Thursday, February 25, 2010
Don Burleson: Educated Nincompoop
So I was going to write a rant about this pompous asshole who thinks he knows everything there is to know about the type of person who wears tattoos (hint: we're all poor, uneducated, and most likely, criminals). But since The Girlchild found the article and started a discussion on Facebook, I don't wanna steal away her thunder. However, if you're tattooed and don't fall into those aforementioned categories, (or even if you do, who am I to judge? I could care less.) you should go have a look at his article. Here's the beginning of The Girlchild's Facebook discussion (transcribed with photos removed and aliases added where necessary), and if I remember (don't hold your breath – it's been a year since I've posted anything here) I will post updated copies.
The Girlchild:Professional dress code and Tattoos
To be honest, I'm in agreement with a good portion of that. My interpretation displays that a lot of places just aren't interested in tattoos being visible in the work place. Yes, we've come a long way with the availability of tattoos. Every class finds some way to afford a tattoo (if not several), but it doesn't mean that someone should hire you because you have a smiley face on your forehead. You do have to think about the location/subject matter these rules seriously apply to. The usual is going to be because of a profane image. And because we, as individualists, have different points of view on terms of what is acceptable. Someone might find a butterfly on the ankle provocative (stupid, I agree). People that find tattoos offensive no matter what they are subjectively will lead to the same crap. I'm all about being yourself, but my tattoo(s - provided Cory can do more) are on my shoulder, or will always be under clothing just because they're for me. Screw the rest of the world, if they wanna see -- they can ask. But that's just me.
I was more so referring to the part where the author was vehement in his opinion that tattoos are "more popular among the poor and under educated" and " tattoos are a sign of immaturity, bad judgment and bad taste", and the like.
It's wrong to generalize tattoos with poor and under-educated. I've seen lots of rotten-tooth broke-arse people with them, but that doesn't mean it's the only populous. And as for the last part, look at the picture of that guy! He's an old fart set in his ways (like most). His opinion blows. Saying such a thing goes against the "1/4th of the population is retarded."
I think he's a pompous ass. I agree that tattoos are not appropriate in certain situations, and that companies have the right to stipulate a dress code. But what is under that crisp white shirt and tie is none of anybody's damned business. We are not poor and uneducated people. We are not criminals. To lump us all into one category is uneducated. Incidentally, for someone who claims to be so much better and higher on the food chain than we are, have a look at his blog. I guess it's okay with his consulting company for half naked women to be displayed on his blog, but it's not okay for someone to have a tattoo under their shirt. I would find the former more offensive than the latter.
As for the blog mentioned, here is the link. I enjoyed what comments there were, and I would have left one myself, but it appears that Mr. Burleson disabled that option. Per chance he will stumble across my blog. He's welcome to leave comments. He also might want to check out Ink meets Inc: Twenty Tattooed Professionals - that is, if he can stand being wrong.
PS My current tattoo count: 10
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
It's only been a year...
... or so. Guess last year's comeback wasn't much to get excited over, eh? I really need to make this entry something special to make up for lost time. Two seconds. Damn. I got nothing. Let's just go play some video games in the shed. I'll be back when I'm not feeling like such a zombie.
Friday, January 23, 2009
So I haven't blogged since like what, April? Feel free to invent a story to cover my absence. Feel free to send it to me. I like stories. I'll post it if it's good.
So I just wanted to say thank you to the woman in the maroon SUV at the car wash. Yeah, I know this isn't typical of me to thank someone, usually I'm bitching, but... Maroon SUV lady: You left enough time in the car wash for me to wash, rinse, and wax The Girlchild's car. Muchas gracias. The poor girl needed a bath. And since my baby Frankie is broken down (again), I felt it only right to give Erin a good scrubbing.
Not a very exciting way to make my blog comeback, but hey, at least it's something. Right-O. In other news, some of the local boys have been in a bit of trouble. For shame. Couldn't you do something more interesting than vandalize a mailbox? Come on, show some spirit! How about some graffiti? At least we'd all get to enjoy it. Speaking of, The Girlchild and I need to reclaim the tunnel. Are you game, Purplekitten?
The Prey Hardcover Gift Collection by John Sanford : 6 Book Set : Mortal Prey / Easy Prey / Chosen Prey / Naked Prey / Hidden Prey / Broken Prey (The Prey Collection, (First Edition, First Printing))
By John Sandford
Thursday, April 10, 2008
I heart the free credit report dot com guy
For your listening pleasure, a compilation of the free credit report dot com jingles, with lyrics:) Don't be shy now... you know you want to sing along
Well I was shopping for a new car
Which one's me?
