how getting screwed over works

You can't take me anywhere. Know why? Because I'm a fucking loose cannon, that's why. I'm angry and I'm timid. Don't combine those two, because they are an explosive duo. When you mix those two characteristics you get someone like me. That would be the worst case scenario. Well, I wouldn't exactly say my persona is the worst case scenario. It makes for a pretty good story doesn't it? And I love a good story.

Well, here's how trying to fuck someone over and failing miserably works...

First things first. It's Saturday. And I'm drunk. Ok, It's the Saturday before Halloween and I'm apeshit drunk. Here's a few examples of how drunk I was (not bragging):

*I lost my crown (I dressed up as a deranged beauty queen) and I was crawling around on the floor of a night club looking for it. My cousin told me she saw my ass sticking up in the air while I was under the table searching.

*I threw water at an innocent girl. I didn't actually get her, but I threw the water in her direction. Apperantly I thought she was dressed like a tramp, so I threw some water while simultaneously shouting, "Slut!"at her. When someone from my group told me that I should mellow out, my justification of my behavior was based on the argument, "What? She's a slut."

*I broke a car windshield with a rock.

Well here's where I talk about getting screwed over. As I'm standing outside of the night club, after a night of debauchery, this asshole blows right past me by mere inches and the wheel of his car hits my ankle. It made a loud noise and all of my friends heard it. I was floored; I couldn't believe this fucking guy almost ran me over and didn't give a goddamn. The rage over took me. No one does this to "Miss Tijuana 2005" and gets away with it. In an act of indecency, I pick up a rock and chuck it in the direction of the car, as hard as I can. I have a dynamite shot, so I hit the car square in center of the rear windshield. Then it completely shattered. Everyone around me is aghast, because not only did I break this persons window, but this broken window did not belong to the person who nearly ran me over. Oops. The people who were in the car that now lacked a rear windshield stopped the car and got out of their vehicle. I would imagine that they were flabergasted and pretty enraged. At this point I ran away. Actually, I was dragged away and hid for safety. Due to the fact that I was in Tijuana, things could have gotten really ugly because you never know which way "the law" will go. Luckily everyone kept their beaks shut and the people without a rearview window drove away, without blood on their hands.

Well I know I got really lucky. I could've gotten my ass kicked. But I didn't. Because I'm a superstar. In all seriousness, after that window shattered, I had a moment of clarity amidst my drunken stupor. I realized that when you get screwed over, sometimes you have to take it in stride and move on. Holding hatred in your heart is wrong, becaue vengeance is not the way, not all the time at least. When you try to take vengeance into your own hands, you usually end up just hurting someone else who has nothing to do with the situation. And that's just plain unfair.

Whoaa would you listen to me. I sound like a tender butt. hehe. For real though, don't be mean. Be nice. Don't be like me.

alpha phield trip

A pile of about 50 sorority bitches just paraded past me in heaps up the helical staircase of my university library. As I slowly crept down the steps, continually losing momentum due to my stupified awe, only further rendering me helpless, I stared and stared. They came in swirls, like a swarm of locusts, a blur of noisy chatter, goucho pants, glossy lips and perpetually tossed platinum hair. "What the shit?", is all my brain could conjure up. What the hell are they doing in a library all at once? Stone faced and full of loathing, repugnance and spite, I met their glances with glassy eyed hatred. They and I interfacing is comparable to a Bloods vs. Crypts face-off. My predetermined disposition was received by the wide-eyed unknown; vacant and artificial. A deer with pointy toed shoes and mascara gooped eyes if you will, staring into the headlights of my Buick. And I charged forward, mercilessly.

I mean what was that anyway...is a sorority hazing nowadays merely a means of torturing these girls by making them go to the library? I remember the good old days when they used to initiate sorority girls by binge drinking cocktails spiked with GHB and serving as muppets for the frat boys. Is nothing sacred??

Great news: there's a dead rat outside my work right now. Ants are feasting away at the rodent carcass as we speak. Fecking ewww.

jokes and jokes and jokes

Q: What do you call a prostitute with no legs?

A: Night crawler


Q: Que le dijo un jaguar al otro jaguar?

A: Jaguar you?


here's a bad one...

Q: What's good on pizza but not on girls?

A: Crust


HI-Yo!

how i have always beat the male species at bowling

My experience with bowling for the most part has been limited, but I firmly believe that I have a moderate "knack" for bowling because every boy that I’ve taken on in a bowling match, I have defeated. It all started with my first boyfriend, when he took me "cosmic bowling" at the local bowling alley. It all started out as fun and games, but then old Joe Blow found himself in a tough spot when he was getting killed by his girlfriend in front of all his friends. He said he was letting me win at first, quite nonchalant and confident in the strength of his game. Yet as the 10th frame approached, his nonchalant attitude slowly dissipated and he began to look tense. He was completely concentrated for his next few frames, as he threw the ball down the lane with plenty of gusto and finesse, in the hopes of defeating little old me. Did he succeed? No, he lost actually. It was a ripping victory. There is nothing better, in my opinion, than whooping a cocky male at any sport. Finally, I got the respect I deserved in the bowling alley. Let it be known, Cynthia can bowl.

