TFMB Inductees: Umbrella Underoo and Ablebodied Assbag

Two total morons recently crashed into my life and were noteworthy enough to mention here for posterity.

It rained today, and I was not really surprised when using the restroom at a Big Bookstore Chain today when the occupant of the next stall started to set her umbrella down against the adjoining wall. However, when she subsequently decided to pick it up and intrude it so far into my stall that it was on my pants leg, I gave it a gentle push back in her direction. This cow did not take the hint. No, she lifted it higher and proceeded to poke around in my stall with it until she managed to put the drippy stanky thing *in my pants*! At which point I said "Excuse me, I do not need your umbrella in my underwear!" Her reaction? She leapt up and fled.

Boggle. WTF, woman?

Did someone drop you off here from outer space? Do you have no prior experience with public restrooms?

You sit in your little box and take care of your business. You do not intrude into the next little box, whether from under or over or any other possible point of entry. You do not speak to, or make contact with, the person next to you unless it is to ask for a few sheets of toilet paper. This is not social hour or show and tell, you freak.

It is certainly not an open invitation to place your parasol in my panties, your umbrella in my underwear, your regenshirm in my rump cover. What the hell were you thinking?

You are indeed a total fucking moron, and here is your award on the internet.

TFMB Inductee number 2 is the whack job who parked next to me in the crosshatches.

I have a disability plackard. The crosshatches are so mobility impaired people have room to get in and out of their vehicles.

Not so you only have to waddle three feet to pick up your take out order when it is ready.

And no, unlike standing in a no parking zone, it really doesn't matter that your entitled able bodied ass is *in* your vehicle while you are illegally parked in the cross hatches.

Your screaming at me when I told you as much, complete with profanity, obscenity and taking pictures of my registration, which I viewed as enough of a threat to call the cops on your stupid ass, do not magically entitle you to park there.

I hope the tickets that you reap with this asshattery bankrupt you and that karma bites you in your nasty ass.

TFMB Inductees: Umbrella Underoo and Ablebodied Assbag

Two total morons recently crashed into my life and were noteworthy enough to mention here for posterity.

It rained today, and I was not really surprised when using the restroom at a Big Bookstore Chain today when the occupant of the next stall started to set her umbrella down against the adjoining wall. However, when she subsequently decided to pick it up and intrude it so far into my stall that it was on my pants leg, I gave it a gentle push back in her direction. This cow did not take the hint. No, she lifted it higher and proceeded to poke around in my stall with it until she managed to put the drippy stanky thing *in my pants*! At which point I said "Excuse me, I do not need your umbrella in my underwear!" Her reaction? She leapt up and fled.

Boggle. WTF, woman?

Did someone drop you off here from outer space? Do you have no prior experience with public restrooms?

You sit in your little box and take care of your business. You do not intrude into the next little box, whether from under or over or any other possible point of entry. You do not speak to, or make contact with, the person next to you unless it is to ask for a few sheets of toilet paper. This is not social hour or show and tell, you freak.

It is certainly not an open invitation to place your parasol in my panties, you umbrella in my underwear, your regenshirm in my rump cover. What the hell were you thinking?

You are indeed a total fucking moron, and here is your award on the internet.

TFMB Inductee number 2 is the whack job who parked next to me in the crosshatches.

I have a disability plackard. The crosshatches are so mobility impaired people have room to get in and out of their vehicles.

Not so you only have to waddle three feet to pick up your take out order when it is ready.

And no, unlike standing in a no parking zone, it really doesn't matter that your entitled able bodied ass is *in* your vehicle while you are illegally parked in the cross hatches.

Your screaming at me when I told you as much, complete with profanity, obscenity and taking pictures of my registration, which I viewed as enough of a threat to call the cops on your stupid ass, do not magically entitle you to park there.

I hope the tickets that you reap with this asshattery bankrupt you and that karma bites you in your nasty ass.

TFMB (TM) Nominees 2012

If you have known me for ages, you may understand the above acronym. It is not polite or family friendly. It is rantalicious and profane, so read on at your own risk... Here begineth the RANT... Today's stellarly stoopid nominees include:

