Clearing your computer history is the new emptying out your pockets. Forgetting to erase where you’ve been is the 2012 version of leaving lipstick on your color or a crumpled up napkin with a phone number in your pants. I know I erase my history on a minute by minute basis so if anyone ever finds my Ipad they won’t know where I go – like YouPorn and Saks Fifth Avenue. Yesterday at work was a perfect example of how not clearing your history can prove to be very very embarrassing indeed. I don’t have a desk right now because I’m just filling in for a few more days so I rove from desk to desk and yesterday that desk belonged to a male producer who wasn’t working until the night shift. I logged in and like any good woman – immediately began snooping through his internet history. The first thing that popped up was Whore Presents Dot Com. WTF? There’s a website where you can go and buy presents specifically designed for hookers? That’s insane. I shouted to another male cubicle mate – “what’s this married guy doing on a website called Whore Presents?” “Whore what?” “Whore Presents” “Whore Prentiss?” “Whore Presents!!! Like gifts for a whore! Ugh nevermind.”
I was really upset. I couldn’t believe A) there was a site dedicated to searching for gifts for a woman who is ruining another woman’s life and B) This friend of mine who I really liked was trolling this shitty website. I clicked on the link.
Who Represents Dot Com – A list of actors and the agents who represent them.
Oops. Never mind. Clear your history people. It’s embarrassing – to me.
I need a new bladder. Mine is broken. It’s on some kind of high pee alert and I’m getting up three times a night to empty the contents of an organ I have put nothing in to. It’s very generous of my bladder to give so much to someone who’s given it so little but I’m ready to be cut off. I’m a camel. I don’t drink liquids. If I added up all the things that I drink during the day and before I go to bed it could possibly fill one 8oz glass of water – possibly. I’m just not a thirsty person. I think when I gave up drinking I gave up all drinking. I mean – what’s the point of a liquid if it doesn’t get you high or relaxed? I quench my thirst with shoes preferably Chanel, Louboutin, Miu Miu or Yves Saint Laurent. They are very quenching. I always thought men were the ones that had the elderly pee problem thanks to that prostate. It made me happy knowing that those fuckers had at least one thing happen to them as they got older even if that one thing was nothing compared to the ten million things we get as we get older – like shunned and ignored. Now it turns out its not just men and it’s not a nothing problem. It’s ruining my eight hours of solid sleep that I thought I would finally be getting now that I’m older and have nothing to do and go to bed so early it’s still light out. Awesome!! No. I’m peeing – a lot. So I did what any normal woman with a medical problem does – I googled it. The first results of my medical exploration were that I have a bladder infection, diabetes, or uterine fibroid tumors. Terrific. Then it was Incontinence. Listen, I don’t tinkle in my pants and I don’t smell like pee – yet. One website suggested that I stay on the toilet longer because even when I think I’m done peeing I have more pee and that I’d be “amazed at how much urine I have left in my system.” Yeah, that kind of shit doesn’t amaze me at all. A 75 percent off sale on Louis Vuitton and still finding my size after the sale is on amazes me. It said – don’t be in a hurry to get up because it will come trickling out. Great. I have things to do – like sleep. I never did get a real answer for the pee problem – only more things to terrify me about what’s to come and how I need to do exercises to strengthen my pelvic muscles. I don’t have time. I’m busy. Having a fucking life. I’ve decided to invent the bladder cork. It will be a pretty little item I shove in my private area at night that keeps the pee in place. I will remove it in the morning and unleash the tinkles of hell. Other than that I’m just getting some rubber sheets because I’m exhausted getting up all night long and every time I move the dogs think it’s time for them to go out and pee and quite frankly that isn’t happening. If they can hold it so can I. Or I’ll go on the rug too.
