Fight Club

I am a strong believer in swearing. I swear all the time, its in my nature. Im sure a lot of it has to do with the fact that it wasnt necessarily allowed in my house growing up but I was never punished for it either. As a matter of fact my mother told me my designated swear zone was in my bedroom, and she would often walk by my room and over hear me saying "shit shit shit fuck ass bitch..." etc. I think swearing has actually made me less prone to conflict with others. Well I like to think its the swears that help, but there is always the possibility that I am just a giant pussy. 

Now Im not saying I never get in fights, because I do. As many people know I am filled with rage and hate for most everything. The first fight I can remember was on the playground at recess in the first grade. I was with 2 boys and one of them said "now kiss the bride" and slammed the other boys head into mine. It hurt like hell, but instead of tossing a punch his way i called him a "mother fucking asshole likes to suck dick major league jackass" it was something I said often to people as a kid, I thought it was hysterical. Most of the crap I get into is along the lines of being extremely childish.

Back in junior high a few girls asked if I could help them out with another group of girls they were having issues with. I figured what the hell I'll go for kicks. When we arrived at our destination this one chick came flying out of the house with knives. I didnt sign up for that shit so I ran like a bat out of hell screaming my head off. I have never been asked to help out in a fight since.

As I get older I have found myself moving from childish fights to full blown scary shit. An ex boyfriend of mine socked me in the face one night, and I feel like most people would attack the little fucker who punches them, I just screamed a million swears and went to my room. Just recently my girl Helen and I have had a lot of shit hit the fan with some characters in the town we enjoy partying in. This one kid actually told me he was going to stab me, gut me, and kill me. I simply walked away from those words and called it a night. Helen on the other hand doesnt take shit like that, and she will kick your ass, its pretty entertaining. I have actually watched her rip a bitches hair out all while smoking a cig. Shes pretty bad ass, I on the other hand hang back and try to control the situation by asking everyone to calm down and walk away.

Getting to the point of this stupid blog, lastnight I hit a bitch. I had finally snapped. Last call came around at the bar and we were just hanging out outside when two girls started chatting with me. They were very pleasant, introduced themselves and carried a fairly decent conversation. They asked me what my friends name was and when I told them it was Helen the atmosphere changed instantly. Apparently these girls were holding a grudge. A fight broke out almost instantly, and I did my regualr thing asking everyone to cool their jets and lets just keep walking. Then as if in slow motion I looked at this one girl right in the face and thought to myself "shit Amanda this girl just played you like a fool". I remember just looking at her for a while and just getting brutally angry, and then it happened. I punched the idiot right in the face. It had taken 23 years 6 months and 5 days from the day I was born to actually hit someone with force on purpose. That is all, I cant say I enjoyed it but I also didnt hate it. I dont feel bad about it and Im also not proud of it. Whats done is done.

Im currently in my bedroom so...ass asshole nigger slut pussy fuck cunt dick bitch cock whore bullshit cumguzzler fag chink wetback porchmonkey prick junglebunny hooker. That felt good. Maybe that will keep me from punching someone for another 23 years 6 months and 5 days.

Rap Sheet

It’s fair to say that I am a prick. I do and say things that people who grow up in a normal loving environment learn not to do at a young age. I am a rare breed of bullshit. Sometimes I wonder if there will ever be a day I wake up concerned about myself and my well being. I still wake up with the intent to fuck shit up. With this mentality running into trouble with the law is a sure thing. You would imagine my criminal record being about 500 pages long with the way I live, but you will be surprised to know I am one lucky bastard when it comes to the law. I have only been to court 3 times due to awesome house parties, and that just fucking rules. Before I begin I want to express how serious I am about the fact I drunk drive a lot. I know it’s unsafe for myself, I understand I put others lives in danger, and I realize the legality issues it could cause me. GO FUCK YOURSELF IF YOU TRY TO TELL ME ANY OF THAT AFTER READING THIS. I have a conscious and sometimes feel guilty when I wake up not sure of how I got home the night before only to find my car sitting on my front porch, doors wide open, and only one tire on the pavement. In all seriousness I am not interested in anyone trying to smack some sense into me or scolding me for the shit I pull, so don’t even think about it. I’m going to run through my drunken moments rather quickly, so I don’t have to hear everyone’s sob stories about how I should be more considerate of the law.

