regularly-scheduled quarterly 'i'm not dead' post, and also, final twilight bitchfest

okay, yeah. i know i said i was going to update this thing more often but honestly that's your own damn fault if you believed me. so, suck it. anyhoo, it comes to mind that i never fully shared my thoughts with all two or three of you about the final brain-hemorrhaging brick-of-a-book in the twilight series, because what fun is slogging through the first three if i'm not going to explode with written word-induced agony in the finale? and so i will. so there. now i present, chock-full-o-spoilers but at this point i really hope you don't have any vested interest in the plot:

b reviews 'breaking dawn,' wherein she wishes said dawn would break stephenie meyer's legs or something to make her just shut up shut up shut UP

alright stephenie meyer, sack up. look at me. LOOK AT ME. look and listen, you cerebellum-crushing trollop, for i have had it up to HERE with you, and i'm 5'10" so that's a lot of here to have. you and me? we are so over. sure, i came into this relationship knowing you've been around and i didn't matter at all in the grand scheme of your literary hobaggin'. i mean if the library bookshelves were a town, you would totally be its bicycle. by which i mean slut. by which i mean every single tweenage to thirty-something woman in as many countries as is allowable has gobbled your goods and demanded more and you've primped and preened on your throne, typos, flimsy characters and plot holes be damned. what i'm trying to say is you are a hoor and you totally don't care about my opinion because you have made eleventy billion dollars off your sparkly franchise, but i've got news for you, lady: i am not enthralled. that's right. i'm leaving. nevermind the fact that you hoodwinked me and i gave you the best weeks of my life slaving through these books for you, it shall be NO MORE.

seriously, woman. have you no shame? no honor? no thesaurus? the only way i could stand to read these things was to pirate the audiobook format and listen to them at work so that i was at least getting *paid* to have my brain systematically siphoned out of my head, bit by squishy bit. i gagged through twilight. i bitched through new moon. i even facepalmed through eclipse. and then came the finale of breaking dawn, wherein i hit the brick wall like a crash test dummy at a car plant that's no longer in service because this economy sucks so really, stop hoarding your shiny vampire money and give something to charity or whatever because you're a twit and i hate your books and there are people who need houses and things like that.

ANYWAY, i just...words have failed me. i think the only person who can save me is the dramallama herself. here we go bella, take it away.

zomg hi guys it's bella. don't pull a jake and freak on me here, i'm just surrounding my story in squiggly sideways words to act as a ~shield~ to protect myself from outside sources who just don't understand. i'll ttly explain later k? k.

so anyway, my luv edward is gonna marry me, right? and to protect me before he does, he got me this super expensive sports car that is really boss but i hate it because it's amazing and a symbol of his protection over me and i hate amazing things except for edward's face because it's so amazing and i haven't mentioned its amazing contours and cheekbones and sparkles in awhile, but it's totally awesome. but this car is stupid and i hate it, and my wedding dress is beautiful and alice totally barbie-dolls me and my mom and dad are totally down with me getting married which is weird, considering they were totally against me doing stupid things a few books ago but whatevs. so i get married and i'm gorgeous and i *hate* it and eddie has to drag me to dance because ugh, who wants to look happy and have a good time on the happiest day of her life, am i right? then jake shows back up from running around canada as a wolf after i told him i was marrying the vampire and he goes all dramarama at my fricking wedding and like tries to kill my husband, or something. idk. whatev. so eddie and i are finally hubby wifey and we jetset off to this island of perfection and i hate it because it's so perfect and there's french lingerie in my luggage and i'm going to KILL ALICE for packing this stuff because the *last* thing i need on my honeymoon in tropical paradise with my hot as holy fudge boyfriend is SEXUAL NEGLIGES. jeez. i am totally shielding you from this part because our secks life is not for your eyes, mortals. gtfo.

sooooo then i totally conceive a vampire child and i'm not sure but i think the convo kinda went, 'hey edward, remember how i've never wanted kids ever at all in the 1500 pages of these books and gave up the idea of having them to be with you?' and he's all 'yeah what of it' and i'm all 'well i think i'm pregnant with one' and he's all 'are you shitting me' and i'm all 'did you just use a curse word?' and he goes 'sorry you just said you're pregnant with a demonseed' and i'm like 'well glory be it's not MY fault you didn't use a condom' and he's all 'yeah vampires aren't allergic to sunlight or garlic but holy frig we hate latex, it's awful' and i had to snap my fingers a bit and be like, 'FOCUS, GUY, this is about a kid and not your p33n,' so he's all 'shit, i guess i'd better call my dad so we can get that thing extracted from you because a vampire baby is the culmination of all evil, like, way to go with your human uterus that can apparently foster my devilsperm' and i'm all 'but i love my baby thing' and he's like 'are you for sure' and i'm like 'totally' and he goes 'oh jesus christ okay fine the honeymoon's over let's go home' and so we do. ~*~*~*~shieldshieldshieldshield~*~*~*~

uh, okay. hi. jacob black here. a third of this story is mine, so, i'll just go over the basics: i love bella and i run around a lot breaking my pants when i turn into a wolf because i am angsty. i'm totally ready to kill the cullen family for turning bella into a vampire and i want to wage war on them when my pack doesn't want to and then they say they're going to kill her and her demonbaby thing and i'm all woah now hold up ain't nobody killing my woman and werewolves are SO ANNOYING when they remind you that she's not your woman so i'm like screw you guys, i'm going home. and due to some mumbo jumbo blibbety blobbity bloop i can create my own pack because i'm a werewolf ninja zenmaster, and i decide to warn the cullens and edward says the baby is going to kill bella and could i please have sex with her to give her wolf cub babies so she doesn't die. neither of us seem to glom onto the fact that the woman we love is a complete and total batshit moron. i ask why they don't just feed the baby blood, because duh, and somehow, this whole clan of vampires INCLUDING A DOCTOR missed that point. so bella, who way back when freaked out at the mere smell of blood in biology, starts drinking gallons of blood like kool-aid and all is well and good and then when we're unsupervised she knocks over a cup because her klutziness is what moves the plot forward nine times out of ten, and she kicks the baby into labor or something and starts dying and then edward and i have to play like it's a game of operation which sucks because i hated that game and always lost the pieces. yadda yadda baby breaks her ribs and spine, edward tears into her stomach with his teeth, veins popping everywhere, eyes glazing over, terrorizing vampire child that bites its mothers neck and gets named motherfuck RENESEMEE, because it's just stupid enough to fit, blah blah blah, edward bites her, i must kill the child that has killed the love of my life and it has bella's eyes and oh my god i'm in love with it and i've imprinted on nessie the monsterbaby and bella's probably gonna kill me but i don't care because she's busy at the moment so whatever.

~*~*~shieldshieldshieldshield~*~*~
hi guys it's bella again. i thought i'd check in while i'm lying on this table in the most agonizing pain EVER, EVER EVER EVER EVER but remind me not to move or make a sound because it might upset edward who has agreed to damn me to heck or make me pretty and an eternal vampire, or whatever it is. anyway, he's all having existential crises over turning me or whatever but hello, um, OW this hurts. burn burn burn, pain pain pain, burn and pain and burn and pain and burn and pain for like 50 pages or something and then time slowed and the world revealed itself to me and i opened my eyes and the lights in which my retinas bathed were the sharpest of crystalline definition and my edward was more beautiful than any mortal could recognize, and i did a backflip summersault triple saucow off the table and into some stiletto heals. all of this happened in a fraction of a piece of a second and the world i lived in was full of wonder at my beauty, at my marvel of self-control, and of my blue silk gown in which i went hunting because my rare vampiric gift is that of self-restraint and it turns out i don't have to sacrifice anything as a vampire. i have the wonderful sex with the love of my eternal life and i love my family and i spend time with my father who never questions my strange transformation, my child and my best friend who loves her and will be my son in law but i am angry about that for one eighty-fourth of a nano second because character challenges and obstacles are not becoming to newborn vampires who are supposed to be insatiable monsters craving naught but blood and carniage. all of this happened, mind you, without a single stumble or faceplant. there was some hullabaloo over the vulturi coming to destroy my dear nessie, but my family rounded up some vampires from all corners of the globe to testify that my daughter is not the antichrist, i learned how to activate my mental shield to protect all of us from their vulturi powers, and they went away and nothing happened and we all lived happily ever after, because nothing spells happiness like being a mother to a child named after a sea monster for eternity. ~*~*~shield~*~*~

so in essence, piss off, stephenie meyer. you have toyed with my heart for the last time. BE GONE WITH YE. and in case you were wondering, you only clamped that extra star out of me because a third of the book was from jacob's point of view but that's no compliment because seriously, what the fuck. the end.




...the end.

eclipse, or: why anneurisms happen

ahoy there, bitches. i've got a few minutes before the muscle relaxers kick in, so how about i litter your screen with drivel? why not. in this edition: music, exploding chocolate eggs, another twilight review of hatred, and thoughts about how bad a monday can *actually* get before you contemplate breaking out the vodka at your desk at work. it's been that kind of week, guys. seriously. alright. first up:

from the good folks at goodreads.com, i've copy/pasted/whatevered my review of the third book in the twilight saga (i lol at the word 'saga', by the way. it's so overly dramatic for no reason. kind of like these needless books) so here we go:

eclipse
by stephenie meyer

oh, eclipse. i hereby don thee with a heaping dollop of 'mehhhhhh' garnished with 'uh, srsly?' while saying this book was not as heinous as the last two in its quartet of vampiric high school dramz is basically tantamount to saying i enjoyed getting my toenails pulled out slightly more than i enjoyed cleaving my arms off with a saw blade, i will allow that there was somewhat less edward admiration and/or jacob waffle in this portion. but that's not saying much. why? because there was still a shitton of both and added to the froth was a new component: bella's GUILT over things that were SO NOT HER FAULT OMG ARE YOU KIDDING ME WHY. this is interesting, because honestly, though this is a first person narrative, three books in we barely know beautiful ugly duckling i mean bella swan. let us visit her hypothetical diary entries that she may have had time to hash out between cooking dinner for her ungrateful absentee father and waiting by the windows for her her stalktastic vampire boyfriend and/or even stalktastickier werewolf best friend, shall we? oh, let's. and then let's shoot ourselves up with dr cullen's morphine to make us forget we ever did.


'dear diary which might be schoolbook margins bc i don't do anything at home except cook and clean and do nothing at school except stare at edward's perfect pretty so in the end who knows where i'm writing this,

so, omg i am bella swan i will vaguely mention there have been some total murders in seattle but more importantly i am STILL HUMAN WTF. i am counting down the days to graduation bc then i get turned into a vampire by my eddiepoo but apparently i am not counting hard enough bc when eddiekins and his sis alice point out that i graduate in mere weeks i'm all ARE YOU KIDDING ME OH MY LAWDS and while i'm here at school, has anybody seen a teacher because apparently i'm caught in a love triangle but i don't know what a triangle is bc i get no edjumacation during this book and does anybody know what angles add up to 180 so i can get out of this thing. srsly, i'm all hanging with the jacob and the werewolves learning about their life stories like it's the olympics of tall tales or something, and then alice is holding me hostage bc i wanted to visit the werewolves who are all bitchy towards the vampires and then edward is all 'well maybe you can visit after all' and i'm all 'omg you couldn't have told me that AFTER you followed me on the road like a stalker' and he doesn't even have to apologize bc he is too beautiful and sparkly for that human nonsense, and anyway i learn from the werewolves that i totally love jake bc even though he's a dramarama he keeps kissraping me and apparently when you get frenched enough you figure out you love somebody, which is srsly not fair bc jacob said he'd kill himself if i didn't kiss him and edward laughed about it just like when my dad laughed when i broke my hand punching jacob after he kiss-raped me *before*, like, THANKS ALL THE MEN IN MY LIFE. also diary, did you know vampires can still get into heaven if they don't have sex before marriage? i learned that from my wonderful edward who knows everything. turns out it doesn't matter that he's killed people and bought my way into dartmouth or whatever, if he touches me in my pajingo before we're all hubby-wifey, he'll go to HECK. so that's bad.

ANYWAY, at some point during 600 pages i was forced to listen to edward's siblings and how they wish they were human bc they totes got turned vampy against their beautiful debutante/soldier-type wills, but i'm all 'whatevs, I WANT TO BE IMMORTAL with a skin temperature that would keep caviar fresh thx' and even though ed's bro emmet was totally in the army back in the day, he totally misses the fact that the murders happening in seattle is an army of vampires led by my ARCH NEMESIS VICTORIA who sent in a flunky to STEAL MY CLOTHES WHICH IS SO NOT COOL. so plot device i mean alice sees 200 pages into the future to plant us on some dumb mountain covered in snow to fight the newbie vampires and it's SO COLD at night in my stupid tent that it requires jacob 'the space heater' to get all naked with me in a sleeping bag WHILE EDWARD WATCHES, OMG I'M UNCOMFORTABLE WITH MY OWN DRAMA) and then everybody fucks up in battle bc victoria shows up all 'um, yeah, i sent my army of vampires as a diversion, DUH' which i guess we should have seen coming, ALICE. anyway, we and the werewolf brat pack kill the vampires anyway and the vultures from italy are all 'well you did our job for us' and dakota fanning who swears she's named jane looked particularly upset about it but that's what *happens* when you show up late. and then i had to go break jake's heart by telling him i'm marrying edward because he won't not talk about it ever and a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to get some action, and so he turns into a wolf and scampers away forevar. oh and i graduated high school somewhere in there. now when do i get to have sex and become immortal darnit? man, life is hard.

xoxoxoow i just papercut myself,
bella cullen, bitchez'


...and just like before, you know i'm reading the next one. i hear there's some demonic child-baring action so at least we know edward can get it up.


actually, i'm tired. all the shit i said i'd write about other than this book review? i lied to you. yup. straight-up played you. i'm not writing about it now. my bed is looking too fine to resist, and i can't see you so i'm not sure if you're finer. so there.

ten things i- ah, fuck it. that's a boring number anyway.

so, i've been thinking (i promise not to abuse the power) and have decided that while lists of ten nonsensical things have been fun, turns out my hyperactive typing fingers and my ADD-fueld brain have got way more to write in this little niche of the interwebs than lists. there are music opinions, books i've read, conversations that have made me nearly pee with laughter, links to sites and videos that totally won even though there wasn't a contest at the time, thoughts about this that and the other thing, and various and sundry shite i don't put in my lj or my facebook notes. i also fully realize it's navel-gazing to the nth degree (possibly o, p, or the seldom heard of qth degree) to pollute these html pages with such drivel but seeing as stat counter says most of you land here because of random hamster and/or tornado pictures i used for posts years ago, i don't feel bad about alienating you. and thus, programming change:

this blog is going all-encompassing, people. oh that's right. prepare for random of the finest pedigree courtesy of the b. (did i just call myself 'the b'? wow. i may have to put myself on notice.) anyhoo, first up, because it made my boss and my coworker giggle, and that was awesome bc let's face it, my self-confidence is idolizing zero for wanting to *go* somewhere, and wow i'm using a lot of commas- anyway, my reviews for the first two books in the twilight series. long story short? i told my brain i was going to go onto the third book and it threatened to give me a stroke just out of spite.

from goodreads.com:

twilight
book one of the twilight series
rating: 1 of 5 stars


dreck. dreck, dreck, dreck. see how you're not learning much of anything when i repeat the same word over and over? take note, stephenie meyer- unlike blues clues on a weekly basis or crunches or whatever else actually benefits from repeated use, using the same stale phrases will not help an idea set in. if i ever have to hear again how beautiful and perfect edward cullen is, i will not fall in love with him, i will punch him in the stupid domineering condescending creepy stalkerish motherfuck sparkly face.


i could go on for awhile about how much i loathed this book from start to finish but for the sake of short attention spans and my wish to wash it from memory, i'll sum up:


*bella swan (please, what a mary sue name) has no personality. at all. nothing. she is flatter than a pre-training bra tween eating matzoh on the plains of kansas.


*edward cullen is a fucking creep. he is. he WATCHES HER SLEEP, for pete's sake. he tells her what to do and bella gives in every time. he dictates her entire life and is the most condescending prick i've had the misfortune of meeting in the pages of a book.


*the plot took 400 pages to happen, and even up to that point, i say this as a girl who loves both baseball and sparkly things- glittery vampires playing baseball is just downright embarassing. to wit, repeated declarations of 'i love you!' 'but i'm dangerous!' 'but i can't be without you, i'd rather die!' 'i cannot part from you either...wow you smell good' doth not a plot make. seriously. we're given NO reasons for why these two should love each other other than edward's stupid cold marble-like angelfaced beauty and the fact that bella apparently smells delicious. (which, um.) yeah. sorry, that's not the stuff great romances are made of.


*even as much as it infuriated me what with the utter devotion bella has to this creep who tells her exactly what to do (he THROWS HER OVER HIS SHOULDER AND CARRIES HER DOWNSTAIRS FOR BREAKFAST WHEN SHE SAYS SHE'S NOT HUNGRY, PEOPLE. HOW IS THAT AT ALL KOSHER? LOOK, IT'S GOT ME ALL YELLY.), this story also bored me. like woah.


okay so that veered into more than bullet points. sorry. but not sorry at the same time, because wow. that was awful. now all i'm left with is femmy hangover and rising paranoia that my alma mater is going to repossess my english degree for even giving into this sludge to begin with. and so for some reason i've started to read the second.


shut up.


View all my reviews.


new moon
twilight book #2
rating: 1 of 5 stars

so i went into the second book of the twilight series hoping i'd like it more than the first, and that swiftly failed. aside from a bit more exposition and some fleshing out (however slight and anemic) of jacob who is by the way SO MUCH BETTER THAN EDWARD OMG, i hated this story. i couldn't like it. um, no. not even a little bit. stephenie meyer, i demand those 600+ pages' worth of time back. are you KIDDING ME? i mean really? it took you that long to tell me what is essentially diddly shit? look, i can do it quicker:


i am bella swan! i don't want to turn 18 bc i am older than mai twu wuv edward who is 17 on paper but LIKE 100 YEARS OLD IN REALITY WTF. but ennyways, i ttly got a papercut at my vampy bday party and eddie srsly realizes his fam could eat me if i'm so klutzy again, so he leaves. I AM DEPRESSED. i am so depressed i flail about in the woods like a dumbass and then spend months in zombie mode bc what every good vampire story needs is ZOMBIES. then i decide to put myself in danger bc edward will save me, and then i hear edward's voice in my head and it gets me ttly hot. omg you have no idea guys, srsly. so i totally hang out with my old friend jacob black who is, like, have i mentioned a zillion feet taller and warm all the time? whatevs, i'm looking to be ~*reckless*~, so he fixes up motorcycles for us so i can crash around with adrenaline and klutziness bc i am hapless and want to DEFY PEOPLE bc there is an ACHING HOLE IN MY CHEST AND SOUL when edward is gone! i am nothing without my eddie poo. sigh. woe. and so i'm ttly like, hung up on jake after awhile bc he's like, kind of a replacement but NOT AS PERFECT AS MY EDDIEKINS who by the way has still vanished but keeps talking to me in my head cause i'm nutterbutter but totally fine with that. anyhoodles, then jake turns all werewolfy and i'm all wtf and he's all i know right and i'm all why you gotta be hatin on the vampires OMG remember the one from the last book that totally didn't get mentioned til now? yeah she's trying to kill me and jacob is all OMG I'LL SAVE YOU and then i go cliff diving in a hurricane because i'm dumb and somehow i wind up in italy bc edward thought i killed myself and then the super in charge principal vampire is all 'ummmm, yeah. you're immune to our powers, mary sue' and i'm all 'my name is bella' and he's all 'oh my bad, anyway, become one of us or die' and i'm all 'sweet' and then edward goes 'well i'll turn you, but you gotta marry me first' and i'm all WUT. do i LOOK like the marrying type? I CAN'T COMMIT WTF. but i can totes become a vampire guys. just you wait.


and then jacob gets all dramarama when edward returns and gets me in trouble by telling my dad about my motorcycle. as IF. the end.


and for reasons unknown, i'm reading the third one. shoot me now.


View all my reviews.

and other various things:

link of the day: post-it notes stories

song of the day: 20 dollar nosebleed by fall out boy (i know, but really, this album is kind of awesome. i never liked them before. consider old dog learning new tricks and whatnot.) anyhoo, this song is just...well, it's pure pop but it's piano and horns and fabulousity. so suck it and sing along.

thing i'm currently being pretentious about: reading 'the infinite jest' by david foster wallace. i know. i'm that girl.

thing i bought that i didn't know i needed til i saw it: a stained-glass lamp lightbulb. now my bed is lit up in reds and blues and greens like i'm a total hippie at a tgi-fridays. this is unfortunate, but also, SO AWESOME. scientists are not quite sure about the hows and/or whys.

total annoyance: school busses who break out the side-armour katana of the stop sign whilst dumbshit kids contain their rowdy selves and find a seat on the bus. SIT DOWN ALREADY I'M LATE FOR WORK.

final thought for this installment: if craig ferguson ever does a show near you, go to it. just go. take my advice and thank me later. the end.

ten things i'm thankful for

alright y'all: it's thanksgiving. it's the time of year when, as we gorge on tryptophan-rich turkey and crunchy helmet-smashing football on a blessed day off from work before the crushing madness that is black friday and i've worked retail on black friday and it is not remotely cool if you support this filthy capitalist pig habit, you jerks, by the way i'm kind of only kidding bc omg, save our economy please, and i really lost track of my opening sentence as i do, so i'll cut to the short of the long: we have to be thankful for shit. it's kind of a necessary evil, like dentistry for the soul if you will. so i'm gonna lay down some things i'm glad are around in order to keep my karma up to par, and also bc this blog is dreadfully unwritten in. so there.

10 things i'm thankful for this turkey day, not counting getting paid to sleep in and britney spears' new album which you can tell me is crap but tell me you don't want to dance around even a little bit to 'womanizer' and i'll show you a lying liar who tells lies:

1. the jonas brothers
no shut up. i have a REASON: despite the fact that some of their tunes are rather earwormy ('lovebug' is downright precious, shut up i hate myself so hard for admitting it), this trio of brothers who make music for the tween set reassures me that, despite my hanson adoration of yore, i actually *have* grown up in the past ten years. because oh my GOD, are you serious? this is what passes for music now? no wonder kids these days are culturally bankrupt. (i just used the phrase 'kids these days.' I'M NOT EVEN THIRTY OR ANYTHING.) i actually thought about reviewing 'a little bit longer' in real-time on this 'ere blog with a lovely friend of mine, drinking every time we gagged or laughed (unintentionally). but then i realized i had to work the next morning and it'd be hard to do with alcohol poisoning. so that was scrapped. but to get back on track, i feel a bit more secure about my (admittedly shameless) musical tastes. apparently, despite my love for hillary duff, i do have standards. and that's kind of awesome.

2. snarky facebook bitchfights
so lately my friends have taken to slapping each other around on facebook over silly things like movie quotes and then it escalates into claims of racism and hearty rounds of fuck-you's. it annoys the bejezus out of me (if i had any bejezus in me to begin with, that is...i'm agnostic) and i've definitely had to crack the whip of shame to get them to shut the hell up and stop mucking up my internets. but you know what, i've decided to make like a PR team and spin it, because the truth of it is this: these amazing people are seriously the reason i actually get out of bed in the morning. (well that, and i like being gainfully employed.) really. this is a silly way of me saying i'm incredibly thankful for my friends, because unlike family, i chose them, and they have no reason to stick around if they don't have to. and yet they do. sure they call each other dickholes and strangle the peace on a regular basis, but you know what? i need humor and bitchery in my life, and if i can get it by them shouting about tortillas at each other, so be it. i'm saying it now, and i don't use the word often: i love my friends. that is all.

3. the on-notice board
one of the afore-mentioned friends got me a super fabulous colbert report on notice board for my desk at work. what's not to love about space to list things that are pissing you off? it's creativity, it's therapy, and it's dry-erase! basically i'm thankful to have a bitching space that can be proudly displayed but also wiped clean should the need arise. i mean really, you try getting your car eaten by packrats while having a really random and rare disorder (alliteration!) that makes you pee bright blue for a pretty penny and tell me you wouldn't be super thankful for the exquisitely satisfying ability to put the universe on notice. oh that's right. i went there.

4. arizona blue cross blue shield
for their premiums were managable, their co-pays affordable, and their coverage nearly universal, yea verily amen.

5. pixar
did you not see wall-e? no seriously, you didn't? well then GET IT ON DVD DAMMIT. that robot with his bambi eyes and sense of adorable wonder, and stuff? gave me faith in movies again. okay that's a lie, i hadn't really lost it, per se, but dude. come on. what a great story. the end.

6. vodka
well really. does this even need an explanation? i'm lazy, so it's not getting one. the end.

7. sarah palin
no seriously- there's logic behind this one! (unlike her face, OH SNAP) so basically, this fembot from podunk was supposed to be a shot in the arm to crankypants mccain's campaign but her utter batshit insane frippery was more like a shot in the foot and thus sank a ship that might have sailed otherwise. she, in her you-can-heal-the-gays and you betcha idiocy actually propelled a majority of america to get up off its collective ass and exclaim 'um, fuck you very much, i'd like somebody smarter than my special needs child co-running the country, plzkthx.' and lo, we actually got something right and elected the right guy for the job. oh also, the fact that my mother supported the bimbo and her anti-gay stances and had nerve to actually *dance* (no really. i'm not kidding) when prop 8 passed in california, i really couldn't take it anymore and stormed out of the bisexual closet and shut her the fuck up with a dumbfounded, totally shamed expression on her face for nearly a week. so thank you, sarah palin, for being so delightfully medeival. you tested the limits of america's intellectual patience and thus you promoted real change, gosh darnit you sure did. and so, in the words of dana carvey as the reagan oracle, now GET THE FUCK OUT.

8. my exes
i know, i love my theme of being thankful for bullshit. i'm amazing. no really. this is why i'm thankful for the relationships that have gone awry, and no worries, all will remain nameless: though i love them in the time-tempered way you kind of have to no matter how badly it went awry, a few fine people on this earth have tested my patience and my backbone alike for a long, long time. in all combinations with them, it proved an utter clusterbang of dysfunction, i mean we were terrible for each other every time, and it's because of them that i learned what i actually *need* in a relationship, or a friendship, or in a person in general, don't matter from coworker to best friend. basically i'm thankful for them provoking me into growing a spine and building up my bitchy armor of self-confidence (or at least faux-confidence) so that i really don't take any crap. i used to be a pushover and i'm definitely not anymore, and i've learned that this year in particular. so dearests, thank you. no really. i mean that. now stop reading my blog and get some fresh air outdoors.

9. the people in my office
some of us watch trashy vampire shows, a couple of us are writing a musical about the variety pack of characters we have running around the building, there are martini jokes galore and we've named the fax machine. sure it has the potential to be really dull work but everybody beasted out at halloween in awesome costumes and basically the people i work with are comedic gold. they make me enjoy my job. and that's pretty fucking awesome.

10. nanowrimo 2k8
the month of november has taught me many things. namely, writing isn't so hard when you just push yourself to write a little each day (...and okay, no mention of the fact that i've hit a wall with my story and i'm procrastinating by writing in here instead, shut up i didn't tell you that). seriously. i've fought some major tummy bug, stormed out of the closet, watched the nation play host to political history, weaned myself off dairy and caffeine, covered extra ground at work while my boss was out with broken bones, AND nearly finished writing a novel. this comes with much help from a lot of friends who are extremely supportive and in effect my personal cheerleaders, which is totally wicked. but mainly, i'm not gonna lie- it's coming from me, and damn skippy i'm gonna be proud of that. and okay, so it's not a full novel. i'm less than 8,000 words from the 50,000 word 'win', but i know it's going to take at least another 50,000 to finish it. but you know what? 50,000 words in a month fraught with distraction and ground being broken and all that, i found out i actually have bootstraps. how cool is that? downside: i now have no excuse for not being productive. dammit. my own hole. i dug it.


and that's that. hopefully i'll manage to write in here at least one more time before 2008 is out. predictably it'll be my ten best songs of the year post, but this year maybe i'll do what i meant to do last year and also include my favorite albums as well. who knows, time will tell. as for now, i'm off to write more of my novel. because i'm badass and you can say you knew (or read) me when. so, have a fantastic turkey day --or thursday, either is cool-- and remember: advice at the end of self-indulgent blog posts is generally nonsensical so you can feel free to skip it.

