there are some things i have to say. i've been having a lot of "the feelings" lately, mainly about inconsequential things. like real human emotions. i'm not quite sure what to do with myself. so, to deal this influx of humanity, i've been watching a lot of dexter and eating a lot of quesadillas as i furtively check the weather reports in hopes that we'll get a snow day and i can sleep in and wallow in my own squalor instead of getting up and facing twenty shining faces of kids who literally cannot control their little bodies and their excitement for the impending holiday. shit's whack. they're all looney tunes these days, and it's rubbing off on me. OMG i'm off track. THE POINT IS, I HAVE FEELINGS. THEY ARE:
1. devastation. i am absolutely (and completely irrationally) wracked with despair and desolation over the heartbreaking split of michael c. hall and jennifer carpenter. like, i actually had a coronary when EW first reported the news. i gasped and clutched my chest and bemoaned the end of this brief but adorable romance. it doesn't help that i've been re-watching dexter on netflix, so their faces are fresh in my mind. but whyyy, guys? i mean you beat cancer together but you can't beat a little "irreconcilable differences"?? i just honestly have no words. this break-up has just been a knife to my heart. they just seemed happy! and i have a weird penchant for real life couples who are on the same show (in case you were wondering, i believe there are now currently 5 -- yes, i listed in my bereavement). i know i get way too attached to celebrity couples, but the past few weeks have really sent me into a tailspin, and this was just the cherry on the shit sundae.
2. hope. GUYS. i recently heard a radio interview with the love of my life, sir matthew gray gubler. HE IS SINGLE!!!!!1 I didn't even know this. based on some internet stalkage I have done, i kind of thought he was in a relationship with some beezy model who is even two years younger than i am which would give them a whole decade of age difference, BUT!!!!!! seriously i am squealing just thinking about it. the interview was conducted on Nov. 13, 2010 and mgg said, and i QUOTH, "a nice, friendly, well intentioned lady, i would not be averse to." L:FKSH:HL:KDHGSDF:JK EXCUSE ME!!! i am all of those things. well, i'm nice in real life. the anonymity of the internet just lures me into going all bitchy on certain people (miley, stephanie "vamp" moyer, etc.) i can't help myself, i'm an addict. the point is, in real life, i am (though still delightfully sardonic), nice. and friendly. i'm a goddamn 2nd grade teacher. they PAY me to be friendly. (oh wait, no they don't. i pay them to be friendly since getting your masters is not exactly a mo' money mo' problems situation. just the mo' problems part). the POINT IS, i can really crank up the sunshine until it's shining out of my ass. you are welcome for that visual. AND, i think anyone would has ever read this blog (so, two people) would know that my intentions re: the delectable dr. reid are nothing less than WELL. i mean, i want to sex him up, move into an artistically decorated apartment with him, bake him cookies and meet his coworkers, and eventually marry and reproduce with him. lovingly. can you think of any better intentions?!?! SO, this holiday season, there's a lot to be hopeful for. i can feel it in my bones that 2011 is the year of me + mgg.
sexually deprived. i'm going through a spell. a dry one. it is not great, and i see no end in the vicinity. can i just say HOW annoying is it that in order to be "respectable" and "classy" and all that other bullshit, you have to put in a goddamn metric ton of effort?! so, FIRST of all you have to find a boy. one who preferably doesn't repulse you in any way. this is more difficult than one might think. THEN, you have to put in a lot of face time and act all annoyingly flirty and you have to talk about your interests and your goals and your hobbies and it's just all so dumb. PLUS, you have to pretend to be interested in hearing all of those things about him, when really your end goal is just to get off, not get a boyfriend. frankly, it's exhausting. THEN, you have to put in a few make out sessions and blow jobs. ugh. if i were queen of the word, i would outlaw blow jobs except for maybe one day a year. or, whenever i felt like giving one. ANYWAY, THEN you have to get your lady parts all ready for business. i'm not going to lie -- mine have closed up shop. but you have to make sure you're looking fly. and then, FIIIIINALLY, lightyears later, you're finally DTP. But like, why does it have to be such a process? i just wish it was socially acceptable to skip all those incessant steps and get right on to the main event. i blame the puritans. motherfucking prudes.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
i've always known how i would die. and not in the emo-macabre way that it immediately sounds, because i hate emo more than anything. Genuine human emotions make me want to vom, let alone an excess of them, so i promise i'm not being emo. it's just -- i know how i'm going to die. the exact details are still a little hazy and open-ended, but i am fairly confident in the fact that i will meet my maker in a way that would really only be plausible on some sort of ridiculous television show, like the reverse of "I survived!" on TLC. Basically, I believe death will come to me after a series of bizarre accidents that have like a one in a million chance of actually occurring, nevermind in a consecutive sequence and to one human bean.
I'm not actually very clumsy, which might be startling. i'm just mildly retarded. I have actually had a few graceful moments in my life but they are always tempered by my inability to actually function as a legitimate human; my fourth-grade ballet recital springs to mind. i ripped that stage to shreds with my perfectly executed pirouettes. brimming with pride and ego, i pranced off stage and immediately slammed my body into a large pillar, stumbled backwards, and took out three of my peers. So it's like my body can't decide if it's human, and therefore whether or not it wants to behave accordingly or if it's a malfunctioning corporeal body. frankly, it's irritating and results in injuries both to my person and my ego.
