Poor Mojo's Two Minute Hate

I hate that I am staying up late to write the hatreds.

I hate that I have volunteered to be the first female homo sacer in the history of the Weblog.

I hate that the people at the bakery are now afraid of me because I constantly stick out my tongue.

I hate that I overdosed on Haldol and ended up soiling myself at work.

I hate that, like the sea otter, I have more hair in one square inch that a human has on its whole body.

I hate that my co-worker is so anal retentive that he can't let me set anything on his desk.

I hate that this co-worker speaks in clipped Chicago speech and looks like he will explode into mess of pizza puffs and cheese fries if he has to utter a full sentence.

I hate that I give out commemorative lapel pins to all those I have fisted.

I hate that there are still some fucktards out there who can't come to terms with my existence.

If you still don't believe, maybe you should read the Tuesday Love.

I hate that I now walk with a shuffle and can't stop sticking my tongue out.

I hate that my initial psych evaluation lasted for 15 minutes.

I hate that, despite my assertion that I was a gargoyle, my taste for metal shards, and my spells of encopresis, I was approved for only one day in the hospital.

I hate that the only treatments my insurance will pay for are Haldol and ECT.

I hate that the psychiatrist thought that the Weblog was one of my delusions.

I hate that blog war PTSD is not a recognized mental health diagnosis and is not treated by VA hospitals.

I hate that I started thrashing and screaming, "Do you know who I am? I'm the Tuesday Hater!" when I realized I was being committed to the hospital.

This problem? It’s getting really bad. It’s like every other thought in my head is I hate my job or I’m so bored I want to scream.

Today was especially bad. Before I arrived at the office, I was already dreading the eight hours I would have to sit like a good little worker-monkey in my cubicle and pretend to give a fuck. I’m not good at faking it. Apparently the hissing gives me away.

So here was my day:

get coffee I hate my job drink coffee I hate my job read email I hate my job answer emails I hate my job open files on computer I am so bored read files on computer I am so bored discuss files with boss I am so bored revise things in files I am so bored AND IT’S ONLY NINE FUCKING THIRTY IN THE MORNING.

Oh fuck. Fuckety fuck fuck FUCK.

Most of you don't know this..but one of my twin sons Christian has Autism..

He was diagnosed at the young age of two. It was one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life even though I already knew that was what was wrong with him. ...

I took the twins for their 18 month shots on schedule..not thinking a thing about it. Now I wish more than anything I hadn't done that. That was to be Christian's undoing. My beautiful boy was so outgoing, smiling all the time, talking, playing with his brothers all the time...

After his shots he was cranky as usual, but then I started to notice changes drastically..Over the course of a couple of weeks he stopped making eye contact with me...or anyone for that matter...he had terrible tantrums, started to flap his hands and twirl, he would crawl on the floor scraping his forehead on the carpet all the way across the room until he had a rug burn, he would turn the toy cars over and spin the wheels on the bottoms of them and stare at them for hours....he stopped smiling and saying MOMMY.

We took him to specialists, who all told us the same thing..."Looks like Autism" ...

I started to think back to what might have caused this...

When did this all begin?

Vaccination Day...those words rang in my head like the liberty bell...

Of course, since the only proper correction to vagina-hating is a heavy dose of hippyism ("love your yoni!"), I shall treat my assorted coochie skankiness with hippy remedies like cranberry juice, yogurt, and acidophilous milk. Orally ingested, thankyouverymuch.

Then we all heard the price- gouging changer-guy tell the clerk that it was a shame about all the drive-aways because that was one reason the prices were going up.

I know that people who drive-away at a gas station are far too stupid to be bloggers, but if any of you have a wuthless bum neighbor or relative who might do such a thing, please tell him or her that everybody in the universe despises them. Use small words so that kind of person will be sure to understand.

Thanks a lot, bums. $2.06 when I went in, $2.18 when I came out. And it's partly YOUR FAULT, and I hate you and your ASS FACE.

At least there was a hole until comedian-actor Damon Wayans took the stage.