10 things that were supremely magical about chicago

so this last weekend i went to chicago for the first time in my 26 years, and it. was. awesome. because i still consider myself too young and reckless to really care about the fact that i'm racking up some credit card bills that i totally shouldn't, i took it upon myself to accept an invitation from a very good friend of mine and his completely terrific girlfriend for three days of music, beer, sweat and dance parties that can only be described as the one and only lollapalooza. fun was had, to be sure. so much fun, in fact, that as i tried to procure my flight back to the godforsaken desert, the travel fates would not allow said return trip without much, much ado. we're talking torrential rain and traffic whilst driving to the airport, over two hours of plane delays, and a dead car battery upon return to my vehicle in the desert airport garage. so as i sit here and try to extract an extra 100 shiny-new-battery dollars that i don't have out of the paycheck that's smaller than usual because of the work i missed to go on this trip, i will instead remember ten things that were made of win in the windy city. and thus:

ten of the best parts about lollapalooza and chicago in general, not counting the fact that i managed to only lose $7 in the airport slots whilst waiting for my connecting flight in vegas

1. rage against the goddamn machine, flogging molly, and gogol bordello
i'm telling you guys- you haven't lived until you have been asked, nay, *pleaded* with, by zack de la rocha to step back, please, please, please step back or i will cry. the rage set was fanfreakintastic, they pulled out some chestnuts they rarely play (born of a broken man? i can die happy now) and though the sound was kinda shite in the back half of the crowds, it was still amazing. but getting the set stopped multiple times because it's getting too crowded and chastised by a guy most notable for his rousing chant of 'fuck you i won't do what you tell me!' was kind of hilarious. seriously. we literally got bargained with like toddlers- we don't want to cut our set short, but if you guys don't take some steps back, we're going to end early. oh yes we will. we will turn this show around, don't think we won't! comedic gold. also, flogging molly was epic in a hands-clappy, fiddly, drunken irish bastard kind of way, and gogol? there is nothing comparable to really hot girls with bass drums tom-toming their way around stage while a bunch of hopped-up gypsy punks take the piss on american weddings for not having vodka and herring. awesome. suffice to say the music was top-notch. the end.

2. irish car bombs
we learned from our barkeep (who bristled at being called ma'am, even though we accidentally kept doing it) that you can't call them irish car bombs anymore. apparently they're only car bombs. i don't care what you call them, but those things are delicious. yeah i'm not supposed to have beer bc of teh eeeeevil gluten, but screw it. i'm on vacation and we were severely under-drunk by the time our sunday morning stop-in at the bar rolled around. my super good friend, we'll call him gus even though that's not his name, reminded me that just because i drank mine the fastest did not mean i drank it the best. i disagree, mostly because i'm a brat. also, i was drunk by the time we left. mmmm. irish cream. lovesit.

3. my host who bought all the beverages
i realize this is sort of a carry-over from the last item, but you don't go to chicago planning to be sober, do you? not really. you do, however, expect to spend a shitton of cashmonies, so the fact that super gus kept ponying up the green (or plastic, whichever) to keep the girls buzzed at the bars in the city and the tents at the festival and who also provided us with starbies, dunkin and monster to wake our asses up was both chivalrous and terrifically spendy. kudos to you, my lovely friend. kudos indeed. of course, the universe saw that i managed to not spend as much cash as i'd have imagined and shat the dead car battery upon me. goddamn you, universe. fetch me a mai tai.

4. alcohol on the train
okay, now i just sound like a raging alcoholic. but honestly, as a child raised on the metro of dc where eating, drinking, and probably laughing are all banned on the orange line and every other, being able to imbibe soda and especially soda with booze added, openly and proudly, whilst rolling along the tracks was wickedly delicious. oh, and gus' girlfriend, we'll call her lady overalls, created a superb drink for said train trips: mix sugar-free peach fresca with absolut vanilla. seriously. try it. it's quite possibly my new favorite. so to recap: taking the train can be a bitch, but arriving in chicago drunk and ready to run around until you find out it's kind of too hot and muggy to do that? that's the stuff weekends are made for, for sure.

5. random dance parties
lady overalls was quite the dancing queen, and she was not left wanting- around every turn there were tents of turntables and streets full of dancing, bouncing, swirly people rocking out to dj momjeans and other people whose names i've forgotten because let's face it, dj momjeans is probably the best moniker ever. it was a nonstop slap of electronica in the streets, closed off to traffic for the festival and run amok with stoners and hipsters alike, and nary a silent hip in sight. in case you were unaware, dancing makes everything fun. you wish you were there. you've not lived til you've grinded it out at 2 pm in the sun with double-fisted beers while the high-five squad is marching through to the beat of german house-transe-whatevery goodness. trust me. i wouldn't lie. at least, not about that.

6. trent reznor.
this needs no introduction or explanation, save for the uninitiated: trent reznor is fucking hot. no seriously, shut up. he is. i'm pretty sure it's a standard absolute, like how the angles of a triangle have to add up to 180 degrees and there are 24 hours in a day. as such, if you see trent reznor, you get happy in your bits and pieces, no matter what. hence, when you see NIN crash through 'closer', 'hand that feeds', 'discipline' and 'head like a hole', you're gonna have a good, super sexy time. mmm. trent.


...ohai, i'm back. i went to a place. it was a good place. carry on.

7. important ice truck is important
rarely does one see a funnier sight than a truck equipped with two or three personnel guarding it and a siren-song beep alerting everyone to its presence so that you'll jump your sweet skippy out of the way, only to realize after it passes that the truck was carrying ice. yeah. ice. not musicians, not cops, not heat-stroked bodies in an ambulatory capacity, but ice. and not bags of ice either. no no, big brick blocks of ice the size of refrigerators, the kind you'd see in old-timey tales taking place in the 1800's. in short, it was hysterically amusing and by turns perplexing, as we never received any ice in our drinks. i question lollapalooza's methods.

8. random english gropers
it's really not a trip until you have a run-in with a handsy european who gropes your ass in the name of bonding with your friend over sports. i'm pretty sure there's a book in any standard vacation scrapbook for that very thing.

9. really clean port-o-potties
okay so it's not a highlight, per se, but honestly- when was the last time the cleanliness of a toilet without flushing capability was something you actually made note of? exactly.

10. The Hat.
gus had a fabulous chapeau made of i don't know what, but it was delightfully pork-pie in nature and totally goofy. it was like a fourth companion, and i told him i was going to make note of it but i don't think he believed me. the fact that it commanded double-takes from the straights and hats off (no pun, i swear) from the hipsters proves: The Hat, it is a force. one to be reckoned with. plus lady overalls looked precious in it and it prevented much sunburn, yea verily. and that's really the name of the 3-days-in-the-sun game, isn't it? yes. yes it is.


and those are the haps, my friends, and by haps i mean the highlights or at least things that amused me the most over the course of the lollexperience. this is, of course, neglecting to mention the overall aura that is the magic of a three-day music festival, what with the smells of sunblock, illicit smokey substances, and brats on a stick, the layers of sweat you have to peel off at the end of each day whilst caring for the blisters forming on parts of your feet you didn't even know you had, or the free $25 itunes cards and spin subscrips we got just for putting our pretty little heads into the park; there was of course the city skyline shining during the day and glowing at night, adorable children with mohawks jamming to electronica in their strollers, $6 cups of crappy wine, the freedom to roam and loaf and dance and spin under trees, through fountains and around the fields whenever and wherever, and doing so instead of being at work...ah, twas glory my friends. pure glory. let it never be forgotten. especially not when the credit card bill comes.

10 songs i'm into at the moment

yeah i know, i keep coming back to music more than, say, books or palpable news items or what have you and i recognize that it's a bit tired. to which i say bite me. it's my blog, not yours, bitchez. anyhoo, i realize i haven't updated this thing in half of forever lately, and well, i'd apologize but that's not my style. i embrace my laze. plus it's summer in the desert, and it's by far too hot to do anything remotely productive (ie: thinking of general post ideas). so instead i'm staying in my air conditioned cave (cave with windows, go figure) and listening to a lot of tunes and now i'm going to share some. if you want to take a listen, i've stitched these ten little ditties together into one 40-minute mini-mix of sorts, and you can download it here. because i love you and also, what's the point of loving music if not to share, yes? duh. anyway.

ten songs i'm listening to a lot lately, which is saying something bc you'd think i'd be boning up on the folks playing at lollapalooza in t-minus three weeks (admit it, you're jealous) but no, i'm listening to these instead. la di da.

1. just --mark ronson
jazz interpretation of a radiohead song? yes please. i heard this in chipotle of all places the other day, and fell in love with it over my chicken guac bowl. covers of radiohead are scattered about the interwebs like as many an easter egg, and while some fail, others are quite interesting at the very least (sia's cover of 'paranoid andrdoid' comes to mind). this is probably my favorite so far. dancing to radiohead? who'd have thunk it.

2. modern guilt --beck
in the words of a good friend of mine, 'hey, i hear beck's depressed again! but not country depressed.' which is to say, his new album is no sea change or mutations (arguably some of his best, mutations being my absolute favorite) but it definitely doesn't leave me cold like 'information'. i think the title track is a decent interpretation of the album as a whole- a bit of bounce, but a bit of melancholy too. and bloops and beeps. because it's beck, obvs.

3. morningside --sara bareilles
it's no secret i'm a sucker for a girl with a piano, so naturally sara bareilles will make a cameo. she's the girl behind that oh-so-earwormy 'love song', which i do adore. this song here is more of her bouncy, slightly cynical but still fun piano pop. good times.


4. fight with tools --flobots
another very good friend of mine says he predicts 'big things for the flobots.' i was hesitant to agree, but after actually listening to 'handlebars' when it came up on the radio (do yourself a favor and listen to it as well...it's rather a genius testament to how much power can corrupt), i had to fetch the album. i'm going to side with aforementioned good friend of mine and say the flobots are going to be amazing, given time. rock hybrid with hip hop featuring a girl on the viola? check. message? check. addictive album? double check. i threw the title track into this mix because i think it showcases everything about them that makes me love them, down to the phrase 'rich get ricocheted'. awesome.

5. black and gold --sam sparro
i really can't figure out if this is supposed to be a song about the love of your life, or god, or maybe even a cheeseburger. who knows. but it's rather well crafted and just a good slice of electronica.

6. fingerprints --katy perry
okay. i know people love to hate on katy perry, and yes, she's very standard pop. no boundaries being broken, but i don't care. sometimes music doesn't have to break new ground. sometimes it's just as much fun when someone finds their niche and fills it exquisitely. i love a fair few tracks on her album, but i chose this one because let's face it, we've all heard 'ur so gay' and 'i kissed a girl' ad nauseum and this track is just a good solid pop song about that classic quarter-life crisis.

7. chocolate --paranoid social club
this band is hilariously awesome. the best way i could describe them is a fusion of hip pop, skater rock, drinking anthems and stoner chill mixed with some waltzy melody and a wicked sense of humor. this song is an ode to wanting a 'chocolate-covered girlfriend', or rather, the age-old white boy lusts after black girl and black girl is all srsly dude plz and the guy's all cmon gimme a try and the girl's all whatev and then there's dancing. it's adorably crass and sweet at the same time, and the line 'white boy take your skateboard and go find something else to grind' amuses me every time. plus it's danceable. what more do you want dammit?

8. astronaut --priscilla ahn
oh, priscilla ahn. you are lovely. this girl makes sweet, gentle pop tunes full of comfort and guitar. her voice is plush and unassuming, and her music is just beautiful. her entire album, 'a good day' is pure sweet goodness, and this is one of my favorite atmospheric songs from it. i really can't help but wish this girl much, much success. she's not going to blow anybody's world away, but she just makes me smile. i could listen to her whole album on repeat for hours.

9. butterfly --jason mraz
okay. not gonna lie. i have a wicked soft spot for mr mraz, possibly because he's from my home state (go virginia, woo. yeah i know, nobody else is cheering, but i don't care), or possibly because his first album was so damn infectious. he's not yet recaptured the summery breeze that was 'waiting for my rocket to come', but his new album is pretty damn good. coming from that, this is a perfectly danceable jazzy tune about, well, a girl's 'butterfly.' naughty but not obscene. and good summer music so far as i'm concerned, and since i'm running this ship, i don't have to answer to anybody else do i? unless this is a ship on the water, then i'll have to answer to the sea. but it's not so i don't. or something. nevermind.

10. distant dreamer --duffy
i think it's been established by now that i'm a sucker for sweeping songs, lyrics about getting 'out of here' or 'away from here', or anything that involves orchestra. plus duffy is so freaking adorable. she's a little pint-sized 24-year old welsh (i think?) singer who's doing neo-soul some good after the trainwreck that is la winehouse has turned into a drunken spectacle of disease and not song. her voice is distinctive, light but strong, and really her whole album is amazing. this song is just spectacular in my opinion though. cheesy, sure, but who doesn't love cheese? hell i'm lactose intolerant and i still adore it. so there. *bangs gavel*

and that's that. if you somehow missed it, you can find all these little songs mushed together here, and hopefully kill 40 minutes with some new tunes. i'll probably do this again next week, because if i am prone to do anything, it's babble about songs. it's something to do in lieu of actually writing them. because i'm a major dork. but you knew that. okay. i'm ending this now.

ten things i adore at the moment

ohai, readers! how've you two or three been? i realize i have not written in this cobwebby corner of the internets in what, like, a quarter of a year, and for that i apologize. i'm made of fail. well actually to be precise, i'm rather a concoction that is one part fail, one part ADD, and one part vodka, all strained through writer's block. serve caffeinated, with a silly straw.

right, anyway. so this is just a quick list tonight to get myself back on the ball, disregarding the fact that one of course cannot get on a ball without falling off bc hello, pivot points and roundish things and gravity being the law and all that. anyhoo, this is a blog and what is a blog if not your place for shameless pondering about crap nobody else cares about? exactly. so in that spirit, i'll get to the me me me-ness of it all: it's safe to say that my life is as it always is- neither here nor there. flux and steps forward and back and lack of direction and loftiest of expectations and all that nonsense have left me feeling a bit...well...blah lately. i know. however many thousands of dollars for an english degree and i can sum up my life four years after achieving said degree with a succinct 'blah.' they're going to repossess the frame on my wall tomorrow, and its contents as well. i can feel it.

aaaaaaanyway, i was taking stock of my life whilst washing the dinner dishes earlier and i had to tell myself that while things may be kind of sucky lately, life does not throw a cloud at you without one of those irritably shiny silver lining things attached. and you know what i love? silver things. and shiny things. and glitter. and things that glow. and stars. and also? these ten things, for what is a life full of ups and downs without a few solid, toothy surprises that warm your evil belly every now and again? exactly. and so i present to thee, interwebs:

ten things i'm adoring at the moment, with links where applicable so you can join in on the fun if you're into that thing, and if you're not, then generally speaking you're in the right place bc this blog is in the business of snark but just this once i'm bucking the trend and going all HAPPY POD PERSON, OH MY GOD, THE HUGH MANATEE!

1. 'let's dance to joy division' by the wombats
this is a free song available on itunes this week. go get it before you have to pay 99 pennies. it's glorious. what's not to like about british boys bouncing around the room in what is the sonic equivalent of dancing in your skivvies with a wooden spoon or hairbrush for a microphone? you may be wearing embarassing socks and have your hair sculped into prime bedhead formation if you'd like. for the record, joy division makes me want to drown myself or the nearest victim in tartar sauce, but this song is effing awesome. it's especially fun to chairdance to at work and collect weird looks from the passers by. squares! oh yeah that's right. i said it. oh and for the record? wombats are kick ass. the animals, i mean.

2. the new mountain dew flavors
i'm not going to pretend i remember the names or the flavors or anything (but these guys do, so take a gander if you must be informed), but by jove or joe or jobe or gum or whatever your by ____ preference, how much fun is it to find three new glories sitting side by icy side in the 7-11 soda fridges? it is a bounty of blue 5 and red lake 40 and carbonation and caffeine and artificial berry flavors, my friends. it is pure bubbly strange-fruit bliss. added bonus, three bottles should be able to power you through your work day, whether it be at the law firm or the guy who's helping to build the median and fuck up the traffic with cones and jackhammer chatter right in front of said office, like, could you please maybe NOT put that cone there, i want to turn into my parking lot and oh my god do you mean i have to loop two blocks around to turn around and come to my building from the other way? WHAT?! oh my god, there's too much caffeine in this beverage. and it's delightful. oh and plus you can go visit the land o' dewmocracy to vote for your favorite. let's face it- now that the primaries are over (can i get an amen, even from the flying spaghetti monster contingent? cmon. even you guys are thinking it. don't lie. i weave these words like a polygraph son.) (okay that made no sense. apologies. blame the caffeine.) (mmmmmm fake berry flavor) (PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME) (oh the heart palpitations) (and the unending parenthetical thoughts!) and american idol is cooling its cowellian jets til next season, you can vote for what *really* matters. namely, the next beverage to give the hearts of america's youth its very first fruit roll-up-flavored hemmorage. yay! democracy! give thanks. some people only get the green flavor.

3. precious friends of mine
one of whom called not long ago to ask 'what is cream of tartar, and where do i find it in the store? i know it's not the same as tartar sauce, but...' and that's really all there is to that. she's a gem. if your friends can't give you a grin then you've clearly got to get new friends. no really. true story.

::super edit action!::

another super awesome friend of mine pointed me in the direction of the video for weezer's 'pork and beans'. suffice to say it is a time-capsule of amazing, a conglomerate of viral fame and completely nonsensical. it will make no sense in months or years. but right now it's totally fucking boss, because it's the now that's the most fun anyway. and so i give you:



...magic.

4. this biker picture
in case this fire and brimstone stuff turns out to be the real deal (though i'm on the side of carbon dating and dinosaurs, truth be told), then i'm definitely going to hell. and if i'm already going, then i'm not going to feel bad by posting this and saying i nearly cramped a stitch in my stomach laughing, and no i was not drunk or stoned at the time. the laughter was just that spontaneous and evil:




i mean...my questions are so-many fold. who is standing by taking pictures of such rampant stupidity? who was so dull-witted behind the wheel that they couldn't give 10 bikers 50 feet? and who in their right mind is out on a bike in the southwestern summer anyway? i'd ask these questions but i'm still howling at the bikes and handlebars and helmets flying every which way into what can only be an eventual pavement omelet. hell. going there. got my reservation already. i hear the continental breakfast is the suck, but it's hell so what were you expecting? by the way, if you want the actual story behind said crash-and-burn hilarity, click here. you're welcome.

5. the fail blog
i make no lies- destruction is hilarious. people falling cracks me up. someone getting smacked in the junk is a riot. the fail blog captures that and everything else imaginable, be it people or objects, doing what they were destined to do: fail miserably for the humorous sake of the cushy online onlooker. boats, cows, bird poop, toll booths, security guards-- nothing is safe or sacred, everything is destined to faceplant, and every entry in this glorious ode to the art of error is guaranteed to make you snort your beverage. i'm thinking of submitting the above biker picture to be honest. i meant it when i said i'm going to hypothetical hell.


6. the 'things younger than mccain' blog
if this masterpiece of factoids and rampant sense-making doesn't make sure you at least *consider* not voting in our potential oldest and blandest president to date (i'm in arizona, i can mock him. seriously. i blame half the sun problems on him. GET US A DOME.), it will at least make you laugh. and probably hungry, as delicious food products get relatively frequent mentions, alongside gloriously random facts. and sometimes there are family guy clips. get on it. it's a blog for the ages.

7. iron man
this doesn't even need an explanation, but i'll do it in a simple list-within-a-list:
a) robert downey jr being hot and smart and effortlessly badass and hot again
b) faceplants and sassy robots
c) the most amazing gadgetry this side of any universe ever, like, suck it aliens
d) the dude does not abide, for he is the villain.

the end.

8. hagen dasz coconut sorbet
being a fat kid who is a recently diagnosed celiac who also has to eat dairy-free, i'm having the biggest devil of a time living without gluten and milk. seriously. you never know how hard you're going to miss wheat and its elastic materials (see: everything with flour in it) and milk and its brethren (read: everything *else* if it doesn't have flour in it) until you can't eat it, because IT IS SERIOUSLY IN EVERYTHING. BUT. hagen dasz came to my rescue, for they make a delicious sorbet out of coconut and sugar and ice and magic that allows me to enjoy dessert with the other kids on the culinary playground. plus it's relatively healthy as hagen dasz goes- less than 200 calories per serving, wrapped up in a dairy-free bow. thank you, sweet gods. for i can still retain my fatty status without sacrificing sugar. hooray!

9. the primaries are goddamn OVER.
yeah so i'm an obama girl. no lie. but whoever you were (or are) pulling for, can we just seriously relish the fact that the primaries are oh vee eee arrrrr ? yes. yes we can. i'm equating this to the 2004 alcs- the primaries were the *real* race. the red sox coming from behind to swarm the yankees was amazing to see. once they won the whole thing it was rather a denoumont. (that's fancy-speak for 'kind of a let down, y'all.) so whoever wins the *actual* election, the primaries was the fight to watch. granted it got about ten dozen kinds of nasty between the two who were dancing nearly identical moves around the issue floor, but in the end i think it came down to a nation unable to deal with the old. in with the new. or mabye people really *are* willing to vote for a black dude over a white lady, who knows. i'm no pundit or sense-maker. i'm just glad that thing one and thing two aren't going to be doing battle against each other anymore. i mean i know democrats do party splintering like nobody else, but for real- can we just not elect mccain and get it over with? thanks.

10. 'splenetic'
this was the word of the day on tuesday in my word-a-day calendar of greatness, and it did provide much phonetic fun. for starters, it starts with a good 'spl' noise, which is joyous. it's the first half of 'splat', which is *so* satisfying to say. cmon. i dare you not to form that bit with your mouth and not grin. it is intrinsically pleasing. and then the 'etic' at the end makes it sound all fancy and intellectual. it's an orgy of syllables and cushy sounds that are both mean and bouncy at the same time, so at this point the word's meaning is irrelevant, but the language mavens of old took it up a notch and gave it a great definition: it means spiteful, you guys. of ill humor, mean-spirited, and spiteful. that's my language. this right here is why i have such a love affair with words. you wade through many that drive you up a tree, but when you find the one that encapsulates your being in such a comfortable mush of sounds and letters, you love it and cherish it and pet it and marry it if states will overcome both gay marriage *and* word marriage. but that's a bit too progressive for this era, i'm afraid. shame. i shall write said era a splenetic letter. badumching!


and that's that. i know. this veered, and i am weird. plus i rhyme when i don't really mean to. i'd seek help, but i've got laundry to do. have a great weekend y'all! coming next: i'm going to challenge myself to write an entry every day for a week. we'll see how this goes. ten reasons i'll most likely fail at it? you just read my mind. cut that shit out.

from the mixed-files of excusey mcwhinerson

christ on a crutch with bastard sauce people, okay, i WILL update. but you try living between two sets of dumbshit neighbors, one with parrots that think kelly clarkson karaoke is a good thing to try at 2 am, and another who recently brought the spawn of kujo and chewbacca into their home, and tell me you don't spend your fractured waking hours plotting ways to do away with anything noah might have carried on his goddamn ark.


actually not really. i love animals. seriously. and i'm not a burgeoning psychopath or anything...i really just wanted to bitch about my fucking neighbors and how they're to blame for my lack of creativity. well that, and i'm out of coffee. and my soul hurts.


...and i'm lazy. fine. i'm a lazy, lazy fatass. and i'm also working on another blog with my boss, though she has yet to contribute. so um. yeah. fine i promise i'll update tonight.


and by update i mean think about things to write here. and by tonight i mean sometime. possibly. you know you love me. *air kisses*

multiple O's with 1 in front of them (yes it was cheap and easy, of course i went for it) :: musical edition

i was originally going to start this final entry of 2007 with 'omg srsly wtf y'all, where did 2007 doth go?' but then i realized, holy shit- 2007 has been an epic year. i dunno about the rest of you, but this past collection of 365 days has been nothing short of extraordinary- not that anything earth shattering happened, mind you. i didn't grow up or grow a set, man up or branch out. nobody i know kicked it, a few got married and spawned, and some made offers on houses; we're growing up but not losing our dumb and young sensibilities.

truly, i'm not gonna lie guys. i've met some amazing people this year, gone through some batshit crazy transitions, and despite not trying or meaning to, have changed who i am as a person. but i know that as b, the snarktastic blogstress, you are expecting at least a modicum of bitchery and listings of 10, so i will keep the existential ponderings for my lj or myspace or what the fuck ever, because this particular entry of wordage and babble is about something we can all agree on, bc for the most part, we all have ears*:

music. say what you will, but 2007 was a fucking amazing year sonically. any set of 12 months that comes complete with reunions of rage against the machine *and* the spice girls, new albums from NIN and radiohead, the latter being released online only and for what *you* wish to pay out of your pretty pocket, and the complete sonic meltdowns despite musical bolsterings of amy winehouse and little miss b spears = awesome. and, okay. much to the obvs, i'm not gonna even start pretending to know everything or anything about music. i've dabbled with songwriting and slapdashery of microphone abuse, and at one point used to crave writing for the big guns at spin, relishing the thought of reviewing tunes for money. but no more. i realize it's totally subjective, and quite frankly, i'm fine with that. also, i love spin for giving me two free subscriptions this year with my coachella and vegoose tickets, but for fuck's sake, they are so pretentious that i really will only read it for free and for what it's worth, those concert tickets were so expensive anyway that 12 magazines is the least i could get out of it for free. also, stop making up band names. i swear, spin. you're just making shit up to make yourselves sound more awesome. cut it out. nobody cares.

um, right. this was at one point about my favorite music of the year. let's hop back to it. so, i did not hear arcade fire at coachella, or manage to find the aural time for spoon's 2007 offering. i loathe justin timberlake and couldn't give a damn about the motherfucking killers or she wants revenge. i'm not gonna lick rolling stone's bunghole and even pretend for a millionth of a second that my opinion matters or that i know what's up. my ears are unsophisticated and ragged, and truth be told i'd probably love a rollicking two-minute pop tune more than a seven-minute masterpiece by some rock legend everyone's worshiping post-cbgb destruction. blah blah blah. shut up. it's called taste because it's personal, not because it's forced. also, i'm slightly defensive. some find it charming.

anyway, here. have the first in a three-part entry, and stay tuned (or not, i know all the planet save for one or two of you is tuned out anyway) for the second and third entries coming before the year is out. hopefully. i mean, not that punctuality matters anyway. actually it might, considering one of my christmas gifts was an alarm clock, but, details. anyway, this collection is thusly and enigmatically entitled:


my ten favorite songs of the year, my ten favorite albums of the year, and my ten favorite musical moments of the year, because 2007 was awesome, and this is how i'm sending it out in style, bitches

first things first: ten awesome songs that own on their own, album or no album, and these are in no particular order, i'm too gd lazy for that sort of craziness:

(oh and ps, where available, youtubey goodness of videos and/or just plain songs have been provided, bc i'm nice to you bastards)

1. say --john mayer
(click this thingey to see the video, but mostly hear the song)
yeah. okay. fine. this pretty much outs me as a sentimental bastard, as much as i try to hide behind cursing, cheap tricks and asshattery. this song is just beautiful. it's strong and comforting, it's got a string section that turns me to jelly, and john mayer is not telling anybody that her body is a wonderland. it is four minutes so full of solid truthiness that i don't care if it treacles out at the end: say what you need to say. amen, whitey whiterson soul brother, amen.

2. sober --kelly clarkson
(le click for le song)
say what you will about miss clarkson (i'll go ahead and say it: 'my december' = not as good as it could have been. yeah i said it, you wanna fight?), but this song is perfection. maybe it's due to our inherent ability to see so much of humanity in the lyrics, or that my idiotic self can identify with a verse in some noble, fucked up way. maybe we like songs with repetetive choruses, however vigilant and strong they may be. whatever the case may be, this song is my top-played on itunes and it is with reason. it is stone and mortar resolve fashioned out of nothing but hope. call me crazy, but i love hanging on the wire like that. this song is just as it sounds: soft, but strong. scared, but dignified. sobriety optional. (though probably helpful, because i learned this year that hangovers suck balls.)

3. quiero --alejandra alberti
(click for musical goodness)
i have no idea who this girl is, or what the frick she's saying. she could be telling us all that the apocalypse is surely mounting, but she seems happy about it, so i'm sold. this breezy little thing was a free download on itunes sometime in the spring and oh my god, it's adorable. it's like the charmin puppy of free songs. wait. charmin uses bears, doesn't it? who uses that little puppy- cottonelle? oh who gives a flying fuckling- point is, this song is quirky happy spanish pop in a bottle three and a half minute bottle. try not to love it.

4. dignity --hilary duff
(press this thing if you want to hear the awesome.)
oh, the duffster. not gonna shit you guys, i love her. (in case you haven't figured it out in months prior, or even further up in this post, i have absolutely no shame. just making sure that's out there.) i have a not-so-secret adoration for her remixes, and i always take 'metamorphosis' with me when i go to the gym. (hahahahah. that makes it sound like i go to the gym. hee.) but 'dignity' is grown-into-her-veneers hilary. it. is. awesome. it's slick, bitchy, and so damn true. it's not news when you've got a new bag, and it's not news when somebody slaps you. eat it, lindsay/paris/britney/whoever. even if you don't dig on the duff, give this song a listen. it's a hilarious yet oh-so-true send-up of the obsessive tabloid era we live in. plus it is ever so danceable, and that's obviously the important part.

