RICHMOND, VA-Researchers announced shocking findings earlier today. The study, conducted over five years, included every single Richmond resident with or without a valid driver’s license but who has operated a vehicle at some point in their lives. It conclusively proved Richmonders are incapable of using the turning signal of their cars an astounding 89% of the time. Furthermore, the study showed the location of the driver had zero impact on whether the turning signal would be used. “Whether the driver is speeding down 64 West to pick up their kids in time for soccer practice, stopping short to parallel park in a ‘surprise’ spot near Buddy’s to catch the tail end of happy hour or cutting over three lanes of traffic on West Broad Street to get into the double left hand turning lane into Short Pump Town Center, 89% of the time Richmonders will not use their turning signal”, James Peterson, head researcher of the study, told reporters. “Ever.”, he added. Findings also showed rain, fog, darkness or any other type of driving impairment increased the refusal to signal from 89% to a shocking 92% of the time. The remaining 11% of Richmonders who actually used that “weird thing sticking out of the left side of their steering wheel” were, in fact, drunk and more than likely were fumbling for a cigarette they dropped while turning up the volume of their music.
At press time Mr. Peterson made a sudden and unexpected hard left into the CVS off Ellwood thus causing the car behind him to slam on his breaks and the driver to scream “Shit! Learn how to fucking drive, asshole!”, so he could pick up a quick sixer.
To say things got slightly out of hand last weekend would be a bit of an understatement. I could feel it in my bones before the weekend even got started and boy oh boy was I right. I blame two separate and distinct things for this ridiculous behavior: Three Sheets to the Wind playing at Republic on Thursday night and day drinking.
Thursday evening started innocently enough. I caught Matt & Kim play at The Canal Club earlier in the evening and under normal circumstances, I more than likely would have called it a night after the show but I didn’t have to work on Friday and hi, it’s Three Sheets, America’s number one tribute to yacht rock. I’m not sure why everyone in RVA gets absolutely blitzkrieged when they play, but they do. I don’t even like yacht rock, but shit gets dirty south so it’s on like Donkey Kong on the third Thursday of the month. Everything from buying shots like Oprah buys cars on a bar stool (not me), fist pumping HARD (not this girl), not remembering how one got home (me plus 10 others) to making out in the middle of the bar (definitely me, but others, too) all occurred.
Waking up around noon on Friday I found myself busy fielding an array of text messages, phone calls and emails all asking the same question, “What the fuck happened last night?” Once it was clear there was no definitive answer as to what the fuck had, in fact, happened, it was decided that a group of us should definitely hit up Hooter’s. You know, because that’s what normal people on their day off, right? Drink pitchers of beer and eat hot wings. Sure they do. Fast forward to Friday night and now I’m three sheets to the wind.
Somehow I survive and wake up on Saturday morning still in my clothes from the night prior. I promised myself I would, under no circumstances, start drinking before a normal hour and within thirty minutes I found myself on the way to brunch to get the party started once more. Within a few hours a surly drunk redneck bought the entire table shots of Bacardi while we sang classic rock songs loudly. Again, this is completely normal, right? I had the clarity of mind to know I should go home and nap it out and not continue the party like everyone else. I took a three hour nap and woke up almost as drunk as I was before I put myself down. Not one to be deterred from having a good time, when my friend told me some of them were getting tats and oh, did I want to join? I decided yes, I absolutely would do that because getting a tattoo after drinking is always a splendid idea. An hour and sixty bones later I am now the proud owner of a new tattoo that is clearly visible in 99% of any outfit I own. Win! Anywhoos, to celebrate poor decisions I continued the party until lord knows when and woke up once again in my outfit from the night prior (plus tat!).
Sunday I took a stand and said, “Fuck you” to all brunch invitations. I was responsible as a mother effer and was asleep by 11! Screw your Sunday Funday and fuck day drinking. I love day drinking like a Mama Grizzly loves hating gays and brown people, but I just can’t keep up. Nada mas! If you need me during the day, I’ll be volunteering or making a compost piles. Unless it’s your birthday. Or a snow day. Or a holiday. But until then, forget it.
