Jul
08
2011

Friday, Fucking Friday

“Sunday, Bloody Sunday” reminds me of a chick on the rag.  Ew.

SO.  Secondary to THAT thought is that Billy Joel is retarded.  If I crashed your party on Friday and you had a problem with it I would most likely apologize right then and there because I would assume you’d have me kicked out.  I would NOT say I was sorry on Saturday.  I’d probably be in jail because I would have gotten in a fight with the fuckers that tried to throw me out on Friday.

But that’s if I was a dude.

Anywho, the entire point of me getting this job is for stories.  I don’t really make shit for money (yet – I think I will eventually) but THE STORIES.  Holy fucktards I get so many.

This is what comes to mind -

First off, I’d like to thank those of you I work with who have taken the time to read my blog.  I think it’s neat that you have taken the time to read me.  It’s very important to me because you’re going to see a side of me that no one else there will.  You might regret it but there’s a solid chance you’ll come back for more.  I’m a few different people.  Work Julie is still a bit lost and confused but very amused.  There’s still daytime Julie who is kind of sleeping a lot but REALLY wants her boys home (they will be this weekend so YAY!) and there is always going to be nighttime Julie and if you don’t know her it’s a damn shame because she will make you put socks on just so that you will rock them off.

There’s also bipolar Julie and lacking plasma Julie but they’re both blech so let’s ignore them.

I like writing in the middle of the night.  Sometimes I take my sleeping pills first so it makes for UBER random posts and I have a shit-ton of comments to approve and return so I must be doing something right.  I’ll do those on Friday. I honestly don’t feel like it right now.  I see them so don’t think they’re not going to post, I just won’t approve them until I pull your blog up (if applicable) and return the favor.

Getting back to the point, I hear funny shit at work.  I’m not going to name people because that’s not my thing but holy hell I heard someone say something that I’m going to repeat verbatim -

“Okay.  So what this dude does is have a picture of Jessica Alba in full size taped to his wall and he rigged up a family size jar of peanut butter right where her pussy is so that he can totally fuck her right up against his wall.  It might take more effort to set that shit up but it’s a hell of a lot better than just holding a jar of peanut butter because then you’re just fucking weird.”

That might not be verbatim but I swear on whatever you find holy that was part of a conversation I had.  I made it a point to say it has to indeed be a family sized jar because *insert worship of choice* forbid you get distracted and pull out only to thrust back in to ram your junk on a plastic rim.  It was THEN pointed out to me that dudes can pull their junk out on women and ram into some fucked up shit but I can’t see where that would hurt the dude in any way.  If anything he’s suddenly flashed into anal and has seriously pissed some bitch off.

I’m not joking when I tell you I have acquired these stories.  I have a bevy of them and they’re locked in my skull in some form or another.  Before I started working I used to struggle for shit to tell you.  I’d have to have a conversation and make a note of something to write about but now I have so much shit I have no need to do so.  I’m going to hear things and retell them as I please.  I’ll do my best to tell them as I hear them but it’s much more fun taking the stories and just making them my own because I’m a much better story teller than pretty much anybody.

I’m going to go now.  I have to head to the hospital in a few hours to get my blood and I’m dying for a Big Mac.  I can’t sleep tonight because my meds require about 27 hours and I don’t have that kind of time so I’m going to pound a 5 hour energy drink and watch me some TV with my best friend.

I’d like to make a note to those of you I work with.  I get a shit-ton of friend requests and I NEVER look at who’s requesting me.  I always approve.  It’s part of my job as a social media whatever the fuck I am.  When I hear that you read my status update it both excites and terrifies me and if you’ve gone so far as to read all of this then we’re going to go to an entirely different level.  I don’t know all of your names yet because there are quite a few of you but I’m doing my best to look at the schedule and look you up on Facebook to match the names to the faces and please bear with me as I learn both this job and all of you personally.

I have to go now because I can tell my dad’s up because my phone is blowing up with Facebook and Twitter replies and updates and I want to see what he’s up to.

I also want a Big Mac.

And possibly some nuggets.

These hours could seriously fuck up my waistline.

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Written by Julie Maloney in: Adventures

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