The Prophet Known as Britney Spears

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TjP5VfCswZY

Here is a link to the new Britney coughcomebackcough video Womanizer. It drones on "womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer" gives me a headache to be perfectly honest. I guess we learned that Britney cannot remember lyrics when she had to string two words together, "gimmie more gimmie more gimmie more gimmie more" so I appreciate her handlers boiling her material down to fit her skill set. I am bored with my job today and feeling pretty lazy myself. I wonder if this tactic is transferrable to my job. Do you think I could rock this out in my account calls? Go in to see my target audience and drone, "cmos sensor cmos sensor cmos sensor" or "dram module dram module dram module dram module." I somehow suspect my customers would look at me as if I were batshit crazy. Guess Britney can pull it off because we already know she is bananas.

On a political note; I was very disappointed this morning when I awoke and did not find a pile of cash outside of my door. I though Obamma promised us that? If anyone from the Filthy and Gorgeous Posse finds out where we can get all the free shit he promised please let me know. I want to be the first in line with my hand out to get a free house, free education, free healthcare........I think I am going to really really like socialism. Gimmie more gimmie more gimmie more. Who knew Britney was a prophet?

my summer vacation

I have been working a lot. A lot a lot. I am drop dead tired and I cannot help but wonder how on earth can I incorporate a life with my job. Impossible. My new little fuck buddy has been texting me for weeks and I continue to promise that we will hook up soon. I am lying. My job is awesome, I am important and have so much fun. This will sound conceited, but I know (I know that my boss knows too) that we are making due with one person in LA because I charm the pants off of our principals and customers. In my opinion, we should lose all of our lines. I cannot possibly do justice to them as one person in LA. I think we are cool because I am smart, get the meetings they want, book shit. It is some sort of fucking miracle.. Honestly, I think I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I feel the pressure. I haven't taken off any time since Christmas. I am going home at the end of September for a pseudo vacation. Wanna know what I am doing on my summer vacation? I am having a root canal and four cavities filled. Next, I am seeing the dermatologist. Finally, we will crown my vacation with a biopsy of my cervix. Cancer, ya! I cannot get laid WITH hair...can only imagine how hard it will be without hair and a drip bag of chemo. Good thing I have reserved a bunch of fat over the last couple of months. When I finish chemo, I am going to be all kinds of Kate Moss sorta hot.

I am unhappy and scared.

open letter to the dumbass NAACP head of Atlanta

hey kids, feel free to write this back woods douchebag as I did;

Mr. White,

I find your backing of Michael Vick shameful and your reasoning suspect. In your role as a mouthpiece for the NAACP your words hold power. You are accountable. This man’s actions do nothing to further African Americans or humanity as a whole. Dog fighting is a despicable act perpetrated on defenseless animals, outside the law in secrecy for profit. How can you defend this anti-social behavior? There is no comparison to hunting as those I know who hunt do not torture the animal, bet on the outcome of the hunt, breed animals for hunting (with rape stands!!), train the animal for hunting nor hide their activities (from both the law and the IRS.) Additionally, they do not kill the animals in unspeakable ways if they do not provide an appropriately challenging hunt. Hunters hunt and eat what they catch.

I am so sorry that you will be deprived of the “hours of enjoyment” Vick provides you as a professional athlete. I am sure that there are many brutal and sick people that lament they will be missing out on “hours of dog fighting enjoyment” as well. The blood, the carnage, the crazy way the losing dog “dances” when being shocked and tortured to death, the sound of crushing bones…..good family orientated times!

One would think that you might support more challenged and accomplished people. This guy won the life lottery because he could run and catch. He lives a privileged life which most of us covet. Vick chose to go down a path which is backward and disgusting by most standards. As you stated, “As a society, we should aid in his rehabilitation and welcome a new Michael Vick back into the community without a permanent loss in his career in football.” Part of rehabilitation is hitting the bottom. There are consequences to our actions and losing a multimillion dollar salary and lucrative endorsements seems about right for this one.

Is Vick up for the NAACP Image Award this year? I hope your irresponsible and ignorant position cost you your job as the head of the Atlanta NAACP. I am hopeful as it seems the NAACP is backing away from you and your idiotic position. Outrageous.

Shame on you!

douchebag's email addy is; 'rlwhite@atlantanaacp.org'

Get 'em Filthy and Gorgeous Posse!!!