I started causing trouble at a very young age and making the neighborhood kids feel like pieces of shit was my specialty. The first time a cop was involved though I was in the 5^th grade. I had this friend Lucy from school; she had super strict parents and had more money than god. She enjoyed coming over my house because there were very little rules. We had this problem with the fuck tard that lived next door to me, he was this little animal with a twitch who was always riding his bike telling us boys were better than girls, and I have to assume he is gay by now. Anyway we had enough of his garbage and posted up outside of his house armed with a full carton of eggs. Caught in the crossfire happened to be a decent car that now had stripped paint due to my eggs OOPS. That cost my parents a pretty penny. From there I moved on to bigger and better things, in the summer after 6^th grade I stole a little boat down the cape and was brought out to the ocean with the tide. I jumped ship and was greeted on shore by the police. Don’t be impressed, it was a tiny little dingy thing that was on its last leg anyway. The owner of the boat didn’t even press charges. In the 8^th grade I was spoken to by the police on many occasions. Apparently if you call someone a “vagina”, that is sexual harassment and will result in 2 weeks suspension and a conversation the po-po. Also, according to one of my English teachers and Officer Dip Shit when a girl in your class threatens to kill herself by jumping off the second story staircase at school and you tell her to just get it over with and do it resulting in her breaking her arm, you are an accessory to murder. Who knew?

Through high school I managed to stay out of trouble, mainly because I was more concerned with learning how to drive and finding a sexual partner. After a solid 4 years of good behavior, enjoying sex and driving, I decided I also really liked drinking alcohol. My freshman year of college a friend of mine asked me to take his Ford Lightning for a spin around the block to go pick up this girl I knew. I was approximately 10 beers and half a bottle of Jaeger deep. Long story short I crashed into the only god damn telephone pole on the street. My karate instructor from when I was little was apparently a cop, because he was the first to respond. He was kind enough to ignore how shit faced I was, give me a ride home, and only a ticket for crossing the yellow line at a cost of $100. My buddies insurance took care of the rest. That is actually the only accident I have been in involving alcohol. Being pulled over is a different story however.

The most memorable getting pulled over story involved me and 3 of my friends. We had just finished pounding back as much booze as possible and decided we NEEDED food. Pulling out of my local fast food restaurant I was pulled over by a cop who ran my plates and noticed I had no insurance and was unregistered (because I am also a huge deadbeat) we hid all of our booze in our bags of food and stumbled out of the car. Luckily right up the street a hit and run happened and the cop was more concerned about that then our drunk asses. We ended up having to walk home, no big deal. The worst thing is I had no desire to go get my car the next day so I left it there and stopped paying for it completely. It got repossessed at some point and my credit took a huge hit because of it. OH WELL. I have been pulled over at extremely odd hours, and in the middle of the day, one time a friend threw a CD directly at a cop car, sometimes the reason is as small as a backlight, headlight, or blinker being out, I have been stopped while wearing close to nothing, dressed as a Mexican, and on multiple occasions wearing gold spandex. Point is I haven’t been pulled over once sober (if you don’t count the 2 times in high school for speeding), and I have never been in trouble for it.

I found that when a cop is talking to you, look them in the eyes, explain where you were going, and ask a simple question. “I was trying to get to Hale Street in Bridgewater, but must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, could you point me in the right direction?” if you replace the street and town with something close to where you are you should have no problems, knock on wood. I am a master bullshitter, I have been since birth.

The End.

