Thankless Thank Yous

 With Thanksgiving on its way here, it is once again the time of year to remember why we are thankful. There are lots of reasons I’m glad to be a pilgrim person, mainly the lack of “flows like river” nickname, healthy immune system, awesome weapons, and the fact that I still own my land. But, there are a few more and in the spirit of the holidays, I’d like to share. 

       1.       Electric Shock Therapy: Because sometimes a taser just isn’t strong enough. 

       2.       SIDS: If you are one of the thousands of lucky women to win the “It was too late for an abortion” lottery, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Nothing is more thrilling than walking into baby Tina’s room with a vicious hangover only to discover she’s no longer breathing. AHHH big sigh of relief. You can once again sleep till noon. 

       3.        Car Horns: Sometimes the only way to convey someone’s horrible driving skills is with the obnoxious honk of a horn…accompanied by a rude gesture and LOTS of cursing. I was never a fan of the horn until a horrendously long trip to DC had me driving around for 2 hours to find a parking spot. It was at this point that I realized honking the horn is the BEST way to annoy the fuck out of someone. Annoying people is at the top of my list. I like it. It brings me joy. Not to mention the fact that the batty old bastards still on the roads have terrible vision and hearing. The only way to communicate with these half dead wrinkled robots is with a LOOOOONNNGGGG horn honk. Be sure to point at them while you do it, otherwise they will swear it’s someone else. Sneaky senile things.  

       4.       Illiteracy: When I hear of these awesomely accurate statistics that state “Nearly half of Americans can only read at a 5^th grade level” I get SO excited. And so do the politicians. Nothing like a bunch of literate citizens checking up on how you spend their tax money or making sure you follow that pesky constitution. Why does illiteracy get me going? I get to hear LaQueefa stutter through her welfare application which is more than entertaining, reading a bunch of Facebook posts where then/than, your/you're, and their/they're/there are all mixed around makes me feel intellectually superior, mocking dumb people is funny.  Plus, book prices should go down since the demand is so low. No wonder Borders closed. 

       5.       Herpes: I like to think of these festering sores as a constant reminder of the bad choices drunken morons make with one another. Nothing says I remember my one night stand quite like a genital blister. It’s the ultimate souvenir. 

       6. The spike in the suicide rates: Because the world is overcrowded and if you can't survive the holidays with your family you will not survive a verbal lashing from Delilah and are therefore not worthy of life. Thank you for doing us all a favor and can I have your piece of pumpkin pie? 

These are just a few of the reasons why I am thankful this holiday season. So many more…perhaps I’ll update this again soon…

Home-o-phobic

I have come to the conclusion that I am a fucking masochist. Such harsh words for a Dandypants, but it’s true. At  an age so cripplingly close to maturity I sometimes consider myself an adult, I am living at home. With my family. In the same room I grew up in. Obviously things aren’t going great. While this is semi normal for my generation of nitwits and this less than stellar economic funland, I, Delilah Dandypants, am appalled. I am an exasperating, people hating, masturbating loner. This means I don’t like people and I especially do not like my family. Here’s why: 

      1.       Privacy Acts:  Nothing kills my desire to diddle my skittle more than hearing my mother’s piercing voice holler “DellllllliLAH!” She always gets louder at the end. Don’t ask me why. While I too am a screamer, mine tends to be orgasm induced and something tells me my mom is not tasting the rainbow while washing dishes. Maybe if she was she wouldn’t be so hard pressed to scream my name…that would be awkward. While the yelling may be annoying, I find that the walking in my room without knocking is the most egregious offense. These knuckle walking beasts have the audacity to barge in my room while simultaneously knocking. Who the fuck does that? The courtesy is that you knock BEFORE turning the doorknob to enter. Everyone knows that, even the sheep. Apparently these baboons missed that day at ChimpRanch. As if these two complete invasions of my implied right to privacy weren’t bad enough, I would have to say that my chimpfamilee using my room as a hotel while I am gone is probably the worst of it. They don’t even have the courtesy to rent it out by the hour to hookers and johns and the occasional goat. Nope, they let random relatives whom I despise enjoy the luxury that is the girlbed. It’s a privilege that shouldn’t be taken lightly or cheaply. Dumbass devilmonkeys.