One would think that by this time in my life, i'd be immune to humiliation. i mean, i've been publicly mortified in pretty much every way humanity has come across in the history of the world. i've slipped on ice and landed ass-up in front of crowds of people. i've peed my pants in public. (true story. i have really poor bladder control, and sometimes the combination of copious amounts of southern comfort + a rap battle between two of the whitest people i know is just too much. i thought i was going to throw up i was laughing so hard, but instead i crumbled into a little heap on the ground, and wheezed, "i'm peeeeeeeeeing!" i was. luckily, i was wearing a skirt, and being the classy girl i am i just...well, i discarded my undergarmets in a downtown trash can and continued to live my life, girl. in retrospect, not a proud life moment. WOW longest parentheticals evAR). the POINT IS, judging by my past indiscretions, i should truly have no shame. and yet, somehow, like a raccoon in the night, it keeps creeping back.
now that i've established that i have little to no control over my own body (functions and otherwise), and embarrass myself easily in public, i think you can see how i would come to the likely conclusion that i will die in a series of unfortunate events, accidentally, and through no fault other than my own. the reason why this thought has come jarring back into my mind is because i actually almost died in a startlingly similar fashion just today. i was on campus, walking home from the education department. i was by myself, but there were plenty of people out and about, milling around, being collegiate assholes and whatnot. all of a sudden, my foot hit a stick on the path. I skidded on the stick for a second, regained my footing, and metaphorically wiped the sweat of my brow. NOT FOUR SECONDS LATER did my other foot hit a divot in the sidewalk. down i went, but it wasn't just a typical fall. My huge, heavy bag swung around off my shoulder and slammed into my hip (where, coincidentally, i already have a large bruise from when i walked straight into the corner of our (wooden) futon frame. in broad daylight. with my eyes open), and i went down on my stomach, the knitting needle in my bag merely an inch from my jugular. like, REALLY world? reeeeally?
so, long-windedness aside, if you ever see an obituary that involves a tramautic fall, a rusty can opener, flailing body limbs, black ice, and seems altogether unbelievable, i've departed this dear world. and obviously, i've done it in high fashion. if you come to my funeral, you can expect ample cat stevens music, absolutely no prayers other than those sung by sir bon jovi, and a superfluous amount of alcohol that my family is inhaling under the guise of grief and self-medication. enjoy!
I'm not actually very clumsy, which might be startling. i'm just mildly retarded. I have actually had a few graceful moments in my life but they are always tempered by my inability to actually function as a legitimate human; my fourth-grade ballet recital springs to mind. i ripped that stage to shreds with my perfectly executed pirouettes. brimming with pride and ego, i pranced off stage and immediately slammed my body into a large pillar, stumbled backwards, and took out three of my peers. So it's like my body can't decide if it's human, and therefore whether or not it wants to behave accordingly or if it's a malfunctioning corporeal body. frankly, it's irritating and results in injuries both to my person and my ego.
One would think that by this time in my life, i'd be immune to humiliation. i mean, i've been publicly mortified in pretty much every way humanity has come across in the history of the world. i've slipped on ice and landed ass-up in front of crowds of people. i've peed my pants in public. (true story. i have really poor bladder control, and sometimes the combination of copious amounts of southern comfort + a rap battle between two of the whitest people i know is just too much. i thought i was going to throw up i was laughing so hard, but instead i crumbled into a little heap on the ground, and wheezed, "i'm peeeeeeeeeing!" i was. luckily, i was wearing a skirt, and being the classy girl i am i just...well, i discarded my undergarmets in a downtown trash can and continued to live my life, girl. in retrospect, not a proud life moment. WOW longest parentheticals evAR). the POINT IS, judging by my past indiscretions, i should truly have no shame. and yet, somehow, like a raccoon in the night, it keeps creeping back.
now that i've established that i have little to no control over my own body (functions and otherwise), and embarrass myself easily in public, i think you can see how i would come to the likely conclusion that i will die in a series of unfortunate events, accidentally, and through no fault other than my own. the reason why this thought has come jarring back into my mind is because i actually almost died in a startlingly similar fashion just today. i was on campus, walking home from the education department. i was by myself, but there were plenty of people out and about, milling around, being collegiate assholes and whatnot. all of a sudden, my foot hit a stick on the path. I skidded on the stick for a second, regained my footing, and metaphorically wiped the sweat of my brow. NOT FOUR SECONDS LATER did my other foot hit a divot in the sidewalk. down i went, but it wasn't just a typical fall. My huge, heavy bag swung around off my shoulder and slammed into my hip (where, coincidentally, i already have a large bruise from when i walked straight into the corner of our (wooden) futon frame. in broad daylight. with my eyes open), and i went down on my stomach, the knitting needle in my bag merely an inch from my jugular. like, REALLY world? reeeeally?
so, long-windedness aside, if you ever see an obituary that involves a tramautic fall, a rusty can opener, flailing body limbs, black ice, and seems altogether unbelievable, i've departed this dear world. and obviously, i've done it in high fashion. if you come to my funeral, you can expect ample cat stevens music, absolutely no prayers other than those sung by sir bon jovi, and a superfluous amount of alcohol that my family is inhaling under the guise of grief and self-medication. enjoy!
Thursday, November 25, 2010
it would be easy for me to write off today, thanksgiving, as just another random thursday, but a shitty one because 30 rock isn't on. you see, i've had to cancel my thanksgiving plans (going to maine with dear roomie), on account of the fact that I was recently diagnosed with a sinus infection, and ear infection, and bronchitis. the doctor at the clinic was indelibly impressed with my outrageously strong immune system, because apparently i should have figured out i was dying like a week earlier than i did, because my body should have shut down already. sooo yeah. i'm stuck in worcester, massachusetts, the shittiest place in the entire country, sipping on gatorade and drowning my sorrows in broad-spectrum antibiotics. so you can see where i could throw up my hands at the whole "giving thanks" shabang and retreat to the cave that is my bed, but i'm actually in a pretty great mood. and it might just be the drugs talking, because lord knows i've had a lot today, but i have a lot to be thankful for.
