Wednesday, March 31, 2004
TOP TEN THINGS I WOULD DO IF I WANTED TO GET FIRED
10. Call my boss "Poopie".
9. Hurl a stapler at the next person who asks me to unjam the fax machine.
8. Write "For a good time call Boss at Boss's Number" all over the bathroom walls.
7. Bring a backpack and empty the office supply cabinet into it.
6. Stand on my desk and perform an elaborate strip tease.
5. Bring in an NWA album and play it at top volume.
4. Kick someone just for the hell of it.
3. Call the corporate office and imply that our branch is a thinly veiled house of prostitution.
2. Put Pop Rocks in the coffee pot.
1. Glue everything in my boss's office to the desk.
9. Hurl a stapler at the next person who asks me to unjam the fax machine.
8. Write "For a good time call Boss at Boss's Number" all over the bathroom walls.
7. Bring a backpack and empty the office supply cabinet into it.
6. Stand on my desk and perform an elaborate strip tease.
5. Bring in an NWA album and play it at top volume.
4. Kick someone just for the hell of it.
3. Call the corporate office and imply that our branch is a thinly veiled house of prostitution.
2. Put Pop Rocks in the coffee pot.
1. Glue everything in my boss's office to the desk.
Tuesday, March 30, 2004
SOMEBODY FARTED, WHOA-OH-OH
Some rude classless motherfucker just walked right past my desk, farted, and didn't even apologize. I know he was aware of it, yet he didn't even have the good grace to say "sorry Miller, I had some harsh refritos at lunch".
I'm sorry but that just tells me you're a mannerless jackass that grew up in a trailer and ate corn pops for dinner while watching Jerry Springer reruns and picking between your toes with a fork.
We all have bad gastrointestinal moments but Jesus Christ you could at least look guilty after encasing my desk in a fart cloud.
I'm sorry but that just tells me you're a mannerless jackass that grew up in a trailer and ate corn pops for dinner while watching Jerry Springer reruns and picking between your toes with a fork.
We all have bad gastrointestinal moments but Jesus Christ you could at least look guilty after encasing my desk in a fart cloud.
SHE'S NOT NICE
It must really suck to be in politics and have a name like Condoleeza Rice. It's too easy. It rhymes with Jesus Christ, cheese and rice, knees in vice, screaming mice, please no dice, queasy lice, peas suffice, Riesling heist, fleas had twice, and seas suffice. And kid over age three can have a really fun day making up fun limericks about Ms. Rice.
I feel bad for old Leeza because she could not possibly be an easier target, and if the name wasn't bad enough the pictures of her all over internetland definitely are. She looks like a woman who is either preparing to rip off a mask and expose her inner alien or kick your grandmother in the teeth.
I feel bad for old Leeza because she could not possibly be an easier target, and if the name wasn't bad enough the pictures of her all over internetland definitely are. She looks like a woman who is either preparing to rip off a mask and expose her inner alien or kick your grandmother in the teeth.
I AM CHANNELING STEVIE WONDER
I think that I have a very rare form of something that is half Tourette's Syndrome and half epilepsy. I was standing at the copy machine and suddenly I started to sing Boogie On Reggae Woman while shaking my ass in what I can only assume was a ridiculous fashion.
This happens to me all the time. For some reason a song pops into my head and instead of mumbling the lyrics to myself like a normal person I feel compelled to dance like I'm on Solid Gold - The Crackhead Edition and sing like I'm on Talentless Dipshits Of American Idol Part XI.
Stevie is present quite often during these fits, and so are Marvin Gaye, They Might Be Giants, Depeche Mode, and the Rolling Stones. In my mind I am having a little Miller (pun not intended but actually quite funny now that I think about it) concert in which all of my musician friends are cheering me on and tossing roses at my feet.
I'm guessing I should probably seek treatment for this mysterious malady, but it's the only fun part of my workday and I'd hate to let it go.
This happens to me all the time. For some reason a song pops into my head and instead of mumbling the lyrics to myself like a normal person I feel compelled to dance like I'm on Solid Gold - The Crackhead Edition and sing like I'm on Talentless Dipshits Of American Idol Part XI.
Stevie is present quite often during these fits, and so are Marvin Gaye, They Might Be Giants, Depeche Mode, and the Rolling Stones. In my mind I am having a little Miller (pun not intended but actually quite funny now that I think about it) concert in which all of my musician friends are cheering me on and tossing roses at my feet.
I'm guessing I should probably seek treatment for this mysterious malady, but it's the only fun part of my workday and I'd hate to let it go.
Monday, March 29, 2004
I DON'T RECYCLE
Riddle me this. Why is it the second I completely forget about someone I used to date (and by that I mean literally forget his very existence) always happens to be the exact same moment that said person decides to call me?
Do men plan this? How do they know the exact second that they've been Windexed from your mind?
This is the kind of frustrating man-trait that makes me wish very strongly that I could be a lesbian. Correct me if I'm wrong but I don't think that women don't do that kind of thing. Women can be difficult and bitchy and demanding and hard to read but we do not have mad psychic powers that enable us to resurrect old flings.
It mystifies me.
What mystified me even more was the fact that he opened the conversation with "Hi." as if we never spent a day apart.
As always, I remembered to take a deep breath and repeat "I will not date an ex, I will not date an ex" four hundred times before agreeing to speak to him.
Do men plan this? How do they know the exact second that they've been Windexed from your mind?
This is the kind of frustrating man-trait that makes me wish very strongly that I could be a lesbian. Correct me if I'm wrong but I don't think that women don't do that kind of thing. Women can be difficult and bitchy and demanding and hard to read but we do not have mad psychic powers that enable us to resurrect old flings.
It mystifies me.
What mystified me even more was the fact that he opened the conversation with "Hi." as if we never spent a day apart.
As always, I remembered to take a deep breath and repeat "I will not date an ex, I will not date an ex" four hundred times before agreeing to speak to him.
Saturday, March 27, 2004
THE GIRL DONE WENT AND GOT A LIFE
I'm astonished by the fact that I was too busy to blog this week. Feel free to gasp with collective shock.
I have been a dutiful little office grunt and have been limiting my time on the internet, partially because I fear my activities are being regarded with suspicion.
So if my boss is reading this I would like him to know that I love my job and consider my position as a cog in the corporate machine to be the most fulfilling facet of my life.
Sure.
Saturday night beckons and I am so so ready for it. Come to me Saturday. Wrap me up in your trendy black-clad arms and make me your bitch.
I have been a dutiful little office grunt and have been limiting my time on the internet, partially because I fear my activities are being regarded with suspicion.
So if my boss is reading this I would like him to know that I love my job and consider my position as a cog in the corporate machine to be the most fulfilling facet of my life.
Sure.
Saturday night beckons and I am so so ready for it. Come to me Saturday. Wrap me up in your trendy black-clad arms and make me your bitch.
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
THE SECRET LIFE OF MILLER
When I'm at work I like to fantasize that Donald Trump is going to burst in the door and say, "Young lady, you are far too brilliant and talented to be working in this dump!"