Soy un perdedor

It is Saturday night at 9:30 and I am home alone with nothing to do. I could have gone out last night, but I decided to choose the adult route and stay home so I could get up and accomplish a bunch of junk today. I had a chance to go to Teddy's at the Roosevelt hotel; Hollywood hot spot for celebutants and hot messes. Would have been cool to say I have been there, but I just was so tired and have so much shit to do that I decided to stay home. Tonight, I was supposed to go out with HottieEsq which also did not happen. She had to go to a party and left me in the lurch. I know she isn't having a great time, however, I am still stuck at home by myself so I find that little consolation. I am pretty good at insuring I have something to do because I never feel like as much of a loser as I do when I am home on a weekend night. My best friends at home (Chicago) are all together tonight for a birthday party. They are texting and calling me...sounds like they are having a blast. I should be there yet I am in LA watching Forensic Files. Yippie. I could be doing a lot of things, however, I think I am just going to feel sorry for myself. Not often I get so firmly planted on the pity pot, but I know I will shake it off by tomorrow. Tonight, I am going to drink some beer, watch more CSI type programming (you NEVER want to piss me off, I know how to kill you without leaving any forensic evidence) and then go to bed with the proverbial "dog pile." Hope your Saturday is going better than mine.

Bottom's up!

I think I have hit rock bottom and then I re-establish where the bottom is. First, I was accused of stealing this coke head's credit card Saturday. I have never stolen as much as a Bonnie Bell Lip Smacker from Walgreens in my life. I think it is time to reevaluate what you are doing when A. you are communicating with a coke head at all and B. you are being called a thief by one. Wrong on all levels. Next wake up call was when I had it out with my meth head neighbor. As we were arguing about him getting another male pit bull (his last dog was hit by a car and killed about a week ago; an untrained, unleashed and uncut male pit bull with a tweeker as an owner living in my building. That isn't dangerous at all is it?) As we are arguing, I am looking at his apartment. It is SPOTLESS. As a matter of fact, it is so clean it sparkles. My place is a pit. An absolute disaster. The tweeker is cleaner than I am. As I am walking back to my apartment I am thinking maybe I should start to do meth. My phone is ringing when I walk into my place and it is my mom. She had just been watching a documentary on drug use and was calling me to make me PROMISE I will not try meth even once (WTF??? can that woman read my mind from 2200 miles away??) I hate myself. I have been studying these bruises from Saturday night, and they scare me. I can make out distinct finger prints on my forearm. The bruise on my bicep is totally black and sick looking, I look like a crack whore. I have NO idea what could possibly cause the bruising patterns on my legs. Frankly, the scenarios I have been creating in my head are all unpleasant. My world is all topsy turvy and I am not digging on it. I have to figure out where I went wrong here and how do I extricate myself from these situations. As Homer Simpson says, "Alcohol. The cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems." My recent retreat into sick isolation and knitting has not been enough. I think I am going to go back into my hole and emerge only when I feel good about myself. I know today I think this is rock bottom, but on an intellectual level I know these are just a taste of things to come if I don't do things differently. I can fall farther.

Where is My Fucking Bicycle??

It is Sunday afternoon. I did not accomplish anything this weekend. I am still tired and cannot believe I have to start all over again tomorrow. What is most upsetting to me is that EVERYBODY I know is getting some. I have been getting the calls from the Filthy and Gorgeous posse outlining their escapades from the weekend. I feel like Pee Wee Herman in Pee Wee's Big Adventure when he lost his bike. Everywhere he looked, there were bikes; tandem bikes, old fashioned bikes with the big wheel, dogs riding bikes........Where is my fucking bike!!!! This is borderline ridiculous at this point. I think I am going to take a page out of my friend The MBA's book and just try to work on myself during this dry spell. No more smoking, no drinking, working out......basically just give myself a big healthy hug. Take control of my life and eliminate my bad habits. Once I begin showing myself the respect I deserve, maybe I will find a guy to do so as well. The real question is; once I find one, will I remember how to ride one?

