HOLY SHIT, YOU GUYS!!!!!!!

There was a fucking earthquake in New York?!?!??!?!?!

EAT MY SHIT NYC!!!!!!!! I'VE BEEN FEELING EARTHQUAKES SINCE I WAS IN THE WOMB!!!!!! (Literally. I was in my mother's stomach during the earthquake of 1989. FEEL SORRY FOR MY FETUS) Not really. I turned out fine (sorta). But listen. Everyone in fucking NYC needs a reality check about how much they suck.

NYC fucking sucks. Anyone who knows me knows that I am the greatest fucking bitch in the world. NYC sucked that shit out of me!! NYC made me feel like a freak and I am so not a freak! Feel an earthquake, bitches!!

You know what I'M feeling while YOU'RE feeling earthquakes!??!?!

SEX WITH THE GIANTS!!!!!

Not really. I guarantee that all of them are smart enough not to even touch me. I'm too awesome  so I'm keeping my shit to myself because I wouldn't want my amazingness to derail their winning-

OH WAIT. NOT REALLY. FUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!

Is this post all about how I'm truly upset about the Giants current suck streak?

Yup.

Are You Fucking Joking Me?

Last night was literally the worst night of my life! Which means it was the worst night of YOUR life because you fucking love me and live your weird lives vicariously through me. I'll give you the rundown:

First, I can't use the water in my house. Remember those hot mexicans I told you about? Well, they're not fucking here to hang out with me. They are actually real plumbers and they're doing real plumber shit on the decrepit pipes of my home. Awful.

Second, these sexy plumbers dug a hole in the wall of my basement. I guess because they thought the raccoons would crawl in and plumb the pipes for them. Raccoons are known to be excellent plumbers. Don't believe me? Stick a raccoon in your toilet. See what happens. I'm not making any promises, but something will definitely happen.

So I'm already fucking annoyed that I can't partake in any kind of waterplay, and then my fucking cat decided to craw out the raccoon hole and prance around the neighborhood like this. I ran all over the neighborhood looking for her to no avail. I thought MAAAAAAAAAAAYBE she came home so she could watch me come in looking sad and laugh at me like the spiteful cat bitch she is. And she was.

Bitch!!!

But (and this is the worst part) when I realized she was missing and ran out to find her, I had fucking oil in a pan on the stove. I came home to find the most horrifying fireworks show I've ever seen taking place right in my kitchen.

I literally felt like Larry David in EVERY FUCKING EPISODE OF CURB.

Basically, nothing good happened last night. I'm over it. Well, actually, that's not fair. There was one good thing. During the oil fireworks, a drop of oil landed on an asshole wasp that had probably come in through the raccoon hole. While I was cleaning the mess in my beloved parents kitchen, I was happy to stumble upon the charred corpse of an evil wasp. Fucking asshole.

It's One of Those Days

Today is a beautiful day. But it's tainted with pain! This is the kind of day when you stare out your glorious window and the sun is shining and everything is covered with rainbows and leprechaun beards and unicorn sharts, but at the same time you're listening to Evanescence and cutting yourself.

Summer in California is over and I just got here. Everyone is gone! Obviously none of my friends like me. Except one of my friends but she decided to get gum surgery and now she's messed up on horse tranquilizers. Well, friends, I fucking hate all of you too. So I'm going to make another list. This one is a list of ways you can tell if your friends are trying to give you the "STOP FUCKING COMING TO OUR PARTIES, BITCH" nudge. If you've ever been in any of these situations, stop fucking going to their parties, bitch.

-You say to a friend, "Hey dude, where's the party at tonight?" and your friend responds by stabbing himself in the throat and yelling, "THE HOSPITAL!!!!!!"

-You offer to be the designated driver, and your friends all laugh and said they'd rather get a DUI than hang out in a car with you.

-You and your friends are having a bonfire at the beach and as you're roasting your marshmallows, your whole body goes up in flames. As you scream for help, your friends laugh and squirt lighter fluid all over you. Once they finish watching you burn and you're finally dead, they roast weenies over your charred, flaming corpse.