5. all my heroes are weirdos --!!! (chk chk chk)
(i dunno, my heroes are relatively well-balanced, but click here to judge for yourself.)
this song is the weirdest little hybrid i've ever met. it makes you want to mosh and headbang while at the same time making you wish you could just space out under the sky and stare at cloud shapes. it is quite possibly a shape-shifting amoeba of a song, with sparse lyrics and a drumbeat that hops all over the place, percussion-heavy and guitar-lite...but it's badass. there is no denying. don't hurt yourself, you've never heard of these guys (i only know of them via coachella and having no show to go to during the 4:00 hour so i settled and damn am i glad i did), but at least give this tune a whirl.

6. girlfriend --avril lavigne ft. lil' mama
(for the record, i covet the pink 'stang in this video. someone get it for me.)
oh come on, you knew i was gonna throw some avril into the mix here. and while the original version of this song is absolutely pitch-perfect pop, the remix is stellar in a box of super. it is a sonic equivalent of caffeinated schnapps, and by that i mean it is impossibly juvenile and non-threatening at first, and then completely spastic and wall-bouncing for the duration. lil' mama wins at raptastic rapid fire, and yanks control from little miss lavigne (well, i guess it's mrs now, but, whatever) for every verse (and if you're as whitey whiterson as i am, you totally know all the lyrics and can actually, uh, 'sing' along. remember what we talked about? no shame. that's right.) but the glory of the schoolyard stomp chorus and bridge belongs purely to the obnox canadian in an absolutely perfect remix adaptation type thingey. no, really. give it a whirl. you like it. i promise. and if not, too bad, you already listened and i won.

7. you give me something --james morrison
(you know you want to hear the fabulousness of soulful ambiguity.)
i know. what the shit am i doing with a love song in this little mix tape of sorts? well, fuck off. listen to the lyrics first of all- it is an *ambivolent* song about *potential* love. this is exactly the kind of song my heart would sing if it were capable of potentially adoring the crap out of somebody. it boils down to 'well, i can't quite guarantee you anything, but...uh...i kinda like you. i might love you. but don't push me. i'm scared. but don't run away goddammit.' plus, dude's voice is hot, and the horn section is gloriously sweeping. it's basically an epic love song for the undecided and emotionally withholding. and that is why it's on this list goddammit.

8. becoming insane --infected mushroom
(press here to become insane along with the rest of us)
this is quite honestly one of the best album-opening tracks i've ever heard. it's killer. it builds so perfectly, from eastern strings to backbeat to layer upon layer to vocals to smashing guitar to all hell breaking loose. it's a romping good time through the limbic system, y'all. i can't elaborate on it much more than that except to say it's infected goddamn mushroom, so why would it be anything less than awesome? exactly.

9. work that --mary j blige
(work it out ladies. or gentlemen. i don't discriminate.)
okay. try to overlook the fact that it was used in an itunes commercial, and ignore its inevitable fate as the new standard in 'makeover montage background jam' in any movie featuring anne hathaway or a sassy black lady- this song is just pure goodness. it's solid. it's not overly busy, but it's bouncy. it's strong with a 'be yourself' vibe but it's not saccharine crap. i mean, seriously guys. it's the blidge. she can do no wrong.


10. let me in --hot hot heat
(click for your final song, aren't you glad it's over? shut up, you love it.)
i could listen to this thing over and over. in case you haven't figured out that my ears are suckers for orchestral sections, strings, and big dramatic punch-up choruses, well, then you obviously don't know me and you make me feel insignificant and why do you have me when i show you NOTHING BUT LOVE. anyway, this is just a kickass rock pop song. that's all there is to it.


and that's that, so far as individual songs are concerned. clearly it's good i decided to avoid writing for music's sake. but like (insert bad analogy of someone repeating unfortunate behavior despite emotional, psychological, or societal ramifications that should totally convince them not to but it never does because hyoomans r dum) .... (i don't know either), i do it anyway.




*if you actually don't have ears, well, for crap's sake how i was supposed to know, i've never met you. stop assuming i can see your general cranial shape and appendages. that's just self-absorbed. good day to you.

10 really unfortunate names

in the anonymous position i work dutifully for an unnamed employer that does nothing interesting whatsoever, there are occasionally things worth mentioning that crop up from time to time. most of my shennanigans do not make the cut, such as pratfalls, jokes about disco pants and burritos, and the really hot guy who doesn't even know my name. but today, my friends, it's time to show you ten of the things that do warrant an interwebby shout-out:

baaaaad names.

that's right. those of you who know me eye are elle (irl, duh.) know that i glee from an unfortunate namings. it's just...i mean...why? why would you saddle a child with a moxie crimefighter, audio science, or blanket, when you could just name them, well, anything that is not moxie crimefigher, audio science or blanket? well, the mothers of these poor saps must have had the epidurals inserted into their brain stem instead of spinal cord, and the fathers perhaps drunk off one too many 'it's a boy!' congratulatory beers from the guys at work. i cannot fathom any other reason for these monikers. it has rendered me quite baffled.

anyway, in my day-to-day job as a regular person with a regular job, i file a lot of paperwork for a lot of people. (no really, a lot. we got 7,000 pieces of it in the mail on monday alone.) after four months working the grind, i've come up with a list of my ten favorite suckers, whom i will judge purely based upon their name. behold:

ten names that would have me saving up my birthday money since, well, birth, so that i could go down to the courthouse and pony up the $180 to legally change my name once i hit 18, because for fuck's sake, these are not names, they are embarassments, or if i'm marrying into the name, would make me basically *not* marry into it because, just, no. i love you, dearest, but let's create a new name from a random draw of the scrabble tiles, be serious:


1. so-and-so tidd-lard
wait. what? having a bizarre first last name wasn't enough, so you doubled-up and went with 'lard'? holy shit. y'all, i think we have the new definitions of both 'true love' and 'masochism.' i didn't even know you could be *named* after a fat, but, shows what i know. you know what i want? i want a bacon-lard union. or maybe lemon-lard, because that's just culinarily amusing. or maybe burger-lard. oh, the possibilities are endless, and yes, i'm going to think of many of them. my job is boring, you see.

2. such-and-such verewolf-butkiss
wait- how are EITHER of these names? verewolf? really? should i be wary of you at full moons? and should i be wary of your significant other, who clearly sucks up to anybody who'll give out a free lunch? wow, it's a miracle that you two lived past junior high school, what with the teasing. it's also probably just kismet that you found each other and will probably birth many a lupine, butt-kissing baby. this is the glory of marriage folks. entertainment for us.

3. long phat dong
alright, i'm cheating with this one, as it was the find of my boss, but, um. okay. thank you, korea, for your names that just don't translate over here in the us of a. thank you so very, very much.

4. joy loser and randy winner
these people aren't married and probably don't even know each other, but i grouped them as a twofer because i filed their paperwork one right after the other, and thought that they would make the most darling couple, who could get a kicky little house in the country and call it 'happy medium estates.'

5. zsa-zsa cherry
believe it or not, her occupation was listed as a teller, and not a stripper or palm-reader.

6. stephen outhouse
do you think he draws that little half-moon outhouse symbol next to his signature? i mean, i totally would. you've gotta be preemptive with that kind of unfortunate luck. make fun of it first, or everybody is totally gonna own you. and then you'll have no self esteem due to the constant mockery, you'll bottom out, fail your classes, get a crap job, and lo, you will actually *be* cleaning toilets. and nobody wants that, except for perhaps the creators of the rejected characters parade that conan does every now and again.

7. cynamon hellpap
this is, apparently, the buxom, take-no-prisoners villain of a gynecological horror/thriller. i could make an 'open everywhere' and/or 'wide release' joke but quite frankly that's a little too low-brow even for me. oops, i did it anyway.

8. james demon thomas
clearly this kid's otherwise sane mother was in labor with him for approximately two months.

9. the malaise law firm
i don't know about you guys, but i'm taking my business to the feeling-slightly-better-about-it firm across the street. dunno why. i just have a feeling, here.

10. the lynch-belch law firm
okay fuck it. i sat here for like 10 minutes trying to think of a different way to explain why this is funny, and then i realized well jeez, i'm dumb. pure comedy speaks for itself. the end.



now be thankful your name is normal and shut up. and bring me a cookie.

ten things this blogblob is apparently good for

supremely awesome friend: i wish *I* could write a blog people would want to read
supremely awesome friend: but i don't rock like you
yours truly: LOL, no no
yours truly: nobody wants to read it
yours truly: they hit my page, realize it's not full of minihorse porn
yours truly: and leave
supremely awesome friend: hahahahahahahaha

so i'm not gonna lie, i totally have one of those stat-counter things planted on this here blog thingey. i use it mainly to see if i'm getting any action; apparently people in south africa land here on a semi-regular basis and occasionally someone in my hometown drops by. other than that, i'm quite safe in shooting my mouth off in this little corner of the interwebs, because as a general rule, about 3 people visit this thing a day, and that's if i'm having wicked high traffic. (yes i said wicked. what. i'm an eventual new england girl, shut up.)

anyway, curiosity got the better of me and i thought to myself, 'self? why don't you see *what* exactly is bringing the people from cape town to your writing? why are the good people of kansas occasionally checking in? and for the love of crap, how come you get so many visitors at 3 am?'

the answer, my friends, is not blowing in the wind. nay, it is in search engines that we must look. and so look i did. and HAH. my blog basically rules. i took a look at the search engine queries list that my statcounter provides; i can spy on you visitors based on location, based on length of stay, or my favorite, what link brought you here. nine times out of ten it's a myspace bulletin i posted or a link from another blog, but occasionally it's a nugget of hilarity from the search boxes of google, yahoo, and dogpile.com-- for here i give you, because i'm lazy and this is a short entry because i really want to go watch some netflix:


10 seriously awesome search engine queries that have resulted in errant visits to my blog


1. gay urethra wand
okay. my question here is twofold:
a) what the shining hell is a urethra wand?
b) what makes a urethra wand 'gay'?

now, i know from catheters and scopes, believe me. i've spent my fair share of time dealing with crackpot urologists and their shiny, scary instruments (yes, i am a girl. no, we do not like going to the piss doctor.) but never have i ever wondered about the sexual proclivities of said tools of the trade. i wonder if this fine visitor thought perhaps, because of my bisexuality and my IC (look it up, i'm not explaining it) that i'd know what makes a urethra wand and also what makes one gay, but, no dice, gentle reader. no dice at all.

2. reasons why you can't live in the desert
fun fact: if you throw that exact search into google, my blog comes up as the first result. clearly my work on the internet is done.

3. bitch i will cut you
with a gay urethra wand, i will. i swear it!

4. well that's just shittastic
shittastic, for those of you not in the know of the tastic family tree, is the misbegotten cousin of fantastic and the stepson of craptacular. he's a bit rough around the edges, but all he needs is a little love. unfortunately i don't think you'll find that shit in this here blog. moving on.

5. what household item can i shove up my rectum
um. well jeez. i never thought i'd be dr ruth. i'm severely unprepared for this question, but i'll give it a go: if you don't think you could handle putting it in other, uh, orifices, then don't put it in your butt. just sayin.

6. texas rectum murder alcohol
oh that's right. not one, but two search results of 'rectum' yield this little blogspot. have i even used the word 'rectum' in here? i may have, who knows. it might have been during a rage blackout, thank you very for the tip summer roberts. anyway, what's awesome about this particular query is that it explains just what i'd love to do to texas if it were in fact corporial. if texas were in and of itself a gigantic, swaggering cowboy praising jebus and lassooing a cow, i probably would enjoy the hell out of imbibing some alcohol and murdering it somehow through the rectum. why? because driving through texas is two days of nothing, that's why. also, because every boy i've ever met from texas has been insufferable in his own special way. don't get me wrong, i adore some of them, but for fuckin real folks, shut up. if you love texas so much, go have a gay marriage with it and have its lonestar babies. oh wait, texas wouldn't allow that. shut up, texas. also, your chickenfried steak was not very exciting.

7. fuckling
probably the bastard offspring of an asshat and a douchebag, no? i wonder what a litter of fucklings would look like. probably very cute, but very swear-inducing. i bet they crap bitchery all over the carpet.

8. stickybear bop apple rom
yessssss. memories of childhood. i'm telling you, stickybear bop owned all, even if i never could get far enough into the game to feel satisfied before some other dipshit kid at daycare was jonesing for a spot at the coveted computer. oh, sharing. i did not learn you thoroughly in kindergarten. though why anybody found my blog searching for that relic of daycare is beyond me.

9. things you do when your [sic] insane
craptacular spelling aside (obviously this fine visitor and diligent information-seeking surfer of ye olde net did not stumble upon a couple of my previous entries), i feel honored to be the end result of a quest for things to pass the time when you've gone coocoopants or nutterbutter. actually i *should* do that list next. seriously. i'm thinking, 'ten things to do when you want to convince the world you've gone or just want to at least pretend you've gone and tumbled headfirst into a land of padded walls and hug-me jackets.' given that's what i have as my tag line up top there, i suppose it was overdue. thank you, fine purveyor of ask.com, for resting on your laurels, or my laurels, or whatever it is that kids are doing with laurels these days, and snapping me to attention. truly, you have a place in my heart. now just learn how to fucking spell.

10. i accidentally took a decongestant with alcohol
well it's not all bad, really. think of it as a vodka with red bull, but instead of merely keeping you awake all night, your sinuses will be blissfully free of clogging, while your brain will be delightfully foggy. it is perhaps the best state to exist in. i'm so glad i'm not the only person to have discovered this chemical combination, but i am worried, dear reader. 'accidentally' implies that you did not mean to enjoy said chemicals. to which i say, pish posh. embrace it. enjoy it. then probably don't drink anything alcoholic or take an advil for a week. also, you'll wanna drink some water. like woah.



and that's that. of course, honorable mention goes to 'girls smashing testicles', 'minihorses' and 'joey travolta'. obviously human curiosity is the gift that keeps on hilariously giving. also? i must admit, i'm intrigued by the fact that i can post video to this thing. because occasionally i'm lazy and don't feel like typing so much as blabbering, i'm tossing a little bouncey ball of an idea around my cerebral cortex and pondering doing a video list next. thing is, i must remain anon and an enigma (unless you know me, which is 90% of you, but for the sake of remaining a myyyyystery, i shalt not be revealed), so i need something quite visual to do for a list. ten most amusing sights of this godforsaken town i live in? ten things i'm not sure deserve their tenure in my closet? ten tchochkes i totally heart? i draw ten pictures based on your requests? i dunno. my brain is dying here folks. hence, i request you leave a comment with an idea or two. why? because i said so, that's why. also, because you, you're awesome.

so is chuck, which is on right now, so i'm gonna go rot my brain for awhile courtesy of nbc. i'm out, y'all.

ten things that have popped into my head lately

okay guys. i have a confession that isn't really a confession to make: i have a super-obnox case of ADD. (i had it *before* it was cool, thanks.) most of you who know me enough know this already, but i thought i'd throw it out there into the blogosphere anyway, and i will add that yes, it is legitimate (my GPA makes a handy-dandy bell curve chart based upon whether or not i'm medicated with those little pumpkin-colored triangles of poor man's speed), but i try to ride with it. some folks use it as a crutch, i use it as a surfboard. in other words: some people limp along and bitch about it, i choose to be optimistic, throw myself on it, ride the wave and glee 'weeeeeeeeeee!' before a wave curls over my head, i wind up pummeled into the sand-soaked ocean floor and totally gasp for air before bitching, 'frick, i hate surfing.' but it's charming and fun anyway. at any rate, it's why you all love me, if only because i make the rest of you feel normal by comparison, or that you can say 'strawberry' and it will lead us on a tangentastic conversation about ice cream, perfume, serial killers and yodeling.

so, for better or worse, my mind tends to not pay any attention at all to you or your stories or your commands if you happen to be my boss (this *could* explain why i got fired that one time but i like to pretend it's because the dude was 4'9" if he was an inch and i'm 5'10" and i threatened him with my very existence. also, he looked like a monkey. also, this was a pet store, so i know from animal faces, y'all), and as i was saying before i interrupted myself, like, way to fuckin go, me, i really can't take the time to listen to you. sorry. it's not that i don't want to, it's that i can't. or is it that i don't can't won't not but...wait...what the fuck? the hilarity of this is i'm totally sober while dribbling this refuse from keyboard into blogger box, so, i guess y'all are just that lucky.


anyway, what happens while i'm busy not being able to or not wanting to or won't notting or whatevering in the paying attention department, is wishing i could get proper health insurance so i could get me some ADD meds again. for real. also, though, my brain is just having little synapse blots left and right and wondering about this that and the other existential (or non) thing. i'm sure you know what i'm talking about. you're in a meeting and someone in a suit that looks like it was fashioned out of cotton that interbred with blue playdoh is all 'blah blah blah rate structure blah blah plans are not sufficient for unsecured creditors blah blah donuts in break room' and you're all 'mmm, donuts...my stomach commands i feed it some glorious boston cream chocolate sugary goo-- wait...did i feed my hamsters this morning? shit. they're going to die from malnutrition and here i am, fat and happy with nutrients. i suck. i am the worst pet owner EVER. maybe *this* is why i got fired from the pet store. nah. it was totally bc the dude was a monkey. a short monkey. for real, what's with short men? why they gotta be all napoleon? napoleon. OH MY GOD, you know what would go SO WELL with those donuts in the break room? NEOPOLITAN ICE CREAM! and i know that's totally not 'napoleon' ice cream but you try telling me you haven't ever made that linguistic leap. omfg linguistic leap-- dude, that sounds like a new hero for nbc to try out mid-series. 'he could learn whole languages in a single bound! communication will never be a problem for...lingua frank!' but frank isn't really a good hero name. it's too...well...it sounds like a hot dog. mmm. hot dog. see, this is why i'm a fatass. i have a donut and yet i also want ice cream and a damn hot dog. AND I'M A VEGETARIAN. because i love the animals. which doesn't explain why i'm accidentally starving my hamsters. oh frick on a stick i was supposed to be taking notes. maybe if i just nod and look like i'm taking it all into my head and not my notebook they won't fire me like the pygmy chimp bossman from petland. dammit. i'm out of coffee. and clearly i need a donut to go with it.'

for real. i'm not lying. this is not entirely unalike what was going through my head between the hours of 10:15-ish and 10:17-oclockness a few days ago, though hell if i was actually keeping track. the beauty of this retard-o-sphere that i call my brain, though (awesomely enough, the firefox on-screen spell check does not have a problem with the phrase 'retard-o-sphere', leading me to believe in its utter validity) is that it totally gives me filler for this blog when i neglect it so sorely. because for real, i'm averaging, what- a few paragraphs every couple months? for a writer, i suck ungodly amounts of suck. (______) (that right there is the space i left for you to insert your own 'suck' joke. it's like choose your own insulting adventure.)

anyway, i'm bored and need something to do because quite fucking frankly i'm not in the mood to watch a movie and snark at continuity errors or read or do anything halfway amusing. i've got lyrics i could work on, or books i could read, netflix to watch and a house to clean but f that s, i'm just gonna jot down a few of the brain rumblings that polluted my occipital lobe this week instead. and because i love and hate you all at the same time, i leave them here for you to read if you are just as le bored as i am.


ten things that slipped between the frootloopy cracks of my brain while i probably should have been paying attention to the shit i was scanning and filing, bc for real, the paralegals are going to eat me alive if they get another chapter 7 in their chapter 13 box, but omgsrsly4real i'm a newbie and i claim immunity:

1. yes, the writers' strike is necessary. 110%.
but if it in any way fucks with my ability to see the scrubs series finale, i am not kidding, i will probably suffer an aneurism and bleed out through my nose and cry into my porridge and curse the world. if one has time to do that after their brain short circuits, anyway. also, i have no idea why there was porridge in that sentiment. perhaps the brain malfunctioning has already begun. in short: give the writers their 2.5%, because without them there is no show, and also, i don't want to find pieces of my brain in the breakfast cereal. the end.

2. upon the thoughts of three religions in one department somehow managing to coexist without murdering each other but not without stealing each others paltry shit or possibly coveting mp3 players, you really could shorten the 10 commandments into 'don't do anything i wouldn't do.', and bonus: 'the commandment' just sounds so much cooler and easier to follow, y/y?
for real. george carlin backs me up on this (oh, okay, so my spellcheck protests carlin, but doesn't protest retard-o-sphere? i'm not sure what i believe anymore)- you really could pare down the commandments if you wanted to make managing your mortal soul's eternal salvation more manageable. and no i'm not religious and don't even pretend to be but i got A's in every religion class i ever took, so shut up.

aaaaaaanyway, so basically the thing is this: sir godly mcdemandsalot is all 'don't do these TEN THINGS! others we'll talk about, because i guess i never specifically called out little altar-boy sodomy and/or blowing up abortion clinics in my edicts, so, my bad. oh dear me, i made a bad. according to kevin smith and alanis morissette in a tutu, universe goes splodey right...about...now. but it doesn't because kevin smith made 'jersey girl', proof that even the greatest fuck up. that's right, god gets a mulligan. awww yeah.'

so basically back to the original point of this drivel- i'm looking at this list of ye olde commandments in a handy set of 10 and well, i think mainly what dude (or dudette, bc really, as others far more comedically inclined as yours truly have pointed out, god may just be a chick bc who else has that kind of interior *and* exterior decorating skills? no straight man, at any rate.) was trying to say was this:

"so i totes don't wanna brag, for realsies, but oh my gosh, you guys. for real? i am most probably totally perfect. i honestly, truly can't help that sunshine and rainbows spew out of my ass and butterflies and starlight vomit from my mouth and that i can take and give life in a snap, oh and have you *tried* sunday school? divine! in case you're a terrible horrible godless heathen, though, check it:

coveting its bad, m'kay?
killing is bad, m'kay?
stealing, lying, cheating, all that crap- it's bad, m'kay?
also, i'd appreciate you not worshipping anybody else other than me. i'm wicked insecure and kind of new at this edict stuff, so, yeah. just obey me and everything will be chill, we cool?
and finally, oh my me, SERIOUSLY, anything you think might be remotely bad? IT'S BAD.

so, to sum up: don't do anything i wouldn't do! this does not include, however, raining frogs and flooding things. or creating the platypus. so feel free to wreak global warming havoc and play mad scientist. clearly the 11th commandment was to get rid of al gore."

man, god is a prick. but i can't fault the guy, cause, well, he likes the things in lists of 10.

3. fat cells have too many friends
okay seriously. have you ever noticed that when you glee and break out the self-congratulatory squeals for losing 10 or 15 or howevermany pounds because honestly 10 is but a drop in the vast ocean that is the gelatinous mass of america's thighs (my own included), that if you don't keep a tight lockdown on that shit it comes roaring back with twice as many friends? for freaking real, people. lookit- unless you spend the unnecessary dollars on atkins cereal bars or the south beach frozen meals or whatever cockamamey fad diet is in these days, and/or spend every waking moment at the gym or thinking about going to the gym or berating yourself for not going to the gym, those pounds just come back. and not only do they come back, they come back with some added squish to make you feel all the more ridiculous trying to fit into your skinny jeans. (which, btw, we should all stop doing, bc not even twiggy supermodels can make straight-leg jeans look good. for real. just, no.)

so why this fat phenomenon? because your fat cells are not meant to be loners. they need friends and family and loved ones. they are the most extroverted body part ever conceived by whatever created the human anatomy and they can't survive on their own. if you try to get rid of them, they will pull themselves up by the fatstraps and multiply. if they can't multiply, they call their friends to come over for a fritos-n-margs party. if they can't do *that*, then they cry and their tears turn into new fat cells. seriously. THEY HAVE TOO MANY FRIENDS. your ass will never be lonely, because it's like the freakin spider club for lipids. your stomach? it's the freakin fat cell south beach. upper arms? forget about it, it's fatty tissue U where everybody drinks, hooks up, pukes, and then procreates.

and you know it's true, too. so the next time you realize your fat cells are costing you friends because the world is judgemental even though it shouldn't be because, holy frick, how many of us are fat now, for real, just remember this- your body has its own myspace, and it's multiplying every time you eat a donut.

4. people can get away with anything on the road if they have a good bumper sticker.
alright folks, you can't tell me you haven't witnessed this firsthand. you know how it goes down. you're minding your own beeswax, business, bidness, crap, whatever it is you mind while you should be minding the rules of the road but you're totally fiddling with the radio dial instead, when from out of NOWHERE, a rogue suv busts out of the right lane, cuts you off like it's a pair of scissors and the road is its asphalt ribbon, and speeds through the light before you get the chance, leaving you crammed in the intersection in a cacophony of honking horns and tire squeals. and yet? you're so not mad. why? because that suv, that honking, gas guzzling excuse for a vehicle that nobody needs unless they are perhaps toting the detroit lions to and from a game, totally had a bumper sticker on it that said "say NO to proposition 104!"

omg, you DID say no! holy frick! it's like you're ideological, political soulmates! so what's a little bit of tire shred and engine grind to make sure you don't collide? that car's got *morals*, man. conversely, a cute little vw bug could give you the courtesy wave and let you out of a supercrowded parking lot onto a main drag to hang a left onto an even more crowded yellow-lined artery through town, and before you can give the wave back, you notice this blight on the front bumper:

"W in 04!"

enough said. sure, cute car with a nice person did something good semaritainly, but now you're totally struggling not to say 'GODDAMN YOU! if i lose the rights for my uterus, IT'S ON YOUR UNEDUCATED HEAD, YOU JACKASS!' as you're totally cruising down the street because of their charity of lane space.


what the hell is this driving etiquette cockery? the world may never know, but to be safe from asshattery of a judgemental and vehicular degree, you should probably just cover your bumpers and trunk and hubcaps if you so choose with stickers for everything. every band, every political affiliation, local cause, national cause, awarness ribbon, honor rolls at all the local schools, snarky rebuttals about how your kid beat up the honor roll kid, and carefully placed shout-outs to icanhascheezeburger and homestar runner can cover your rear windshield. on your back bumper you can support the troops, support cancer research, support and celebrate equality, visualize whirled peas, say you voted in every election since nixon came about (hint: it doesn't matter if you weren't born yet, who's going to look?), promote tax breaks, promote public programs, support a woman's right to choose and throw one of those jesus fish up there too. on your front bumper and side windows, be sure to say you honor god but question everything, are an alum of approximately a dozen universities and colleges worldwide, tell drivers to be safe and give bike riders 5 feet while also letting us know you'd rather be shopping at nordstrom and your other car is a broom, the amnesty international candle logo is pretty, and also, you love every mlb, nfl, nhl and nba team. if that's not enough, you can always post the stickers for any and all harry potter hogwarts houses and throw the radiohead toothy bear logo up there, cause nobody doesn't like that guy.

you should now have free reign to cut people off and be a jerk as you see fit. however if you can even see out of any windows, clearly you haven't posted all the stickers, because to support everything and thus piss off everybody/nobody and secure yourself a front-row seat to badassery on the open roads should cover every inch of any vehicle, from a miata to an excursion. c'mon. keep stickering. it's fun. i promise.


5. what's going to happen when hyphenated-name folks' kids start getting married?
i feel like i'm qualified to comment on this because i spend enough time at my job parsing through a client database to find whoever's behind a certain claim, and it's painful enough to find out i have to search for them based on married name versus maiden name versus new name versus changed name versus whatthefuckever, like, MAKE UP YOUR DAMN MIND. even more obnoxious are the hyphenated names, like so and so smith-kincade and joe schmoe-doe. but nay, will this be the end of it? oh no. for i fear our hyphenated friends are starting to pair off and marry and spawn. what, then, i ask, are their children going to go by on that first day in kindergarten when the poor bedraggled sap who got suckered into teaching the finer points of fingerpainting when all she wanted to do was teach calculus, calls roll:

underpaid educator of the youth who will totally be our future, so basically, we're screwed: amber addison?
girl named amber, which, wow, are kids still getting named after rocks?: here!
cog and peon in the education system: johnny bledsoe?
kid named johnny who will inevitably eat paste for money by third grade: heeeere!
lady who wishes she'd majored in drinking instead of education: madison smith-kincade-schmoe-doe?
kid with a name longer than she is tall: ...i think so.
sap: what?
kid with pretentious parents: i don't know if i'm here. i mean, there's 4 of me to keep track of. that's a damn lot of responsibility for a kindergartener, for pete's sake I'M ONLY SIX.
teacher who will need a shrink soon: oh...i...well, yes. you're here.
kid who will be bogarting that shrink bc her parents probably have the money while teacher's craptacular school district health insurance doesn't cover acts of the brain: FOUR NAMES, IT'S INSANITY! WHY DON'T YOU JUST CALL ME CYBIL RIGHT NOW, YOU WHORES?! YOU'RE ALL WHORES!!
paste-eater: ...what's a whore?
amber: daddy says me, when i hit 10th grade!
cybil: i will murder you all, each with a different pointy end of one of my last names. MARK MY WORDS.

so you see, this is a problem. but quite frankly i'm too lazy to fix it.


