My life, told in Simpsons screen shots (pt. 1 of a million)

I've always said that I can relate every single moment in my life to an episode of The Simpsons (note, I'm mostly a fan of seasons 1-8. They were touch and go for a long time, but now they seem to be bouncing back, which is awesome), and today I fell into a tumblr hole wherein I realized how true that statement really is.

Here's an audge-podge of life moments, as illustrated by The Simpsons.


How I feel when I'm cooking:

When I post a blog without proofing it first and find mad typo's 3 days later:

When my friends point them out before I notice:

When I run into people while I'm at the store, unshowered and wearing sweat pants and crocs:

The exact moment I see my paycheck in my bank account:

The exact moment I realize 90% of my paycheck is going to bills:

When I'm drinking old fashioned's:

How I really feel about DIY projects:

How I feel when I kill that scary looking bug that came out of nowhere instead of running away screaming:

At the end of The Wire, season 4:

How I felt in high school:

Me after one too many old fashioned's:

When everything is coming up Audrey:

 

My brain when my supervisors talk about proposals:

Being of Scandinavian descent and going into a chlorenated pool:

Sundays:

How I don't know how to interact with babies and small children:

Me in any math class:

Hanging out with Scott:

On my prediliction for $8 whiskey:

College:

 



My impulsive shopping:

My mad MS Paint Skillz:

My future:

My subconscious:

Depression + PMS:

 



The past few years:

 

 

 

 

Oh man. This could go on forever.

 

God bless you, Simpsons.



 

 



Fiction Thursday: Fast Food

“Come with me,” he whispered. “Let me show you a life you have never imagined.” He looked her right in her eye. His sharp, aqua marine orbs fixed on hers with what he knew to be an intensely erotic stare, a commanding visual grip.

“Like... in a good way? Because I’m pretty sure there’s some shitty stuff out there that I haven’t thought about. Like, it’s gotta suck to get VD. And I bet that Pull-Po guy in China was all kinds of gross.” She went back to chewing the straw stuck in her empty glass. She returned his gaze with a malleable stare of her own, her brown iris’ like mud puddles.

Goddamnit. “It’s Pol Pot,” he said under his breath, looking away. “...in Cambodia. And most VD are curable.” He ran his hand through his thick, perfectly disheveled, auburn hair. He looked around the bar. At 1:45 AM, they were included among a handful of stragglers: old men falling asleep on table tops, a young couple making out with drunk desperation, his companion making similar advances on a much more cooperative woman. This conquest seemed easier 4 drinks ago.

Indeed, four drinks ago, she seemed ideal. His new, much younger companion,pointed her out to him. She was alone and blithely nursing a vodka and cranberry. She had a lonesome, wistful stare that implied a kind of tragically gained wisdom--his favorite prey. Nothing satisfied quite like guilt and years of abused self-esteem.

He had never hunted at a modern bar before. “Low class and trash,” he called it. But his companion insisted he try it. “You won’t believe how easy it is,” the companion insisted. “Much less work than those stuffy bitches you spend weeks wooing.”

True, he had a pattern: he’d find an ostensibly pure girl, and would spend extraordinary amounts of time and effort to foster within her an overwhelming longing, and then he’d strike. The unequalled taste of crazed love was worth the weeks of starving. If this prey tasted just as good with less effort, then he would be converted.

And so, with a palpable air of confidence, he sidled up beside this girl and offered to refresh her drink. She smiled and agreed. She asked him to join her. Their conversation flowed. She was melting right into his hands. He mistook her flightiness for nerves. Afterall, he was a striking creature, and women were paralyzed in his presence. But time proved she was different. Immune to his seduction, and in complete and total ignorance of absolutely everything going on around her. It should have been easy.

But now, he shook his head, bemoaning his bad judgement. Why is this taking so long? I’m a goddamn vampire.

