Orange Crush, the Facebook experiment.

Facebook is a curious thing. It's wonderful, you can see who married who and who got fat. It can help you feel superior and make you feel like a worthless failure, all in one click of a bookmark. You have all these "friends", but I dare each and every one of you to go through your lists. There will be at least 5 people that you don't know dick about. Sure, you went to high school or college with them. But do you really know them? Probably not. And for the most part, we're cool with it.

I, on the other hand, look at it as an experiment. I friended a whole bunch of people I went to High School with. People I have absolutely no recollection of. People that most likely have zero recollection of me. But for some reason, because we all went to this magical place called High School together, each and every one accepted. Every. One. For a half a second, you fool yourself into thinking that there might be more to it. Well, maybe they were in Mrs. Watson's English class. Or Coach Swope's Algebra class. But in reality, most of these people didn't know you from shit.

And then BAM. You find Him. Or Her. In my case, it's a Him, because I likey the ones with a penis. I digress. Anyway, there He is. The Crush. The one that never went anywhere, probably because I was a big fucking geek with big hair and blue and gold eye shadow. (what? it was required for dance team, suckahs). Friend Request!! Accepted. I hear those Mexican soccer commentators scream, GOOOOOOALLLLLLLLL!

Of course, I post a status here and there. I played all the gaywad games for a while until I felt like a supreme loser for giving a rat's ass if my corn was ready to harvest or not. And it fades away. Slowly but surely, like your Mexican vacation suntan. But the kicker? Occasionally, you add someone to your bag of tricks that you never expected. A real friend, that is now a daily part of your life. My old crush has become my new friend. Growing up can be the shit.

For the record, he's still cute as hell.

It's all about the Pretties...

So I've debated this second post. What direction am I going to take this blog in? Am I going to follow in the old QoP flip flop steps or will it have a flavor of it's own? For those of you that used to read me, you know the primaries about me. For you new people, you'll have to feel me out for yourselves. Of course, knowing me you know that I giggled a little at "feeling me". I even giggled today at work when I said duty. What rocked even more is that when I did, the person on the other end of the phone giggled too. Some sort of secret silly-minded kinship that is underlying and goes without saying. Score!

FYI, to all you diehards, there will not be any dirty HNT's. Unless I drink a lot of wine. ;)

Today was my favorite day at work. Which is also the date I get treated the worst. Maybe I really am a sadist. I do like pain, after all. Not the emotional kind, I try to shy away from emotional crap at all costs. Anyway, today was Cut Off Day (COD). I have the reviled job of working in Utilities. I am in charge of the Utilities for EvenSmaller Town USA. And on the 26th (or 28th, as the calendar fell), today was COD. If you don't pay, you don't play. No tickie, no laundry. Also known as, PYFBD. Pay your fucking bill day. Here's the drill people, it's simple. Pay your bill and you keep your shit. If you don't, I will cut it off. My job is not worth you being able to play PS57 or whatever. Yes, I have a heart. But your sob stories do not pay my paycheck. And my paycheck pays for my pretty toes, pretty nails and wine. And I'm much more pleasant with pretties and wine.

Today was no different than any other COD. I cut off power. And I was called, in no particular order:

Cunt (my favorite, makes me laugh every time)
Bitch
Heartless Bitch
Jackass

My all-time favorite: Fat Cunty Bitch. Really, people. I can't make this shit up.

Seriously. Do people think I'm going to rush right out and turn your shit back on if you insult me? Uhhhh no. And for that matter, if you need to call your utility company remember one thing. It could be me answering the phone. And I'm super-nice. Until you get an attitude with me. And then this cunty bitch will fuck you up. BE NICE. For real.

In all reality, I don't like cutting people's power off. I know that it's tough out there. DUH, why do you think I'm doing this job? It's a J. O. B. and it pays mah bills.

Moral of the story: Pay yo bills, or this Cunty Bitch may be turning off yo shit.

The Return

I have thought about this almost since day 1 after dumping the original QoP blog. For those of you that don't know, I used to have a wildly successful blog. And by wildly successful, I mean that like 4 people read it. And three of those people are 3 of you. I developed a nasty case of Stalkeritis and dumped the blog when I'd had enough. But after much, much, much debate (and a bitching case of being tethered by 140 characters on Twitter), I'm baaaaack. Everybody say, "yippy fuckin' skippy".

For those of you that are not used to me yet, be warned on post 1. I cuss. I say whatever the fuck I want. And I don't care. My favorite saying is "Suck it and deal". If you don't like me, that's perfectly fine. Don't read. I'm way good with that. I'm opinionated. I'm OCD. I'm scatterbrained. And last but certainly not least... I ♥ flip flops and wine. And the movie Grease. Damn people, do I have to tell you everything tonight? Get off my ass already. ;)

I'll make a Cast of Characters page, which will probably grow as time goes on. It always does. But for now, the majors:

#1 - my oldest daughter (14)
The Diva - middle daughter (12)
The Baby - ummmm, the baby, duh (7)

We live in Small Town, Texas. Lived here for 2 years. We live out in the fucking middle of nowhere. I'm still adjusting.

Stick around, if you wanna. Or not.