And then The Donald will whisk me away in his helicopter to my own beautiful corner office that is composed entirely of glass and marble. Once there I will write brilliant copy and occasionally sign reports while listening to some smooth music on my 942-disc CD changer with those cute little Bose speakers coming out of every wall.
Then I wake up and some schmuck is asking me where the coffee filters are located, and I want to scream "DON'T YOU KNOW THAT I SHOULD BE WORKING FOR DONALD TRUMP RIGHT NOW?? GET OUT OF MY FACE YOU INBRED MINDLESS LACKEY!!".
I'm glad that no one in my office is a mind reader.
And then The Donald will whisk me away in his helicopter to my own beautiful corner office that is composed entirely of glass and marble. Once there I will write brilliant copy and occasionally sign reports while listening to some smooth music on my 942-disc CD changer with those cute little Bose speakers coming out of every wall.
Then I wake up and some schmuck is asking me where the coffee filters are located, and I want to scream "DON'T YOU KNOW THAT I SHOULD BE WORKING FOR DONALD TRUMP RIGHT NOW?? GET OUT OF MY FACE YOU INBRED MINDLESS LACKEY!!".
I'm glad that no one in my office is a mind reader.
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
THE YOUNG AND THE CAR-LESS
I love to watch people on the train and imagine what they are like but every now and then I catch myself wondering if people are making up little mind-stories about me, which freaks me out.
Like the woman in the really jazzy suit that doesn't wear sneakers or boots in spite of the cold and who has the nicest laptop I've ever seen? She is the head of Chicago's underground version of Clone-Aid.
The guy who's asleep with his head bent into an uncomfortable position? He's really not sleeping. He's a secret undercover agent who is scouting the El for drug dealers, and under his jacket is an arsenal of high-tech weapons and secret spy cameras.
Maybe I look like a dashing young artist that is creating amazing things in my beautiful Bucktown loft.
Or maybe I look like a dangerous femme fatale who is seducing the head of a multi-million dollar corporation.
Or maybe I look like someone who sits at a desk all day and types and blogs and drinks too much coffee.
I like to think that I look more exciting than that so I think I will start giving people sly glances while riding the train home.
Like the woman in the really jazzy suit that doesn't wear sneakers or boots in spite of the cold and who has the nicest laptop I've ever seen? She is the head of Chicago's underground version of Clone-Aid.
The guy who's asleep with his head bent into an uncomfortable position? He's really not sleeping. He's a secret undercover agent who is scouting the El for drug dealers, and under his jacket is an arsenal of high-tech weapons and secret spy cameras.
Maybe I look like a dashing young artist that is creating amazing things in my beautiful Bucktown loft.
Or maybe I look like a dangerous femme fatale who is seducing the head of a multi-million dollar corporation.
Or maybe I look like someone who sits at a desk all day and types and blogs and drinks too much coffee.
I like to think that I look more exciting than that so I think I will start giving people sly glances while riding the train home.
Monday, March 22, 2004
MORE MOVIE NEWS
I just read that Joaquin (WHA-quin!) Phoenix will play Johnny Cash in an upcoming movie about the life of The Man In Black.
So please disregard the previous post because Joaquin (WHA-quin!)'s pretty face and Johnny Cash's music will make for an awesome awesome movie that would definitely beat out Christian zombies.
I have seen the ads for Tom Hanks's new movie and have noticed that he really looks like crap. He seems to have aged about twenty years in the past two months.
Not that this matters because we all know that men can look as old and crusty as they like in Hollywood while women must liposuck and Botox and collagen themselves into staring freaks.
So please disregard the previous post because Joaquin (WHA-quin!)'s pretty face and Johnny Cash's music will make for an awesome awesome movie that would definitely beat out Christian zombies.
I have seen the ads for Tom Hanks's new movie and have noticed that he really looks like crap. He seems to have aged about twenty years in the past two months.
Not that this matters because we all know that men can look as old and crusty as they like in Hollywood while women must liposuck and Botox and collagen themselves into staring freaks.
ONWARD CHRISTIAN ZOMBIES
It would be pretty damned funny if Dawn Of The Dead and The Passion Of Christ were shown at the Brew 'n' View as a double feature.
I don't think anything could top Jesus, zombies, and beer for a truly well-rounded and fun-filled evening.
"Peter, you have betrayed me."
"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! BRAINS!!!"
It is very obvious that I have not had enough coffee this morning.
I don't think anything could top Jesus, zombies, and beer for a truly well-rounded and fun-filled evening.
"Peter, you have betrayed me."
"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! BRAINS!!!"
It is very obvious that I have not had enough coffee this morning.
Thursday, March 18, 2004
WHIRLED PEAS
I would really really love it if just once I could pick up the morning paper and not not see the words "bomb" "dead" "terror" or "crash" glaring up at me from the front page.
If you could go back in time and give some guy from a few hundred years ago the newspaper they would think it was the most horrific science fiction imaginable.
And they would be right.
If you could go back in time and give some guy from a few hundred years ago the newspaper they would think it was the most horrific science fiction imaginable.
And they would be right.
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
AVALANCHE
I absolutely cannot look at another flake of snow. It is March. I am done with the snow. I can almost feel the roof caving in with every small flurry that hits the window.
Drunks should be able to celebrate the great drunken holiday without having to worry about freezing to death.
Drunks should be able to celebrate the great drunken holiday without having to worry about freezing to death.
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
PRIORITIES
I think it's fucking great that so many scientists are working to solve male pattern baldness and sexual dysfunction.
I mean screw AIDS and cancer - there are loads of rich white men that need twentyfour hour erections and thick shiny hair.
I mean screw AIDS and cancer - there are loads of rich white men that need twentyfour hour erections and thick shiny hair.
Sunday, March 14, 2004
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN
Dear very cute man at very Irish bar,
You were checking me out. I saw you. I was staring at you too and I know you saw me. You smiled several times and so did I. Neither of us was bold enough to make a move but I must say that I thought you were incredibly dazzling and your jawline was enough to make me sweat just a little bit.
I wish you had approached me with some casual line like "hey nice shirt" or "would you like another beer?" but you didn't, and I guess I can't blame you there because I didn't either.
At any rate you gave me a warm glow that has lasted and for that I'm grateful.
Love,
Miller
You were checking me out. I saw you. I was staring at you too and I know you saw me. You smiled several times and so did I. Neither of us was bold enough to make a move but I must say that I thought you were incredibly dazzling and your jawline was enough to make me sweat just a little bit.
I wish you had approached me with some casual line like "hey nice shirt" or "would you like another beer?" but you didn't, and I guess I can't blame you there because I didn't either.
At any rate you gave me a warm glow that has lasted and for that I'm grateful.
Love,
Miller
Friday, March 12, 2004
FRIDAYFRIDAYFRIDAYFRIDAAAAY
Friday makes me feel like I'm four and it's finally warm enough to play outside in the yard. Happy happy happy.
However I am finding a sincere lack of things to do since most of my buddies are married and do not do spontaneous weekend revelry type things.
I would like to be the sort of person who goes to a bar alone and just chats people up but I'm not. I admire those people to no end. I don't think it's that I'm uncomfortable around people. It's more the fact that I have no idea what I'd say.