Recently T Saur has been getting mad creepy. A few weekends ago I was at a local watering hole (shocking) and when I got into work that Monday he immediately ran over to me and barked, “Did I have a nice weekend? Because he saw me at (fill in the blank) bar.” Please note, this is not the first, second or third time T has claimed to see me out and about and not come over and said hello. (Which is actually preferable). As a matter of fact, now that I get to thinking about it, this has been happening about once a week for a few months now. Are you following me around? Gross.
Anywhoos, this past Monday he rushes over straight away in his stinky eighteen-piece suit and once again asks me how my weekend was, doesn’t even wait for an answer before placing this on my desk:
Total pregnancy test, amiright? I even asked him why he placed a pregnancy test on my desk and he laughed and said no, it’s a wine opener and he thought I would want it? You know, because after the trillion bottles of wine I’ve consumed I probably don’t have a wine opener. I guess it was kind of nice, if not a little weird and totally unnecessary. Fast forward to yesterday. Again, it was first thing in the morning and I’m my standard thirty minutes late getting here. He runs over and says in an uber scary dead pan voice, “I like the color of your hair”, to which I replied, “Oooooookay. Thanks?” You like the color of my hair? What? Why are so weird with everything in your life? Go. Away.
Speaking of lives, what’s going on with my life lately? What with my stalker from last week, T Saur and the crazy Vietnam Vet Hobo who asked to, “ride in my car” yesterday I’m seriously beginning to question what kind of crazy mojo I’m putting out there. TLW no want your crazy. Please leave my life.
It recently was brought to my attention that I’ve been talking about things I don’t like versus things I like and could I maybe do that for a change? Even though that goes against every fiber of my being, I’ll go ahead and throw y’all a bone. Behold my Top Five Things TLW likes right now!
1-Liking things on Facespace. Nothing makes me happier more than “liking” when one of my friends posts something like “SO SICK OF THIS COLD!” (like) or “I HATE MONDAYS!” (like) or “PREGNANT AND DON’T KNOW WHO THE BABY DADDY BE!” (extra like). I’ve even gone so far as to actually express this aloud when a friend announces bad news. I.e. Friend: “I’m so broke”, Me: “TLW likes this.”. God, I’m such a bitch. Why does anyone want to be my friend?
2-This song. Listen and enjoy. If you don’t like it, you’re really dumb, for real. I can (and do!) listen to it on repeat numerous times a day. Suck it.
3-My Halloween costume. It’s going to incite major LOLs and I can’t wait. It’s gonna be the tits! If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll see me stumbling around RVA in it in a few weeks.
4-Bad Girls Club. If you don’t think this show is the funniest thing on TV, then I feel really, really bad for. Check it:
5-My ex husband’s fat new girlfriend. To be honest, she’s not “new” as I’m pretty sure they were banging when we were still married, but they did break up and get back together and now they’re Facespace official! Yay! Good for you, poppet! I hope y’all enjoy getting zany in Downtown Short Pump together. So many white people! JUST LIKE YOU!
Trying to picture a scene that’s hard to believe: Me. At a bar. Drinking. Okay, now that you’ve imagined the unimaginable let’s make it weirder. Let’s assume I’m there with some friends, (What? I have friends? Yes. I do. Fuck off). Let’s then assume that one of them is wearing a shirt with a college football team logo of some sort on it. Then picture a random stranger walking up to said friend and stating that he also went to that college and wow wasn’t that big win last Saturday bananas? (Stephen Garcia’s dick is huge, BTW). Conversation about said football team continues and this girl zones out and runs to the ladies room as I have the bladder the size of a baby squirrel.
