Friday, February 10, 2006

Enough with the boinking already!

If you haven’t met my furballs yet, you might want to take a quick jaunt and do so, I’m about to talk about them again (and I don’t use their real names because they asked me not to, paranoid little yappers).

We’ve been meaning to take Little Brat to get spayed. It’s one of those things that you know you have to do, but you also know you don’t have to do it right now. So we didn’t. We told ourselves we just need to bring her in before her next heat cycle and we’ll be fine. Well guess what (hamster butt!) we waited too long. We now have an insatiable horndog on our hands.

She used to launch into a barking frenzy every single time this little Pekanese walked by our house. She would alternate between barking through the window and running to the back yard to bark through the gate. If you were to put words in her mouth, they would sound something like, “Hey you stumpy little intruder, I’ll rip your froo-froo fur out with my little chihuahua teeth! Yeah that’s right, walk away you lilly livered excuse for a canine!"

But yesterday, as I was getting the mail out of the box, she ran out of the house. There was that Pekanese again walking by our house with his owner. Did she bark? Oh no, not at all. She ran right up to him and immediately started doing her little “fuck me” dance, waving her furry little butt in his face. I could almost hear her saying, “Hey there big boy… I’ve got something for you...” Slut.

The day before that I was on the lazyboy watching TV. The doggies usually lay on my lap the whole time, for lack of anything else to do. But that night they just couldn’t sit still. Big Pest was resting contentedly, but Little Brat would have none of it. He’s the only male in the household, so of course she’s going to be following him everywhere. It didn’t matter that he’s neutered. So here she was, waving her ass in his face that night, and that’s all it took. He climbed right on top of her and started humping… right in my lap.

All day long they follow each other around, going nuts with the boinking. They usually follow me to bed when I go to sleep at night. Last night they stayed up for an extra hour of banging. In the mornings they usually stay in bed as I leave for work because it’s cold. This morning they got up at 6am with me to start their fuckfest early. Enough with the boinking already!

Serves us right for being so lazy. Now we’ve got another six months to spay her before this happens again. I hope we’re able to get off our asses in time!

Doggie Style

Can you sense today’s theme?

Humans aren’t the only ones with sex toys. Anyone with pets knows this. I would like to introduce you to my little ones’ favorite sex toy. What a cow. See for yourself!

Ms. Cow is primarily Big Pest’s toy. He likes to play three games with her:

1. Tug of war
   
2. Shake it up
   
3. Let’s get it on

The funny thing about this toy is that it has one of those animal-sound noise makers inside. You turn it upside down and it yields a very mournful “Mooooooooo”. The entertaining part is you can always tell when Big Pest is playing “Let’s get it on” with her, because all you hear is “Mu mu mu mu mu”.

These last few days have been interesting with Little Brat being in heat and all. He’s been pretty much ignoring Ms. Cow. However it seems that Little Brat isn’t getting enough satisfaction. I was at the computer (where else?) when I heard the “mu mu mu mu” of Ms. Cow. I look over expecting to see my boy in action, but instead I find Little Brat getting her groove on with the cow. Horndog doesn’t even begin to describe her.

Better the cow than me!

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Hugh Jackman doesn't wear socks

I was going through my site stats like a good little blogger when I got to the “Search Keyphrases” section. It’s really neat to see how some people have stumbled onto my site (and likely took one look, mumbled “Useless!” and then clicked the back button.) There was one that caught my eye, and completely baffled me. Someone, somehow, managed to come to my site by searching for “hugh jackman doesn’t wear socks”.

Since I’ve never mentioned Hugh Jackman or socks in my blog, I assume they were probably directed to my movie rants page (also hosted on my lame-ass .info domain). I might have mentioned him there, but I seriously do not recall talking about anyone’s socks.

This brings us to the next question… Why on earth would any dumbass want to know about Hugh’s socks? If I wanted to stalk him, I’d be more inclined to ask about what he likes for dessert or what color underwear he has on Sundays. But anyway, people search for the weirdest things. As entertaining as this search phrase was, it wasn’t as bizarre as the “penis salad” search that I once read about. Now that is a laugh and a half.

If I want to know how your day is, I'll beat it outta ya!

I was just wandering to the lunch room to refill my water bottle (well, it really isn’t a water bottle. It’s a sippy cup for adults. Anything else would result in a flood on my desk every day.) So I’m walking down the hallway and this lady is walking towards me. She smiles at me and says, “Hi, how’s it going?” I smile back and answer, “Pretty good” and continue on my way. We pass by each other and a few seconds later I hear her say, “Yeah I’m fine too, thanks."

