I wrote this on the train on my way to work this morning.

Shit that has pissed me off before 9am.

1.I’m sick. I’ve been fighting off a cold since the end of last week and I was winning—and then Jim T. Zombie had his graduation show for his UCB Impov class on Sunday. Long story short, I drank for roughly the entire day and fell in love with a bartender. By Monday morning, the cold pretty much had me where it wanted me. I had a terrible night’s sleep last night because the snot running down my face kept on waking me up.

2. Buckley decided she didn’t feel like pooping this morning. She just wasn’t into it. One thing she will be in to? Taking a dump on my bedroom floor while I’m at work.

3. Hey—remember like, two days ago when it was sunny and about 75 degrees? I wish I could. Unfortunately the wind has blown into my eye sockets with such force that it has stabbed holes throughout my brain, leaving me with no short-term memory or capacity for love.

4. There was a man in front of the train station talking to another guy while wearing a large horse blanket/poncho accessorized by a pair of blue sweatpants on his head. I looked at this guy and could immediately tell that he wasn’t wearing pants on his head because he is homeless and/or crazy, but because he’s an asshole.

5. The fat people sitting on either side of me right now on the train. They’re both taking up about 1 ¼ seats, leaving me in the precarious position of perching on the very edge of the seat, leaning forward and praying that the next sharp turn or sudden stop doesn’t send me careening head-first off of the seat into the metal pole directly in front of me. Because then I’ll be that girl—the girl who’s bleeding all over the train and holding up the morning commute. I hate that girl.

6. You know, when you’re a dog, it’s difficult to focus on things like pooping outside when you’re busy eating the chicken bones scattered throughout your entire neighborhood. Buckley’s daily diet can be expressed most accurately via pie chart:




7. The girl sitting across from me wearing “skinny” jeans. These are stretch jeans with severely tapered legs—basically denim leggings. I hate the fact that all the shit I wore in the fifth grade is high fashion now. Shut up skinny jeans and shut up, girl wearing skinny jeans. You have like, three cold sores. You’re not better than me.

It’s 9:03. I just have to make it to work. If I get to my building and the guy gives me too much milk in my coffee I’m going to dump it on an old lady’s head. Not because I don’t like old ladies, or because I think that would make the guy think next time, but because they’re usually shorter than I am, creating the best coffee-to-head ratio.