It was far too late to turn back now. Once he set his sight on prey, he’d be sieged with torment. The only way to alleviate said torment was to capture his prey, make her his.

“What’d you say? Geez, your hair is soooo long and pretty. I can’t believe you’re a guy!” She reached up and grabbed a handful of the shoulder length fibers and cooed over the texture. He jerked forward awkwardly as she grabbed and admired. “What conditioner do you use?”

With a  well-practiced, stern patience, he gently untangled her sticky fingers from his tresses. And as he held her hand in his, gently massaging her palm with his long, cool thumb, he once again fixed his stare on her.

“This secret and more, I can show  you. Please, my sweet, come with me,” his voice was  smooth caramel melting on the cookie crust that was her. His throat was aching. His want for her was unrelenting, as vast and grand as his utter repulsion for her. He cursed himself again. Never offer more than 1 drink. 1 and done. 2 with smart girls. 2 and thru, his companion had warned him. Why did I forget this?

“Come with you where? Salon Co.? Cuz that place is like, way too expensive for me,” she winked at him and flagged down the bartender.

He sneered to himself. Why did she follow that up with a wink? I’m not taking you to Salon Co. With a move as smooth as satin, he lowered her hand and shook his head at the bartender. He met her glare with a gentle caress of her cheek. Her spirit-induced flush felt hot under his touch. And his face slowly softened as he kept up with her criss-crossing sight holes. I know how to get this done.

“My pet,” he tenderly brushed her hair back, frowning slightly at the unwashed texture. “This bar is dead. Let’s go back to my place. I have vodka.” The smile on her face emerged, growing ear to ear. He smirked.

“OOoOoOo, I like the sound of thaaaat,” she winked again, this time using all of her face. He stifled a laugh. She leaned forward to put her hand on his leg, gruffly rubbing his thigh and attempting to bite her lower lip, which resulted in her biting almost her entire chin. Her messy cleavage was almost spilling out of her tube top. He sighed as he forced a pleased smile across his face. Inwardly, he cringed. “Call me that again... sweetheart... you’re so hot,” she slurred, trying to keep eye contact.

Way to let her get sloppy, you douche, he heard from his companion. He turned around and saw him exiting with his escort. His companion nodded his head and laughed. Silence, he thought back at him. The young ones are always the most vulgar. He looked at her, hand in her tube top, adjusting her bra. Vampire and human alike, he thought as he placed a $50 bill on the bar surface.

“You ready to go, baby?” he asked her, locking her glassy eyes with his calculated stare and a rub of her shoulder. She grinned wildly and clumsily reached for her purse.

As he walked her out of the bar, his hand gently massaging the small of her back, he could feel her increasing heart beat. Her blood starting to coarse. Finally, it’s happening. He smiled his first genuine smile of the evening. Suddenly she turned to the almost empty bar and shouted, “HE’S NOT GAY HE’S GOING HOME WITH ME, BITCHES!” His smile faded, abruptly. Mortified, he grabbed her by the waist and, once outside, moved her with lightning fast speed to around to the side of the bar. Another practiced move, designed to get his prey’s adrenaline pumping. She was shaking in his arms, grinning like a madwoman, her chest heaving up and down. Worked like a charm.

With a sense of quiet, intimate urgency, he cupped her face and leaned in for a kiss. He could feel her veins practically burst with excitement. His throat was on fire. He bypassed her lips, moving instead to her neck, glistening with sweat, coated in whatever designer knock off perfume was popular that month. She was already moaning loudly, and he wasn’t touching her. Yes, yes.

As her lifeless body avalanched to the ground, he felt the growing satisfaction of satiated hunger, of a taste so compelling and delicious, like nothing he’d felt before. But he also felt something else, something sickening inside him. What is this?

He bent down and examined her now pallid, waxy face. He felt the presence of his companion, who, in an instant was kneeling beside him, staring down at the body.

“Oh man, dude. That sucks,” his companion noted, pointing at her face.

