Fuck You Friday

Fuck You, You Wannabe Liberal Intellectual

That title's an oxymoron. Liberal intellectual? That doesn't exist.

I have an hour and a half break between my two Biology classes every Tuesday and Thursday. During my break, I'll either do one or more of five things: 1) Sleep in my car (this is what I did 98% of the time when it was still cold), 2) Chat up Andrea on Gchat, 3) Call Mom and get my weekly phone call in, 4) Check my e-mail and surf the internet for nude pictures of Paul (kidding about the latter. Or am I?), and/or 5) Study for my second Biology class (this rarely happens since I only study when a test or quiz will be given). I'll do all of this either in the building where I have my second Biology class, either upstairs in the computer lab, or downstairs in the foyer area.

Yesterday, I was in the foyer area. There are about ten computers facing one wall, five soda machines, a snack machine, ten couches, and a number of tables and chairs. This area's primarily used for study groups, a dining area, and tutoring. Needless to say, it's never quiet here. People are on the couches talking to each other, there are a few students studying together, soda cans bang against the slot when someone puts in seventy-five cents, groups of people walk through and observe the foyer while the student tour guide talks about how great St. Ed's is, and some kids sit on their asses and talk on their cell phone.

I was one of those kids.

I was at one of the computers, checking my e-mail when my mother called. I answered it at my desk and chatted with her about Andrea's new glasses and some other useless crap. While I was on the phone, I felt two slightly harsh pokes on my right shoulder. I told my mother to hang on, and I turned to face this fat woman who sported a masculine haircut and those stupid trendy, modern, black, wannabe 50s vintage, thick-framed glasses.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but do you mind taking your phone call outside? I'm trying to work," she said rudely while she pointed to the computer two down from me.

At this point, I was already irritated. The fact that she was verbally rude to me just worsened my mood from when she touched me.

I glared up at her and said, "Actually, I do mind. This isn't a library, nor is it a quiet study area."

She was taken aback. "Well, I can't concentrate. I'd really appreciate it if you would go outside, or just at least move there to the couch."

"I'm actually not talking any louder than anyone else in here. The only difference is that my mother isn't physically here for me to talk to."

"I'm just trying to work here. You don't have to listen to what I say, but..."

"You're absolutely right. I don't have to listen to you, and I won't. Like I said, this isn't a quiet area. You're more than welcome to go upstairs to the computer lab and work there. It's not as loud there, but that isn't a quiet area either. I don't know what else to tell you, other than you're just going to have to deal with it."

I can be a real bitch sometimes, huh? Well, I wouldn't really say that was bitchy. I just have a mouth sometimes.

She exhaled her frustrated out. It felt like a freaking hurricane. Then she turned around, stomped back over to her computer as the entire building shook from her shifting weight, and I continued my phone conversation with my mom.

Seconds after the bitch sat down, an Asian girl who sat in between us turned to her and said, "The computer lab is quieter, but it can get loud like it does here." I saw the bitch give the girl a lame effort of a smile and then give me an ugly glare, in the corner of my eye. Then she pouted in front of her computer while I took my sweet time on the phone to finish my conversation.

What an idiot.

I don't ever tolerate that crap. I hate, hate, hate when people tell me what to do, especially when they've absolutely no authority or right to tell me anything. I wasn't sure if this lady was a professor, a school employee, or just an older student. Well, it doesn't really matter. It wasn't her place to tell me anything. If I was in a library, I of course wouldn't be talking on the phone. Hell, my phone would be on silent before I even entered the library. But that was just it though, I wasn't in a library. I was in a freaking open space that's primarily used for activities that requires talking.

And one more thing, you don't ever touch someone you don't know. When that queynte touched me, she was just asking for it. Good thing I didn't go Kung Fu on her saggy ass. Not really. I was really tempted to slap her fingers away though. That was just rude.

So, fuck you, you old piece of fart who had the nerve and had no position whatsoever to ask me to take my phone conversation outside.

Fuck You, Mr. Mildew-Smelling Bike Rider President

I'm actually not sure if he was the president of his club or not. I just assumed he was since he was the first one there.