Cosbys Day Out

I think my issue with farting and taking a number 2 in public restrooms started at the end of the second grade. With only about 3 months left to the school year my parents decided to move across town, where I had to enter a new elementary school, and there was little time to make friends before summer vacation. I knew a few kids from playing town league baseball so I wasn’t like some freak standing alone at recess or anything, but it was still very hard for me to adjust. Anyway one day towards the very end of the year, I remember it being super hot, my teacher had us all sit around close together and have a little bit of a story time. That’s where it happened, while sitting Indian style, I let one rip. You can only imagine the sound it made and the different shades of red and pink my face turned. There was nothing I could do I had no defense against the horror I just unleashed in my second grade classroom. I think right then I blacked out because I honestly have no idea how the rest of that day went, horrible I assume. From that day on I had completely shut off my fart mechanism and had never let anything in relation to farts come out of me while other people were or could potentially be around.

The most difficult time of my life was when I went to PCC, a summer camp for awesome people. While most girls thought it was hysterical to have poop and shower parties I found this to be terribly unsettling. The thought of 6 girls sitting in a bathroom listening to music while taking shits, I’ll pass thank you very much. For the first 2 weeks I held my doody in until the weekends, where I found comfort in my own bathroom. My mother got so irritated with this she told me to set the alarm on my phone for 2:00am while at camp and stick it under my pillow, and go take a dump then while everyone is sleeping. That made the other few weeks slightly tolerable.

Six years later and still living with my bowel movement issue, something had changed and it was probably the best thing to ever happen to me, and the worst thing to ever happen to anyone who comes in contact with me. On my friend Pat’s birthday a group of us decided to go out drinking, ending up in scorpion bowl races. By the time we left the bar not one of us was speaking English or walking in any form of a straight line, at one point I remember crawling on the sidewalk. Pat ended up staying behind to fight off a telephone pole that got in his way, and my boyfriend at the time and I stormed ahead. Now I must tell you when I walk too fast and have anything in my belly I tend to throw up, a lot. Scorpion bowls come up in the most beautiful colors too, so I wasn’t that mad about letting it all out on my front walkway. Anyway the boyfriend, Steve, sat next to me for an unusually long time while I threw up, come to find out he was taking a massive crap on my lawn only feet from my face. When I saw the vandalism he had produced next to me I was a little impress, and couldn’t believe he would leave his makings for everyone to see. Turns out it got a lot of laughs, high fives, and “atta boy” type pat on the backs. There it was, people giving props to what I thought was pure evil, and from then on I decided to embrace the fact everyone shits, and I was going to let the world know that I am a shitter.

Not a day goes by I don’t drop one off in the porcelain pool, however sometimes I enjoy switching it up and leaving one where nobody would expect. The first spot I chose to use as my restroom was actually the very same spot Steve had chosen the night of the scorpion bowl races. It got some pretty good feedback and even a few friends snapped some pictures on their phones. My next spot was by a dumpster outside of some kids apartment complex, I then stepped it up and took a dump on the lawn of my friends while a very large party was going on, but my ultimate doodoo story is one that I think cant be beat. I went to a party with two of my girlz, we’ll call them Donna and Tess, that night I drank 3 Four Lokos to my face, and knew things were going to get ugly. The party came to an end with only 4 of us sitting on some couches smoking as much weed as humanly possible. Donna tends to get a little frisky when she drinks and found herself a dude to cuddle on up with, and I couldn’t tell you what Tess was doing, I cant remember. I was left to my own devices, so I made some SpaghettiO’s. I remember the kid who lived there being pretty mad at me for helping myself, and I cant blame him, I get pissed when people eat my food too, but I was high as hell. He also made a vulgar comment about my dear friend Donna. I decided to retaliate. I went into his bathroom and did every stupid thing I could think of. I stuck all the toothbrushes behind the heater; put the razors in Vaseline, and emptied their shaving cream and toothpaste into the sink. I knew that wasn’t enough though I needed something better. I saw the shampoo and conditioner bottles and decided to pee in them, even then I wasn’t satisfied. So I jumped into the tub with the conditioner bottle and left a decently sized dookie in and around the bottle and plenty more in the tub. Once I realized what I had done I gathered the girls, and my bowl of SpaghettiO’s and high tailed it the fuck out of there.

