So…as I have said many times, I deal with an unusually high amount of idiots at my job…well, everywhere actually, they’re just more highly concentrated at my work. As I was getting my section ready one night I heard David Bowie being piped in and commented to a coworker about the song being so good and how I’d rather hear his songs than that stupid ass violinist playing the theme to Schindler’s List every night. (Because nothing says happy vacation time like the theme song from a movie about genocide, right?) Smart coworker agreed with me and then Dumbass chimed in. “Who the fuck is David Bowie?”
I Bea Arthured that d-bag. My eyes rolled back so far, I think I bruised them. Thankfully Smartie started the smack down for me, “Um, The Labyrinthine?” DA, “What the fuck is…how ever you say that word?”
I know what some of you hippies are thinking, “No, young people are smart. They’re always researching things on the interwebs.”
Me and only a handful of my friends use the computer for learning and not finding out where to buy a chin-do . Example: The trailer for Behind the Candelabra came out today. I looked up when Liberace died, then what happened to Liberace’s lover, which lead me to finding out what happened to his brother George. Welcome to my brain.
Dumbass is a perfect example of what is wrong with the youth of America, they are not ashamed of their stupidity. Actually, they are proud of it, they flaunt it. I blame anti-bullying. I can hear you now, “Don’t make them feel bad for being stupid.” Why not? They try, with their abby-normal brains, to make me feel bad for being smart. If they could successfully put me down, they would essentially be bullying me. That seems to be ok with everyone though. It’s PC for dumb people to make fun of smart people but not vice versa.
Thinking is hard, reading is hard…Smart people should be celebrated and dumb asses should want to change their ways. That probably won’t happen. Maybe I should…
and then….
…maybe I’ll only do the second thing. Come on dummies, stop being such…dummies!! Go learn one new thing today. Just one. And here’s some Bowie, for those of you who don’t know who he is.
So…stupid ass Facebook updates. I’ve been wanting to write about this topic for a long time, but apparently I wasn’t annoyed enough to do so. I know what you’re thinking, if someone’s annoying, why don’t you delete them? I did, but these dummies are everywhere. After a conversation (read: bitch fest) with Kim, I found that I was not the only one who can’t stand this crap. There are a few different kinds of status updates that are especially annoying.
Hash tags. Facebook is not Twitter. I feel like I’m playing a sick grammar game about being able to read things that aren’t properly written out. Hash tags are used to help people search for things. I HIGHLY doubt anyone is searching for #ilovehimhelovesme. Write it in your diary. #Choke yourself.
Attention seekers. Yes, I understand, most people want attention, but I’m talking about a certain sort of attention. People who complain about being sick, do you realize that is exactly what you’ll be bitching about when you’re 80? Call your Nanna and ask her how she’s doing…it will sound exactly the same as your latest update. Hip and cool, huh? Asking for hugs and telling people you feel overwhelmed or sad makes me want to smash your computer…call your Mom or get a pound puppy. Better yet, get a damn therapist because at least someone will get paid to listen to you…whiner.
People who are constantly stating how amazing their life is. No, I’m not jealous. Of what? Your vacation? (That you loser husband let your Dad pay for.) Your (second) marriage? Honestly, I think these people are convincing themselves that they are actually happy…or they’re assholes. If that is the case, I can’t wait for you to break-up/get divorced (again). My black heart will enjoy every minute of it and so will everyone else, I’m just the only one ballsy enough to tell you. And stop using phrases like: the hubs, the fam bam and the bestie. No one likes that.
What about me, aren’t I annoying? I’m a single chick in her late 20′s on the verge of becoming a cat lady, what do you think, genius? Of course I am. Unlike everyone else, I at least try to make my eccentricities entertaining to the world instead of making them want to scratch their eyeballs out after they’ve read whatever it is I wrote about. Plus, going to this blog takes a smidgen of effort, you don’t have to come here if you don’t want to. Seriously.
