rasco a go-go

Because I have dated some winners…

• You failed to mention your previous DUI arrests until they took your license
• You are a cop and honestly believe that “Mexicans have hot Latin blood and can’t help but kill someone eventually, so I have guns ready in most rooms of my house since my neighbors are Mexicans”
• You have tattoos to commemorate both abortions you made ex-girlfriends get because you were proud of that, not sad
• The “freelance programming” work you did on the side turned out to be setting up grow houses in the woods
• You spent our first date telling me about how you hate the world, took yourself off lithium, and are on the FBI watch list because of your graduate lab work with anthrax. That awkward attack kiss was just the last nail in the coffin, bud.
• Bad kissing will get you axed every time.
• EDIT: How could I forget surprise buttsex?!

The question is whether or not this is the time to explain to her that nobody wears heels with scrubs?

It’s a slow work day, and I’m looking for a new job. I popped what I do and where I do it into the salary estimator on indeed.com just to see if I really should be earning what some people have told me I should.

Yeah… they’re saying I’m underpaid by about $25k a year. I was thinking more like $15-20k, but I tend to undervalue myself. In June, when my experience level jumps to the next bracket? It’ll be by over $30k.

It’s clearly time to do some wicked resume distributing and job applying. Send some good vibes my way. It would be really nice to be able to pay off my student loans and move into an apartment that doesn’t leak when it rains.

wing tattoo (via bigmoontattoo)

Planning a tattoo (not this big), and I’m amazed by the dimensionality of this guy’s work. Sadly, he’s in Korea.

GPOYW - Z is for Zillah, who drank too much gin

Because I am apparently the only girl who likes gin, but I bet I’m not the only one who likes Gashleycrumb Tinies.

(via writeoneleaf)

Gin and bourbon are mostly what I drink. I fully realize that this marks me as someone who will be a pickled old lady, like the Queen or an aging starlet from the days when everyone smoked and drank martini after martini. Gin is glamorous in the way that smoking imports in college is; before you really knew better, back when you earnestly practiced writing exercises late into the night on a manual typewriter, praying that you’d find the inspiration to become great.

Gin is a class thing in my mind, like scotch. Yeah, you can make it in a bathtub, but gin is the providence of WASPs, of Episcopalians, of executives at lunch, of sophisticated adulthood. I drink gin and tonic in the warm weather months because it tastes good. It’s light and refreshing and tart. I only discovered that after I set out on my collegiate quest to be a respectable drinker. I wouldn’t be one of those girls giggling over fruity things or vodka and soda. No, I wanted the nod of respect from the bartender. I wanted the pass into the boys’ club.

And you know what? I got it. At bars that are for drinking and not dancing, the guys behind the bar want to come down and talk classic drinks with me. Nobody seems to appreciate a good martini anymore. They should, though. Exquisitely clean and light, with a generous twist of lemon, it’s how you judge a bartender’s skill. Sitting there, sipping my perfect martini, dressed in a way that exaggerates my hourglass figure, I never fail to feel every bit the sophisticated, urbane woman I set out to be.

This party just took a turn for the douche…

a fronte praecipitium. a tergo lupi. alis volat propriis.

The frost stings sweetly with a burning kiss
As intimate as love, as cold as death:
Their lips, whereon delicious tremours hiss
Fume with the ghostly pollen of their breath.

—From “The Sisters” by Roy Campbell

more slightly creepy old CGI stuffs