"Give yourselves a big round of applause for coming down and supporting ' … Night,' " Wayans said, using the word itself, to gasps and laughs. The producers "tried to prep me backstage — 'Don't say the N-word.' They're going to fine me." Wayans sprinkled folded bills across the stage floor, green confetti at his feet. "How much you want?" he asked, looking at club owner Jamie Masada, who sat with his head in his hands at his table in a back corner of the intimate room's main floor.

Anger bubbled just beneath the surface.

"I'll be damned if the white man uses that word last," Wayans said,

* He stops in front of me, blocking my path, especially in the kitchen. My kitchen is small, I often cannot walk around him. He is kind of deaf and I have to raise my voice for him to move. I hate raising my voice.
* He goes by the baby when he is eating, the baby touches the dog and then has dog hair on his hands. I have to clean off the dog hair. It bugs me. It is not like I don't let him eat the food that drops. I do.
* I have to clean up his poop. He likes to walk-and-poop. So he will leave a trail of poop over 10 to 30 feet. I then have to play “find the poop”. 99% of the time he stays on our property, but sometimes I have to visit the neighbors. I hate his leaving poop with the neighbors.

One night, he let the audience have it. “Hitler had the right idea; he was just an underachiever,” Hicks screamed at the top of his voice. “Kill ’em all, Adolf! Mexican. American. Jew. All of them! Rain 40 days and 40 nights. Wash these turds off this fucking planet!”

I had to run some errands in the country near Annapolis and while driving I spotted a big-ass turkey standing on someone's front lawn. I stopped to check it out.

When I got out of the car, it seemed docile, so I snapped a few pictures. In turkey religion, this must steal their souls because at that point it flared out its tail feathers and charged me like a pissed off miniature grizzly bear....

Now I feel even better about eating these beasts for Thanksgiving. They are not nice animals.

Yesterday morning I was going to pick something up from a friend, and as I was getting on the freeway,(seemingly) out of nowhere, I felt like I had needles and pins sticking in me all over, I broke out in a sweat, I couldn't catch my breath, I couldn't swallow, and I started shaking all over. I started to look for the next exit to get off the freeway and turn around and go home. In the meantime, I was having this entire philosophical debate that went something like this:

Me: Don't turn around. You know this can't kill you--you just feel like it will kill you.
The Panic Monster: Turn around. I won't stop until you feel safe at home.
Me: I need to go skydiving and let all these feelings happen and prove they can't hurt me no matter what I do.
The Panic Monster: You let yourself get vulnerable. People you trusted hurt you again. Your lupus is flared up and you know you can die from that and you knew I'd show up if you got this run down.
Me: Get me off this friggin freeway! I'm dying!
The Panic Monster: See? I'm winning.
Me: Oh no you won't. I'm going to keep going. Go away.
The Panic Monster: You know you won't feel safe until you get home.
Me: Watch me.

Your observance is negligence
If you see the threat from different cultures
We're all in this sinking ship
All of us together

Where does the white man stand?
Where does the black man stand?
Where do we all fucking stand?

KNEE DEEP IN THE SHIT!

Look into yourself
And you'll find the real oppressor
To a life of unchallenged hate
It's you who's the nigger!

1. The final deadline is never really the final deadline, at least not at first. Attempting to guess the real deadline becomes a game of cat and mouse between the developer and the publisher.

2. Your daily diet consists of cheap takeaway food, constrained to a few repeating varieties. To this day, certain Indian dishes bring back haunting memories of summer 2004.

5. You wake up one morning and realize you’re out of fresh laundry

6. You wake up the next morning and realize you’re still out of fresh laundry.

10. After crunch is over, you still have submission to contend with.

9. Anyone that is too perky

13. Anyone enjoying themselves in my presence

17. Anything brighter than 60% Kodak Grey

19. Basically, anything within five feet of me

And I hate this Chris guy who sent me this sickeningly cheery e-mail this morning:

Stephanie Edington of Crawfordsville remained hospitalized Friday at the Indiana University Medical Center in Indianapolis, where surgeons also removed lymph nodes and infected skin up to her collar bone.

Dr. Robert Goulet Jr., a professor at the Indiana University Cancer Center, said the piercing created an entry point for the bacteria, but the procedure likely did not cause the infection itself. Edington is diabetic, which left her susceptible to infection, he said....

"By the time she got here, the skin tissue was all pretty much completely dead," he said. "She was a very sick kid when she got here."