A quick rant and a thought provoking question...

So recently I had the pleasure of working with a real manipulative bitch for 6 months and the project that we worked on finished this past Wednesday. Hallelujah. The project was a huge success and the outcome will last for many, many years. That's awesome.

Working side by side with this first class cunt was the most NOT-awesome thing that has happened to me of late. I know, the 'c' word trips some people up and they hate it, but I assure you, no one has worked quite so hard to earn the title more than this wretched woman has.

She's an early 30 something garbage pail with no sense of self-respect, humility, loyalty, or otherwise. She managed to completely alienate herself from the rest of the planning committee within days of kicking off our prep for the event. But what remains shocking to me is that, to this day, she has absolutely no idea just how unlikeable she is. There is a zero-level self-awareness factor that is just appalling to witness...it knocks discomfort levels off the chart for anyone within earshot of her, which typically means about 2 miles.

But what's the real kick in the ass is that she refuses to hear anything about how her behavior is perceived. One might think you could sit someone down and have a conversation and give some constructive feedback about what's working and what's not working. But this bitch just won't listen. I just don't get how people like her operate...and I guess I'm glad I don't.

So to hell with her.

On a separate topic - I love living in New York City if only because you absolutely cannot make some of the shit up that I see every day here. It's left me to wonder at certain points when some people learned that doing certain things was a good idea.

Let's first understand, before I delve into my daily observations of other people's questionable decisions, that it is a very tall order to be perfect. It is a cross that I carry with me everyday, and burden I would put on no ordinary man. I say this, of course, in jest while also knowing full well I have no room to really judge others given the woeful choices I've made in the past regarding my own appearance...blond streaks in dark brown hair...last summer. Need I say more? So let's resume - When did people learn that it was a good idea to...?

...grow a Mustache? Mustaches on the lips of otherwise very handsome 25 year old men - some of whom happened to be at a table in front of me when I was at lunch the other day with some friends. Why, boys? Mustaches are not okay. They were kind of hot in the 70s, but I think that's where they really just need to stay. More and more and more I see guys who I hope just lost a bet or are growing the 'stache out for a cause or something...but then after my excuses for them have run dry, I'm left fearfully wondering "what if?" What if they actually did it on purpose because somewhere along the line they learned that it was a good idea to grow a mustache at 25.


...paint terrifying eyebrows on their face? I saw this woman, probably in her very early 30s, on the subway a week ago who had no eyebrows. Now, normally when I see no eyebrows or any kind of absence of hair where it might normally be found, I wonder if it's either alopecia or heaven-forbid some kind of chemotherapy treatment that caused the hair loss to happen. However, this particular woman apparently, and very obviously, took care not to have normal eye brows and she decided it would be a better idea to paint on very thin black eyebrows that extended north nearly halfway up her forehead before swooping down around the outer rim of her eye sockets before coming to an abrupt end by the crest of her cheekbone. She was perpetually surprised. Even with a grumpy face, she was surprised. She looked like she just got into a fight with her boyfriend, and yet she was surprised. Shocked and surprised was she as she absentmindedly cleaned the dirt from underneath her fingernails. Where oh where, Eyebrow Lady, did you learn this was a good idea?


And finally for tonight ...store a cell phone next to their boob? Curious about this one, for sure. Chick gets on the subway and is checking herself out in the reflection of the window. Hair, makeup, outfit, ass...checking to make sure all of it was still there. I'm not entirely sure where any of it would sneak off to given that she was probably pushing 275 lbs, but that's beside the point. Her boobs were about equal to nearly 4 of my ass cheeks melded together. As the train approached the next stop, she finished primping in the reflection and stored the phone she'd been holding in her hand directly into the side of her bra on the outside of her boob. The outline of the phone nestled next to her boob's exterior was jarring to my visual sense and left me wondering what her pocket doesn't afford her that her boob does. A gaze in the right direction from an onlooker? Easier access? It was unclear, but absolutely something only to be seen in a place like good ol' NYC.

As for me? When did I learn that putting blond highlights in my dark brown hair was a good idea? I think Ricky Martin told me I could get away with it when I was in college. Then I tried it again thinking it'd be sexier when I was older. It was just so terribly wrong both times.

You're a liar, Ricky Martin.

For all the Michael Jackson haters...

Drives me nuts that people will bash someone in death. Yes, he was screwed up. Yes, he did questionable things. No, it was never proven. Yes, it's shamefully unfair to take away from him the milestone legacy he imparted on the music industry.

His career successes and his personal downfalls are oceans apart. The man created the bar for generations of pop music icons to raise, refine, and further evolve. He defined a style and genre that after 3 decades, continues to impact and inspire music lovers and makers all over the world.

