Breakfast of Champions

Photo: Defeated Flakes.

Disclaimer: This post is VERY F-WORD HEAVY. Proceed with caution....

While you were out enjoying Heath Ledger's hygiene-deficient performance in Dark Knight, Jessica Simpson's country album, and Uma Thurman's new baby bump, Snotty McSnotterson was having the Best Week Ever!

I wish. The past week has been so challenging--physically, mentally, emotionally--that I've wanted to stab myself in the face (or stab myself in your face, if that's even possible) from the moment I resentfully wake up, to the moment I resentfully go to bed, weary from weeping screaming living. This morning, I told Manthony I was eating Defeat for breakfast; he decided I was eating a bowl of Defeated Flakes, which I thought was funny, even though I was sobbing at the time. There were some pretty funny moments this week, as well, so let's have a lil' recap; by the end, though, you'll wish you'd had a nightcap. A big one.

RACISM IS FUNNY?

Racist Bitch of the Year Award goes to a new client of mine, who kept me in stitches from the minute she entered my appalling life, to the minute she thankfully exited. An older divorcee who used to be beautiful, this woman's attitude was the worst. She entertained me with her painfully racist theories about China, the country, and all of the Chinamen (pronounced fast, like 'vitamin') who want to be Westernized. "I just think everyone should sit in their own seats, if you know what I mean," she said, quite haughtily. I knew exactly what she meant, as I was sitting on my own shamefully brown seat at the time. "What nationality are you?" she barked at me. "I'm Samoan," I replied, to which she exclaimed, "I KNEW you were Hawaiian!!" She was pretty pleased with herself, since everyone knows that Samoans and Hawaiians are basically the same, kind of like desert-dwelling camels and Camel Lights in a hard pack are exactly the same. When I found out she lived in West Seattle, I grasped at the only straw I could and said, "So! Did you go to the West Seattle Street Fair?!" She glared at me as though I'd asked to see her sandy, unused vagina. "I don't GO to street fairs. It's like going to a third world country--it's all JUNK." I laughed at that one, because you know she has never, ever been to a third world country (although maybe she's been to New Jersey). It was amusing until she found out I was adopted BY CAUCASIAN PEOPLE (she repeated that phrase about nine times), and wanted to know what their motivations were; the question was posed to me in a 'were they on mescaline or opiates?' tone of voice, and when I suggested MAYBE IT'S BECAUSE THEY WANTED A BABY AND COULDN'T HAVE ONE, she shrugged, as if to say, 'well fine, don't tell me the real reason'. She asked me one last time, "And they're CAUCASIAN???" To which I replied, "YES YOU UPPITY BITCH, THEY ARE SOME ARYAN MOTHERFUCKERS. NOW PUT THIS DIRTY SOCK IN YOUR MOUTH AND SHOVE IT." (I actually said, "Yep!" And I said it brightly, as though my parents' skin color just tickled me pink, which made me totally hate myself.) And she replied, "Well, you're very well-spoken", implying I was lucky I had white people around to teach me proper English. That's when I smothered her with a pillow made by Chinamen and dumped her in the nearest river.

That is how my week started.

MMMMBOP

Speaking of funny, one of the support people--a 22-year old sweetheart--was back in the lunchroom, screaming her face off when I walked in. "OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD!!!" She was on her cell phone, and jumping two feet off the ground like a pear-shaped pogo stick. She was twirling her hair excitedly around one finger, hopping from foot to foot, and doing a big ol' Happy Dance. She screamed into the phone, "OHMYGOD, I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY'RE COMING, I CAN'T BELIEVE WE HAVE TICKETS, OHMYGOD, I'M GOING TO PEE MY PANTS FROM EXCITEMENT!" At this point, I wanted to pee my pants from excitement, too, so I said, "What's going on? Who's coming to town? I wanna go, too!" She looked at me and screamed, "HANSON'S COMING TO TOWN!!!" I decided to keep my mouth shut in the lunchroom from that moment on. Keep in mind, this will be the third time she has seen them in concert; I think I might actually love her. God Bless America.

BAWL-E

We saw Wall-E at the Majestic Bay in Ballard; it was magnificent, except for one small thing: I wept through the entire movie. Silently, painfully, and with great feeling. It was a good film--really good--but it pulled at too many of my heartstrings, I guess. Now those heartstrings are made of droopy, worn-out spaghetti, the leftover kind that nobody wants to eat.

HOT FUZZ

I was asked out by a hot cop; he really was hot, although not my type at all. First off, he was black (who's racist now)--and second, I'm taken, so it was a bit awkward. He was standing behind me in line for a sandwich, and offered to pay for my meal. I said something like, "But I don't even know you!" And he said, predictably, "But we could get to know each other over coffee sometime." I laughed, and asked, "What would my boyfriend think of that?" He actually responded with "Well give me his number--I'll call him and see what he says." Later on, I ran into him by Starbucks, and the first thing out of his mouth was, "Change your mind?" He was nice, but now I see him around all the time which is annoying; every time I see him, it's like there's an inside joke between us, but the inside joke is that I publicly rejected him, and I'm the only one who seems to remember.

