"Haha. Hilarious."

So, it's possible that I've already over-sold this blog post with that title, but it is actually an homage to a friend/reader who greatly enjoys (or at least reads) the blog, and also likes to occasionally be a massive wiseguy and make pithy (and only marginally amusing) comments on my Facebook wall. In this case, I "shared" some random picture on FB that I felt was relevant to my recent interest in ridiculing the Occupy Wall Street URCHINS in that snarky, capitalist way that I have about me (For realsies, if someone could literally radiate capitalism, it would be me. Or my mom. But she does it in a way that makes everyone uncomfortable and mildly itchy. So there's that), and his comment read simply, "Haha. Hilarious."

No exclamation points. Not even a smiley face. Just periods. Who does this, I ask you??

Upon reading this seemingly UN-enthusiastic response, I spent at least AN full minute lost inside of my head, questioning my entire worldview while slowly curling into the fetal position and fighting the urge to suck my thumb or take up biting my fingernails again. Holy balls (quoth I), how could someone be so unfeeling as to post a response that would make any sane person immediately think "OMG DOES HE THINK I'M FUNNY OR IS HE BEING SARCASTIC?? AND WHERE DOES HE GET OFF BEING SARCASTIC IN MY GENERAL DIRECTION. OTHER PEOPLETHINKI'MAWESOMESOSCREWYOUBUDDY!!#@%@$"

Did I say any sane person? I may have been reaching a bit, there. That happens when you attain a degree of self-awareness that teeters just on the brink of rampant narcissism. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

In retrospect, I doubt that he was being remotely sarcastic, and I'm almost certain that I should probably just rein in the crazy just a tad and try not to fly off the handle whenever someone fails to use the proper punctuation to convey their obvious approval of all that I do or say. Then again, you people know I'm neurotic, so stop doing these things to me. It's perverse.

Yikes. I just had to get that out.

In other news, it's been a minute, so I'll catch you up on current events. This won't take long. Still bartending, still unwed (both to the everlasting shame of the Family). Moved out of my parents' house, AT.LONG.LAST. I am now living in Mid City with my friend Jamie, who I've come to realize is absolutely my heterosexual life partner and the ideal person for me to share a magnum of cheap hooch with. Jamie and I are both chronically single, wine-guzzling Cancers. This means that unless we are working, we feel little need to leave the house, and we prefer to spend our evenings on The Veranda in the company of Beaux the Tiny Yorkie, Humbert the Indifferent Fish, and Wanda the Booze-Addled Pumpkin. Did I mention that we have also named most of our household appliances at this point? We have a coffee-maker called Louis. We spend many an evening contemplating why we're both still single. Shocking, I know. I'm faintly aware that this behavior will become less and less adorably whimsical as we get older, and more of a cause for concern and institutionalization. Then again, we've both reached the ripe old age of 25 and it ain't slowin' us down yet, dagnabbit!

Which is a total lie. I'm so tired. Goodnight, cruel world!

Mardi Gras Madness, 80s Hair Bands, and General Poor Life Choices All Around...

It's round about time for a new blog post, methinks. Welp, here goes nothing.

So, I'm not saying that I hate Mardi Gras. But I'm also not not saying that I hate Mardi Gras.

But I kind of hate Mardi Gras. Now wait just a hot second before you start stoning me in the streets! I think if you're honest with yourselves you will be forced to admit that MG hasn't really been fun since high school. Back then, french kissing relative strangers, smoking Marlboro Reds, and drinking straight 151 from a coke bottle were pretty badass things to do. Especially on public street corners. We were teenagers. Bless our hearts. Those were simpler times...And, OK, maybe if my MG this year had been akin to any of that, it would've been more fun (Aside from the kissing strangers part, because...gross). Sadly, I basically worked the duration of MG, back and forth between two bars, one of which was right in the middle of the French Quarter (Which is obviously Mecca for douchebags everywhere during Carnival season), and let me just tell you, all work and bad tips makes Marisa aggressively annoyed. Also, very, very tired and curmudgeonly. Have I mentioned how much people just collectively suck? I mean, get it together, for chrissake.