1. first and foremost, i am thankful for twitter. twitter is the best invention in the world. except maybe like, toothpaste and laptops. i believe i've mentioned once or thrice how twitter allows me to stalk celebrities with reckless abandon; if you know me at all, you'll know this is all i ever want in this world. more specifically, twitter has allowed me and my main man, a certain Mr. Gray Gubler, to inch closer and closer to lovahs status. I mean, he might not know it yet, but beeelieve me, it's happening. it's like a slow moving "accio" spell -- like i've lost my voice and haven't completely mastered nonverbal spells yet (just, go with it, okay? deathly hallows part 1 coming out just reaffirmed my extreme sadness that i'm forever destined to remain a muggle). OKAY the point is, i'm dually thankful for twitter and it's main purpose in my life, allowing me to grow closer to MGG. I now know a looot more about him, and will use this excessive knowledge to my advantage when I move down to LA to stalk him. And, I'm still clinging to the slimmest hope that someday he'll tweet me back. because really the only online relationship i can get on board with is one that ends with me and MGG bumping uglies in his Criminal Minds trailer. Which would be, ultimately, more ideal than doing it in a bed in his (i'm sure artistically decorated) apartment, because I could walk out of the trailer post-coital and see my #5 girl crush paget brewster and be all, "oh sup, girl". see, i have it all worked out. foolproof.
2. secondly, i'm thankful for the genius who invented netflix. i actually know this genius because i've babysat for his kids because they live across the street from my bff's grandma in santa cruz, but SERIOUSLY thank you sir-whose-name-i-can't-remember-but-your-kids-are-cutiebeans. as i've been wallowing around in a pit of crumpled kleenex and coughdrops, netflix instantwatch has been my savior. one show in particular has kept me occupied as i cough up half a lung -- psych. ALL of the first four seasons are on netflix, just waiting for me to click play. SO considerate! also, i'm thankful for IMDB.com because it was really bothering me that i couldn't figure out what the girl detective in psych (maggie lawson) was from, and then imdb informed me that she was in one of the greatest disney channel original movies of all time, model behavior, with the one and only justin timberlake. honestly, when this movie came out in the year a-twothouuusand, i was a twelve year old with overalls and a dream. and my dream was basically a world in which my two favorite things (disney channel original movies and justin timberlake) would collide. AND THEY DID! and maggie lawson was a part of it. so of course, she's been retroactively added to the girl crush list (eh, let's go with #8). zANYWAYS, the point is, thanks netflix, for keeping a girl entertained.
3. thirdly, i'm very grateful for the fact that my schmorgesboard (how the fuck do you spell that word? if only the rat from charlotte's web were here...right? whoa that's a weird and random insert into this post but a memory of watching that movie and sobbing uncontrollably just burst into my mind) of illnesses has wiped out my appetite. usually, this is the time of the year where my figure balloons up to roseanne-like proportions (okaaay, a bit of an exaggeration), because i like to do this thing where i eat a whole pecan pie by myself, after going back for round 5 with my friends Mashed Potato and Buttered Roll. so, it's kind of a nice change that this year, i have no appetite and therefore may even be a little svelte-r than i was before. althouuuugh...i could probably force down a pecan pie if i had one. it'd be a waste not to, you know. i guess it's a good thing i'm sequestered to this teensy apartment with no pie in sight. so i'm thankful for the fact that i'm just in my inert state of no-toned-ness, and not entering into the territory of general flabbiness.
i don't know if you were expecting a somewhat less superficial thanksgiving blog post from me -- if you were, clearly you're not quite familiar with the way i live my life (poorly, judging by my festering illnesses and withdrawal like symptons stemming from my lack of alcohol for the past week), but i do want to say that i am truly thankful for my beautiful friends who mock me mercilessly and love me unconditionally, my whack-a-doo family and their slightly abrasive alcoholic but altogether supportive spirit, and my puppy and kitten who are the cutest little baby beans in the entire world. and of course, a shout out to my new BFF -- broad spectrum antibiotic FTW! (a bigger win, perhaps, if it didn't have a warning label that read "may cause diarrhea". but, can't win 'em all).
1. first and foremost, i am thankful for twitter. twitter is the best invention in the world. except maybe like, toothpaste and laptops. i believe i've mentioned once or thrice how twitter allows me to stalk celebrities with reckless abandon; if you know me at all, you'll know this is all i ever want in this world. more specifically, twitter has allowed me and my main man, a certain Mr. Gray Gubler, to inch closer and closer to lovahs status. I mean, he might not know it yet, but beeelieve me, it's happening. it's like a slow moving "accio" spell -- like i've lost my voice and haven't completely mastered nonverbal spells yet (just, go with it, okay? deathly hallows part 1 coming out just reaffirmed my extreme sadness that i'm forever destined to remain a muggle). OKAY the point is, i'm dually thankful for twitter and it's main purpose in my life, allowing me to grow closer to MGG. I now know a looot more about him, and will use this excessive knowledge to my advantage when I move down to LA to stalk him. And, I'm still clinging to the slimmest hope that someday he'll tweet me back. because really the only online relationship i can get on board with is one that ends with me and MGG bumping uglies in his Criminal Minds trailer. Which would be, ultimately, more ideal than doing it in a bed in his (i'm sure artistically decorated) apartment, because I could walk out of the trailer post-coital and see my #5 girl crush paget brewster and be all, "oh sup, girl". see, i have it all worked out. foolproof.
2. secondly, i'm thankful for the genius who invented netflix. i actually know this genius because i've babysat for his kids because they live across the street from my bff's grandma in santa cruz, but SERIOUSLY thank you sir-whose-name-i-can't-remember-but-your-kids-are-cutiebeans. as i've been wallowing around in a pit of crumpled kleenex and coughdrops, netflix instantwatch has been my savior. one show in particular has kept me occupied as i cough up half a lung -- psych. ALL of the first four seasons are on netflix, just waiting for me to click play. SO considerate! also, i'm thankful for IMDB.com because it was really bothering me that i couldn't figure out what the girl detective in psych (maggie lawson) was from, and then imdb informed me that she was in one of the greatest disney channel original movies of all time, model behavior, with the one and only justin timberlake. honestly, when this movie came out in the year a-twothouuusand, i was a twelve year old with overalls and a dream. and my dream was basically a world in which my two favorite things (disney channel original movies and justin timberlake) would collide. AND THEY DID! and maggie lawson was a part of it. so of course, she's been retroactively added to the girl crush list (eh, let's go with #8). zANYWAYS, the point is, thanks netflix, for keeping a girl entertained.