This also happened yesterday. Around 8 P.M., Andrea and I left one of the computer labs and headed to the public lobby area where three nice, leather, and comfy couches and a big flat screen T.V. are found. We're usually in said lobby area every Tuesday through Thursday of every week because of American Idol and Grey's Anatomy. There was FINALLY a new episode of Grey's last night. Andrea and I didn't want to miss it, of course.

When we got there, some douchebag was already sitting on one of the couches. He looked like a douche. He really did. You know those kind of guys who just look like they'd be a douche? He had one of those faces. He just sat there like a complete idiot as his hand clung onto his dirty and probably thrift shop-purchased piece of junk bike (why would you bring your bike inside the building?), as if someone was going to steal it. A bum wouldn't even touch that piece of shit bike of his.

Andrea sat down on the couch parallel to this guy. I thought I'd be nice and asked if he was watching. He said he wasn't. As I made my way to change the channel, he informed me that there was going to be a meeting there at 8 P.M. What? Why would you hold a meeting in a public area where there's lots of traffic of people, lots of noise, and a T.V. that random people use? It didn't stop me though. I just changed the channel and sat down.

And sure enough, other people came to the lobby area for this meeting. They all looked like douches. Very unkempt and "natural" (people use that term very loosely to mean "dirty" and "smelly" since they haven't bathed for a week). I hate that current trend of twenty somethings dressing in thin, striped V-neck shirts, super tight jeans that shows a complete mold of your ball sack, worn-out old man shoes, one of those queer sling backpacks, and a rubber headband to top it all off. Their left pant leg's usually rolled up at least a foot to show everyone that they're a bike rider. Very gay. But yeah, about eleven of these idiots showed up for the meeting, and two other people rolled in their bikes (this continued to make no sense to me since there's a bike rack outside).

Andrea and I just sat there on the couches while they yelled at each other, despite the fact that they were only about two feet away, at the farthest, from each other. It wasn't like they couldn't hear each other either. The T.V.'s volume was really faint. We couldn't hear it at all. Everyone was yelling at each other because it was already loud. Just down the hall, the coffee shop was doing some kind of open mic night.

While we sat there, just minding our own business and watching T.V. pretty much on mute, I overheard a girl ask that douche guy why they hadn't yet started their meeting. He replied with, "Because Grey's Anatomy is more important." Fuck you, dude.

A few minutes later, I heard him tell some of the members that he asked us nicely to move for their meeting. Fuck you, liar. He never asked us anything. Well, I take that back. He did ask me what we were planning on watching. That was it though. He never asked us to move. I wanted to say something to him, but I held my tongue. But even if he had asked us, we wouldn't have budged. Why would we? And, it wasn't as if we told him that he should hold his meeting elsewhere. We didn't care if they had their meeting of fifteen or so people on a few couches that only fit eight.

It took them fifteen minutes to realize that we weren't going to move. The king douche got frustrated and told the club that their meeting was moved upstairs. Thank God. As they made their way upstairs (the idiots with the bikes rolled them up the stairs, too), I stood from the couch to put the volume up. I didn't give a shit that they were mad.

Why the hell would you hold your meeting in a lobby where people walk through constantly, or in an area where there's a T.V. that's frequently used? And worse, in an area that was obviously too small for the amount of club members? That made no sense to me. It wasn't like you could reserve the lobby for a meeting. It's completely open to anyone. And they could move their meeting to another area...like, oh, I don't know....a quiet room where they can actually have a meeting that doesn't require shouting at each other two feet away. Or better yet, why not just hold your meeting in the regular area? Fucking morons.

So, fuck you, you pit-stained lying fuck. Fuck your bike, too. It was stupid.


That's it for this week's FYF.

This is Better than Fuck You Friday

It is, I promise.

I apologize for not writing one up for last week. It was Grace's 21st birthday, Andrea's 22nd, and Paul's 22nd all last weekend. Busy, busy, busy. I didn't have time to write one. Plus, I don't think anyone really pissed me off enough to make the FUF.

As some of you already know, I'm a HUGE Beatles fan. I'm not one of those poser fans that only likes their hits, or who can just name all four members. We're talking about obsessed.

And as some of you already know, I've been raving on and on and anticipating the arrival of The Beatles: Rock Band on September 9, 2009 (09.09.09 - very significant numbers. Why? Ask me!). It's really sad. I talk about it on my blog, and I talk about it even more in person.

This was released last week by Gamestop:



OH...