Rat Race

This week is going to blow. Let's recap where we left off.....I hit on a gay man for two hours Saturday. Was blown off again by Skeptic on Sunday (excuse was ear infection this time, I told him I had no interest in his ears. That was not a good excuse.) Monday, I outed a "Nigerian Irish" scammer of the lonely hearted and found out I need almost 3 grand of dental work. Tuesday, I spent fourteen hours in the car with a supplier I have labeled my "Trunk Monkey". An unpleasant man. I did have a surprisingly good day with him. Today, I have con calls and then am riding all day with the Big Cheese from one of my suppliers. I have to have dinner with them. After dinner, San Fran is in town for one night only, and I am going to run to the Beverly Hilton to scratch an itch I have had for a month and a half. Thursday, I have to be up at 5am and out by 6:30 to travel the world with the Big Cheese again. Ugh. When all is said and done, I will have driven almost 800 miles this week. I am already exhausted and it is only the am of hump day. In the meantime, I should not be blogging....I should be answering the nearly 200 emails I got yesterday, doing my trip reports, sending out the info requested in these meetings yesterday as well as following up on the leads from the trade show we did last week. I am not even going to mention what a mess my apartment is. My dogs look sad and are neglected. I am tired of this rat race. Wouldn't be so bad if I were making a living not just running in circles on my little wheel. Seems that I never make it anywhere, I end up right where I started or even a little worse off. The good news is, I will give a hell of a bj when my teeth fall out because I cannot afford my dental care. I will be POPULAR with the boys.....in that kind of Cops cheap back alley whore sort of way. Even inside a wheel, there is a silver lining.

I Yam What I Yam

Oh this is RICH!!!!!!!!!!!! Evidently, Boy Gorgeous spoke to Sarah to get her side of the story from Saturday night (when she left me to be raped and dismembered at the Staples center.) According to BG, her story was identical to mine with the names inverted (as he suspected it would be) with the notable exception of what happened in front of the parking structure. I was drunk and belligerent and tried to fist fight her! OK, question to the Filthy and Gorgeous posse, if you are going to lie shouldn't you make it believable? If she said I was drunk and tried to smother her with a loud "I love you Maaaaaaaan!!!" this story would be perhaps plausible. Here was Duke's response, " Duke: WTF? HAHAHAHAAHAHAH that is such BS! You don't get mean when you're drunk, you get loud, but not mean." Those who know me laughed their asses off and cried a mighty BULLSHIT to this story. People in Cali are insane. Period. Insane. Let's suppose her version of the story was in fact true. Does it alleviate her of her responsibility as a. my friend and b. a woman (bound by Girl Code) to make sure I was safe? Especially if I were that drunk and that out of control? Isn't it worse that she left her "ripshit drunk" friend in the ghetto, alone, at eleven o'clock at night, even more vulnerable, and an even bigger target than if my story were true? I am sure if I tried to fist fight her she would have been perhaps, scared to be in the car alone with me. There were TWO GUYS there!!! COME ON! (and by the way, wtf is up with those assholes that would just stand there and watch all this go down? San Fran wants to kick some pussy guy ass!) Shame shame shame. Broke with Girl Code. My boss pointed out that this breaks with Man Law as well, never leave a man behind.....except if he is going to score. That is the only difference as he sees it. So, I am on my way out to meet a boy. I will do my best to avoid fist fights this evening...especially since I cannot even form a fist with my broken right hand. I am wearing a new dress right now, I am calling it my "slutty June Cleaver" dress. The only fist fighting I will be doing tonight (or ever, for that matter) is fighting the boys off! Wish me luck!