3. thirdly, i'm very grateful for the fact that my schmorgesboard (how the fuck do you spell that word? if only the rat from charlotte's web were here...right? whoa that's a weird and random insert into this post but a memory of watching that movie and sobbing uncontrollably just burst into my mind) of illnesses has wiped out my appetite. usually, this is the time of the year where my figure balloons up to roseanne-like proportions (okaaay, a bit of an exaggeration), because i like to do this thing where i eat a whole pecan pie by myself, after going back for round 5 with my friends Mashed Potato and Buttered Roll. so, it's kind of a nice change that this year, i have no appetite and therefore may even be a little svelte-r than i was before. althouuuugh...i could probably force down a pecan pie if i had one. it'd be a waste not to, you know. i guess it's a good thing i'm sequestered to this teensy apartment with no pie in sight. so i'm thankful for the fact that i'm just in my inert state of no-toned-ness, and not entering into the territory of general flabbiness.
i don't know if you were expecting a somewhat less superficial thanksgiving blog post from me -- if you were, clearly you're not quite familiar with the way i live my life (poorly, judging by my festering illnesses and withdrawal like symptons stemming from my lack of alcohol for the past week), but i do want to say that i am truly thankful for my beautiful friends who mock me mercilessly and love me unconditionally, my whack-a-doo family and their slightly abrasive alcoholic but altogether supportive spirit, and my puppy and kitten who are the cutest little baby beans in the entire world. and of course, a shout out to my new BFF -- broad spectrum antibiotic FTW! (a bigger win, perhaps, if it didn't have a warning label that read "may cause diarrhea". but, can't win 'em all).
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
i feel like i am disproportionately bitter on this blog. and i don't love that because in real life, i'm not actually bitter at all. slightly sardonic? absolutely. endearingly quirky? so they tell me. but bitter? notsomuch. (another pressing reason why i feel the need to jump to my own defense is that i have an elaborate daydream where some cupid-esque soul directs MGG to this blog, and if (when!) that were to happen, not only would I want him to know that we are soulmates (we are!!!) but I would die of shame and sadness if he thought I were some sort of beezy with a capital b). the POINT is, in light of the fact that i feel like i'm coming off like katherine heigl by shitting over everything, I just wanted to take the opportunity to address the fact that there are many a thing that i love. and by love, i mean LOVE. i'm actually slightly bipolar in the way i live my life because it's not often that i merely like or dislike something -- i tend to go to extremes (and yet, i hate extremists...). like, i HATE twilight. but i LOVE harry potter. and in between are a few things, but really only stuff like mushrooms, fake pearl necklaces, and the later Narnia books that got all sexist (because i LOVE the rest of the series, too). Sooo, yeah. Strong opinions formed with alacrity, generally for no legitimate reason.
now that i've cleared myself, i am in fact going to take the time to talk about a few things that i have inappropriately strong emotional reactions to in the land of entertainment:
1. the rumored romance of chelsea handler & 50 cent. i DO NOT like this. let me start off by saying, i am a large fan of chelsea handler. like, maybe i want her to be my stepmom and maybe i have (another) elaborate fantasy where she invites MGG on her show and is like, "you know, i've got this amaaazing stepdaughter..." (quick sidenote: I AM SO TORN between my desire for MGG to read this and know we should be lovahs and my desire for him to NEVER KNOW i am a human who writes on a blog). okay, but so yeah. Chelsea. Love her. she is insanely witty and smart and i really like her no-bullshit attitude. I used to be really pretty ambivalent about 50 cent. i mean, i loved "in da club" as much as any 9th grader during it's hey-day, but like...it's 50 cent. who the f cares. So why does this bother me so much?! I honestly don't know. I mean, clearly I have the disillusion running through my head that chels belongs with my father, who is, interestingly enough, not fiddy. Furthermore, it's just like...I feel like if you are going to date a black rapper, you could do a lot better. A lot hotter. Like Usher, who is also recently single I believe. Shit, Beyonce is a black musical artist and I'd definitely do her over half-dollar (but I mean, who wouldn't? It's fucking beyonce. PUN intended). Anyway, I'm really angry about this and Chels just tweeted at me (heh, and 2014458 other people) that ol' 50 cent is going to be on her show tonight. I WANT ANSWERS but really i only want one and that is: we are not penetrating.
2. willow smith and her whipping hair. i'm not going to lie, i like this song. i think it's catchy as the flu in 1918, and her heart hairstyle in the music video is honestly one of the bombest things i've ever seen in my life (second only really to goldie hawn in the flesh), but i just.can't.do.it!! first of all, girl is nine. NINE! my second graders are almost nine, and they are still picking their noses and can't handle sitting still for read-aloud for more than 4 minutes. i feel sad for willow! i feel like she should be out running around like a crazed banshee and not actually being filmed whipping her hair around like a fucking veela! also, i have (some would say unreasonable) hate for the entire pinkett-smith clan because 1. they all have the same name -- will, willow, jada, jaden. shit's conceited! and 2. they are scientologists, and i do NOT get down with that insanity. so i'm having a really hard time with this. whenever the song comes on, i look like i'm having a seizure because as my body obeys the lyrics and attempts to whip around, my mind is screaming "NO! NO! THE SCIENTOLOGISTS ARE TRICKING YOU! SUBLIMINAL MESSAGING IN THE TRACKS LIKE IN JOSIE AND THE PUSSYCATS!!" which, by the by, is an exquisite movie. certainly tara reid's finest hour, although i don't think it had any competition. oh, except for american pie. and taradise. and obviously my boss's daughter. OKAY SO i really like tara reid and secretly want her to make a huge comeback a la britney 2009 vmas. SUE ME.