So…I starting using an online dating site ( my Grandma thinks the name is “It’s OK to be Stupid”) to help me meet someone before I give up on life, adopt 38 cats and begin wearing only Muumuus. I figured that since you have to answer questions and fill out profile crap, that would probably knock out enough idiots.
I thought wrong. Let me share some of the best messages I’ve received. I have not altered these in any way, just copied and pasted them from my inbox. For those of you who don’t believe me when I tell you how tedious it is to wade through these morons, your brain will probably crap out the side of your head after this, so grab a wet wipe.
glass-essay1: “Pardon me for asking, but I’m very curious. What’s your bra size? Honestly. 34C or D?”
wineanddineyou: “Wolfgang Puck. Wine tasting in Santa Barbara. Sunday brunch at Hotel Bel Air. A night at the Four Seasons Westlake Village Spa. Good morning! Is there anything I can do or say to say YES to seeing me? I am a work a holic so I am seeking something casual. In exchange I am more than happy to help with your bills to see you maybe once every 2 weeks. Please…. You are really adorable and cute and I promise to show you a great time. You will have fun with me and laugh and you won’t regret it. I am happy to send you a photo of you’d please give me your email address.”
Since when do I look like Pretty Woman?
issaaa: “hi there what ethnicity are you? “
Because my extreme paleness makes me racially ambiguous?
madiman: “just the ex-girlfriend I’m looking for.”
Really, dude?
greatbirds: “Hello..? Could i be your slave…?”
Idiot.
glidingsaucers: “You almost capture the elegance of the mammary grope of the original. You must be the next Rodin.”
What are you even trying to say, dum dum?
smartcutewriter: “Ok just read my profile and contact me. Nuff said “
Good writers don’t use the word “nuff,” jag weed.
ANDREW_IS_HORNY: “OMG!!!! i would soo fuk u hard in the ass nd pussy i’ll eat u out send me a naked pic of u nd i’ll send u 1″
My thoughts exactly.
And those are messages from the guys I did NOT go on dates with. One guy I met up with had a list to help him know when he was in love, also, he’s never been in love. I got catfished…or Manti Te’o-ed, either way, that was weird and lame. Another guy told me he was into BDSM, banging old chicks and having them use strap ons on his b-hole. That was on our first (and only) date. And my personal favorite, I got dumped because, apparently, I’m “too sarcastic.” I feel like anyone who’s had more than a 10 minute conversation with me would figure that out rather quickly. It took him almost two months.
Is this reaction too sarcastic?
Thank you, my parents’ generation, for making the “men” I get to date. I love wasting all my pretty years weeding through this discouraging, never-ending, garden from hell.
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for my blog. I am pleased to say that one of the main keywords searched that lead to my blog was: Teddy Roosevelt Badass. That’s right, he was. How did your favorite entry rank? Check it out!
Here’s an excerpt:
4,329 films were submitted to the 2012 Cannes Film Festival. This blog had 18,000 views in 2012. If each view were a film, this blog would power 4 Film Festivals.
Oddly enough, my most popular entries were about my Hindenburg of a dating life. So, although no one finds me sexy, people do want my body…of written works. Enjoy some Rod Stewart and thanks for reading this year!!
Chairman of the Board, Frankie, Ol’ Blue Eyes, Sinatra. Today would have been his 97th birthday. Sinatra is a huge chunk of the soundtrack to my life. When I was a little girl there was an ad for beer featuring Frank and my Dad would yell out, “Sinatra,” every time it came on.
Morgan and I would copy Dad and could identify “The Voice” at a very young age. Apparently Mom’s friends thought it was odd that a four and three-year old knew who Sinatra was. If they could see me now!
Frank even sang my favorite Christmas song. I know my middle name is Noel, but that is one of my least favorite songs ever. Do not sing it to me unless you know all the verses. Actually, don’t sing to me.
