I have been pondering my recent downslide into who the fuck knows what - self pity? Self doubt? Inability to be successful? Rejection of human happiness? Gah. Put me in a black Victorian dress and I can kick Helena Bonham Carters ass in Sweeney Todd. I'll make you a meat pie, mother fucker.
I am going to call my psychiatrists office and make an appointment. I am wondering if my med dose is too low and I am experienceing a mild depression. Of course the endless fucking winter in Montreal isn't exactly helping things.
Did I mention my vow today to use fuck and it's derivitive as much as humanly fucking possible?
Or my new obsession with the Savage love podcast? If you aren't listening to him, then you should be. Not just for his creative and unique way of finding new and fucking amazing descriptors for sexual acts and fluids - my personal fave? "Tabula fucking semen Rasa" but his amazing common sense and simple straightforwardness. Seriously. Sometimes, between TWC and DSS pictures, I can't take humanity anymore.
Makes me want to grip my head and scream "AHAHHAHAHAHHHH YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!!", and then run up and down the classrooms I inhabit, and call people out for their bullshit.
And have I mentioned how fucking much I love you people out there in bloggy land. Because I do, even as I hide under my quilt eating carbs and yelling "Stop looking at me!" and your sensible voices remind me that I am loveable and maybe even fucking funny - particularly when I don't FEEL very fucking Funny.
Plus, the school term is coming to it's inevitable fucking end and not even near fucking soon enough. Seriously - I do not know who I ass fucked in a previous life to have this kind of semester, but I was clearly some kind of sadistic son of a bitch to get saddled with some of this huge stinking heaps of cat shit.
And speaking of shit - some animal decided to shit on my porch and I had to pick it up. Can I tell you how fucking gross it is to have to pick up unknown animal shit on your fire escape? This was after being woken by my husband and told that I had to go and clean this animal shit up, since that is my "department".
Department? I didn't see that in the wife job description. No one ever announced to me that I was the official "unknown shit picker upper". Fuck. It was cold and slimy and disgusting. Then he asked me to identify the shit - like I am getting a degree in shit identification. I am the new animal shit CSI unit, apparently. Give me a call if you need shit idenitified. Fuck the education degree - I am the shit whisperer.
And finally, since I am on an unholy fucking rant. I would like to call out Scotia Banque. Yeah Scotia Banque scrot teller who - after looking at me for a full fucking YEAR - decided last week that he was unsure of my identity and that he would have to enforce a bank policy to hold my paycheck for 5 fucking days.
Furthermore, Soctia Banque Scrot - when you asked me if any of the other tellers "knew me" and I pointed at each and said things like "Yeah - he's the guy who makes a lot of jokes that I don't particularly find funny", and "he's the guy the elderly dude was screaming at last week"....You totally know that I am not taking your bullshit answer for granted - right? You know that I plan on marching up to your window tomorrow and presenting myself and my check to you? I wonder if you'll fucking remember me then? I know you have customer fucking service calling me every day since I threatened to pull my account from your fucking bank. I can't wait to see you again. How pleasant for all of us.
And now? Now I have to go and fucking film a fucking puppet show.
No, I am not fucking kidding.