now that i've cleared myself, i am in fact going to take the time to talk about a few things that i have inappropriately strong emotional reactions to in the land of entertainment:
1. the rumored romance of chelsea handler & 50 cent. i DO NOT like this. let me start off by saying, i am a large fan of chelsea handler. like, maybe i want her to be my stepmom and maybe i have (another) elaborate fantasy where she invites MGG on her show and is like, "you know, i've got this amaaazing stepdaughter..." (quick sidenote: I AM SO TORN between my desire for MGG to read this and know we should be lovahs and my desire for him to NEVER KNOW i am a human who writes on a blog). okay, but so yeah. Chelsea. Love her. she is insanely witty and smart and i really like her no-bullshit attitude. I used to be really pretty ambivalent about 50 cent. i mean, i loved "in da club" as much as any 9th grader during it's hey-day, but like...it's 50 cent. who the f cares. So why does this bother me so much?! I honestly don't know. I mean, clearly I have the disillusion running through my head that chels belongs with my father, who is, interestingly enough, not fiddy. Furthermore, it's just like...I feel like if you are going to date a black rapper, you could do a lot better. A lot hotter. Like Usher, who is also recently single I believe. Shit, Beyonce is a black musical artist and I'd definitely do her over half-dollar (but I mean, who wouldn't? It's fucking beyonce. PUN intended). Anyway, I'm really angry about this and Chels just tweeted at me (heh, and 2014458 other people) that ol' 50 cent is going to be on her show tonight. I WANT ANSWERS but really i only want one and that is: we are not penetrating.
2. willow smith and her whipping hair. i'm not going to lie, i like this song. i think it's catchy as the flu in 1918, and her heart hairstyle in the music video is honestly one of the bombest things i've ever seen in my life (second only really to goldie hawn in the flesh), but i just.can't.do.it!! first of all, girl is nine. NINE! my second graders are almost nine, and they are still picking their noses and can't handle sitting still for read-aloud for more than 4 minutes. i feel sad for willow! i feel like she should be out running around like a crazed banshee and not actually being filmed whipping her hair around like a fucking veela! also, i have (some would say unreasonable) hate for the entire pinkett-smith clan because 1. they all have the same name -- will, willow, jada, jaden. shit's conceited! and 2. they are scientologists, and i do NOT get down with that insanity. so i'm having a really hard time with this. whenever the song comes on, i look like i'm having a seizure because as my body obeys the lyrics and attempts to whip around, my mind is screaming "NO! NO! THE SCIENTOLOGISTS ARE TRICKING YOU! SUBLIMINAL MESSAGING IN THE TRACKS LIKE IN JOSIE AND THE PUSSYCATS!!" which, by the by, is an exquisite movie. certainly tara reid's finest hour, although i don't think it had any competition. oh, except for american pie. and taradise. and obviously my boss's daughter. OKAY SO i really like tara reid and secretly want her to make a huge comeback a la britney 2009 vmas. SUE ME.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
something exciting has happened in the world of television lately, and i'm sure you know exactly what i'm talking about. yep, of course -- tlc's new genius series SISTER WIVES. there are a few reasons why i'm peeing my pants in glee over this programming gem. 1. it's like a real life big love and who could resist a chance to get your polyg on without having to deal with chloe sevingy and her bullshit? 2. i love me some weird family viewing, like the duggars or the late great jon + kate plus 8. 3. weirdly religious people intrigue me, similarly to the way a moth is drawn to a deadly flame. OKAY so obviously i was SO pumped for this brilliant new show, and even stayed up past my bedtime of 10pm to watch the premiere last sunday night. my roommates and i were ready. we had popcorn, we had cozy blankets, and we had more than enough judgement ready to be whipped out.
and then we watched. and it presented the oldest dilemma of all (i'm looking at you, tyra banks) -- is the premise/concept of the show entertaining/ridiculous enough to account for how absolutely irritating/retarded the people in it can be? i have a few problems with sister wives:
1. the dad, kody. IS A HUGE DOUCHE-TOOL. first of all, he spells his name with a k. automatic eye roll from me. then he was just all weird and annoying. Your polygamy jokes aren't funny, dude -- i still think you're all sorts of freaky for believing in this hoo-ha. and, even if you're smart enough not to believe but just say you do to get three wives (which, a tip of the imaginary top hat for that), that's still pretty douchey. also, your little anecdotes about how you can't remember which wife's closet your clothes are in? NOT FUNNY. we wanna hear more about the sex schedules and less about boring daily life. that's what people are interested in, sir. also cut your goddamn hair! who do you think you are? your own fourth wife? get that shit cut, you look like you're going through gender reassignment. something tells me your church wouldn't quite be cool with that. also, are you even aware you have 13 children? and, do you know anything about children? i guess you wouldn't need to with 3 mothers around, but good GOD sir at least try to remember their names! take a tip from your fellow TLC dad, Jim Bob Duggar (who I'm 100% convinced does not know which of his 19 children go with each of his 19 J-names) and start calling everyone "buddy". then the whole world of america won't know that you're more interested in banging your 3 wives to make babies than in actually raising them.
2. the third wife. first of all, did anyone else get the impression that girlfriend doesn't know up from down (or an upper from a downer)? maybe it's pregnancy brain, but lady didn't seem to have a full basket of french fries up there. what really sealed it for me was when she described that her ultimate life-time goal was to be a third wife. now, i can't really judge anyone else for their ultimate life dreams when mine include but are not limited to becoming sandra bullock's nanny and marrying matthew gray gubler, but REALLY? all you've ever wanted in life is to become a THIRD wife? why could that be? well, luckily she explained to us:
a. she didn't want to be a first wife because she never wanted to be in a relationship alone with a man (btw, this revelation came after i had already announced to my roommates that i had a lesbian suspicion)
b. she didn't want to be a second wife because they were just a wedge in the relationship of first wife and husband
c. third wife = perfection.
this logic, while sound for a crazy person, makes me wonder many things. like how a third wife isn't just a wedge between two separate relationships, or how she's had 5 kids when she obviously can't stomach the thought of being with a man. HOPEFULLY TLC shares my curiosity and will be addressing these questions post haste on the show.
