Is this thing still on? Holy shit it has been a long time since I have been on here. I blame my lack of adequate leg-muscle capacity, lingering baby weight, and easily located quantities of Ben & Jerry’s and vodka on maintaining this here bloggy thingy. Which roughly translates into I’m hella lazy, so deal with it.

Now, I’m not one to talk about people while they are still in the room. I wait until they have left to do it. It’s called manners; but somehow, I hope that this post finds that special someone who just can’t seem to put the perfume bottle down. Searching for her would take too much of my already limited time. That’s like Jesus posing nude for an art class because he isn’t busy these days. It seems that we have a little nugget who believes the term “the more the merrier” is directed at her and what, I can only assume, she believes to be perfume magic.

Why on earth would she perpetrate such a whammy? I only know that it is happening from the lingering scent in the hallway long after they’ve passed by. It’s pretty sad when you walk into the hallway and exclaim "OH!" and then back away into your office crying and asking, “Are you sure that is perfume and not tear gas? “

We’re not even sure how long it lasts. How can you gauge that? We can not just rely on our gut feeling, however substantial that gut may be, to get us through the hallway. Just when we think it’s ok to go out, BAM; there it is again and you find yourself writhing in pain curled up in the fetal position crying for your mother.

Whoever you are, I just want to know; did you marinate in it or just feel the need to douche yourself with it? Your perfume is giving me The Hives and The Asthma and no, the number of suicides resulting directly from your over indulgence has not been exaggerated. Put the bottle down and step away. Remember this little friendly piece of advice to people who wear perfume and cologne. Spray and walk away. That’s it. Spray it, walk through it and keep walking, don’t go back for more. My burned retinas will thank you.

Dear Super In-Shape Guy at the Gym,

We all noticed you bust a front double bicep as soon as you got into the gym. We also saw you piss all over that bench just incase anyone didn’t know it wasn’t taken. But do you really need to stand there pretending you are a Greek god? You’re blocking the aisle for the rest of us, get walking. You remember how to walk don’t you? It’s one set of knuckles in front of the other.

Okay, so if you’ve got it, flaunt it, I suppose, but would it really kill you when it’s just the TWO of us in the cardio area, to just keep your shirt on instead of going all Matthew McConaughey while running on the treadmill? In the words of Phil Foster, “…for the love of God, put on a fucking shirt.” You don’t see me taking my shirt off do you? (Collective sigh of relief) Not even when I’m hot from the alcohol. It’s called manners.

I understand that you think nobody wants you to keep your shirt on, and your pulsating veins demand our attention. But seriously, what in roid hell is going on with your arms and legs? Just looking at you makes my own veins all tingly. If someone touched one of your veins, I think it would touch them back. Sometimes, I get the distinct feeling your veins want to chat with me as you walk by.

Lastly, I find it amusing how you will attempt to lift more weight than usual when women come around. Just to let you know, you look constipated, and your pulsating veins are trying to tell you that it’s not a good look for you. Maybe you can’t understand them since the only way you seem to communicate is through grunts.

Much Love,

Guy Who’s Already Sweating After Walking Up The Stairs

All in all, it hasn’t been a good week. Bad traffic, being late for work, mounds of homework and tests, a malfunctioning computer, and incompetent coworkers all made me a bubbling cauldron of hate. But more importantly for this story, the work bathroom has smelled like it had been over forty-eight hours since whoever used it last had last taken a dump and expelled whatever had died up there. It was asstastic.

Now…let me tell you the story of how I became blind in my right eye.

It hit me. My colon informed me with a sudden cramp that I needed to visit the little boy’s room. I gaily made my way into the back when I noticed that the bathroom was occupied. No big deal, I wasn’t in dire need of the restroom. No sudden wet, squeaky farts telling me that everything needed to go. So I waited…and waited…and waited. In fact, I waited so long, that I damn near forgot that I need to go until my bowels let me know on no uncertain terms that I needed to get in there. I made my way back there again, this time a little more hastily than before, and was thrilled to see that bathroom was open. As I entered the bathroom, I was met by a horrible, unearthly stench. It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul mist quickly made its way through my nasal passage and began choking me. How could this be? Who would do such a thing? Maybe I’m the only one that believes you should have the utmost standards in bathroom etiquette at work. Sometimes, you should just take that *shit* home and wreck your own bathroom.

