Caveat Bloggum: Blog Reader Beware!

Just a head's up, that if you continue to scroll through my archives, it is quite possible you will come face to face (or face-to-toilet, rather) with a photo my co-irker had sent to my WORK PLACE EMAIL address without a subject line, and without a file name that would belie what, exactly, was in the photo attachment. 

I shall pepper this warning amongst other blog posts, as a warning. I believe I will plant the photo, back dated perhaps as the maiden post of this blog because it demands being documented.

You have been warned.

So Sayeth The Maven

"Either you can work at getting to my gooey interior, or you can do nothing and continue to get nothing but my crusty exterior. Choice is up to you. I personally could NOT care less. I don't fuck you. You don't pay my bills. Crust, ahoy!" (Yes. Actually said to two co-workers regarding my prickly reputation.)

Why Yes, She IS, In Fact, Jamaican.

So Sayeth the Maven

Life, by its very nature, is a character building exercise. Some folks choose to be Jiminy Cricket, whereas others can't help but personify Cruella Deville.

So Sayeth The Maven

Relationships are like bank accounts: if you put nothing/nothing but negative shit into them, you’ll get nothing/nothing but negative shit out of them.

On Dildo Advanced Directives

Channeling my inner Sophia Petrillo:  
Picture this: The Jersey Shore. 1977. A nine year old me, helping my parents empty out my great* aunt's house which we inherited, and I was tasked with emptying out the cupboards in the bathroom. I emerged with an item not unlike this item, and demanded my mother tell me how the hell does one dry their hair with this? 

The memory unearthed in the previous paragraph is no doubt the genesis of the fact that I, in fact, have an advanced directive for my *ahem* adult novelties. Yes. Advanced directive. I've got all that shit in a brown paper sack with the words, "In case of death, dispose in trash directly without looking." And inside the bag has a note that says, "fuck you for peeking. I shall now commence haunting your nosey ass. See you on the flip side, fucker."

*Great? Or is it great great? Or great grand aunt? She was the sister of my dad's grandmother. Even though I'm the family genealogist, I get a wee bit bogged down in this particular distinction. If my great grandmother had a sister, is she my great grand aunt, or just great aunt? Ruminate. Or not.

You Might Be An Asshole If...

If you work with me, and it's clear to all that I do not have an office, hence I lack an actual DOOR, you might be an asshole if, you interrupt what I'm doing by prefacing your request with "KNOCK KNOCK!" Because I'll tell you what, asshole, it just makes me want to KNOCK KNOCK your big fat bucked teeth right out of your head.

STFUAGDIAF!

See also: Horsey McBigtooth Edition.