Back in March, one of my good friends sent me a message asking me, “is this you?” and included a link to a website. Worried about the possibility that nude photos of me had somehow ended up on the Internet—which could tarnish my reputation and threaten my nonexistent Xangalebrity status that only exists in my imagination—I clicked on the link and saw this:

Yes, that is my face—but it’s on someone else’s MySpace page! Someone named Rose! And since I am pretty sure I was not separated at birth from a slutty twin sister, Rose is a complete stranger who is using my picture as her own. In fact, all of Rose’s pictures are of me—and were taken directly from my Xanga site!

I know I am writing about this in May even though my friend had written to me back in March, but that’s because I couldn’t think about this MySpace page without becoming extremely pissed off. And when I am pissed off, I can’t write. My friends did try to placate my pissiness by telling me to look at the situation as a positive rather than a negative one. Having my photos used for someone else’s profile could be a sign that I have achieved a certain level of hotness. After all, no one steals pictures of ugly people—what’s the point of doing that when the person stealing it is usually ugly? He should just use his own picture, right?

And Rose has to be, like, the fugliest person on Earth. She couldn’t even use what I call the Hotness-By-Cropping technique. Hotness-By-Cropping is done when someone puts up a cropped picture of one of her body parts—e.g., her eyes, lips, abs, etc.—instead of posting a photo of her whole face. Some people do this as a way of maintaining anonymity, but come on now: that’s not the first thing that comes to anyone’s mind when he or she sees a Hotness-By-Cropping profile picture. We’re actually thinking, “This person must think her face is fugly.” And if you think you’re a fug, then you must be.

So this Rose person, being such a hot mess she couldn’t even use Hotness-By-Cropping, was complimenting me by stealing my photos and using them as her own on her MySpace profile. Whew! I feel so much better!

NOT! I’m nowhere close to feeling even remotely better because that isn’t enough of a “bright side” to outshine my pissed-offness. I don’t care that my pictures were misappropriated; my problem is that my face is associated with a profile created by a dumbass!

I mean, look at this sh*t!

People are going to look at my picture and think, “Damn, she can’t even spell “girls” correctly! That’s probably because her highest level of education is ‘some college’.” Noooo!

And the whole thing about “I’ll meet any freaks out there who wanna talk nasty” and “tell me everything you want me to do to you or that you want to do to me”—look at the guys who responded to this b*tch:

*Barf!*

Every so often we will all come across someone who has been given the opportunity to have feet, but takes advantage of the privilege by committing F*ckery Foot—i.e., gross abuse of feet. These people misuse their feet by doing foul things like sitting cross-legged in restaurants, shaking one of their legs even when they don’t have an urgent need to pee, or biting their toe nails (bonus f*ckery points if they do it while sitting on a tree stump). Clearly, Mother Nature did not intend feet to be used in any of these ways, so if you’re doing an act F*ckery Foot, you’re basically committing a crime against Nature. Foot f*ckery, on the other hand, is A-O.K.

A person who commits F*ckery Foot deserves to have his feet ripped off and waved at him (wouldn’t that just totally suck? Someone waving at you with your own feet? Ugh.)—but no one deserves it more than a person who does the ultimate act of F*ckery Foot…and I just so happened to witness such an act this afternoon.

Today, while I was driving on the freeway, I ended up behind a truck—at least, I think it was a truck. I’m honestly not exactly sure because all I could see was this foot hanging out of the passenger side window. Yes, a foot—a corny-ass foot with bright fuchsia nail polish painted on each toenail, and a gold chain dangling off an ashy ankle. It was leaning outside the car against the passenger side mirror, thus forcing everyone behind the truck to view the reflection of the bottom of this person’s foot—which appeared to have been ravaged by fungus or something because the skin was jacked up. It was like someone took Freddy Krueger’s face and grafted it onto this woman’s heel. It was nasty as hell.

Whenever I see someone sitting in the passenger’s seat of a moving car, with his leg dangling out of the window and his foot flapping in the wind, I start to hear that siren noise from Kill Bill—like when Uma Thurman first sees Vivica A. Fox in the first 5 minutes of Volume 1. It’s frustratingly disgusting. Have you ever thought about why someone would stick her foot out of a car window? It’s not because showing off your crusty, gnarled up toes is oh so classy (surprise, surprise). No, it’s because the person is airing out her foot. She’s using the wind to dry sweat, and blow the toe jam out from between her toes. And you know where that foul waste ends up? All over the people behind the car—people like me.

Not only was the vision of this janky foot burned into my memory, I was in the unfortunate position of driving behind it. On the freeway! In traffic! That wasn’t a coincidence—it was Divine Retribution kicking my ass. And since this was not the O.J. Simpson trial, I knew my punishment actually fit whatever crime I had committed. Maybe I was a mass murderer in a past life? Or a ventriloquist? Oh man! Please don’t tell me I was a ventriloquist!
 