Perhaps I will take a walk on the wild side tonight and have a drink somewhere new in hopes that I will meet like-minded people.
However I am finding a sincere lack of things to do since most of my buddies are married and do not do spontaneous weekend revelry type things.
I would like to be the sort of person who goes to a bar alone and just chats people up but I'm not. I admire those people to no end. I don't think it's that I'm uncomfortable around people. It's more the fact that I have no idea what I'd say.
Perhaps I will take a walk on the wild side tonight and have a drink somewhere new in hopes that I will meet like-minded people.
Thursday, March 11, 2004
BEER NOW PLEASE
Today I felt exactly like the guy from Office Space. Exactly. I wanted to take a spreadsheet and chocke someone with it.
Have you ever taken one of those online what-job-best-suits-you tests? I have, and they always tell me that I should be in some type of creative field.
If I didn't think working in a creative field would mean I'd be making minimum wage at a record store I would quit my job and go for it.
Alas, I have sold out to the man.
Have you ever taken one of those online what-job-best-suits-you tests? I have, and they always tell me that I should be in some type of creative field.
If I didn't think working in a creative field would mean I'd be making minimum wage at a record store I would quit my job and go for it.
Alas, I have sold out to the man.
MORE COFFEE MASTERRRR
There are times in which I feel like a competent professional type person who is fairly polished and capable.
Other times I feel like Igor the office grunt.
Other times I feel like Igor the office grunt.
HI I AM FOURTEEN
I just spent about fifteen minutes having this elaborate fantasy in which Brad Pitt (Meet Joe Black Brad Pitt, not Dirty Hippie Brad Pitt) rolled up to my place with orange roses and a basket of Lush products and told me I was breathtakingly beautiful.
I know that's such a cliche but I really enjoyed it.
I know that's such a cliche but I really enjoyed it.
SOMETIMES YOU JUST GOTTA SHAKE YOUR HEAD
There are times when I read the newspaper and pretend that it's really not the news, just some weird comic book zine thing that comes out every day, some product of the overactive mind of some little bespectacled guy in a basement somewhere like that guy in Conspiracy Theory.
It would be kind of nice if that were true.
It would be kind of nice if that were true.
Wednesday, March 10, 2004
BLOGGING IS BETTER THAN YOGA
I can see how I might be perceived as a snotty little crabass. However this is the point of my blog. Crabassery is good for the soul, and nowhere is this evident more than in the blog community.
I suspect that most bloggers are mild-mannered folk and are not necessarily half as opinionated and snotty as they may seem. I would even go so far as to say that most of us are pretty darn nice people. Why? Because we gripe bitch and complain about every miniscule irritation. We get it out of our systems by blurting it out on the screen, and then it's gone.
I don't hate people from Texas. I don't walk around railing about Rush. If you saw me on the street you would probably think I was a kindly-looking person, and if you spoke to me you'd find that I am pleasant and polite and usually full of fun sarcastic banter. I am not an evil hag that gets my ya-yas by trashing mankind. I'd like to buy the world a fucking Coke, for Chrissakes.
I just wanted to let you know that I am not quite as surly as I seem.
Maybe just a little.
If you're a particularly uptight conservative then I probably am really surly, but I dont care.
Deal with it.
And have a nice day.
I suspect that most bloggers are mild-mannered folk and are not necessarily half as opinionated and snotty as they may seem. I would even go so far as to say that most of us are pretty darn nice people. Why? Because we gripe bitch and complain about every miniscule irritation. We get it out of our systems by blurting it out on the screen, and then it's gone.
I don't hate people from Texas. I don't walk around railing about Rush. If you saw me on the street you would probably think I was a kindly-looking person, and if you spoke to me you'd find that I am pleasant and polite and usually full of fun sarcastic banter. I am not an evil hag that gets my ya-yas by trashing mankind. I'd like to buy the world a fucking Coke, for Chrissakes.
I just wanted to let you know that I am not quite as surly as I seem.
Maybe just a little.
If you're a particularly uptight conservative then I probably am really surly, but I dont care.
Deal with it.
And have a nice day.
TEXAS DEBBIES
For some reason having to press on a plastic smile while listening to the visiting salesperson from Dallas as she giggles and gushes about Ann Taylor (a place that I will most likely never be able to afford) really irritates me.
Maybe it's because the woman in question has teased hair and is wearing metallic pink nail polish on her two-inch-long talons. Maybe I am envious of the four hundred dollar suit that she has accessorized so horribly. Maybe I hate everyone over the age of twenty that giggles.
Somehow I don't have a hard time picturing her at a debutante ball being escorted by one of Texas's upandcoming young Republinazis.
Maybe I am kind of a bitch but women like that piss me off. This is someone from money (swanky pearls) who was born with a road map. I am willing to bet that she attended the same university her mother attended and lived in the same sorority house. She only dated men from the proper fraternities and is now married to some guy that slaps his secretary on the ass because his wife has gotten puffy from having kids and scary-looking from too many Botox shots.
These women own every item from the Pampered Chef catalog and never use any of them. They only drink expensive white whine and say things like "goodness me" instead of swearing.
This is one of those women. Her eyes look over-open and sort of glazed.
The whole facade just seems so fake, like she should step out of her proper suit and bouffant hair and just kick back in some sweats with a beer.
I wonder if she ever wants to do that. Somehow I think not.
Maybe it's because the woman in question has teased hair and is wearing metallic pink nail polish on her two-inch-long talons. Maybe I am envious of the four hundred dollar suit that she has accessorized so horribly. Maybe I hate everyone over the age of twenty that giggles.
Somehow I don't have a hard time picturing her at a debutante ball being escorted by one of Texas's upandcoming young Republinazis.
Maybe I am kind of a bitch but women like that piss me off. This is someone from money (swanky pearls) who was born with a road map. I am willing to bet that she attended the same university her mother attended and lived in the same sorority house. She only dated men from the proper fraternities and is now married to some guy that slaps his secretary on the ass because his wife has gotten puffy from having kids and scary-looking from too many Botox shots.
These women own every item from the Pampered Chef catalog and never use any of them. They only drink expensive white whine and say things like "goodness me" instead of swearing.
This is one of those women. Her eyes look over-open and sort of glazed.
The whole facade just seems so fake, like she should step out of her proper suit and bouffant hair and just kick back in some sweats with a beer.
I wonder if she ever wants to do that. Somehow I think not.
OH GIVE IT UP RUSH
OK. I am no fan of Rush Limbaugh. I find him to be one of the most obnoxious so-and-sos in history. He is cocky in that middle-aged-white-man-in-an-expensive-but-ill-fitting-suit way, and I feel that his politics could best be described as self-serving boolshit.
Why does this man feel that he should be above the law? His privacy is more important than the fact that he was bouncing along from doctor to doctor like Tweedledee? Sure.
His former maid is quoted as saying that she supplied him with "large quantities of painkillers" for years. So we have the maid and the doctor-hopping. How many of these things was he taking? Was this a substitute for Twinkie addiction?
I believe in second chances even for Rush, but I think he must still be under the influence if he thinks those medical records will stay out of court.