I was stuck. There was no stopping me. I couldn’t just slam my sphincter shut for the rest of the day and call it good. I had to go. As I trekked deeper into the bathroom, I surveyed the damage that was left. It looked as though something had actually recoiled out of the toilet bowl and ran down the side to the floor. Tears involuntarily began to run down my face from the burn. As I continued to survey the disaster, I noticed that the toilet paper dispenser was dreadfully low. The user before me used a considerable amount of paperwork for his supernatural elimination. Was it too low? Will there be enough? I had to take my chances. The subtle rumble of my insides were telling me, “Any longer, and we will be having a clearance sale. Everything Must Go!”

I proceeded with my business. My eyes were burning and the tears were rapidly flowing down my face. Sounds of suppressed gagging and retching filled the bathroom. I could not take much more of this. I had to escape, and soon. I gripped the toilet paper dispenser with one hand and braced myself against the side of the wall with my other hand and pushed with everything I had. I was finally rewarded with comfort and knew that I was almost out of there. I used up what was left of the toilet paper and whoever said “less is more” was not kidding. I should receive a medal for being able to do a full clean up with only having half the materials to do it with.

I quickly washed my hands and noticed that the mirror was being faded out by the haze left over from the previous occupant. I was failing to realize that the burn from the mist was doing more damage to me than just causing me to cough and gag. I ran out of there and as I exited the bathroom, I realized that the blur caused by the mist was not clearing up. Could it be? Did that green haze damage me for life? As I continued on, I ran into another co-worker, literally, since I could no longer see out of my right eye. With fear etched into my face, all I could say to her was…“Gotta go… horrible… throw up…in my mouth… not… make it… tell my family… love them… oh God…”

And this, my friends, is how I lost vision in my right eye; my good eye.

Can I just say that moving is possibly the worst thing in the world besides Crystal Pepsi? What happened to the good old days of feeding a starving student and having all of your shit moved by the time you got the kitchen cleaned up? Anyway, we have been moving and without our satellite TV for almost a week now. I really haven’t been sad about this since I have my wonderful Western Digital TV Live box which allows me to stream right from my computer or the internet. It. Is. Spec-tac-u-lar! I think Mike is dealing with it pretty well; although, I did find some claw marks on the old remotes and sometimes hear crying at night during what would have been “Glee viewing time.” Just kidding. Mike seems to be doing really well with this no-more-tv-ness style we have going. Maybe this would give you time to do other things Mike. Important things, like creating a Camilla Toe Facebook page. Imagine the good you could do with that!

So the countdown begins and as of posting time; I have 28 hours until I start bringing back the eighties with my 80’s Spin Night. Originally this was created to celebrate my birthday week at the gym, but it has become an event of its own. I have been getting music suggestions from people, whether I want them or not, every time I talk about it. I even had my class do a few suggestions, or requests as I like to call them. Mike laughs about this, believing I was too young to remember much of the decade. This plays to my advantage since I cannot remember many of the fashions, and looking back, no loss there.

Here’s to the 80’s, Twisted Sisters on MTV, and all the fun you had that you can “totally remember.” I think that if she could, my friend Heather would still be in the 80’s shaking her ass on the hood of White Snake’s car with her hair as big as a bus. Three words: Like Totally Rad!

Well, well, well…it’s been too long since my last post, but let’s move on. This year I am celebrating my ∞ birthday. Yes, that’s right, my ∞ birthday. If you had asked my age before, I would have normally told you to cut me in half and go phuck yourself. Anyway, I was going back and forth on whether to celebrate this year or lay low, and someone really hot asked me if I was going to celebrate my turning ∞, leaving behind all the things I didn’t do in my twe…..err….earlier years. Thinking back, I decided that I am going to celebrate leaving behind all the things I did do that I either shouldn’t have done or don’t remember doing; like that pencil thin eyebrow incident. Yes Mike, all of those pictures have been destroyed….or have they???

