My Hell

If a previous post contained what might be my hell in the afterlife, forget it.  I changed my mind.  Well, a little bit.  1 of 3 things will be my hell.  I think I mentioned working retail and dealing with being fired over and over.  The second possibility would be having my eyeballs tortured.  The third would be folding laundry for an eternity.  Continue reading

Super Strength

You know those stories about people who can lift a burning car up in the air in order to save someone’s life?  Seems almost impossible, right?  Wouldn’t it be great if that could happen emotionally?  For instance, when someone reaches a point, and they’re just done.  Wellllll, that just happened to me.

My bestie will be so proud of me when I tell her.

How often do you feel like things are one sided?  Are you a glutton for punishment?  How do you deal with that crap?  Doesn’t it get old after a decade or two?  What will it take to finally see the light?

In my case, it was a stupid dream.  But even though it was a dream, I shrugged it off, and almost did something insane.  Almost.  But then I thought, f*ck it, and clicked the tiny (yet enormous – in my mind, at least) trash can.

The funny thing is, as much as I still care, it really wasn’t as painful as I thought it would be.  Now, let’s see how long I’ll last before I cave in.  That’ll be the true test.  BUT, my backbone is definitely getting stronger.

Used Noodles?

Amazon never fails to amuse and scare me.

I’m currently adding items to my holiday wish list.  So, when Kevin goes to shop for me – because he tries to avoid leaving the house during the holidays as much as I do – he’ll wonder why the hell I’m adding so many Samyang ramen noodles to the list.  It’s simple:  There are certain flavors I just can’t find in any local Asian market.

The weird part about food shopping on Amazon is when you see used as a purchasing option.  While tonight is the first I’ve encountered such a nauseating phenomenon, I’m sure there are other food stuffs out there that have this option.  I just don’t need to know, though.

It’s kinda like I didn’t need to know that the black spaghetti my daughter purchased contains black squid ink.  Which reminds me – I’m never eating dinner at her place (when she gets her own place, without a roommate), unless she tells me what she’s cooking.

Maybe I’ll stick with shopping at my local Asian market.  That way I’ll know for certain it isn’t used.