Why does this man feel that he should be above the law? His privacy is more important than the fact that he was bouncing along from doctor to doctor like Tweedledee? Sure.
His former maid is quoted as saying that she supplied him with "large quantities of painkillers" for years. So we have the maid and the doctor-hopping. How many of these things was he taking? Was this a substitute for Twinkie addiction?
I believe in second chances even for Rush, but I think he must still be under the influence if he thinks those medical records will stay out of court.
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
HI MOM
WHY NOT
I think that someone should put John Ashcroft's gall bladder on Ebay. I'd bid on it providing things didn't start to get out of hand price-wise.
It would make a great conversation piece or perhaps a very unique dog toy.
It would make a great conversation piece or perhaps a very unique dog toy.
TAKE YOUR SLIMFAST AND SHOVE IT
OK, I don't mean to sound like the food-snobby vegetarian bitch I am often accused of being, but really office ladies, you are too much.
Maybe when I am fifty I too will dissect everything and calcuate its weight watchers points and carbs and fat grams, but right about now it gives me a big fat fucking headache. Every day I hear at least ten separate diatribes about food, and so help me God I am going to cram a Twinkie up the ass of the next person who starts in on her diet.
If I sincerely believed that any one of you honestly gave a shit about losing your spare tire I would cease giving you a hard time (on this page, of course I am not quite this blunt in real life but I damn well wish I could be), but when I see that you have just absorbed your fourth Krispy Kreme and show no sign of stopping it is hard for me to Feel Your Pain.
What really frosts my cookie is when you eat the damn Krispy Kremes all morning and then spend a half an hour of your lunch loudly dissecting your salad in the lunchroom because there might be a slice of Atkins-unfriendly onion in it.
Am I supposed to feel bad that you are not melting away like Tammy Faye Baker's mascara? Am I supposed to share your righteous indignation in the face of your husband's newly found love of the MTV Spring Break girls? Am I supposed to listen to you whine about how much your damn feet hurt when I know very well that you sit on your ass for ninety nine point nine percent of the day?
Cry me a freaking river, Chubby.
I am often dragged into these diet discussions because people know that I do not eat meat and assume that I am a starving calorie counter. This is not true, and talking about food bores me to the core.
The other day I ate a banana and every single heifer that passed my desk screamed about the nine hundred carbs contained in its innocent looking yellow skin.
I don't give a rat's ass about carbs. I am not a chunky person. If I were a chunky person then I'd hope I would have the good grace to shut the hell up about it and bust my ass until my chunkiness had dissipated.
Why people want to burden the world with their tales of weight loss woe is completely beyond me. I can understand the serious ones, but this stupid office chatter is completely vapid and worthless.
With that I am going to go deep throat a banana in the copy room just to piss people off.
Maybe when I am fifty I too will dissect everything and calcuate its weight watchers points and carbs and fat grams, but right about now it gives me a big fat fucking headache. Every day I hear at least ten separate diatribes about food, and so help me God I am going to cram a Twinkie up the ass of the next person who starts in on her diet.
If I sincerely believed that any one of you honestly gave a shit about losing your spare tire I would cease giving you a hard time (on this page, of course I am not quite this blunt in real life but I damn well wish I could be), but when I see that you have just absorbed your fourth Krispy Kreme and show no sign of stopping it is hard for me to Feel Your Pain.
What really frosts my cookie is when you eat the damn Krispy Kremes all morning and then spend a half an hour of your lunch loudly dissecting your salad in the lunchroom because there might be a slice of Atkins-unfriendly onion in it.
Am I supposed to feel bad that you are not melting away like Tammy Faye Baker's mascara? Am I supposed to share your righteous indignation in the face of your husband's newly found love of the MTV Spring Break girls? Am I supposed to listen to you whine about how much your damn feet hurt when I know very well that you sit on your ass for ninety nine point nine percent of the day?
Cry me a freaking river, Chubby.
I am often dragged into these diet discussions because people know that I do not eat meat and assume that I am a starving calorie counter. This is not true, and talking about food bores me to the core.
The other day I ate a banana and every single heifer that passed my desk screamed about the nine hundred carbs contained in its innocent looking yellow skin.
I don't give a rat's ass about carbs. I am not a chunky person. If I were a chunky person then I'd hope I would have the good grace to shut the hell up about it and bust my ass until my chunkiness had dissipated.
Why people want to burden the world with their tales of weight loss woe is completely beyond me. I can understand the serious ones, but this stupid office chatter is completely vapid and worthless.
With that I am going to go deep throat a banana in the copy room just to piss people off.
I CAN'T HELP MYSELF
I really feel like a first-class asshole when ordering at Starbux. Somehow the language of plush coffee has escaped me.
You should hear me when I'm at the drive-through.
"I'd like a non-fat soy mocha with an extra shot. Or is that a capuccino? Or is it a latte? Does soy count as a latte? Is this called something else that I don't know about? WHY AM I MISREPRESENTING MY ENTIRE GENERATION BY NOT BEING ABLE TO ORDER A GODDAMN EXPENSIVE-ASSED COFFEE FROM THIS EVIL CORPORATE NIGHTMARE???? WHY???? TWELVE-YEAR-OLDS KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A LATTE AND A MOCHA!!!! I JUST WANT SOMETHING THAT'S LOADED WITH CAFFEINE AND SUGAR, GODDAMNIT, I HAVE A LOT OF FUCKING WORK TO DO!!!! CHAI???? WHAT THE FUCK IS A CHAI???? I JUST NOW LEARNED ESPRESSO, AND YOU'RE GOING TO HIT ME WITH CHAI???? AAAAAGH!!!!"
You should hear me when I'm at the drive-through.
THIS TOPIC HAS ALREADY BEEN BEATEN TO DEATH
I'm getting sick of hearing about it too, but I can't stop thinking about Martha Stewart in prison.
I really don't think she's going to become someone's bitch. Anyone who has watched Martha Stewart on the television has seen her scary and somehow eerily (is that a word?) distant facial expressions. I am willing to bet that she will be running the joint within weeks.
Instead of having her lackeys purchase black market cigarettes she will ask for dried flowers and wire. Rather than spending her time getting into exercise yard brawls she will search for tiny pebbles with which to make mosaic art. Martha will change the face of prison cooking with her handy kitchen tips, and rather than shoveling down Salisbury steak and cold mashed potatoes, the prison girls will dine on ratatouille, herbed lamb chops, or fresh gazpacho.
It may sound like these activities would make her a mark, but I doubt anyone is going to be fucking with Martha. She smacks of a woman who would rip off your head, shit down your neck, and use your skull as a folk art centerpiece. Perhaps she will offer to teach Killer and Mo-Mo some new skills such as decoupage or maybe sponge painting.
Somehow I have faith that she will create a more genteel breed of prison matrons, and maybe that makes the whole debacle worthwhile.
I really don't think she's going to become someone's bitch. Anyone who has watched Martha Stewart on the television has seen her scary and somehow eerily (is that a word?) distant facial expressions. I am willing to bet that she will be running the joint within weeks.