-Your friends throw a party for you and as you walk into the room they shoot you in the face.

-If one of your friends is the first to pass out at a party, everyone writes on his or her face. If you pass out, they put you in a crate, nail it shut and throw it in the ocean.

-You see your friend at the grocery store and say, "Hey, dude! How's it going?" and he begins to vomit uncontrollably.

-Your dad grounded you right before prom. He was voted prom king.

-On Halloween, you dressed up as Ron Weasley. Your friends dressed up as you being raped.

Basically just get the hint. Stay the fuck inside and eat some cookie dough.

Let's Get Something Straight

Some of you are concerned about the fact that my blog is about how much I am not having it with NYC, yet I no longer live there.

Well, first of all, if you even read my fucking blog, you'd know that I talk about whatever the fuck I want.

But don't worry! I still fucking hate New York. That will never change. New York will forever hold a dead, rotten spot right at the center of my black heart. The never-ending stream of douchecunts, fucktwits, lesbian men, coked-out strippers, heroin people, happy homeless folk, violent homeless folk, assdonkey hipster couples pushing baby strollers filled with baby when they obviously have no fucking right to raise a child when they can't even dress themselves like respectable people and instead look like this (sidenote: if you look like that, please fucking jump off a bridge- no one will miss you).

The moral of this story is: Yes, I no longer live in New York. This does not mean I can't still hate it. And I promise you from here on out that you never have to worry about me becoming less hateful of something just because it is far away. I'm a grudge-holding, evil bitch from hell and I literally hate everything. My hate will always be here for you to lean on.

Haha! If you found any comfort in that whatsoever then you are even more fucked up than I am.

Am I An Asshole?

That question isn't for me. I already know I'm not an asshole. I'm the best bitch in the world. That question is for you, because you might not be as confident in your unassholeness as I am. I've compiled a list of things I believe make a person a severe asshole. If any of the following bitch traits pertain to you, then congratulations. Go fuck yourself.

You have worn a Juicy sweatsuit that was all the same color.

You have worn a Juicy sweatsuit.

You roll your Uggs down so the sheep side shows.

You wore Uggs with your Juicy sweatsuit.

You have a truck.

There is a flag on your truck.

Your truck has wheels as high as my tits.

You tried to have sex with me in the back of it.

Someone makes a joke and then you repeat it because it's just as funny when you say it.

You have the remote and you're supposed to fast forward through the commercials, but you keep seeing ones you like and stopping it and forcing everyone to watch them. If you like commercials, you're just an asshole. Straight up.

You graduated from high school over two years ago and you still go say hi to your old teachers when you're in town. THEY DON'T FUCKING REMEMBER YOU.

You think it's cute when you look stupid. It's not. You're stupid.

You have bangs. Nobody looks good with bangs. You don't have "a great face for bangs".

Then again, if you're an asshole, I guess you automatically have a great face for bangs.

You're a girl and you wear a hat.

You're a boy and you wear a hat that isn't a baseball cap.

You're under 50 and you have a moustache.

You have any kind of facial hair that isn't considered "normal". I don't even know you and I know you look horrible.

Your hair is currently blonde and you weren't born blonde. If you weren't born a blonde then stay the fuck away from blonde hair.

Same goes with red hair.

You read books on public transportation. I know you're not actually reading. Fuck you.

Your glasses have round frames. Give me a fucking break.

Do I really have to mention fixed gear bikes?

Yeah. I do. If you ride one, you might as well kill yourself now. Or a car will kill you. Or I will kill you.

You're a boy and you wear tank tops.

You're a boy and you wear shorts above the knee.

You're a boy and you wear Toms.

You're a boy and you wear these.

You wear suits with Converse. That wasn't even cool when it was cool.

You wear black nail polish.