6. why do we say 'omg you made it?' when someone shows up to a party?
i mean, they were coming from halfway across town, were they not? they weren't, like, crossing the tundra or deuling a yeti or marshalling a parade on the way over, right? there was no fear of decapitation or blizzard warnings or stock market crashes so far as i can tell, so why the hell are you so amazed when people show up to a gig, shindig or soiree you're having when you invited them and there would clearly be no hardship in driving a few blocks? seriously. stop it.


7. is anybody else incredibly alarmed that dane cook is making music now?
go check it out on itunes and witness the godawful emfaux for yourself. yeah i know, i tried to mate 'faux' and 'emo' and clearly they don't go together bc their child is an ugly bastard. and dane cook is adopting it. does anybody else remember when nobody remembered him?

8. why doesn't 'facon' exist yet?
for those with their 'wtf?' faces on, i'm talking about vegetarian bacon. there are some questionable choices available for those of us who don't (or can't) eat meat, and, well, nobody has named it 'facon' yet. IT'S LINGUISTICALLY PERFECT. morningstar farms, get on it.

9. how much more badass would your life be if it had soundtrack backup music?

think about it. based purely on musical clues, you would know as you rounded a corner whether you were about to meet-cute, meet your doom, pratfall, or find your ex totally making out with the new ho under a streetlamp of cruel, cruel soft focus and you could turn and run accordingly. when you met someone for the first time, you would know instantly based on the plucking of quirky strings or the hop of heartfelt bells that you either met someone who is totally awesome or going to break your heart in a million pieces. need to know if you should go into that room? listen to the music marge, it's evil!

also, you'd never have to charge your ipod again. you could time your typing to the rhythm of your personal theme while bored out of your skull at work. putting groceries in the cart would be hilarious for the offbeat arrangements crafted out of bongo drums and a sitar. and, most importantly, you would always feel important. need to give a presentation at work? you could cue up one of those inspirational speech type sonatas and sway the clients in an instant! want a fun date with the guy you totally did meet cute with because you listened to the musical contextual clues? cue up the latest pop treat by the rip off of whatever new disney upstart is hot these days, and you're bound to be having some good times. want a really effective break up? a full string section has you covered.

okay fine. i just want my life to win a grammy, and i may be too lazy to write the music myself.

10. people you think are hot have radar. embarassment radar.

i mean seriously- i just want to know how it is that the person you would least like to catch you sneezing so hard that it propels you out of your chair or possibly date-stamping your hand instead of envelopes manages to catch you every time. it's like they are hardgoddamnwired to not only be wealthy in wallet and good looks, but in embarassment. yes yes, riches of embarassment. take THAT, carrie bradshaw, i can pun you outta the park. it's probably cause i smoke less.

anyway, point is, whoever's in charge of probing the general public's brains should look into this phenomenon, because i know it's not isolated. bitches please, you've all told me stories that are akin to my own humiliation- whoever you're totally lusting to make babies with suddenly knows your every location like you've been implanted with sonar and a tracking chip. nasa should clone that shit. think of all the crime it could solve! actually i don't know if i can think of all the crime it could solve except for perhaps preventing crimes of fashion or stupidity, but this is my blog and fuck you very much, i'll go on rambles if i so choose.

in short: if you're crushing on anybody, be prepared for them to somehow find you dropping your ipod and bleeding out of your nose while laughing and possibly falling out of your chair or off the desk or running into the cash wrap or dropping a stack of freight, date stamping yourself or pricetagging the mannequin or pushing the 'detonate' button or whatever it is you're not supposed to do at whatever job you have. the end.




alright folks, that's all for me. i'm out to enjoy the seasonal delights of turkey day, the drastic influx of diamond ads (sidenote, fuck you jewelers, i'm WAY more special than a rock could ever be, stop telling men they have to resort to sharp, shiny bedecked clichés to win the game of luuuurve) and the inevitable onslaught of christmas cookies and latkes. oh yes that's right. i'm not jewish but oh how i adore those little pancakes. mmm. winter wins. my fat cells (and all their friends) rejoice at the thought of stuffing and cocoa and loafing by the fireside. oh wait, i live in the desert. fuck. okay, so, mojitos, wheat thins, and lounging by the poolside is the apparent order of things.

screw it, i'm actually just going to bed with a book. this is why i'm hot.

direct quote from son of boss: you have a look that makes people want to give up on life.

okay y'all. i'm not dead. yet. eventually we all be, but as of this particular juncture in time, i am still breathing. my sinuses would like otherwise, but i've smothered the bastards with a liberal dose of dayquil, so fuck you ragweed, and take that, grass pollen, and up yours, scillia and mucus and all that other immune system crap! i've beaten your game of making me feel like death warmed up slightly. though according to the box, this will only last four hours. dammit.


anyway, i am alive. not kicking, mainly because i have godawful balance and also, i can't kick in my work clothes. it'd look ridiculous. but i am alive, and just reassuring you, my gentle readers (all between one and three of you) that more verbal blogger spew *will* be clogging your blog list soon enough. i've just been busy with a new job (i work at a law firm now. i know. but please, save your judgements until you've heard hilarious tales of bad names, chair-spinning games, and the fact that i'm getting paid double-digit dollars an hour. it's exciting.) that keeps me occupied 8-5 during the week and occasionally on saturdays. of course, this is not all that has been transpiring. other things have kept me from wasting my words in the blogbox, and these include but are not limited to:

*a buffy entire-series dvd marathon
*i'm still working at That Store for Fat Chicks on weekends, god help me
*holding friends' crap for ransom in cahoots with other friends, and making ransom notes for said crap out of trashy tabloid magazines bc if you're gonna hold something for ransom, over the top is the only way to go
*laziness
*aforementioned sinus trubs
*intense depression over the fact that i am now saying things like 'trubs'...and 'obnox', 'whatev', and 'oh em gee'.
*random friends stopping by on their way through this state because really, the only thing you can do is visit the sonoran desert, not live there
*coincidentally, go to google and type 'reasons why you can't live in the desert' and see who pops up on top. obviously my work here is done. or should i say, obvi.
*men. feh.
*women. bah.
*OMG NEW FALL TV SEASON
*have you ever let laundry go for, like, five or six weeks and then realized, holy schneikes, i'd better wash that if i want to not go naked to work tomorrow, because for real, they frown if you don't wear hose, let alone clothes, so i guess i should go buy some fabric softener, and what should take a day takes a week and you've still got piles of unfolded laundry and the clean sheets you washed are in a crumpled heap on the floor bc you're too lazy to put them on your bed and also bc there was a red sox game on and who can be bothered with domestic choreyness when they're playing the yanks and totally winning and then they fucking lose and you cry and pitch a fit and drink to make it hurt less but then realize they're still hopefully gonna clinch the eastern division and you would totally wear your blue and red jersey sox shirt if it weren't at the bottom of that tangly cotton abyss that is the pile of unfolded laundry? i have.
*the skins are playing and actually winning games! obviously this phenomenon must be watched. hilariously obnox sidenote, i used to live in the neighborhood next to joe gibbs back in the day when he was the coach and the skins actually won superbowls and shit. he gave out good halloween candy.
*vegoose preparations are upon us. or me. and the friends i'm going with, anyway. you're all super wickedly jealous. i mean it.
*stuff and things.
*possibly other crap.

and that is the long and the short of it. make no mistake, i have been coming up with lists in my head and jotting bits down, and hopefully i'll get around to writing one in full this weekend if i can work it in around doc holliday stalking in tombstone with a friend who totally hearts this one guy who plays him (bc he seriously is cute, y'all) and working dastardly retail on sunday, but until then? i leave you with this:


cranberry juice + southern comfort + a squeeze of lime = love.

ten things i will not hesitate to do to harry potter spoilers, and i'm not ruling out eyeball gouging

alright folks, let's face it: it is the end of an era. a dynasty, she ends. the sun, it sets upon the edge of the literate sea. this saturday, the bookstores will throw open their doors and prepare for one final record-blasting day of hardcovers flying off the shelves and into the hands of addicts everywhere. pages will flip so rapidly that many a paper cut will undoubtedly spawn upon a myriad of knuckles from reckless page turning at breakneck speed. there will be laughter, there will be sobbing because jk probably totally kills off one or two of our favorite characters, and i mean seriously if any of the trio dies i will die inside and then probably slice my wrists. also, we will lose the ability to geek out over HP conspiracy 'omg what happens next?!' podcasts and somehow reading all the essays on character theory and the tiny details that just. may. add. up! suddenly won't seem as important once we know how it all ends.

at long last, after ten years of wishing we received our own invitations to hogwarts (i'm convinced dad threw mine out because he also threw out my girl scout camp acceptance placements and party invites because he was absent-minded even before he became a professor), we will tear through several hundred final pages of the canon and weep really sodium-rich tears because, frick, that was seriously one of the last vestiges from childhood, or at least not-yet-quite-adult life and we loved it ever so dearly. it was a security blanket, a piece of wonder (not the bread, which was way too flattenable so far as bread goes), and a source of endless joy. yes. joy. if a heartless cynical bastard girl can admit it, so can the rest of you.

alas, after this weekend it will finally be time to put the boy wizard to rest, provided he of course doesn't croak in the last pages, because if so then jk rowling will have some serious therapy bills to pay 'round this world of ours. and so my friends, chew your droobles, swish your cloak, and prepare to say goodbye to harry potter. yes, he of the unfortunate (yet life-altering) scar that apparently came into being in the age before mederma and the amazing friends and the quidditch skills and the amazing heart and the love that will defeat evil. he of snowy owls, misguided romantic attempts (you can't spell 'cho' without 'ho', y'all) and proof that even if you're really only barely decent in school you can still rock the world. he whose happiness and defeat of the dark lord means the world to us.

we, the millions upon zillions of squeeing fans, have already poured our piggy banks into scads of movies, books, scarves, bags of bertie botts and posters and will undboutedly do for years- but not without lamenting the end of the original books themselves. we have fanficked, filked, and flibbertigibbeted (and oddmented and nitwitted, too) whilst wishing for timeturners and totally hearting luna lovegood's radish earrings. we've sorted ourselves into our own houses (if you didn't figure out that i'm a slytherin, i take 50 points from your own house, you obvious hufflepuff), we've cheered for the weasley twins, hated on draco for being such a pansy (and hated pansy too, that cow), wished for our own house elves, and totally rooted for OBHWF. (that's 'one big happy weasley family' for those of you who don't know, and if you're a harry/hermione shipper, u r dum.) we have, in short, invested in these books and this world and jk's masterful storytelling because it has defined a decade of our lives. a decade, folks. for a lot of potter fans, that's more than half their span on this green and blue earth thing we call home.

and yet? there are people out there who are meaner than i am. there are asshats who would wish nothing more than to take this incredible final seventh piece in an epic story arc and shove it up our asses without lube, and then give us a swirly afterwards. if they could, they'd rape the children's lit section of the library (and probably every other literature section, or more than possible, any section of any building that contains books of any kind) with a cave troll's mallet and then set fire to it, only to put it out with pee that smells of asparagus.

i'm talking, of course, about book spoilers. this breed of abortions-that-weren't prey upon those who find happiness (much like dementors, but without the kicky cloaks or ability to actually drain your soul via a kiss, though, talk to me about some of my exes and they might be comparable) in books, which they really can't handle. these numbnutted jizzgobblers lurk around barnes and noble parkinglots, spying on the harry potter midnight parties, waiting to strike with maddening speed and unfortunate accuracy. mind, they have taken the time to pre order their own copy of the coveted tomes so that at the stroke of midnight, they might run into a crowded hall of children, teenagers, twenty somethings, parents, grandparents, and totally exasperated b&n/borders/waldens staff (who are already probably pissed bc a) being open til midnight honks, b) they know they're gonna be working double shifts on saturday and will undoubtedly be spoiled on the book before they get to read it, even with their 30% discount, and c) fuck the screaming children at the HP parties, seriously. put those things in bed. it's midnight.) and scream something akin to:

"______ DIES!! HAHAHAHA!!!"

"THE PROPHECY ______!! _____ WAS _____!"

"_____ KICKS THE BUCKET AFTER KILLING _____!"

"OMG, _______ WAS TOTALLY _______ THE WHOLE TIME!"


and so on. i just pulled these out of my head by the way, folks. i'm not intimating that i know anything about the damn book. hello, if i did, i'd be selling my secrets on ebay for $50 a pop. shit son. i'm as clueless as the rest of you. and you know what? i goddamn like it that way. i want to go into this book knowing only what i do of the past six books. i want nothing spoiled. i want a fresh slate, i want to go through it as harry and co goes through it, not knowing the future, but only knowing it has to come to an end sooner or later. you know, cause the book covers kind of say so.

but there are these nutjob crackmunchers who think it's fun to spoil a decade's worth of waiting, hoping, and wondering. there are assholes bigger than the state of texas just waiting to spring the spoilers on the harry potter friday night parties and saturday morning book buyers. their five seconds of glee as they ruin it for countless people who have waited ten years is supposedly justified in 'eh they're just tards, get over it kids' that non hp-readers bandy about. well, fuck them. know why? because they don't know how to get to platform 9 and 3/4, that's why. and so, without further ado, i bring you:


10 things i will not at all hesitate to do to anybody who even attempts to think about spoiling harry potter and the deathly hallows for me or my friends or ANYBODY AT ALL, and i'm seriously not a legitimately violent woman (why do you think i write it all instead) but i will be bringing a swiss army knife and a can of mace with me to my HP party on friday, so all you ballgobblers are WARNED:


1. i have a wand. you have a urethra. i'll arrange for them to have a meeting.
and it's 15 inches long, baby. just say the word.

2. i will slash your tires.
you're only as powerful as your getaway vehicle, my absolutely fallible friends, and without that? i challenge you to survive a swarming sea of angry potter fans who have just found out you're the reason they hate life and can't enjoy the climax of the series. you're as good as AK'ed. (if you don't know what it stands for, you shouldn't even be reading this anyway. get out and leave the bandwidth for the fans.)

3. i will force every nastyass flavor of bertie botts down your gullet in one fell swoop.
good news! they've upgraded the disgust-o-factor. not only do you have the luxury of sardines, dirt, pepper, vomit, earwax and boogers, but you can now add to the glut with sausage, pickles, rotten eggs, earthworm, and soap! and don't even try to escape me, i've got a very strong grip. my hands, they may be dainty, but i wasn't the all-school champion in mercy for nothing. you utter a single word of how the story goes down, and i guarantee you a night's worth of culinary orifice pain unlike any that was ever designed to be bestowed upon mere mortals. these wrists don't break against your foolish attempts at escape, motherfucker.

4. i will strangle you with my slytherin tie
bonus: it's silk, which means the strangling will be smoother with less skin irritation. bad news for you as you're dead, but, good news for me as the cops'll have a harder time pinning it. go go potter merch.

5. i can break bones.
seriously. don't mess with a fat girl on a mission. she breaks shit just by falling on it. better watch out or your skull/thigh/femur/foot/kidneys might wind up underneath my considerable heft. and, much like option number two, if you can't flee, you can't fend off the hordes of pissed-the-fuck-off potter fans who will fillet you even more thoroughly than i have. after all, i'm just the sentry.

6. i will inform every girl in your life that you have herpes.
for real. after strangling and/or breaking your bones or vital organs, i will steal your phone, call every girl on your contacts list (provided that there are any, seeing as anyone this asstastic couldn't possibly attract any thing with two x chromosomes, not even pansy parkinson, bc you're spoiling her story too, you shitfuck) and tell them all that you've just gotten the herp tests back and they're positively stunning. if there are no girls on the list, i will proceed to step seven.

7. i will also use your cell phone to get your home phone number, do a reverse look up on the internet to find your name and address, and post it all over the internet labeling you as a spoiler.
as an added bonus, i'll say you want chris columbus back to direct the seventh movie.

8. i will train a legion of 11-year olds to bite your ears and nose off at the training noise of "_____ DIES!"
believe me. i'm quite persuasive, and children are so very impressionable. promise them candy and anything is possible.

9. sodomizing via harry potter vibrating broom.
oh i'm not kidding. at all.

10. remember the disgruntled bookstore employees? they have access to book palette forklifts.
and i think, if i know my retail slave brethren at all (and i do, because really, no matter what we sell, we're one and the same heart of hatred towards humanity), if you are the type of bastard who makes everybody angry and especially someone who makes children cry, we will not stop until you are crying and begging for mercy from our fists/mallots/gigantic 500-book, 600-pound palettes fresh from the publishers, just waiting in the stockroom for a giantic spoiler dump-upon. the crunch of your bones beneath heaps and heaps of potter would be a fitting end for the jackhole who decides the series was at all to be messed with. spoil our end and we'll spoil yours, motherfucker.

and there you have it, folks. this is but the tip of the iceburg in terms of my wrath and undying loathing for anybody who dares ruin books of any sort, but i think you get the idea. fuck with me and the ending of potter, and i fuck with your bodily functions and personal safety. now, with that warning firmly out in the open, i will bid you adieu and most likely will be back tomorrow with ten things i will miss most about the series. oh that's right. this topic is so special it gets two posts. hot damn.

ten things to do whilst pmsing like a motherfucker

so it's friday night, and instead of hitting up el charro's for some dancing with the girls from work, taking in a new movie at la cinemazillionscreenplex, or even just crashing at a friend's place for a round of popcorn, soda, and trashy 80's tv on dvd (because my options always come in sets of three), i am instead curled up on the couch with a bottle of chocolate milk, a bowl of fettucini with chicken, and a stack of the OC on dvd (again, options in sets of three) barely able to move and not really wanting to, either. why, you ask? well i'll tell you why, mother fuckin sherlock holmes on the case of a girl who darest not go out on a friday night, I'M PMSING LIKE AN ANGRY DRILL SEARGANT HERE, and the cramps + fat ankles x general disdain for all of humanity divided by hunger for every kind of protein-rich beast sear-marked on a grill square rooted by the most wicked mood swings this side of sybil sort of get in the way of friendly interaction with males and females alike. thus, i have decided to whip up a quick clickable list of things for the ladies to do when the p motherfuckin m goddamn s machine cranks into high gear. so here. i throw it at you and go.

10 things for the ladies to do when the pms is a-raging and murdering the general populace isn't an option, because apparently if they'll throw paris in the clink, they'll def throw you in and orange is *nobody's* color


1. go to hershey park. If not in pennsylvania, visit local godiva chocolatier. they’re better anyway.
this place is magical, i tell you. despite the fact that this was the first place my parents took me after a six week sentence of fat camp (for real, you now officially know a fat camp veteran) and didn't let me touch a SINGLE PIECE OF CHOCOLATE, this park holds many a magical memory. or maybe i'm mixing it up with nostalgia of the hansony kind, since this is where i saw my first *real* concert, all the old-skool dmb and pat mcgee band sessions at wolf trap not withstanding. though perhaps for street cred i should say they did. though the first to decry hanson as useless will say the same of my original virginia-based man-names-band-after-himself and then plays at wolftrap farm park loves, so, nevermind. anyway, back to the point- hershey park shows you how they make the chocolate, and instead of mickey mouse puppets and character costumes baking to 110 degrees in the heat of velour costumes, there are GIANT CHOCOLATE BARS. this obviously wins. why, you might ask, does a woman want chocolate during pms? well wimps might say magnesium, but a lady will tell you, fuck off and give me the orgasmic creamy mouth delight wrapped in a cookie or bonbon form and nobody gets hurt. it's simply a mystery. it is a delectable treat and it holds power over those of us with xx chromosomes. deal. and when i say deal, i mean [men,] deal [with our fucking pms or our general everyday actions by giving us lots and LOTS of chocolate, okay, you bastards? okay.] the end.

2. call your ex boyfriend, remind him what he’s missing in a snarkalicious voicemail and then go play with your ex bf voodoo kit.
i mean really. haven't we all wanted to do this with our boyfriends who are one of the following:

*canadian
*texan
*mid-western
*russian
*english
*any sort of european, actually
*californian
*anywhere-ish
*oblivoius
*stupid
*cheating manwhore
*alcoholic
*illogical
*name-calling
*big-penised
*the best sex you ever had
*the only person who could ever get your damn car to start
*provider of much good music
*provider of much good weed
*the reason behind every angry song you ever met
*again, with the best sex, cause, damn, that was nice

what ex haven't you wanted to break out a voodoo doll on? i'm not saying that shit works, but i'm not decrying it either. go forth, my ladies, and prick him* where pricks were not meant to go.

*yes, i am approximately 14 years old in my use of the word 'prick'. take it or leave it, loves.

3. buy a new voodoo kit if you don’t already have one.
if this isn't a buyable option, visit bath and body works instead. seriously. their 'temptations' line is divine. at least you'll smell lovely (like peaches and apples and lavender!) when the cops show up at your door all 'ma'am, do you know anything about (insert ex's name here)'s disastrous impalement via rhinocerous horns?'

first of all, they deserve death for calling you ma'am, but secondly, you'll smell so innocent and lotion-in-a-bottle lovely that they won't be able to convict you EVER. so do what you will, mes sistres. just don't tell me.

4. do some light exercise. that includes strangling your neighbor for perfectly grilling a delicious, juicy, protein-rich steak and not inviting you.
for real. what an ass.

5. doing some crunches or sit ups can actually help cramps.
however, if you can't manage these, then turn on some fitness show that shows people doing them, and upon realizing you're in no mood and/or shape to follow suit of the bodies on the screen, throw your tub of cheap non-fat ice cream at them. trust me. you're better off with full fat anyway.

6. brain food- which includes fish, fruit, and the souls of newborns.
actually i heard mostly it's salmon and blueberries, but, frick newborns. the fact that we decided not to harbor them in our tubes this month is the reason we're cramping anyway. DEATH, DEATH TO ALL RAFFI-LISTENING LIFE-FORMS.

7. take a bath. equip yourself with the portable phone, a bowl of fruit, a book, and a taser.
first off, the hot water soothes the abdominal muscles. obviously have a phone on hand in case irrepressible gossip from a friend comes over the wire and you seriously can't let a bitchfest slip through your fingers *that* easily, and as for the fruit bowl, blueberries are known to ease the damn cramps. so there, science guys. of course, the taser is obviously for anybody who decides to hijack the phone line, flush the toilet and thus secure you a talktime with the cold water god, or who even dares to enter the bathroom when you are SO NOT READY. trust me, ladies. you'll want one on hand. always.

8. research meathooks on the internet.
determine the best model for your budget, and strongly consider which type of uterine removal works best for you, cause seriously, that’s the problem with being female. in the end, decide bleeding for a bit every month-ish is better than sticking a metal hook up your hoohah. seriously. just imagine the mess. my roommate and i back in college always used to leave cryptic 'pass me the hook' away messages when it was that time, but since then i've decided liberal doses of cynicism and icyhot seem to work better anyway.

9. go to blockbuster. rent a stack of south park, reno 911, animaniacs, and whatever else makes you laugh. top it off with popcorn and goobers.
i really hope this needs no further explanation. humor trumps all, obviously.

10. fuckin slayer.
a dear friend of mine always urges that slayer is the cure to any bad mood. but it's not just slayer according to him, oh no- it's 'fuckin' slayer'. so, really, just crank up the fuckin slayer ('angel of death' and 'god hates us all' are good choices for the beginner) and scream your pretty little heart out. it's the best legal option this side of cutting a bitch and/or setting fire to the union hall. and if you seriously can't handle the hormones making a mush out of your brain and uterus, read up on african ladies and be thankful you don't get your squiggly sawed off with a rock and upon the age of monthly goo, sent into the bushes until your demons are gone, or whatever it is they do over there. no, i don't pretend to know, that would detract from my charming idiocy. the end.


no, seriously. the end. to this entry, anyway.

ten *more* grammatical things you do that piss the world off

first motherfrickety things first: i'm not dead. i just found things other than blogging to do for awhile, but it turns out that working retail for slave pennies and going through the not-very-well-thought-out motions of a not-even-a-relationship-at-all-but-hey-there's-sex-type-stuff-sometimes (okay i abused the dashes, stop pretending you're better than me for noticing) are not exactly as fulfilling as ranting my pretty little heart out in this wee corner of the information highway.

second things secondly: okay. i did a post about this before, but apparently it has done nothing, NOTHING, to calm the denizens of twittermonkeys out there who still rape the english language like a viking with viagra. SERIOUSLY PEOPLE. LISTEN THE HELL UP BECAUSE I WILL RIP YOU A NEW RECTAL EXIT IF YOU DON'T STOP ABUSING GRAMMAR, SPELLING, AND GENERAL INTELLIGENCE. LOOK, YOU'VE MADE ME SO MAD I'VE RESORTED TO CAPS LOCK AND THIS TIME IT'S NOT BECAUSE MY WIRELESS KEYBOARD FROZE. I'M ACTUALLY JUST MAD AT YOU. AND I KNOW THIS IS TOTALLY AN INTERNET ETIQUTTE THING I'M VIOLATING BUT YOU KNOW WHAT? FUCK YOU PEOPLE, I'M GETTING DOWN ON YOUR LEVEL SO THAT YOU MIGHT UNDERSTAND ME. ZOMGS OH NOES!!!1!!1~ U CANT HAZ CHEEZBURGER, MOTHERFUCKERS. (look it up, i'm not linking.)

anyway, here are

10 MORE things you do in the world of grammar to piss me off, and probably the rest of the learned world as well, so shut the fuck up and take one for the literate team, you jerkholes

1. noone
what the fuck is wrong with you? no, seriously. i want to know. since when did 'nobody' and 'the middle point of the day' basically turn into the same word save for that scrappy little e that just comes out of nowhere like a rogue vowel vanna white is gonna chase down and beat to death with one of her spangly earrings? honestly, you people are idiots. did you pass 4th grade? did you read? ever? even a smidge? then i trust you know it goes like this:

nobody = no one. one being synonymous with 'a person'. no denoting lack thereof. hence, nobody being around? no people? maybe you think no one is watching you make a big ass of yourself when you spell it out as 'noon' with an e like an absolute dipshit. it has never been 'noone' and never will be 'noone', it will never ever EVER IN THE PAST PRESENT AND FUTURE TENSE OF THE HISTORY OF LANGUAGE BE NOONE, you doucheling. where did this come from? seriously it's like everybody woke up one day and decided, "hey, you know that space between the two words that make up 'no one'? fuck it! SPACEWASTER!" congratulations, you're all wrong, and the prize for being wrong is a trip to singapore. and they use canes.

2. woman/women as an adjective
oh, there is no vat large enough in all the land to contain my bilious hatred for this goddamn waste, but if there were i'd be sure to brew it up, bottle it, and then throw it through the window of every jerkfuck who is guilty of this bullshit, and ladies, you're not exempt. everybody listen up, i'm gonna lay this down for you in a two-pronged force of reasoning, not unlike how women use their boobs as a two-pronged attack to accomplish pretty much anything. and gentlemen, if you keep this up, we will stop using our lovelies on you. for real. this has to stop.

reason one: 'woman' is not an adjective. it is a noun. do you know what a motherfucking noun is? (make a 'hahahaha, women are objects!' joke here and i'll be sure to introduce your testicles to my trophy case.) let's think of an example where women gets used as an adjective:

"women voters are expected to support hillary clinton in droves!"

first of all, sweet jesus, no. ho chose celine dion as her campaign song and i'm not voting for anything that obviously has a microchip shoved up her twat so that she might hope to act like a human. secondly, you're wrong. you could say 'womanly voters' or 'female goddamn voters' or even 'voters with fallopian tubes' before you say 'women voters'. i mean let's look at it this way:

"blue eyes voters love hillary."

again, no. wrong, voters, on your love of hilary. secondly, blue eyes are the noun, just like the women. blue-eyed is the adjective. is this making any sense? any at all? even a smidge? look, it's simple: you can't qualify a goddamn noun with another one. use a fucking adjective. women/woman is NOT AN ADJECTIVE. *pulls female hair out*

seriously, think of it this way- basically, it looks like you're saying 'women voters' are voters who vote for women. just like fire fighters are people who fight fires. not that there's anything wrong with voting for women, obviously (but if i hear one more 'we should elect hilary because she's a woman!' whine, i will cut a bitch. seriously. gender should have nothing to do with why you elect somebody. it's about the issues, people.), but for the love of pete, just cut it out with the women as adjective thing.

reason two- since when do we even have to fucking qualify the fact that anything, be it voters, doctors, or bumfuck crazy astronauts in diapers are women? if you motherfuckers absolutely have to make the distinction, just say 'female' instead of 'woman', but if you do i'm just going to start saying 'yeah i'll be back later, i've gotta go see that new man doctor i got. hope i don't get cut off by any dumbshit man drivers on my way there.'

oh and by the way, fuck webster. his dictionary's gonna tell you it's appropriate to use women as an adjective, but that fartknocker went batshit insane anyway. also, the dictionary is increasingly letting more generic 'up to date' (read: abused and malnourished) words and phrases into our acceptable speech, and as it's very well known in my universe, the american public is stupid and wrong, hence, i'm right. so eat it.