So…I will be celebrating my birthday week, that’s right, week, and doing something all week long ending the B-Day week with a trip to Vegas for a little clubbing and some Phantom of the Opera viewing. Everyone is invited to celebrate with me, whether it is here or in spirit, or at my 80’s Spin Night (Wednesday, May 19th, 5:30 PM, Gold’s Gym). I am hoping that someone will voluntarily throw a birthday bash for me, but I’m not counting on it…maybe…I am going to sub out my spin class next week just in case. Just a hint that this would be an excellent time to try all of those “drinks o' the day” that someone keeps posting about.

Anywho, just to recap, it’s my birthday week, all week. When you see me, say hi, I won’t be easily missed with the inside-out Burger King crown painted red with the phrase “It’s My Birthday Bitches” written on it. I do accept gifts, cash and checks (with a check guarantee card). Hopefully I will see you all next week, maybe at some random birthday party! YAY!

Well My Bitches…it has been months, literally, since my last post. Let’s just chalk it up to a production break between seasons of my blog. Bwahahaha! Anyway, school has been a bit harsh and has been demanding a lot of my time. Statistics is one of the hardest classes I have taken thus far in my education career. Most of the other students in the class have failed it at least once and this is either their second or third time taking it. Statistically speaking that means each one of us is, wait…I don’t know what the hell this means statistically since I’m not doing so hot in the class. Ha Ha, stupid bitch.

Anyway, my new goal is to post more on this damn blog than I have been. I will not promise anything, except that I will backhand a child in the near future, but I will do my best to continually add content to this here blog. Initially I setup this blog to house my thoughts and feelings on the stupidity of mankind, but have found that to be too taxing. Instead of writing on the ghetto fabulousness of stupid people, I end up going home, taking five Xanax and drinking myself into a coma to deal with the harsh reality of our government putting a moratorium on natural selection. Remember, “Stupidity only hurts its victims, not its champions.” (Thanks Mike and Nathan!)

I am hoping to add a little more to the format of my posts. I will still post my witty repertoire and quips about my constant hatred of the human race (DEATH TO HUMANS!), but I thought I would chronicle my way back to healthy eating. In layman’s terms: a diet. Yes, it is true. I have gained back 35 pounds since my great weight loss in late 2008 and 20 of those pounds have been since January. No matter how much I want it and try for it, I just can’t bring fat and nasty back. And since Justin Timberlake already brought sexy back, I really have nothing to bring. “It’s already been brought-en.”

In an effort to catch you all up on what I have been doing over the past few months, I have compiled a few points of interest for you. (Is it just me, or does this post seem to go on and on?) Anyway, here they are…

January: I voted: Coco FTW please. I also met someone, and that’s all I have to say on the matter at this time, oh and I gained 7 pounds.

February: I thought long and hard about this month. Do I talk about the great Valentine’s Day I had or all of the fabulous homes I toured during the Parade of Homes? No! What totally made my month was watching a child do a face plant as it tried to run through the mall. Bwahahaha! Priceless memories, oh and I gained 8 pounds. Phucking candy.

March: Went to Vegas for spring break weekend. Went shopping, ate at P.F. Chang’s (twice), rode the roller coaster at the New York New York, and went to Blue Man Group. I got pulled up on stage from the audience. IT. WAS. AWESOME! I totally blue myself. (See photo below) I have also gained 5 pounds thus far.

Somewhere in there I also instituted a personal ban on Café Rio. It’s too much to go in to, but let’s just say they are “champions.” I think that may be all for now, but I will keep you posted and continue to work on updating this blog. OH!, before I forget, I did upload some new music to the player. I hope that you enjoy! TTFN!

Well…like most of Tiger Woods’ sponsors, 2009 has come and gone. Personally, I am glad to see 2009 go and before it has a chance to disappear completely, I would like nothing more than to tell 2009 to suck a fart out of my ass. Hopefully most of you, like me, will be celebrating and bringing in 2010 three sheets to the wind because as most of you know, proper holiday behavior is to be drunk. I will be pissing the night away (cue Chumbawamba) with friends and a Ziploc full of ribs. Tim, I shall thank you ahead of time for the wonderful ribs as I will be so drunk that anything will seem ok, even anal sex...wait.. As we bring this year to a close I thought I would share some of my favorite moments from 2009 and a few of my resolutions.

