On My Home Planet

I have an opinion about everything, and here it is for the world to see.

Hating on: morons, self-righteous political extremists, the man-and-baby-hating strain of feminism, CraigsList, yuppies, careerists, white liberal guilt, people devoid of any sense of morals or personal responsbility, and other generally clueless and misguided types who continually piss me off.

Monday, July 31, 2006

Happy Birthday Amy!

To one of my favorite loyal readers (a few hours early)... Many happy returns! Hope this is your year!



PS - Get yourself a blog one of these days!

Sunday, July 30, 2006

TooMuchCoffeeLady is a Bad Single Woman

That's right biotches... I stayed in not ONLY Friday, but also SATURDAY night!

Ok, so it was more than an abject rebellion against Liberal Yuppieland's ruling stupidarchy that proclaims all unmarried 20-and-30-somethings owe the LY singles scene a life debt of killing our brain cells with excess alcohol and wasting our lives getting cancer from secondhand smoke and getting stupider and more pissed off being treated like shit by superficial drunk assholes in smoky bars and clubs. I felt like crap and don't remember most of Friday evening.

Saturday I woke up feeling better, so I went to a barbecque at my friends' church and learned that yes, you can shock a preist... if your name is TooMuchCoffeeLady and you open your mouth. But toward the end of the day I felt like crap again, so I spent Saturday night in my little nest of blankets with Saturday Night Live, root beer, and a good book, which I recommended earlier. . . It f*cking rocked. For someone who needs others in her life to be happy, I sure am uncomfortable going to crowded places full of strangers. (Not to mention my pathological need to escape the city before nightfall is somewhat strange.) It's like society sends single people the message that "me time" is only something you have a right to have after you have a ring on your finger. Last night, I stole that right and in my acetominiphin-induced euphoria, I loved it.

Not to mention I loved watching the SNL cast lampoon S*x and the City. GENIUS!!!

Viral pharyngitis is a bitch, sure. But as a catalyst to my rebellion, it pretty much was a nice break. If I were a good LY single, I would (a) not have dared miss a Friday and Saturday night at the bars and clubs, who the hell do I think I am; (b) eff being tired and feeling sick, how dare I have feelings, I am an attractive single and I owe random, superficial losers who wouldn't give a flying f*ck about me if their lives depended on it, my presence and casual flings; and most importantly (c) I would have been chomping at the bit to spread my virus around.

Although maybe the last one doesn't really count, since viral pharyngitis isn't an STD, but let's be honest, I am also a bad LY single because I don't have any of those, nor will I date someone with one. (See: probably one of the reasons I am still single.) And no, let's not be wussy little PC people and blanket-call them "STIs" (I for "infection") because well, many of them aren't. You can get rid of infections with antibiotics- like urinary tract infections, gonnorhea, etc - or they go away on their own - like the flu. Diseases stay with you - like herpes, AIDS, Parkinson's, etc - you can't get rid of them. No need to "empower" people who have infectious diseases that are transmitted via sex to make them feel like they are entitled to sleep around. Sure, it only takes one infected partner and having one doesn't make you a bad person by a long shot, but being irresponsible and feeling entitled to having sex with and infecting others does.

Note to real-life friends of TMCL: If there's a chance you might have caught the bug from me (ie, we hung out during the incubation period) I already called you. ;)

Ladies with Cooler Lives than Mine

1. Since she did send me a free copy of her book and all, for advertising her book on my site, it would have been bad manners not to read. Rebecca Agewich's BreakupBabe, based on her blog and a shitty part of her life, was awesome. It is a thought provoking and insightful book, disguised as a fun adventure in avantgarde literati.

2. Speaking of brainiacs whose biting social commentary is disguised as fun reading, I am still waiting for Claire Zulkey's next novel to be published. This chick points out the elephant in the room that is our crazy universe in her trademark amusing, smartassy way. I read her blog pretty often, am pissed that I missed her last novel before Amazon stopped selling it. It's beyond trippy to see someone a few weeks older than you (NO, being a gerontophobe with a slight complex about my relative lack of acheivements, I can't just say "your age") be all famous: I was reading that crappy free paper on the train a few summers ago, and there in the middle of the arts section is that chick I knew from school. Pretty cool that she didn't sell out and get the boring corporate job that most of our class did; she was the only one at our recent class reunion whose job wasn't totally boring. I wanted to be a writer too, but my ESTJ ass could neither stomach the risk nor turn down the dough people were throwing my way for not being scared of Excel. Claire, if you don't tell me when your next novel is being published, I will fabricate embarassing drunk stories and embarassing glasses/pajamas/messy hair photos to share with the world, and people will believe me because I used to sleep on the other side of your wall.

Friday, July 28, 2006

Rockin'! I'm officially a two-time downtrodden minority...