All right. FIRST of all, I have never liked the stupid greetings people insist on doing to total strangers. If I’m not interested in knowing how your day is, I won’t ask you, and I don’t think anyone else should either unless they are prepared to stop and listen to a full answer. To me, asking “How are you” should be an opening for a conversation, not something you toss at another person in passing. You say “hi” for a quick greeting.

It’s polite and nice to make eye contact and say hi to people in passing, but woman, do NOT expect me to fucking ask you how your fucking day was. I don’t care. I will acknowledge your existence, but I don’t know you. I won’t ask a question unless I’m going to stop walking and listen.

I’m a nice person, but I will not join in on the stupid practices of society that make no sense. If you’re one of these How Are You people, you’re lucky to get a hi out of me. I know I’m being surly, but she didn’t have to get all bitchy and turn a normal everyday greeting into a “fuck you for not asking” event. Now for the rest of the day I’m just going to keep my eyes on the floor, just in case.

Escape Artist

For some reason, as I was driving to work, I thought of something that my sister and I used to play as kids. It was a phase that last about a week or less. We called it “Escape Artist”. It basically consisted of one sister tying the other to a chair. Afterwards the one tied up would try to wiggle free. We always managed to wiggle free because, well, kids are very wiggly and terrible at tying knots. It was a lot of fun… until grandma got mad.

My grandmother (who was living with us at the time) found us in the dining room, one tied up while the other was giggling. We couldn’t figure out why, but she got really mad at us. “What kind of a game is this? This isn’t funny! You want to be tied up? I’ll can tie you up real good!"

She didn’t say it like, “I’m going to help you guys with your game and show you how to tie good knots.” It was more like, “You just offended me (and the stick up my ass) and I’m going to teach you both a lesson if you keep this up!” My sister and I stared at her like a pair of deer in headlights. Well, one deer was tied up at the time, so it couldn’t bound off the road. Why was she so mad? We couldn’t figure it out, but we never played Escape Artist again.

In thinking back to those few days, I am realizing one thing: I…  I kinda liked the feeling of being tied up… Hmm. Interesting.
...
...
Hey sweety… wanna play Escape Artist?

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

What's that in my car?

Last month I had a post about things you’d find on my desk at work. I kinda enjoyed writing that, and since no one ever tags me for anything, I decided to write one about things you’d find in my car. It’s not as interesting because I don’t like knick-knacks in my car, but it’s something. In my car you’ll find...

1. Jumper cables. When I got my first car I immediately bought jumper cables. My mom asked me, “What do you need jumper cables for? The car is brand new!” ...As if brand new cars are immune to owner stupidity. Hello, just because your car turns off its lights when you turn off the car doesn’t mean mine does it too! Speaking of which, that bugs me. She never bothers to turn off her headlights because the car will turn them off for her. I don’t ever want her driving my car because I know she’s going to just leave the damn things on all day. Lucky for me the only times I’ve ever used the cables was to help others who had dead batteries. I like being able to help folks. I actually think that’s more what motivated me to buy them in the first place. It’s that weird little desire to be a hero I guess.

2. A CD case full of music compilations I burned myself, just in case the radio is blowing chunks.

3. A pair of gloves. I really do have gloves in my glove compartment. My hands are so chronically icy, they are a necessity for me. That steering wheel gets COLD in the mornings.

4. A squeegie. Squeegy? Luigi? One of those window-cleaner things on a stick. There’s almost always so much dew in the mornings it looks like my car was rained on, only without the added benefit of washing any of the dirt off. I think the windows are the only clean part of my car right now.

5. A little Buddha on a string. No I’m not religious at all. I hate organized religion. But my mom’s a hardcore Buddhist (hey there are worst things to be) and she gave me this little doohicky for luck and good karma. I actually keep it inside one of my little dashboard compartments because I hate things dangling from my rearview mirror. So if she ever asks about it, I can drag it out and show her that I didn’t immediately throw it in the garbage.

6. A baby shower invitation from my sister. It’s this nauseatingly cute little pink thing she created herself. It’s only still in the side pocket of my door because I keep forgetting to throw it out. The baby shower was actually a year and a half ago.

7. Various store receipts. I hate car clutter, but sometimes it’s necessary to keep things there. Receipts in my purse eventually get thrown out because they get in the way of everything else. Receipts in the house disappear completely. Things that are put into my car stay there. That baby shower invitation is a fine example.