Favorite/most memorable moments of the past year go to…

Chris Brown introduces his fist to Rihanna (cue Rihanna’s song “SOS”). Chris Brown then gets upset because he thinks that some major stores are refusing to carry his new CD. Brown then turned to his Twitter account for some encouragement and anger management help. He said that stores aren't stocking the CD, and that he is being "blackballed." He also said that the industry can "kiss my ass.” He takes his anger out on Twitter because he knows the Twitter Bird can't hit him back. Then, when he realized nobody cared, he deleted his entire Twitter account. You’re a rapper dude. I thought that’s what rappers did was get “blackballed”…ass.

Tiger Woods is publicly outed as a cheater. Dear Tiger, didn’t anyone ever teach you that you don’t sleep around on your Swedish blonde bombshell of a wife with nightclub VIP hostesses and one very mannish looking…err…woman?

Simon Cowell should kiss Susan Boyle’s ass. She rocked Britain’s Got Talent with I Dreamed a Dream and showed the world that an unemployed 47 year old single lady living alone with her cat Pebbles in “a collection of, a collection of, a collection of villages” [yeah that’s it] can sing.

Jersey Shore premieres on MTV. Read my blog post regarding Douche Bags. That will explain the premise of the show.

Lindsay Lohan goes to India to film a BBC Three documentary on child trafficking. If you thought this had international incident written all over it, you were right. She tweeted that she’d saved 40 children as part of one day’s work. The actual organization that helped the children took two months in planning the raid, not one day; they also carried it out before Lindsay even arrived in India. Way to help those children Lindsay or should I say Mother Teresa?

The anti-intelligent Carrie Prejean sues the Miss California Pageant Officials for over a million dollars believing she was fired for her anti-gay-marriage ramblings. She was claiming “religious discrimination.” Reportedly a lawyer for the pageant showed her a…wait for it…sex tape and that shut her up. The lawsuit was then mysteriously dropped. I wonder why? Stupid bitch.

Latricia Whitman called 911 over a McDonald’s order. “I ordered a 10-piece chicken nugget with a small fry, and she said we don’t have nuggets,” said Latricia. I love that the operator acted like she was willing to help, asking, “Is there a manager there? OK, I’ll send an officer.” I’m calling bullshit. You know with a name like Latricia, that bitch ordered a 20 or 25 piece, not some silly little 10 piece.

Mary Strey, a 49 year old woman in Missouri, called 911 to report a drunk driver. This is great, unless the driver you’re reporting is yourself. “Are you behind them?” the operator asked. “No, I am them.” Really? “I am them.” That’s your best response? Well, in her defense she was drinking, driving and talking on a cell phone at the same time. I guess kudos are in order for her multitasking skills. Remember, if you are going to drink and drive; drive someone else’s car.

I don’t know about you, but I have mixed feelings about fools like these. First off, they bother me. Ok, so “bother me” is putting it nicely. Most of the time I want to shank them with the shiv from my keester stash. On the other hand, they bring me glorious entertainment with their shenanigans. Makes me just want to pull up a lawn chair, pop some popcorn and enjoy the show.

As it is with tradition, I have come up with a few resolutions to work on once 2010 has commenced. Just like every other year, I’m sure that I will inevitably lose sight of these goals. I’m hoping that I will at least last the first day of the New Year before reverting back to my self-absorbed assholeness.

The winners of the 2010 Resolutions are…

I am adopting a no-apology policy for what I say. If you feel that I have offended you in anyway and you would like me to issue an apology, this will be my statement: “You would have to be a complete fucking moron to think I was serious. The end.” The only person I have apologized to is my mother and that was court ordered.

I will do better at pretending to care, as long as it does not conflict with the first resolution.

I will try to be less of a dick to the hopeless, slack-jawed, gum chewing, cell phone yammering, blue eye shadow wearing, stuffed into spandex, lashes by Tammy Faye, hyper-as-a-yappy-dog, mouth breathing moronic populace as long as it does not conflict with the first or second resolution. Hmmm…. I’m guessing this resolution will get used as much as a treadmill would at Kristie Alley’s house.

Here’s wishing you a great and bile-less New Year. To those of you that feel the need to list dieting as one of your New Year resolutions, I hope this quote from Jay Leno helps you along on your daunting task.

“Now, there are more overweight people in America than average-weight people. So overweight people are now average… which means, you have met your New Year's resolution.”