Certifiable Madness

So, Ruby and I were talking the other night, and we decided some things.

Thing the First: if we’re both still single in our late 30s/early 40s, we’re gonna get married.
Thing the Second: Yes, that means Milady and I are no more. Not the important bit here.
Thing the Third: Ruby and I decided that we needed a prenuptial agreement, both to make sure that divorce can be quick, easy, and painless in the event that either of us wants to marry for love (rather than codependence), and also to protect our butts.
Thing the Fourth: We decided that, should we get married and later divorce, that we should see if we can drive the arbiter absolutely bugfuck crazy. Because that is our idea of funtimes.
Thing the Fifth: We will continue to live in the same house despite the divorce, and while we are far too civilized to quibble over the crockery, there might just be a war over the loose leaf.

Because tea fanatics we be, and that is serious shit, man. You do not fuck with the loose leaf.
~

I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.

Pro Tip:

If you are ever having an in-person conversation with me, and I suddenly start laughing uncontrollably while asking “What?”, it means that — however rational and/or reasonable and/or obvious it seemed — what you just said has caused the “Error: Does Not Compute” screen to flash in my brain.

Which, y’know, explains the interrogative. The laughter, well. That’s mostly because I have inappropriate responses to . . . probably a lot of things. So, y’know, if/when this happens, be kind and explain whatever thing has short-circuited my brain.

Or mine it for entertainment potential. That’s always an option. (Though you should probably prepare yourself for retaliation, in that case.)
~

I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.

Words of (Warped?) Wisdom Pt. III

The things that come to those who wait may be the things left by those who got there first.
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I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.

Words of (Warped?) Wisdom

Never do anything you don’t want to explain to the paramedics.
~

I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.

Automated Reply

To: Life
From: K Martin
Re: Shit You Need To Do

I regret to inform you that I’m on sabbatical until further notice. I will return when I recover my ability to brain.

~KM

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I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.

This One’s Not My Fault

. . . what has happened, I hear you wondering, that is not my fault? And if it’s not my fault, who is to blame?

Important things first: this is Ruby’s fault.

How? Glad you asked.

See, we were talking the other night about our plans — such as they may or may not be — for grad school. And she mentioned to me that there is no required or disqualifying major when it comes to applying to law school. She mentioned that I, as an English major, am technically qualified to apply for entrance to law school.

(Which, as a side note, seems really odd to me. An undergraduate degree in Political Science, Criminology, Psychology, Business, Social Work, even Youth and Children’s Studies or Women and Gender Studies makes sense to me when it comes to the law. All of those majors relate really well to certain legal fields. But English? As in, literature and theory and criticism? Does not compute.)

My immediate reaction is that I will not be applying to law school; I’ll leave that to Ruby. Because I would lose my shit if I were in law school.

And then . . . then I actually stopped to think about that for a minute. I thought about what it would be like, to be a law student. To deal with that atmosphere, those peers and professors, the politics and ambition, the workload and expectations. And after considering all those things, I started to think about what my inevitable fuck-this-shit moment would look like.

I’m pretty sure that I would set my textbooks and/or my dorm room on fire, spray Silly String all over the campus monuments, and then climb the clock tower/tallest monument to glitter-bomb everything in a suit, and coffee-bomb everything else that moved. I’d be up there, whipping water balloons filled with lukewarm shitty coffee and screaming “TAKE THAT! AND THAT! AND THAT! AND HERE, HAVE SOME MORE, YOU SOULLESS, BACKBITING CORPORATE-LOVING MONKEYS! IT’S ALL YOU HAVE LEFT IN YOUR BODIES ANYMORE!”

When I shared this vision with Ruby — and the accompanying wisdom that law school is really not for me — she laughed. When I mentioned it to Milady, complaining that the above would result from an inability to deal with people, play politics, or care enough about others’ opinions of me/my reputation, she was rather concerned. Mostly by how much thought I’d put into this.

But, well. If I was going to consider it, then I had to do it properly. After all, there would have been no point to half-assing it, would there?

(But you see now? Ruby’s fault.)

~

I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.

 

URGES

You ever just . . . have a really powerful urge? One that, no matter how hard you try to deny, or not to think about, just won’t die? One that, instead, grows stronger and more tantalizing with time?

I have one of those. It whispers to me, painting pretty pictures in my head, fantasies that all but beg to be made a reality. I think about all the times I could have, when it would have been just the thing to make a moment perfect and unforgettable. I try to actively avoid planning to do it in the future, fight not to give into temptation. But I can’t deny it:

I want to glitterbomb someone. So bad.

So, I think it’s officially going on my bucket list. Even though I think bucket lists are a patently stupid idea. So maybe I should just prep a glitterbomb and wait for an opportune moment. The only issue that I run into is logistics. How will I engineer this for optimum glitter dispersal? More importantly: how will I manage to run away when I’m going to be busting a gut laughing?

Because, yeah. If I glitterbomb someone, they will be finding glitter for the next three months. If they’re lucky. If they’re not lucky — or aren’t knowledgeable about proper glitter removal protocols–then they will probably be finding it for six to eight months.

*evil laugh* NO ONE IS SAFE! Well. No one will be safe, once I sort out the logistics, because once the practicalities are out the way, I just need to figure out who I’m going to ‘bomb.

(Thank you, Ruby, for reminding me of how much I want to do this.)

~

I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.