Instead of having her lackeys purchase black market cigarettes she will ask for dried flowers and wire. Rather than spending her time getting into exercise yard brawls she will search for tiny pebbles with which to make mosaic art. Martha will change the face of prison cooking with her handy kitchen tips, and rather than shoveling down Salisbury steak and cold mashed potatoes, the prison girls will dine on ratatouille, herbed lamb chops, or fresh gazpacho.
It may sound like these activities would make her a mark, but I doubt anyone is going to be fucking with Martha. She smacks of a woman who would rip off your head, shit down your neck, and use your skull as a folk art centerpiece. Perhaps she will offer to teach Killer and Mo-Mo some new skills such as decoupage or maybe sponge painting.
Somehow I have faith that she will create a more genteel breed of prison matrons, and maybe that makes the whole debacle worthwhile.
THIS AIN'T NO MENSA MEETING
Coworker A: Go ahead, ask Miller. She's good at this kind of thing.
Coworker B: I can't get into my employee e-mail account.
Miller: What happened when you tried to get in?
Coworker B: It said I had the wrong password.
Miller: Did you try another password? Maybe you forgot it.
Coworker B: I don't have another password. I use the same password for everything.
Miller: Call Tech Person and get your password, maybe you forgot it.
Coworker B: I did that. He said it was the same password I typed in.
Miller: Did you try it more than once?
Coworker B: No. Hang on a second.
Coworker B: Well how about that. Now it works. Damn computers. He must have reset it or something.
The scary thing is that this man truly believes that there is no chance he may have typed his password in wrong the first time. He instead chooses to believe that there is an evil technology troll in the basement somewhere that is fucking with his head.
Who knows, maybe he's right.
Coworker B: I can't get into my employee e-mail account.
Miller: What happened when you tried to get in?
Coworker B: It said I had the wrong password.
Miller: Did you try another password? Maybe you forgot it.
Coworker B: I don't have another password. I use the same password for everything.
Miller: Call Tech Person and get your password, maybe you forgot it.
Coworker B: I did that. He said it was the same password I typed in.
Miller: Did you try it more than once?
Coworker B: No. Hang on a second.
Coworker B: Well how about that. Now it works. Damn computers. He must have reset it or something.
The scary thing is that this man truly believes that there is no chance he may have typed his password in wrong the first time. He instead chooses to believe that there is an evil technology troll in the basement somewhere that is fucking with his head.
Who knows, maybe he's right.
DID I MISPLACE MY UTERUS?
I received this in my inbox today:
Somehow I cannot imagine any man referring to his mister happy as a "love pump". Nor can I imagine any woman referring to mister happy as a "love pump", including myself.
I applaud the spammers for their inventive phrases but something tells me that that particular e-mail will not receive many responses. It made me picture a man attaching a bicycle pump to his penis, and I'm sure that most men would be appalled by that little visual.
Taking into consideration the fact that part of my e-mail address is "miss", I'm not sure why I am frequently targeted by penis e-mailers.
Perhaps they assume that I have a boyfriend, but even if I did I don't think I'd pass any tips in his direction.
INCREASE THE SIZE OF THAT LOVE PUMP!
Somehow I cannot imagine any man referring to his mister happy as a "love pump". Nor can I imagine any woman referring to mister happy as a "love pump", including myself.
I applaud the spammers for their inventive phrases but something tells me that that particular e-mail will not receive many responses. It made me picture a man attaching a bicycle pump to his penis, and I'm sure that most men would be appalled by that little visual.
Taking into consideration the fact that part of my e-mail address is "miss", I'm not sure why I am frequently targeted by penis e-mailers.
Perhaps they assume that I have a boyfriend, but even if I did I don't think I'd pass any tips in his direction.
Monday, March 08, 2004
DAMN DAMN DAMN
Dear Ebay users:
I hate you. I really really really hate you. Just when I think I have a shot at those black leather GAP pants (long length), you place a bid at the last possible second.
How are you doing this? I have cable internet and should be whupping your dialup asses.
I don't mind losing but I cannot tolerate losing by fifty fucking cents.
You're probably not even tall. You're probably like five fucking three and are going to hem the damn things or wear them all long and get the bottoms all frayed. What a waste of good pants.
This is the third time I have lost The Pants and I will probably never find them again.
You suck and I hope whoever owned those pants before had crabs.
Sincerely,
Miller
I hate you. I really really really hate you. Just when I think I have a shot at those black leather GAP pants (long length), you place a bid at the last possible second.
How are you doing this? I have cable internet and should be whupping your dialup asses.
I don't mind losing but I cannot tolerate losing by fifty fucking cents.
You're probably not even tall. You're probably like five fucking three and are going to hem the damn things or wear them all long and get the bottoms all frayed. What a waste of good pants.
This is the third time I have lost The Pants and I will probably never find them again.
You suck and I hope whoever owned those pants before had crabs.
Sincerely,
Miller
Friday, March 05, 2004
ALAS, WE KNEW HER WELL
Martha Stewart has been convicted guilty on all counts. I will now lower my bleached-cotton hand-embroidered flag that has been dyed with the juice of berries grown in my own lovely garden to half-mast out of respect.
SOMETHING I FORGOT TO CONSIDER
When you take a sick day, they save your work for you.
Damn.
Damn.
Thursday, March 04, 2004
COOKING WITH MILLER
OK, perfect sandwich:
This will make your mouth happy just like (whatever product is responsible for that phrase).
So good.
2 slices Brownberry 12-grain bread (stops to consider that she cannot even name 12 grains)
one plum tomato, sliced
half an avocado, sliced
couple slices of onion
couple of sliced banana peppers
romaine
slice of fresh mozzarella
This will make your mouth happy just like (whatever product is responsible for that phrase).
So good.
YES YES YES THANK YOU
GOD I MISSED 'ONE LIFE TO LIVE'
I am taking a sick day. I plan to stay home and watch soap operas and curl up under a quilt and take Midol and whine a little bit.
I almost forgot how much fun this is.
I almost forgot how much fun this is.
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
POINT TAKEN
Yes I'm a little crabby and I think I need a beer.
Everything looks brighter after a beer. That should be a slogan.
Everything looks brighter after a beer. That should be a slogan.
I WOULD LIKE A SEX CHANGE PLEASE
I'm sick of having a vagina. I'm sick of bleeding and cramping and moodiness and having to purchase large wads of cotton for ridiculous amounts of money.
If anyone is interested in a trade, please let me know. You can have the periods or the babies and I will control the remote and scratch my balls.
If anyone is interested in a trade, please let me know. You can have the periods or the babies and I will control the remote and scratch my balls.
I SHOULD HAVE GONE TO LAW SCHOOL
It would be nice to get paid for arguing with co-workers instead of just enjoying it occasionally.
It would also be nice to get paid for watching movies, listening to new records, or testing new brands of cookies.
I think my dream job would be owning my own record store in which I would not carry copies of anything by Celine Dion or Linkin Park or Michael Bolton or Nelly. It would be called Miller's Stuff That Isn't Crap.
I could see this store being located on Clark Street. I would serve coffee and homemade cookies and talk with people about old Prince songs and why Radiohead is not the be-all end-all of modern music. I would have a few laptops with cable internet access, piles of funky magazines, and a mural of my favorite musicians on the back wall. I would also have an in-store cat, because my favorite old record store had its own cat. This cat would remain completely composed, content to have its head scratched at odd intervals by people with weird hair.