A cool convertible or an SUV
Too bad I didn't know my credit was whack
Cause now I'm driving off the lot in a used subcompact
F-R-E-E that spells free
Credit report dot com baby
Saw their ads on my TV
Thought about going but was too lazy
Now instead of lookin' fly and rollin' phat
My legs are sticking to the vinyl
And my posse's gettin' laughed at
F-R-E-E that spells free
Credit report dot com baby.
Well I married my dream girl
I married my dream girl
But she didn't tell me her credit was bad
So now instead of living in a pleasant suburb
We're living in the basement at her mom and dad's
No we can't get a loan
For a respectable home
Just because my girl defaulted on some old credit card
If we'd gone to free credit report dot com
I'd be a happy bachelor with a dog and a yard
They say a man should always dress for the job he wants
So why am I dressed up like a pirate in this restaurant?
It's all because some hacker stole my identity
Now I'm in here every evening serving chowder and iced tea
Shoulda gone to free credit report dot com (yee haw!)
I could have seen this coming at me like an atom bomb
They monitor your credit and send you email alerts
So you don't wind up selling fish to tourists in t-shirts
UPDATE: If you're interested in finding out more about "free credit report guy" his name is Eric Violette, and here are some links:
Eric's youtube channel
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Conversation Between Me and The Girlchild
Me: Johnny Depp doesn't have a myspace.
TG: If you were Johnny Depp, would YOU have a myspace?
Me: *sigh* No.
So The Girlchild's birthday is coming up, and I was going to get her a Diary Queen ice cream cake with Sweeney Todd on it. You know, they have that "put any picture you want on a cake" deal? Well not ANY picture, evidently. Only a photograph. Regardless of the fact that I got the picture from the Sweeney Todd website where it was available as a FREE download, they still wouldn't put it on a cake because of "copyright issues". Apparently, they once put Elvis on a cake and got fined for $500. I told the lady that Elvis was dead, and could probably care less if his face was on a cake. She said "They gotta make their money somehow." I'm not sure who "they" are, but I bet "they" are the ones who take me from my bed at night and leave perfectly round bruises on my thighs. No, not THERE, you pervert.
So anyway, this other DQ chick actually asked me why someone would want Johnny Depp on a cake. Sweet Ra, why wouldn't you?! I mean, a chocolately, ice creamy version of Johnny Depp would be the next best thing to the real thing. Right?
People. I swear.
And I really wanted to be Johnny's myspace friend.
Monday, October 08, 2007
I miss him.
I miss him
Ever have one of those dreams that you can't seem to shake when you wake up? One of those that latched on to your emotions so hard, that you mourned the fact that the dream wasn't real?
I had one of those last night, and I can't stop thinking about him. Not the band - although that would be a right fucking awesome dream. Him - the man in my dream.
I don't know who he was. I never got a name. He looked like nobody I've met, his voice was unlike anyone I know, and he made me feel like I've never felt. It was short, and oh so sweet. I woke up missing him. I've been thinking about him all day.
Life is one cruel bitch. I found the perfect man in Sandland, and I'll probably never find that channel again. That's probably a good thing. Otherwise, I'd probably overdose on sleeping pills trying to spend every unwaking second with him. The man. Not the band.
Yesterday I had a long conversation with a relative of someone I dated. It was mostly a question answer session - somewhat uncomfortable, somewhat not. I promised to keep our convo a secret, so I won't say any more about it. Besides, it's not the convo that is important. The thing was, I got to thinking afterward about when the last time I had a phone conversation with a female was. Other than my mother (and one liners with The Girlchild and The Girlfriend), I have not had a telephone conversation with another female since 1999. That's seven freaking years for those of you who were in the LD math class. Seven years.
Most of the time I'm secure with my lack of intimate relationships, because they are usually more trouble than they are worth. But here, in less than 24 hours, I got a not so subtle reminder of what is missing in my life.
It bloody sucks, dammit.
Since I'm in a fuckitall mood, and especially moody in the relationship arena, here is one of those survey things from Myspace, completed with a heaping helping of who fucking gives a shit and just a hint of sour grapes.
THE UNCOMFORTABLE SURVEY (note: I don't see what could be so unfuckingcomfortable about it... it's not like they're asking if you spit or swallow)
1. Longest relationship:
2. Shortest relationship:
3. How many boyfriends/girlfriends have told you they love you?
4. Have you ever thought that you were going to marry the person you were dating?
5. Have you ever liked someone so much that it hurts?
6. Have you ever made a boyfriend or girlfriend cry?:
7. Are you happier single or in a relationship?:
8. Have you ever been cheated on?
9. What is your favorite thing about the opposite sex?
10.Have you ever had your heart broken?
11. Have you ever broken someone's heart?
12. Talk to any of your exes?
13. If you could go back in time would you change things to where you could still be with one of your exes?
14. Think any of your ex's feel the same way?
15. Do you believe that you are a good boyfriend or girlfriend?
16. Have you dated people who were not good to you?
17. Have you dated someone older then you?
18. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?