8. The owner’s manual for the car. Hey I read the damn things. When I had to change a tire for the first time in my life last year, I read the manual. It worked. Not only did I manage to change the tire, it stayed on when I drove the car.

9. My ID badge for work. If I don’t leave that thing in the car when I go home, I would be locked out of the office every other day from leaving it at home all the time.

10. A pair of sneakers. I used to make it a point to go take a walk around the block during my lunch break. I haven’t done that in a while. I’ve been blogging instead.

Catching elusive thoughts

I’ve always been a writer. When I say “writer” I don’t mean a self-proclaimed author of several self-published books. Hell no. I have no such delusions (I have other things to be delusional about). (Actually I have made several attempts at starting books, but I never finish because I lose interest or inspiration too quickly.)

I mean I’ve always preferred to put my thoughts down into print rather than talk about them. It really helps me to organize and analyze them. Back when I used to live by myself I would bang out pages and pages into a Word doc, just ranting to myself about whatever I was feeling. I was often more able to get a handle on things afterwards and therefore make better decisions. When I go back and read them years later I sometimes wonder how I could have been such a whiny, melodramatic drama queen at the time. Hmm… maybe I haven’t changed that much. But still, it did help me figure out that I was gay. It helped me figure out what I was dissatisfied about in a relationship. One fleeting thought would lead to another, then another. Then after reading what I wrote, I would realize a complete thought, a complete set of feelings. It worked much better than me trying to chase them down in my head during a conversation or even just laying on the couch. I don’t run 300 miles an hour like my thoughts do.

Well anyway, writing in a blog is different from all that. When I started it I was a little hesitant because you are opening yourself up to other people’s comments, possibly ridicule. But what surprised me were the number like-minded people that are out there. It’s nice to be a unique personality and all, but it’s also very comforting to know that there are others who share some of my quirks, experiences and ideals. It’s awesome actually.

Okay, it’s addicting. I’m a junkie. I just wanted to take a bit of time to thank everyone who comes by and helps me support my habit by commenting. I’m being sappy and stupid, I know, but I feel I must express my appreciation today. Tomorrow I’ll go back to complaining about something.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

What is wrong with this guy?

Do you remember this retard who I invited to the barbecue I had over the weekend? I replied to his stupid email with one that clearly corrected his mistake about my name. I never got a reply back to that, so I assumed he was just embarrassed and didn’t want to write back in acknowledgement. Well apparently that wasn’t the case. I received this email from him yesterday:

Joe,
Sorry I was not able to make it on Saturday. I had a little accident but I am ok.

There is just no response to such blatant… moronocity (there just aren’t enough words to express profound stupidity, so we have to start making some up) except to laugh. After correcting the fuckhead three times, he’s still calling me Joe. I give up. What’s a girl to do? He’s obviously fried his brain cells beyond all recognition, and I’m not quite sure what he does at the office. Maybe he counts paperclips or something. Who knows. Rest assured I will not be sending any more invites in his direction.

Oh, and “had a little accident?” Sounds like he peed his pants and didn’t have any clean ones to change into. There’s got to be a better word than “moron” for this guy. What can you come up with?

Monday is the new Sunday

I took the day off yesterday. So it felt more like a Sunday for me instead of a Monday. Apparently this is a very common practice in the beauty salon world. I decided to use some of my time off yesterday to finally get that haircut I’ve been needing. Most places are closed Sunday, so I waited until yesterday. Wrong move.

The lady I usually go to takes Mondays off. Since she’s kinda far anyway (since I moved last year) I was open to trying someplace new. I went to this little shop near my house. Closed. Bummer. I drove a little further and found one that was open! Very exciting. It looked nice from the outside too. However when I went in, it was like a ghost town. Not a single body in sight. Empty chairs, music was playing, but no people. “Helloooo...?” Not even my own echo answered. So I left. Next two places I passed by were closed. (I found there are like 20 barber shops and beauty salons in a 5 mile radius around my house!) So I said fine, I’ll go to a frickin’ Supercuts, despite my sweetheart’s protests. I went in and there were three people waiting for one barber, and she had just started on the fourth person. I would be there for hours! Hell no, I was not waiting for that. I’d rather have bad hair.