Well, Dad, thanks for that double x chromosone which has gotten me into my near-Ivy alma matter and some pretty phat jobs, not to mention the ability to go through life at 5'3 without shame. And apparently, thanks Mom too, for the lack of eumelanin, which in addition to sparing me the pain of waxing my arms and face every week, and even letting me skip a day shaving my legs if I wish, has officially made me a two-time oppressed minority.

Here I thought that if people didn't like me, it was because of things about my personality (lack of inner monologue and general tact, and extreme conservative viewpoints mostly), or that if they thought me unintelligent, it had to do with my neurological disorder that causes my vapid pre-3 cups of coffee persona or the fact that I'm quiet sometimes, or that they expected me to be stuck up cause I'm so beautiful, or expected me to be a slut cuz that's a common stereotype about Catholic chicks. Nope, none of those. It's the hair.

The world is discriminating against me, blaming me from everything from the Vikings to the Holocaust to Britney Spears. YES!!! Nothing I have failed to accomplish is my fault any longer (it's the rest of you-all non-blond people's fault), and now the whole world knows and has to face their treachery.

To make up for the pain and disadvantages I have suffered, I hereby request the following (or funds for the following) from the Federal government, for myself and all other eumelanin-free-Americans, our future progeny, and our progeny's progeny:

1) a lifetime supply of mascara so I never look like one of those weird eyelashless people. Lancome will do nicely;
2) a taser to zap people who harass me on the street for being "guera" (Die, you motherfuckers, there are millions of us here so leave me the fuck alone);
3) a public education program to tell blond and redheaded men to please dye their eyelashes so they don't look like weird eyelashless people so that our disadvantaged race can keep the marriage/procreation within ourselves;
4) a lifetime supply of paba-free spf 60 sublock. I like the stuff that makes your skin sparkle and smells like coconuts;
5) a lifetime supply of selsun blue to get the green streaks out of my hair when I go swimming;
6) a lifetime free membership to MENSA;
7) a lifetime supply of t-shirts in blonde-flattering colors with slogans like "I got a 1500 on my SATs bitch!";
8) a lifetime supply of volumizing and moisturizing styling products cause blonde hair needs it;
9) one pair of polarized sunglasses, I like Juicy Couture (who needs to stop being so damn racist and make me some damn polarized glasses);
10) a list of 10,000,000,000 snappy comebacks for every brunette douchebag who assumes I'm unintelligent based on how I look;
11) cosmetics companies to START MAKING FOUNDATION FOR PALE PEOPLE, and try not to give it unattractive names like "white supremacist", "corpse", "fish underbelly", "Aryan nation", etc;
12) a written apology from my high school for only offering French, Spanish, Latin, and Portugese as foreign languages, denying me of learning German, Swedish, or Gaelic and perpetuting the brunette supremacy by forcing upon me the language of dark-haired people; and finally;
14) (I know I skipped one, superstition) a law strictly enforcing all the loser "blond fetishists" out there (ie, guys who ONLY date blondes, and have the generall attitude of "you are supposed to be into me because you're blonde and I'm into blondes... I can't spend my 30s masturbating to anime porn in my mom's basement after all!" , despite not being blond themselves) to wear an identifying mark so we know to stay the hell away from them. I reccommend a big red B tattooed to their foreheads.

That and an extra cool bil for lost economic opportunities (even though my double minority status is going to make more quotas work in my favor, what if I'd gotten into Harvard and were now making 6 figures, if I'd inherited my dad's dark hair?) and we'll call it square.


Sunday, July 23, 2006

New Conversation Topic... Please for the Love of God

Matthew McConaghey beat me because I wouldn't marry him.

It's all the rage in Paris.

I'm trying to fuse my middle and ring fingers together.

It's easier to flash gang signs this way.

I got shot in a drive-by.

I got drunk and got a Satanic tattoo, which I need to cover up until the laser treatments take it off.

It's so comfortable.

I dig the Darth Vader hands look.

My bookie Guido broke my fingers when I couldn't pay him back.

I need to hide my track marks from my boss. (Thanks, P!)

In other news, you are probably the 83578937589759th person today who's asked me about my cast. Having a freckle-gone-bad removed from my hand is no fun, wearing a cast during a heat wave in July is no fun, trying to program an insanely complex accounting system with one hand is no fun, changing the dressings and bandages on my nasty wound is no fun, having to look at that shit while I'm in the middle of changing the dressing and bandages is no fun, showering and getting dressed with one hand is no fun, wondering whether I'll have a huge ugly scar next to my (someday!) wedding ring is no fun... And finally, listening to the questions and judgements of 83578937589759 idiots a day who think this is a good conversation topic, or that freckles-gone-bad are removed solely because they're not attractive, is no fun.

Making jokes and being sarcastic, however, IS fun.

So let me have my fun. And be glad you don't have your hand in a cast.

PS - Using my hand as the object of a neghit exposes you for the insecure douchebag that you are.