Don't tell Sarah I am ok

Oh my God, I have NEVER been so scared in my life. Seriously, I am pretty fearless and I was shitting a brick tonight to the point I left Sissy and Boy Gorgeous messages as to my last known location and companion. With car make and model sort of scared. To back up the story a bit, I was lucky enough to get four tix in the premier seats for the Clippers game tonight. I invited Sarah who invited Ian who invited his old roommate.....who I can't remember his name. We had a good time at the game, the tix were pretty good and we all estimated their value at about a grand. Thank you Kat! Sarah, the designated driver got drunk. After the game, we went to a bar so she could sober up a bit and eventually the guy that I cannot remember his name had a thing and needed to go home, immediately. He was going to take a train or bus to do so. As those in the posse know, we come together, we leave together so we all get walking to the car to go. On the way, I get in an argument with the guy who's name I can't remember. Honestly, I am thinking he was being ungrateful, and a puss as it was only a little after ten. I don't like him, but Sarah does. We are almost at the car, and Ian has to pee. He ducks behind the wall in the walkway to the parking structure and was gone for a while. Sarah and the guy who's name I don't remember are talking and hitting it off famously while we wait. I see Ian as he walks out from behind the wall and report to the troops that he is done.....but then he vanishes. Gone. He is just plain gone. OK. Logical, yet drunk Kat thinks he turned right instead of left and we need to go retrieve him. Have I mentioned I am wearing stilettos and my dogs are barking up a storm at this point? Sarah and the guy who's name I can't remember start to wonder off in the direction of NOTHING and I yell at them to come back, they are going the WRONG direction. Sarah calls Ian and, with all due respect, has NO sense of direction. I ask for the phone, and tell Ian to go look for a Staples center sign and stand beneath it. "Are we clear? You see the sign? You standing below it? OK, we will find you so stay put." In the meantime, Sarah demands the phone back, and then she and dumbass, who's name I cannot remember, begin wondering off again. They have NO clue, they are going the WRONG direction and I REALLY do not want to have to go the the four fucking points of the world to retrieve these fucking people. I yell, "THIS way. SARAH...THIS WAY!!!" and eventually get them to follow me, and we find Ian. So, this is where the details get somewhat hazy. We are happy we were reunited with Ian. We begin walking back to the car. Sarah is ripshit pissed because I yelled at her and will not drive back until I "calm down." Honestly, I was calm.....I was task orientated. I felt as if I had just corralled a bunch of wet cats. I said I didn't want to have this convo. I just wanted to get in the car and go home. Sarah said she wouldn't get in the car because she felt hostility from me. I was hostile alright, getting more so by the minute. I reiterated I did not want to argue, let's just get in the car and go. Things got more heated......like I said hazy. She said she wouldn't take me home and I should get a cab (fucking a grand in tix, I bought drinks, her friends were retards that couldn't stick together and now I am having to take a cab...hundred bucks you think?) FUCK THIS. She got some old guy to pull over in his little golf cart to call a taxi stating she wouldn't leave me there in good conscious without having a ride. Once again, FUCK THIS. I am not going to stand there waiting for you to have your Christian sensibilities met. I began walking, stating I didn't want, nor need, her charity. So. As fate would have it, I actually did need her Christian charity. No taxis anywhere. My Motorola Q...not working so much. I was stuck, in the middle of the fucking, no shit, ghetto........with a dead phone and a credit card. I got some parking lot attendant to pull out my phone battery...phone rebooted and I was back in touch with civilization. Called two cab companies and neither answered. I sat on the stairs of the Staples center (this is a bad dream right?) thinking about what to do next. I am in the ghetto. There is NOBODY around. Seriously scary. No shit. I am pretty tough, but now I am beginning to freak out. I am a firm believer that there isn't any situation money can't get you out of....however....this one I am pretty much thinking that money isn't working...........I don't even have cash, I only have a credit card. At this point, a security guard asks me where I want to go and I tell him the Valley. He says if i buy him twenty bucks of gas he will take me there. I have no other options, I am cold..I have to pee. I have no cigs and my phone is dicey at best. Seemed like the best deal I had at the time. We go to his car in the parking structure....I have a BAAD feeling in my stomach about this. I got in the car, and no shit, made sure there was a door handle on the inside of the passenger seat (seen too many hitchhiker movies.) I began texting Sissy about my whereabouts....here is the make and model of the car, the guy's name is Peter, we stopped at this gas station. Left the same message for Boy Gorgeous. I was scared. Really really scared. Peter took me home, I had NO idea where the fuck I was or how to get home. We took a bunch of off ramps to side streets which led to the different freeways we were going to.......from my perspective these were the roads he was going to rape me on and then chop me up on....I feel badly as Peter ended up being a really nice guy. He said at one point that he could sense I was afraid of the big black man. I told him I have no issues with big black men, it is more of a "I don't know you and I am in your car totally at your fucking mercy" that scared me. Lucky for me, I found a very nice guy to take me home. I got home and 1am......I am exhausted and relieved to be home intact. It could have very easily been different. So, the question remains, can I EVER speak to Sarah again? There is nothing one of my chick posse could say/do that would make me leave them behind. I would fireman carry a drunk and disorderly girl home. I will NEVER trust her again. She was hot for the guy who's name I cannot remember and she picked him over me. She left me in the ghetto, no joke, ghetto. How could I ever forgive that? Further, it is 1:55 am and she hasn't called to see if I made it home alive. I would never do that to another woman. Shame on her. To the Filthy and Gorgeous posse, don't tell her I am OK. Let her wonder. She should learn what true friendship is about.