Last night while enjoying a phenomenal meal with friends I realized that the older we get the more our conversations start with “remember when blah blah blah?” Things like the joy of getting called in for dinner from your outside play and when you were truly truly lucky that dinner being a tv dinner that you got to eat in front of your favorite show while the corn area seeped into the hot chocolate pudding area and the tater tot section. Oh it was so simple then. Well didn’t our parents used to say the same thing? I remember when we had to walk to school? I remember when my allowance was 13 cents and you could buy an entire meal? I remember when children didn’t speak at the dinner table. I remember when my father beat the shit out of us with a belt. You know, simple things. So that means, our children, forty years from now will also say the same sort of thing. Well not mine because I forgot to have any children but your children will. And what will they say based on the fact that they have everything and have learned how to do nothing except push buttons on things that do things for them? I remember when I texted my mom she had to actually text back and not just appear through hologram? I remember when we had cars and not jet packs. I remember when you ate a meal not popped a pill? It’s possible I guess. One thing I do know that perturbs all people my age – passwords. I have at least 1700 and thanks to the various companies I have them with – they are all different. Sometimes it all letters, sometimes numbers and letters, sometimes it’s upper case only, then lower case with just one upper case, then one number and one letter and one exclamation point and if you could use that Spanish squiggly thing that works too and oh my god I can’t remember and of these codes. My passwords are all some sort of variation of a place I’ve never been to but it’s fairly easy to remember and then I do have some written down on my computer but there are scads I have no clue about. I love when you think you are logging in somewhere for the first time and you go to register and it tells you “that email address already exists in our system” and I think – fuck – I must be up at night logging in and buying things because I sure don’t remember joining the Barbecue Sauce of The Month Club before. That’s when I use my “other” email address. The one that’s registered to my dead dog – you know – just in case. But it’s those passwords that get me every time and not remembering them. That’s when you get to play the quiz with these companies. That’s the question you chose to answer when you first registered that they hit you with when you get into a really difficult password situation. It’s like fucking Jeopardy at my house everyday. What was your first dogs name? Uhm, shit, did I say my first dog as a child or my first dog as an adult. Zoe. Or was it Zoey. Or was it Chips. Did I live on Friendship Lane or did they not accept the Lane part and I had to say just Friendship. Fuck I just want to buy some discreet pee panty liners why are you making me take a test!! My friend Dan said getting back in to his Consumer Reports Magazine was harder than breaking in to the Pentagon. I didn’t know he broke into the Pentagon so that was impressive but he really just wants to read his magazine on line. All I know is this – if you steal my identity – good luck – every card is maxed out – and quite frankly if you can figure out my codes – I’ll be glad to buy you a nice jar of Barbecue Sauce.
A friend posted this on his Facebook page today: IF YOU TELL THE TRUTH, IT BECOMES A PART OF YOUR PAST. IF YOU LIE, IT BECOMES A PART OF YOUR FUTURE. I completely agree. Ish. I think you should tell the truth about yourself but some people use this statement as a weapon – a kind of excuse to let their filter fly off the handle. “Hey, I’m just telling you the truth.” I have an idea – if I didn’t ask you to tell me the truth – don’t. Please keep it to yourself. Your opinion is best used on you. I don’t like you enough to care what you think about me because if I did I would have asked for your opinion and if I didn’t ask for it then I’m clearly not ready to hear what it is you must tell me about myself that is crushing your soul unless you get it out. I think this statement should be modified to say – if someone tells you the truth and you didn’t ask for it – you have free reign to tell them the truth right back. “I liked your hair better long.” Thank you. But I wouldn’t let my dog take style tips from you. “You really are too thin.” You’re just jealous because you’re a fatty. “I think you should have kept the Porsche.” I think you should have made my car payments for me. “Ewww, I’m not a fan of kale” (as I’m eating a kale salad) I’m not a fan of you. Shut up. Go Away.
People are constantly throwing their opinions around but rarely take two seconds to do what it is they really need to do in life. Pick up a mirror, stare into it, and unleash the truth about yourself. Trust me , I have plenty of shit to say about plenty of people but you know what – I don’t tell them – to their faces – I put it here and let them figure out if I’m talking about them. It’s childish and it works. Until you can assess your own faults – let me help you with this little rewrite of that quote.
IF I DIDN’T ASK FOR THE TRUTH – LIE TO ME MOTHER FUCKER.