I then noticed another beauty salon just a few stores over. How funny, so close by. I went in and asked how much it was for a trim. “Twenty dollah,” she answered in her Korean accent. But she didn’t ask me to have a seat, how odd. I didn’t see anyone else around, so I asked, “Should I pick out a hair style now?” She replied,"Oh, I have custamah righ now.” I looked around again. Not a single butt in a single chair. Okaaaaay… “Oh okay, bye then,” I said and left.

It’s a front, I just know it. They’re smuggling kimchi back there… or something. Wait, kimchi isn’t illegal. Well it should be! Ever smell that stuff?

So anyway, two miles later I finally found a place that could take me immediately. I got my haircut (a little shorter than I expected, but that’s okay. That must means I can wait longer till my next haircut.) Now I can feel the slightest breeze on the back of my neck again… and my ears. Brrrr. I always have to wear a hood in the mornings for a few days after a fresh haircut. But at least now I can fall out of bed and forget to brush my hair again without worrying too much! It’s all about priorities, y’know?

Monday, February 06, 2006

Sex is better than football

Obviously. Yesterday was a goooood day, and not because it was Superbowl Sunday. We spent the day watching back-to-back episodes of Lost on DVD. Very interesting show and lots of good character development. But by far the highlight of the day was when my honey got frisky. We have side-by-side La-Z-Boy recliners. In between Discs 3 and 4 she started reaching over and feeling me up. Rrroowrr! Then she pulled me over onto her recliner and, wow, I’m glad those things are pretty sturdy. Sex on a recliner feels wooonderful by the way. And twice in a row? Well. Let’s just say I was weak in the knees for hours after that.

We had heard a lot about how funny the commercials are during the big game, so we decided to Tivo the game and fast forward through it to the commercials. They are pretty funny. But about halfway through it all we finally realized, “Dude, we’re watching commercials.” We stopped after that.

Saturday, February 04, 2006

And now, back to our regularly scheduled whatever-this-is

Geez I’m starting to look neurotic. My last three posts were nothing but angst about one thing or another. Enough already! I’m starting to show what a whiny person I really am. We can’t have that.

So anyway my honey and I have forgiven each other. We realized we were both mouthing off out of anger last night, and neither of us were being logical or sane. So all is good in the world once again. Whew.

Thank goodness because today is the big barbecue! I dragged out the grill and stared at this thing like it was from outer space. First thing to do is to check how much propane is left without blowing myself up. This is my first time using the thing, really. Before we moved here my sweety’s brother (who was living with us at the time) was usually the grillmaster. I peered at the label on the side of the tank and it has all these instructions. I was like, “Oh good, it tells me how to check the propane level.” Unfortunatley the diagram is either really bad or really washed out. It makes no sense whatsoever.  Here, see for yourself:

So rather than trying to follow those weird instructions, I just turned it on.  There was a hissing noise, so it had propane in it. How much? Who knows. I prefer using the stove anyway. I’ll just cross my fingers and hope I didn’t just do another Stupid Thing.

Now I gotta make spinach dip, hamburger patties, clean the cooler, and avoid tripping over Big Pest who is following me everywhere hoping I’ll drop some tidbit of food that I’m not even carrying. Back to work I go!

When your big fat mouth gets you into big fat trouble

I should be sleeping right now. If you’re not ready for some drama perhaps you should come back when you are. I personally am never ready for it.

My sweetheart (who currently doesn’t love me all that much right now) had to go somewhere and was going to come back late, so I went ahead and went to bed. I heard her come home and waited for her to come into the room so I can ask her how it went. I waited for awhile while she shuffled around the house. Then I hear a lot of clattering noises in the kitchen. She’s making all this godawful noise like she’s getting ready to cook a banquet or something. Annoyed, I get up to see what’s going on.

Me: “What are you doing?” (in an annoyed voice)
Her: “There’s all this water all over the floor and you don’t care!"
Me: “What? Well I didn’t know the stupid thing was leaking again!"
Her: “Why didn’t you fix it like you said you would??"
Me: “I thought I did!” (I’m feeling very defensive now.)

There’s a stupid water hose going from the fridge to the pipes under the sink so the thing can make ice. It was leaking where two pieces of hose were joined together. The morons who attached it for us crimped the hose in a way that made it leaky. I suggested cutting off the kinked part of the hose and reattaching it to the connector thing. She suggested I tape it with some super-sticky plumbing tape I have. I chose the easier route and taped it.

