Do your parents give you toilet paper and paper towels? Since my first day of college, my mom and dad never failed to restock my janitorial closet. Whenever they stopped by the dorm, the apartments or met me for lunch, they always had an economy sized case of toilet paper in tow.

Growing up is dreadful because my parents have ceased purchasing all sanitary supplies. Not only did I have to get a full time job, pay my own rent, buy all my groceries and purchase my own gas, but now I have to buy my own bathroom necessities. No longer will my bum be cleaned by the soft luscious sheets of Charmin. No longer will my counter top be wiped by thick Bounty towels. Abrasive generic tp and disinegrating cheap paper towels are part of my reality now.

Every time I use a bathroom that dispenses cottony 2-ply sheets, I reminisce about the unconditional love of my parents. Mommy, where have all the Charmin gone?

I don't know if I have anything interesting to say today.

Oh, have you ever gone to a bar and had your butt groped by a disgusting patron?
You're walking to the bathroom and there's a guy headed in your direction. As he passes, you feel something touch your butt. Angered by the unwarranted caress, you turn your head immediately, grab the guy's arm, and yell, "Don't touch my ass!" The perpetrator replies with a pathetic, "Oh, sorry, my hand brushed it by mistake."

You are a shit of a lair, pervert. Your hand just happen to perfectly cup my ass cheek and do a light squeeze. And don't blame it on another guy because there's nobody else in arms length of me. If you ever attempt to obtain physical contact with me, your hand will no longer function properly.

Why does it seem like only repulsive males want to touch me, you may ask. Well my friend, uglies can't get ass so they must satisfy their sexual needs by surreptitiously touching hot women. Good-looking guys need not molest others in public because they can achieve sexual gratification with the women they bring home from the bars.

I am starving like a runway model. Must - not - eat - must- save - calories- for - alcohol. Tonight, I have plans to go to Raleigh and partake in a liquor festival at a military guy's apartment. Just so you know, I have strong opinions about the military.

One night at Cameron's apartment, I was getting to know this young gentleman who used be in the army and I expressed to him my beliefs that all "military guys are skeevy.' Mind you, I was under the influence of controlled substances and lost the ability to keep my opinions to myself or at least wait till the victim left the room before bad-mouthing him.

You should not be perturbed by the fact that I had called him skeevy by association, but that he didn't know what 'skeevy' meant. Had he been living in the hinterlands of West Virginia or was he just testing my capability to detect sarcasm? Nope, he really had no clue and neither did anyone in Cameron's apartment.
I could have lied and said it was a compliment to the honorific men that choose to risk their lives to protect our country, but no, I instead chronicled the word origin of skeevy.

Not only did I characterize military men as 'guys that get up all in my grill, hit on me at the bars and have a fetish for Asian girls', I went on the internet to search for a scholarly definition of skeevy. In my fervor to educate my companions, I printed out the following from urbandictionary.com "Skeevy: adjective; describes something that is outside accepted norms, especially in an unkempt or disgusting way. Personal attributes that may arouse nausea an another."

What made me think that shoving a piece of paper with this insulting definition would make the intoxicated ex-military guy not want to attack me? The powers of his fetish for Asian girls must have outweighed the desires to constrain me from speaking any further. Go Army!

Getting out of a gym membership is harder to do than escaping a religious cult. Gym owners exercise any and every method to secure and control their members. First, I sent in a change of address, but they found affiliate gyms for me to use in the area. Then, I got a doctor's note stating that my chronic neck and back pains are too severe for me to work out 'currently', but since my excrutiating physical pains are not permanent, the racketeers did not cancel my membership. They say I can freeze my account till I am physically able to start working out again, but will have to keep paying the monthly dues. Now, I'm going through my HR department to cancel my 'regular' gym membership and swapping it to an 'employee discount' membership.
Religious elders have been knocking on my door and I may consider joining their spiritual faction. But before I become ONE in their brotherhood, I'll have to check if there are any gyms in a thirty mile radius.