Sad thing is I will never know what kind of reaction that disgusting act received. My guess is something of complete horror. Every now and then I think back on that night and a smile comes across my face, yes I am somewhat proud of what I did. Point is don’t make me mad, because I have overcome my fear of stinky gross poopoo, and will literally shit on you.

Baldies

Im hesitant on talking about my Saturday night, but its only fair that I continue to be true to my word and not hold back on anything. I suppose I should actually start by telling you a little bit about Thursday. I went to Bogarts and thats no surprise. For whatever reason I started talking to an older gentleman named Brian. He was 34 years old, bald, and had a bit of a lisp. Other than that he was honestly very nice. We exchanged phone numbers because I am fool, but sadly I havent heard from him since. Womp womp. Friday was a long hair dont care kind of night for me, I went into Boston to go to Howl At The Moon, and barely got a buzz going. Skipping to good the shit...Saturday.

I went into Boston Satuday too to check out my dear friend Kates new apartment. She is doing great by the way, excellent job, nice place, good looks, I really respect the bitch. A few other of my hooligan friends went too, it was looking like we were going to have a great time. After the Bruins game and slamming back 2 giant mugs of Vodka and Crystal Light I decided it was time to really start drinking heavily. We all hit the streets and walked over to The Black Rose. I immediately ordered an irish car bomb and a coors light, I had no time to waste checking out the crowd or anything like that, I meant business. Now I am not racist by any means, I actually get along better with people who arent white. I remember talking to some black guys and making racist comments and having it be totally fine. Come to find out a friend of mine actually went home with one of those dudes that night and that makes me happy. Once I was completely wrecked (my blog) I wandered over to Sissy K's, a fine establishment. Some idiot white kid bought me 2 shots, and this is when I knew my Saturday night was going to end with a black guy.

I took my time and played it cool looking for the perfect man. Then there he was, taller than me, not fat, also not super skinny, and yes, the theme of the weekend, bald. He told me his name was William but I insisted on calling him Brian. He took me by the hand and we snagged a cab to go off for a romantic encounter together. Sitting in the cab with butterflys in my stomach, or the mix of different alcohols wanting to come up onto my lap, I anxiously awaited our arrival to his house. Little did I know he was taking me to Sommerville. From the outside his house looked respectable, inside was another story.

The first thing I remember seeing was a girl passed out cold on the couch in what I assume they try to pass off as their living room. In the back of the house there was a group of 4 guys having what I think was a rap battle. I dont think any of them will be making it in the music industry. William, or Brian as I was calling him, showed me where the bathroom was so I could get my shit together. Once I took a poop I was ready. We climbed 3 flights of stairs to get to his "bedroom" and at this point I was out of breath and just wanted to lay down with an inhaler. When he opened the door I knew I had made a mistake, why I didnt figure this out earlier I dont know. He had a futon mattress on the floor, not a futon, just the mattress to a futon on hard wood floors with a 1980's boombox next to it. I would rather of had him throw a sleeping bag at me and tell me to go sleep on his front stoop. I inhaled deeply and told myself it will be over in no time. I have no answers to why I did what I did that night, and yes I am very ashamed of myself. If it makes it any better I did ask him to leave the room after so I could sleep. When he did I picked up my phone and called everyone I would rather of been with at that moment. Lastnight I heard the voicemail I left my girl Lily and I am pretty sure at one point I started crying. ROFL.

When I opened my eyes after only being asleep for 40 minutes my chocolate lover was next to me sound asleep. I didnt know where the fuck I was and certainly didnt want to wake his ass up. I pulled myself together and got smart. I VZ Navigated my location then googled local cabs and called to have one pick me up. Trying to get out of that shit hole as fast as possible I tripped and fell down all 3 flights of stairs. I have a bruise on my arm, my ass, and a cut on another one of my toes. I waited outside for my cab in complete and utter despair. Once in the cab I started laughing violently at how much of an asshole I am. A) I could of been killed, how was I supposed to know he wasnt a crazy serial killer? and B) Talk about a horrible one night stand.