Didn’t work. I went to bed without checking the leak, and the fucker created a pool in our kitchen.  So she’s pissed off at the leak, which translated into her blaming me for not fixing it. I get defensive, feeling totally unappreciated for my prior efforts (even though they failed). I don’t like her attitude towards me one bit. After another short exchange of raised voices, I stalk back to the bedroom. Here’s what I’m feeling… I’m feeling like her whole accusatory attitude towards me is equavlent to her telling me “fuck you and your lazy ass.” On the way back to the room, I am, in my mind, retorting back to her, “And fuck you too.” Only my mouth, my big fat stupid mouth, actually says it aloud. It’s muttered under my breath, but audible. Oh shit.

Her: “What did you say?"
Me: “Nothing."
Her: “No, what did you say?"
Me: “Good night."
Her: “That’s not what you said."
Me: “Then why are you asking me!"

Nothing creates more antipathy and hurt feelings than an unintentional “fuck you” between lovers. Shit shit shit. What the hell is wrong with me? Can’t I hold my tongue for one lousy minute? Can’t I just shut the fuck up and let things settle down? No, I always have to have the last word, no matter how hurtful. I feel like such an asswipe. Right this moment I wonder what I’m doing in a relationship. How can a social gimp like me possibly carry on a meaningful relationship? I’m constantly apologizing for moronic things that spill out of my mouth. And this one is quite a doozy.

She’s constantly telling me, “Why don’t you think before you speak?” I honestly can’t help it. Anytime I try to explain that it’s an Aries thing, we tend to blurt, she’ll have none of it. “Don’t give me that, that’s no excuse. You’re not a child who can’t control her actions.” (That last one is her favorite.) But… that’s the thing!  I can’t!  I try, and sometimes it works, but it’s just my nature to be tactless, stupid and mouthy in an argument!

*sigh* ...I don’t know how to face her now. You don’t say “fuck you” to someone you love. You just don’t. How do you take back words you didn’t mean? It’s impossible. I’m impossible. Gaaaahhhhh!!!!

Friday, February 03, 2006

The terror of possibly turning into my mom

As much as I dislike feeling obligated to stay in touch with my mom, I am absolutely terrified of turning into her. Most of my friends who have met her think she’s annoying, even if they don’t tell me that, I know they’re thinking it. No way in hell I want to become the very thing I dislike!

But I’ve got a couple things going against me: genetics and imprinting. There’s the stuff you inherit, like temperament (bad temper, not good). Then there’s the stuff you pick up as you grow up. My mom was very big on lists. Lists for everything. Must be organized, thought out and completely planned to death. It was hard to have fun on trips because she was constantly stressing out about every little detail. I just wanted to say, “Dude, chill out mom, can’t we just play it by ear?”

I know I’ve picked up some of that. I make lists for everything too. That alone isn’t bad since it helps with my shoddy memory. But it’s a sign I tell you. A sign that I could easily fall over the edge and become the total control freak she is. I know I’m already a bit of a control freak. I like to know everything. It bugs the hell out of my sweetheart. Who just called? What’s going on tomorrow? Is someone coming over? It makes her want to scream, I know. I’ve gotten into trouble for it so many times. It’s not that I don’t trust her, not that at all. I just like to know.

Is that so bad? I’ve only recently realized how incredibly annoying it is to her. I need to reign myself in a little more. Tone it down and relax. If I keep this up I’ll not only risk ruining a great relationship, I’ll become the most annoying person I’ve ever known. My nightmare will have come true—I’ll turn into my mom.

And nobody will like me anymore.

Feeling Obligated (and Annoyed)

Obligation is probably one of the most annoying feelings one could possibly have. It’s basically a war between the “right” thing to do and what you want to do. It happens a lot around Christmas-time. But it happens all year long as far as parents are concerned.

I’ve never felt very close to my parents. Not sure why, but I just didn’t. Time passed by at an excrutiatingly slow pace as a kid. I escaped into books and movies when I could, and I just could not wait utill college when I could finally move out. I made sure I got accepted someplace far away.

As an adult now you can pretty much do whatever you want. It’s one of the fabulous things about being an adult. However. Mom is still there. (Dad passed away a couple years ago.) I don’t like going to visit, but she’s only a three-hour drive away and I feel guilty if I don’t go at least once every 3-4 months. Is that bad? Am I a bad daughter for hating to take time away from my life to share it with hers? She emails me about what’s going on (though I rarely care what she’s up to). I’ll usually wait a few days before I reply and then blame it on work. It’s terrible. I’ll feel like, “What kind of a lousy, ungrateful child am I? Am I that selfish?"