Bah HumBUG up my ass!

The holidays are coming and as a recently (or some would say terminally) single woman I am weighing the pros and cons. BIG pro, I do not have to blow inordinate amounts of money on things I think are stupid gifts; Led Zepplin box set, uber expensive White Sox Hawaiian shirt, Xbox and games, Wonder Woman light switch cover, shit for the boat for which I didn't understand the purpose. All thoughtfully collected over time, carefully hidden and expertly wrapped, all for an ungrateful ManTits. BIG pro, I will not be disappointed (ok, RIPSHIT PISSED!!!) when the gifts I am given fall waaaaaaayyyyyy short of what I have given in cost, sentimentality and execution. Not to mention presentation! (my gifts were wrapped in newspaper! Ok, the ones that WERE wrapped. Some were still in the bag from the store with their receipts. Fucker.) Whoever said the thought that counts was full of shit! A bad gift shows there was NO thought. I take it personally. Is it really that hard? When I am in a relationship I am an open book. All of my likes, dislikes, quirks, tastes, fears, hopes............are placed at his feet to be either validated or stomped on. (I am also pretty good at dropping hints about the Coach bag I *LOVE* or the Tiffany necklace I *NEED* from their new catalog.) When I am confronted with a physical representation of the fact I am not understood or listened to I get hurt. Then angry. It IS the thought that counts, just not in the way we have been conditioned to think about it. (Did he REALLY think I would like a Jeep radio/compass/tv/cd player??!?!?)

Law 10

Thank God my friends haven't read the book the 48 Laws of Power!!! If so, they may reconsider our friendship due to Law 10;

Infection: Avoid the Unhappy and Unlucky

You can die from someone else’s misery – emotional states are as infectious as disease. You may feel you are helping the drowning man but you are only precipitating your own disaster. The unfortunate sometimes draw misfortune on themselves; they will also draw it on you. Associate with the happy and fortunate instead.

Since moving to LA, I have had nothing but horrid experiences with men. I got engaged and moved out here to be with The Psycho. I quickly realized I gave him the wrong finger, but was stuck out here. Other mistakes of note; Scalitard, The Jew, ManTits, The Jew Too, The Cracker, Dr. Scrub, The Boy (details will follow at a later date.) Last week, I got a call from The Kanuk. He is considering divorce and wishes he could turn back time and call off his wedding as we had talked about those many years ago. I have always thought of him as the one that got away. I was put in the position to tell my long lost love that he needed to work on his marriage and we could never have anything. I called Sissy, and cried. I think that freaked her out a touch as I usually weather my storms with a caustic wit. (have you ever heard me cry before Sissy??) What a horrible situation he put me in. As shit rolls downhill, poor Sissy bears the brunt of it. Why do you put up with me? The fact you are reading this means I am sucking you all in.

I hope you all bear with me. Life is peaks and valleys and I seem to have more than my share of valleys in the Valley.

Pluck Wax Bleach Inject Paint Shave Curl Dress Gloss

No wonder I am so tired. No wonder I can be such a bitch. It takes an inordinate amount of energy, time and money to be a Siren (not to mention some discomfort). Thursday night happy hour, the obligatory night out for the single woman. All I want to do I get in my jams and and give in to delicious goose down torpor. But, alas, I cannot. Thursday night happy hour is a fishing hole and the aforementioned activities are how I bait my hook. I am debating going out with the "come as you are" type attitude, but I know better. A good fisherman buys the best lures, knows the best spots and knows how to cast his line in order to get the best results. The rest is patience, of which I have none (as those of you who know me are painfully aware!) Off I go to perform the Ritual of the Siren.....I shall cast my line tonight, and pass the time drinking with (and drinking in, Meow!) Mr. Fantastic telling stories about the really big one that got away. (Of course I will throw the little ones back!) Hope I get a bite!