      2.       Noisemakers: While it might not be obvious from my general disdain or chatty nature, I like a quiet atmosphere. Super quiet. Maybe some music in the background or the buzzing of a random tv show. That being said, I DO NOT find young couples arguing, dogs barking, men screaming, weights dropping, alarms blaring, or drunks laughing to be sounds of entertainment or relaxation. Therefore, I disapprove of all sounds. Yes, I am serious. My Chimp Family Robinson does not seem to understand this. Oh and their favorite time to yell or cough or breathe? Delilah’s naptime. While I tolerate the constant interruptions to my day, I will not stand for naptime interruptions. In fact, I’m considering purchasing a taser. Chimps beware; I’m not against animal testing. 

     3.       DramaRama : I live with teenage mutant ninja monkeys. They are overly sensitive, easily offended, and full of useless opinions. Basically it’s like living with forty five 14 year old girls who all dated the same guy and he gave each of them Chlamydia. Only the girls would probably befriend one another at some point and stop arguing and name calling. Euthanasia would be the Delilah friendly thing to do. I only wish Jack hadn’t gone to live on the farm…

    I need to move the fuck out. This place scares me. 

Christmas Can Suck It

Christmas is December 25^th. Christmas is always December 25^th, even in a leap year. So, why the fuck is Christmas attacking me? Between the Christmas anthems (which I actually like for about 3 days) and the oodles of red and green paraphernalia stacked on the shelves of every store Christmas is out in full force – on November 11^th. WHY?! While I love getting presents, in the past few years I’ve come to hate Christmas. Big fucking surprise. Here’s why: 

      1.       Salvation Santa:  In about two weeks there will be a Salvation Army Santa outside of every mall and Wal Mart. This middle aged white man, who is NOT Santa, will ask you for money to put in his little collector thingy. He will ask you for cash when you go in the store and when you leave. It’s like paying a fucking toll for shopping. He will also ring a bell in your face in the most annoying manner. I see you. You don’t need a sound effect, I’m just ignoring you. If you decide not to give him money for one of a gazillion valid reasons, he will inevitably shame you with a cold stare or a “Happy Holidays.” Well guess what, it would be happy if you’d stop begging on the streets. And what does this tell kids? (Yes, Delilah’s worried about the children.)That Santa is a beggar and the only way he can afford to give them and all of their friends presents is if we give him money? What happened to the slave elves working away in the North Pole? Their little sausage fingers gluing toy trains together. I swear, you let one fucking elf be a dentist and look what happens, the whole system falls apart. Personally, I’d rather see a dirty, drunk Santa. You know what I’m talking about. The skinny crackhead who dresses up as Santa to take pictures with the kids and get some extra cash. You always see him wandering the streets the next day with his filthy Santa suit and 40 in his hand. That’s what Christmas is made of…shattered dreams and a dirty Santa.

      2.       Holiday Spirit: I hate holiday spirit. Mainly because Holiday Spirit implies happiness. I think not. Who the fuck is happy? Do you see happy people running around Toys R Us on the 23^rd while trying to find a Tickle Me Elmo? NO. People are not happy about the holidays. Christmas means stress and money and family and a whole basket of awfulness. Yet somehow here we are: grimacing through yet another washed up pop star’s version of “All I Want for Christmas,” smiling politely and thanking Can’t Bake Carol for the fruitcake, re-gifting last year’s stone waterfall, and  wishing we could shoot the caroling, money seeking kids between the eyes and run away to Fiji. Maybe that last one is just me….

      3.       Decorations: It’s just extra work. Let’s be honest. First there’s the whole tree thing. If you get a real one you need to go chop it down or pay someone to do so for you. Labor intensive and costly. A fake tree means putting it together and praying to the birthday boy that you have all of the pieces. No one enjoys this. If they tell you they do, they’re lying. After that there are decorations to consider. For those of you lucky enough to have never put lights on a Christmas tree, I am SO jealous of your life. Our tree is always crooked and those damn lights usually don’t work from year to year. But don’t worry; when you plug them into the wall, it seems as if they work. When you put them on the tree and plug them in only half of them work. It’s the law of Christmas. I like to keep the lights on the tree as a reminder that Christmas will be a failure – just like the lights. I think it keeps me grounded.