3. the freshly "courted" soon-to-be fourth wife. i actually don't have a problem with her at all, but how unfair is it that "k"ody just gets to pick a hot (did you see her? especially comparatively, girlfriend's got it going on) piece of new ass once he gets bored of his 3 aging wives under the guise of "multiplying love" and "religion"??? i'm one, offended as a woman who would be really pissed to be traded in for a younger model, and two offended as a non-religious person who would just have to have a regular ol' run of the mill affair. UGH. so annoying. like, kody wins because now he gets to have sex with this good looking broad, but everyone else loses. the three wives lose because they have to share more, and the courted miss loses because she has to have sex with kody! so sexist, those polygamists. AND next week i think kody and the new lady KISS BEFORE MARRIAGE!!! shit, son. how disrespectful. i cannot even believe the horror. kissing before marriage?!?!?!?!?!?! i mean, you have sex with two other women on a regular basis but GOD FORBID you touch your lips to someone else's before you stand up and say nonsense words in front of your tri-wifed family.
i'm going to give sister wives another week, mainly because i'm hoping to get more dirt on the sex schedule and why one of the kids is named mykelti. but if this train of insanely annoying people continues, i'm going to have to give this show the axe. because, and i never thought i'd say this, i'd rather be watching chloe sevingy.
and then we watched. and it presented the oldest dilemma of all (i'm looking at you, tyra banks) -- is the premise/concept of the show entertaining/ridiculous enough to account for how absolutely irritating/retarded the people in it can be? i have a few problems with sister wives:
1. the dad, kody. IS A HUGE DOUCHE-TOOL. first of all, he spells his name with a k. automatic eye roll from me. then he was just all weird and annoying. Your polygamy jokes aren't funny, dude -- i still think you're all sorts of freaky for believing in this hoo-ha. and, even if you're smart enough not to believe but just say you do to get three wives (which, a tip of the imaginary top hat for that), that's still pretty douchey. also, your little anecdotes about how you can't remember which wife's closet your clothes are in? NOT FUNNY. we wanna hear more about the sex schedules and less about boring daily life. that's what people are interested in, sir. also cut your goddamn hair! who do you think you are? your own fourth wife? get that shit cut, you look like you're going through gender reassignment. something tells me your church wouldn't quite be cool with that. also, are you even aware you have 13 children? and, do you know anything about children? i guess you wouldn't need to with 3 mothers around, but good GOD sir at least try to remember their names! take a tip from your fellow TLC dad, Jim Bob Duggar (who I'm 100% convinced does not know which of his 19 children go with each of his 19 J-names) and start calling everyone "buddy". then the whole world of america won't know that you're more interested in banging your 3 wives to make babies than in actually raising them.
2. the third wife. first of all, did anyone else get the impression that girlfriend doesn't know up from down (or an upper from a downer)? maybe it's pregnancy brain, but lady didn't seem to have a full basket of french fries up there. what really sealed it for me was when she described that her ultimate life-time goal was to be a third wife. now, i can't really judge anyone else for their ultimate life dreams when mine include but are not limited to becoming sandra bullock's nanny and marrying matthew gray gubler, but REALLY? all you've ever wanted in life is to become a THIRD wife? why could that be? well, luckily she explained to us:
a. she didn't want to be a first wife because she never wanted to be in a relationship alone with a man (btw, this revelation came after i had already announced to my roommates that i had a lesbian suspicion)
b. she didn't want to be a second wife because they were just a wedge in the relationship of first wife and husband
c. third wife = perfection.
this logic, while sound for a crazy person, makes me wonder many things. like how a third wife isn't just a wedge between two separate relationships, or how she's had 5 kids when she obviously can't stomach the thought of being with a man. HOPEFULLY TLC shares my curiosity and will be addressing these questions post haste on the show.
3. the freshly "courted" soon-to-be fourth wife. i actually don't have a problem with her at all, but how unfair is it that "k"ody just gets to pick a hot (did you see her? especially comparatively, girlfriend's got it going on) piece of new ass once he gets bored of his 3 aging wives under the guise of "multiplying love" and "religion"??? i'm one, offended as a woman who would be really pissed to be traded in for a younger model, and two offended as a non-religious person who would just have to have a regular ol' run of the mill affair. UGH. so annoying. like, kody wins because now he gets to have sex with this good looking broad, but everyone else loses. the three wives lose because they have to share more, and the courted miss loses because she has to have sex with kody! so sexist, those polygamists. AND next week i think kody and the new lady KISS BEFORE MARRIAGE!!! shit, son. how disrespectful. i cannot even believe the horror. kissing before marriage?!?!?!?!?!?! i mean, you have sex with two other women on a regular basis but GOD FORBID you touch your lips to someone else's before you stand up and say nonsense words in front of your tri-wifed family.
i'm going to give sister wives another week, mainly because i'm hoping to get more dirt on the sex schedule and why one of the kids is named mykelti. but if this train of insanely annoying people continues, i'm going to have to give this show the axe. because, and i never thought i'd say this, i'd rather be watching chloe sevingy.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
something happened this sunday that i just can't get over. my mind still creeps back to the minute this particular conundrum entered my life, and frankly, it's interfering with my ability to do things such as...well, that was a bold statement and honestly i'm still living life per usual (so, you know, binge eating pirates booty in my bed for three straight hours every night while i watch friends repeats and wallow that each of their lives is seven hundred and fifty times cooler than mine). BUT, i really have been thinking about this a lot and i need to get it out before it eats me alive.