For people to simply toss him off as a freak of nature and be rid of him because they chose to believe the embellishments and sensationalized dramatics the mainstream media chose to employ to exploit his shortcomings and hence skew our perception of him (however true or untrue they may actually be), without at least acknowledging and celebrating his rightful place in music history, is disrespectful and unjust.

We all seem to forget that nothing was proven. He never was a convicted child molester. He was never a convicted sexual abuser. The evidence was never there. Yeah, he slept in the same bed with little kids in his big ol' happy land ranch and that's totally fucked up, but there was never a shred of evidence to prove that he inappropriately touched anyone. Money hungry parents who saw an easy way to siphon millions from Jackson took advantage of his odd behavior and went spewing venom at the very man they entrusted their children to for a night.

I'm not condoning the behavior, and again, I think it's totally fucked up. But let's not forget the one thing that Jackson never got to have: his own childhood. The one that his power hungry and abusive father stole away from him so he could make his millions on exploiting his entire family. So, in some kind of disgusting and maladjusted way, he sought to reclaim that childhood he never really had as an adult and made some pretty poor decisions in the process.

Sure he settled and paid out millions to the people who brought the suit up against him. But think about it. Wouldn't you if you could? Who wants to have that kind of awful spotlight on them for something that they claim they did not do? Innocent until proven guilty. What ever happened to that? I know if I could write a check and tell some scheming, greedy, and hateful people to fuck off and never ever utter my name or come near me again, I absolutely would.

Let's just please let the man rest in peace with our eternal thanks for his contribution to the art of music and forgive him his follies that sent the world into a spinning frenzy of crafty suppositions and hastily drawn conclusions.

I'm bad. You know it.

An Introduction

Hello to all of you voyeuristic Internet schmucks.

Thanks for dropping by my blog to see what the hell kind of trouble someone else is up to in some random part of the world, and who gives enough of a shit to write about it. I'm a little raw when it comes to blogging, pretty seasoned at writing, and well overdone on dysfunction - so, I like to think of it as a developing triple threat.

A Most Handsome Disaster: My Life As a Total Mess. I figure it's ambiguous enough for me to retain some kind of anonymity (outside of telling only certain people I know about it and posting it everywhere) and alluring enough to peak people's curiosity. Plus, it allows me to divulge certain stories I might otherwise have no interest in sharing. I swear, though, if anyone tries to rob this title from my hands, I'll have an intellectual property suit up your ass so fast you won't remember how to shit. Vulgar, I know. But, a reasonable threat certainly worth remembering. :)

So, in beginning this venture on a real blog website, a handful of rather interesting thoughts have bubbled up to the surface about blogging and why I've, once again, revved up the engine to write.

First off, gone are the days of blogging on MySpace. I canceled my account last night. The end of an era. MySpace kind of sucks now, anyway. My blogging days there were a great start, but I'm much more interested in taking this seriously. Well, as seriously as anyone giving enough of a fuck about my life can be.

Like many people, I've always wanted to publish a book. I have a great idea for a few, with fodder overflowing for topics, I just don't have the platform yet to become the next David Sedaris or Augusten Burroughs. My Life as a Total Mess is no false advertising...this is the good stuff, this is the stuff [good] movies are made from. I think this may be the way to get the ball rolling - need to start somewhere.

The blogging thing, when taken as seriously as it can be, will attempt to make better use of my time. I have failed at many things from relationships to friendships, thrown the towel in on classes and careers, and am left in need of something to take me away from the wasted hours spent drooling and entranced by the wide world of Internet fucking. To put it frankly, I need a little bit of direction and my dick needs a little rest and relaxation.

Writing has always been something I've been decent at doing so I figure, what the hell. Maybe someone will stumble upon my shoddy excuse of a life and average writing style with some worthwhile advice to pass along to me, or have taken a keen interest in helping to develop my writing further, or have completely ignored my reasonable threat above and attempt rip me off and steal all my stories...at his own risk.

I suppose it can go without say, though naturally I'll say it anyway, that all this wasted "free" time is also due in part to the fact that I'm pretty much broke. I do the paycheck to paycheck thing in one of the most expensive cities to live in. It's cool, it works for now, I'm saving for retirement, and I own up to the fact that I have an embarrassingly limited social calendar. This will give me a chance to do something besides that other wasting time thing I mentioned. (Find on this page: "Internet fucking" for reference.)

Plus, I figure it's way more fun to write about an expensive city that I can only look at through windows most of the time. True objectivity in writing. Sure, there's lots of free things going on out here, but being the silent observer, subtly taking notes, and shamelessly exploiting my overdeveloped sense of self-importance and obsessive compulsion can be so much more entertaining for everyone...and it won't cost me a penny!

So there you have it. I'm a broke and neurotic, twenty-something, New York disaster here to help you piss away your time in front of the computer by entertaining you at my own, personal, 'expense'.


Enjoy!