MY...

GOSH!!!

Ringo's drums?!?! Paul's Hofner?!?! I'm in heaven.

The bundle's $250 though. Geez. The game's only $60. Evidently, the contents inside the box are supposedly worth $200 more than just the game. As you just read above, the bundle includes Ringo's infamous drums, a mic stand, and Paul's Hofner. Is that really worth $200 though? With that price, it should include a couple of more mics. The Beatles, like many other groups of their times, had great harmonies. You'll need more than one microphone since it takes more than just one person to pull off anything remotely close to The Beatles's harmonies. That's great that a mic stand's included, but c'mon.

I'm sure the "additional special content" was also included in its $200 worth. I wonder what it is. They haven't yet released it. Maybe they'll let us in on the secret near the target date, or maybe they'll keep mum and make us buy the bundle to find out what it is. I hope it's a collection of Beatle apparel: collarless jackets from the early years, British military tanned suits (Shea Stadium), vintage Beatle leather boots, colorful Sgt. Pepper jackets, and Beatle mop top wigs. That'd be so sweet.

I doubt that I'm right though. Something tells me that I'll be let down when I open the box and find a freaking gay Yoko Ono blow-up doll that's labeled "additional special content" on the sticker. I'll seriously be so pissed. I might even consider returning the bundle and writing hate mail to Harmonix, the makers of the game.

The set list is also not available yet. The game is said to contain 25 songs that reflect their entire career. My guess is that they're only going to include songs from their studio albums. I hope, hope, hope that they're not strictly going to include their songs off of 1, an album released in 2000 that featured all of their singles that hit #1 in both the U.K. and U.S. charts. That certainly would not do their career any justice since no singles were released off of Sgt. Pepper and the White Album. If they were smart, they'd mirror the picks off of their "Red" (1962-1966) and "Blue" (1967-1970) albums.

My hopeful assumptions:

1. "Love Me Do"
2. "She Loves You"
3. "I Want to Hold Your Hand"
4. "A Hard Day's Night"
5. "Can't Buy Me Love"
7. "Yesterday"
8. "Help!"
10. "In My Life"
11. "Yellow Submarine" (I don't really hope this will be on there, but it will. It's the only song sung by Ringo that people know)
12. "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band"
13. "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds"
14. "A Day in the Life"
15. "I Am the Walrus"
16. "Strawberry Fields Forever"
17. "Penny Lane"
18. "All You Need is Love"
19. "While My Guitar Gently Weeps"
20. "Get Back"
21. "Come Together"
22. "Something"
23. "Let It Be"
24. "Across the Universe"
25. "The Long and Winding Road"

Does anyone else have any guesses? I'll be happy to read/listen to them.

I know I'll wrote more about this as soon as there are more updates. Plus, I will be having a Beatles Rock Band party on the release date. I'll keep y'all posted.

In the meantime, however, you can reserve your bundle from Gamestop for XBox 360, Wii, or PS3, or just the game for your XBox 360, Wii, or PS3.

Fuck You Friday

This past week was pretty uneventful. I only had class from Monday through Wednesday since we were given a five-day break for Easter. Can you believe that? Five days? I’m not complaining. I do, however, have two exams on Tuesday as soon as I return to school. That’s something definitely to complain about.

It looks like I’m actually sticking to my Fuck You Friday entries. Well, it’s too early to really say that since it is only my second entry, but still. Let’s see whether I’ll be able to maintain this or not.

So, without further ado…

Fuck you, you 300 lb. lard-stuffed, poor excuse for Jabba the Hut

While I waited in my car for Andrea, coincidentally in the same place where I received that $25 parking ticket from the City, this 300 lb. girl stuck her head into my car to tell me to move. This walking camel toe worked for some disabled persons organization. She even had one of those identification tags that you wear around your neck. I had the pleasure of seeing her fat face on it when she whipped it out and showed me that she meant business and was official. She informed me that I was parked in front of a sidewalk's small ramp for the handicap and had to move.

Now, I wouldn't have minded her Fat Albert physique had she talked to me without the attitude (Why is it that a lot of fat girls have that ugly attitude?). I also wasn't parked directly in front of said ramp. There was a big gap between the ramp and my car, plenty of room for someone in a wheelchair or scooter to roll onto. Besides, the chances of someone in a wheelchair or scooter driving on that particular sidewalk were slim to none. The sidewalk led to a major street from the UT campus and vice versa. So stupid.