Anyway I guess you can never really win against the desire for sex. It turns people into idiots. After this little debacle I really think I am going to take the whole lesbian thing more seriously. I have been a bit stand offish to pursuing someone of the same sex, but honestly it has to be better than the shit I get myself into now. 

Never Going Home

So Friday ROFL. For whatever reason I forgot to eat that day which is very unlike me. I went to Quincy with my gurlz Meg and Kerry to watch the Bruins win game 7, that was fantastic. I had no right drinking as fast as I did with 0 food in my stomach. After the game we did stumble over to IHOP but at this point it was too late and there was no turning this drunk mess around.

I dont remember much of the ride back to our neck of the woods to spend the rest of the night at our local watering hole The Cellar. Fine establishment. I do remember looking around and seeing about 50 faces I didnt know or really even care to know. While in the bathroom thinking my life was about to end if I didnt throw up there was some chick sitting on the sink with her dress pulled up around her face screaming about how the fat on her thighs should not be billowing out of her underwear. I have no fucking clue how I didnt lose it right then and there. Then she jumped off the sink and instantly started making out with a girl standing next to me and asked if I would like to join. I instantly fell for both of these ladies, but respectfully declined. After going potty I returned to the basement of hell and asked Meg to bring me home. I couldnt handle my surroundings and needed to GTFO. Without finishing my beer (another shocker) I started to head out. Trying very hard to get up the 3 stairs out of the building I took a fucking face plant onto the the cement. The most brutal pain shot through my foot at this moment, afraid to look but knowing I had to, took a peep at my bloody foot.

I remember getting home and seeing a trail of blood through my kitchen but I couldnt deal with it I needed to be in bed. Now I should tell you my Aunt and Uncle were visiting from Florida and staying in the bedroom next to mine. I live with 2 of my cousins both male, and their nieces stay over the house often (and this was one of those nights) Anyway I fell asleep in my 80 degree bedroom fully clothed. However I did wake up at noon the next day ass naked, no covers on me, with my door wide open and not a single person was home. Stumbling downstairs I found my bloody mess was still in the kitchen. I am wondering how long it will take 1 of the 6 family members in the house that morning to call me out on having a severe drinking problem. Somebody had to of seen my perfectly sculpted body that morning and are too impressed to say anything.

All in all it was a pretty typical Friday night.

Make Money

I am a fucking joke. My first job ever was delivering papers around town. I used to take the money the customers would leave outside for me and knock on the door and claim there was no money and without it I couldnt leave a paper. CHA CHING. That is when I realized I dont need to work hard for some cash. Few years after that I started working at Marshalls (you know the place you go to get a deal on clothing just to go home and find out the sleeves were put on your shirt backwards). I worked the home decorating section and would literally sit in the back for hours testing out pillows and eating jelly beans. I quit that job when I was scheduled to work with a woman who honest to god looked like a gay lion, with her big red curly haired fuck head. After that I hit the big time. I worked in a shoe store for a year or two before being promoted to Assistant Manager woooo! Not only was I able to stare at horrifc old people feet, I was now in charge of the money. Soon I started taking home shoes. We did an audit after about a year of me being manager and were out about $4,000.00. Once that happened I knew to get the fuck out of there. Anyway since then I have been working the STRANGEST jobs, most of them needing some sort of background in, which I just lied and said I had some. I worked in a bike shop fitting people to the right ride, I sold cars for a short time rambling about engines and sun roofs, I worked at a small accounting firm (that was hysterical) I even taught pre-school, until I realized how much most of the kids shit their own pants. Then I decided to really buckle down and create the biggest fib of them all on my resume. I decided I would start working as an Office Manager. With a little luck I landed a few office jobs here and there and bullshitting my way through them until I figured out what it was I needed to be doing.

