Archives for the month of: April, 2015

I went to a Dodgers game last night*. Which was not smart ’cause I still wasn’t packed completely for Coachella, but I would never turn down tickets because that’s ridiculous and also I can buy whatever I forget on the way and I can sleep when I’m dead.

Nesto bought us tickets, but then ditched me, so I gave the extra ticket to my cousin. Told her I’d meet her there since it’s definitely easier for me to get there from Beverly Hills than to go home first.

SO. I got there, got my gift and got comfy in my seat while I waited for my cousin to get there. While I was waiting, the guy sitting directly in front of me wearing his Dodgers jersey (#42), as people do, called Security over to point out a guy sitting waaaay down in front because he was smoking a cigarette. Well. First he called over this lady and pointed him out. And she went down to check it out, then SHE brought Security over.

He starts whispering to security.
Security: Which one is he?
*more whispers*
Security: OH. The one in the 42 Jersey? *SMIRKS*
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
*coughs and looks away*

Y’all.

JR Day

I haven’t laughed that hard at anybody since that one time this teenager was being a jerk in the movie theater skipping up and down the aisles and generally being an annoyance to everyone fell down the stairs. All of them. Yes. I’m petty. So?

*Yesterday, was the Civil Rights Game/ Jackie Robinson day at Dodgers Stadium/baseball fields all over the country. It was pretty awesome. Mrs. Rachel Robinson received a standing ovation because we Dodgers fans love our own. *sniff* I may have gotten some dirt in my eye or something over in the Left Field.

“..We’ll all wear 42 , that way they won’t tell us apart.”

Also. Good Job! We won last night.

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So. There’s a guy here at work.
He…Ummm…is not my favorite.
Mostly because I think he believes he should be my favorite.
I HAVE NO IDEA WHY HE FEELS THAT WAY.
And I have never given him any sort of indication that he’s my favorite co-worker.
Mostly because he isn’t.

ANYWAYS.
He called me at work after he’d left for the day.

Him: Hey. Can you do me a favor?
Me: I don’t know.
Him: I’d really appreciate it if you did.
Me: Well. Tell me what the favor is, THEN I can tell you if I can do it.
Him: DANG. WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN?
Personally, I don’t think it’s mean to want to know what it is you want.
You’re the one asking for the favor, mother fucker.
I don’t owe you shit.

Turns out I *could* do the favor for him. He left his iPad at work and he needed me to lock it up for him.

But, seriously. DUDE. I’m not in the habit of just saying yes and I don’t even know what the fuck it is you want from me.
ESPECIALLY, work people who tap dance on my nerves just by existing in the same space as I do.

The other day my co-worker got an email. Another co-worker of hers is getting married in two weeks. (YAY!!) And her supervisor sent an e-mail requesting they defray some of the cost by donating money to the bride/co-worker. I would like to add this request was SPECIFICALLY for money. Not gifts.

Umm…what?
So, lemme get this straight: You want her to donate money to help pay for a wedding that she is not even invited to?
What part of the game is that?
WHERE THEY DO THAT AT?
Somebody. Please help me out.

Because HELLLL NAW. She asked me if I got the e-mail too.
Me: Nope. And you better hope I don’t, because if I do, I’m gonna go HAM. AND? I’m gonna reply all.
Because FUCK YOU, that’s why.

If you can’t afford this wedding that YOU planned for YOURSELF, maybe you shouldn’t have it.
The Courthouse is pretty reasonable.
OR. You could elope.
OR. Talk a friend into getting an internet certificate so they can marry you. (Holy Briya at your service!)
OR. If you INSIST on having a wedding: Wait until YOU can afford it.

SHIT.

I get it. Weddings are expensive. That’s why I didn’t have one.
I got married while I was already on vacation on the beach.
The whole thing probably cost $300 bucks or so.
Including the very tiny wedding rings purchased on a Private’s salary.

THE BIGGER ISSUE, THOUGH, IS WHY IS IT OKAY TO ASK PEOPLE TO FUND THINGS THAT ARE CLEARLY YOUR RESPONSIBILITY?

Oh, you need to get your hair done?
You can’t pay your cell phone bill?
Would you walk up to a stranger on the street and ask them to buy you a new outfit because you can’t afford it?
No? Then stop it. STAAAAHP.
(And if you would, you deserve the junk punch that you get for asking)

You shouldn’t be trying to make any of these things somebody else’s problems.

That shouldn’t be what crowdfunding is used for.

I mean, YES. There are things/reasons/emergencies* that relying on the kindness of strangers/friends/family is not completely inappropriate.
Nobody ever PLANS to have wildly expensive emergencies appear out of nowhere.
And sometimes big dreams require big money.

But that thing where you think that somebody else is supposed to finance the lifestyle that you want to become accustomed to? No. In fact, not just no. HELL no.

Even though it may not sound like it, I say this with love:
Learn how to manage your money.
Learn how to save up for things that you want.
Get a better paying job.
Get A job.
Be responsible for the things that you want.
NO.

I know the internet makes it look easy. But. It isn’t. My paycheck won’t let me be great either. Anthropologie has pretty dresses. And the ones I love most are ALL expensive. So I have to wait until payday before I can buy it. Or two paydays. Or three. Or maybe I won’t buy it at all because in reality, I don’t really NEED an almost $400 dress.

Until I become independently wealthy, I can’t have everything that I want. And that’s the way it is. I’m not asking friends/family/co-workers to fund my insane lust for expensive dresses.
Because that isn’t how that works. *I* want it, *I* save for it. ME.

You want it? YOU save for it. *YOU*.

But don’t ask me. Because even if I *do* have extra change lying around (Which. Is HIGHLY unlikely with a college student living in my pocketbook), I want to spend it on me. Possibly my husband.

Not you. You go fuck fund yourself.

*yes. these are ALL my opinions