Instead I am here waiting for some pointless information that I will rearrange in an artistic manner and pass along to someone else who will pass it along to someone else.
It's just not as much fun.
It would also be nice to get paid for watching movies, listening to new records, or testing new brands of cookies.
I think my dream job would be owning my own record store in which I would not carry copies of anything by Celine Dion or Linkin Park or Michael Bolton or Nelly. It would be called Miller's Stuff That Isn't Crap.
I could see this store being located on Clark Street. I would serve coffee and homemade cookies and talk with people about old Prince songs and why Radiohead is not the be-all end-all of modern music. I would have a few laptops with cable internet access, piles of funky magazines, and a mural of my favorite musicians on the back wall. I would also have an in-store cat, because my favorite old record store had its own cat. This cat would remain completely composed, content to have its head scratched at odd intervals by people with weird hair.
Instead I am here waiting for some pointless information that I will rearrange in an artistic manner and pass along to someone else who will pass it along to someone else.
It's just not as much fun.
PROOF THAT I AM TRULY A GEEK
I am on an action figure kick. I am aware that this is possibly the most nerdly hobby ever but I must confess that I love my little army.
Sitting on my desk are the following characters in the following order:
I'm glad I don't have a camcorder because if I did I would probably make some seriously stupid little movies.
Sitting on my desk are the following characters in the following order:
Jesus
Marilyn Manson
Selene from Underworld
Sigmund Freud
Cobra Bubbles from Lilo and Stitch
Neo from the Matrix (gun pointed at Freud)
Trinity from the Matrix (gun pointed at Marilyn Manson)
William Shakespeare
I'm glad I don't have a camcorder because if I did I would probably make some seriously stupid little movies.
THINGS I'D LIKE TO SAY BUT NEVER WILL VOL. I
"Hey Miller, have you seen The Passion Of Christ?"
"Why no I have not. I have about as much interest in seeing The Passion of Christ as I have in seeing your grandfather in a thong bikini. If people don't shut up about that movie fairly soon I will staple popsicle stick crosses all over my body and run down Michigan Avenue in the nude. It will be filmed, and people from all over the world will flock to see The Passion Of Miller."
"Miller, don't you ever just want a hamburger? Don't you ever cheat?"
"No I don't 'cheat' because I am not on a diet, you airheaded idiot with your Big Mac and your fat-free chips and your nonstop moaning about your weight problem. And no I don't want a disgusting piece of ground up mad cow that is fried in lard. I would rather eat cat vomit. If you are really that desperate to wear a size five than you would do well to stop inhaling fast food at every given opportunity. If you're not that desperate then accept your size and shut up about it, because I think I can speak for the entire office when I say that we are sick to death of listening to your speeches about carbs and fat grams and the half a pound you lost last Tuesday. You are a caricature of the typical middle-aged diet obsessed office matron and you annoy me more than you can imagine."
"We need to look at the **finger quotes** big picture."
"Someone should tie you to the El tracks."
"Workin' hard or hardly workin'?"
"Wow that is really a witty turn of phrase you've employed. I really do appreciate that you stop by my desk every day to look at my boobs but I am workin' hard as you put it and really can't stop to listen to someone that makes me want to put arsenic in my coffee."
I am really not this mean but sometimes I just hate these people.
"Why no I have not. I have about as much interest in seeing The Passion of Christ as I have in seeing your grandfather in a thong bikini. If people don't shut up about that movie fairly soon I will staple popsicle stick crosses all over my body and run down Michigan Avenue in the nude. It will be filmed, and people from all over the world will flock to see The Passion Of Miller."
"Miller, don't you ever just want a hamburger? Don't you ever cheat?"
"No I don't 'cheat' because I am not on a diet, you airheaded idiot with your Big Mac and your fat-free chips and your nonstop moaning about your weight problem. And no I don't want a disgusting piece of ground up mad cow that is fried in lard. I would rather eat cat vomit. If you are really that desperate to wear a size five than you would do well to stop inhaling fast food at every given opportunity. If you're not that desperate then accept your size and shut up about it, because I think I can speak for the entire office when I say that we are sick to death of listening to your speeches about carbs and fat grams and the half a pound you lost last Tuesday. You are a caricature of the typical middle-aged diet obsessed office matron and you annoy me more than you can imagine."
"We need to look at the **finger quotes** big picture."
"Someone should tie you to the El tracks."
"Workin' hard or hardly workin'?"
"Wow that is really a witty turn of phrase you've employed. I really do appreciate that you stop by my desk every day to look at my boobs but I am workin' hard as you put it and really can't stop to listen to someone that makes me want to put arsenic in my coffee."
I am really not this mean but sometimes I just hate these people.
AND NOW FOR MORE PLEASANT NEWS
For some reason I am pulling for Martha Stewart. She scares me and intimidates me but I respect her empire.
I know that insider trading is wrong but the girl is crafty like ice is cold and the world has become a more well-matched place thanks to her tireless efforts.
Go on with your bad self, Martha. I hope you get community service and paint lovely understated murals over the country's graffiti.
I know that insider trading is wrong but the girl is crafty like ice is cold and the world has become a more well-matched place thanks to her tireless efforts.
Go on with your bad self, Martha. I hope you get community service and paint lovely understated murals over the country's graffiti.
I WOULD LIKE AN UZI PLEASE
The following conversation is taking place about six feet away from me:
"...and at least we don't live in San Francisco."
"Hell you'd have to stay indoors lately to get away from all the queers."
"If that ever happens here I would move to another country, sweartaGahd."
"It makes me sick You know Ah-nold wants to get those fags out of his state."
I am glaring as evilly as I know how and am almost ready to throw my coffee.
This is not Arkansas - this is Chicago and people like this should not be allowed to breathe.
"...and at least we don't live in San Francisco."
"Hell you'd have to stay indoors lately to get away from all the queers."
"If that ever happens here I would move to another country, sweartaGahd."
"It makes me sick You know Ah-nold wants to get those fags out of his state."
I am glaring as evilly as I know how and am almost ready to throw my coffee.
This is not Arkansas - this is Chicago and people like this should not be allowed to breathe.
Tuesday, March 02, 2004
NEVER WAS A CORNFLAKE GIRL
I hate Tori Amos.
There - I said it. Give me my official penis.
There - I said it. Give me my official penis.
I AM THE MOLE
Now this may be the product of my overactive imagination but the accounts payable chick just walked out of the head honcho's lair looking decidedly rumpled. She also has a run in her pantyhose that I don't remember seeing earlier. No lipstick (remember that I am obsessed with lipstick), hair slightly mussed, but that could be intentional.
If I was going to fuck my boss I think I'd have the decency to do it in the executive restroom like I imagine everyone else does.
Not that I would fuck my boss, mind you. He looks like a constipated squirrel.
Still, I think it would be really great to go into work every day and know that you had fucked someone there.
If I was going to fuck my boss I think I'd have the decency to do it in the executive restroom like I imagine everyone else does.