3. new and improved
fun fact: no, it's not. if something's new, it can't be improved, because there was nothing to precede it. if it's improved, then it's just building on something that was there beforehand, hence, not new. i propose we start a dialogue, if you will, with the minions of satan's asscrack, aka the marketing ingeneues of every ginourmous foodstuff and household item manufacturer, who are currently shoving this garbage into our cabinets and closets and dinner plates with glossy labels, zippy commercials and packaging that makes us think we're getting more but in fact we're paying more for less. (i'm looking at you, kraft easy mac big packs. what gives, you fuckers?) anyway, said dialogue would follow thus:

world at large: hey marketers!
minions of satan's asscrack: sup?
WaL: cut that shit out.
MoSA: what, berries and cream starburst? sorry, that fruity dancing pilgrim was our bad.
WaL: actually no, that was kind of cool.
MoSA: then what? jessica simpson shilling for proactiv? she hypnotized us with her boobies. also her dad kind of holds a higher rank than us down here in the bowels of hell and he forced us.
WaL: whatever keeps the sillicone a-flowin. no, seriously- cut out the 'new and improved' shit.
MoSA: but...but why? it sells!
WaL: well we're not gonna take it anymore.
MoSA: not if we put it on EVERYTHING, i mean, what are you gonna do, refuse to buy ritz crackers because of a little n-a-i action on the label?
WaL: we'll buy wheat thins instead.
MoSA: we run the packaging for those too.
WaL: ...shit. triscuits?
MoSA: fraid so.
WaL: saltines?
MoSA: for real, we own all the crackers. and the cookies.
WaL: even chicken in a biscuit?
MoSA: especially chicken in a biscuit.
WaL: what's up with those, anyway? i mean, they're not really that chickeny. they are tastebudifically baffling.
MoSA: they are what we will feed on when the teats of the master cannot sustain us, for when the apocalypse comes and hellfire of chicken-type biscuits rain on your villages, he will be too busy to-
WaL: HOLY CRAP IT'S GOING TO RAIN BRIMSTONE AND CHICKEN CRACKERS?!
MoSA: if you don't cease your impudence and demand that we remove 'new and improved' from our labeling processes, it shall come to pass.
WaL: ...will there be dip?
MoSA: only NON FAT SOUR CREAM.
WaL: we are so fucked.
MoSA: enjoy a milano in the meantime. they're new and improved.
WaL: we are fucked and also stuffed with chocolate.

so really i'm sure you all see my point.


4. k instead of c
okay, sign makers, small business owners, cartoon show creators and tiny tots, this kind of bullhankle is just inexcusable. what? i mean, why? why are we destroying perfectly servicable words and turning them into fuglyass angular linguistic stepchildren by murdering the c and replacing it with a k? kool? krazy? kats? kartoons? what's with the k's? are you a white-hooded freak who enjoys burning things at night because you're a total tool with the intellectual capacity of a flea? because unless you have a fetish for a super-pathetic chapter in us history, stop turning every sign and name into the fuckin kkk, savvy?

the following words are to be stricken from the record and replaced with their more more awesome counterparts before we all suffer anneurisms. i'm serious. BAN THIS SHIT:

kat/kats
kool
kash
krazy
kool
kake
krafty
kute
kare
kut/kutting/kutters/kutterz
kolor/kolorz

oh god. my brain. i feel the stem seizing up. hang on, i have to put a round into my skull to make the hurt go away. i realize, though, that making obscene demands of you people so soon is very unfair to you, so let's just start with a little barter, or a bargain, on my part: stop k'ing all over the place, you obtuse little tards, or i will fucking kill you. that k stays.

5. good vs well
holy shit. this crap makes you idiots look beyond stupid, and the real kick in the pants is that EVERYBODY does it, regardless of educational level, age, or lack of carbuncles of the brain. look- i know good is an adjective, as is well. but for some reason which we all should have learned in elementary school, 'good' is NOT what we use to describe our feelings. do we need an example? i think we, in the most belittling sense of the word, do. hence, feast your eyes upon the examples, assrapers:

monkey number one: how are you doing?
monkey number two: good. how're you?
monkey number one: super good, thanks.
monkey number two: awesometastic.

OH MY GOD, WHY ARE YOU SO VERY WRONG? look. maybe it's a linguistic thing passed down from the days of yore, perhaps it's something the dictionary decided, maybe it's just the luck of the grammatical draw- but whatever the reasons may be, we do NOT qualify our feelings with 'good'. you can do good only if you're fucking robin hood and you're doing good deeds, wherein good is aka 'good deeds like robbing the rich to give to the poor who should seriously either move to another location where the rates of pay are better (hint: avoid southern az) or perhaps like, go into business for themselves and stop depending upon the feudal lords) and, wait, what? anyway, no. we are not 'doing good' when someone superficially asks us how we are. we are doing well. well, quite well, superfantastically well, amazingly blindingly orgamisically well- see if i care. but if i EVER see you say 'good' again, i will make sure you can never use it as an answer for another mindless checkout drone again. plausible scenario:

monkey number one: how are you?
monkey number two: ...the pain...the pain in my rectum...i think there's a fork involved.
monkey number one: i'm good too, thanks...wait...what?
monkey number two: SHE WILL COME FOR YOU IN THE DARK OF NIGHT AND CREATE MUCH PAIN.
monkey number two: paper or plastic....?

so basically, stop it. bc i'm armed with a swiss army knife and a grammatical sense of justice.

6. 'of' instead of 'have'
oh my sweet jesus, i can't even begin to-::shortcircuits::

...okay. yeah. look. this madness has got to stop. why? because 'of' is a fucking preposition, and 'have' is a frickety frackafrack verb. prepositions and verbs are two COMPLETELY DIFFERENT DAMNFUCK THINGS. you wouldn't go around exchanging "where in the pictures i took?" with "where are the pictures i took?" well you could, if you went all eraserhead on the space and turned it into 'wherein' and it was the beginning half of your description, ie, "wherein the pictures i took, it was-" oh fuck it. i'm getting too lessony for you fuckers, aren't i?

"but b," you may or may not be wondering depending upon if you're even reading this rant i've so lovingly crafted out of rum and coke, "what the hell are you talking about? what is this 'of' you speak of me exchanging with 'have'?" well if you'd have waited just a few sentences more, i'd have told you. also, i'd not of told you. see what i did there? eh? no. no i'm fairly sure you didn't. let me elaborate, my occipitally challenged friends.

correct: i could have told you, but i didn't.
incorrect: i could of told you, but i didn't, and also, i'm a fucking moron because i think 'of' and 'have' are the same because they sound similar phonetically, but not really, because seriously, 'a' and 'o' make different sounds, so really i'm an even bigger moron than i thought.

seriously. when you throw that 'have' out there after a could or a would or a will or whatever the fuck you want, you're talking about tenses, past tense, future perfect, or swirly parallel ninja tense, see if i give a flying turtle scrotum. 'have' is what makes the tense. 'of' is a fucking preposition. 'of' does not change a tense. look, i can't even explain this properly because i'm not a teacher, mainly because i hate children and don't want to read their shitty handwriting and give them stickers just for showing up, so i can't really drive this home to you people in the form of a lesson plan.

but just fucking heed my advice, would you? next time you find yourself going with 'i would of come but i couldn't,', reach instead for 'i would have come, but i was busy being stabbed to death by an errant lawn dart. from whence it came, it is not known. but the police believe it was the work of the grammar vigilante. she is wiley. but also seriously awesome. so basically, i'm sure that party sucked anyway. because i'm a loser who doesn't know the difference between 'have' and 'of', and i'd only go to a party that sucks anyway.'

7. apostrophes where there should be none

why? seriously. why do you people abuse the apostrophe? did it molest you at an early age? did it shoot your mother? i mean really, WHY? last i checked, it was just some inked junk on a page and it did not have the capacity or wherewithall to hurt you, so why do you abuse it so? for all i know it's chained to a radiator begging you not to subject it to yet another viewing of 'america's got talent'. seriously you fuckers, stop it. unless you're making something posessive or pluralizing an abbreviation, there is no fucking need to throw this bit of ink into the mix. examples would naturally follow:

#1: congratulation's!
first of all, no. no congratulations are in order when you PUT A FUCKING APOSTROPHE IN THERE. congratulations are plural, not POSESSIVE. if you wanted to be really weird about it and be all 'the congratulations thought that we should order a pizza for your grad party but i told the pizza guy that congratulation's order was pretty fucking stupid', then, no. we do not put an apostrophe in a plural non-possessive noun thing. also? i'm surprised you managed to spell it without the d. because if i see another dumbshit do it, i might just knife a vertebrae or two. just sayin'.

#2: hot dog's: $5.50
seriously? fuck you. i saw this bullshit at coachella and i'm sure it's not foreign at many a music or sporting event. first of all, we work HARD FO THA MONEY, and secondly, unless the hot dog is procuring said $5.50 to do a magic dance alongside david bowie and a bunch of goblins, this is unaccepable. hot dogs is not a motherfucking abbreviation, therefore, it is simply: 'hot dogs, $5.50", even though it should rightly cost us no more than freakin $2.50 for a damn dog. and also? i got a package of dogs for $1.00 on sale at safeway with my club card yesterday. stop raising the prices, you assholes. i'm here to see jarvis and incubus and buy their tour t-shirts, not waste my dollars on your machine-pressed meat fillings. you bastards.

#3: your baby's are so cute!
well, thank god you people are so interested in procreating. i mean really, all we need saturating the nurseries and baby gap is a bunch of morons who think that a) the plural of 'baby' is 'babys', and that to pluralize, we need to add an apostrophe. i swear to god, i hope your children grow up to be nobel peace winners so that they can prove intelligence grows out of the garbage heap that is stupidity and genetics, and also so that they can strangle you with the ribbons their medals may or may not be hanging from so that you'll stop cooing at other folks' offspring and being so mind-numbingly stupid. the end. because mother goose fuckin said so.

8. questions with no question marks
okay, manboy behind what would tyler durden do?, this is all on you, buddy. look, i love what you've done with the place. really. i totally have an e-crush on your snarktastic lindsay lohan zingers and don't care if you really do love fluffy puppies, i would drink your site if it came in coffee creamer form. but i have a quibble, nay, a really fucking big problem with you- WHERE THE HELL ARE YOUR QUESTION MARKS? holy shit, man up and stop destroying the noble interrogative. what did it ever do to you, and to the rest of you numbnutted fuckers who refuse to use it? seriously? i want to know.

is this a question.

no, it is just a really unfortunate lump of words that is utterly directionless because it can't be a statement if it asks a question, but it can't be a question if it doesn't have the proper squiggle at the end. so CUT IT THE FUCK OUT, or we will never make hilariously angry bloggy e-babies together, tyler. do you really want that to happen. no. no you don't. but really you don't even know i'm making threats if i don't put a handy little ? at the end of it. so listen up, everybody- stop being such douchebags and mark your questions properly, alright? good. because if you don't, i will simply borrow a comma, flip it upside down, weave it into the question mark, flip the whole business around, and form it into an e-noose and take care of your existence for you.

9. alot
i'm gonna make this short and motherfuckin sweet:

alot is NOT A WORD.
a lot is two words, but it means 'very much', 'many', or, oh hey how's this for convenient, a large amount, perhaps a 'lot'. oh my god how amazing is it that 'a lot' means 'a fucking large lot of whatever it is you're talking about'? seriously. look it up sometime, dumbshit.

10. confounding packaging exclamations
okay this is really only for me, because as a dear friend of mine says, all you need to survive on your own is pop tarts and pizza rolls. i have found that a liberal addition of vodka and v8 splash to said diet is beneficial, but the fact of the matter is this: the good folks at totino's, who make quite delicious pizza rolls, have got to step up to the plate and explain the most obnoxious label EVER. it haunts me. every time i take the crinkly yellow bag out of the freezer and pop a few lovely little treats on a plate and prepare to microwave them into bubbling bready pillows of lavalike cheese and tomato, i can't help but notice the garish exclamation that shouts at me, nay, shrieks at me with the fury of a thousand glue stick-toting third graders hungry for a snack:

'the kids can do!'

i mean...what? what is that? it boggles. what does it mean? was there an oversight? was it supposed to say something like '[this is something that] the kids can do!'? or was it perhaps 'the kids can do [this and a whole lot more if you leave them unsupervised, mom, like, way to not even make your own damn kids' snacks anymore you whore.] perchance it was aiming for '[these cholesterol-ridden goodies are delicious and totally a culinary feat so accessible to young brains that] the kids can do [this and then they'll probably eat too many, turn into lardasses, and then you'll just be left with a bunch of roly poly lumpkins on your hands, you lazy two-bit shiftless parents, seriously, haven't you heard of english muffin pizzas?]'

either way, there needs to be a damn subject in there. it doesn't say *what* the kids can do. and it bothers me so much. i'm pretty sure it's not normal to get a twitch every time you see a totino's product, but, there it is. so step up, pizza roll folks. take out the trans fats and add a damn subject to your stupid instructional exclamation or else i'll stop enjoying your product. and as a lardass myself, that *is* a viable threat, you motherfuckers.


and, scene.

ten things i will miss about the OC

too soon, cohens and co. too soon.

you guys, i'm sad. i know. usually i'm just level fuschia on the color-coded chart from 'dozing' to 'apocalyptic rage', and i think fuschia is probably one notch below, like, persimmon or something. whatever. opening monologue and i'm already rambling. such as it is- i'm sad. SAD DAMMIT. why, you ask? (or don't, because based on the traffic meter i have so craftily sewn into the html for this page, nobody is reading this drivel. you're all spades healthier for it.) anyway, the answer is this, my friends:

i am weeping inwardly (and soon to be outwardly) on this, the day of the OC series finale. oh, laugh at me if you want, but you know you watched it back in its heyday, if even only in passing. you know the origin of and could repeat with perfect inflection "welcome to the OC, bitch!" and you probably wish for your own Chrismukkuh. hell, you undoubtedly thought mischa barton as marissa 'coop!' cooper was hellaciously pretty as the girl next door and/or hellaciously awful as an actress portraying the girl next door. oh, and you wanted to marry sandy the singular unit of his own upright citizens' brigade. or maybe that was just me.

in any event, you know, even if you never watched seriously, that the OC defined a new era in the nighttime drama; it seamlessly blended adult storylines with teenage pathos, and introduced a seemingly unending stream of emoindiepoprocktronica music into the public's ears every wednesday, then thursday, then thursday earlier, then thursday later, then possibly thursday but might be wednesday but who the eff knows because fox is screwing around with the time slots more than julie cooper screwed every male in newport, nights. yeah i know. i make run-ons. deal.

okay. back to the point- the show was phenomenal when it broke out in its promising storyline of ryan, a bad boy from chino (where they don't even have a pf chang's, ew!) tossed headlong into the glitz, glamour and sun-kissed orange glimmer of monied newport. there was the precious pretty princess of a girl next door marissa and her conniving milfy mom julie, there was eternal indiemo motormouth seth as ryan's foster brother who happened to love summer, the at-first trashy party girl revealed intelligent and driven commander in chief of tanning and the tao of environmentalism. there was caleb, newport's patriarch and mad-libs obsessed father to ryan's foster mother kirsten, the alcoholic ice queen who used to live in a patchouli-infested mail truck at berkley, where she met and then married sandy, the schmear-loving jewish new yorker who served as a great foil for the newpsies (crazy materliastic gossip-mongering marrieds of newport) who eventually became ryan's lawyer and foster father. let's not forget marissa's father jimmy, eventually run out of town by debt, marissa's boyfriend luke (he of the bitch, welcome to OC, the, tagline) who met with many a fisticuff from ryan.

this was the core cast- this was the gold. this was the nearly-all-related, if not via blood then by friendship (and housing situations) that made the OC. when the plotlines focused on familial bonds, on love and loss and the humor that comes from being brothers on a boat, the dialogue sparkled and the stories resonated. the show would later be run into the ground via tertiary characters nobody gave a shit's shit about (just visit televisionwithoutpity.com and say the word 'johnny' and wait for the fireworks of crap to storm the critical barricades), and don't even get the fandom started on crazy oliver, yardguy dj, freaking useless alcoholic squeamy-voiced carter with his stupid stupid ugly beard and zombie!dead!ew-ish rebecca as sandy's long lost love who faked blowing herself up and then tried to destroy the kandy marriage. i'm not even going to mention alex, marissa's catalyst for faux-lesbianism, because, well, the entire world could see 'STUNT FOR SWEEPS' written in curious pink curlicues all over that arc. oh crap, i mentioned it. ah well. alex was still awesome, so okay.

anyway, back to my point- again- the OC was a phenom back when it began, and even through the currents of sludge that the writing pushed it through in the second and third seasons, it has remained sharp with its dialogue and has taught us that even in superficial southern california, you "make your own family." when the show goes off the air tonight, i will raise a glass of merlot (no, kirsten, you may not partake) and toast it with tears and a smile. but before it leaves, i leave you with ten things i will miss most greatly about this wonderful piece of television history. and so, without further ado,

ten things luke ward would totally punch and then yell 'say goodbye to the OC, bitch!' at:

1. ryan.

oh, ryan atwood. your father is in jail, your mother is taking up with lamers and your brother is totally forcing you to steal a car. little did you know it was the greatest thing that would ever happen to you- stealing the car landed you in juvie, which plopped you into sandy cohen's case file, and in turn found you being kept in his poolhouse while he was working on your case. you wore wife beaters, you were a man of few words, you carried skinny girls around a lot like a jesus type figure who had much shorter hair and was way more ripped, and you tended to like hilarious things. read: journey and musicals. you were snoopy in a play for crying out loud. also, you were afraid of heights. that's hilarious for a guy who wants to be an architect.

2. seth.

oh, setheleh ezekiel cohen. you nerdy but cute jew-fro sporting, deathcab touting, comic drawing, imax-watching, slow driving, meta-spouting boy, you. your talk of pancakes and superheroes, your co-authored atomic county comic skewering of orange countyturning marissa into cosmo girl whose powers come from her magic flask and of turning your mother into the ice queen and your father into the litigator, your bagging of alex before she decided marissa was more fun, your somehow dragging in of finding nemo into sex, and nature mockumentary featuring blow-up wales in the pool- they will be missed. as will your raging sense of self-doubt and your perfect smile. what? he said 'chiclets' in the gringos and i was all, 'right on. but they're perfectly shaped chiclets, my man.'

3. the music.

say what you will, but a show that can find useful and not out of place ways to use mia, radiohead, death cab, lady sovereign and modest mouse is kind of awesome. the soundtrack always, always fit the mood of the show (try a montage set to cold play's 'fix you', which was the tv premiere of said song- it could be schmaltzy but it was brilliantly done in my not so ever modeset opinion), and never detracted from the story- instead of furthered it and turned bits of dialogue and action into something much more meaningful. south's melancholy but crystal and calm 'nine lives' showcased ryan's torment in juggling marissa and a pregnant former girlfriend theresa in season one, modest mouse's 'the world at large' really did leave the world at large for marissa after her father leaves and she finds family and solace in the cohen's kitchen for a breakfast of bagels, and in perhaps the finest marriage of music to television in the history of ever, imogen heap's acapella 'hide and seek' narrated caleb's funeral and, forty minutes later, revved back up again the moment marissa plugged ryan's brother with two bullets to the torso. the haunting look he gave her as he fell over in a heap of blood was magnified under eerie and beautiful vocals, and the song became a staple of every OC fan's ipod. go youtube the final scene for the season two finale and tell me you don't agree it was amazing. in conclusion, oc + music = win.

4. the meta and callbacks.

this could turn into a seriously ass-long dissertation on meta if i don't control myself, but the show never did so i don't see why i should. the meta was sometimes funny ('was it little girl in the sixth sense barf?', 'if we could've turned this into a body swap we might've gotten two more years out of this comedy') and sometimes useless ('we tried some new things this year...not everybody liked them') and every time The Valley got used to explain a plot (or lack thereof), the collective audience felt like throwing a vase, kirsten style, at the screen. but alas, we didn't, because flat screens are expensive to replace. in any event, the show had a very self-referrential sense of humor ('oh, it would be *so* cliché to punch me'), a very nod-and-a-wink sensibility, and if oliver doesn't get mentioned in tonight's season finale as he has been in every other, well then schwartz and co, you will have some splaining to dooooo.

5. the horses.

seriously- season one had a major horse kick. we had china, marissa's poor, forgotten until the second half of season three sister's pony. it was owned by julie cooper and it had alopecia. the poor poor equine. if there were to be a spinoff of this show, i'd vote for the horsey...it sounds almost like the OC. come on. be phonetic with me. anyway, after poor the poor hairless minihorse went to the wayside of lost storylines, we could still take four-legged comfort in captain oats, seth's breyer model horse. would i be a total nerd if i said i used to have that exact same horse years ago? probably. and in a moment that was meant to show us exactly how meant for each other seth and summer were, we were introduced to summer's confidante of a pink and purple pretty pony with a my little pony comb and everything. come on. the horsey. YOU LOVE IT. admit it. they could play horseshoes and take in games of polo and dressage. it's almost like the people of the oc dammit. you know i'm right.

6. julie cooper.

holy greatest character ever, batman! there's really nothing i can say that hasn't been said about julie cooper, so here's a partial list of her accomplishments: running jimmy out of town, destroying her daughter's faith in maternal units by sleeping with her ex boyfriend, trying to frame ryan for near-murder, sending ryan out to commit actual murder, planning to murder caleb before he actually kicked the bucket and pretty much leaving him to die because she was inside planning his death and not outside to save him (oooh, le twist!), having a tremendously awesome ongoing commentary with invisible gus, enjoying hot pockets and wine coolers in a trailer, rocking out to seger and def leppard, having the prettiest hair ever, smacking people, giving people evil death glares, swanning about making the most vicious but awesome remarks ever, being an actual caring mother deep down, marrying and/or getting engaged to nearly anything with a dingle and a bank account, being in porn, trying to run newport group, being kirsten's only friend, and last but not least, being the only person ryan could relate to once marissa was dead. like i said- greatest thing since sliced bread. very catty, crafty, bitchy and well-written bread.

7. marissa's really bad acting.

this could be taken one of two ways- we could say mischa barton as marissa had some re-heeeally bad acting from the pilot on (go youtube or dvd the season two premiere furniture-throwing scene for a hysterically glorious over the top screaming session) and that you could make a drinking game out of the words she bastardized (drain your cup when she pronounced pregnant like 'prugnant' or take a shot when she says 'but what about *me*?'). she was truly so awful that it was hysterical and you could either bitch and moan about her lack of talent, or just take it in stride and giggle and get blazingly drunk. come on, marissa would be proud of you for drinking. on the flip side of the bad acting, you could read it that marissa herself was awful- and honestly? after a point it got so bad that i loved it. at first i loved that we had a character who was shown to be perfect that we later found out was anything but. nay, she was an alcoholic anorexic lying manipulative clingy five-fingered-discounting drug-abusing school-ditching furniture and laptop-throwing twig dressed in really ugly hats and unflattering shoes. ...then she just turned into a druggie in a slut spiral and died. it. was. awesome.

8. cohens + 1 kitchen scenes

this was the core of the show. 'but i'm mid-schmear!' remains one of the greatest lines ever uttered on the show, as does seth pronouncing tiajuana to his white mom. kirsten's at-first wary but then very loving surrogate mother to ryan paired with gung-ho human rights!ish sandy (who later became private firm sandy, then unemployed sandy, then head of newport group sandy (wtf?), then finally public defender sandy again) provided the parenting, dammit, parenting! that this show was so splendid at doing when it did it right. seth's endless morning banter paired with ryan's monosyllabic responses but all-encompassing stares ('how does he do that?' seth is left to wonder) was pure awesome tied with a bow of super. plus that kitchen was awesome. i've always wanted an island like the one kirsten had and didn't use save for pad thai ordering for pretty much two and a half seasons. the whole 'you make your own family' theme was what the kitchen scenes were. breakfast, dinner, midday snacking...it was all there in glorious technicolor. favorite moment? 'the homecoming', thanksgiving s1- wherein the entire family (save ryan and marissa, being in chino) yells at each other with one liner after one liner one-upping the one before it. fantastic writing, fantastic lighting, fantastic chemistry, and a not-so-fantastic turkey burning in the oven. pure gold.

9. seth-ryan time.

if the cohens + 1 kitchen scenes are the core of this show, then the seth-ryan time is the nucleus of the cells that make the core. or something. i don't know, i passed ap bio but it was 7 years ago, so anyway. seth and ryan being so completely different at the show's start but automatically forging a bond as brothers was what took the show beyond awesome and catapulted it into superawesome. for four years they bantered, mused and pondered in sarcastic and monotone ways, and for this, they were amazing. a sampling:

ryan: sometimes i think you talk just to make sounds.

seth: well sometimes i do.

seth: you know what i mean?

ryan: hardly ever.

seth: so what's the gp, ra?

ryan: i have no idea what you just said.

seth: game plan, ryan atwood.

ryan: you're just using initials now?

seth: yeah, it saves time.

ryan: well, not if you have to translate.

seth: gp.

ryan: game plan?

seth: good point.

seth, to his boat: ohhh, i've missed you. it's been too long.

ryan: you're talking to a boat, seth.

seth: yeah, i talk to a plastic horse too but that never worries anyone.

ryan: it worries me.

that is but a sampling, but it's enough to show that their dialogue was awesome, and they totally brought the hilarity. there will be a void in the tv world without them.

10. the bagels.

well duh. i raise a schmeared bagel to you, show. breakfast won't be the same without you. nor will lunch and dinner, but, you know, bagels for dinner is kind of frowned upon by everyone whose name isn't sandy cohen. and in case you think you can offer a substitute, be warned:

kirsten: pumpkin muffin?

sandy: yes, darling?

and i'm out. honorable mention to other things that i and i'm sure others will miss include but are not limited to pancakes the bunny, luke and his gay dad, rosa (i guess the day off kirsten gave her in season one's thanksgiving ep is still going), and The Only Restaurant in Orange County. rest in peace, show. it's been an up and down and thoroughly bumpy and sometimes confuddling ride, but it was awesome none the less. hey, does anybody wonder what ever happened to the bait shop? let's pretend it burned down. ciao!

no really, this isn't an internet promise, this is a real one

not dead not dead not dead, etc etc etc


okay here's the deal- working retail dreains the BEJESUS, bejeezus, bezoombas and general strength out of a person. i'm not gone and in fact have been formulating a myriad of new posts for this 'ere little blog...problem is, every time i get a day off i'm just too lazy and soul-stricken from folding 1,000 pairs of jeans in an 8 hour day to care to write for you peons. but i've had two days off and i have two more coming up, so i think i've rested up enough to break out the pen of wrath and remind you folks why you love my hatred. (hint- it's so acidic, one might say it's lemon-scented!)

so, fear not, gentle readers. (are you gentle? i like to hope you are. i want to be the fierce one in this outfit dammit.) i will be back very, very soon. and you will love it. LOVE.

<3
b

goddammit, buy gift cards and make our lives easier

i'm not dead. shut up. i'm just working christmas retail. wtf is your excuse? exactly. i win. now drop and give me 20. by 20 i either mean dollars or 20 chalupas. either way i remain fat and happy, so there's that. coming sometime this week- 10 things i hate about xmas consumers, 10 things i want, or 10 reasons i haven't been writing in here, though that's pretty self explanatory. 1-9 are called 'lane bryant', #10 is called 'i relish my free time and don't want to waste it on you peons'. suhweet.

ten things i want right goddamn now

so, i was at work earlier and under the glare of hallogen lights and the stupor of dehydration which seriously can be as bad as the stupor of whatever else creates stupor, which i guess is alcohol or something, and, wait, this run-on has gone on too long and i forgot my original point but anywaysorz, yeah. i was pulling an anti-theft tag off a really unfortunate sweater (who buys sweaters in arizona for cripe's sake?) when i thought, damn. you know what i want? a freakin whopper junior (b/c as big a girl as i am, ain't no way i can ever finish a whopper. never have. nor have i ever finished a dq blizzard or a mcd's flurry. true fastfood junk story.) and possibly some curly fries. but being as the manager on duty was doing reports and rearranging panties (god i hate that word, it's so perverted) and i was running the sales floor, i didn't get the chance to make a run to the BK lounge. but i still want that goddamn burger. in honor of that love lost, here are

10 things i really, totally, 110% want and by want i mean need but i guess i could go another few days without them but jeez, why are you so mean to me cruel world

1. my own tivo.
seriously. okay funny story, my mother loathes, abhors, detests, hates, etc 99.99999% of what's on tv. but she loves everything on hgtv and *gag* has this habit of tivo-ing tonight's leno to watch tomorrow, because even though it airs at 10:30 in the desert, it's still too late to keep up with. uh? anyway, dammit. so i watch studio 60, heroes (well i will when it begins this monday b/c hey, xmen-ish = okay by me), conan, and baseball games for one of my teams when they so choose to appear on my barren desert programming. is that a crime? in the Court of Mother, apparently it is, because she feels compelled to tape a rerun of hgtv 'designed to sell' that she's seen four times that conflicts with a premeire of one of my effing shows, and she says she's tempted to delete my recording (while i'm at work and she's decidedly not) and WHAT THE HELL IS THAT GODDAMMIT. i want my own tivo. and i'm aware i'm totally shallow and a slave to the digital/visual medium. ess tee eff ewe. but seriously, there's so much promising comedy/drama/dramedy/whateveredy this season that there's no room for clive and his crew of home remodelers. what? so i watch hgtv, shut up. i still feel, that being 26 years younger than said remote maiden, i deserve control of the technological device. and so far, studio 60 owns you. shut up. again.