the scene: me, roomies 1 & 2. Driving back from NYC where we had just celebrated the birth of former roomie. Literally the most hungover goobs in the entire world, bleary eyed and surrounded by more bagels than is appropriate for three girls. we're trying to stay awake and avoid delirium, as we had gotten a mere 4 hours of sleep after dancing it up near union square for a cool SEVEN HOURS the night prior (yeah, that's no typo. imagine, if you will, a drink-up situation wherein you pay a small fee and get unlimited drinks for a few hours. then imagine this club can't handle me blasting through stereos. then take it up several notches. then, spend two hours trying to get back to queens and almost dying many times in varying ways and degrees of seriousness. and that is our night. and early morning. and mid-morning). THE POINT IS, we were playing kill, fuck, mary, which is the most genius game ever invented. or so i thought.
it was all fine and dandy (kill fuck mary jim, michael, and dwight from the office -- obviously marry jim, fuck michael (blech but i mean...not great is better than unbearable when it comes to sex, amirite?!) and kill dwight. preferably with a beet), until dear roomie #1 poses this query:
"kill fuck marry jennifer garner, jennifer aniston, jennifer lopez."
and then, my brain exploded. because it's like OMIGOD WHAT my choices are too good! i know some of you might be thinking...really? j.lo? with garner and aniston up there, j.lo? BUT yes, friends, jennifer lopez. i mean, first of all, i have an irrational love for the movie selena, as should all human beings. second of all, i have an irrational love for the album "this is me...then", particularly jenny from the block, which may just be my personal ghetto anthem. you know, aside from damn it feels good to be a gangster, which is just my personal life anthem. okay, so now that that's cleared up, back to the dilemma.
the thing is, i LOVE jennifer aniston. which you may or may not know. but like -- i don't want to marry her, you know? I want to marry jennifer garner, who is so wholesome and such a good mom and is so sweet and cute but can also kick ass. you know? she's just so...all american, and in the good way like diversity and democracy not in the bad way like tea baggers and opposing rights for anyone who is not a white male. so, obviously i'd want to marry her! i just really think she'd be a great wife.
but then, who do i want to fuck? jen aniston or j.lo? the thing is, just as i don't really want to marry her, i don't particularly want to fuck jennifer aniston. you can't deny that jennifer lopez is all kinds of sexy, especially when she is walking the streets of brooklyn in a belly shirt and fire hydrants are going off and shit. like, i bet she'd be a firecracker in the sack. and i'm always looking for some more bedroom excitement, ya know?
but then....where does that leave my all time celebrity girl crush?! there's only one option left, and i would rather stab myself through the brain with a rusted machete than kill jennifer aniston. which bodes well for her, i suppose. but the point is -- i just want to be her best friend. ooor perhaps her stepdaughter. either one. it would feel sacrilegious to do the dirty with her and i don't want to have to get into married people fights like who can and can't have sex with angelina jolie, i just want to hang out and drink and tan and shop and hang out. but there's no option for that in kill fuck mary!!! that's the flaw of this once-genius game! and that's what has been keeping me up until 10:30pm every night. i just had to get it out.
p.s. one would think this could go without saying seeing as i've said it a billion times so far, but i just re-read this post and feel it must be said again, but i really am NOT a lesbian.
the scene: me, roomies 1 & 2. Driving back from NYC where we had just celebrated the birth of former roomie. Literally the most hungover goobs in the entire world, bleary eyed and surrounded by more bagels than is appropriate for three girls. we're trying to stay awake and avoid delirium, as we had gotten a mere 4 hours of sleep after dancing it up near union square for a cool SEVEN HOURS the night prior (yeah, that's no typo. imagine, if you will, a drink-up situation wherein you pay a small fee and get unlimited drinks for a few hours. then imagine this club can't handle me blasting through stereos. then take it up several notches. then, spend two hours trying to get back to queens and almost dying many times in varying ways and degrees of seriousness. and that is our night. and early morning. and mid-morning). THE POINT IS, we were playing kill, fuck, mary, which is the most genius game ever invented. or so i thought.
it was all fine and dandy (kill fuck mary jim, michael, and dwight from the office -- obviously marry jim, fuck michael (blech but i mean...not great is better than unbearable when it comes to sex, amirite?!) and kill dwight. preferably with a beet), until dear roomie #1 poses this query:
"kill fuck marry jennifer garner, jennifer aniston, jennifer lopez."
and then, my brain exploded. because it's like OMIGOD WHAT my choices are too good! i know some of you might be thinking...really? j.lo? with garner and aniston up there, j.lo? BUT yes, friends, jennifer lopez. i mean, first of all, i have an irrational love for the movie selena, as should all human beings. second of all, i have an irrational love for the album "this is me...then", particularly jenny from the block, which may just be my personal ghetto anthem. you know, aside from damn it feels good to be a gangster, which is just my personal life anthem. okay, so now that that's cleared up, back to the dilemma.
the thing is, i LOVE jennifer aniston. which you may or may not know. but like -- i don't want to marry her, you know? I want to marry jennifer garner, who is so wholesome and such a good mom and is so sweet and cute but can also kick ass. you know? she's just so...all american, and in the good way like diversity and democracy not in the bad way like tea baggers and opposing rights for anyone who is not a white male. so, obviously i'd want to marry her! i just really think she'd be a great wife.
but then, who do i want to fuck? jen aniston or j.lo? the thing is, just as i don't really want to marry her, i don't particularly want to fuck jennifer aniston. you can't deny that jennifer lopez is all kinds of sexy, especially when she is walking the streets of brooklyn in a belly shirt and fire hydrants are going off and shit. like, i bet she'd be a firecracker in the sack. and i'm always looking for some more bedroom excitement, ya know?
but then....where does that leave my all time celebrity girl crush?! there's only one option left, and i would rather stab myself through the brain with a rusted machete than kill jennifer aniston. which bodes well for her, i suppose. but the point is -- i just want to be her best friend. ooor perhaps her stepdaughter. either one. it would feel sacrilegious to do the dirty with her and i don't want to have to get into married people fights like who can and can't have sex with angelina jolie, i just want to hang out and drink and tan and shop and hang out. but there's no option for that in kill fuck mary!!! that's the flaw of this once-genius game! and that's what has been keeping me up until 10:30pm every night. i just had to get it out.
p.s. one would think this could go without saying seeing as i've said it a billion times so far, but i just re-read this post and feel it must be said again, but i really am NOT a lesbian.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
recently, in an act that was meant to be supportive and problem-solving, one of my beloved roommates, A, direly insulted me. what could she have done? welp, dear friends, she first insinuated and then flat-out advocated for a match.com profile for yours truly. that's right. she wants me to get online, PAY to look through hundreds of pictures of hairy dudes who may or may not have inappropriate relationships with their mothers, and then hang myself with my computer charger cable when, in fact, love does not come a-knocking. FALSE, asshole. i told her i was greatly offended and she couldn't seem to understand why she had committed such a transgression. there are MANY reasons why i am repelled and outraged by this seemingly harmless suggestion for my personal life. WELL...