I remember sitting in our backroom at Christmas time, watching the fog roll in over the (then) dirt field and looking for Rudolph’s nose. The nose turned out to be the red flashing light at the oil refinery, but the song echoed really well in our new surround sound speakers. So, when I hear this song, it reminds me of when Christmas was awesome and full of Barbies.
Frank’s version goes like this: There’s an oh, such a hungry, yearning, burning feeling inside of me /And its torment won’t be through /Till you let me spend life makin’ love to you /Day and night, night and day.
They are both singing about wanting to have sex. Trust me, Frank got laid more than God and never said anything as crude as the crap men tell me on a daily basis. As a woman, I would much rather have a guy whisper the eloquent lyrics of Cole Porter in my ear, than hear about him wanting to “beat my pussy up.” Ouch. No thanks, you cad.
People try to imitate him, but it’s not the same. Buble? Nice try. Harry Connick Jr.? Getting better. Connick did the entire soundtrack for ‘When Harry Met Sally’ EXCEPT for the song during the most pivotal scene of the film. You know the one. Every girl hopes and wishes this will happen to them…but it never will, trust me on this. Rob Reiner (the director) said he insisted that scene HAD to have Sinatra. I guess you could say, it had to be him.
See how right Rob was.
While driving with my Dad after a particularly bad break-up (is there any other kind?) he insisted I listen to the instrumental part of this song. Looking back, I think it was bull and he was really trying to get me to listen closely to the lyrics, but the entire song is a treat really and has become one of my favorite Sinatra tunes. Remember it for your next break up, it might help you out as well.
I will say, this next one is a great song to get a good, angry, cry out to during that same unfortunate event. You know the angry cry, everyone does it, even my cold, black heart has done it at least once.
Nobody could sing a better “F U” song than Frank either.
As in most of his song, he really builds it up, so the ending is completely satisfying. Not a lot of people can do that and when it’s done well, it makes all the difference. (I know how that sounded, but I’m keeping it. You filthy animals.)
Speaking of effing. This is a great song to listen to when you’re overwhelmed and thinking, “Eff, this.” This song reminds me of my Grandma, who yells, cigarette in hand, at the radio when this comes on, “Get up there, Frank! Yea, boy!”
I don’t expect every one to love Sinatra as much as I do, but celebrate Francis’ birth and give his music a chance. Use your mentality, you might actually like it.
So much for my momentary respite from dealing with the epidemic of asshole guys in my life. I turned around from writing about my last foray into dating, just to be hit by another iceberg. Honestly, I’m not trying to become the Taylor Swift of blogging, but clearly life has other plans for me. Sadly, people either relate, sympathize or laugh with me when I write about this crap, so here I go again. Sit back while I tell you a tale about someone who told many tales.
The first time I made the acquaintance of this guy we met for a few drinks on the same property where we both work. For all intents and purposes, let’s call him “Woody.” He was a talker, it was almost as though someone was obsessively pulling his string! That meant I just sat back, enjoyed my drinks and listened to him prattle on about himself since he asked me, maybe, one question. ”Woody” hales from the Central Valley, near where I grew up, so I figured he wouldn’t be as asinine as the boys down here tend to be. He touted his chivalry from the word go, “I have two sisters, I know how to treat women.” Then the bill came and he said we could spilt it.
Oh yes, we’re almost 30, let’s go Dutch!
“Woody” also informed me, “If you want to hang out again, text me.” This guy seemed kind of funny and we had a few things in common. But, as we all know by now, I’m a blunt person and want to be treated like a girl, NOT a bro. I told him, “I do want to see you again, you can call me.”
We both work very odd hours so, we started hanging out at my apartment afterwards. We would watch stand up specials. He likes comedy and thinks I’m a “comedy snob” like him. First of all, that’s not even a thing. Secondly, I know more about comedy than he does. I studied it, I’ve written/write it, I’ve performed and to me, what’s funny is funny–that’s it. (And you need to learn your stand up comedians better if you want to keep this “snob” title up, son.)
