Moving: Making Friends is Hard

Moving to California has been crazy.  Josh has Air Force responsibilities or work at the hospital almost everyday so I don't think he's quite as desperate for attention as I am.  Humping his leg as soon as he walks in the door has got me feeling like a poodle, and poodles are fucking annoying (RIP Louise).

Making friends is hard.  Without a job or activities where do you look?!

• Our gay neighbor only looks at Josh when we talk to him.  
• The lady downstairs asked if I wanted to buy a feral kitten that had just been birthed in her old Mercedes because she forgot to roll the window up.  When I said no she asked if I wanted to buy her teenage son.  
• There's a pack of preteens that hangs around the apartment complex I could try and befriend, but I think I blew my chance when they showed me a pill bottle and used condom on the sidewalk and I said, "Well, don't touch it!" <- Fucking lame old lady!  
• A guy asked me if I wanted to be his friend at the gym the other day.  By guy I mean 8 year-old kid.  But it still felt good - in a totally appropriate way. 
• There are some B's who tan by the apartment pool everyday but one of them has a grammatically incorrect tattoo (I'm not fucking joking.  It says: Never Make Someone A Priority If They Only Make You A Option). Sigh 
• I could try church but I don't want to burn any buildings down with my presence
• Josh and I tried to play pick-up on base yesterday.  There were a lot of people, but luckily we got on the first game.  We lost, however, and in the process I got a gnarly scratch by the 70-year-old Asian man I was guarding.  Josh then got picked up to run the next couple games and I sat on the bleachers, watching longingly, and listening to all the guys say shit like, "Damn! Look at Steve Kerr out there ballin' fools up!"  I left friendless.
• I tried to google 'How to make friends' (Yes, I actually did this. No, I don't feel like a loser, but thanks for thinking that, dickhole!). Once I farmed through all the shit written for CHILDREN, the only things I could find were "Cousins can be a good resource!" <- What the fuck?! That sounds inappropriate. Plus, most of my cousins live in Colorado, where I just moved from, but thanks for the worthless advice.  Or, "Take any and all invitations." <- Besides having a new feral kitten, this shitty advice gets me nothing.  It also assumes people have invited me to do shit. When they haven't it just leaves me feeling like even more of a loser than I did when I googled 'How to make friends'.

In conclusion, I think I'm just gonna wear a low-cut shirt and hang out around the local community college hoping someone needs an adult to buy them booze. 

Moving: Thrift Stores

I haven't posted in a grip.  Mostly this is because I was too busy driving around the Pacific northwest getting high, drinking, and winning foosball tournaments.

**If you're creeping around my blog because I applied for a job at your company, that last statement is false - I didn't win one fucking foosball game the whole road trip.

In other news, I just moved to California.  It's been good.  My husband and I have spent about half of our lives these last couple weeks at thrift stores. Thrift stores are fucking wacky, man.

(Yes, they are also awesome.  They provide some cool shit at reasonable prices.  But they are mostly weird.)  

• I like finding cool old dressers - I don't like making Josh lift them up so I can do a urine smell test.  
• I could do without the various assortment of old, creepy-ass baby dolls.  Their vacant stares wigged me out when I was a kid and they wig me out now. 
• I don't like asking myself if I'm being judgmental when I walk by the undergarments rack.
• I'm not a huge fan of walking by the pet supplies section and seeing what looks like carcasses left in the cages. 
• The demon eyes I get when I look at something that's already "been claimed" by the guy with the tight sweats creeps me the fuck out. 
• It kind of weirds me out when Josh and I are accosted in the parking lot by a guy who asks if we know about his new promotion.  Like at work?? No, but congrats! Oh, not your promotion at work but your promotion on stungun-flashlight combos?!  Sure we'd like a demonstration!  What the fuuuuuuck.
• Jesus is unofficially the thrift store mascot.  He is everywhere. And no, I don't mean that he's "everywhere" like all up in our souls and shit - I mean that he's over there, on the cross, pasted on a nice assortment of sea shells. 
• Do knick-knacks procreate? They better, or else it means that people actually fucking make and buy somber looking clay frogs and creepy-ass wooden bunnies.  
• I am cool with the lady in her PJs who always asks me if the pan she's looking at looks like a legit non-stick.

After purchasing a lot of cool shit at thrift stores I've now convinced myself that we have bedbugs.

The above being said, places like Pier 1 Imports can suck it.  No I don't want to buy a wine rack for $95! I can get one that smells like body odor at the thrift store for $0.75! Go fuck yourself you pretentious whore of a store.