Remember my “Five Things That Make You a Douche-tastic Douche” post? I apparently hurt someone’s brittle feelings when I wrote:

“That’s right: if you use Twitter, you are a giant douche-tastic douche. You honestly believe people find your life so interesting that it warrants posting 140-characters worth of status updates every 10 minutes.”

…because a day after I posted, a girl took to her Twitter site to write the following:

What I meant was: annoyed @ non-Twitter users who thinks all on Twitter tweet mindless status updates every 10 mins about what they r doing
2:05 PM Apr 30th from web

Perfect example: http://absolutangel64.xanga... (see #2 on the list) way to be judgmental!
2:08 PM Apr 30th from web

(Sorry, but no link included. You can, however, easily find this girl’s page using Google.)

It wasn’t until someone showed me this girl’s site that made me realize the truth behind her “tweets”: maybe I was being too judgmental. When I wrote that post, my intent was to list five signs of douche bagism—and in my haste, I was completely ignorant of the possibility that I had power over someone else’s emotions; that I was an unwitting puppet master of a female Pinnochio who had been shunned by the Blue Fairy and thus, still had strings to hold her down, to make her fret, and make her frown.

I owe this girl an apology, as well as a “thank you” for showing me the error of my ways. After reading her Twitter page, I learned that not all Twitter users post 140-characters worth of status updates every 10 minutes:

Instead, Twitter users post “mindless status updates” throughout the day—just not necessarily every 10 minutes.

Going blind is definitely not something I want to experience, but if it were to ever happen to me at least I could take comfort in knowing I’ll never have to see another whack-ass tattoo—or, as I like to call it, a wacktoo.

Unlike a regular tattoo—which is usually a visual symbol that, when interpreted, will yield a meaningful message—a wacktoo cannot be interpreted as anything other than, “I am a dumbass poser.”

There are many different types of wacktoos, but I’m only going to focus on the two I find most asshat-ish: unoriginal Chinese character tattoos, and name tattoos.

Unoriginal Chinese Character Wacktoos

Let’s get this disclaimer out of the way: not all Chinese-character tattoos are wacktoos, so don’t get pissy until after you read this entire section. The only ones which qualify for wacktoo status are tattoos of the characters for “love,” “dragon,” “power,” “wind,” “fire,” and “heart.” I don’t know what it is, but people who decide to get a Chinese character inked on their bodies always gravitate to one of those six. Do you all shop at “Claire’s” or something? Because you paid someone to permanently mark your body with a character that shows up on key chains you can buy at a kids’ accessory store.

It’s bad enough that wacktoos of the characters for “love,” “dragon,” “power,” “wind,” “fire,” and “heart” are completely unoriginal—but the rationale behind choosing one of those symbols is equally generic. I mean, they are words, so it’s not like there is much to interpret. You have the character for “love” on your body? Then I guess that stands for—wait, don’t tell me—that you appreciate love? Wow…really had to dig deep for that one.

Oh, and the “dragon” and “power” wacktoos—I love the meatheads who pick those! Because you know they were all thinking, “man, I am so strong, so I’m going to get a tattoo of the character for ‘power’ or ‘dragon’ to let everyone know that I am so strong!”

As for the dumbasses who have a tattoo of “wind,” “fire,” or “heart,”—those guys are probably trying to summon Captain Planet…because when wacktoos combine, a blue man in red tights will fly out of your ass.

Name Tattoos

I’m not talking about getting a tattoo of someone else’s name on your body. The wacktoo I’m referring to is of your own name. I don’t think there is anything more WTF-worthy than seeing someone with a tattoo of her own name on her own body. I mean, what message were you trying to tell the world by making that brilliant decision? The only one I can come up with is that you are someone who can’t remember her own name—to the point where writing it on your hand with a ballpoint pen isn’t enough. You had to have it inked on your body—but not on an area you can easily see. Your tattoo is instead on your lower back, outside your field of vision!

Dumbass.

What tattoos do you think deserve wacktoo status?

I have finals until May 15–which is sad because (1) I hate studying, and (2) I hate being forced to put my Xanga aside in order to study. Priorities, my ass. Making me take a final exam is a waste time for everyone involved, i.e., I am going to be wasting three hours per exam typing up nonsense babble, while my professors will inevitably be stuck reading my nonsense babble.

Not that I haven’t attempted to change my ways this semester. I actually had about a week before my first final, and I planned to make proper use of it for once by, you know, studying.

But the same thing that happens every semester happened again:

Do any of you have suggestions on how to study properly? So far, the only idea I’ve come up with is entering the Finals period with no intention of studying at all. I’m thinking that might scare me into staying awake when I review my notes because, right now, pre-planning productivity is just not cutting it.

P.S. Even though I may fail all of my finals–at least I’m not Manny Ramirez! Bwahahaha!