I, too, thought we were both on the same level of nerdiness. I have a secret love, not so secret anymore, of Star Wars. While discussing what celebrities we’ve hobnobbed with, I mentioned that one of the most impressive stars I’ve ever met was Debbie Reynolds. This guy, a self-proclaimed geek, didn’t even know that she is Princess Leia’s Mom.
Choke yourself.
Debbie Reynolds is a God damn delight to behold and the only reason Carrie Fisher became anything in the first place. Why do I know so much and others know…nothing?!
“Woody” even had a podcast and some stand up of his own work that I listened to. (No, I won’t post a link, I’m not giving some jerk free publicity! I’m not sad enough to be stupid.) To prove that I’m not a completely heartless, vengeful, bitch, I won’t say that he’s stuff was shitty because it wasn’t. One of the main reasons I liked this guy was because I thought I had finally found someone with whom I could be creative. His stuff needed work and the idea of doing that together was an intoxicating thought. Clearly, I got a little too drunk on the idea.
Woody: I don’t want to hurt you like the last guy. Me: Then DON’T.
“Woody” and I got pretty close. He opened up about his past relationships. He reassured me and said ”not to worry about” certain other girls from his past. He was well aware about the Hindenbergh of my last jaunt into dating. He even told me he didn’t want to lead me on like the last guy did. Unfortunately, he thought a certain blog entry about the last doucher was directed towards him. Just like a man, thinking every little thing is about him. I liked “Woody.” So much that I even wrote another entry, expressing how sorry I was about “Woody” feeling like I had written something awful about him when he hadn’t deserved it…yet. At the time he was also expressing that he didn’t know if he was ready for a relationship, which is why he found a few similarities between the post and his life. Trust me, I felt like I was watching the same, crappy re-run. Like that episode of ‘Saved By The Bell’ you hate, but always end up catching on WGN when you can’t sleep. Just like that!
Then, he stood me up. YEA!!! That…again! A day later he got off his ass and text me back, “I’m horrible at communication. I don’t know how I feel.”
What? That’s such a stupid, dick head excuse. It’s 2012, you’re 27, try again.
I know you saw the texts, you didn’t have the balls to respond until a day later with a lame excuse. He feigned an attempt to mend his fences, but I knew something was up. I’ve dated too many assholes not to know in my gut when something is wrong. I felt it coming, the Joan Crawford inside of me knew.
“This ain’t my first time at the rodeo. And don’t you forget it.” – Joan Crawford.
On Thursday, “Woody” had informed me that he wasn’t going to be driving back down from visiting family until the following day and we would hang out some time this weekend. *Ting* Something’s not right again.
As I drove around LA, going from lunch with a friend to having cocktails with Rog, I look into the craptastic Los Angeles traffic and saw….”Woody.”
Oh, helllll naw. I did NOT just see that!
I see weird crap all the time, but this really took the cake. I raced to Musso & Franks for a stiff cocktail. I texted “Woody,” telling him I saw his twin, just to see if he would cop to his lie.
“Fucking Doppelganger. What sort of car what he driving?”
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
Nothing enrages me more than a liar…except for when that liar thinks I’m not smart enough to unravel their crappily planned lies.
“Stalker Staus. We’ll talk soon”
Oh, I see. I was in LA when you were SUPPOSED to be up north. I caught you in a lie and I’m the crazy one. Ok, yeah. That makes sense.
Seriously, you think you are smarter than ME? Go back to Fresno, amature night.
A few days go by and I get some texts from a friend that wake me up. “Woody’s” got a girlfriend and it’s not you.”
God knows he wasn’t man enough to tell me this glorious news. I’m sure he thought he was playa enough to pull off juggling two girls. I told you I KNEW something was wrong. I have a very STRONG hunch that the girl he’s with is the girl he told me not to worry about. I’m sure he lied about a ton of other things too, but you get the gist of it. I don’t have to date every single guy to know 99% of them are assholes. I just really wanted him to be contrary to all the other drones. I thought I’d finally found someone who’d broken the mold, but he was just a cheap knock off. And, he was right, he really does know how to “treat women,” he just didn’t define exactly how he liked to” treat” them.