MUGGERY

After the longest day on Earth--a day I was off my game, a day where I had no money and couldn't eat, a stressful work day where I was working on about three hours of sleep--I got mugged. Like 'for real' mugged, like 'an alley in Chicago' mugged (not Oprah's Chicago, but Jerry Springer's Chicago)--scary fucking gun and all. It really pissed me off that the guy was so nice about it, apologizing for scaring the rectum out of me, and being generally helpful in ways that only a mugger can be helpful--reassuring me that he wasn't going to hurt me, being respectful of my bank account ("Don't worry, I don't need any money from your account, just the cash in your wallet"), and practically singing a legitimate "Sorryyy!" as he bolted out the door. I DON'T NEED POLITE TEATIME ETIQUETTE AND SOCIAL NICETIES WHEN YOU'RE ROBBING ME BLIND, ASSHOLE. There were cameras by the ATM, so hopefully they'll catch him, and strangely, the hot cop showed up and helped me get to the bus, but GODDAMN. I hope that jerkoff has fun with my twelve dollars; enjoy buying one Hot Pocket and two gallons of gas! I would make a terrible hostage--"I'd be shot immediately or within three minutes", was the verdict my friends came to--because when he motioned to my right hand, the hand holding my bus money, I became a wheedling teenager. "Duuude, that's my fucking BUS MONEY! I don't have a way HOME." He motioned for it, and I reluctantly gave it over with a big sigh, an eyeroll, and a very audible "HMPH!" Walking around downtown with no money, no boyfriend (he was an hour away), no car and no one answering their phones, I actually felt HOMELESS. I didn't call my parents, because I could have walked home in the time it would have taken for them to pick me up, and I didn't want to worry them. Also, I saw the hot cop, and he gave me bus fare since I wouldn't accept a ride home from him (it felt too weird).

THE FUN BUS

I guess it's getting around to the crackheads that I'm writing disparaging things about them , because while I was walking towards the back of the bus (Rosa Parks, I am not), a female crackhead kicked me in the back and I landed on my face in front of about 40 people. Afterwards, I cried the whole way home, in front of about 39 people, and wondered where my good karma was hiding. Normally I wouldn't have been so emotional in public, but this was 30 minutes after being mugged, and I'd had enough. I felt like I'd won the Chump Championship. 'Hey Mom, look! I think that's the #1 Chump, weeping right over there next to the helmet-wearing retard; she looks like a broke, Hawaiian fan of Hanson.'

It was a really long night.

SHE WANTS REVENGE

I can't even dive into the worst part of my week, due to bullshit legalities and the deteriorating, delusional mind of a sub-human swamp creature that I once knew but never respected; let me just say this, fairly and without emotion, and then be done with it:

To the person heinously unrecognizable Thing who put my work life, personal life, and professional reputation at stake, for no good reason at all: It's going to be subtle, what I do to you. I can give just as good as I get. And the nice thing is, when it comes to sweet revenge, I have an infinite amount of patience, like a placid rock, or a stealthy ninja, or a woman fucking scorned (sound familiar?). I can rest on my laurels for years, just biding my time. And I don't feel sorry for you, no--I feel sorry for anyone who has ever had contact with you, even the surgeon who replaced your brain with a rotting, half-eaten sandwich. Pitch as many toddler-sized tantrums as you want, everyone knows you're absurd, addled, anserine, asinine, blockish, bovine, brainless, brutish, cloddish, crass, cretinous, dazed, dense, dimwitted, dizzy, doltish, dopey, dull, dumb, fatuous, foolish, footless, foppish, hebetate, idiotic, ignorant, imbecilic, imperceptive, inane, insensate, irrational, irresponsible, lethargic, loutish, meaningless, moronic, oafish, obtuse, oscitant, pointless, purblind, senseless, silly, simple, slow, sluggish, stultifying, stupefied, torpid, unintelligent, unwise, vacuous, witless, and worthless. I would have just said 'worthless', but apparently www.thesaurus.com knows you better than I do. You brought this on yourself, really; you never should have involved me.

SECONDHAND PRAISE

After doing the Big Boss at work, I received this card the next day from the Other Big Boss:

Big Boss was very impressed with you and your service! She said it was one of the best times she has had at Our Spa in a very long time--and was quite possibly the best pedicure she has ever had. Thank you--I am very happy you are with us.

Nice, I guess. Better than 'Big Boss wanted to know why you were sweating profusely and drowning in your own drivel during the entire service. Also, were you crying?' No. There's no crying in baseball.

BEST WEEK EVER

The best part of my week was this: going through all this stupid crazy shiz, and not smoking once. Not even when I was in the car with two smokers who were smoking, not even after I was mugged, or kicked on the bus, or called into the Big Boss' office to mull over the LARGE PROBLEM I cannot discuss, or when I finished this monster fucking post, and IT DIDN'T FUCKING SAVE. NOT ONCE. And that made me feel pretty fucking good, even if I used the F-word 84,000 times this week.

NOW I'M A FUCKING CHAMPION. Eat me.