Have you ever left the house in the hopes of not running into anyone you know? You strap on a cap to cover your nappy hair, check your face for leftover food particles, wear a long coat to hide that hole in the crotch of your pants, and put on a pair of sunglasses in hopes that no one will notice the dirt still stuck in your eyes from your evening nap, just to run to the corner store or, in my case, the mailbox. What really amazes me, is the fact that the time spent employing such methods to hide our natural ruggedness, could have been used to make oursevles suitable to rejoin society and say hi to our neighbors.

I am beginning to feel the pressure of being such a savvy webmaster. Yes, I am a master of my domain, actually, blogspot domain, but I digress. People say that a genius cannot be rushed and I must agree. In order to meet demands, I could supply the public with hasty ruminations to please the eye, but not the mind or I could take the time to ponder my thoughts, but would delay postings till late at night. What is a struggling uncredited writer to do in such a predicament?
How about I do both. I'll post some random absurdity so that I can entertain the masses during the tedious workday and blogs will be submitted by midnight so that I may dispense philosophical issues for readers to discuss between bong hits.

mba

There is this MBA guy that I am interested in getting to know a little better. He seems like a geniunely nice feller who has a good head on his shoulders. However, I can't help feeling like we would never have a future together. He's got this "I'm a cheesy white boy who wouldn't know what to do with an Asian chic and the opinions of my future business partners matter so much that I would only go for a cookie cutter girlfriend in order to make a name for myself in corporate America" aura. Also, he might have grown up in the eighties and that is one decade I steer clear of. No individual shall wear tapered jeans and he's committed this sin several times. Oh, and let me not forget the days he wore khakis with gym sneakers and had his gym shirt tucked into his shorts. Can we get this guy a memo?

Tip for the Day: Never act like you're having fun at work. Signs of pleasure or happiness are warnings to authorities that your productivity level is alarmingly low. The higherups, assuming that you have enough free time to enjoy life, will assign unneccessary adminstrative duties in order to wipe that smile off your face.

Remember to keep your head hung low when walking down the hall, carry a stack of papers at all times, and scratch your head a lot. These type of behaviors will make it appear as if you're under a state of oppression and bosses LOVE to see their employees tormented by the stresses of work.

I don't take constructive criticism very well. Any type of critical comment is like a stab to the heart. That's why I could never be on a make-over show, not like I need a make-over in the first place. At work, people make suggestions, comments, and come up with clever questions. Work is supposed to foster new ideas and innovative ways to put them into action. However, everytime I hear a 'suggestion' I hear "You are doing a bad job. Do it this way instead."
Today, a professor provided me with a 'useful tip:' instead of doing mass emailing, I should BCC all the email addies to trick the students into thinking that I took the time to email them personally. This is actually great advice, but I can't help feeling that he thinks my emailing skills aren't up to par. Damn you professor. I'm sorry I'm just entry level and this is my first 'real job.' Please forgive me for my electronic trespasses.

Why do Alyssa Milano and Piper from Charmed talk through their teeth? But I believe the bigger question is why am I watching Charmed?

Target vs Walmart: Illusion of High-class vs Stark Reality of Frugalness

You know what's really weird? When you watch tv and fall asleep on the couch, only to be in this half-awake half-asleep dreamworld and whatever is on tv is incorporated into your REM visions. Last night, the partygirl I am fell asleep on the sofa around 11pm as the news was coming on tv (didn't I plan an evening of intoxication?). Now, I don't know whether a guy was shot in Raleigh or the crime occured in my hallucinations. I remember thinking that School of Rock got rave reviews, but I dont know if Roger & Ebert provided the recommendations or if I was a movie critic in my nocturnal fantasy. In order to clear my state of confusion, I checked last night's local tv listings and Hot Ticket, a movie review show, was on at 1am! Who's up for some School of Rock ? I promise I won't make groundbreaking observations on Jack Black's performance.