this? It makes him look like a giant piece of annoying. This is a throwback to the junior high days when you would get into a fight with your friend on AIM about chopsticks because you could and then you would refuse to apologize even though you KNOW you were wrong. So, instead you would just copy and paste the entire damn thing to anyone who would listen. Well, I listened Mr. Ma-Kaw and, if I could, I would come there and break each one of your overly animated fingers. Instead, I say, GO BARRY JUDGE!

What's further saddening is that this made me realize how 90% of blogs are like this. People who need to take their fists and find ways to plug their mouths are instead constantly going off on how companies have wronged them. GO WATCH A MOVIE. Go use that precious camcorder you spent so long complaining about. Go work! The amount of time people spend bitching about how their value has been stripped from them, they could be making triple the money they needed in the first place. Or possibly go put half as much effort into your relationships so your estranged spouses aren't sleeping with the next door neighbors (yeah, that’s right: neighbors) and your children don’t think you’re a fucking cheap nutcase (which you are).

Luckily, there is a remaining 10% of bloglife. 5% of those actually deliver useful information (both good and bad).The other 5% are the elite (like me) who write to essentially no one and know how to make light of any situation ever. See my other posts on how I am going to die from the flu and the one before that about how some jackass created an app for drunk fucks. We, the elite, never complain. Ahem.

For Your Own Clarity, go read some blogs. Or go read Douchy Ma-Kaw's blog. That is if you can stand the whining.

For Your Own…

Well

2009-07-29T14:26:00.005-04:00

I'd like to thank all of those who stuck by me through these rough times. Yesterday I chastised my father for asking me what type of ices I want after I asked him to get me ices. These were dark times. I hope to never get the flu again. Ever. And, no, I still don't know if it is the swine flu. Regardless, the pinnacle of my sickness has passed and I'm on the path to recovery. I won't forget those who stuck through the whole thing. I'm glad to say that my irritability level has taken a nose dive down from 1,000 (on a scale of 1 to 10) and now rests comfortably at the 2 to 3 level.

In lieu of this long overdue recovery, I am going to share with you a wonderful singer I've discovered on YouTube called Sam Tsui. Bitch is gonna be famous. All witty and sarcastic jokes aside - he is excellent. He is better than my entire a cappella group all by hisself (AN: Intentional spelling errors on this blog should never be taken seriously). I urge you to go listen to everything he sings ever and go to his Facebook page and support him if he's your cup of brisk lemon tea.

For Your Own Pleasure... take a listen.

Oh, P.S. Jordin Sparks new CD is better than toasted marshmallows on a winter night followed by drunken fiestas and dancing. I know what you're thinking - but, yes, it really is.

Blood

2009-07-27T23:33:00.004-04:00

Taking blood has never been my forte. I suck quite much at it actually. Back when I was a liddle lady I would have 8 nurses chasing me around the doctors office; which, by the way, I'm not sure whose idea it was to paint those room such bright colors - but they weren't fooling anyone. Eventually the 8 fat bitches got to me though. I knew my fate was inevitable. That didn't stop me from squeezing my 8-year-old pudge under the doctor station thing though (which no human should ever really be able to fit in... how I miss being so teeny tiny). If they were gonna stick me, they were going to have to work for it.

I got my blood taken today for the first time since I went away to college. I've had some traumatic experiences that don't bode well for me. These stories penetrate the deep masculine persona I've been able to put off since I was 11. That was sarcasm. Damn, I wish it came off better through the Internet.

The odds of me passing out to actually remaining conscious when I get blood drawn are not very impressive at all. And yet, I always say I'm okay. Why do I do that? For my college shots I welcomed 3 shots into my beauty of an arm and a blood test drawn from my spectacular veins.

"You all right?"
'Yeah I'm fine!' ::walks into waiting room::
...
::fall::

Or the second time I got my cartilage pierced (again, who even knows why - I still knew what was going to happen)

::pierce:: "You all right?"
'Yeah!' ::can't get up:: 'Hang on, I need a minute.'

All of this leading to the owners of Tattoo Lou's being not very happy with me or my piercer and screaming at her to get my increasingly pathetic behind out the chair and through the exit hole.

So, today I wanted to be a grown up. It's always a good time to grow up. I decided to drive to the doctors I've never been to with a 103 fever. Nearly died too. Anyways, the mean old nurse took my blood and I was fine! I was so surprised. Then the Doc came in.

"Stand up."
::stands:: 'Do you mind if I sit down?'
"Sure."
::passes out on the doctor table that I used to be able to wedge my blub beneath::

It wasn't nearly as bad as when I passed out standing up after my college immunizations at my PEDIATRICIAN'S OFFICE. UGH!

For Your Own Well-Being... drink some Gatorade before you get pints of blood drained from your arm. It won't do anything, but they'll tell you it will.