I wanted to tell her that the waterfall of sweat pouring down her face smelled like bacon grease, but I just gave her a sarcastic, "Uh, okay" answer. She stood back and waited while I took my sweet time to put away my notes that I was looking over before I was disturbed, possibly almost eaten, so I could move my car. On my way to a different spot, I looked in my rear view mirror and saw her Tweedledee body waddle down the little ramp. What the hell? Apparently, my car was parked far enough for a scooter to drive through, but didn't provide enough room for a suma wrestler. What a bitch. She didn't have to use the ramp to get off the sidewalk. She could've just directly walked off the sidewalk onto the road. But I guess using a ramp takes less energy. She couldn't lift her cellulite legs to make that little extra effort to just walk down off of the sidewalk to cross the road. I just couldn't believe that she used the handicap excuse when she just wanted to walk down the ramp. Doesn't she know that being fat isn't a handicap? So, fuck you, you 300 lbs. of shit in a 10 lb. bag.

Fuck you, UPS

I sent my new phone to Samsung through UPS to be repaired almost two months ago. All the while, I've been calling Samsung about the status of my phone. I knew that it'd take them forever to check what was wrong with it, fix it, and send it back. That's always the case. Samsung repeatedly told me that they never received my phone in the mail. So, I checked UPS's website to track my package. It said that it was "still in transit" in Mesquite, TX. It arrived in Mesquite the day after it was shipped from Kerrville, where it was shipped from. The package was scheduled to arrive in Plano, which is only, what, five hours away from Kerrville? It didn't make sense that it'd take nearly two months for it to get there. I mean, I could've delivered it myself by foot faster than that.

I finally just called UPS about it. The representative told me that they lost my phone in Mesquite and weren''t aware of it till just then, but were going to create an investigation about its whereabouts. In the meantime though, I had to call Samsung to inform them that my phone was MIA. What? I got a little irritated with him. Had I not called, UPS would've never informed me that my package was missing; and worse, they wouldn't even do anything about it. Idiots. I let him know that I was irritated and not appreciative in the fact that they were just waiting the failed delivery out. I even made him call Samsung since it was UPS's fault that my phone wasn't delivered. Bitches.

Fuck you, idiot Americans, Randy Jackson, Kara DioGuardi, Paula Abdul, and Simon Cowell, who like, praise, and vote for Adam Lambert and Lil Rounds

This particular fuck you is directed to those who obviously can't distinguish talent from sharp, glass-shattering shrieks, or unoriginal and consistently off-key singing that lacks any kind of soul (the kind of soul found in R&B and Motown, and the kind of soul that's expected from any Black singer, to be exact) from raw talent.

The judges continue to praise Adam's poor attempts to sing. I just don't get it. I really don't. You know that high-pitched screech that a cat makes when you pull its tail while it's trying to run away from you? That's exactly what Adam sounds like when he sings. Adam has absolutely no range whatsoever in his vocals, just like Danny Gokey and Megan Corkrey, who was eliminated two weeks ago. He has no artistry, despite what Kara keeps saying. He doesn't make a song his own. It isn't artistry. It isn't originiality. It's simply an excuse. It's a cover-up of the fact that he doesn't know how to interpret the different musical genres. He makes every song fit his comfort zone because he doesn't know how to "sing" outside that, which is why every single song he does sounds exactly the same, or sounds like a complete disaster since not every genre can be so transformed to fit his excuse, for example: his version of "Ring of Fire." That was beyond nauseating, not to mention offensive to Johnny Cash.

As far as Lil Rounds...well, all I have to say is that she's fortunate that she's the only Barack this season. Seriously, if it wasn't for that fact, she would've been eliminated a long time ago. She has strong chords, I'll give her that. She can only sing loudly. That's it. But my gosh, she can't sing in tune, or on pitch if her life depended on it. She can't even pick a good song for herself. I really appreciated Kara's critique during Motown Week, although some morons would've considered it racist. Kara was disappointed in Lil's failure to "wow" them since it was her week to impress them; since well, it was in fact Motown Week. She said that since she didn't entice them during the week that everyone expected her to do well on, then chances are she wouldn't be able to impress them in the upcoming weeks. That couldn't be any closer to the truth. It didn't mean that just because Lil's black, she should automatically represent Motown. She was talking about Lil's voice, which fits the sound of Motown and R&B. It had nothing to do with her being black.