You cry in public, then when someone asks you if you're okay, you pretend you didn't realize anyone noticed and say, "Oh, sorry, no, no, I'm fine. Thanks." Then you try to stop crying and act strong. Go fuck yourself. Strong people don't cry in public.

I can't do this anymore. I suddenly want to kill everyone I know.

LEAVE MY BRAIN ALOOOOONE!!!!!

I keep going to the gym and seeing totally hot guys (haha, I go to the gym) and I am always about to walk over and start stretching my butt in their eyeballs when suddenly I realize it's some freaky dude from high school who decided to ditch the eyeliner, the "ironic" (not) Hello Kitty pants and the mannish, blue-haired girlfriend who wears pajama pants to school with Etnies and socks with ice cream cones on them.

Yeah. You know that guy exists.

Anyway, I find this incredibly RUDE. If you're going to become hot, you should wear a sign on your head that says, "ATTENTION BITCHES: Do not be fooled by my good looks. I am a fucking creep."

Now I'm going to have to carry around those signs and staple them to the next hot ex-goth nutbag fuckwit I see at the gym.

STOP MESSING WITH ME.

Annoying

I've been in California for almost a week now, and I'm annoyed.

No one is rude, no disgusting hobos yell at me for having bangin tits and, most disappointing, the gutters are NOT littered with Georgi bottles.

In fact, I don't even think they make Georgi on the west coast.

DAMN. SHAME.

What's the point of waking up every morning if your nostrils don't burst into flames upon exiting your apartment with the sweet hot lava smells of Georgi? Since the hobos in New York have no teeth, they have no barrier to keep that angelic smell trapped in their mouths. Oh well.

I'm also disappointed because the sidewalk doesn't smell like baked urine over here. There are no dog poop landmines waiting to explode on some asshole hipster's shoes. Preferably ones that look like this.

I have to stop now because looking at that picture made me want to kill myself.

NOT HAVING IT

DUANE READE ON THE CORNER OF 42nd AND LEXINGTON.

You are so effing small that I can't go through the aisles without getting caught behind a marginally fat and incredibly slow fat/slow person. You have eight cashier places and only have two cashiers at the most. They aren't nice, either.

You are the only place I can use my credit card that isn't a Starfucks (I refuse) and yet you still make me late to all my appointments with your evil ways!

I hate you. I'll see you tomorrow. Good day, Sir.

Things You Should Know

Spaghetti is the best food in the world but you look disgusting eating it. Only eat spaghetti alone.

You're not cute when you're drunk. You only think you are.

When your mom makes a sex joke, you can say, "Mom! Gross!" When your dad makes a sex joke, leave the room. Now.

Make great friends and then never hang out with them. That way, they'll never figure out that they actually hate you.

On a first date, you should ONLY eat Indian food, Mexican food or fast food. That way, you'll definitely get diarrhea and have to leave suddenly and that way, you won't have sex with him and he won't think you're a slut.

If you actually take that advice to avoid having sex on the first date, then you are definitely a slut and he will find out and break up with your slut face.

Never buy clothes that you "hope" to fit into someday. You never will. You're fat.

Never give people flowers. Then they have to waste their time filling a vase with water and putting them in it and when they die (the flowers, not the person, idiot) they have to deal with them which is even more fucking annoying because the flowers get all dry and crumble all over the place and the person has to deal with that too. Basically, if you give someone flowers, you're really just giving them future chores and that person will forever think of you as fucking annoying.

Cats are better than dogs so shut the fuck up.

'Don't ask, don't tell' makes no fucking sense. War is the gayest thing ever and if you go to war you're gay.

Milkshakes are the best. The aftermath is the worst.

If you're still pissed about the Holocaust and you weren't even there, shut the fuck up.

On that note, I'm going to get a milkshake. Goodbye.

Sky Drama

UGH! I have to go on a crosscountry flight at 7am tomorrow. With my cat. Feel bad for me! And also, don't sit next to me. That means I automatically hate you.

My New Boyfriend

Hating Life.