“Whatever do you mean?” he examined closer, and still couldn’t see.

“There on her lip--that discolored thing?” His companion ripped a fleshy piece of latex off the corner of her lip.

"It's one of those cold sore cover-ups. Ew."

His face dropped, fallen with discovery. He instantly longed for his human days and the ability to vomit.

“Yeah, that’s herpes. Congrats, dude. Explains why you’re so sick. Probably shoulda warned you about that. That’s too bad.”

He spat out whatever blood was left in his mouth. He could feel insides shrinking. His skin withering. His hair turning grey, the ravages of the venereal disease spreading rapidly, the hot blade of irony ripping through him. In his hundreds of years of living, this was like nothing he had imagined.  

Fucking low class and trash.

New Days

After a trying weekend, an exhausting Monday, and a stressful Tuesday, I stopped by the civil war cannons that I pass everyday after work.

I sat by the monument, watched the mice run around the cannon wheels, wished I couldn't hear the traffic, missed the snow, and thought of all the things that I was doing wrong, and all the things that I was doing right, and I made some concrete decisions. Sometimes the right thing is the hardest thing.

But I'm looking forward to better days.

ghosts and pseudo ghosts

When I was 21, I scored a job as an office assistant for a local CPA. He runs his small practice out of his house, and when I started, it was just the two of us working in the office, and both of us helping out with his invalid mother. 

In the eight years that I've known him, I've gone from full time to part time to telecommute to full time to part time again. He's essentially become less of a boss and more a close friend (and benefactor, throwing me work when I'm broke and loans when times are tough). Sometime on Thursday, he had a severe seizure (did you know that a low-fat, low-calorie, low-sodium diet can bottom out your sodium levels and cause seizures? now you do. Eat salt, people.), so he's been in the hospital for the past few days, and I'm watching his crippled, geriatric dog while he's recuperating.  

hay dawg

My boss is an older guy, in his early 60's, and the thought that he could have died that night has weighed heavily on me this weekend. Also weighing on me is that, in the time I've known him, four members of his family, that I knew personally, have passed away. I knew eventually I'd be old enough to have to deal with family passing in my friendships. I just didn't think it'd be in my twenties. Oh, Death. Mortality, dirt naps, big sleep, that permanent absence. I understand death: you're born, you age or you get sick, and you die. Everything dies (except reality television). But, like most people, I have a difficult time accepting it. The abruptness gets to me. Everything shutting down without your consent. It's so empty and weird.

But life goes on. More people will be born, more people will come into your life. It doesn't fill the void, but it makes the void easier to deal with it. And that's the small silver lining. 

That and the fact that you can come back and haunt people*. That's gotta be worth leaving the plane of the living. 

umm... someone wet my pants

*ghosts totally exist. Anyone who's had a pet suddenly sit up in the middle of the night and stare intensely at nothing and even growl knows this. /unsettling

Fiction Thursday: "Let me tell you about heartache and the loss of [burgers]"

Julia hated her lunch break. She hated that she was forced to take it.

"Why can't I just work through that hour and leave early?" she finally asked her boss. "You know, Julia, union reps fought for you to have that break in the day. You should just take it and appreciate it."
"I work retail. I don't have a union."
"Fine, don't take your break. But you still can't leave early."

Begrudgingly, she punched her employee number into the time clock, grabbed her purse, and left the discount electronics storm BUY IT NOW, where she worked. As she walked to her car, she passed a couple who were hand in hand, looking at each other and laughing, alone in their own world. Assholes, they're in a parking lot and not paying attention. I hope they get hit by a car. She opened her door and threw her purse inside. No, that's mean. 

She pulled out of the parking lot and thought of the times she had happily held hands in parking lots, not caring whether or not she'd get backed over by a truck. She missed it. All her luck with the opposite sex had seemed to run out in high school. It seemed she never got past a 3rd date. She thought of her boss, whose wife occasionally met him for lunch. Maybe lunch wouldn't be so bad if I had a date. She sighed as she parked her car in front of "Cow Stacks," a local burger restaurant. It's gotta happen sometime.