They even showed clips of an overly emotional Lil while she walked through the Rock 'n' Roll of Fame's section of female recording artists of Motown. She commented on how hard she worked the entire week to do justice to Aretha Franklin and continue the pride of female singers that paved the way in Motown. And prior to Motown week, she sang soulful R&B songs and did well. So, it had nothing to do with her race. Kara was talking about the expectations that everyone had because of Lil’s record of singing Motownique songs.

And guess what? Kara was right. Lil did horrible on Country week, the “year the Idol was born” week, and Top 40 week. She keeps saying that she’s a versatile singer and promising to improve in her song choice every week. You’d think that people wouldn’t be repeatedly stupid and stop voting to keep her there, but alas…

I hate that American Idol isn’t necessarily a competition based on talent. It’s based on popularity. It’s based on image. It’s based on money. It’s based on who can sell-out the best. People’s votes on people who don’t have any musical talent, like Adam or Lil, are completely wasted. Those votes should be reserved for those who deserve the record deal because of their talent, their passion, and their capability to produce intelligent music.

So, fuck every single one of you who support Adam and Lil.

Fuck you, nosey lady who has hair that looks like Mr. Snuffleupagus’s ass and can’t spell

Grace, Andrea, and I ate dinner at Fish City Grill on Wednesday, before Andrea’s horrid softball game (after having a seven point lead, they still lost by one point in the last inning since her team can’t hold any runs, even if they’re given seven chances to improve themselves worthy). Fish City Grill has daily dinner specials that they write on a massive chalkboard, in addition to their regular everyday menu. I noticed that they spelled a number of words incorrectly. It wasn’t that I was nitpicking (that’s usually the case when it comes to any public display. I’ve a habit to scrutinize a display’s grammar. Sometimes, I’ll even take a red pen and edit it), but it was hard not to see the mistakes since the words were written in a huge font size, about 1 foot.

I always see the word “vinaigrette” spelled incorrectly. I’ll usually let that one pass since it is tricky. Fish City Grill spelled it as “vinagarette.” Close. They spelled “sesame” wrong too: “seasame.” I wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a play on words since they are a seafood place. Highly doubtful. But then we noticed that they even spelled “peanut” wrong: “penut.”

The three of us were giggling, pointing, and verbally correcting the mistakes. It never made sense to me that people don’t edit their signs. You’d think that people would be overly cautious about what they display since it is a direct display and proof of their intelligence. I know I would be.

I noticed the lady who sat directly behind me looking up at the sign while we made fun of the misspellings. She looked like a man from the back. I knew she was listening to our conversation. It was hard not to since we were a little bit loud. She kept moving her head in the direction of what word we were talking about.

Then I saw her motion the manager to her table. She informed him that there were a number of words spelled incorrectly. When he asked which words, I heard her tell him the three that we found. He told her that spelling was never his forte and asked how to spell the three words correctly. And guess what? She didn’t fucking know. She said, “Oh, I’m not sure how to spell them. I just know they’re wrong because they don’t look right.”

Are you kidding me?

If you have the audacity to tell someone they’re wrong, then you sure as Hell should also be able to know how to correct it. What’s the point in even pointing out the fact that they’re wrong when you can’t even tell them why it’s wrong and how to fix it? I hate people who are like that. I suppose they just enjoy being right, even if they don’t know why.

I think that’s what irritated me the most about this fucking stupid lady. I didn’t really care that she listened in our conversation, stole our thunder, or had the ugliest backside of a head I’ve ever seen. She just really irritated me that she had the nerve to tell the manager he didn’t know how to spell when she couldn’t spell either. So, fuck you lady for being stupider than the man who can’t spell “vinaigrette,” “sesame,” or “peanut” because you too lack the ability to spell those three words, and in addendum, lack common courtesy and class.


So, that’s it for this week’s Fuck You Friday. Till next time.

