Pam is Awesome Everyday

subjecttomeg:

(via awesome-everyday)

I’m over 30.  I should probs get on that, too.

For real. Nobody ever really prepares you for how your neroses make being an adult really fucking difficult.

“Go to college,” is not an appropriate solution for learning how to be an adult. It teaches you how to study (maybe), do creative things with ramen, and which cheap beers are palatable.

There need to be training classes for the *real* adulthood. Bills. Interpersonal realationships. Managing money for complete dumbasses. Cope with being a neurotic retard. How to cope with other nerrotic retards.

I’m just bitchin’. Being an adult is like drinking the last of the chocolate milk— it sounds like a really good idea, and it’s good for you, but the worst part is that it doesn’t taste as good as it did 3 days ago. That shit is rancid, and you wish you would have been prepared for it, or maybe not done it at all, but regardless you can’t go back to when the milk tasted good, or take back that you drank that nasty shit.

you: Insanely jealous of everyone who was there, because you missed it.

We set up our shit, played 3 songs, and were asked to leave.

WHAT?

We told you we’re a rock band, dudes.

It’s all good. We didn’t book the show, and I have no desire to play that venue again anyway. And to the credit of the venue, I think that bar isn’t a live music venue anyway… it’s a bar that sometimes has a dude with a guitar jam while people ignore him and eat their chicken fingers and drink their heinekins.

Whatevs.

walpaper:

Move the fuck up into the intersection so that more than just your selfish ass can make the light. Yeah, thanks.

Every time I see a photo post of some of those big-titted actresses from Mad Men, I’m kinda like… man. That was a shitty time for black people. Honestly it was shitty for everyone.

Even the music was kinda bad in the 60s.

The clothes were hot. The drinks were good. The men sucked a cow nut. Jobs were shit for ladies.

But mad men is a drama, so people dig it for that.

ramble ramble ramble

So tonight my band, The Revenge of Ricky Williams is playing a “private” show.

Uh huh. Right.

I don’t know what to expect, because we didn’t actually book the show. Some guy was like, oh hey, you guys want to play this event? And we were like, uh… Sure.

I don’t think the venue is going to be excited about us playing there unless they’ve booked the entire resturant/bar. I hope they know what they’re getting into, because our band is fucking loud, and I am a little ball of fire and energy when I hit the stage.

I don’t really think our band is appropriate for a 6pm cocktail mixer social-networking thingy, but fuck it, we’ll play and see what happens.

Either way, fuck it. We’re not getting paid for it, and it wasn’t even booked approrpaitely.

Like I said… I’m not a control freak, but… I do like to have a solid understanding of what everyone is doing and the ability to change things. (lol)

“Are happy thoughts hazardous to your health?”

Really. Fucking really? I mean, I get the draw of “Are your children safe from the poison in your fish? News at eleven” But fuck.

Everything gives us cancer, or is going to eat our flesh off of our bones. We’re not even allowed to have guilt-free happy thoughts?

Fuck you, ivilliage. As usual.