My Hair is Retarded

I get an e-mail from M:

“Maybe you would know. Ok, I tried to touch up my roots a dark brown colour last night but it did nothing. If anything, my hair is lighter than before. Like, it took off the previous dye or something. Why would that happen? And what kind of dye should I buy?
My hair is retarded. It went back to normal colour. It is really soft though! Lol, so I have to fix it asap. I will try it again tonight and it on double time or something.”

Oh, that sounds fun! I can’t wait for this disaster in the making.

Homeless Hit

M got hit on by a homeless man today. He asked for her phone number. I find this particularly odd because I’m wondering how he would call her. From a payphone?

B told me that M confided in her about having, “a lot of guys on the go”. Perhaps she is including the homeless population of our dear city.

Shit Storm

I stayed home from work today and B came over. M got up at 4pm and went straight in for a shower. I asked her if she worked today and she said no but there is a work party today. An ice skating party! Oh man, I wish I could watch that shit storm happen.

Drown

Before I get into the point of this post, I should mention that from time to time, M brings me a pound of coffee beans home. She does this because, a. I ask and b. she gets a pound free every week. Now, she could be getting the coffee for herself, and she does from time to time, but let’s be realistic: when you work at Starbucks 5 days a week, the amount of coffee you need at home is pretty minimal. In fact, she has only made coffee at home twice since she started working there, and before she started, she never once made it. Despite this, she always makes a huge deal about her getting me the free coffee. She’s always making me wait weeks even though she isn’t taking anything for herself and always commenting that I can do this-and-that as a fee for the goods.

Now, yesterday, I gave her an Ipod. Ok, why the hell did I do that? Well, I have three, and this was a first generation 1 gig Ipod Nano, so it wasn’t much of a loss for me and she does take the bus on a daily basis. Now, the real point of the post today is…

Tickets for a band that we all like go on sale on . I sent her a text message and asked her if she could bring me a certain type of coffee whenever she gets the chance. She responds with something like, “Sure! And as a payment for the coffee, you can buy me the ticket for the show and I will pay you back on payday.”
Whoa, whoa, whoa! As payment? The shit is fucking free, asshole. AND, on top of that, I gave you an IPOD. Kiss my ass, you parasitic bitch, and drown in your free goddamn coffee.

Oh, and on top of that – she told me that she would drive to the concert because she will have her car back by then. She said she can “take herself plus four people.” The concert is in 3 months, buddy. I don’t think we need to arrange our rides tonight!

Spazz.

Well, M didn’t come home last night! I guess her birthday party ended up being quite the gong show, since even if she has to drive drunk, she usually stops at nothing to get home!

She was home later this afternoon though, when I came home with my super sweet gigantic LCD TV! Oh yeah, I’m awesome. Anyway, I asked her to help me move it back slightly on the stand and when we moved it, the picture went to static. She immediately threw her arms in the air and kept repeating, “Oh my god! I didn’t touch anything! Oh my god!” Fucking relax. She wouldn’t stop for like 2 solid minutes. Of course, I fixed it and all was well but seriously… what a spazz.

Craigslist!

The day has come for me to NOT attend M’s big birthday bash! Me and a whole lot of other people, actually. Turns out that only 4 people that M actually knows are going. The people attending that she knows are: S, the love of her life. J, S’s sister and M’s BFF. Jenni (actually, she is B’s friend and she is only going because B was going to go, but B is deathly ill and canceled. Jenni doesn’t want to go but doesn’t want to look like an asshole.) And then lastly is the bitch that used my shower that one time and her slut cousin.

As she was getting ready, she casually mentioned that her and Tyler were having an argument and that he wasn’t going to be going. Who is Tyler, you ask? Oh, Tyler is her semi-boyfriend. I haven’t mentioned him because I didn’t even know she was still talking to him until she mentioned him tonight. M has a bf? How is that possible? Craigslist!

Yes, friends. M met her bf on the Craigslist personals. Awhile ago, B was over and we were chatting/watching tv/whatever when M was standing there texting and giggling on her phone. Annoyed, we ask who the fuck she is talking to and why she is laughing. This is a huge pet peeve of mine with her (ok what doesn’t annoy me?). She will often be giggling while going back and forth on her phone but whenever you ask her about it, she immediately goes, “Nothing! Nevermind!” Dude. If you didn’t want me to ask, you wouldn’t be rolling on the ground like a fucking mental patient every time you receive a goddamn text message.