19. Believe in love at first sight?
20. Ever dated two people at once?
21. Do you want to get married?
22. Do you have something to say to any of your exes?
23. Ever stolen someone's boyfriend or girlfriend?
24. Ever liked someone else's boyfriend or girlfriend?
25. Does heartbreak really feel as bad as it sounds?
26. Are you looking for a boyfriend or girlfriend?
Any more stupid questions?
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
I feel Fluffy.
Last week I saw an exboyfriend's truck parked a few houses away from where I work. I don't know who lives there, but his truck stayed there several days, and had me wondering what he was doing. It's an interesting house, in that their entire front porch is covered with unidentifiable pieces of junk, and their grass is always high. At any rate, I didn't dwell on being nosy too long, but I did have occassion to reminisce about our short relationship. Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking when it comes to men.
This guy, who a friend and I used to refer to as "Aneurysm Boy" after the breakup, was one of the flakier guys I've ever dated. The friend and I met him at a club one night. It was karaoke night, and the friend fancied that she could sing - which she could, don't get me wrong, if you happen to like Broadway hits (which I don't). She could turn Mary Had a Little Lamb into a Broadway soundtrack.
I recently ran across a YouTube video of hers. We haven't spoken in quite a long time... the last being at the wake of her aunt, whom she had been waiting on to die so she could sell her house and hook up with some guy from Alaska she'd met on the internet. It seemed that her plan worked, because she was married and video blogging from Alaska.
I stopped associating with her after she began proclaiming to whomever cared to listen that I was a slut. This came about after a guy she liked showed some interest in me. I wasn't interested in her guy, but evidently, she wanted to discourage him from any further communication with me, and I guess she thought that my being the proposed slut would put him off. Hey, I'm not the one that showed up at his place the morning after their first date for a booty call. No, I am not. I am also not the one that on another first date with some internet dude, gave him oral pleasures in the mall parking lot. Okay?
Be that as it may, we did have some interesting times before the fallout. She was an odd one, to say the least. She had a thing for Queer as Folk and the Beatles, called herself "The Fluff" (because she was "fluffy" not "fat") and had a hysterectomy at the age of 30 (I think) because she didn't want children. She also had her appendix removed at the same time, since she didn't need them. What kinda quack doctor agrees to cut someone open and remove things just because the patient had a whim? Then again, maybe he figured this chick shouldn't breed.
She was constantly on some sort of medically supervised diet, and taking those diet pills that block the absorption of fat, but which also will cause you to have "leakage" if you consume too much fat. She called it "orange oil", and would loudly proclaim that she had it. I think someone should have told her that the diet pills wouldn't counteract 12 Fazoli's breadsticks.
You had to feel a little bad for her. She had a confusing childhood. Her real mother gave her to her grandmother, who she thought was her actual mother for a long time, and then found out that her real mother didn't want her, and her mother was her grandmother, and her father didn't want anything to do with her. She was spoiled beyond belief, and was such a total bitch to her aunt, who took her in after her grandmother/mother went a little nuts. This aunt practically raised her, gave her everything she could ever want and more, and "The Fluff" would scream at her and call her names - it was horrible. And then the whole "I was just waiting for her to die so I could sell the house" thing. Sheesh.
My first ever memory of this girl was her coming to visit my neighbor. I happened to be there, too, and Fluff was all decked out in a pretty little dress - you know, her family had money, and she had all the best. Anyway, she bounced about the yard, and I followed her around to the back, where I saw her reach down and pick up a nice piece of dog poop.
Some interesting memories in her teenage years were of her sticking her fingers into a fan to see if it would cut them (it did) and snorting Doritos. Another time, she volunteered to drive me up to see a boyfriend, and somehow managed to run over into a ditch and smash her other aunt's car. Oddly enough, I got blamed for this. Of course I did. The Fluff never did any wrong, at least in her aunt's eyes.
Where was I going with this? Oh yes, I was speaking of the exboyfriend. At any rate, he was most a most flaky character. He was rather cute, a bit round, and most anxious to show me off to all of his friends. Our first date ended up being a double date at Macados with two of his friends, one of which flirted with me the entire evening. XBF didn't seem to notice. The next "date" consisted of us riding around in his truck from one of his friend's houses to the next, to "introduce me". A little odd, but somewhat flattering, too. We spent a considerable amount of time on the telephone. He worked for the railroad, and was gone 5 days a week. We would get together on weekends.