Not that I would fuck my boss, mind you. He looks like a constipated squirrel.
Still, I think it would be really great to go into work every day and know that you had fucked someone there.
ONE LAST THOUGHT BEFORE I ACTUALLY HAVE TO WORK
I think that the daily grind would be much enhanced by a steady stream of old school rap music. Businesses would be wise to give this idea a whirl instead of the vacuous Muzak that seems to be the corporate standard.
Tell me that it wouldn't be incredible to watch the accounting department jam out to EPMD.
I wouldn't even need coffee if I could watch something like that.
Tell me that it wouldn't be incredible to watch the accounting department jam out to EPMD.
I wouldn't even need coffee if I could watch something like that.
IF YOU LIKE ME CHECK THIS BOX
Trying to determine a person's feelings was so much easier in the fifth grade when notes were passed on non-college ruled paper and folded into neat little origami triangles.
DAMN YOU WORLD'S FINEST CHOCOLATE
I'm a mark. Everyone knows that I will:
A) buy anything from a child
B) buy anything containing chocolate
C) spend far too much money on both of the above
Somewhere there is a large squad of children who I have outfitted with polyester uniforms and new bases. When I am old and fat I will curse them with every wheezing breath.
Until then I must admit that these almond chocolate bars are really fucking good.
A) buy anything from a child
B) buy anything containing chocolate
C) spend far too much money on both of the above
Somewhere there is a large squad of children who I have outfitted with polyester uniforms and new bases. When I am old and fat I will curse them with every wheezing breath.
Until then I must admit that these almond chocolate bars are really fucking good.
WE AM DE BEST
I fixed my picture.
I was going to add that I then stood up with my arms aloft and screamed "WOOOOOO!" but that would be the act of a desperately geeky person.
I was going to add that I then stood up with my arms aloft and screamed "WOOOOOO!" but that would be the act of a desperately geeky person.
I AM CONSUMED WITH THOUGHTS OF LIPSTICK
Long-wearing lipstick looks like dried paint. I think it's sad that some of us have become too lazy to put on a fresh coat every so often. Does this world really need lipstick that turns lips into plastic and lasts through kisses, spaghetti dinners, severe hailstorms, and lengthy blowjobs?
This morning I saw a woman who had a sort of lipstick crust around her mouth that was obviously caused by long-wearing lipstick.
If you don't have time to reapply during a twelve-hour day then you really need to rethink your version of time management.
This is yet another symptom of a society that can't be bothered to do anything. I imagine that the next hot new product will be a lipstick that attaches to one's handbag and then applies itself using a robotic arm and lip sensors.
This morning I saw a woman who had a sort of lipstick crust around her mouth that was obviously caused by long-wearing lipstick.
If you don't have time to reapply during a twelve-hour day then you really need to rethink your version of time management.
This is yet another symptom of a society that can't be bothered to do anything. I imagine that the next hot new product will be a lipstick that attaches to one's handbag and then applies itself using a robotic arm and lip sensors.
THIS JUST IN
Dick Clark is being sued for age discrimination.
A TECHIE I AM NOT
If anyone happens to read this, could you please clue me in as to why my little logo picture is not showing up?
This is bringing out all sorts of obsessive and compulsive aspects of my personality and I'd rather not start chewing off all of my fingernails.
Thank you.
This is bringing out all sorts of obsessive and compulsive aspects of my personality and I'd rather not start chewing off all of my fingernails.
Thank you.
Monday, March 01, 2004
DEAR GOD IT'S ME, MILLER
Don't you mess with Mark Prior. Do you hear me?
WELL BUTTER MY BUTT AND CALL ME A BISCUIT
Having spent half of my day messing with the code for this blog, updating this blog, and reading other people's blogs, I can safely say that I am enjoying my new hobby.
This is somewhat startling to me because I imagined myself either becoming completely bored or feeling overcome with desire to call a friend in order to verify that I am not a completely hopeless antisocial internet person.
If I start to use the word "meta" in everyday speech, please tell me to fuck off.
This is somewhat startling to me because I imagined myself either becoming completely bored or feeling overcome with desire to call a friend in order to verify that I am not a completely hopeless antisocial internet person.
If I start to use the word "meta" in everyday speech, please tell me to fuck off.
THINGS THAT MAKE YOU GO HMM
There is a lone black sequin on my couch. The only sequined items I own are three small handbags that I haven't used in a few months. They are sequestered in my closet.
I sleep quite deeply and dream very vividly, but I think if there was a party I would have heard something.
I also would hope I'd have been invited. I make great martinis.
I sleep quite deeply and dream very vividly, but I think if there was a party I would have heard something.
I also would hope I'd have been invited. I make great martinis.
GET ME OFF THIS CRAZY THING
Today the train lurched in a strange and frightening manner and my first thought was this:
My fridge is now sparkling clean thanks to daughterly guilt and the CTA.
if I die in this wreck, my mother is going to see how dirty my refrigerator is and freak out.
My fridge is now sparkling clean thanks to daughterly guilt and the CTA.
UGLY LIPSTICK MAKES BABY JESUS CRY
When I try to imagine a heaven, I think of it as having a big MAC counter*.
I have a question for girls that wear metallic lipstick: Do you want your lips to look like a big greasy Firebird bumper? Metallic lipstick is gross. Even worse is the bright pink color that has fake gold flecks in it. I see it often on North Avenue prostitutes, and I believe it's called Mariah's Last Glimmer Of Hope or Whitney Smokes The Chronic.
I suppose it's better than that dark purpley dried-blood-looking shade that is favored by girls who try to channel Marilyn Manson. I believe it's either called I Am So Fucking Goffik or Peter Murphy's Bellybutton Lint.
Personally I think everyone should find some nice muted shade of red and stick with it, but then I suppose I'd have no one to stare at.
*Without frosted lipstick.
I have a question for girls that wear metallic lipstick: Do you want your lips to look like a big greasy Firebird bumper? Metallic lipstick is gross. Even worse is the bright pink color that has fake gold flecks in it. I see it often on North Avenue prostitutes, and I believe it's called Mariah's Last Glimmer Of Hope or Whitney Smokes The Chronic.
I suppose it's better than that dark purpley dried-blood-looking shade that is favored by girls who try to channel Marilyn Manson. I believe it's either called I Am So Fucking Goffik or Peter Murphy's Bellybutton Lint.
Personally I think everyone should find some nice muted shade of red and stick with it, but then I suppose I'd have no one to stare at.
*Without frosted lipstick.
ATTENTION LOYOLA GIRLS WITH FROSTED LIPSTICK
Your eensy little dog is not cute. It is the opposite of cute. It looks like a bug-eyed rat with a bad toupee, and your attempts to accessorize it have made it mean. If someone made me wear a pink rhinestone-studded collar then I would probably bite his or her hand off, so I think we can agree that you have been very lucky thus far.
Even though your dog is fairly far-removed from vicious breeds such as the Rottweiler, I still have no doubt that it wants to rip my face off.
If you insist on carrying that thing then please stand at least six feet away from me, or better yet, lock it in your handbag.
Even though your dog is fairly far-removed from vicious breeds such as the Rottweiler, I still have no doubt that it wants to rip my face off.