2. a calzone.
this is really a random and new craving, but i'm really rather enamoured of the thought of dough wrapped around ricotta and mozzerella with marinara and oregano, pumped up to whatever degree it takes to blister a tongue after breaking open and gobbling said calorific delicacy. mmmm. cheese.

3. to not have to work every day from friday through next sunday during dual sales.
apparently my manager is hitting the pipe, because he's decided i'm capable of handling a string of friday-saturday-sunday-monday-tuesday-wednesday-thursday-friday-saturday shifts while we're doing some big sales to move all the merch out of the store, and holy crikey, i'm going to throw up my employee white flag here and beg for mercy. or at least a more than 40% discount on that completely adorable magenta bustier which i probably most definitely have no reason for wearing unless i pair it with some jeans, boots, and a few artfully placed barettes and camis. yay, illogical clothing decisions.

4. to be 100 pounds lighter
not only would it make #3 easier (on my feet and probably my confidence and budget) but, really, i'd love to have more than a few stores to shop at for cute clothes in my effing size. shut up, genetics. for every woman in my extended family you've given this heft to, you've at least been compliant with boob sizes. way to ride the short bus with mine. *kicks history in the nuts* ...*and bra manufacturers, for good measure* *no pun intended. i swear. ttly srsly.*

5. i guess saying sheppard's pie is totally not going to help #4
to continue the theme of what i want is totally not helping something else or whatever i forget so shut up i run this blog and you decidedly do not, i want some sheppard's pie. i'm talking the golden glop from my daycare days, a layer of crumbly beef and carrots and onions smothered in mashed potatoes and cheese and oh lord why am i so hungry? oh, right. it's because my diet as of late has consisted of two sandwiches and one diet soda a day and at least 5 hours of scuttling stock-checking retail (at least) and yet i never lose any weight. I HATE YOU UNIVERSE. anyway, maybe i'm just longing for childhood, but it's more probable i'm just lusting after mashed potatoes. 50% irish here, after all. mmm. rooty veggies mashed to a pulp and mixed with cow. who can deny that tastebud trip?

6. some comfortable shoes
here's a relatively sad/stupid/retarded/pointless story- i spent about $75 on crocs, which were not the miracle shoes my feet needed. nay, my friends, the anti-sweat anti-pain shoes made my feet squeak, sweat, and hurt after one day. so i tried some easy spirit dandies in hope of reaching sole and/or arch supported bliss, combined with dr scholl's insoles, and my tootsies (did i just say tootsies? shoot me and/or tire-iron me) hurt after a couple hours with those bastards. the most comfortable thing i've come across? my $3.50 old navy flip flops. go fig. but hell, a size 26 girl working for 8 hours under hallogen running back slacks and button downs is bound to have uncomfy feet and holy hell, would it kill you damn manufacturers to make a shoe for the bigger? we aren't exactly a minority anymore. hell, it ought to be a law, for every 'we serve man-size portions!' applebees/golden corral/burger king/olive garden/whever commercial that there must spring anew a bigger size clothing or larger heft shoe company. i'm not a product of junk but of genetics, but i'm a big girl none the less and we need a damn shoe that fits and supports our fragile arches. slaughter penguins for research if you must, i don't care. just don't tell me about it. and for the record, penguins are hilarious b/c they totally can't fly. hahahaha, suckers. oh wait, i can't fly either. and like the penguin, i am destined to live a life in black and white, coated with blubber. oh joy. and by the way, why is it that as our portions get bigger, women are supposed to be smaller? hey, jackass, we like a burger and fries too. shut up. i'm in no fit mood to argue you on this point save for the fact that no, at least my my ilk are not going to sit idly by. oh no. we're going to buy into your damn burgers and then expect something that fit us. can't have it both ways, puritanicalstripclubgiganticburgertinywaitress america! oh no, indeed. hoy! okay yeah i'm rambling. what. it's 3 in the morning. give me some slack. and a hash brown with coffee.

7. a dozen more IQ points and/or probably another point on my gpa
...i just want to go to grad school so i can do my pedigree, phd-weilding parents, and non-IQ intelligence justice. dammit. linguistics is where it's at. as it stands, a 2.5 isn't exactly that impressive. i have reasons for why it dipped that low, but really, why is a review board going to be that interested if i'm not elle woods? face it, she stole all the ideas and ran with them. we're left with nothing, my friends. an un-pink un-fashionable NOTHING.

8. an 80-gig ipod
oh, no. believe me. i have no logical reason to want to watch movies/tv/whichever on an ipod screen. but, um, i'm so, so, so, soooooooooooooo (x10^infinity) tempted to blow my past month's retail wages on one so i can watch pirates of the caribbean or the office while lounging in bed. i suck. but apple sucks more for rendering my 20 gig non-video black-and-white ipod obsolete even though it's less than two years old. DAMMIT APPLE, STOP EVOLVING, YOU COCKSUCKERS.

9. my own apartment.
again, this is sort of self-explanitory. but i don't even care if i'm sharing with a roommate (actually i'd prefer it-i want someone to bounce dialogue off of and i'm pretty sure i couldn't afford rent for a single person) and, wait, what? yeah, anyway, i need to get the hell out of here. sure, if you're 24 and above and are in grad/law/business/whatever school and/or you have some sort of well-meaning but not well-paying job it's cool to live with your rents/bro/sis/aunt/whoever so long as you can foot the rent but if you're not and can't, the world has nothing to do with you. which sucks. cause i'm totally a case of awesome waiting to be tapped. also, i desire nothing more than to live fetters-free in dc or boston or nyc or ANYWHERE OTHER THAN ARIZONA GODFUCKINGDAMMIT. the end. i think.

10. a hug.
what? bitchy ranters need hugs too. oprah says so. we all need five a day. so cough up the arm wrappage, bitch.

one scorpion lollipop and nine other stupidities

holy crap, i'm not dead!!! no no, my friends, just working as your local friendly neighborhood prettyful clothes pusher, who then asks you to save 15% by opening a charge account so i can meet my quota, make my boss happy, make his boss happy, and tra la la yeah i know. how the mighty fall. which really has nothing to do with me, as, was never mighty. anyway, i know i've been gone awhile and all three of you have felt such a lack of snarky and/or ten-ish lists in your life. (haha, ten-ish sounds like tennis with a lisp. yeah i know. i'm slipping. shut up.) anyhoooooo, i've been held hostage by work, netflix dvd's, piles of laundry at my own expense, and a slew of random gems (or not-so-gemtastic things) that i've been mulling over for the past few weeks. thus i bring to you this collection:

ten things i feel compelled to comment on at the moment, because seriously, i took a decongestant and i'm going to be up til at least 4 and i'm in no fit state to read so i may as well write, aren't you glad, internet? no? well, shut up then.

1. the scorpion lollipop
this is no joke, folks. and quite honestly, only in effing arizona could you buy this tripe. a lollipop/sucker/tasty delight containing a FUCKING GODDAMN SCORPION in the middle. tootsie rolls and/or charms gum > frigging poisonous bugs with STINGERS. who is selling these tastebud gadgets? i spend my time smashing them off the wall with the joy of cooking (any girl's standard 'throw it at the bug and run away' volume) and/or scooping it up via tupperware and cardboard and plunging it to a watery grave in my toilets' underearth plumbing, and here's this jackass stuffing them into green goo and selling them for over $3 a pop. what the fuck? yes. what the fuck indeed. if i'd known they were selling these bastards in suckerish form, i could have made an easy hundred or two last summer peeling the bastards off my wall and carpet. welcome to the desert. kind of like that jungle song, you're gonna dieeeeee. in any event, this is dumb and disturbing at the same time. and i bet the green part doesn't even taste good. what a bastard.

2. so britney spawned her second baby
...and apparently named it sutton pierce. pierce is okay (it gets my mom's vote b/c she loves pierce brosnan (who shares my birthday, and check it out, i've got parentheses within parentheses! so avant garde...or lazy. whichever.) and um, yeah, i guess i could close the other parenthes...what the fuck is the singular form of parentheses?) and what the fuck is sutton? some sort of ivy league prepsteriffic title? well...it's better than jailynn or cletus. so, okay. fine. but way to give your kid the same initials as the first kid and only two days before his birthday. but overall, i have to give brit some snaps (or props, or whatever it is white people are allowed to say that doesn't make them look like total asses, i'll stick with just half an ass for now) for not going the pilot inspector or audio science or moxy crimefighter or bluebell madonna route. yeah. i know. i know far too much about frivolous crap. sue me. someday US weekly will want me.

...why do we have middle names anyway? i mean, aside from credit applications or any other legal document type thingey, do we even have reason? waste of ink and paper and breath! boooo! okay yeah. it's official, i pick the stupidest things to rage against.

3. i have deleted this one

...mostly because it's not true anymore, and also because i'm a shrew and if hobag in question figured out i spaketh a harsh word against her, she'd probably punch me in the jaw, and i'm a fan of my face. but at any rate, relive the glory that was this mini-rant with the basic kernel of an idea it once contained:

i swear to jesus on his pogo stick i will cut you. SHUT UP I HATE YOU AND I HOPE YOU DIE YOU WHORELING CUM DUMPSTER DIPSHIT DOUCHERAG.

...the end.

4. the farting preacher
click and pbbbbfffttt along

...i really don't have much to comment on about on this other than the fact that i haven't laughed this hard since i was little and thought madballs and transformers were the epitome of badassery.

5. 9/11 five years later
...is there a reason we have to have a media circus around this? we saw 3,000 people die. live. in front of us. remembering in a day of silence is enough. shut up, made-for-tv movies.

6. there is a cactus in my foot
okay so it's a tiny piece of cactus burr, but honestly, fuck this goddamn desert. you have a splinter? whatever. come talk to the enflamed and hurty ball of my right foot and i'll kick you with it and win. even pins and tweezers and iodine can't win on this one. again, fucking desert.

7. midterm elections
uhh, stuff happened, political in nature, things, etc, the end. yeah. actually i really shamefully admit i have no idea what happened. i'm like an ostritch with its political head in the sand, but replace sand with tablids and head with, uh, okay fine. head is the same appendage in this comparison. i lose. but i'll blame it on my local paper and its complete and utter lack of talent in the editorial/writing/anything department. they could have told me who was scheduled to go to space, take over the planet, or give me ten million dollars, and i wouldn't understand it because it's so riddled in typos and allusions to random 70's tv shows. oh god get me out of here.

8. there's a lack of helium
apparently helium manufacturers are all 'ummmm, we might not have enough lighter-than-air product for your macy's thanksgiving parade or little timmy's birthday party balloons.' i have a question- why is this a problem? helium is on the periodic table of the elements, yes? which means it exists quite naturally, yes? then why the hell is there a shortage? quit snorting it and fill up snoopy, you douchebags.

9. billy bush is an ass.
i have to admit that my #9 spot was originally going to play host to ragweed allergies and/or something else i forgot i deleted, but now that access hollywood is on and i have to listen to billy bush blather, i remember how annoying it was to wake up to him as one half of the morning show on z104 back in the day in dc. gone are the days of 97 and 98 radio, but goddamn gone are not the days of that grating voice and stupid questions. thank god for jeremy piven at the emmy's,though, with the verbal celebrity baby smackdown. and yes, i know my colmun (in my dreams)/blog/rant/list/thingcrapblobetc has demoted itself to celeb gossip countless times, but oh my god, can we kill the billy bush already? or at least give him a severe case of laryngitis or alzheimers or something else? seriously? anybody, give me a disease here. i'm reaching. plus, he's a cousin of dubya. that's reason enough to get him deleted. and if you don't agree with me, congratulations, you get a complimentary kick to the genitals.

10. apparently there's a walmart anti-smear campaign
...and my desert locale is a 'test market' for said campaign, where walmart plans to unleash its 'omg we don't deny anybody health insurance' and 'we're angelic social wonderfulnessmongers!!!' ads. ummm, yeah. does not compute. you're fucking walmart, and kind of like an oracle and 4th hobag, you're fine to visit at 3 am but you can't build a secure lifestyle around it. and i admit that was a really weak metaphore but fuck it, i'm tired and my teeth hurt from sinuses, allergies, and whatever else awaits me in the great wild blue wonderful that isn't so wonderful, IS IT?!

up next, ten shows i plan on watching again and/or giving a chance on my fall tv weigh-in. because i count as much as alynda wheat (my EW hero) or, uh, anybody else. oh god. i'm useless. *watches repeats of leno to hope she's at least more decent and less chinny than that* okay. goodnight. or goodmorning. good part-of-day. the end.

ten reasons the desert is sofa king retarded

uh, wow. so i'm watching the local yokels on nbc in the desert (believe me, it's not exactly your cosmopolitain peacock network) and alice cooper just told me to register my car with the fine state of arizona while he was sitting in a golf cart. i'd say let that digest for a bit but it's really probably not going to because that right there is the grizzle of psa's. fortunately for this bastion of unbridled loathing for almost anything that is, was or will be, it got me thinking:

the desert fucking sucks. no, really. i mean, for cripe's sake not only can i not get any east coast ball games, but our damn local baseball team is terrible and their uniforms are turquoise and purple. ow, you guys, those are my goddamned retinas, so be easy on them with the hideous early 90's color palate. also, we're either 50th or 49th in the totem pole in terms of states giving money to education and the nation's capital for skin cancer. if you haven't been accosted by a panhandler, worked a soul-sucking data entry and/or call center gig or burned your hands on the steering wheel and your ass on the seat, then you have not been here long enough and should really leave before the place infects you. i'm not kidding. get out. why aren't you listening to me? fine. i'll break this out:

10 reasons to avoid the state of arizona like the plague

1. everything is pointy.
if it grows here, it has thorns or spikes or both. we've got a bevy of cactus and yes i know the plural is cacti but that looks dumb and people won't know what i'm talking about. anyway, we've got giant cactus the size of three linebackers ready to impale you with several-inch long daggers should it fall on you (and they do, with no notice), little cactus shaped like paddles which, okay, if you're into that sort of thing but holy god ow, creeping cactus, jumping cactus, jagged aloe vera plants the size of a ginourmous green bonfire, prickly grasses, hell even the fucking lemon trees poke. and we're not talking about easy prickles here either. we're talking 'oh my god it's three days later and i think a shard is still in my skin holy shit i'm going to die of inflammation and how humiliating is that, seriously?' type of spikes. nuke 'em all. and it's not just plants either. don't forget about bobcats, bears, mountain lions, and crazed birds of prey. all pointy with their sharp teeth of the meat-mangling persuasion. and if you think i'm lying, come live out here and i'll laugh at your tombstone later.

2. everything is poisonous.
okay, i should get a pants-shittingly shiny medal of honor or at least a girlscout badge of survival for making it two damn years in the desert without having a (venomous) run-in with a rattlesnake, black widow, brown recluse spider, gila monster, or scorpion. oh i've had run-ins with the fuckers, just thankfully while i was wearing shoes, except for all the times i've woken up and/or just gotten out of the shower and whoopdeefuckingdoo, there's a scorpion on the wall and/or floor and oh my god, die already you asshats. jesus, what are we paying the 4-times-a-year exterminator for? i'm sure it's not to flirt obnoxiously with me, which he does anyway but i'll consider that his tip for getting to spend time with yours truly. but honestly jackass- you missed a spot. and by spot i mean scorpion nest. and if they don't live in nests, i'm not apologizing for being wrong, because i have to deal with them and you don't. the end.

3. if it's not poisonous or sharp, it's just plain stupid.
this could be because the state of arizona cares so little about education that it seriously gives less than freaking any other state to education. yeah we're a red state, what do you expect? in any event, the people here have lounged out in the heat so long that aside from tanning their skin into rawhide and bleaching their hair into something straw would envy, they have fried their brains into puddles of cerebellar goo. this is the state where you hear such gems like "i seen", which as you hopefully know makes me feel like sacrificing a goat or ten to the god of grammar in hopes of cleaning the badness. also, you're likely to hear something like this:

az person #1: so i'm reading maya angelou and--
az person #2: ...who?
az person #1: ...'i know why the caged bird sings', ring a bell?
az person #2: wait...is it that painter guy? michaelangeno?
az person #1: ...sure.
az person #2: wait, he sings now?

editor (or lack thereof)'s note, these people were my amusing friends at a job i had some time ago. but it doesn't detract from the fact that arizona illegally depletes people's brain cells. by whole brains at a time, mind you. MIND. hahah yes i meant it.

4. the goddamn 'dry heat'.
well so's a fucking oven, but you don't stick your goshbedanged head in it. to wit, wasn't that how one of the sisters in the virgin suicides offed herself? yup, i'm pretty sure it was a head in the oven. by the way, the book was really good but the movie sucked hardcore. anyway, the heat is by all counts illegal, and anytime it gets above 100 degrees everyone should get free coupons for slurpees and/or a government financed move to the cooler coast, because it's a damn state of emergency when it's 114. jerks. who thought to colonize this place? the spaniards? i'll kill you bastards, all of you. after i have some fritata anyway. mmm. fritata. but yeah. when it's hot enough that you have to carry a separate stick of deoderant in your purse and if you accidentally leave it in your car for 5 minutes it's melted and gooey along with the seat, the styrofoam cup and your cds, well, then, that's just shittastic. but that's not all, we're giving away free heat exhaustion and dehydration packages every hour! oh god shoot me now.

5. mailbox vandals.
seriously- there's a roving band of kids, most likely meth-heads, who take it upon themselves to drive their car into mailboxes. and as a testament to how snappishly smart the good citizens of this state are, NOBODY HAS CAUGHT THEM YET, and they've been at it for two years, leaving car parts on lawns (and by lawn i mean carpet of disgusting brown desert grass and artfully placed boulders) and most probably fingerprints. isn't this mail fraud, or something? gah. not only have they obliterated my mailbox, but they've gone up and down nearly every street in my neighborhood and all the surrounding areas to do the same thing and jesus h christ, if you're going to do something that stupid, at least rob people while you're at it. but not me. i have important, valuable things. god, this state is so fucking idiotic. even the people wrecking things can't get it right.

6. bad drivers.
fuck off, arizona drivers. i say this as a carseat-to-steering wheel child of washington dc, bred on i95 and 66 and the beltway and alexandria and all that stopsigned, yellow-light exhaust-clogged jazz. what this means is i'm well versed in the trappings of rough driving. however, this goddamn desert and its vultures of automobilic transportation are a different breed. we've got the snowbirds (read: old-ish out-of-towners) who have no idea where they're going because blanche lost the directions and harriet can't find them and what street are we turning on to get to tiffany's and nine west? we've got maude and wilbur, the retirees who are so fucking goddamn decrepit that not only do they look like the crypt keeper's older cousins but they can't even fucking hold their head still in their driver's license shots and the guy behind the dmv (oh i'm sorry, in the desert it's the mvd, aka, we're mightily vast dumbfucks) counter shakes his head and almost doesn't give the geezers licenses but he's on break in 5 so what does he care. then we have crystal and amber, the college tards who drive over medians in their pink jeep and then have daddy wire the money for a new one when they have a drunken fender bender with maude while i'm trying to drive home from the movie theater, thank you. oh god you should all be forbidden from *touching* a steering wheel, and i don't care if it's on a go-kart. you all suck with your lane weaving and your median jumping and no turn signals and nascar turn-lane cut offs and your incessant need to drive either 15 or 98 miles an hour. jesus h christ on a pogo stick, i hope you get buried next to the guy from #1 so i can laugh at you all together for perpetuating such four-wheel douchebaggery. by the way, your cars are all ugly. try upgrading to something possibly made in the 90's.

7. there are no seasons.
okay there are two- livable and non. go read #4 again for a refresher on why the summer does not make it okay to live here. ever. and i don't care if you think 70 degrees in the 'winter' is great, because by the time you factor in all this other bullshit it's lame and wintery snowmen are fun. and the only snowman you can make in arizona is out of hostess snowballs, and they only sell the pink kind anway, and who wants a pink snowman? exactly. this state sucks. but i'll admit it is funny to see natives shiver when it dips below 70 degrees and pull on parkas and hats when it gets to 60. dumbfucks, way to break out the earmuffs when it gets to 55.

8. the rate of pay is stoopid.
unless you're an exec and/or have some sort of government job, don't expect to make more than $8 an hour. the end. exactly. there's a reason that rent is so cheap. and i fucking went to college. *throws up financial white flag* jesus, i mean, what? because it's hot you can pay people less? god, what assfuckers. but believe you me, i've had five jobs out here and not one has paid what a college grad should earn. and they wonder why arizona is such a cheap and retarded goddamn state, oh my god city hall i will set rabid howler monkeys to steal your collective spleens for being so cheap.

9. the water is full of calcium.
seriously. i can count on two hands the number of people i've known since coming out here who've fallen prey to kidney stones, gall baldder woes, gall stones, and other random calcifications of body parts that should remain squishy and never something i could skip in a river, such as one would exist here but doesn't because well, it's a fucking desert. honestly, just don't drink the goddamn water. and i hate paying for water, cheap bastard that i am, but even i swing the dollars for bottled water without effing goddamn rocks in it. shut up, sonora desert.

10. theft.
car theft, identity theft, general crap theft, soul theft- we've got them all in spades, yes we do. i think that should be arizona's new tourism grab- 'we're #1!....in theft.' actually recently we lost out to nevada on car theft and now we're only #2, but did i mention the identity theft, petty theft and theft of will to live? yeah. hence, suckage. not that i believe we have souls anyway but maybe they just left mine out of me and that's why i'm a heartless bastard. you know you love it. and i hope by now you hate arizona. join with me in the circle of hate. we chant like a prayer and/or meditation circle but instead of being all sappy and/or hippie about it, we burn calories via hatred. it's exercise!

okay. that's that. and now it's time to sleep and i swear to jebus on a crutch if i have to work tomorrow someone's tit is getting twisted off. and that's all she wrote. for now.

ten reasons i haven't written in here in awhile

i'm not dead dammit.

10 reasons you might think i am but i assure you i'm not:

1. you try working retail 5 to close every day and see how you like it.

2. or try working 9 to 5 the day after that.

3. also, i'm outlining two novels. it's a bitch.

4. i'm tired.

5. i'm lazy.

6. there were emmys and you know i have undying loyalty to jeremy piven, so shut up, i had to watch.

7. fishsticks.
(not really, i just like saying fishsticks. but we did have some cod that didn't go over too well and, well, fine that can be a reason right? yes.)

8. jessica simpson's new album has poisoned my brain. sorry about that.

9. i have a buttload of backlocked blockbuster and netflix dvd's to get to and quite frankly, movies > most things.

10. i'm on strike and not writing another list until i win at least one goddamn game of 3-card solitaire.

and that, my friends, is that. coming whenever i finish watching buffy or playing solitaire or actually get a stroke of creativity, the almost-done list of why the desert is retarded and/or ten reasons i irrationally love britney and want her comeback to happen might surface. or possibly something even more unimportant, but as for now, it's time to go fold some really unfortunate mustard-yellow button downs for a pittance under hallogen lights. suhweet.

ten reasons hamsters completely own you

you may think, based purely on my vitriolic carping, that i'm an evil hatemonger and love absolutely nothing. normally this is pretty much true; my heart is icy and charred at the same time because, hey, physics doesn't apply to metaphors. but fear not- i actually have it in me to love things besides south park and wishing pain upon people. what's at the tip top of my list? hamsters. that's right. hamms. hammies. teddybears. balls of fluff. 'awwww!'s. try not to love them, and i guarantee you'll fail like you do at life. why do you fail at life? because hamsters have beaten everybody and everyone knows second place is the first loser. hence:

10 reasons hamsters are the greatest animals ever


1. they are impossibly cute.
obviously. i don't care what you say, your baby pictures cannot beat a fluffy tiny cute ball of glee that is a hamster. no. can't. shut up. hamsters > babies, especially yours. honestly, i dare you to find a cuter object of your and my and everyone's affection, and no, jeremy piven, chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and/or money do not count as much as i wish they did. so therefore, hams win hands down. i mean it. watch one fluff its hamster bedding (which comes in bags like cotton candy and even looks like it) and tell me it's not the cutestest most adorable thing you've ever seen in the world and oh my god i'm going to melt and be non-hateful anymore. clearly this madness must stop.


2. any exercise they get is hilarious.
of course this may bend or break depending on your version of hilarity, but tell me putting a fluffy thing in:

a) a plastic run-about ball ripe to run into someone's feet or the wall or the shower or the cat, b) a wheel that guarantees at least one over-zealous wheel spin-out at 3 am when the hamm can't run anymore but the wheel has other ideas and it totally sends him flying to the other side of his cage b/c yay gravity
c) hahahahahah a leash, becahse a harnessed hamster is so much more entertaining than a dog, d) a plastic car, because a hamster is possibly the only animal that can get away with said mode of transportation *and* the helmet and/or goggles to match, or
e) a mug. because honestly, what good is a pet if it can't fit into a mug full of strawberry ice cream? exactly. not much good at all.

doesn't lift your spirits at least a little. if not, there's always vodka and vicodin, and if you must resort to these, obvi hammies aren't for you b/c their charm is really quite inpenetrable. they are like the damn fort knox of adorable.


3. cheek pouches.
seriously, there's nothing more amusing than a very determined hammy trying to shove a 3-inch piece of cellery and/or chew toy into his cheek pouch. a cheek pouch, you ask? well of course. it's what a lot of herbivores (cowwwws) and other easily preyed upon animals (seriously, you do not want to be on an owl's dinner menu) use to graze with and then eat properly later. hamsters will shove anything and every thing (ie strawberries, celery, chew sticks, wood, chicken, your grandmother's fingers) into their pouches and run away to their secret hideaways (usually a foot away from said feeding ground, b/c they're cute but kind of stupid) and then later feast upon the delicious (?) remains. at any rate, it's really kind of eight sorts of hilarious to see a hamster shove a whole piece of steak into his cheek. and see his head get wider than his arse, and then just you watch it trying to fit through its hamster cage tubes. it's like the keg stand of the rodent world, and there are no sorority girls to get in the way. mmm. steak.

4. they are low maintenance.
honestly, could you ask for an easier pet? you make sure to clean out its age once a week (every two weeks if you're lazy like me) and give it fresh food and water once daily. other than that, it's a ripe comedy factory happening courtesy of a lovely fuzzball who has taken up residence atop your bookshelf. rarely are there vitamins, declawings, vet visits or fur washings. okay you can indulge in pet shampoo for your hammy (mine smelled like cucumbers and watermelon, shut up, i was not copying bath and body works) but for the most part, you can let it run wild and it will entertain you no matter what. oh that's right peta. i'm waiting for you to attack. why? because so often you attack people with pies. mmmm. pies. humans and hamsters both love pies. so obviously, a win all around.

5. they stay up all night with you.
got a calculous exam to study for? no problem, binkles mcblue is there. crying over breaking up with umpteenth boyfriend who didn't meet your expectations? have no fear, strawberry buttercup is here for you. insomnia? don't worry, mr bigglesworth is running around on his wheel just like you're running the emotional gamut. yay, nocturnal creatures! if nothing it's nice to know they might guard you in case of a nighttime intruder. and by guard, i mean might question why the guy with the big knife is destroying the Bringer of Food, Squeak Hop Snooze. and for the record, i have no idea why the hamster is singing jessica simpson, but go with it. it's a hamster. don't ever question it.



6. they eat anything you give them.
no, really. aside from hammy chow, mine ate smoked salmon, pâté, ice cream, reese's cups and beef jerky. that ought to be a clue right there- hamsters are not picky and will willingly gorge on your dinner leftovers. of course, leaving them a few leavy greens is nice, but how cool is it to watch a rodent devour filget mignon while your mom is all 'zomg! i cooked that to be SPECIAL!!!!' yeah. it's awesome. also, they'll eat your fruit and veggies so you don't have to eat anything nutritious. yep. they're helpful like that.



7. they're even called teddybears.
i don't think you can deny the beauty of a cute thing being called an even cuter thing. btw, the teddy bear hamm (also known as the long-haired syrian) OWNS YOU with it stare, its itty bitty pawclaws, and its ability to turn metal into pure gold. okay so the last bit i kind of ripped off from harry potter but that's the league hamsters are in. so bow. bow now. bow before the cutnessssss.

8. they make superb shoulder pets.
okay, fuck pirates. no not really, i mean i heart johnny depp in eyeliner and i've love nothing more than to spend my life hunting for treasure singing inappropriate songs while balancing a monkey one one arm and a bottle of rum in the other, but seriously? hamms beat parrots and monkeys in the shoulder pet department. they wreak less havoc, talk less, eat anything and don't fling poo or want a cracker, respectively. also? they're fluffy. after ten months at sea, anything fluffy is a plus, i'd imagine.


