Retaliation

Dear Upstairs Neighbor,

If you're wondering why I was vacuuming at 6 am on a Saturday morning it is because I was/am mad at you for having LOUD sex while I was TRYING to sleep! 

Ok, I understand that you're a belly dancer and you've got to get it on or whatever.  Just, please, QUIT WITH THE OBNOXIOUS MOANING. And when your dog starts barking at you....DO SOMETHING. IT'S 2 IN THE MORNING AND I'M UNABLE TO THINK IN BETWEEN THOSE ANNOYING GROANS.

I'm not bitter that you're having sex. Really.  I don't care if you have sex with that huge, no-neck, tattooed beast of a man I saw you entering you entering your part of our tri-plex with at 1.  Nope, I really don't care if you have sex with him.  Even if it happens right above my room. What I DO care about is that YOU FREAKING SHUT UP.

So, if you woke up at 6 this  morning after a busy, ahem, night, and felt irritated that my vacuum was going and I was simultaneously singing "Call Me Maybe" at the top of my lungs, now you know why.  My roommates weren't even home so I wasn't disturbing anyone BUT YOU.

Hope you're wandering around as groggily as I am today.  Jerk.

Sincerely,
Me.

Writer's Block

Guys,
(Or girls, if you are a hardcore feminist)

I have writer's block. I really do. I don't know what to write about. I have several good rants that I can think of: hipsters, Pitbull, modern music, why I'm the only person who likes All-American-Rejects anymore, gas prices, college prices, my landlord....BUT I can't put them into words. Here. Have an image:

This image is exactly how I feel right now.  Right now my percentage of wins in Solitare is about...5%. Great.

Back to writer's block.
Those of you who don't write don't understand at all what we go through. We being the writing community. We being me pretending to be part of the writing community.  (And yes, I've written novels. They're just sitting on my computer un-published and un-read. It's fine.)  Writer's block is a sickness. It's like you have so many things to say. And you start to type and the clicking of the keys or the music in the background (which is right now, "It Ends Tonight." Stop judging) or all those thoughts swirling can't settle into something comprehensible, let alone readable. 

So we wait. Or at least I do.  Trying to write through writer's block is like trying to push through an invisible wall of cheese.  You think you're going somewhere and then you just end up smothered in cheesiness and you smell like Cheddar.  Weird analogy, but now I'm craving a grilled cheese.

Moving on. 

Thoughts swirling, right.  So those thoughts are all trying to sift through one another and you think, naively, "I'm going to write through it." WRONG. You can't.  All the words look and sound stupid. You feel amateur and illiterate.  You throw out words in your work like, "Supercilious," and "Exorbitantly," and all that does is convince you that you actually have no grasp of the English language.

So.  My small and probably non-existent group of readers--forgive my lack of attentiveness.  I need to get rid of this block and come back with a great post concerning Pitbull or How To Make the Best Grilled Cheese Ever.

Until then....

Why Nicki Minaj Should Get Out Of My Life

A conversation between Nicki and I:

N: "Starships were meant to fllyyyy, hands up and touch the skyyyy. Let's doo this one more tiiiime" *rap-like words ensue*

G: Thank you, Miss Minaj for that garbled crap.  Please, sit down.  You're done.
N: "Ok, I get it, let me think I guess it's my turn. I think it's time to put this p*ssy on your sideburn."

G: No...No. Nobody wants you to do that. Nobody wants Herpes either, so  keep your pants on.

N: "I beez in the trap, beez beez in the trap!"
G: ......That's the best rapping you can do Minaj? Really?  If I wanted to hear about you having sex I'd just have to...listen to anything else you feature in/sing in.  NOW SHUT UP OR DIE.

And that is how a conversation would go with her.  That is, if she decided she was going to be a human for the conversation and say intelligible--no--coherent--words, instead of simply yelling/grunting frightening sounds.

Here she is.  Before she was plastic (or, at least, before she was 95% plastic) when she first joined the rap group Young Money.  And here she is before/after surgery:

Does she ever pop/melt in heat?  Have her lips ever deflated after going from a cold place to a hot place or vice versa really quickly?
And also...how did this plastic slut get to be so big in our country?? And no, I'm not referring to the size of her balloon boobs or shelf-butt.  I'm talking about her popularity.   Half the time she doesn't know which character she wants to be. British, Rapper, Psycho...Half the other time she's repeating her name as though we don't already know it. That isn't music! That's not even rap!  What the heck is it?  Why is this thing famous in our society? Paris Hilton? Famous slut.  Pretty. Ok, I get it.  Brittney Spears? Pop "singer."  Lots of problems to dramatize in the media. I get it. Nicki? What the heck is going on? Why is that whore on my radio?!

And just for ONCE I would like to see her in a t-shirt,  (no Nicki a T SHIRT not a corset. They don't even sound the same) loose jeans, and minimum makeup.  (Minimum because I think after all that makeup there's probably a fine layer of chemicals that won't come off anymore.)  And heck, she'd probably be mildly attractive!  Except for that mouth.  She could stuff an entire cake in that mouth, geez.

But now I'm just being rude and shallow. 
It's just that I keep seeing this kind of image of her:

And this image: 

And I can't help feeilng concerned that she's either mentally insane, or we are. Either way, could she please sink back to anonymity? Thanks.