If you insist on carrying that thing then please stand at least six feet away from me, or better yet, lock it in your handbag.
PLEASE NOTE
Married people, don't tell those of us who are single that the clock is ticking.
This is the digital age.
This is the digital age.
START YOUR DAY WITH SAX
I sometimes wonder whether my ex-fiancee still lives in our old building, but more often I wonder whether he finally found a woman who likes to listen to the smooth jazz station in the early morning.
I used to hate that shit. It was like eating soggy cardboard for breakfast.
I'd rather have a Pop Tart.
I used to hate that shit. It was like eating soggy cardboard for breakfast.
I'd rather have a Pop Tart.
READER "MISSED CONNECTION" AD
Dear guy standing outside Jimmy John's* today: You are probably only about eighteen, but I think you are the coolest person I have ever seen in my whole life. I want to travel back in time so that I can be your best friend and listen to you play your guitar.
Normally I have a deep and vicious hatred for people in their late teens and early twenties because most of them remind me of those assholes from the Gap ads, but you are the poo, and I hope you know that.
Sincerely, girl with green backpack who is cool but not as cool as you.
* Note: If you have never tried a veggie sandwich from Jimmy John's then you are missing out on a truly tasty delight. Jimmy John's is somewhat pricey and a little silly, but damn can they make a good sandwich.
Normally I have a deep and vicious hatred for people in their late teens and early twenties because most of them remind me of those assholes from the Gap ads, but you are the poo, and I hope you know that.
Sincerely, girl with green backpack who is cool but not as cool as you.
* Note: If you have never tried a veggie sandwich from Jimmy John's then you are missing out on a truly tasty delight. Jimmy John's is somewhat pricey and a little silly, but damn can they make a good sandwich.
FASHION VICTIMS UNITE IN MILLER'S IMAGINATION
I think that there is a large subculture of women who read Vogue the first day it comes out. They read it cover to cover, taking no issue with the fact that 3/4 of the magazine consists of ads, and then they jump into their little silver Mercedeseses and Sebrings and rush off to Lord and Taylor where they buy every Hot New Item Of The Season while talking on tiny silver phones to women named Trisha and Amanda.
I may not look quite as hip, but at least I don't have their credit card bills.
I may not look quite as hip, but at least I don't have their credit card bills.
DADDY'S GONNA KILL RALPHIE
Someone should tell Ralph Nader to take his ball(s) and go home.
I volunteer.
I volunteer.
OH YOU SMOOTH TALKER
I was approached by a very attractive man while 'all up in da club' this weekend, and his first words to me were "You are fucking stacked."
Of course I didn't give him my number, but I'll admit I was flattered in a sick way.
I never really thought of myself as "stacked".
Does this make me a bad feminist?
Of course I didn't give him my number, but I'll admit I was flattered in a sick way.
I never really thought of myself as "stacked".
Does this make me a bad feminist?
SOMETIMES I AM TWELVE
I am kind of a delicate-looking person, and people's eyebrows shoot straight up into the air every time I use the word "fuck".
I wish I could say it at work. These people need a little surprise in their lives.
I wish I could say it at work. These people need a little surprise in their lives.
SLOW DAY AT THE OFFICE
Miller is thirty years old and is not bothered by that fact.
She is a liberal and a vegetarian but not a member of Greenpeace. She believes that we should have healthy and happy people before we worry about the whales. She shaves her pits, which is something you don't need to know but is somewhat relevant to the topic at hand.
She is six feet tall and kind of skinny and consequently cannot dance very well. This does not stop her from trying. She likes basketball and baseball and arguing about music and politics. She has blue eyes and short reddish hair. She is sometimes shy.
Miller hates most television, cute Japanese cartoon items, pop music, and scratchy underwear. She sometimes thinks boys are stupid but admits to being infatuated with them.
She likes beer, shoes, tomatoes, strawberries, and expensive lip gloss.
Miller started a blog because all the cool kids are doing it. She is not an aspiring writer and does not necessarily have anything deep or profound to say, but she sometimes thinks she is funny, like most blog people.
She is a liberal and a vegetarian but not a member of Greenpeace. She believes that we should have healthy and happy people before we worry about the whales. She shaves her pits, which is something you don't need to know but is somewhat relevant to the topic at hand.
She is six feet tall and kind of skinny and consequently cannot dance very well. This does not stop her from trying. She likes basketball and baseball and arguing about music and politics. She has blue eyes and short reddish hair. She is sometimes shy.
Miller hates most television, cute Japanese cartoon items, pop music, and scratchy underwear. She sometimes thinks boys are stupid but admits to being infatuated with them.
She likes beer, shoes, tomatoes, strawberries, and expensive lip gloss.
Miller started a blog because all the cool kids are doing it. She is not an aspiring writer and does not necessarily have anything deep or profound to say, but she sometimes thinks she is funny, like most blog people.
PUT THIS IN YOUR PIPE AND SMOKE IT
People that whine about smokers and the evil cigarette industry can bite my ass.
If you honestly believe that I should not have the right to smoke in a public place, then I believe that you should not have the right to lug your irritating sloppy children to said public place, either. My secondhand smoke may irritate your lungs, but your kids give me a nervous rash.
I also believe that if smoking is disallowed in this city, then bad breath, cheap haircuts, and cars that have Bondo on them should be outlawed as well.
Not hazardous to my health, you say? The hell they aren't. I constantly choke back waves of disgust in the face of those things, and that isn't good for my digestive tract.
"Truth" followers take note: Your cancer-ridden relative? The one you mourn as you picket RJ Reynolds and rail tediously and tirelessly about the corporate devil? He or she worked hard to earn the money to willfully spend on cigarettes, and I am willing to bet my hard-earned money that, if given a chance, he or she would probably do it again.
Some people smoke. Tobacco companies make money. Get over it, and wipe that sour-assed look off of your face.
If you honestly believe that I should not have the right to smoke in a public place, then I believe that you should not have the right to lug your irritating sloppy children to said public place, either. My secondhand smoke may irritate your lungs, but your kids give me a nervous rash.
I also believe that if smoking is disallowed in this city, then bad breath, cheap haircuts, and cars that have Bondo on them should be outlawed as well.
Not hazardous to my health, you say? The hell they aren't. I constantly choke back waves of disgust in the face of those things, and that isn't good for my digestive tract.
"Truth" followers take note: Your cancer-ridden relative? The one you mourn as you picket RJ Reynolds and rail tediously and tirelessly about the corporate devil? He or she worked hard to earn the money to willfully spend on cigarettes, and I am willing to bet my hard-earned money that, if given a chance, he or she would probably do it again.
Some people smoke. Tobacco companies make money. Get over it, and wipe that sour-assed look off of your face.
KILL ME NOW
I am currently being chastised by a woman who freely admits that she didn't vote in the last presidential election and "could care less who wins this one". She is outraged by the fact that I didn't watch the Academy Awards and is calling me un-American.
Miller would like you to know that she is not in any way affiliated with Miller Lite or Miller Brewing Company, although she does enjoy their fine product and would be more than happy to accept free samples in lieu of payment for her endorsement.