9. they are more socially acceptable than rats.
sad but true. rats have no place in the homes of wee common folk or any folk, for that matter, bc of a few bad seeds on the nyc subway. boooo. anyway, hamsters are rodents and belong to the same family as rats (or is it genus? i know i got a 4 on the ap bio exam but that was 6 ancient years ago) so i'll say family, and, yeah. anyway. they're as much a rodenty rodent as rats or mice or gerbils or anything else, and yet everyone loves them more. why? obvious: cheek pouches. duh. so just tell that rat to step up and lose the diseases if he wants to play. oh snap.


10. less easily freaked out than guinea pigs.
okay granted this doesn't take much. my guinea pig ran away from food, water, and a hamster 1/4 its size. in short, he was a weenie. but anyway, hamsters are tinier, cuter, and infinitely easier to care for than cavies (though damn, rocko was cute even if he was a diva) and thus i list your tenth reason for owning a hamm.



okay that was a retarded list and i'll have you know i mainly wanted to write it so i could include adorable pictures of hamms, and yes i'll admit a few of those are of my own hamster. which? oh that's a mystery for the ages my friends. but i told you don't hate all. most, yes. but not all. when the apocalypse comes, i choose to save hamsters and jelly beans. why jelly beans, you might ask- well, because you never know what those kooks at jelly belly are up to next. and i want to be the first to sample when they go all wonka and actually manage to create a whole meal in a jelly bean, b/c screw a whole meal in a piece of gum that just turns you into a blueberry. other than that, yeah, hamsters pretty much win.

ten four-letter f-words that don't end up as fuck

so i was having dinner with my parents (yeah what, free meals and no rent, shut up) and the subject of 'fuck' came up. i have the worst mouth of anybody in my family but as the angelic-eyed girlthing i keep it wrapped up in a pretty bow of femininity which i don't really understand b/c i love to blow up shit and watch baseball and say girls are hot and okay whatever. anyway, dad suggested i do this list:

10 four-letter words that start with f and end in k that don't actually result in 'fuck', which might be useful when you want to scream an obscenity but someone's kid or grandmother or impressionable kitten is in the general vicinity and for the love of god keep in mind i'm pulling half of this shit from from thefreedictionary.com and webster doesn't exactly think it's legit but IT IS and some of this crap is actually kind of interesting or at least unintentionally funny:

(oh and ps, if it's in italics i stole it from some type of dictionary, and if it's not in slanteriffic italics, it means i'm talking to you again, you firks)

1. fork
A fork is a tool consisting of a handle with several narrow tines (usually two to four) on one end. Forks are used mainly in cooking and eating, to move or hold objects (typically, pieces of food) in place. The fork is often referred to as the "king of utensils." (Similar names, such as "queen of utensils" for the spoon, have not been as widely adopted.)

also of note: notice how the forking spork was not known even as 'the prince of utensils.' if anything, it is the wench or the dungeonkeeper of utensils. the end.

2. folk
* short for folk music,
* or, for folksong,
* or, for folklore,
* or, for folk dance;
* it may be a word for a specific people, tribe, or nation, especially one of the Germanic peoples;
* it might even be a calque on the related German word Volk.

fun activity: say to a group of people, 'heyyyyy folks!' and see how many of them look at you like you're a douchebag. alternatively, if you bang your hand with a hammer, instead of fuck yell 'FOOOOLLLLKKKKK' and see if old-school jewel pops out and says 'you rang?' and i'm talking about pieces of you, 'who will saaeeaaeeeaaaave your sowulllll' and no i don't mean now jewel. god, 0304? what was that? i fear spending money on her new album if it's going to be the same heaping pile of intestinal garbage. folk you, jewel.

3. fark
Fark.com is a community website allowing users to comment on a daily batch of news articles and other items from various websites. Most links are submitted by Fark readers, which are then approved for posting on the main page by admins. Fark is one of the most widely read community sites of its type on the internet.

fark lands pretty high on the satisfying-though-it's-not-fuck word list, but i still prefer what would tyler durden do? and the onion.

4. filk
Filk is a form of music created from within Science Fiction & Fantasy fandom, and often performed late at night at science fiction conventions, though there are now dedicated Filk Conventions in Canada, England, Germany, and the USA. It is also popular in some circles of the Society for Creative Anachronism. The term was adopted for the songs and musical parodies enjoyed by members of 'fandoms' such as Star Trek or Harry Potter. Practitioners are known as filkers.

...and i'm not ashamed to admit i rocked the valentine's podcast for the harry potter fandom (pottercast, what) with my filk of 'oops i'm crying again' as performed by a supposed cho chang. oh that's right. i went there. and by there i mean the land of total geekdom but I DON'T CARE SHUT UP.

5. flak
* Anti-aircraft gunfire, derived from the German Fliegerabwehrkanone, for "aircraft defense cannon", during World War II. See also 88 mm gun.
* criticism, as a metaphorical extension of the previous, e.g. "I'll have to take the flak for what that confounded reporter dug up."
* As a component of German and Scandinavian area place names, flak and similar may mean "flat", "plain": e.g. Flakfortet, Maasvlakte.

so you could totally give some flakian jackass flak about his malfunctioning flak, much like you could fuck with some fucking fucker about his fucked fuck. i know this can't be entirely lost on you people.

6. funk
1. Funk is a distinct style of music originated by African-Americans, e.g., James Brown, etc. Funk best can be recognized by its syncopated rhythms; thick bass line (often based on an "on the one" beat); razor-sharp rhythm guitars; chanted or hollered vocals (as that of Marva Whitney or the Bar-Kays); strong, rhythm-oriented horn sections; prominent percussion; an upbeat attitude; African tones; danceability; and strong jazz influences (e.g., as in the music of Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock, George Duke, Eddie Harris, and others).

2. A state of depression; British: a state of panic or great fear.

also totally oldschool british for 'coward', and also means a nasty musty gross smell like maybe the trunk of someone's car that they haven't cleaned since they took all the trash to the dump that one time. classy. also, somewhere in the world exists a podiatrist named dr funk. i'm not lying. i typed up a claim for him at one of my previous jobs as a soul-sucked data entrant. hot times, my friends. hot times.

7. fink
1. An unpleasant or contemptible person.

2. Fink is widely recommended as the simplest way for users to install and maintain their favorite unix programs on Mac OS X.

3. The name "Fink" is German for finch bird, and is related to the Darwin operating system (that lies at the core of Mac OS X), through Charles Darwin's study of diversity among finches.

also, apparently fink is a band that gave a free download on itunes a few weeks ago. unfortunately it's quite tepid and boring and it's definitely no funk or folk, my friends. booyah, gimme a tap on th drums for that one, oh god i hate myself. anyway, finches are awesome.

8. firk

v. t.	1.	To beat; to strike; to chastise. I'll fer him, and firk him, and ferret him. - Shak.
v. i.	1.	To fly out; to turn out; to go off. A wench is a rare bait, with which a man No sooner's taken but he straight firks mad.B.Jonson.
n.	1.	A freak; trick; quirk.

this is quite possibly my favorite new f-word. with one word i can hit, make fun of, yell at, or go off of a freaky quirky trick. english language, my god you are genius, you firking firker. which i'm not gonna lie, based on phonetics alone totally made me miss frankenfurter back in tysons mall. mmm. hot dogs. what firks.


9. fisk
1. verb, to critique an essay or argument in extreme detail, named after Robert Fisk.
2. noun, fish (in Swedish or other scandinavian languages)
3. Roman: public treasury or emperor's privy purse
4. American railroad financier and speculator who attempted in 1869 to corner the gold market with Jay Gould, leading to Black Friday, a day of nationwide financial panic.

holy crap. so basically fisk means 1) to be an utter jackass prickalicious douche, 2) to breathe underwater and then served blackened with pasta, 3) to be some king's petty cash, or 4) to totally fuck up a nation's finances. move over firk, fisk just took your place.

10. frak!
Frak! is a platform game in which the player controls a caveman named Trogg. Trogg's object is to find three keys located on each level. When Trogg steps off a platform or ladder, he does not fall straight down, but instead slides diagonally downwards. Long falls will kill Trogg.

Enemies in Frak! come in three forms: statues of various monsters, balloons and daggers, and contact with any enemy will kill Trogg. To combat the enemies, Trogg is armed with a yo-yo that he can launch straight horizontally. The yo-yo will kill any enemy it comes into contact with.

Frak! encodes high scores as nonsensical secret messages, such as Hairy gonks kiss green Buddhas slowly. These could presumably be sent to the game's publisher as proof of reaching a high score.

hahahaha wtf is a gonk and why is buddha green? i have nothing to add to this explosion of digital crackitude save to say it's obviously genius and why have i never heard of it? faaaark.

and by now you should be well-versed in antifucks. i don't expect you to use them because nothing quite satisfies like a good eff ewe see cay, but if the gi joes taught me anything on saturday mornings, it's that knowing is half the battle. and also that shooting people usually solves problems.

up next: ten reasons hamsters own you.

ten ways to get to sleep faster

in all reality i have no reason to be the person writing this, as i couldn't get a wink in before 4:30 in the morning. but really that's what happens when i work til close in the retail industry and tardishly drink a can of vault at 9:30 at night and damn, did you know after about 2:00 everything on tv shifts to paid programming infomercials? seriously. it's fuckish. i'm minding my own business watching a conan repeat from january and then nbc has the gall to shove a timeshare pyramid scheme down my throat, and that's just highly uncool and therefore spurred this list:

10 ways to get asleepin' without counting sheep because seriously who does that

1. alcohol.
i'm telling you, couple shots of rum (with or without the pansy hot cocoa or whatever you want to mix it with if you haven't the gullet) will ease you right into sleepy time. if it doesn't do that much, it will hopefully at least make the experience of lying in bed not sleeping a bit fuzzier and happier. if this doesn't work, throw back another couple and call me in the morning. except for the part where you call me.

2. valerian.
sure it smells like ass, but this crap is cheap ($2-4 at any grocery store or drug store and while i'm on the subject, why does walgreens sell everything bug drugs now? seriously. there's an effing walgreens on every corner and i can by a tyco truck and jessica simpson 'dessert' products and a rubber canoe and probably even a digital camera, but they're always out of allergy medicine. what the hell is that about?) and, right, i was talking about valerian. it's basically crushed up and capsuled roots of some smelly plant that, if taken about half an hour before you need to not be awake anymore, should do the trick. if not, double up the dose and rinse with listerine, cause, again: stuff smells.

3. carbs.
people are under the supposition that turkeys are only for thanksgiving, but you know, there are so many more reasons to slaughter them. namely, bedtime. have yourself a turkey sandwich or two while conan's dancing around with max and pender, feel the tryptophan work its sleepy magic, and pass out on the couch. it may not be a bed, but this is about how to fall asleep, not where, so stop being so picky.

4. read something about finances.
or your mortgage, or your retirement plan. short on those? find literature about your insurance plan from work. no? load up the wallstreet journal online. for cripe's sake, go to the 7-11 and get a copy of forbes. just read something boring as criminy and do not allow yourself to look at the pictures. just keep reading from cover to cover and feel the slumber wrestle you into a chokehold. give in to the chokehold. give.

5. sex.
with whoever you share a bed with or with yourself, i don't care. but tell me that doesn't knock you right out. no? then you're obviously faking it and you need to try harder.

6. watch the infomercials.
that's right, you heard me. if your turkey sandwiches didn't put your lights out before conan is done, you're going to first suffer through last call with carson daly and if that still doesn't bitchslap you with a sudden case of the i need to not be awake nows, watch the infomercials for tile cleaner and money making opportunities and the chance to be your own boss and zzzzzzzzzzzz. if you find yourself actually interested, you should probably just shoot yourself and sleep forever.

7. ambien.
...if you're gonna puss out and actually go to a doctor for help when a bottle of jack would really do the trick and you don't have copays at liquor stores you dumbbutt, fine. but don't say i didn't warn you when you wake up on your kitchen floor covered in egg yolk and lucky charms. there's a reason those sciencey guys warn you that one of the side effects of this crap is binge eating, and it's my theory that they just want to see how well commercials about butterflies and lovely townhouses and running on pristine beaches can persuade the general public to poppping a pill that gives you the munchies without getting completely high to even compensate for it. in conclusion, do it only if you're out of steps 1, 2, 3 or 4. the end.

8. white noise.
i'm kind of in love with my white noise cd's; i go for the frog chirps and thunderstorms personally. if these things don’t lull you to sleep, they should at least clean out your bladder (hint: avoid 'babbling brook' series if you don't want to be up all night pissing) and/or they'll seriously annoy your bedmate, which is kind of satisfying.

9. lord of the rings.
try to watch an entire extended edition dvd. if you're not a fan, you'll find the quest of the preciousssss so effing tedious that sleep will suddenly probably hopefully rescue you from middle earth's reign of boredom. if not, proceed to step ten. if you are indeed a fan, even you can't last four hours, so shut up and go to bed.

10. more alcohol.
if none of these have worked, obviously you haven't drunken yourself into a stupor yet. but fear not, there is one last remedy i can give you:

sleeptini
two parts 99 apples
two parts cough syrup (preferably nyquil)
one part whatever alcohol you choose
one part fruit juice or whatever kind of mixer you have lying around, obviously, because this is really hardly a recipe

blend everything together, gulp down as slurpishly as you can, and wait to have some really frigging technicolor dreams about frogs in a rodeo.

ten signs that say the apocalypse is surely upon us

quite honestly, i don't know how the entire fabric of time/space/universe/quantumwhateverish hasn't collapsed into itself. why, you ask? sadly, it is my duty to report to you these

10 signs that the world will quite possibly spin off its axis before the day is through

1. turn it up.

2. fightin' over me.

3. stars are blind.

4. i want you.

5. jealousy.

6. heartbeat.

7. nothing in this world.

8. screwed.

9. not leaving without you

10. turn you on


i'm very well aware you may be saying, 'what the shit is this?' to which i have only one answer: paris hilton's album came out today. our ears, our tween population's hello kitty wallets, and the last shred of music's dignity are all available for a fresh raping. i don't think i really need to go into further detail than that except to say oh god what a twat paris hilton is, fix your goddamn lazy eye and jebus crikey there is officially nothing sacred anymore. what a desecration. i mean have you heard this shit? she's reedy at best and that's with her vocals layered six times. six times. ho can sing as well as i can be skinny and i do believe i'm feeling the inner-skull rumblings of eardrum combustion coming on. either that or my heart just breaks into approximately 1938502310456872845 pieces at the thought of this cuntrag stealing radio/itunes/world space from deserving musicians who don't deserve to die an anguished death even a billionth as much as she does. seriously, why hasn't the syphilis taken her out yet?

oh and ps i know there are 14 tracks on the album and my list only includes ten but that's becase a) my lists only ever include ten things and b) as the world is due to implode via the musical stylings of crabcrotch mcskanky, are 4 more songs really going to make any more of a difference? it's like howler monkeys taking a dump on your house that just burned down, which, actually now that i think about it really does kind of suck because it'd make it smell. so, nevermind. whatever. the world's ending, i've got to go max out my credit cards.

ten awesometastic things about little miss sunshine

i'm feeling lazy today, and entourage is on soon. so this afternoon's list is a set of quick hits about 'little miss sunshine', which owns you and your mother and probably your dog. here:

ten things that make 'little miss sunshine' the best fucking movie of 2006 so far, and i've seen a damn lot of movies this year so i feel entitled to say that

1. olive.
first of all, i love that name, so she wins. she has a pop-belly and eats icecream even though her jackass dad tells her she shouldn't if she wants to be in beauty pageants, and she's a kid. she's not all dakota fanning creepy adult-in-a-kid thing. plus her dance number was hot shit.

2. grandpa.
seriously- he snorts heroin (can you even do that? i thought snorting was for coke, but what do i know, and even if i did know i wouldn't say because, hi nsa!! yeah i know they probably aren't reading blogs but i can pretend i matter that much)- oh. right. grandpa. he likes porn, drugs, and coaches olive, the effects of which are seen in the penultimate scene and it's seriously the greatest dance bit ever. it kicks napolean's ass, anyway.

3. steve carell.
enough said. seriously. he could touch assparagus and turn it to gold.

4. the soundtrack.
i have no idea who sings it or composed it because i'm not a hipster fuck and if i ever utter 'i liked them before they were cool', punch me in the eye. please. anyway, the music is lovely and flows very well with a road-trippy type movie. so there.

5. the scene with the dead body
there are a couple, actually, but the initial one is some of the best damn hilarious espionage i've ever seen. okay so i like the word espionage and it's the wrong word for what the family hoover does with a sheet and a van, but shut up and tell me you don't laugh when you see it.

6. the silent kid gets the best lines.
never has a pen stroke made me laugh so. also, i'm totally allowed to think he's cute because in reality he's only 2 years (not even) younger than me. so there. what.

7. porn comes to the rescue.
in the movie, i mean. not for you. there's no porn here.

8. ice cream.
every movie has its gun in the first to save for the third. this time it's ice cream serving as self-confidence and a fuck off to society as a whole. sounds wonky, but it works. plus it's oh so delicious and cool and creamy and oh shit i want some half baked. this is why i'm fat, btw.

9. the beauty pageant
it's so fucking dead-on with the girls wearing more make-up than katherine harris, the snitty southern boufanty lady at the helm, and the spacey creep emceeing the thing. olive totally raises her eyebrows at him like he's an ass and draws some of the biggest laughs of the whole thing. plus, as i've said before, her dance number is super. the fact that miss california laughed and kind of grooved along with it makes it better. plus the big tattooed guy caps it all off as the most surreal, bizarre and creepily entertaining bit of the whole story.

10. the mother-effing van
what's a movie with 'sunshine' in the title without a bright, big-bird yellow vw bus? also, what's a road trip movie about a dysfunctional family without a thinly-veiled metaphor in the shape of a really fucking dysfunctional van? you've seen the commercials with the pushing and the pulling, but i'd say the horn wins. it practically has a conversation with a cop. bleeepleebeepityhonk.

and that's that. if i'm feeling inspired, later i'll do another quick list. i'm thinking, ten reality tv shows that need to happen, or possibly ten things that suck hardcore about the desert. but we'll see. as for now, hbo calls.

ten really goddamn annoying noises

so i woke up this morning to 'your body is a wonderland' by john mayer on the radio and i thought, wow. what a way to make me hate the planet, 92.9 the mountain. fuck off with your mix of the 80's, 90's, and today with this most dispicable john mayer tripe you call 'music.' oh and by the way? z104.1 was today's hit music in dc, not fucking arizona. the fact that a station of the same name and frequency has fallen so far from the nation's capital and now owns fucking north mexico makes me sad. also? it's a good segue into today's list,

ten sounds that are so fucking obnoxious that you almost envy your great aunt mabel's total deafness


1. that jackass who won’t get a tissue
BLOW YOUR SNOT OUT OF YOUR NOSE YOU PRICK. quit slorking and snerfing it and wiggling your nostrils and coughing and making a spectacle out of the fact that you’ve got a cold. congratulations, i hope it’s avian flu. god i hate you and I hope you choke on that glob of snot in your sleep and die.

2. the coughing guy
this jerk probably sits in the cubicle next to the tissue-inept jackass, or maybe carpools with him, because he’s caught the cold but one-ups the whole thing: instead of a sniffle, we get hacks-- great big phlegmy gunk rockets battering his esophagus and occasionally sending spiffles of goo into the atmosphere of your office, possibly landing on your in/out tray or splattering your monitor. and yet this douchebag refuses your offers of dayquil or a punch in the face, nay, he says he's 'just got some allergies.' next time he gets up to pee (because this jerk totally gets up every 20 minutes to pee, fill his coffee mug, and snot all over the water cooler) cover his chair with crisco. (i know you keep some in your desk for times such as these, don't lie.) it won't solve the coughing, but when his rotund shape (he's always a bit hefty) slides from the seat to the floor and gives him a sprained tailbone and a trip home for the day, at least it'll be a bit quieter in your left ear.


3. shakira
no, shut up- seriously. she says her hips don’t lie, but oh god how they sure as fuck mislead and entire planet into listening to purported 'singing'. she’s sexy, yes. i’ll give her that. definitely poetic, if she’s not translating into english anyway. but uh, has anyone informed her that the vocal chords she’s yodeling through sound like a hose lined with the souls of a thousand beheaded geese? it's nasal to make a frenchman with a cold worse than mr coughing jackass above say 'my god, what is zat? eet ees sounding like your grandmuzzer on 'elium.' so, yeah. make it stop.

oh fine shakira sluts, send me hatemail. i don't care. all i'm saying is her videos are much goddamn hotter on mute. and also, on the french thing, you can't send me hatemail about that. i lived there and i used to speak it. bitches. okay fine you can send me mail but that'd require you to send me mail and that's why it won't happen. so basically, we all win.


4. whiny emo singers
basically the difference between human beings and emo tards is this: we pick ourselves up in the morning, they think forgetting to tivo all that rocks on m2 is reason to not change the eyeliner they slathered on last night and lie in bed with their clove cigarettes and molest their guitar. your life is not that hard. so some chick dumped you. that's what she did: dumped you. she did not tear out your fragile glass heart and with the most careless embrace mangle it like her nails were daggers, you dumbshit. good god, grow a set and learn to carry a fucking tune. is it a rule that to sing emo bullshit you have to wear black pencil jeans and sing off key? if i hear you mangle a c-note and whisper about your strangled emotions one more time i will put a cougar in your closet and give you some actual pain to write about. you can thank me later.


5. someone’s saliva swishing around b/c they got too goddamn close to the mic
if i wanted to hear your spit sloshing around against your teeth and feel like you're spittling into my ear canal, i'd put my head right up against your mouth and ask you to tell me secrets. as it is, i haven't asked you, so please recording artists/dj's/podcasters/fuckfaces with mics: distance yourselves. it's fucking disgusting that i can tell you had a hamburger for lunch b/c i just heard an errant bit of sesame seed laced with ketchup hit your back molar. god, stop it before i break your jaw and you won't even be able to open your mouth to get it near a microphone and sing your stupid song about breathysighbreathylove. also, you sound like you might need a mint.


6. george w bush’s bastardization of a giggle
'heh heh. heh...iraq.' upon even imagning the smug waste of breath that is his trademark laugh, i'm pretty sure your blood can boil tea now, yes? good. cause i brought crumpets.


7. when someone leaves the tv on and it goes eeeeee
did anybody else hear about that cell phone ringtone that only teenagers can hear b/c their ears are atuned to hear a very high pitched frequency (read: obnoxiuos as uncle sam on stilts in the 4th of july parade b/c really get out of the way old man, i want to see the hot chicks in bathing suits) that older and younger folks can't hear? well apparently my ears, along with my boobs and social ethics, are stuck in a 15-year old's body and i can hear that damn high-pitched 'screeeeeeeeeeee' and oh my god i will send a yeti to rape you if you insist upon leaving the tv on. why? because not all is silent when the screen goes dark, my friends. no. unless you actually dain to turn to squawkbox off, its screen is still alive and well and buzzing and humming and electrically going 'squeeeeeee' and if you're a child or an adult apparently you don't hear the damage. but i do because despite the fact that i've long since graduated college, my ears have yet to grow the fuck up and stop hearing it. so until that happens, if you forget to turn off the tv and fill the room with that electrical abomination of a 'reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee' i will fillet you seven ways til sunday, which is when we eat fillets of various animal parts. just thought you'd like to know.


8. tone-deaf singers
do i really need to elaborate on this? seriously, nothing ruins weezer or tori or hell even kelly clarkson (i love her and you can send hyenas to rip me limb from limb and i'll still adore her) quite like the cuntface who feels entitled to belt along in a key that not only is totally wrong, but is from so far beyond left field that it would seriously turn your theater voice coach into the hulk. HULK ANGRY. HULK SMASH TONEDEAF TURDGUZZLERS. HULK IS THE COLOR OF GREEN GIANT. HULK AND GREEN GIANT SHOULD JOIN FORCES AND PROMOTE GREEN BEENS THAT ARE NOT TONE DEAF.


9. children crying
oh jesus get a grip on your child and take it out of this public setting you crapmuncher. if your kid is screaming and they're under 2, it probably means they need a nap, they need food and not the shit you're making them eat at this classy restaurant that doesn't even do booster seats so that was probably your first hint right there, or that they've shat their pants. go deal with it. don't ignore it and let it sit there screaming. there are people in the vicinity being aurally violated. if they're a toddler or older and they're crying, either they've hurt themselves or they're just being pricks to make you pay attention to them which you should because as someone who was dumb enough to play host to this parasite who will leech off you until you die, you don't deserve a social life. go cater to your child's every whim and get out of this movie theater. oh and that was also really smart of you to bring a 4-year old to 'saw', guy. dad of the fucking year, for sure.

10. bagpipes
i'm pretty sure that's what pubescant elephants would sound like if they weren't built already knowing how to honk through their trunks. seriously, that shit is not music. it's audible assault, and this is coming from someone who's at least 1/3 irish. celtic &/or gaelic culture/history/language/all that crap? awesome. green hills and potatoes and soda bread and hot accents? sign me up. but bagpipes make me want to kill a leprechaun. so, dear bagpipers of the world: cease and desist or you will never find the pot of gold because i've killed your guide.


coming tomorrow or whenever, because i have work:
ten things not to do to people
ten reasons hamsters are fucking awesome
ten words you've never heard in your life
or?
ten things to do when pmsing. ladies, this is obviously for you. or men who aren't very testosterony. which for some reason makes me think of rice-a-roni, probably b/c everyone and their sister has seen that friends episode. so now i kind of want rice-a-roni, or possibly bread with butter and apricot jam. uh, okay goodnight.

ten grammatical things you do that piss off the planet

okay. i know what you're thinking. 'how the eff can b comment on grammar when she's not even using capitalization? what a douchebag.' which, fine. but at least i'm spelling properly (hopefully, because the spellcheck on blogger is heinous) and using proper grammar most of the time.

unfortunately there are scads upon heaps upon multitudes of assgoblins who cannot use proper grammar to save their lives. i'm not saying we all have to have perfect spelling and grammar (hell, even i don't understand half that textbook crap foisted on us year after year in school, and i declare sentence diagrams utterly useless) but there are some basic tenets of the language i just have to nail down before i suffer an aneurism from constant english abuse. and so, without further verbal procrastination,

ten things people do that are grammatically incorrect and make them look like jackholes.

1. i seen
first of all: no. you do not/don't/didn't/won't seen something. it's not possible. subject-godfuckingdamn-verb agreement, jerks. god, this pisses me off. when did this start happening? i swear i never heard this crap on the east coast. but once i got out here to non-specified western-ish locale, it started needling my ears and making me twitch. typical usage of said abomination:

worker bee #1: has anyone from the tech desk stopped by to fix this monitor?
worker bee #2: yeah, i seen someone here ten minutes ago.

okay. what's wrong with this? i'll tell you. you can't seen something, plain and simple. you saw it. saw. repeat after me: i saw someone here ten minutes ago. why can't you seen? because seen is goddamn motherfucking some verb tense that i'm not going to pretend to know the name of but i know it's definitely not plain jane ordinary past tense, you insipid moron.

proper ways to use 'seen':
i have seen someone come on previous occasions, but not today.
i hope to have seen someone stop by before the day is over.
no, i haven't seen anyone stop by yet.
i thought i had seen someone but it turns out i didn't.
by now, i hope everyone has seen how retarded these assholes sound saying 'i seen.'

in conclusion, no. you may not use 'seen' by itself. 'i seen' deserves a meat fork in your goddamn eyeball if i hear it uttered even once. you may say 'i have seen' if you have done said action before said occurrence and-- oh fuck it, just make it simpler and not about subjunctives or whatever this is and say 'i saw.' but not 'i seen.' capiche? it better be goddamn capiche cause i'm not reminding you again. turd.

2. i don't know?
holy shit, you're riding the short bus. are you asking me if you don't know? because a ? turns a statement into a freaking question and i'm really running out of answers for you people. most likely if you're telling me you don't know something --which i don't doubt because, well, you're abusing your own goddamn language-- you're doing just that: telling me. not asking me. if you're not asking, you don't need a question mark. let me repeat that: if you are saying you do not know something, you are stating you don't know it, not asking if you don't know it it. a statement has no holy effing question marks about it, you butt scuttler.

abomination:
i don't know why she said that?

less headache-inducing way:
i don't know why she said that.

is this getting through your skull? you don't say 'i know?', you say 'i know.' saying you don't know is simply negating the frigging sentence. making it negative doth not a question make. is there any way i can make this easier to understand? look, it's totally understandable to turn it into a question in this way:

why did she say that? i don't know.

okay? there. that's how. if you don't understand this basic idea, then i'm going to slap your face with my mahi-mahi of persuasion, and trust me it's cold and scaly and you don't want it.

plausible scenario:

idiot: i don't know where i'm going? (making a statement, retardifying it by using ? instead of .)
b: you don't know? (this is allowable, because i am asking a goddamn question.)
idiot: i don't understand?
b: *slaps you with a fish*
idiot: ow, why did you do that? (this, finally, is acceptable questioning behavior. well done. but if i see you type 'i have no clue why b slapped me with a fish?' i will kill you.)

to recap: not knowing/understanding/being confused by something is not a question. question marks are only for actual questions. oh god my brain cries.