1. i KNOW the new match.com commercials emphasize that one in five relationships start online these days, and i even know a few happy couples who have, but... doesn't online dating still reek of desperation? and i don't mean that i would judge anyone for doing it, because if you knew some of my online habits you'd see the stone/glass house situation i'm in (also, i understand that that makes it sound as though i'm involved in some sort of cyber child sex slave ring, but i'm not, really. i was more alluding to the frequent hours spent on twitter wildly stalking b-list celebrities). it's just, if i were to join match.com, it's like i would be resigning to the fact that i can't even interact with real humans in the real world anymore. and even though my mom has expressly detailed my aspergers-like tendencies more than once, i still do crave real human interaction. it's like, why would you go online for the CHANCE to have cyber sex when you could just go outside (and not pay!!) for the CHANCE to have real sex?! real sex should ALWAYS win!! and the same principle applies to dating.
2. dating online, frankly, is a terrifying endeavor. you could easily stumble upon some sort of rapist/child molester and unwillingly find yourself in some sort of to-catch-a-predator situation. shit's no good. it's the oldest story on the internet -- you discover a seemingly legitimate man on the interwebs, his picture is a little j.crew-ish and he likes reading and hiking. you set up a date at a local italian place, and then you find yourself beat up in an alleyway with your identity on a plane halfway to shanghai. NO and THANK YOU.
3. creating a profile on match.com just opens you up to judgement and ridicule. i fully recognize that it's completely hypocritical to adore judging others as much as i do and then not allow it to be reciprocal, but come on! and what if someone else is on match.com that i know?! i would die of humiliation if anyone in the world knew that i was apparently out of options. AND I SHOULDN'T BE!! I am 22 for godsakes. and maybe that's old for a playboy playmate, but sweet jesus it's not like i'm 52 and unmarried, living with my seventeen cats and wearing sweaters with applique on them. i honestly feel like the only way it's acceptable to feel like an old maid at 22 is if you are some sort of weirdly religious anti-feminist domestic type. obviously i am zero of those things (except i'm obviously anti-feminist when it suits my purposes, i.e. crying my way out of a speeding ticket). THE POINT IS, just as i have ridiculed those who get married at our age, i would equally hate and rip apart someone who had given up on the real world and had turned instead to the cold comfort of technology to find a mate.
4. the bz roommate in question, is in fact in a serious relationship. she's in loooove and she's so happy and blah blah blah whatEVAR. and you know what? she hasn't been single for more than a month in the past 8 years. LITERALLY. isn't that the most annoying thing you've ever heard? suck it, asshole. the world may have given up on me, BUT I'M STILL HERE.
1. i KNOW the new match.com commercials emphasize that one in five relationships start online these days, and i even know a few happy couples who have, but... doesn't online dating still reek of desperation? and i don't mean that i would judge anyone for doing it, because if you knew some of my online habits you'd see the stone/glass house situation i'm in (also, i understand that that makes it sound as though i'm involved in some sort of cyber child sex slave ring, but i'm not, really. i was more alluding to the frequent hours spent on twitter wildly stalking b-list celebrities). it's just, if i were to join match.com, it's like i would be resigning to the fact that i can't even interact with real humans in the real world anymore. and even though my mom has expressly detailed my aspergers-like tendencies more than once, i still do crave real human interaction. it's like, why would you go online for the CHANCE to have cyber sex when you could just go outside (and not pay!!) for the CHANCE to have real sex?! real sex should ALWAYS win!! and the same principle applies to dating.
2. dating online, frankly, is a terrifying endeavor. you could easily stumble upon some sort of rapist/child molester and unwillingly find yourself in some sort of to-catch-a-predator situation. shit's no good. it's the oldest story on the internet -- you discover a seemingly legitimate man on the interwebs, his picture is a little j.crew-ish and he likes reading and hiking. you set up a date at a local italian place, and then you find yourself beat up in an alleyway with your identity on a plane halfway to shanghai. NO and THANK YOU.
3. creating a profile on match.com just opens you up to judgement and ridicule. i fully recognize that it's completely hypocritical to adore judging others as much as i do and then not allow it to be reciprocal, but come on! and what if someone else is on match.com that i know?! i would die of humiliation if anyone in the world knew that i was apparently out of options. AND I SHOULDN'T BE!! I am 22 for godsakes. and maybe that's old for a playboy playmate, but sweet jesus it's not like i'm 52 and unmarried, living with my seventeen cats and wearing sweaters with applique on them. i honestly feel like the only way it's acceptable to feel like an old maid at 22 is if you are some sort of weirdly religious anti-feminist domestic type. obviously i am zero of those things (except i'm obviously anti-feminist when it suits my purposes, i.e. crying my way out of a speeding ticket). THE POINT IS, just as i have ridiculed those who get married at our age, i would equally hate and rip apart someone who had given up on the real world and had turned instead to the cold comfort of technology to find a mate.
4. the bz roommate in question, is in fact in a serious relationship. she's in loooove and she's so happy and blah blah blah whatEVAR. and you know what? she hasn't been single for more than a month in the past 8 years. LITERALLY. isn't that the most annoying thing you've ever heard? suck it, asshole. the world may have given up on me, BUT I'M STILL HERE.
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