I’ve tried to pinpoint where these feelings came from. Why do I dislike having anything to do with her? I know it has something to do with my childhood. Kids are very impressionable and easily become screwed up adults if treated the wrong way. I never thought of myself as an abused child, though there was quite often excessive discipline, I thought. An extreme example:

My mom had cooked up some steaks for dinner. I had encountered one of those nasty pieces of gristle in mine and couldn’t swallow it. I was afraid to spit it out because my mom was this really scary “you NEVER waste food!” kind of person. So I excused myself and went to the bathroom. I spit it out into the trash can and covered it with some toilet paper. Whew, nasty gristle gone. I went back and finished my dinner. Later that evening she pulls me aside and asks me, “Is there something you want to tell me?” I was perplexed. I was like 11 years old or something, what could I possible want to tell her?

"Uh… no...” I replied.
"Did you throw away food?"
I thought really hard. I only tossed that gross thing I couldn’t chew up. That wasn’t food. So I answered, a little unsurely, “No..."
Her expression hardened a little and I got scared.
"Then why did I find some in the garbage? You lied to me."

WTF? No, I need to spell it out. WHAT THE FUCK?? She went digging through the disgusting bathroom trash can to find the one tiny wad I had spit out? How neurotic is that?? What kind of an uptight, high strung mother was she? You know what my punishment was? She made me kneel down and hold my kid’s rocking chair over my head for, I don’t know, a long time. This is very bizarre. This is not normal. Luckily it only happened once, but still, shit. Usually I got spanked or hand-smacked with a spatula, but that day she must have been hormonal or something. On my knees with a chair over my head… to this day I cannot believe a parent would do that as punishment.

It’s remembering events like these that make it no small wonder why I don’t like having anything to do with her. I just wish I didn’t care. I wish I could just close off my heart and say “fuck you mom, stop bothering me.” But I can’t. She truly regrets a lot of the things she did when I was little. She’s even cried about it in front of me. How can you not forgive? So I try and make her feel better. I remind her that I didn’t turn out to be a pregnant teen or a coked-out whore.

But in the back of my mind the damage has already been done. I don’t feel close to her, and I never will. So I’m stuck feeling obligated to visit and write, to make her feel like she hasn’t failed completely as a mom. It’s almost time to pay her another visit, it’s been a few months. Ugh. Maybe I can get away with another month…

Thursday, February 02, 2006

You think you know someone...

We’re hosting a barbecue this weekend (why wait till summer?) and inviting various coworkers. It’s a great way to get to know them better in their “natural environment”. In captivity we all have our professional faces on. It’s interesting to see how they are “in the wild”.

I sent out an invitation a couple weeks ago. I had attended a little bar gathering before, organized by my supervisor (a cool guy by the way, for a supervisor). Definitely not my scene (I drank water all night and played pool, occasionally going outside to gulp some clean air), but the banter was fun (when you could hear it over the deafening music). I made sure I included the attendees of that gathering in my invitation distribution.

Yesterday I sent out reminder email to everyone. A few minutes after sending out the reminder, I get a call from one of recipients:

Him: Hi, can I talk to Joe?
Me: Uhh… no, but you can talk to me.
Him: Joe [my last name]?
Me: My name isn’t Joe.
Him: [silence] ... Ohh I’m sorry! I’m real bad with names.

He then says he was trying to figure out who’s party this was. Now, I had met this guy at the bar gathering and he was very outgoing and friendly (and plastered by the time I left). I thought he would be make a fun addition to the barbecue dynamic. He had already accepted the first invitation. How many party invitations does this guy get, and am I really that forgettable? My other point of contention was he had obviously gotten my name off the email, which included my extension number. It is clearly spelled there and since when does a Z sound like a J?

Okay that’s fine, people make mistakes, especially if they’re scatterbrained party animals who are bad with names. I let it go. But TODAY! Today I get an email from him:

Hi Joe!
Can you please resend the invitation, I lost the address. Thanks!

Dude, what is wrong with you?? First of all, I sent a reminder email with the address just yesterday, do you have Inbox clutter issues or something? And even if you deleted the message, it should still be in your Deleted folder. That’s what it’s there for, dumbass. And what’s with the “Joe” again? Even my corporate email address clearly states that my first initial is a Z, where the hell are you getting Joe from?  I forgave you the first time, but this time you are officially a MORON.