ANYWHOOS, so when I get back to my seat I’m informed that this strange man “knows” me and knows my name. Seeing as I have never laid eyes upon him I immediately inquire from where do I know him? He mentions several friends of mine and I’m all yeah, ok, fine, but how do you know me? He tells me he’s seen my picture on their Facespace and I’m all, oooooookay, that’s the creepiest thing I’ve heard all week. He says no, it’s not creepy. He’s just seen my picture and wasn’t I at Gus’ a few Sundays ago watching football? I said that I was and this is getting real weird, real quick. He thought for sure he saw me there and was going to say hi but decided not to say anything because that would be weird. I ask him how right now is not weird, but a few weeks ago would have been weird? He didn’t really have an answer for that since he was super busy drinking his grape flavored Red Bull and Vodka. “All grape flavored drinks are just better” he told me.
Much to my disappointment he continued talking to me and told me he works for AT&T. I asked him to please make it so I could make phone calls in my apartment as that is my home and it’s a pain in the fucking ass to drop calls on the regs. Then he asks me where do I live on (fill in the blank) Street? KIM, I never told Creepster what street I lived on. So then there’s that. He eventually meandered away as he drunkenly realized I was not the slightest bit interested in him wearing my skin as a suit.
There you have it folks. Just a typical Thursday night out attracting the biggest freaks in RVA. HOLLER LOUDLY!
RICHMOND, VA.- Short Pump Resident and working mother Cindy Adams decided to go into the office today despite the fact that she was feeling under the weather. The cold, which she caught from her toddler, was no surprise to Mrs. Adams since Jeffrey, her two year old, had been home sick for the past several days from his local daycare. “Oh, I just knew I was going to catch what he had”, she explained to reporters earlier today in between alternatively blowing her nose and hacking up a thick mucous-like substance into a tissue, “It was just a matter of time.”
When asked why she would go into work when she was clearly sick, thus risking of infecting her innocent child-free coworkers she explained she had taken off the past two days to care for her sick son and now that he was feeling better it was time to get back to work. “I don’t want to have to dip into my vacation time and with Christmas right around the corner I want to be able to spend as much time with Jeffrey as possible.” “Also, I honestly don’t care who I get sick as long as precious Jeffrey is feeling better and is able to lick the floor at daycare all day,” she added.
When asked what she talked or thought about before having a child, Mrs. Adams stared blankly at reporters and asked them to repeat the question. At press time, Mrs. Adams was taking a break from uploading pictures of Jeffrey to her Facebook account and was sneezing profusely without covering her mouth whilst pouring a cup of coffee in the company break room.
Wow! Look at you lucky sonsabitches! Three posts in one week. Lordy! What is this? 2009? Suck it, bitches. For your information I had already written today’s post yesterday, but Steal Your Soul’s computer decided to eat it like a sacrificial lamb. Meh. It wasn’t all that great anyways. It was basically me just ranting about how much I hate T Saur swarming around my desk a trillion times a day and asking him to sit the fuck down. So instead of T Saur I want to discuss my gum AIDS.
About a month ago one of my coworker’s (who I actually like and will talk to) went to the dentist and was told she had four (4!!) cavities that all could have been prevented if she flossed. Going to the dentist makes me cold sweat, but getting cavities filled makes me throw clots. Unfortunately, I also really hate flossing and admit I do it never. However, her trip to the dentist scared me straight. If you can cure the gay, then you sure as hell can cure being mouth gross! I went to the store that night and purchased myself some real nice floss. Of course it took me a few more weeks to actually start using it, but once I did I immediately started feeling better about myself. I felt responsible, like a normal grown up. I even considered checking my mail more than bi-monthly, but decided to not take on too much, too soon.
It wasn’t too much longer after I started taking baby steps toward proper dental hygiene when I started noticing my gums were itchy like whoa. Who has itchy gums? This girl. How is that even possible? I don’t know, but as I’m typing right now I have the insatiable urge to rake a pair of gardening shears across my mouth. Gross? Yes, very. I’m not sure what I’m going to do about it or how one gets rid of their itchy gums but once I figure it out, I’ll holler and let y’all know. Also, let me know if you or someone you love has had this ailment and whose leg you humped to rid yourself of this malady. Maybe if there are enough of us, we can start some type of support group.
PS-For those of you grossed out by my gum AIDS, be thankful. I could’ve written about the period I’m having. You. Are. Welcome.