“Woody,” that post was not about you, but you can bet your life that this post, right here, this one, is alllll about you, boy. I didn’t want to have to write this post, but you practically begged me to. Enjoy your self-made celebrity. You are King Shit of Turd Mountain. You did a play-by-play of what the last guy did to me. You manipulated my feelings, got me attached to you, erased yourself from existence and gave me, yippie, a reason to write a blog about another turd blossom I’ve dated. How original. That’s somebody else’s bit, think up one of your own, you HACK!
I’ll let the Queen of my heart, Mr. Mercury, express my feelings in song.
“If I can’t tell when you’re ordering roast beef and potatoes, how will I know when you’re making advances?”
So…anyone reading this post thinking it’s going to be another juicy round of me verbally raping some idiot guy, you can stop reading right now. I’m going back to the only thing that brings me joy, old movies. Thanks for reading, see you next time, so like, in three years.
Welcome back loyal readers….translation: Mom, Roger and random creepers of the interwebs. TCM announced the film opening the 2013 Festival, ‘Funny Girl.’ I almost lost it when I heard that news. I LOVE ‘Funny Girl.’ When TCM interviewed me (for the commercial that never was) two years ago I listed it as the first classic film I remember seeing and being totally obsessed with. Like most kids, I used to spend weeks in the summer visiting my Grandma. She goes to bed God awful early, so to keep me entertained she handed me a VHS of ‘Funny Girl’ and said “Here Kid, you can relate to this.” Clearly, Grandma knew something I didn’t know at that moment.
My Mirror Has Two Faces
In the beginning of the film everyone makes a big deal about Babs being different. She doesn’t look like the other girls and they go on about how she’s not pretty. “What the hell is wrong with the people in this movie,” I thought, “ she was gorgeous.” Fast forward to my life as we know it: ghost like, pale skin, tall and stacked. The polar opposite of the Californian girl. Now I get it.
One point for Grandma.
Side Note: The photo above hung in my dorm room in college. One day a friend of mine came over, looked at it and said, “You look good in that picture.” Oy vey. I’m only a quarter Jewish, but apparently, I don’t hide it as well as I thought. And when people say Barbra isn’t pretty, it hits a little nerve in me.
Another similarity Grandma couldn’t have known about so early on in my life is how I don’t how to handle myself around attractive men…just like in the movie. Barbra is a hot mess when dealing with an attractive man, she can’t believe he could like her at all and then chases after him. It is disgusting how much that same sick cycle of events happens in my life.
Two points for Grandma
But, Babs was trying to go for what she wanted, I can appreciate that. I just don’t have an awesome song to sing at my friends when they tell me the guy isn’t worth it…that happens a lot, I should probably come up with a little ditty.
I suppose the only things left from the prophecy would be a “groom prettier than the bride.” Ugh….with my penchant for closet cases, this too shall come to pass I’m afraid. And then a husband leaving because “I’m all wrong for the guy, but I’m good a laugh.”
Well, at least, in the end, Babs still had work. And I will always have writing…and cats. Silver lining? Ugh.
Back to TCM. This year the Festival falls on my birthday again, which is four days after Barbra’s. Spending my birthday weekend at my favorite event ever, partying with the lady that played one of my favorite characters ever is not only going to give me massive gay street cred (partying with Liza AND Babs…bow before me!) but will be a fabulous way to kick off my 28th year on this crap hole called Earth. I just have to make it six more months without dying of a stroke from dealing with f-tards. Pray for me.
So…apparently my last post really resonated because I got a LOT of private messages from people who read it and the feedback ran the gamete in extremes.
My Dad still thinks I have zero gaydar and everyone down here is gay. This coming from the man who watches ‘The Notebook’ every time it’s on TV. And let’s not even talk about his weird love affair with human giant, Julia Child. Yea, I’m calling you out Dad, that’s kind of gay.