      4.       Family: I love my family. They’re sweet and caring, completely adorable and the best part is, they love Christmas even more than I do! In reality I want to throw a banana at them and run up to my girlcave with all of my new, shiny things. OoOoO presents! Delilah like. However, I cannot escape to my grilcave of greatness to admire my Christmas loot, I must stay downstairs will all of the spider monkeys and attempt to be social. It proves difficult for Delilah, hater of all humans, especially those with whom I share DNA. However, I have learned a trick: play sick. Hint: This also works in scenes of a sexual nature, but I usually opt for playing dead, much more dramatic. The downside to playing sick is that people might occasionally come to check on you. Since this is always a possibility it is important that you keep your door locked and be EXCELLENT at fake sick face. If you cannot play sick and must interact with your family, the next best thing to do is drink. This will enable you to say inappropriate things, be loud and obnoxious, AND  pass out. It’s the best thing to do. Plus, if you’re really bad, they won’t come back next year. Do your best.

Ugh. I really fucking hate Christmas. It’s going to be a long 43 days.

Working Girl

In an effort to escape ChimpRanch, I, Delilah Dandypants,  have taken a job as a smiling, baby loving, Jesus believing marketing assistant. Let’s just say there was a lot of lying at the job interview. After completing my first week in real estate hell, I have decided that I was right all along. Jobs suck syphilis coated midget cock. In four short days, I have created a “Top 5 Reasons I Hate This Job” list. Yes, I’m an overachiever.

1. Everyone smiles. While this might seem normal, maybe even nice, it makes me suspicious and genuinely creeps me out. Too many big, forced smiles can be overwhelming. No one wants someone showing off their giant fangs at 8 am. Stop snarling, you’re not a vampire. Plus, after so many forced smiles you start to look constipated.

2. They have a baby for a mascot: I am not kidding. First of all, why does a real estate firm need a mascot? As far as I know only sports teams deserve mascots. And aren’t mascots supposed to be inspiring or aggressive or something? Wolverines, Bears, Bobcats. No one would EVER choose a freaking baby. What do babies inspire you to do? Shit in your pants. Excellent. I guess that explains why the office smells so bad. Babies are the least aggressive beings on earth. They can’t even hold up their giant heads AND you can kill them just by shaking them. I also hate how everyone speaks in  ‘baby talk.’ Here’s a hint: BABIES DON’T TALK. They coo. Get it together, you sound like an announcer at the Special Olympics who just burnt his tongue on hot coffee.

3. CindyCarolCuntCathyCarolyn: There are FOUR middle aged women with short blond hair and C names at Delilah’s Dandywork. Unfortunately, none of those names are Cunt, but they should be. I cannot for the life of me distinguish between these leather skinned wanna be cougars. The platinum highlights, animal prints, and hooker heels all blend together to create a menopausal meltdown. Their estrogen depleted bodies prance around the office while their souls have long since been destroyed by husband number 2. Did I mention they’re all three time losers at the marriage game? Oh, and they all have boyfriends. I guess it’s true, you can’t teach an old broad new tricks....unless they’re sexual. I imagine blow jobs are a lot easier when you can take out your teeth....

4. Jesus is Number One! These house selling morons praise Jesus over EVERYTHING. From saying grace over a stale muffin to fixing a paper jam, even finding a pen warrants a “thank you, Jesus.” They make Jesus sound like a praise seeking asshole. Which he is, but that’s a different conversation. I think it’s obvious from my other posts that I am not a big fan of the Jeezus Chrizist, that being said, these idiots fuel my hatred. In my first interview I was told, “Our priorities are God first, family second, work third.” I took this to mean I could get out of work or slack off if I was having issues with God or my family, thus making it a positive policy. It’s not. What “God first” really means is that at least twelve times a day, someone is going to be praying, thanking Jesus, or singing a hymn. It’s really difficult to roll your eyes when their friend in the sky is on constant alert and rewriting the words to “Jesus Loves Me” to say “Jesus touched me this I know, my broken hymen tells me so” doesn’t really help you make friends....

5. Drugs Not Hugs: Have you ever started a new job only to have the first six strangers you meet give you a hug? I have. It’s awkward and unsanitary. I don’t want your germs and I definitely don’t want your body pressed against me. I have no desire to feel your braless tits on my shoulder or to have your mothball perfume seep into my skin. What happened to the bubble of personal space? Usually there is a good 12 to 18 inches of space that one may not invade. Apparently it no longer exists. I want to know who popped the bubble. Maybe it was John Stamos.

I think it’s easy to see that adjusting to a ‘real’ job with these lunatics isn’t going to be easy for Delilah. I’ll probably get fired as soon as I write the second verse of “Jesus Touched Me’....

“...I fight back because I know it’s wrong, but I am weak and he is strong”

Whoops.