Ok, back to the point of all this: finally, M tells us that she is talking to a guy she met. B, always extremely nosey inquisitive, pries some information from her. According to her, his name is Tyler, he is in his 20s, and she met him at Starbucks. She said that they talked for half an hour while she cleaned and they ended up exchanging phone numbers. B continued to ask things like, does he have a job/car/house/std and she failed to have the answers to any of these VERY important questions.

Now, through my own digging – and I won’t explain how, because I sound like even more of an asshole than I already do – I ended up finding out that they actually met in the personals section of Craigslist. He is 24, Spanish, and 5’6”. Hawt.

Oh, and I saw M before she headed out and I just can’t help but mention that her ass cheeks were hanging out the bottom of her way-too-short dress.

Razzle-Dazzle

Today, B and I decided to head to the mall after work and do a little shopping. Lucky for us, M just happened to be there tossing more of our rent money into the wind. When we saw her, she had a something in a make-shift garment bag. Naturally, we asked what the hell she bought. It turns out that she bought her birthday dress (for the club-outing on Saturday) and it is quite the number! It is an extremely short black dress with a lot of razzle-dazzle to it. My first question, being the Debbie downer that I am, was of course, “How much was it?” And, true to form, M responds with, ‘I don’t know, it was like a million percent on sale!” Oh, well it must have been a bargain then!

Unfortunately, because we happened to find her at the mall, we were stuck with her the rest of our trip. We passed Le Chateau and M mentions that she’s totally going to return this shirt she bought last week and use the money to buy some more shoes. I know, you’re wondering, as I was, “didn’t M buy two new pairs of shoes just DAYS ago? Why, yes, she did! I certainly can’t let that go, so I ask her just that. “Well, yes, I did buy new shoes but I can’t walk or dance in the purple ones.” B pipes in, “You can’t walk in the green ones you wore last week either.” Great. At least 100 bucks, or 1/5 of her half of the rent, shat away on shoes she will never fucking wear.

We grabbed something to eat in the food court and sat down for some lovely dinner convo – M constantly and relentlessly attacking us with stories from Starbucks that, and I know I’ve said this before, I DON’T FUCKING CARE ABOUT. M has a new best friend that works with her at Starbucks! For the sake of the blog, we will call him Gayboy, because he is, in fact, uber gay. Now, I don’t have a problem with people being gay, but I am also not a fag hag, or someone who simply MUST and intentionally surround themselves with gay people. That shit is an epidemic and I don’t understand it.

M is so clearly in love with Gayboy that she goes into these various stories about their at-work escapades. She tirelessly tells us about all the absolutely hilarious things that Gayboy has done this week. The only problem is, the shit isn’t funny. And she wouldn’t find it funny either, if it wasn’t for the fact that buddy is gay. For example: A good looking male customer comes in and, through idle chit chat, they discover that he is a photographer. After he leaves, Gayboy turns around to M and says, “He can take my picture any time!” This would only be barely funny if it was in a 1992 Hugh Fucking Grant movie.

Note: being gay/black/old/young/white/brown/pink/handicapped/etc does not make you funny. You’re either blessed with the shit (ie. Me) or you aren’t. Just because you’re saying it with a lisp… god. You get the point.

Ok, I deleted everything in my inbox so it has room for you all to e-mail me and tell me how much of a racist, sexist, homophobic, asshole I am.

Happy Barfday

Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday, dear M! Happy Birthday to you! Ah, another lovely, fun-filled year of existence for our dear pal. I actually forgot to say Happy Birthday to her this morning when I saw her, oops! I shot her a text message later in the day. Believe it or not, I even bought her a present! Ok, so I bought her a Christmas present, but when she was too poor to buy me one in return, I decided to save it for her birthday. Yeah, ok, I’m a bitch. Whatever.

I wasn’t planning on going to any sort of birthday dinner but there was one organized very last minute with J, M, B and I as the attendees. J forbid anyone else from going because she wanted it to be a “girl’s dinner” and then she ended up calling about 10 minutes before we were leaving and told us she was puking and couldn’t make it. Actually, she was puUuUUuuUking. You know what that means, Me, B, and M together for dinner. Wow. Awkward convo to ensue!

Before we leave, M put on a very nice pashmina scarf. Making small talk, I asked her where she got it. “Oh, S picked it out.” Ahem – does that in any fucking way answer my question? She is so in love with him that she must, at any moment and without reason, throw his name into the conversation. I responded, “Um, I said, WHERE did you get it.” “Oh, when S and I went shopping, he picked it out at Le Chateau – of course it was the most expensive one!” She had to get it though, since S commented that he liked it. I’m rolling my eyes so hard right now, my brain thinks I’m doing a fucking handstand.