3. your/you're
sweet unmerciful crap. it mashes my brain into babyfoody bits to see how many people with ma's and phd's can't spell their way out of your bag. and that's your, not you're. why? the answer is simple:

your = belonging to you. that's it. nothing else. it is yours. your cat. your retardation. yours alone. actually, unfortunately, not yours alone, but shared by many.

you're = you are. again, that's it. simple as can la di fucking da be. okay? you are. you're. as in 'you're retarded', or, 'you are retarded.' does this make sense?

your retardation = the retardation that is yours and yours alone, belongs to you, nobody else's.
you're retarded = you are fucking retahdid.

and that's all. please dear god let that be all i ever have to say about this one again. if it isn't, i fear i will go on a murderous rampage and the first victims shall be those without a basic k-8 understanding of spelling and grammar. so, all higher learned folks who think they can skate by on jargon and suits alone, look out. this means you.

4. there/their/they're
i'm not going to cover all the homonyms in the english language because quite frankly my life is too short and my genetics say i'm due to kick the bucket in less than another 50 which may be why i'm so bitter to you peons, but, let's get this straight: these are three different words, shiteaters. observe:

there: a place. a position. a location thereof. it is there. as in 'there lies the grave of my dead aunt sally, the last of my family who had two brain cells to rub together before the rest of us ate paint chips for afternoon snack.'

their: belonging to two or more people. as in 'their paint chips were indeed tasty and redolent of peanut butter, and yet their intelligence did wane in proportion to paint chips consumed.'

they're: contraction of 'they are'. that's it. as in 'as a result, they're all now collectively as smart as a beaver whose head was crushed by a californian redwood after gnawing it down in the prime of its life.'

so to conclude: despite their constant bitching amongst mouths stuffed full of skoal and pabst, there is no need to place blame on 'the system' for the tripe they're calling 'dialect.' no. dialect is a way of speaking unique to a region, not a fucking decimation of intelligence and hope. go wrestle a fucking alligator already, and if he drags you under, he just wants to play. remember, if you try to breathe, you're insulting him.

5. for all intensive purposes
um, have you ever picked up a book, newspaper or magazine in your life and in it seen this phrase written? no, dickweed, you haven't. and yet you hear it all the time. what's up with that? i'll tell you what's up: you've spelled it phonetically, which goes to show you just wanted to sound intelligent using a grown-up phrase that only sooper smrt people use and have thus shown how mentally inept you are because you can’t have any actual concept of what this phrase means if you write it ‘intensive purposes’. what the fuck are intensive purposes?

look, brainiac, the phrase is for all intents and purposes. not intensive purposes, unless maybe you’re an obsessed stalker and you’re writing your purposes in a creepy diary you’re creating out of this girl’s used receipts, tissues and hair you took from the girl’s bathroom that you’re pretty sure is hers because it curls in just the right way. and even then, to stalk is your intent and purpose, not intensive purpose. so, shut up and stop being so untalented in the thinking department.


6. i could care less
well crap on a cracker, i bet you actually could care less, because it would appear that you've exhausted your brain by caring so goddamn much about your unimportant problems that you left no capacity whatsoever for cognitive reasoning. jerkoffs break this golden oldie out all the time, and it never ceases to amaze me how many people don't realize they're flat-out as wrong as republicans.

what you mean to say is that you couldn't care less. let's look at an example of this atrocity:

imbecile #1: i heard that cow farts are destroying the ozone layer!
imbecile #2: whatev. i could care less. we can tan faster!

if you're a total tard and you care more about tanning than the protective layer of shit that makes sure you don't get a dozen kinds of cancer, it is sadly safe to assume you don't care about the cows and their methane destroying said layer. so it would reason that you are both really orange and probably have bad extensions and also that you could stand to care more about the ozone layer because you don't care at all about it right now. hence, if you could care more, you cannot care less. cripes.

let's have another example because i'm relatively sure one scenario is not good enough for you dopes.

jerk #1: dude, my dog died.
jerk #2: so? he bit my nuts that one time. i could care less if he died a thousand fiery deaths.
jerk #1: ...your mom's a whore.
jerk #2: ...so is your dog for chomping my balls.

let's review: the dog that died bit your nuts. hence, you are not sad that the damn dog is dead. you do not care. you care much less than jerk #1. in fact, one might say you couldn't care less. am i making myself clear to you cretins? i hope so, because did you know every time you fuck up could and couldn't, it makes you smell more like a cow fart? true story.

7. utilize
alright, i understand that in some circles utilize is a perfectly acceptable word. are you an engineer? do you work for nasa? is your iq 180? no? then cut it the fuck out and say 'use'. jesus. here, this annoys me so much that i can't even put it into words so i'm going to let the good folks behind the apple dictionary widget speak for me:

usage: utilize, borrowed in the 19th century from the french: utiliser, means 'make practical use or effective use of.' because it is a more formal word than use and is often used in context (as in business writing) where the ordinary verb use would be simpler and more direct, utilize may strike readers as pretentious jargon and should therefore be used sparingly.

unfortunately the dictionary did not include this addendum, furnished by the Society for Hunting & Trapping Useless Pretentious fucks, or S.H.U.T. U.P.:

if you are an interior designer, sales associate, office minion, barista, or general jackass, you have no right or reason to use 'utilize' and therefore will be penalized for said unnecessary verbal crime. punishment for any jerkass who does not hold a phd in physics, engineering or some other impossible science using 'utilize' in any context will be done up the butt with a cactus. repeatedly.

8. it's/its
alright. this is not hard. this is the kind of shit that preschoolers can master in eight languages if you give them 5 minutes with a stickybear bop cd-rom, and yet here you are in all your wisdom saying 'its my birthday, yay!' i don't give a flying fuckling if it's your birthday, you will sit here for two minutes and learn the goddamn difference between it's and its.

it's:
short for it is. that's all there is to it. it + is = it's.
ie: it is time for birthday cake = it's time for birthday cake.

its:
belonging to it, quality of it. basically, if you could not say 'it is', you say its. look below.
as in: the cake was so half-assed that its icing resembled mud and tasted like ass.
see how you couldn't say 'it is icing'? that's what we call idiot-proofing. if, after this, you screw up its and it's, you have my full permission to see what happens when you taunt a rattlesnake.

get it? let's mix and match: "like your present? _____ a bottle opener that says 'beer! _____ what's for dinner!" said her boyfriend. not so tragically, _____ sharp end soon found _____ way into his aorta because she broke up with him a week ago and he only showed up for cake, the bastard.

if you answered it's, it's, its and its, congratulations, you have a functioning frontal lobe. if you answered in any other combination, i hope you eat the entire birthday cake and contract diabetes.

9. weird.
look, buttermonkeys, this isn't hard. this is like the one time ever that people actually pay attention to a fooking lesson they learned in school, that being the 'i before e except after c' rule that we learned in third grade and it's obnoxious as all hell that nobody ever taught them the exceptions. that's right, i'm looking at you, teachers. what the fuck are we paying you for? oh, right. we hardly pay you shit. nevermind.

anyway, since nobody's paying me either i feel i'm equally qualified to teach you: weird is weirdly spelled. get it? see what i did there? didya? eh, eh? look i only ask so many times because i'm quite sure you didn't. w-e-i-r-d. stop listening to the i before e rule on this one. it's not wierd. it's weird. the end. ass.

10. eye dont no y u r typin lyke thiz lol fOr ReAlz!!1!
jesus christ on a crutch. stop. there is no other grammatical order i will give you. just cut it the fuck out. if you have to stop to think of a goddamn alternate spelling for one-letter words or in turn create one-letter blips out of actual longer ones, you are spending too much time on this and not enough on learning how to kill yourself for being such a waste of space. to be perfectly clear, i will jam pliers through your nose and into your limbic system, ripping it and your pathetic dried-up brain's other lobes out through your nostrils much like ancient egyptian mummies if you don't stop it with this abhorrent typing shit. spell correctly. also? ThIs Is FuCkInG rEtArDeD. do you know how long it takes to type that verbal diarrhea? holy god, get a goddamn motherfucking life you douchebag, stop polluting the internet with your mismatched case tripe, and/or hang yourself. in fact, no. you're too fargone to be taught proper typing. just go ahead with the hanging.

ten things i love about entourage

okay so i lied. i said the next list would be grammatical errors and/or insults, but, to hell with it and back i say. i just finished watching the latest episode of hbo's 'hollywood insider'-ish offering lovingly (or despisedly) known as entourage. and thus beget tonight's list,

10 things i love about hbo's entourage

1. kevin dillon as drama.
egads, brilliant, this guy. it's been a long day since his ranks amongst the Platoon, but you know dillon thinks he's hot shit as he struts around in ugly manboob-clinging shirts and apes in a kitchen baking tofu for vince and co. and you know what? he totally is. honestly, he's the reason i tune into this thing. if only to hear the words 'viking quest' uttered in complete earnest every week.

sample of greatness:
turtle: (looking at the pacific ocean) what direction is that?
johnny drama: it's east, idiot.
eric: it's west, idiot.
johnny drama: (long pause) well, i mean, in new york it's east.

2. turtle.
and this isn't because the turtle is one of my inexplicably favorite animals. it's just because he's so delightfully unneccessary for vince and hence is the cheddar cheese of the show. he's not the meat of the outfit, but a delish dish just doesn't taste the same without the garnish and extra calories. wow that was a bad metaphor, but turtle's a bad charicature- or rather, he *could* be bad and should be, and instead he's all goofy and endearing. even if he is a yankees fan. so basically we all win.

slice of greatness:
turtle: *reading a review of vince's newest movie*
"fuckin prick called you a thespian!"

3. vince's pritty pritty eyes.
what, like i have to explain that?



4. the cars.
so i'm a whore for expensive automobiles, is that a sin? oh, for real? damn. well, see you in hell then. i'll bring the sunblock, you bring the skewers for s'mores.




5. ari effin' gold.
holy shit. never has a more foul-mouthed suit so bracingly captured my heart, but, there it is. yes he, the maven of 'cunt-muscle' and thousands of acidic 'FUCK!'s, is the #2 reason i tune in after johnny drama. i know i should have put him in the #2 slot but i'm lazy. anyway, ari the power agent, with his lloyd-bashing, hen-pecked husbandry (i know husbandry actually refers to farming and raising of animals but deal, blog readers, this is the internet and not the almanac) and penchant for beating things to a pulp leads me to the conclusion that i love this man. as in have his illegitemate babies even though his wife would shank me kind of love. i know, right? lame. but so addictive. try not to be persuaded by the power that is ari. like the gaysian lloyd, you'll be hard-pressed not to make out.

representative sample of the greatness:
"You know what other class I took at Harvard? Business Ethics. I don't steal other people's motherfucking clients! But in your case I'm going to make an exception! I'm going to take everyone, your B-level sitcom stars, your reality tv writers, when I'm done with you you're gonna be repping sideshow freaks! You need Jo Jo the dogface bitchboy, call Josh Weinfuck, the lightweight pen stealing fuckface!"

6. debi mazar.
blink and you'll miss her ever-shrinking role, but as pretty much the only power-playing female of the entire show, shawna (vince's publicist and 'west coast mom') is a vision in hard-blocked accent, comely white suits and langauge even more foul than mine. it's like i had a lovechild with a sailor, let it grow up in the backalleys of queens and then sent it to publicist finishing school for the hardassed. it even has lovely hair and a pretty set of nails to boot.

why i love her:
turtle: you should get me on a talk show. i'd kill.
shauna: maybe i'll get you on springer. fat, little horny fucks and the women that despise them.
drama: *snickers*
shauna: what are you laughing at? maybe i'll get you on montel with don swayze, joey travolta and the other retarded star siblings.

7. mandy moore is a two-timing cantankerous bitch.
personally, i always knew this was true. she slinks by on that 'awww i'm so adorable look at meeee *squeakcleansqueak*' image and yet only manages to create crap movie after crap movie, and excuse me while i barf them up and clean it with a mop made of her hair- her perfect hair that 13-year old girls think is made of golden kitten whiskers or something equally as stupid that only 13-year old girls would think it, like the fact that mandy moore is not actually a raving bitch underneath that cupie façade. to wit, thank you hbo, for creating the mandy-breaks-vince's-heart-and-puts-it-in-a-blender-stompity-stompity! storyline. she denied his marriage proposal. bitchface. years later she breaks up with her fiance to go out with vince again? BIIIITCH. after a week, she starts going back to the fiance behind vince's back. deliciously evil. and then she breaks poor vince's ass, goes back to the fiance (whom she was marrying in like a week) and still has to work with him for months on a movie set. HAHA. wow, way to be a douchebag mandy. two stars for you. and three for the hbo writing team.

behold:
vince: (after mandy dumps him) "...i feel like i got shot!"

8. all the cameos.
the fact that in the pilot episode we get a livid ali larter storming through (and we are never told why, nor do we ever see her again) should be the tip-off- random celebrities from a-list to f-list are going to wander around the show for no apparent reason, and it will be amusing. there's bob saget at the whore house, garey busey and his ugly statue on vince's lawn, larry david haggling with ari, seth green telling eric he banged his girlfriend, and u2 telling johnny drama to have a happy birthday. i'd think of more, but frankly, i'm lazy and feel like breaking out my entourage dvd's. oh wait, i don't have those. damn being poor. vince, give me some cash.

classic line: (at a madam's house)
johnny drama: turtle, if you can't get laid here, turn your dick in.
*5 minutes later*
turtle: ...did you just get cock-blocked by bob saget?

9. LLOYD!!
oh come on. try not to love the cute little gay asian assistant man. the fact that ari makes threats to pay him in yen, that he tries to come into work dressed as andre 3000 from outkast, he of the undying loyalty to ari who tries to throw computers out the window- it's just lovely. also? he got johnny drama his next pilot, something ari couldn't even manage. way to go lloyd.

see, really, this is why he's great:
ari: 'if this isn't taken care of by the time i get back to the office, i will choke you out with a strap-on!'
lloyd: *hangs up phone* '...pottymouth.'

10. my dad doesn't get it.
because if he did, i'd be really scared.

the ten most uncalled for things on planet earth

now let me preface this by saying these are not major things that have made the list. you'll notice a distinct lack of terrorism, plagues (actual, not perceived), wars, cancer, cripplingly shitty music, etc. the reason? everybody knows those are lame. this is for the top ten things that fewer earth-dwelling folk actually realize totally suck and need to be eradicated. and so, without further ado, i bring you:

the top ten most unnecessary things on planet earth, or maybe just the usa because i haven't been out of the country in so long my worldview is probably narrow and dumb enough to make a run-on sentence instead of a succinct title for the inaugural list of this blog.

(these are in no particular order, because i'm not about to get all homeland security and color code this shit for you. )

1. asparagus.
there is no redeeming quality to this sludge. first of all, the name? it phonetically includes the word 'ass'. and if you really try hard enough, it ends with it too. ass squared. that should be your tip-off from the get go. secondly, when someone decides to cook them, there's no getting that smell of warmed over sewage plant refuse out of your microwave. and when you have to wrestle the saran wrap off the plate of sinewy, puke-green tastebombs, you're bound to get a steam burn and a whiff of odor most foul, like curdled milk and rotten grapes and something you find growing underneath the deck after a really rainy summer and fall buried under a bag of opened fertilizer.

and i haven't even gotten to taste and texture yet. if you are unfortunate enough to be a wee child who is nutritionally forced to eat one of these boogers of satan, this is what you'll notice: the tree-like tip is mealy, crumby and disgusting in many an odiferous way. maybe this is how that scum sucker in your fish tank feels. and the stalk itself? it's stringy, damp, and feels like you're flossing your teeth with rotted eel skins. you may think eel skins would be a nice break, because isn't it the rule that when something tastes god-awful but you're made to swallow it before you can leave the table, you somehow wind up chewing it about 10325892 chews more than the steak and potatoes on your plate? and of course, once you finally do manage to swallow the putrid abomination of vegetable feces down the hatch, you'll reach for the milk. but the whole process has so sullied your taste buds that even the milk tastes slimy, repulsive, and less like milk and more like ass.

and so, i hereby request that the standard dictionary spelling of asparagus be changed to assparagus, alternately spelled assparagass. please, webster? just as a warning. do it for the children.

2. drivers who pop out in front of you from 10 feet away and then proceed to go 8 mph.

it happens all the time. you're minding your own automobillic business, obeying the rules of the road and from out of nowhere a rogue bullet fires out in front of you at a blinding speed. it doesn't matter if you're going 25 or 60 miles an hour, on a back road or a highway, this catapult of steel and tires just can't wait until you drive the extra 15 feet to pass the outlet it's waiting to bust out of. their time is too preciousssss. and so, the battlements of pavement they storm! like a whipcrack they cut you off, you grind your brakes so as not to obliterate the fenders, and think to yourself 'god, what an asshat' while secretly kind of wishing you could handle a turn with that much screech.

and then it happens. as soon as this turd of a driver has muscled his way in front of you, blocking your rights to drive the goddamn legal limit, he slows down to anywhere between ten and 20 miles an hour. and looks at the scenery. and weaves a bit. probably forgets to signal when he's turning (thank god he's turning though) or more likely leaves the blinker on and you are forced to drive 17 miles behind this jackass with a maddening turn signal blinking into your retina like a visual representation of chinese water torture for the eyeball. what was all that hurry about, you may wonder- why the hell did this jerkface pull out so early and hastily and then slow to the speed of a snail on valium?

because a bad driver is a bad driver. the end. oh, and nine times out of ten it's going to be an old guy in a hat. trust me. if they're over sixty and there is a cap involved, they're a shitty driver. do not pass go, do not collect $200. the power of sucktastic driving seems to have been magically sewn into the ridiculous flat brims of their moose club caps, and expect to follow this guy's exhaust-plagued ass (they probably haven't gotten their emissions tested since '72) until you reach your destination. and on your way back home you'll probably get stuck behind his wife. watch out, she's a speed demon. 19 mph she did the other day, i'm telling you, and it was a ripsnorter.

3. tapered leg pants.
i have no idea, nor do i want to do any research about how this tragic cut of fabric came to be. i'll just assume that someone sadistic woke up one morning and thought this shit was a good idea. no. it's not. it is not a flattering look for anybody. i don't care if you weigh 400 pounds or if you're kate moss (who, coke scandal or not, still looks like a busted gerbil on ostrich legs)- you cannot walk around in pants that look like pastry tubes. you just can't. no. i refuse to write anymore on this topic. end of discussion.

4. dolphins.
fuck dolphins. okay? seriously. i said it. i hate the effing dolphins. but whyyyy, you ask me, why would you hate on such cute little creatures? i'll tell you why: they're not so goddamn cute. i mean, really- creepy beady eyes, completely ridiculous snouts, shit eating grins because they know you all think they're the most adorable little water creature ever, and lastly? that noise. that ear-eating, soul-sucking chirp that sounds like a goat on helium being shot by a machine gun- why the hell is that cute?

and it doesn't end there. no. no it doesn't. other reasons dolphins suck at life: if they're so smart, why do they insist on getting caught in the tuna nets? i'm trying to enjoy some delicious tuna salad, but these fuckers have to get in the way and mess up the process and make it all environmentally safe and up the price of tuna if i want the luxury of eating dolphin safe fish. well screw that, i petition bumblebee or perhaps chicken of the sea to stop caring about dolphins and bring down the price. if they're retarded enough to swim into the nets, then darwinism says they should be mixed with mayonnaise and celery and enjoyed with chips and a pepsi. other reasons dolphins are lame include flipper, which was the shittiest show that ever shat its way onto my afternoon nickelodeon programming as a wee child. i wanted to watch salute your shorts, not a goddamn dolphin and his friend on the dock. god. they did nothing but chirp and pretend to understand each other. also, dolphins make really stupid-looking tattoos. i will bet you ten bucks you know a chick with a really 'cute' lower back tattoo that features dolphins swimming around near the sea of ass, or the bay of tailbone. she thinks it's unique. it just means she has nothing else better to spend her money on and when she was 7 she probably colored with lisa frank markers, rode a pony and didn't invite you to her birthday party.

so basically, dolphins all deserve to be shot. or eaten.

5. sporks.
oh, the spork. shaped like a spoon but with tiny little pre-pubescent fork tines. what can i say about this piece of shit design? you can't hold soup because it falls through the teeny tiny tine cracks. you can't pierce anything with it because the spoon bit gets in the way. forget about twirling pasta. forget about having anything even passably decent for lunch in your office or school cafeteria, and hope you're enjoying a lump of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, because that's all you're going to be able to pick up with this waste of plastic. you probably couldn't even do a decent job of gouging someone's eye out in a torture chamber because the forkish bits would break and the spoonish bits would bend and you'd just be left with someone screaming that there's plastic in their eye and could you cut it out with the lame attempt at destroying their vision, please and thank you.

6. bees.
before you can say it, honey is disgusting and not a valuable member of the human diet, therefore no, bees have absolutely no purpose. bees, wasps, hornets, all those buzzing stinging motherfuckers who think it's cool to colonize and hole up in and eat and destroy and generally take up their abhorrent residence in our eaves, decks, attics, and backyards deserve a good steaming spray of bee-b-gone. why?

*hornets. they're mean, ugly, nasty, don't even try to make honey which some people apparently value as 'food'. destroy woodwork. very loud. very hurty. icon for too many school sports teams, cockblocks mascot diversity.

*yellow jackets. this is not just because i got stung by near a whole hive of them when i was about nine including one in the eyeball just a week after recovering from a black eye in the same goddamn eye after a tragic run-in with my brother during a game of capture the flag. this is about the fact that all these things do is fly in your face while you're trying to enjoy something out doors (picnics, bike rides, ritual taunting circles on the blacktop in elementary school) and their entire purpose in life is to sting something. anything. they're like a fucking heroin addict who just thirsts for your lovely flesh and once they've needled you? they die. way to go, nature. awesome.

*also, have you ever seen someone with an allergic reaction to bees? no thank you. it's as bad as that kid who can't eat peanuts who eats a cookie that was processed in a plant that may or may not contain traces of peanuts or tree nuts and whose face baloons into a tomato with hair and there are ambulances and frantic mothers and the flashing of id bracelets and jesus timmy we just wanted to enjoy this kid's birthday party, why'd you go and ruin it by drinking out of a can of soda that had a bee in it? ass. wait, that comparison was supposed to be about a kid who ate a peanut. oh whatever. bees make me so mad my continuity fails, and that's reason enough to call for their extinction.

so in conclusion, bees and timmy need the boot. actually timmy might have gotten it by now if he hasn't kicked the soda habit.

7. the new york yankees.
i could probably make a whole new list based on the ten things that suck about the state of baseball in general, but i'll start with the king: the goddamn yankees. and yes, certainly because i'm a sox fan and johnny damon is dead to me might have something to do with it, and by the way when i say dead i mean i hope he meets the unfortunate end of a vat of aforementioned asparagus, falls ungraciously, hellaciously ill, is transported to a witch doctor in africa who possesses the knowledge of the world's only asparagus-overdose cure which involves a firebrush enema and tragically while performing the custom the witchdoctor and his habbery jabbery hocus pocus incurs the wrath of staunchly anti-magic killer bees (the only reprieve on my fuck all bees list), who chase him and damon into the plains where the yankee defector is run over by a rabid hippo and then finds comfort in the embrace of ten thousand fire ants before being shot by a hunter who thought he was a rare shrieking gazelle. but i digress. things about the yankees that must be eradicated:

*joe torre and his hat. for real, could he wear that any higher up on his head? it makes me wanna get all whack-a-mole with a bat and smash it down so he won't look like his head is 2 feet tall.

*a rod and his purple lips. for real. get some carmex, or at least some rouge to fool us into thinking you aren't actually dying of hypothermia.

*derek jeter and his copyrighted smirk. how enfuriating is that thing?

*the highest salary set of any team in mlb, which, okay i realize isn't much to argue about since my beloved sox take the #2 slot, but, still. a list is a list and a bitching must be heard.

now, look. i'm not saying completely annihilate the yankees. and i'm not besmirching yankee fans; for pete's sake my mother loves them and i have a few dear friends who live and breathe for the bronx bombers. and the crux of it is, being a red sox fan wouldn't be half as much fun without the nemesis. and anyhow, it's not the team itself that i despise, it's the concept of said team that irks: an all-business, pinstriped clean-shaven juggernaut-cum-'team' expected to win. seriously. cut it out with the winning. it's boring. it's like the damn williams sisters or tiger. give somebody else a chance and maybe the world won't loathe you so friggin much.

proposed plan: deny the yankees a world series win for at least 50 years. after suitable dry spell, a reemergence of winning streak may be considered. and may damon's name forever be wiped from the record books, amen.

8. incompetent parents.
this is all you need to know about these idiots: they think it's okay and functional to reason with a toddler. yes, because little bobby fully understands 'please', 'i wish you wouldn't' and 'would you rather?'. (and really, as much as you'll hear me rant about children and how i never want them because they are parasites who feed on everything you own including your own soul and/or will to live, i blame the parents and not their offspring. kids aren't born knowing they're total asswipes. they must be taught.) but back to the parents, god, what fucktards. look, you can't string a baby up on a leash and let it run wild and call it a substitute for watching the damn thing. and yet surprisingly, the leash is the only medium in which these parents realize their spawn are like puppies. you pay to put the puppy in obedience training, right? puppy gets sent to the doghouse for peeing on the carpet, yes? puppy only gets fed what you put in its bowl and not what it wants at the drop of a hat, am i wrong? so stop fucking catering to your 2-foot tall person and letting it hit you, scream, pull your hair, demand chocolate pudding for breakfast and shit on you. give it some goddamn obedience training, stop letting it chew on everything, and know that the kid is not going to understand the importance of 'feelings'. it's going to understand 'yes' and 'no'. stick to it. jerks.

9. tornados.
if i need to expand on why these things suck, you lose and i deserve to punch your face. and no the pun was not intended but i'm sure you went there anyway.



10. junior high school.
okay. first of all, we're not talking your pansycrap k-8th private school 8th grade here. no. we are talking about horomonally quarantined 13 and 14 year olds shoved in their own hellbox for 7th and 8th grades. yeah, that's smart. let's give viciously awkward girls and boys who have been growing boobs or scraggly facial weeds a school all their own, where there are no younger kids to mentor and no older kids to regulate. yeah. brilliant. let's also send them to the same crazy wire-wielding man who straps them into braces because what everyone learning to kiss needs is a beartrap mauling their gums. rigid social structure and heinous mockery of anybody who doesn't completely and totally fit in because they won't drink schnapps or smoke in the bathrooms? are you kidding? it'll never happen. this couldn't possibly develop into a pressure cooker of stature, bad cologne, teachers who resent the little shits they've succumbed to enduring for 40 hours a week, ceaseless mockery and out of whack body glands. not ever.


and that, my friends, is a list of the ten most unnecessary things on planet earth. due up tonight or sometime tomorrow, the top ten grammatical things you do to piss me off, followed by the ten best insults for a variety of occasions. later kids.

i'll give you five for sucking, radio

so i was driving home from the grocery store after being solicited about 17 times by various employee folk asking if i was 'finding everything alright' (i'd find it sooner if you'd all shut the hell up and let me shop by myself thank you), and that goddamn '100 years to liiiiieeeieiieieve' song by five for fighting came on the radio. is that music? because, no. not at all. also, when did alanis morisette drip into something wrapped in gold with a bow and a card from hallmark's 'zomg cupie angels!! awww' line? her new happy songs bother me.

clearly, this drivel known as 'today's hit music' needs to be destroyed. as do solicitous employees of low-fi grocery chains. these plagues, seemingly minor, are on my shit list. oh that's right, i colberted the hell out of those things. and then i got to thinking- there must be a few more things i really hate enough to rant to the anonymous internet about. but at what increment? ten sounded good. nice and neat, a finite amount or capsule, if you will, of weary disgrace and loathing. yes. a list of ten. done.

oh, you were expecting the list now? no no, my children. this must be ruminated on. i must scour my bitchings of blogs past and unearth the truly ten most obnoxious things that exist on planet earth. revulsion wasn't built in a day.



and by popular (in my head) demand, upcoming Lists of Ten:

*ten best ways to spend a lazy afternoon
*ten stupidest things i've ever heard in my life
*ten most random lobbyist-supported days (ie 'national smores day')
*ten lamest things about the desert
*maybe ten things i'd like to see the president do before he's out of office (#1: stop making like a dyson with all the sucking at stuff you didn't even know it was possible to suck or was even there to be sucked in the first place).
*your ideas, because quite frankly i'm not the bottomless pit of wit and wisdom you all seem to think i am

so, yes. these ponderings and lampoons will happen. as soon as the mt dew kicks in and i tire of the hos in the grotto. what? i call my garden the grotto, and i'm simply going out to do some weeding.

i know, i'm a bad liar.