Our most "memorable" date was spent drinking sodas in K-Mart parking lot after dark, because he was "broke". Ah... so romantic. Eventually he started acting really weird, and making up stories about his sister that I still can't make any sense of, but the point of which was that I shouldn't call his house. Once he called me and asked if I could meet him in a few minutes at Walmart. I said yes, and went to the designated spot, only to have him not show up. He eventually called, and had an excuse about being delayed, and asked me to meet him in Arby's parking lot (which, incidentally, was where we met up on the first date, prior to Macados). I went there, waited... once again, no show. A call to him only gave me voice mail, so I decided to go home. He had the most wonderful excuse that a naive woman like myself ate up like candy. So the next time he called me to meet him somewhere, I went again, like a lamb to slaughter. Of course, he didn't show, and I didn't buy the excuse this time.
I can't remember the exact details of our breakup, but there was something about calling him from a club and having his mother tell me that he was out with his girlfriend. Ahem. I told her this WAS his girlfriend... and shortly thereafter he called me, whereupon I told him to blow it out his ass. Not really, I can't remember what I said... but it had the same sentiment.
I later found out from his cousin (with whom I was attending college) that he'd had an aneurysm when he was a boy, and hadn't been right sense.
I know how to pick 'em, all right.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
The Pocy Pen
Remember back when I was bitching about the costs on my ticket, particularly the parts about being charged for a two day stay in jail (that I didn't do) and the accompanying jail upkeep fees?
Sunday, August 12, 2007
A friend of mine noted that when reading my blog, that someoneone who didn't know me too very well might think that I had a live in lesbian lover. While this would be interesting (both for me and my blogs), I have to set the record straight (haha!) Let me explain: When I mention "The Girlfriend" I am actually referring to my son's girlfriend, Gigantor, Eater of Souls.
But hey, if it gets you all squirmy to think of me as a hot bisexual, by all means, think as you will. Oh, and if I *did* have a girlfriend, she would be smoking hot. You better believe it.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
It's a dirty job, but...
Whew. It's freaking hot.
I'm sitting here, nursing a 22 ounce Bud Light, which, according to a past boyfriend, makes me a slut. Or something to that effect. He used to work at a convenience store, and he remarked once that you could tell the slutty women by their purchase of 22 ounce beers. Based on some of the women I saw buy them when I was loitering around there, I might have to say he had something there. So I'm slutting it up here at home alone watching Dirty Jobs. So, if sluts drink 22s, and I'm a slut, and I'm watching Dirty Jobs, does it follow that all sluts watch Dirty Jobs? Or does Dirty Jobs cancel out the 22, kinda like Diet Coke cancels out a cookie? Am I a slut, or not? Don't answer that.
Anyhoo, I spent a good part of the day trying to find myself a replacement for the little S10 I rolled. It was less than fruitful, I must say. It's pretty hard to find a truck that's less than 5 years old under 10K, which is what I have budgeted myself to. I found some nice ones, but I'm too big of a chicken to wedge myself into a higher payment. What good is a nice new truck if I can't afford to go anywhere in it? Nawmeen?
Car salesmen really annoy me. Which is why last night The Boychild, The Girlfriend and I went window shopping after everything was closed. Dude, this is the way to go. Of course, most of them weren't priced, but you could get a nice look at them, and decide if you were interested without some salesman haggling you. At this one lot, they were even unlocked! We had a lot of fun poking around in trucks, as well as some phat ass Mustangs.
At any rate, back to the annoying salesmen. Look guys, I know you're out to make a sale, and will basically tell me anything and hang over top of me until you break me down. But let me fucking breathe, alright? Sure, I'm a girl, but I'm not stupid. Besides, I had my team with me. I played "The Buyer". The Boychild was "The Intimidation." The Girlfriend was "The Eater of Souls". And "The Girlchild" was "The Bitch".
The first place we went has the most annoying commercial ever. They call themselves the "Price Police". *rolling of eyes* There have been many a time that I nearly peed my pants when their commercial came on the radio, because I was *cough* speeding and their obnoxious "Price Police" siren started blaring through the speakers, and I nearly ran off the road looking through the rear view mirror for the 5-0. Anyhoo, I think that the "Price Police" are actually customer snipers they have on the roof of the place, because as soon as we got out of the car, we heard a loudspeaker, which instructed a salesman to come to the lot IMMEDIATELY. Since all the trucks had prices, we made a quick sweep before the dude could lumber the football field distance out to us, and were back in the car and off. I'll tell ya this much - their prices were way less than lawful.
The next place was my favorite, not because they had anything special (they had nada) but because I totally owned the sales dude. He was trying so hard, payment this, blase blase.. and he said he thought they could beat my bank. I said, "Can you beat 6% interest?" He looked like a little boy who just found out Santa wasn't real.
The rest of the day was pretty uneventful, and I'm contemplating something crazy, so... yeah.
Peace out, crakz.
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