...a toast for all the scumbags, everyone one of them that i know

I'm sitting here on my red couch with the tv muted listening to Kanye's Runaway for the second time in a row. All the Taylor Swift fans gasp. I was never a Taylor Swift fan and when Kanye pulled his dickhead stunt I laughed and was ready to move on.

There was so much ado over what happened and people were all aghast over a known ahole doing what he does best, speak his unfiltered mind.

It had me thinking though, whether I'm too apathetic or the world is personalizing things too much. This is a change for me as I used to take things so personally, whether it was said or done to me or not. Now, I'm more of the ilk that I'll address what I feel needs speaking to and let everyone sort out their own business.

I doubt any of this maturity,"...and I know I've did damage cause the look in your eyes is killing me..."

Stink Bugs: A Love Story

My entire trip to D.C. was to go to McBossy's wedding in Pennsylvania on Saturday. I didn't expect to learn so much.

Thursday
Was my flight in to Dulles (did you know it's in Virginia? Yeah, I didn't.) and Special K came to pick me up. There was a trip to Whole Foods for foodstuff and general hanging out. I love low key events because they require so little of me.

Friday
KP came to D.C. to hang out with me (YAY!) We went downtown in hopes to go hang out at the Lincoln Memorial. (Did you know there are no close parking lots to the Lincoln Memorial? Yeah, me neither.) So we drove around the mall, went into VA by accident and then found a parking lot to troll around the area.

We went to the International Spy Museum and it was pretty awesome (despite what some hipster co-worker says). I learned a lot, of which I cannot tell you because my name is Jane Meyer and I'm a 13 year-old from Sweetwater, TN. I'm a student going to Dublin, Ireland on vacation for 7 days.

There was food, fro-yo, an inappropriate statue, and duck fighting. See the pictures below.

Why is there a naked man in the Boy Scouts statue? Why?

So Hank and Justin fought over Britney. Hank chased Justin around and around the pool while Britney just swam around without a care in the world. The other couple just tried to not get in the middle.

The best was spending the day with an old friend.

Saturday
Getting up early sucks, but that was the theme for most of this trip, thanks mostly in part to my shitty travel agent (Ms. F is so fired.) We drove to the salon for Special K to get her hair did and meet up with McBossy and the rest of the bridesmaids. I finally got a face to most of the names McBossy would talk about, most of them looked like I imagined.

Then off to PA to get this wedding started. I ended up hanging out with Special K's Sissy most of the wedding which was nice. I like people who are easy to talk to and doesn't make me think of what they're trying to say or whether they mean what they say.

In PA I meet this.

The Stink Bug

The Stink Bugs were everywhere, you can actually hear them before you see them and then there they are flying into your cleavage or hair or ear or any part of your body. These are not intelligent bugs, but they are true to their name, to do stink when they are scared or killed.

As the woman said, "they don't eat much." Plus, I didn't want to swat the bugs during the ceremony, she was really into it.

McBossy comes down the aisle and there's a Stink Bug inside one of the layers of her dress, however, you don't stop the wedding for a Stink Bug. During the ceremony Stink Bugs descended upon the wedding party and in particular boinked McBossy right in the middle of her forehead. Ahhh good times.

Good times. There were a few tears, speeches, dancing, good food, cake on the face, and Stink Bugs.

Stink Bugs, you can't stop a good time.

Signs of the Apocalypse (or Rather I'm Tired)

You know you're tired when you just want to bitch slap in a real half ass way every person you see. Your grandmother (sweet, kind, loving, delicate, elderly grandma) could get a smack if she got in the way.

Here are the signs to help you all realize when I'm too tired to function:

1. Everything you say to me will be taken as an insult (yeah, eff you too).
2. Puppies and kittens are NOT CUTE.
3. I agree with mostly everything you say unless you're pissing me off and then I will randomly pick something to disagree with you and battle you to the death over how correct I am.
4. Sleeping becomes the best thing to do everywhere. I can sleep on the train, in the rain, at my desk,  during a burlesque...
5. Silence is the only acceptable sound on the planet.
6. I have zero nice/kind things to say about anyone.
7. My eyes are open, but not really.
8. You hear me snoring and my eyes are wide open.
9. I've got a dazed look on my face and I'm drooling (check to make sure I didn't have a stroke either).
10. I'm rubbing my eyes.

There you have it, my Top Ten signs of the apocalypse I mean, that I'm tired. Can I go to bed now?

Help Me, Not Hate You So Much

From http://www.worldwidehippies.com/?p=1342

Everyone that knows me, knows I have a distaste for the hipster. After reading a couple of articles about what hipsters are and why it seems the world hates them I came to a conclusion. I can no longer hate on the hipster, hating the hipster places me one step closer to the thing I despise and that will not happen, not on my watch.

There is no clear cut definition of what a hipster is, some say a groupie of the latest trend (hence the name), others say people who long to go back to a simpler times (record players, Buddy Holly glasses, grandpa sweaters, listening to NPR on the radio and such), there are others still who say they are searching for their own niche while combining other genres (skinny jeans, v neck shirts, PBR drinking, layers of scarves, Bieber hair, steam punk items, antiques obtained from raiding grandpa's closet), yet all agree they hate things passionately and they always know where the "IT" place or are telling others where they should go to eat, drink, watch a play, etc. and in general display snobbery of things deemed uncool.