Sam pushed buttons on the register as he took cash from the older man standing in front of him. Damn, the lunch rush never ends, he thought, bitterly. With lightening speed, he dished out change and ripped off the receipt from the dispenser. "Your order's number 78, thank you and have a great day!" he said as he forced himself to smile. As the man walked to the other end of the counter, Sam adjusted his polyester cap. Another customer walked up. What I wouldn't give for a break, he frowned to himself.

He smiled his way through taking another order from another dull eyed office worker on their lunch hour. Every weekday afternoon Cow Stacks filled with men and women in suits, bags under their eyes, cell phones in hand. They came from the business park next door. Sam couldn't tell who he felt more sorry for: the soul-less office dweller, or the dead inside retail slave. At least the office women dress better, he smirked to himself as he typed in the codes for a double patty cheese burger with onions and mushrooms.

The women who came in from the office building were, in Sam's opinion, unstoppably hot. Especially the ones who wore the long tight skirts and high heels. He stopped before he thought himself into excitement. It had been too long since he'd had a girlfriend. Somehow, a 23 year old burger flipper wasn't a panty-dropping profession, as the women from the business park never seemed to respond when he flirted with them. He was tired of feeling so lonely. So unnoticed. I bet they're lesbians. All of them. An office park full of lesbians. He chuckled to himself as he slid a debit card through the reader.  No, that's mean. He handed the man his receipt, and watched him move down the counter, standing next to some women in tight fitting slacks. He sighed and turned back, startled by the cute girl in a BUY IT NOW uniform walking toward him.

"Hi, welcome to--to--Cow, uh Can I what can--can--would you like a combo--fries?" Sam stuttered. He shook his head, embarrassed. He snapped himself back into action. "What can I get y--" she cut him off. "Small burger with ketchup only, please." He punched in her order with out taking his eyes off of her. She was striking. Yes, she was much taller than him, and her hair was dirty, but there was something about her. He watched as she dug through her purse, looking for her wallet.

Why is this fast food asshole staring at me, Julia thought. He's not even interested. I just saw him checking out those office girls. She handed him her debit card. She rolled her eyes as he examined the front. "Julia Jones, huh?" He flipped the card over. "Can I see your ID, Julia?" He smiled at her, and she handed over her driver's license, surprised that he even checked to see if she signed her card. "Why, thank you," he winked as he ran her card through. She could feel herself being charmed. He's kinda cute. "No, thank you, Sam." She smiled back, and awkwardly smoothed her hair. "My pleasure, and might I add, that's a beautiful ID photo," he winked. She blushed.

Yes! Sam was shocked with himself. I'm in! 

Yes! Julia thought. He's so into me!

Sam knew his time was limited as he saw her receipt printing out and the line of people getting longer behind her. Say something to her! Say something to her! His eyes flicked from the line to the now completed receipt in his hand. Say some--"Thank you, Tall lady!" He strained a smile as a winced inwardly. She stared back him, blankly. LAUGH IT OFF, he thought, and let out a small chuckle.

Julia could feel the look of confusion spread on her face. "uh, yeah, thanks" she stammered as she took her receipt and shoved it in her purse. I thought he liked me. She walked to the other side of the restaurant, out of view. Damnit.

Damnit, she thinks I'm an asshole, Sam thought as his next customers walked up. As they read the menu board, he continued to stew. But what if she doesn't think I'm an asshole? What if she's just waiting for me to make a move? He scanned around, looking for her. He could hear the cooks calling out orders. They're on 78. Her order was one away. The women standing in front of him were arguing over fries or onion rings. This is my chance. 

He tore off some blank receipt paper and started writing.