Other people were super pissed that I had to have such an exhausting experience. Thank you for being mad for me? Yep, it was draining to deal with, but thank God I can see the ridiculousness of it all. If I couldn’t, I’d be crazy by now. Like, Britney Spears shaving her head, baseball bat wielding, kook job.
I also got this sentiment from a few people, “Not all guys are idiots.” If I thought all guys were knuckle dragging morons, I would have given up years ago. I know there are nice, straight, guys out there and I know quite a few of them. My Grampa, my Dad (when he’s not cursing out an inanimate object that “got in his way.”) Smaptie’s Dad, John, Alan (Anyone who watches movies all day long for four days once every year with me is a prince!) and a few more, but you get the point. I don’t write about all the guys I date on here either, I’ve dated some nice guys that I didn’t want to write about because this isn’t a dating blog. It’s a blog about crap that pisses me off…and sometimes movies and cats.
I also heard, “You’re a such a catch.” First, thank you. Second, saying I’m awesome in response to me repeatedly failing in the dating world doesn’t make me feel better. It kind of makes me angry that the people I want to see that don’t and those that do, are married…or my Grandma, who HAS to say it.
And one person took it very much to heart and was hurt by it. No, it was not the moose knuckle I wrote about, it was an actual nice guy. I felt completely horrible about making someone feel bad, especially one that most certainly didn’t deserve it.
SYKE!!! This guy is a lying tool who thought he could get away with lying. Thanks for dicking me around, I so needed more of that in my life. What an utter waste of my time.
It made me feel so bad that I seriously thought about taking the post down completely, which I have NEVER done for anyone, ever. And that thought made someone else totally infuriated, Roger.
I’m sorry that post ruffled someone’s feathers that weren’t meant to be ruffled. But, the post wasn’t about them or for them, it was for me and about how I felt after someone treated me like dumpola. Since the human skidmark it was about wouldn’t let me have an adult conversation with him after standing me up THREE TIMES (penis wrinkle!) I had to let my thoughts out somewhere and what better place to let MY thoughts be known than on MY blog. In the words of Sammy Davis Jr., “I can’t be right for somebody else, if I’m not right for me. “
So…I started dating someone. Hey, I was fine in my self-induced Fortress of Solitude, slowly making my way towards Cat Ladydom. This wasn’t something I planned on, I was pretty surprised an attractive, straight, guy could like me because….I’m a dork. I’m the freakin’ real life Liz Lemon. Aside from my nerdiness, everything was going great. Until he stood me up.
I’ve had guys do a lot of crappy things *cough* dump me on my graduation day*cough*, but I’ve NEVER been stood up. Honestly, being stood up is such an epic waste of time. I mean damn, I buffed my skin, shaved, curled my hair, my make up was impeccable. I could have stayed all gross, in my sweat pants and watched a million hours of crap on Netflix and my time would have been much better spent!! Instead I looked super hot as I waited on my couch for the dinner that was never to be.
When this perfect example of ”men” my age finally reached up inside himself, felt around, and found his pitiful excuse for balls and talked to me, he gave me a doozy of an excuse. (By talk I mean text. God forbid a guy CALL a girl. They’d rather have me try to crack the encryption of their tone like I’m freakin’ Indiana Jones.) This is what he said, I can’t make this shit up, “I really like you, but I got attached too fast, so I’m a dick.”
Now, I’m no mathematician, so let me get this straight. Fun+Nice+Really Like=DUMP? If I follow this equation, I need to be more of bitch to keep a guy. You like someone a lot, so you leave? I’ve never had so many positives turn into negative. It reminded me of an SNL sketch about throwing stuff you like on the ground. It really makes no sense.
I know what you’re thinking, it’s time to tase some buttholes.
Then he says, “I’m not ready for a relationship. I don’t want to get hurt.”