So here I am today Office Manager of a construction company. I swear this place was made for me. I created my own hours, a brutal 10:30am - 2:30pm shift OUCH. I drink on the job in my windowless office, and spend most of the day hanging out with the mechanic in the warehouse. Only men work here so it is absolutely fine for me to show up wearing just about anything and as hungover as I please. I have developed an extensive list of offensive words to call women and people of different races other than my own. The mechanic has taught me how to do an oil change, replace a headlight, punch things until they go into place, change a tire, and to just keep trying different shit until the car runs. So I'm thinking if this place doesnt pan out for me I might go and try being a jet engine mechanic.

Point is people who run around in their teens and early 20's all stressed about money and where they will be in the next 10 years I want to yell a giant FUCK YOU in your face and let you know youre pissing me off. Slow the hell down and live a little. I am proud of everyone who dives into the journey of college, you will go somewhere in life I am sure of it, but do yourself a favor and get wasted, fall down, do a "walk of shame" or 20, kiss the fat ugly chick, get into trouble, wake up in a strange city. Why? Because its funny. You cant save this shit for later. Let your bank account run dry from spending too much at the bar, dont give yourself an age you have to be married by, and as for having kids, I personally shouldnt raise kids, but if you have the funds then its totally up to you when and with who you procreate with. Either wrap it up or dont.

Its Thursday and I will be absolutely shitfaced before 4pm.

Accidents Happen.

My mother was really into Disco and everything that came along with that era. She was moved to Massachusetts from Minnesota.  My father was really into nothing of importance, or anything legal for that matter. He was raised in North Carolina and then was moved to Massachusetts as well. I believe them meeting was the first accident the gods made. My mother was 31 when she was given the news and had been diagnosed with pregnancy. This horrific news sent her into a tail spin, not knowing when the next time she would be able to hit the clubs and tear it up with her peeps.

So there it is I, Amanda Nelson, the biggest accident of all, was born January 17, 1988 weighing 7 pounds 13 ounces and 21 inches long. Story goes my mom told everyone after I was born that I was 21 pounds 7 feet and 13 inches  because she is constantly in a dazed and confused kind of state (this went on for about a week until my grandmother smacked some sense into her no joke.)

  My parents decided to get married when I was 6 years old, oh joy. If you are wondering why, there was actually a very rational reason for doing so, getting insurance for our family was cheaper once they were married. I was in the damn wedding and hated every minute of it. Approximately 5 years later I helped my dad pick out and purchase a cheap ass engagement ring (which my mother lost and no longer has) we put the ring in the middle of some non stick frying pans that she wanted and wrapped it up for her for Christmas. I believe that same year I got underwear, pogs, and for my big present a gumball machine. Let me just get this out of the way and tell you I despise Christmas, I assume it is because I am still bitter for all the years I would go into school and hear about all the great shit everyone got. While I knew Santa was a hoax.

Growing up I was an asshole. I am still an asshole. I was vulgar and offensive as a child and am now as an adult. The only difference now is I drink, and I drink heavily. I get my love for booze from my father. I can’t tell you how many times I have seen that man wasted. During a vacation to the Cape one year my dear parents got into a bit of a fight while they were raging and consuming mass amounts of alcohol. The story ends with me and my mom driving home the next morning without my father, because he had stormed out that night and vanished into the darkness. When we arrived at home we found him face down on our back porch with his shoes off and swollen feet. Gripped in his stupid little stubby fingers was a citation from the police. According to the officer that gave it to him and let him walk his ass home; my father was crossing the Sagamore Bridge screaming that he was “walking back to Massachusetts”.  I personally was very impressed and knew then that my dad had heart and determination.  He had set the bar for me and had set it high, and I was up for the challenge.

For the past 8 years I have been partying to the best of my ability. I have had to sacrifice a lot to keep up with my obsession. Money, family, friends, body, dignity, etc. all have been hit hard, but this is a labor of love. It has really taken its toll on my mind and it is starting to get hard to remember all of my journeys through self medication. I will be using this mainly for myself to keep track of all the bullshit I will put myself through. I have no shame and will not hold anything back in my writings, enjoy.