This clearly was not a case of beginners luck, because the story continues. The next unsuspecting male would be my most recent ex-boyfriend. The poor guy didn’t know what hit him. He was feeling rather confident in his bowling skills because he had defeated me the first game we had played. Once the second game was in full swing, it was a different story. I was picking up spares left and right, clearly beating him by a large margin. There was no "come from behind victory" happening here. I noticed that he was beginning to look a little frustrated and agitated, which clearly didn’t help his game. I truly believe that he was shocked I beat him. So of course, boyfriend wants to make it crystal clear as to who was the better bowler; he wanted to do best two out of three. Now at this point I was ready to quit, but if he wanted to specify who was the real winner then why deny him? I was on a role of sorts; I stayed consistent with my continuous pick up of spares, along with a strike here and there. This guy was completely bewildered and frustrated, and it continued to do nothing for his game. So once again I beat him, best two out of three in my favor. He threw a temper tantrum, just like a 10 year old. Cynthia strikes again, literally.

Last semester I took a no brainer bowling class and I had my share of wins and losses. However, I can say that I defeated some real competition, more than once. I played against a fellow classmate, who seemed to have quite a bit of skill in the ways of bowling. He was able to put that spin on the ball and everything, but even his fanciest moves couldn’t get him out of his inevitable loss to me. He was a good sport about it, and in all fairness to him, he had defeated me in the previous game. The following week I emasculated one of my bowling peers, with my final score of 144, however, I didn’t feel the need to compete with him. There was no need to make him feel bad since his final score didn’t break 100. Thankfully he was also a good sport. As the semester went on and my skills began to refine I found myself playing beside another male, who seemed to be relatively skilled and serious about his game. After we both finished the 10th frame, I could see him looking at me sideways, bewildered that I had gotten a 170 as my final score and he had gotten a 156.

These experiences are all a testament to the ease with which I have defeated the male species in bowling. There are a lot of great bowlers out there, male and female alike. I don’t always win of course, but I usually do. Heck, I even beat our bowling instructor (granted the hefty point margin we're given). Just look at my score card.

my random thoughts for the day

1. Cowboy boots are so hot right now. NOT! I don't care if every reputable fashion magazine lays out pages of pro-white trash propaganda stating cowboy boots are the new "must have" fall item. Them shits are dumb. Four out of five times I will see some chick wearing them and four out of five times she will look dopey as hell. I don't care how hot you are, chances are you are not hot enough to pull them off. Leave those boots to Nancy Sinatra, not for walking...especially not in public. Because I will secretly laugh at you.

2. Isn't gleaking fascinating? You never know when it's going to happen, and you can't understand how the hell it happens. It occurs every so often, I say at least once a year you're due for the spontaneous gleak. You won't even sense it coming either. One minute your reviewing the day's events with your best bud and a split second later, their face is covered in spit. Hopefully they would be far enough away to not get hit, but a gleak can usually get some distance on it. What's most compelling about the gleak is that you can never recreate it, it only occurs by some kind of freak accident. Few people can do it on command, but they probably account for 3% of the population, which may be along the same ratio of people who can bug their eyes out of their head or wiggle their ears. You can probably also be sure of that 3% of the population being made up of a bunch of 12 year old jerk-off kids, who will use their gift for evil.

3. Walking into Walmart makes me want to blow my brains out. Unfortunately I haven't cut all my ties to Walmart. Yep, I'm a hypocrite. I can't get contact lenses through my fucking HMO so I have to go to goddamn Walmart. I went there yesterday to pick up a new pack of contact lenses and from the second I walk in there, I am in a cyclone of screaming children, brain dead employees and no room for walking. It's enough to make you want to hold a pistol to your temple. Going to Walmart is about as fun as being trapped in a coffin. No, that fucking smiley face sticker that you give me when I walk out will not make those 5 minutes of hell that I spent in there any less miserable. Next time I go in there, I better be stoned off my ass.

4. I wish I had a penis so I could pee anywhere. It's so unfair that I have to squat to piss. Today I sat on some whore's piss in the restroom. Man I was livid. Apparently she hasn't read up on my thoughts about leaving your piss all over the seat; that bitch. Not only would I have an easier time going pee wherever I pleased with a penis, but I would also play fun tricks too. If I had a penis, I would tie a string to it and hold the string out of my sweat pants and then ask people to "pull my string". Maybe it's good that I don't have a penis...