(Transition) WITH THE EXCEPTION OF EVERYONE EVER IN AN 80s HAIR BAND. Well, they probably suck now, but honestly I can watch me some 80s music videos anytime. This is a recent development, so let me attempt to explain my latest flight of lunacy. This week during 45tchoup's trivia night, the most blessedly awesome 80s song pretty much ever was played between rounds, and consequently lodged itself into the deepest crevices of my mind, to the point where I have spent the last two days humming it out loud morning, noon, and night without even realizing it. So, yesterday I decided to do a youtube search for the music video, and that was hands down the absolute best decision I have ever made. Like, literally ever (I wish I were exaggerating right now, but you know that episode of Friends where Rachel agrees to let Monica make ALL of her decisions for her? If I had AN single friend who wasn't just as much of a disaster area as I am, that's exactly what I would hire them to do. Alas...youth.) (That's not entirely true. My Best Friend is a surprisingly together lady, but I don't think she would touch that with a ten foot pole. If there is any job with more stress and less payoff than my personal life, I've never heard of it.) But I digress. The song in question is called Can't Live Without Your Love and it is by Nelson. Nelson consists of two "men" (we use that term loosely around these parts under the best of circumstances. With the exception of Lee Pace, because that, my friends, is a Man.) with long, flowing golden locks. These two flaxen-haired beauties are named Gunnar and Matthew Nelson (hence, the name of the band, which I assume were the Hanson brothers' earliest influence), and just watch the video now please, because...I can't even talk about it.

Yeah. I'm not saying that video is the highlight of my every waking hour. But I'm also not not saying that. If you can't admit that that is the best thing you've ever seen, you don't deserve the gifts of sight OR hearing. And you're just plain wrong, and your parents likely don't even love you, and you're probably adopted and a redhead. You're just horrible.

Ok, I'm a little out of steam now. I have to go watch that video again. Come on, try to watch that and not crack a smile, I dare you.

I am just so sorry right now. If you need me, I'll be snorting cocaine off a public toilet seat with Gunnar Nelson. Or just googling him. Yea, I said it.

What Has Two Thumbs And No Time For Your Shit...

Raise your hand if you, too, loathe and despise the rest of humanity as a collective. As I can't see you, I'll just assume that we are in full agreement. Good? Good. Glad that's settled.

Seriously though, people. What is going on? I can't remember the last time someone asked me a good question. Honestly, I can't remember the last time someone asked me a question that didn't make me want to simultaneously backhand them, burst into tears of frustration, and nosedive off of the nearest cliff. We all know that I work in the service industry these days, so it naturally follows that I am forced to occasionally interact with my fellow 'humans' (note that I am using that term in the loosest sense of the word, and picture something between a gorilla and Fred Flintstone, though either of those would probably tip better than most of these assholes). Not that I don't love the service industry, but I think about death a lot more now than I used to. Just saying.

Actually, I think everyone should be required to wait tables or bartend at some point in their lives. It's very easy to spot those who have not had the pleasure of spending and hour and a half running back and forth refilling drinks, answering asinine questions, and laughing at terrible jokes, only to find a $3 tip on a $60 check. It never fails to shock me how absolutely wretched people are. For example, I recently had the honor of waiting on a trio of middle-aged women who proceeded to get mildly tipsy over the course of two hours and a few pomegranate martinis and somehow lose their car keys. After searching the entire bar high and low to no avail, the keys were finally located by one of the ladies, who had washed her hands in the bathroom and accidentally tossed the keys into the wastepaper basket along with her trash. As I was, at this point, attempting to shut the bar down and go the hell home after a particularly gruesome day, I was elated at this news. Alas, my joy was short-lived. I walked into the ladies room a few minutes later to find the entire contents of both trashcans strewn haphazardly ALL OVER THE FLOOR. I mean, that shit was everywhere. AND they had the balls and gall to still be at the bar when I came back out after cleaning up their mess! Who does that, I ask you?! Were you people born in a barn, for Chrissake?! Ugh. I just...I can't. People are the worst.

To be fair, I do actually like my job most of the time. It's been 'A Week', so cut me some ever-loving slack, here. Really, you could say it's been 'A Month' for me. A month of blinding torture, emotional terrorism and undiluted frustration which I don't particularly care to elaborate on in a public forum (which, if you've read this blog before, may be somewhat shocking. My apologies). I will try to update more often in the future, hopefully when I'm not feeling quite so grim. Until then, good night and good luck. If you need me, I'll be mixing drinks. My secret ingredients: Pure Evil (Not From Concentrate) & Sparkling Human Tears. Mimosas, anyone?

P.S. That photo has naught to do with anything, I just assume you've all missed Lee Pace as much as I have. Don't judge me.