On the drive there, B reminds M and informs me that last week, M made this statement: “My car is good in the snow.” Um, wait… she has never driven in the snow. She had her car for ONE snow-less month and she claims it’s great in the snow. Well, yes, I guess it is – since it is completely fucking stationary. Allow her to explain, “Well, I was thinking of my car like it was S’s car because his car is very good in the snow.” I made sure she knew that S’s car is a VR6, Automatic, and that the driver definitely plays a large part in how well a car drives in the snow.

At dinner, B and I made sure to sit next to each other so as to chat candidly on our Blackberrys about the night’s events as they go down. It was time to open the present I got her - a super awesome Guess wallet (I actually have the same one in a different colour, so be sure I didn’t get her like, a shit one because I hate her.) She spent a good chunk of the dinner putting all of her cards and lack of dollars into the new wallet, which was a good way to alleviate the staring at each other while not saying anything moments.

She pulled out Eric’s card, he is the guy who does all of the work on her car and sees pure dollar signs when she rolls up. Yeah, the one that sold her a car that can’t be registered, the one that charged her $1700 to fix the motor for her power window, the one who… you get it. The guy is a dick and he is so clearly using her because she is clueless. Anyway, she goes, “I’m definitely keeping this card.” To which I said, “Don’t you just have his number in your phone, why do you need to keep it?” She says, “To give it to other people, of course!” …

I said, “Excuse me? Why would do that? The guy is a con-artist, leaching you dry of every cent you own.”

“Well, S talked to him and now everything is fine.”

“What? S ‘talked’ to him? What did he say?”

“I don’t know. He talked to him and now everything is fine between us. Everything got sorted out.”

“So… S bitched him out?”

“I don’t know but he was very upset with Eric, so probably.”

Let me make sure that I’m clear about something: this is not in S’s character AT ALL so this story just seemed extremely bizarre to me. Of course, I asked S and he confirmed my suspicion that no, he did not call and get mad at the mechanic. He said that he got mad at M, if anything.

I understand that some people love their job more than anything in the world and that is just fine and dandy but this is a message to them: WE DON’T FUCKING CARE. M loves working at Starbucks. How do I know this?? Oh, only because this is the sole topic of the entire goddamn night. Starbucks this, my gay co-worker that, the new tea-latte this, the we-ran-out-of-soy epidemic of last week. I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ANOTHER WORD THAT STARTS WITH STAR OR ENDS IN BUCKS. It’s to the point where you’re starting to think that you may have found hell just by listening to her ramble on and on. It’s like Chinese water torture but with M’s voice replacing the drip-drip-drip.

We ended off the dinner by taking pictures of her and going back and forth between them pretending she was moving in some sort of twisted geriatric rain-dance. Oh, and she paid for her own dinner. Happy Birthday!

Muahaha

I am giggling maniacally!! Earlier today, I was looking in the fridge and I noticed that I had this container of cheddar cheese. It’s like, in the form of parmesan cheese but it is cheddar. Anyway, I hadn’t used it in literally over a year but it was one of those things that is just so small and harmless in the door of the fridge that you pretty much never throw it away. Today though, I decided to chuck it. I looked at the expiry date before I threw it away – you know, just in case it was still good – and it had expired last January. Safe to say that that should be disposed of immediately! So in the garbage it went.

Now, I just went into the fridge again and noticed that M must have made her pasta last night, using my ketchup as sauce of course. She usually puts MY parmesan cheese on top but since she used the entire container and has not replenished the stock, she looked for another type of cheese to put on top! Yep, M used the one year old expired cheddar on her pasta. That’s what you get for using my shit, mofo! And may your stomach churn all night.

Purple Pumps

She came home with new shoes last night. She always tries to avoid telling people what everything costs because she knows that we are all secretly going, “Oh my god, don’t you have rent to pay?” Whenever I casually ask, “Ohhh, how much were they?” she always replies with, “like 3 dollars!” Right-o. Anyway, these things were sky-freakin-high and HIDEOUS. She bought two pairs because it was buy one, get one half off – who can resist?

One was a pair of big purple pumps and the other, shiny green fish-scale looking pumps. They are about 5 inch heels and she walked around in them in the house to try and break them in. I guess it didn’t work because she went out tonight and B sent me a message telling me that she was walking like she was in severe pain. She described M’s movements as similar to her first time on a trampoline – limbs stiff and flailing.

Sigh

So, Starbucks shorted M a week of her pay again. I’m pretty sure this means that we’re going to be homeless. Wish me luck, people.