• The First Felon: The incredibly ignorant turdwaffle at Penn Station on the IRT line, who had about 16 pieces of luggage strewn across the platform, blocking it entirely save for about an 8 inch path directly abutting the edge of the platform. Walking this would require you to be leaning out in space and at risk for falling on the tracks or getting hit by an incoming train. I asked TFMB Nominee Number 1, politely: "Excuse me." She did not move her shit, but gave me a dirty look instead. I then said: "Could you please move your luggage. Nobody should have to fall on the tracks because your bags are in the way." Her response: "Fuck you! I should push you on the fucking tracks!" Said to me in front of my 9 year old and my husband. My response was to urge her to anatomical impossibilities and call her an asshole. There are two transit cops standing less than 10 feet away who have not even raised an eyebrow. My husband tells her "Don't threaten my wife." She screams "Get out of my fucking face." I walk up to the cops and say "Excuse me, officers..." but we do not stick around to watch them tell her she's a hazard and to move along, because we have a train to catch. We are headed out to see my parents.
• Douchecanoe Number Two: On the way home, we are grabbing coffee for the ride, accompanied by my parents, who are there to see us off. We only have a few more minutes with them, and a 2 minute job of ordering coffee becomes a ten minute one when the two utterly self absorbed divas ahead of us (who are together) decide they must monopolize both counterpeople to get their order ready, then refuse to pay separately, holding us up for no good reason and making my blood pressure soar to the point where caffeine was unnecessary.
• Turd Three: On the train, my kid is reading something educational. I am trying to read on my Kindle. A family of 4 sits adjacent to us and the mother, who has a *brain bleedingly annoying tinny voice*, proceeds to read aloud to one little darling from the world's most drivelsome book on soccer players, rendering it impossible for me to read, or even hear myself think. She is apparently a frustrated actress with delusions that the entire train car would applaud her monotone blather, since she deemed it necessary to project so they could hear her at the opposite end of the train car. I stuffed tissues in my ears and tried to read, and watched my kid squirm and try to concentrate. Daddy read to their other little darling, but he was a decent human being with a clue that modulating his voice was in order, and I could not even hear him. I can't believe their second darling child could either, because his mother's dental drill-like tones where all that reached my ears. My tissue stuffed ears. I then proceeded to tie my fleece lined jacket over my head like Lawrence of Freaking Arabia, to try to further insulate my ears from her droning, but I could *still* hear every single tedious word. Frustrated performance artist mother did not even get the hint when I loudly stated that I could not hear myself think, and began reading my own book aloud, with inflection, which is more than I can say for her horrendous performance. And it was clearly intended to be a "Look at me! Aren't I a superb parent? I read to my darlings!" performance for which she wanted a standing ovation. Bitch, please. Do you remember the final scene from the wonderful movie "Pi"? If I had a drill, I would have stuck it in my freaking ear to make your torrent of uninflected verbiage Stop Already. Holy crap. If you did that to a prisoner, it would be considered cruel and unusual punishment. This captive audience member was NOT impressed.
• Twit Four: As I drive up the road, I am cut off by an out of state driver, who pulls right in front of me and slams on his brakes and Stops.Dead. in the middle of the lane of traffic as he attempts to figure out where the hell he is going. I'm sure he was heading to our local Halloween idiocy, which has become a 6 week extravaganza that renders living in this town in the fall nearly as aggravating as my train ride home tonight, but on a sustained basis. Getting groceries is about as much fun as root canal because of the logistical nightmare created by this event and the Stupid People who pour into my town to attend it. Out of state event goer started and stopped suddenly a few more times before he eventually got back on the highway going the wrong way. I do not feel sorry for him in the least. I only wish he'd take the rest of the stupid with him.

So, TFMB material, all 4 of you. I salute your incomparable density and unmitigated self-involved head-up-the-ass-ness. It is truly a marvel of dipshittery and awful to behold.

TFMB-The Total Fucking Moron Brigade (TM)

What a long, strange trip its been...

I am surrounded by stupidity, flanked by fools, drowning in dumbshit.

I can continue the alliteration, or describe the idiocy...

Tuesday Sept. 9th:

Having asked our mortgage broker not less than five times whether I needed to be at the closing, or provide dear spouse with a power of attorney (to which the answer was very definitively "No!" each time), dear spouse arrives at the closing, only to be greeted by a halfwit chorus of: "Where's your wife? We can't do this without her!"

(Picture me doing a primal scream that can be heard three states away...)

So, for what must be the first time in the history of real estate closings, they allow Kev to sign and then bring the papers home to me for signature, after I telephonically tear them a new one...

Wednesday September 10th:

Kevin sits home from work, awaiting a fed ex of a final few closing documents. He is planning on sticking around to receive them, accompanying me to the bank to get my signature notarized, and then heading into NYC to work, and to drop the docs at a FedEx outpost somewhere.

Tra-la-fucking-lovely, except the assorted real estate mavens, whose collective brain activity would measure lower than that of most coma patients, never sent the documents out!

It was a good thing he called, or he'd have sat here all day waiting, we'd have missed the notary, and he'd have to miss another day's work tomorrow.

So, off we head to the bank, and we think, notarization nirvana.

Oh, no. This is when we discover that we truly live in a one horse town.

The bank does not have a notary.

Neither does the other bank, three pharmacies, a CPA's office, an insurance agent, or the post office. We finally do locate one, at the one remaining pharmacy. But, we are informed, prescriptions come first, so you may have to wait.

We wait and wait and wait some more, but then it is done. Four hours later.

Thursday, Sept. 11th:

I am triggered beyond bearing, as well as desolately sad. I went to work one day and nearly got killed. So I tend to feel connected to the poor unsuspecting people at their desks in the Towers two years ago...

I post a memorial tribute off my family's main website, which I will not link here due to the lawsuit crap, because there are actually people with nothing better to do than track my steps around the internet in an effort to further harass me and abuse me because I dared to sue their asses for trying to kill me. And people who are pissed at me for speaking the truth, who think I should muzzle myself out of fear of reprisals. My compromise to them is the relative anonymity of this blog...

Nevertheless, I agree to meet with my lawyer that evening to discuss my accident-at-work case. Large mistake.

More than the date conspires to make it a harrowing day. My lawyer proceeds to heap unbelievable abuse on me, which continues for days, and still isn't resolved. The worst part about that is that he is someone I called my friend.

I spend the night dreaming plane crashes.

Friday September 13th:

My lawyer threatens to fuck up my case if I don't increase his fee. He also suggests that, if I refuse to agree to his demands, he will deem me incompetent/insane, and usurp control over the case, because I "can't act in my own best interests."

Them's fightin' words!

Saturday and Sunday:

Fighting.

In other news, my son ate his first solid food and is beginning to sit up unsupported. He also sucked on his toes for the first time ever. I discovered that, despite being old, broken down and fat, I can still stick my foot in my mouth. Aren't you thrilled for me?


Monday: That would be today. My lawyer is a jerk. I am surrounded by jerks. The closing is STILL not finalized, because the idiot bank forgot one more form they need signed.

I hereby form the TOTAL FUCKING MORON BRIGADE (TM), a society in which membership is conferred by nomination by yours truly. I think I will have Tshirts made, and give them out to deserving inductees. Whether I shall be subtle and design a logo using only the acronym, or use the full organizational title, remains to be seen...