Do you think the manly men who blew the brains out of dirty, stinking, Nazis 70 years ago would have fathomed that they would begat grandsons who are such gigantic pussies? I can’t handle all this emotional BULLSHIT. Last time I checked, I looked down and got an eyeful of tit. Meaning, I’m the girl, knock this whining crap off. I’m tired of being the Alpha Male. Why does your fear of getting hurt trump mine? And who goes into a relationship expecting to get stomped all over? I date asshole after asshole, I get hurt every time. But I still keep trying.
Men: STOP being pussies. And if things are going good…SHUT UP and KEEP GOING.
So…I’ve been busy writing, clearly not in here. I started at the UCLA Professional Program for Screenwriting. On the first day of class everyone in my group introduced themselves. The people who had already taken some sort of writing class talked a bit about where they’d come from. I talked about my first writing teacher at Second City, Ira Miller.
When I met him, he was gray-haired and slow-moving but he was quick as a whip when it came to comedy. He has worked with everybody and told us he was very good pals with Mel Brooks. Well, to me, Mel Brooks is a GOD. I was impressed. Prior to meeting Ira I thought I was only funny to friends and family, but only because we share DNA and they wouldn’t want to admit to me being abnormal. Saying I was funny was more…polite. What I immediately loved about Ira was that he was totally honest, but in a kind way. He wouldn’t tell someone they were funny if they weren’t. One of the best things I’ve ever heard a teacher say was by him to a guy who wrote a horrible skit, “Well, that could be funny.”
Three weeks into my session with Ira I wrote a sketch about Moses (of commandments fame) that I didn’t think anyone but myself would like. It was filled with historical references and sprinkled with Yiddish. I was shocked and thrilled to hear his blustery laughter throughout the 5 page sketch. I waited for his kind criticism. He opened his mouth….
“You would make Mel Brooks laugh.”
I have never received a higher compliment in my life. It was like the comedy gods gave me their blessing. He gave me a great sense of confidence and has helped me become totally fearless and willing to try anything with my writing.
The week I told that story to my NEW writing group, I received a text telling me that Ira had passed away. I am so glad he was my teacher, I will never forget him. He encouraged us to keep trying, even if you fail, try again. That’s good advice for life, hard to follow, but worth trying!
In Japanese Folklore, when an object turns 100, it comes alive and self-aware!
Tsukumogami is understood by many Western scholars, for the most part. It was a concept that was highly popular in Japanese folklore as far back as the tenth century, used while spreading Shingon Buddhism.
Tsukumogami objects are often considered to be harmless, and would occasionally play pranks on humans. However, according to legend, these objects would also have the capacity for anger and would sometimes band together (with other objects) and take revenge upon those who were wasteful and threw them away!
To prevent these animate objects from resenting mankind, to this day, ceremonies are performed to console items that are broken and considered unusable.
Watch This
"What's the matter with you? Your life is going down the toilet!"
So…as I have said many times, I deal with an unusually high amount of idiots at my job…well, everywhere actually, they’re just more highly concentrated at my work. As I was getting my section ready one night I heard David Bowie being piped in and commented to a coworker about the song being so good and how I’d rather hear his songs than that stupid ass violinist playing the theme to Schindler’s List every night. (Because nothing says happy vacation time like the theme song from a movie about genocide, right?) Smart coworker agreed with me and then Dumbass chimed in. “Who the fuck is David Bowie?”
I Bea Arthured that d-bag. My eyes rolled back so far, I think I bruised them. Thankfully Smartie started the smack down for me, “Um, The Labyrinthine?” DA, “What the fuck is…how ever you say that word?”
Dumbass is a perfect example of what is wrong with the youth of America, they are not ashamed of their stupidity. Actually, they are proud of it, they flaunt it. I blame anti-bullying. I can hear you now, “Don’t make them feel bad for being stupid.” Why not? They try, with their abby-normal brains, to make me feel bad for being smart. If they could successfully put me down, they would essentially be bullying me. That seems to be ok with everyone though. It’s PC for dumb people to make fun of smart people but not vice versa. 
“ 
