from happyrobot - updated 6/9/2026 3:14:58 AM https://www.happyrobot.net/words/frost.asp en-us https://www.happyrobot.net/words/frost.asp?id=4983    Just in time for Christmas, PETA and Hot Topic team up for radical activist savings.

   Not if I have anything to do with it.

   Click here to read my letter to Hot Topic's president. (.pdf file, 64 kb)

   Post this, repost this, quote this, I beg of you. I've had it up to my neck with PETA and their use of Pamela Anderson as a viable celebrity whose opinion should be adhered to. They have to be stopped.]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/frost.asp?id=4976 I've spent the week at my boss' apartment. He's in France on a convention tour and has had someone over doing his bookkeeping. Apparently he trusts her enough to have access to his financial records, but not enough to be around his Zagat Guides from 1998 - 2005 without babysitting.

His apartment is located on the fabulious 5th Avenue and Upper East Side, which translates to me as very very rich. And it is, and he is, and all around me more and more I'm becoming surrounded by and covered with cash. Plenty to see, none to touch. Pffpt.

In the lobby of his building is a man whose job is to push the turnstile for the revolving door. Because, apparently, we lack the tendons in our forearms to do it ourselves? There's a man in the elevator whose job is to push the button to open the door, close the door, go up and down the floors.

It boggles my mind. It's been raining all week, and there was a man in the lobby who was holding umbrellas open over people's heads as they walked to and from the building. And there was a line in the lobby of people waiting for the man to get back to escort them out. Despite the fact that they were holding umbrellas themselves.

I don't get it. I've never had money so I guess I won't. But still. Lord.

There's a deli a block from his apartment, and after I went in and paid for a sandwich I thanked the cashier. Like I always do. And the man regarded me with such a look of shock that for a second I racked my brain trying to remember if "thank you" was somehow insulting in India. But it wasn't, he replied "Thank you" with all measure of gratitude that I was reminded of when I first moved to New York and thanked someone at McDonalds and she said, "You're not from here, are you?"

Perhaps it's just my cynicism, but I find it depressing that proper manners are something that marks you as an outsider.

So, in order to balance things out, later on as I was walking away from a restaurant after picking up my lunch (also near my boss' apartment) I held the door open for a woman on a cell phone. Y'know, generally when someone holds the door open for me I scramble as quickly as possible to a place where I can take over the door from them, but this Madison Avenue Bitch didn't know that's how the game operates. She meandered slowly through the door, not even touching it. So. There was a second glass door in front of me, which I opened up for her. As she was about to walk past I let go and continued down the street, happily hearing the "fuck you" that followed me.

Yeah I'm petty. But I've had enough of asking people to be polite. If you didn't learn the skills required to exist peacefully within a functioning society by now, then we're at war, bitches.

And PETA. They're next. Those fuckers.]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/frost.asp?id=4884    So. Um. I honestly don't know how to say this.

   I like, just totally saw my boss' penis.

   In my new, current job I am again working for a gay man. Because I can't escape them. But at least this one is out of the closet and boyfriended, as opposed to the one that was married with children, so perhaps salary isn't the only area I'm making some improvement in.

   So I'm tip-tap-typing away on the computer when boss-man gives me a call to write his boyfriend an email asking him when he's flying back out of the country. Because apparently his boyfriend is a-la alien visitor from Amsterdam. So I scurry away to the address book to pull up his contact information with an email address, and what should I find in the 'website' box but a link to a profile on http://gaydar.co.uk/.

   Worse. Intriguingly so. The address had just been cut and pasted from the website when he was accessing the profile through his account, so not only was his boyfriend's screenname there, but my boss' as well.

   I told myself NO. I know gay people. I AM gay people. I know the kinds of nasty, greasy things they say about themselves on personals profiles. I knew I didn't want to have this much intimate knowledge about the person who will be sticking a signature on my paychecks.

   So I typed in the address. Searched for the screenname.

   And there it was in all its 250x140 pixilated glory. My boss' headless torso, holding a gigantic erect penis.

   For any of you fuckers who still don't believe my life is a cleverly orchestrated universal sitcom for the gods, CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW??



also available on second-chapter.net]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/frost.asp?id=4881 this was originally posted over at http://second-chapter.net. the unedited entry can be found here.



My cat is pregnant.

But first, lemmie tell you a story.

Back before I saw the musical Wicked, I read the book. Now the fabulous-ness of the book is that it tells the story of Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of Oz acclaim, before Dorothy came and sang about rainbows and birds and just generally annoyed me very much. Glinda (although in the beginning she's Galinda and still has the A.) is off to a boarding-school-ish type university, where she meets Elphaba. In the beginning of the book, she's forced to room with Elphaba, much to her horror (cos she is green and that's SUCH a social disaster), because of various issues involving her chaperonne, lack of preperation on Miss Good's part, and a rusty nail.

You'll understand my point in a second.