Hey Tall Lady, I don't know you. But I want to. You're beautiful. Call me? He scribbled his number down and rushed to where two empty order bags were standing. He found hers, the plain burger with ketchup, and stuffed the note inside. Smooooooth, he thought as he walked back to his register. And as he explained the difference between a little burger and a kids burger, he couldn't wipe the grin from his face. I'm in. This is going to work.

Julia sat on the other side of the restaurant, dejectedly checking her phone. What happened this time? I knew I should have washed my hair this morning. I hate being so tall. As she scrolled through her Facebook account, she thought of what she could do. Maybe I'll thank him for the burger as I leave, give him another chance to talk to me. Oh I know, I'll slip him my number! She rummaged through her purse and found the receipt he gave her. No, that's so lame. She balled it up and threw it back in her purse. Moments later, she heard her order number.

She grabbed her bag and tried to linger. He was talking to his customers. He's not even looking for me. He's so not interested. She turned and left.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as she paused by her bag. She's looking at me. Sweet. He watched as she walked out the door. She's so going to call.




Later that day, Sam's phone rang with an unknown number. His heart leapt. His head swam with possibilities. "Julia?" He asked, attempting to be cool.

"Um, no, Hi, uh, this is Jennifer... I was at Cow Stacks with my mom this afternoon, and I found your note in my bag." Sam lost his breath. "I'd... I'd like to get to know you, too."

He smiled.




Julia's boss walked into the break room as she threw her lunch bag in the trash. "How was your burger?" he asked.

"Awful. I picked up the wrong bag."

"That's the worst. Was it at least a good replacement?"

 "No, that's what really makes it the worst. It was smothered in onions and mushrooms. It was gross. I couldn't even it eat." She frowned at the trash can.

"Well, don't throw it away, go take it back."

"No, I don't have the time," She sighed loudly as she passed by him and made her way out to the floor. "My break is up."

Birthday Weekend

It was a weekend filled with big hair and parties around these parts! First, Neve turned 4 with an Olivia themed bash. Then we hung out with Josh for his big 3-2. And Sunday was St. Patrick's Day and meeting up with people in the surprisingly frigid DC temps.

It was also the anniversary of the death of a friend of mine from high school, which gave me all kinds of thoughts and feelings and left me a bit sad, clouded and useless. No need to go into it here, but needless to say I was happy that I got to spend my weekend with my family and my homies. I mean, I saw all my siblings on Saturday, and it's always pretty baller when that happens. And in DC, I got to meander some (once again, surprisingly) empty streets in the cold with a cup of hot coffee and a dead cell phone in my pocket, which was really nice. Oh, and I slept for about a million hours. Sleeping rules. And then it snowed on Monday. Like, real snow with accumulation and closed schools. In mid-March. Way to go, Virginia!

So, without further ado, a photo dump:

Monsieur Purray and his feathers

The Bill Man Cometh

The Birthday Girl

I can't believe how big they're getting

Neve couldn't have been more thrilled when it was time to cut the cake. As soon as people started singing, she looked as if she had just won an Oscar. Both of them are just so funny and cool and vibrant and expressive (and ridiculously sarcastic for 4 and 6 year olds) and this is me being a weird, gushy aunt but I can't help it, they're just awesome kids.

my fambly

mean muggin' with Olivia Straws

birthday beers with Josh, He Who Will Not Be Photographed

St. Patrick's Day!

I got to the pub early (or on time, which is still early since I'm typically always 10-20 minutes late), and met an actual Irish guy named Owen who was in DC for a conference. Not gonna lie, I felt pretty smug about making an Irish friend in an Irish pub on St. Patrick's Day. But then I had a few car bombs and some Jameson and when I got home I was hungover, which I did not feel smug about. 

Odie!

last pic before my phone died. Note the snazzy gloves.

I hope everyone had a good weekend! Also, did anyone else wake up this morning thinking it was Tuesday? I did. So did Cara. Weird.