Fuck You Friday

Fuck you, Bob Marley wannabe manager guy at Péché

Andrea and I went downtown on Monday to look for a job. We saw on Craig’s List that Péché needed servers, hosts, line chefs, barbacks, etc. I know that I absolutely loathe waiting tables, but there isn’t anything else out there that’ll be flexible with my school hours. Besides, waiting tables is good and fast money, which is what I really care about. The downers though are the idiotic people you serve and the disrespect you’re forced to put up with because your job requires nothing but customer service. But I’ve learned to deal with all of that as time went on by not tolerating it, so it isn’t that bad.

Anyhow, we went downtown around 3:30. We first stopped to fill out an application at the Roaring Fork, which is on the corner of 7^th and Congress, right next to the Paramount Theater. I actually worked two blocks down from there when I interned for the Kay Bailey for Senate Committee. I’m not sure if they’re hiring or not, but they told us that they were accepting applications, so we filled one out. It didn’t look too promising, but hey.

Then we drove to 4^th Street to apply at Péché. We drove up and down that gay street (literally, it’s gay. 4^th is filled with nothing but gay bars), looking for the stupid place. We happened to run across it when we were on our way to apply at Trulock’s. Péché was just two buildings down, on the corner. It was so small and narrow, no matter we couldn’t find it.

We asked this blonde server for an application, and she told us to go downstairs to their bar to get an application. So, we did. There was a girl there sitting on the couch while talking on the phone. She asked if she could help us and told us that we had to get the application from the manager in the office. Andrea went over to said manager’s office, but he motioned that he was on the phone and would be with her in a minute. Yeah, a minute my ass. Andrea and I waited there at the bar top for about a good twenty minutes. Now mind you, we were paying for a meter. And if you read my previous entry about how much I hate meter queers, this only irritated me more.

What irritated me the most was that he was blasting on the phone. Andrea and I were only about ten feet away from his office, so we could hear everything perfectly. And you know what he was talking about? Nothing business-related. He was on a personal call with one of his buddies, probably one of his equally ugly band members in their wannabe reggae Bob Marley cover band. What the hell?

And the fact that he would leave his office, walk past us, completely ignore us, and walk up and down behind the bar didn’t help either. He did that about three times. There was even one instance when he walked right toward us. I thought he was finally taking a few seconds out of his conversation, but nope. He simply grabbed his coffee that was on sitting on the bar top where we were and went back to his office. What a fucker.

Twenty minutes into our wait, he finally decided to leave his office to ask us what we needed. When we told him that we were just there for an application, he told us that the applications were upstairs at the restaurant. We told him that they sent us down to the bar; but evidently, he printed more out that morning and gave them to the restaurant. *sighs*

So again, we went back upstairs. The blonde server had the audacity to put on a show. She asked us if we got an application from downstairs. We told her that the manager told us that he sent up newly printed ones that morning, and she pretended that she forgot and went and gave each of us an application. I would be saying fuck you to the blonde server too, but there’s a possibility that she really did forget about the newly printed applications, so I won’t; thus, the fuck you only goes out to the Bob Marley wannabe manager.

Fuck you, Denny

Andrea and I applied to the new Roaring Fork near The Domain yesterday. They’re not even finished building it yet. We saw how the new restaurant’s supposed to look when it’s complete, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. It’s right on Stonelake.

After we filled out an application, they made us take an exam. It’s the same exam that Chili’s gives to prospective employees. It has a lot of easy math, but it takes forever to do the problems because you’re not allowed to use a calculator. The math problems are retarded. You never actually use that math as a server. There’s even a small analogy portion and a reading section, much like the ones found on the SAT (well, when the SAT had an analogy portion back in the day). The last half of the exam featured a personality portion, which was more retarded (on a scale of 1 to 5, how friendly do you rate yourself?). There's no possible way that Andrea and I failed the first half of the exam. If we don't get a call back about this job, it was because we didn't pass the personality portion. How would that be possible though since we're already servers? In the case of us not getting an offer, they'll make the next Fuck You Friday.

Anyhow, while I was taking my exam, I got a text from Denny. It just said, "Why don't you want to play with me anymore?" What the hell? Who the hell says that to someone? Play with him? He must think that this is all a game. He probably thought that I was joking when I told him that I thought it was best we kept our distance. So delusional.

I believe that's it. I can only think of two people who made the Fuck You Friday this week. I'm sure it'll grow. Until then...