For Your Own...

Chris Brown

2009-07-27T00:21:00.002-04:00

RAWFUL!!!

How this giant turd actually made it to stardom is beyond me. Does anyone else want to smash his face in with Rihanna's left foot? How can you be a 20 year old and not yet have learned how to talk (or read)?

For the record, I do love poop-boy's music. Beating Rihanna to a pulp didn't really affect that for me. In fact, that's when I loved "Forever" the most. However... this pitiful public display of sadness definitely has me reconsidering keeping his album on my iPod... aka, FAIL.

For Your Own Entertainment... watch this piece of crap "apologize" off his cue cards. Note to Chris Brown, since I know you're reading this: Never go into acting. You will not succeed.

Sick

2009-07-25T17:30:00.005-04:00

Without going into too much detail, it's really stupid that the only things you can really do when you're lying around like a helpless pile of rubble vis-à-vis (I recognize this phrase doesn't fit. But, since I'm about to be dead, I didn't want to leave this wonderful planet without using that phrase. Upon researching how it didn't fit, I discovered that "dos-à-dos" is also a phrase. Well, tickle me silly and call me Arnold - that is wonderful!) laying, peeing, or eating - hurt so god damn much. If you can't tell, when a fever sets in, I revert back to a five year old woman. Only I was probably far more brave and less of an annoying bitch when I was five years old. I want everyone to come rub my belly (I know, barf, right?), yet I won't let anyone get within ten feet of me 'cause I don't want anyone to catch my disorder.

One of the great things about being sick is that I get to catch up with old friends. You see, when you're a hypochondriac like me and you get sick... you think that you're going to die. It's the only logical solution. This morning, I was deluded to the point I truly believed I was as hot as the sun. Naturally, this isn't a safe temperature. So, being thousands of degrees of hot, I was going to die. Right now is my only chance to catch up with the ones I love and bid farewell. It's only safe in case I die.

For Your Own Safety, please say adeiu and extend any information you may think I would want to know... you might never have the chance again. We don't want that resting on your conscience.

For Your Own...

Marketing To Idiots

2009-07-24T09:42:00.000-04:00

If you see this link and want to take the your cell phone and shove it up the nearest asshole, I urge you to do so.

The fact that there is an application for iPhone users to determine if they've shotgunned enough beer makes me queezier than seeing Katie Holmes lip sync to Judy Garland last night. (Haven't seen it? Go read about it now. Believe me, reading about it is easier than watching it. The video portion should come with a disclaimer of potential death). Don't get me wrong. Alcohol is the giant light at the end of every tunnel. It truly is the creation of God. But, I'm curious to understand how the makers of such a useless and degrading application figure the end-users are smart enough to pull out their iPhone and walk an imaginary line. I know a few months ago when I lovingly poured a shot of vodka in my pocket (I was saving it for later) what I REALLY needed was to whip out my now-defunct BlackBerry to determine if I was "drunk enough."

Are you not sure if you're drunk enough? I have a better application for you. If you have beer dripping out your pores, assume you're drunk enough. Better yet - download the application. If you're brainless enough to ever pull it out - you're fucking drunk enough.

For Your Own Stupidity... download the app here. That is if your sober enough to find it. The site is Russian - go figure.

For Your Own...

For Your Own...

2009-07-23T19:51:00.000-04:00

After what seems to be SEVEN years, I am hereby ending my life at my old LiveJournal blog, picking up the shattered pieces, and setting up camp over here at ForYourOwn.Blogspot.com. Google's taking over the world anyways... so I might as well hop on board. Yet another application I can sync to my BlackBerry and never actually use.

The idea behind this journal is hopefully far more grown up than the attention-getting, Lindsay Lohan antics I had going on at my former life (by the way, I'm going to call it my former life everytime I reference that sad stream of literary pieces). It will hopefully be wittier, and make me seem a little bit less of a sandy vagina. I'll hopefully be able to focus more on my interests and talk about not dramatic experiences or thoughts that I may have. And I'll get to do this all in my favorite font ever: Georgia. How can this be beat?

For future reference, the logic behind the name of this blog came from me writing an email today to my boss. She has a very frustrating in-law situation. Bless her soul. The bitches wouldn't be a step away from calling her and complaining from inside the cab that she personally set up and sent directly to them. Instead of working, as that's rare, I went and found her a link to a website called "I Hate My In-Laws" to try and put things into perspective. The title of my email was called "For Your Own Health." It was then I decided that would be the name of this blog, for the sheer reason that it was the first thing I looked at. In the interest of keeping this journal a bit more interesting and dynamic - I decided to shorten it to "For Your Own..." so I can continually add new words or phrases to the end. I'm so fucking witty.

So, For Your Own Pleasure... Welcome to my blog!