Archive for October, 2010

Richmonders Don’t Signal, Recent Study Finds

What Does This Mean?

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. 

Day Drinking

Get out of my life!

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.

Go away, please.

Oh, you like me? Neat. Let's date.

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.

I Like This

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!

Creep Street


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!

Area woman sick, goes to work anyway


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.

Ooh the flossy flossy!

I Hate Yoooooooooou

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.

Current Status: Roofied


Eeeeeewie!  Last night got real weird real quick.  Yesterday was Fat Tuesday.  Fat Tuesday is my new favorite night of the week during which I go over to a friend’s house and watch TV shows about fat people. Mike and Molly on CBS (the best worst show on TV!) immediately followed by the Biggest Loser.  I love The Biggest Loser, btw.  It’s all omg you are SO big followed by fuck yeah, lose that weight

Anywhoos, after that LOL Fest I agreed to go out for one (1) drink and one (1) drink only to catch a wee bit o karaoke at Sticky Rice.  I was so proud of myself when I actually adhered to the plan at hand and made it home before my 12 o’clock curfew!  Upon arriving at my apartment I do not see a unicorn or a hot boy or a delicious Channello’s cheese sticks with a trillion extra ranches, but a girl passed out cold. I’m all, “Oh shit. I really don’t want to have to deal with this crap”, but then thought I can’t go all Kitty Genovese on this girl’s ass. (Google that if you don’t know who I’m talking about, retards.) 

I assumed she had gone outside to smoke, gotten locked out and passed out.  Wrong. Once she came to and she was all, “Where am I?” and I’m all, “In front of my apartment door?”  She’s all, “I’m cold.” So I’m all, “Ok. Shit. Come in.”  It becomes pretty apparent that she was for sure 100% roofied like a mother fucker at a bar on Robinson that I won’t name but rhymes with Fuddy’s and somehow ended up at my place.  I know drunk and this shit was not that.  She says she met some guy off the internet and her boyfriend (!?!) will be pissed if he finds out.  I realize shit’s getting real real quick so I call for backup.  I text my friend the following message: “I think there’s a drug dealer in my apt! Help!” and it worked like a charm! He was there in no time. Yay!

The next logical step is figuring out how to get this girl the hell out of my place so I can catch some Zzz’s. Several failed phone calls later it’s clear she’s not getting a ride from anyone.  She says she has a friend who will let her crash her crib near Bryan park so in the car to drop off Roofie Town we go. Once we’re on the highway she realizes that no, it’s Byrd park, not Bryan park and I can’t blame her for the mistake. I’ve lived in RVA all my life and use Byrd and Bryan park interchangeably. We hop off the highway, find her friend’s house and wham, bam, thank ya ma’am my good deed of 2010 is presto donezo! 

Now on to the important part: my karmic repayment. I would like the following things to happen: a new job, a raise, get laid and pay off my credit card. THANKS BUNCHES! Love ya!



The longer I’m alive the more I realize I’m bothered by things that most people don’t even give a second thought to (i.e. Bed & Breakfasts and checking my mail). Conversely, things that make other people go bananas don’t faze me in the slightest (i.e. my pollen covered kitchen floor I didn’t clean for weeks last Spring).  Please see below:

Things I can’t stand:

People who back into parking spaces. I hate you. You’re wasting everyone’s time. Just. Pull. In. This morning I saw a woman hold up traffic in my parking deck by backing in her space. In the amount of time it took her to park, I parked my car and walked the length of the deck to the stairs. Please note she was still parking when I descended the stairs, so she could still be sitting there readjusting her stupid spot for all I know. 

Riding in elevators with strangers. This creeps me out to no end. I will walk up a trillion flights of stairs before I ride in an elevator with someone I don’t know.  Standing so close to a person in silence is maybe second to none to getting a gynecological exam whilst talking about your vacation plans.  (Hi, you’re feeling my ovaries; I don’t want to talk about The Outer Banks right now.)  The more people in the elevator, the worse it is and I start to feel like a trapped Chilean miner within seconds of the elevators doors closing, but without the psychological treatment they’re receiving on the daily.

Going to the movies. I don’t like people telling me I need to be someplace to watch something. Similarly, I do not watch anything on TV when it actually airs. If it’s not OnDemand, I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I do things when I want to do them, not when The Man says I should. Run and tell dat, homeboy!

Cleaning things that don’t need to be cleaned. Did you know some people bring cleaning supplies with them when they stay in a hotel?  Me either. Did you know some people clean the inside of their washing machines?  Same.  How about people that actually take the time to store their winter or summer clothes properly and place dryer sheets between them?  Who are these people?  Where did you learn to do this?  I’m scared. Leave me now, go live your weird, strange life.


Things that don’t bother me:

My moldy shower.  This would really skeeve a lot of people out, and understandably so, but for some reason my shower mold is kinda like an old friend. We hang out a little bit every day (ish) and catch up on life events. I heart my shower mold. Don’t go changin’, boo! I like you just the way you are!

Eating the same thing everyday.  I don’t really care that much about food, thus eating the exact same thing everyday does not annoy me.  I pretty much just eat whatever is the cheapest thing at the grocery store that week because I’m too poor to eat fancy. Pass me the peanut butter, bitches!

Unorganized closets and kitchen cabinets.  I was shocked and appalled when I recently discovered that people organize these things.  Like for real. They’re straight up neat.  I had gone all of these years assuming everyone just shoved their crap in the closet like I did and shut the door. I mean, why wouldn’t you? Isn’t that what closets are for? To store all of your stuff you don’t want out and about?  You don’t see the inside of the closet and/or cabinets so why does it need to be organized? I’ve got better uses of my time than organizing a closet. Like napping. Or petting my dogs.

Now you know

How YOU doin?!

It’s been a minute since I gave y’all a TSaur update and I’m sure you’re chomping at the bit to know what the haps is.  It’s fall and that means one thing and one thing only: it’s time to break out the twelve piece suits that smell like they haven’t been cleaned since the Carter administration. YAY! He wore his first twelve-piecer a week ago and I could smell him before he even got to his desk. The stench was menacing and raped my olfactory senses as I had forgotten how much more powerful his “winter smell” is versus that of summer. 

On a posi note, I may talk mad shit about T, but I’ll give props where props are due. Last Tuesday I decided to party like it was 1999 and called in sick to work on Wednesday. (Duh).  Of course I took Wednesday as an opportunity to get my day drank on and where did I end up at five pm but the local watering hole right near T’s apt.  I went outside for a quick smoke with this guy and who do I see but T all duded up in his running clothes! (Read: stained white undershirt, basketball shorts and high top Red Iverson’s).  Immediately I’m all “oh snap” since I was clearly in the cups and not sick even a little unless you consider getting awesome during a work day “sick”. I decided to kill him with kindness and actually talk to him.  Luckily he didn’t bust my cover and even complimented my “mental health day”.  Word! He may stink to high heaven and have the hair of the Fonz, but he’s not a 100% detestable.

In an unrelated T note, can I just say how many badass bands have been in and around the RVA as of late that I’ve had the opportunity to get drunk and dance to? Granted, Free Fest last weekend was in Baltimore, but that’s totally drivable.  What’s happening Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes, Yeasayer, Chromeo, Sleigh Bells and MIA?! Sleigh Bells and LCD Sounsystem again in Charlottesville this weekend? Ok! Gorillaz in Northern Virginia in mid-October? Pretty Lights in November?  Don’t mind if I do.  Sign me up, bitches! If you need me, I’ll be hollering loudly at a music venue near you!


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.