From http://41hebrewcat.wordpress.com/2010/06/20/hipsters-in-the-mist/

Another article called "Geeks Versus Hipsters" talks about the two groups and they wrapped up saying that hating hipsters is like reverting back to high school. Oooo burn! That stung. Yes, sometimes it takes someone (sometimes a stranger writing an article) for me to be enlightened.

However, there are times when those smug faces telling me where I should be eating, what I should be doing just makes me snap and I want to scream, "THAT OUTFIT LOOKS RIDICULOUS ON YOU AND YOU'RE NOT THAT INTERESTING!" It's like when vegans scold you for eating a hamburger by passive aggressively telling you how much fat and cholesterol is in it and what cattle farming is doing to the environment. Yeah, I get it, but I don't eat it every day so back off ahole. I digress.

There are so many articles about hating hipsters, but hating them just makes us sound like one and that is counterproductive. So I'm shelving my future book "Hipsters Are a Sign of the Apocalypse" and stepping down from my high horse of Hipster hating.

This does not excuse skinny pants, v neck shirts on men, Bieber haircuts OR wearing glasses that are non-prescription (that's just stupid). Cut me some slack, change takes time.

Curiouser and Curiouser

Today during my lunchtime break I was chowing down, reading Facebook posts when I stumbled upon Felicia Day's post about pictures from outer space. These pictures are quite fascinating and then my mind started churning and wham, bam thank you ma'am I'm thinking about the Rosetta Stone. After reading about it, I came to the conclusion, I want a stele. That's right.

I want a monument, but not a grand scale, maybe 4 feet tall, 16 inches in diameter. Something slate gray and smooth. What would I put on my stele? Great question. First it would be my bio, a carving of myself during a period when I looked the best (of course) and then some made up stories of grandeur. It's my stele, I'll lie if I want to. My stele will be less phallic than the one below and better done, of course.

What would you put on yours?

Stele of Hammurabi

Miss Manners Presents...How Not to Look Like an Ahole at Dinner

Here are what I feel a few suggestions that I think some people may have forgotten about.

Now I know people are going to go, "What?! (Who) these are not that bad. In fact I do them." To that I respond, "Yes they are and I know you do." It's kind of like the nose picker who turns their head thinking no one can see them doing it, we can. This is not assuming you are trying to purposely look like an asshole, we all have ticks. Mine is voicing my opinion constantly, I'm half-heartedly working on that.

Things That Make You Look Like an Asshole at Dinner:

• Taking calls at the table
• Constantly looking at other people instead of engaging with the people you're dining with
• Playing with your mobile phone, whether this is text messaging or even playing a game
• Grooming yourself at the table, there's a bathroom, go use it
• Picking food off my plate while I'm eating from it
• Tipping poorly, don't look to see what someone else tipped if the bill is split, tip your 15 - 20% or more unless service was horrible

The Rationale: 
Courtesy Factors
 When you do the first three items you're basically telling the people you're with that their company is not either engaging enough for you, you are throwing them a bone even being in their presence, or they are just not that important. I'm going to tell you this now, your crap stinks cause your farts keep giving you away. You are not that important that you as a person can afford to lose friends and lose friends you will. It's only a matter of time before anyone of substance will no longer tolerate this kind of behavior and stop associating with you. Imagine if you will the shoes were reversed.

Plus, when you do these things it's being quite anti-social and why did you even agree to have a meal with anyone if that's what you're going to do? Save your money, time and energy and make a sandwich at home.

Don't Be Rude Factors
The fourth and fifth points just gross me out when people comb their hair where I'm eating and I don't gross out easily. I don't need your dandruff peppering my food. As for eating off my plate, this will practically get you an entire meal for free AND I will never eat with you again. Here's why, you made a decision about what you wanted to eat, so did I. Just because you chose poorly doesn't mean I should have to offer up my plate to you. This is not to say if I offer up my plate for you to sample or partake of that you cannot. This is either asking me for a "bite" or just plain ole grabbing food off my plate. Do me the courtesy of offering it to you if I feel inclined. Rude.

As for the last point about tipping, don't go to dinner if you can't afford to tip the people who are serving your food.

Just because I put dinner doesn't mean any meal doesn't apply.

This has been lovely, but I have work that requires my attention.

Muse, Oh Sweet Muse...Where Did You Run Off To?

Over the past four years something happened, ok maybe a lot has happened over that time. I moved, started/finished grad school, lost/found jobs, made/lost friends, lost/gained weight (this one pisses me off), weddings, births and funerals. Life.

I fancied myself as a creator, I liked to make/write things. Even as a kid I would write stories, act them out with my Barbies and even built my own wagon to carry my stuff around the backyard in. As an adult I wrote still, nothing to be published, but because it was something I felt I needed to do. Whether it was poetry, short stories, or a badly written screenplay, I did it.

McBossy and I even created Rules to Friendship in our early to mid twenties when we felt that some of our friends needed a manual on how to be a decent friend. It's hilarious and one day I'll post it out. Then the Monthly Bitch came in newsletter format and eventually the blog. Letters to friends on both coasts, back and forth, keeping in touch with everyone.

Then suddenly it feels and as I look back it seems even it was like BAM! No more.

Maybe grad school sucked out all my creativity, maybe.

I used to get great ideas or ideas of stories I would write when I had the time. I had to carry around a notebook so I could scribble them down when they came to me. Now...nothing. If there's such thing as a muse, she's run off to be with someone else, tramp. If it's me, that's even scarier. How does one get inspiration again? If it's gone for a certain period of time does it ever return? What if I can never write anything longer than a tweet again? Is creativity like dreaming? I can't remember the last time I woke up remembering a dream. Is it just me?