So to avoid being forced into a dormitory setting with a bunch of other girls, she convinces the headmistress that her chaperonne (which is a bit like a live-in nanny/nurse/slave thing) can't be expected to look after anybody but Glinda because she has this horrible illness that causes her to speak to inanimate objects and forget about the living ones. It's made up but the principal agrees and sticks her with Elphaba.

Later on something "happened," and the chaperonne is traumatized, and develops this fake disease. Glinda's terrified because she feels she magicked it into existance unwittingly.

I pulled a Glinda. I got the cat pregnant.

Two weeks ago I overslept and didn't feel like going into work on time, so I called my boss and said I had to take my cat to the vet and I'd be in by noon. So ofcourse I come in at noon and my boss, being that kind of person, asks about the cat. So I blurt, "Oh, she's fine, she's just pregnant." So my boss, being that kind of person, gets incredibly excited and starts asking about the kittens, who'll get them, when they're due, what they'll look like, can I have one, can I have one?

So I'm trying now to figure out how to come up with some other lie in order to get out of the tiny detail that there are no kittens. The next day I come to work and in my office on my desk is a card with a kitten baking a loaf of bread and the words, "Congrats on the new arrival."

:|

So then, in the following days, my cat becomes bigger and bigger. I notice this but I pay no attention to it, cos she hasn't even gone into heat yet, she couldn't possibly be pregnant. Then I find out that Paco, who gave me the cat in the first place, has an aunt who lived with him and had an unneutered male cat living in the house as well.

Unneutered male cat + unspayed female cat = denial.

Now she's the size of a small dog, and she wobbles around the house, and when she lies down she lies down half of her body first and with an effort falls onto the rest of herself with a huff.

She looks like my mom. Apparently cats get knocked up early in the Bronx, too.

So the long and short of it is, cos I lied to my boss, I've magicked sperm into my kitty's uterus and now the damn thing is going to lay spawn all over my apartment.

I was so depressed I bought a bird. She's trying to eat it but she knows she doesn't have her gravity-defying skillz anymore. My tiny room is suddenly becoming overrun with live-things.

Fuck you. Who wants a kitten?


note: there are no more kittens now. sorry.]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/frost.asp?id=4870 Oh my fucking christ.

I am all kinds of messed up right now. I am double messed up with knobs. I feel like such a fuck-tard. Dear christ, I need to be taken outside and shot through the kneecaps and then while I'm reeling from that, get shot in the face a couple times.

I had work today. Five to close. Five to, effectively, nine thirty at night. See how it's eight o'clock right now? Yeah. That's cos I slept fifteen hours today and somehow managed to go right through my shift.

I fucking slept through my fucking shift.

I won't even start to argue the logistics of that. I redid my alarm two days ago and changed the time on it and somehow, like the massive flaming moron that I am, I managed to set it to AM, when it's supposed to be PM. So my clock was reading seven fifty-three in the goddamnfuckingmorning, when it was really seven fifty-three at night.

I am sick with guilt.

I literally was in the bathroom two seconds after I realized what time it was, throwing up because I am so guilty out of my mind.

That two people are there right now, doing double the fucking work, because I am a fucking idiot. That two people are stuck by themselves to do my shit. Because I should be shot.

I tried calling. Relentlessly. For ten minutes straight I dialed and redialed and checked the paper the manager gave me and looked it up in the phone book (it's not fucking listed! it must be because the store is new) but nobody is answering. So I think I just have the number for the upstairs office, where nobody has access/can hear the phone.

So I have a fucking no call/no show on my record now. Barely two weeks into the fucking job and I have one. I've never had one of those before, and what a great fucking impression I'm going to set now.

Argh, I think I might vomit again.

So tomorrow I am going to call them. When the store opens. And, like cry into the receiver. Because I can't get in touch with them and I would even ride up there right now, but if I went as fast as I could and narrowly avoided getting hit by another car, it'd still take me fourty-five minutes. And then, y'know, work would totally fucking be over with.

Sigh. I bet they're saying the nastiest things about me too.



8:17 AM

And then. Oh christ. I am a flaming idiot.

It is eight in the morning.

Enter delerious insane laughter that only the unbelievably fucked up can laugh.


originally posted October 15 - 2002, at 08:03 AM]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/frost.asp?id=4859 It's pretty clear to most people who know me or read anything vaguely political that I've written that I'm an extroverted democrat. I mean, it's hard to miss it with all my anti-Bush bitching.

My disappointment at the results of this new election don't lie even 50% in the fact that he was reelected. I am disappointed mostly because I really, honestly, felt that it was going to be different.

Everyone knew/assumed that the race would be close. Down to the wire. That went without saying. What I think everyone was shocked by is that every state, for the most part, voted exactly the way they had in 2000.

I had seen more people acting political than ever before in all my existance. I heard more complaining. Louder voices. "This administration has let us down." I thought that this election would be the catalyst for a rising up of the section of the US tired of the bullshit excuses that wouldn't even fly for forgetting to do your homework in third grade.

I dunno. Maybe it was. But maybe the other side was just as charged too. I didn't see any hard numbers on the voters this time as opposed to last, but I guess I can at least grudgingly muster up some benefit-of-the-doubt.