PPS - Confidential to my friends: It's not cancer, everything's cool. Please don't worry. But please do help me come up with more assy responses, I love seeing people's expressions. I made a guy spit soda today.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Another Public Service Announcement: To "THAT guy"

The "one who got away"... got away for a reason. She may have lost interest in you because you were either an ass or failed to display understanding of the most basic of dating etiquette/how to treat a woman. It's your problem, not hers. And no hard feelings, but for the love of GOD... learn to understand that most of the time, when you have a few dates with someone, and it fizzles out, for whatever reason... the other party considers it case closed.

Whether you weren't interested, she wasn't interested, you wanted different things - it just wasn't a fit and didn't work out. If she was really that great, and you were really that into her, you'd have done things differently and not let her go. But since that was not the case, understand why she may not be interested in revisiting anything. You didn't make her feel like you thought she was worth the effort, so she cut bait. She has no hard feelings for you, just considers the chapter of her life that involved you - however brief - closed.

And don't bitch about it to her - she's probably flattered you see her as such a fantastic catch, but annoyed that you didn't make more effort.

Instead of In-depth commentary on the war in Israel...

This blog will be providing in-depth bitching about the evil sadists who are in charge of the kitchens at my office. Who the hell cuts off the free coffee supply at 2PM? Do you people not realize who you're dealing with? You have TooMuchCoffeeLady all up in your GL, and if you deprive me of my sustenance and the basis of my identity and apparently my sex appeal, my head will explode!

I'm still waiting for my addiction to be recognized as a disease rather than my irresponsible abuse of a legal substance, so I can use the EEOC to sue.

But in the meantime, I'm calling Forbes. 100 Best Companies to Work For, my ass.

Monday, July 10, 2006

Et tu, Marie Claire?

Oh, come ON. Keep this crap up and I'll consider cancelling my subscription.

I open the August issue of one of my favorite magazine trio (the other two are Cosmo and Glamour) to find the following drivel published in an interview with a female scientist based in Cote D'Ivoire:

(when asked to comment on the Harvard dean's statement that men and women think differently)

"Science has proven that intelligence is determined by the X chromosone... Maybe in a few thousand years men will have died out, and we women won't have to deal with them."

Did I sleep through biology class? Because I thought men had X chromosones too. Not to mention, I thought they were sort of needed for the continuation of the human, or any species that requires sexual reproduction. All I know, is it's really intelligent and really fair to go bashing 1/2 the human species like that. Albert Einstein, Benjamin Franklin, and Steven Hawking are all complete idiots after all - they must be, they have pee-pees.

I won't even touch the fact that this lady is a never-married, single mom. I'm sure that has nothing to do with her bitterness towards men. Ten bucks says some hot, rich, intelligent brain surgeon will read that article and propose to her because she's got such a great attitude.

But I will touch the fact that wrapped around this feminazi drivel were about 200 pages of how to look and dress prettier, take better care of our hair, and look younger.... when most women worry about that stuff either directly or indirectly to attract men.

Either MC are hypocrites, or they secretly desire an evil fembot race to take over the earth.

I must now congratulate my ex (an intelligent creature, despite that Y chromosone) for drilling a hole through an issue of MC once. Perhaps he was trying to preserve my sanity, rather than trying to get my goat.


Friday, July 07, 2006

TMCL's deliciously evil prank of the day

Called my college friend Jason from my new office number (which he does not have), and hilarity ensued. I think I've got a rep...

Jason: "Hello?"
TMCL: "Jason... This is Stacy. We met a few months ago, remember me?"
Jason: "Um... in the personal or the professional sense?"
TMCL: "Personal. We had that one night stand, you were really drunk? Listen, we need to talk. I'm pregnant, and it's yours. Let's talk about child support."
Jason: "I - what the - how... TOOMUCHCOFFEELADY IS THIS YOU?!?!"
TMCL: "Am I seriously your only friend who pulls practical jokes or something?"
Jason: "You scared the crap out of me... Next time, try it on a straight guy though, it would have been much more effective."

At least I had him going for a second there....

Thursday, July 06, 2006

A Public Service Announcement: To "that guy" in the gym...

I understand that, while it's not the primary purpose of the gym, it can also be a place to meet women. Especially if you happen to look really good while working out.

That is, unless you use the weight room as an opportunity to demonstrate how you might scream during $ex.

"OH BABY! OH YEAH! THAT'S IT!" followed by heavy breathing and screaming (a la Meg Ryan's org@sm in When Harry Met Sally), sounds not only borderline pornographic and definitely skeevy, but is way out of place in the gym.

Do you scream like that when you hit all green lights on the way to work? Find the movie you wanted in stock at Blockbuster? Score a free dessert in the office lunchroom? Then don't make us listen to that crap in a place of workout.

No matter how hot and buff you are, we women are laughing inside - at you, not with you.