So where now? Where do we go from this? I feel failed, I just don't know who's responsible.]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/frost.asp?id=4844 As November first looms to a close, and the ugly first-tuesday-of-every-fourth-year approaches, I would like to take this time to exert my... clout, and give a dissertation of the democratic process.

We all know the polls, and the statistics, but I think it's safe to say that pretty much everybody who can use a computer with any fluency, much less keep up a website and/or "blog," will not be voting for George Bush tomorrow.

Why, do you ask? Ask. Ask and I'll tell you. I'll give you a second.

Okay. Because in order to use a computer, and I don't mean for Excel or Word or expense reports or "data entry", you must have a certain measure of intellegence. In order to read, you must also have intellegence. In order to, let's say, run a country for four to eight years, you must also have intellegence.

Lemmie adjust that. In order to run a country effectively.

People who'd vote for George Bush do not, unfortunately, possess intellegence. I mean, look at the people you see at the pro-Republican rallies. They also moonlight on Cops. Tell me I'm wrong.

So, when you're standing behind the black curtain tomorrow in whatever respective state you're respectively voting in, thoughts of Sting's Roxanne going through your head (put on the red, put on the red, put on the red light) I want you to reflect on this very well-known fact.

Smart people don't vote Bush.

You might think you're smart, you might've graduated with full honors from, perhaps, Yale, you might design high-trajectory low-propulsion rocket systems in your spare time, but believe me, if, come 6 AM tomorrow you click the wrong lever, your IQ level will inadvertantly drop by, like, fifty Happiness points.

Tomorrow isn't about the "issues", it's not about "Iraq", it's about, simply, getting an electorial wax-job. Trimming the bikini-line. Because he had his turn to prove that he wasn't a fuck-up, and despite all of daddy's help he wasn't able to. Now it's someone else's turn to play President for a day.

November 2nd, 2004: vote Kerry.]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/frost.asp?id=4835 note: for clarity's sake, this was originally posted over at http://second-chapter.net, which is my real-o site. the unedited entry can be found a-here.


So how was your Fourth of July?

Well my cat gave birth while the police were over.

Why were the police over? What, you don't call them when your pussy is bleeding?

No, I joke. ha ha. It's so funny.

I have, no, had, in the past tense, a roommate. The Cunt Roommate, as she will henceforth be known (I have stripped her of her friendly pat-on-the-shoulder nominer), who I viced out in August, for, amongst other reasons, failing to pay the rent on the first of the month from January to August. So, for the Fourth, her contribution to patriotism was once again failing to pay the rent on time. Despite being warned by the landlord that if she didn't, she'd be out. So in retaliation against me, since it was apparently my fault that she spends all of her money on alcohol instead of paying her bills, she and/or her boyfriend (it still isn't entirely known) took it upon themselves to vandalize my property the Friday night before in various ways throughout the apartment, and then disappear for the weekend.

I was livid to a state of constipation. And that's putting it nicely.

So she came home at 3 am-ish on Saturday, drunker than fuck if fuck could be drunk, and we apparently had differing opinions over whether it was the best time to discuss her disgusting financial situation and subsequent illegal activity. So we got into a fight, she yelled like the white trash bitch she is (despite all her Upstate New York WASP-esqua), and proceeded to call the police.

Why?

Well once they got there, she claimed I beat her up. Let's throw aside for a moment the fact that she was bruise-less ("Oh, I heal quickly," was what she said when the police officer asked about them, or their lack.), and point out that she's 5'11 and I'm 5'8. And probably thirty pounds lighter than her. And that the entire fight took place in front of my other roommate Jake and another friend of mine, and both of them also failed to be aware of me striking her. As it were, she shoved me several times, so if I had decided to beat the shit out of her it would've been self defense.

The police, thankfully, also saw that she was irate and drunk whereas I was calm and polite despite having cat placenta all over me. She went off for several minutes, bitching and screaming at the cops, while I and my roommate explained what'd happened. It was a night.

In the middle of all of this, (De)Mona the Cat was squirting out chillins. The first one died unfortunately which perturbed me extremely since it died right in front of the police sergeant, and being as it was the first kitten I worried as to the well-being of the remaining ones. I guess she was freaked out with all the people and screaming because she didn't give birth to another one for nearly three hours later, but that one thankfully was alive and crying. The damn cat has about as much motherly instinct as me, because just as soon as it was out she was running around the house cleaning herself up and hissing at it.

I had to cut two of the cats out of their sacks myself because she wouldn't touch them at all and they were in danger of not breathing. I also had to cut them from the umbillical cords and clean that mess up because she also wouldn't have anything to do with it. All in all she gave birth to three live kittens. The third was the only one she took care of herself, but then she turned on her side, let them nurse, and promptly fell asleep.

The entire episode lasted from 11 PM to 7 AM.

My advice to kitten-owners-to-be: if you have a crazy female roommate who PMS's about as often as she takes a breath, wait until after she's sober to deliver your pet's babies.]]>