Stats 'N Tats

I Wanna Hold Your Van

2008-08-19T06:53:00.000-07:00

I spent a lot of time in a quant little area of New England this past week, its only downside being that it is as white as Julia Stiles in Save The Last Dance (as opposed to Julia Stiles in all her other films.) I think the ratio of vanity license plates to minorities in this place was, oh, a million to one. Oh, what is that? You're wearing black face as a joke? Totally inappropriate, guy. And those seer suckers are way too tight. Anyway, a million to zero.

I did a lot of thinking during my time in the Douglas Sirk film that was my vacation. One of those thoughts was, "Wow, I am a lot better than people who don't know who Douglas Sirk is." Another was, "Don't you people look at me like that, like you've never ridden a tandem bike by yourself!!!" The beach really can be so relaxing, can't it?

The third and final thought I had this past week was, "I want to be someone's Friend With A Van." Think about all the jams one can get into in this peanut butter and helly sandwich that is life. There are many situations in life that are positively unavoidable and require the use of a van. For instance, people are always needing to move large things, whether it be furniture or flat screen TV's or, sure, I'll say what you are expecting me to say ... bod, wait, no. Spell check! Baudelaire anthology. Only your most naive of friends will think they can keep their poetry collections in the same place for more than two motnhs.

People also need to go on expensive, overly planned trips with lots of friends from college and acoustic guitars and hummus dip. You think you can fit all that in a Saab? Think again. When all these situations arise, what happens? Someone says, "Oh, OK, I'll rent a van!" and then once that person has already given Budget a pretty hefty security deposit on their MOTHER'S CREDIT CARD and picked out a really fun ride with leather interior and a 6 CD changer, another person will pipe up, "Oh, hey, we don't need to rent a van! I'll just call my Friend With a Van!" Because some people are fucking selfish and self-centered and don't understand that that the tandem part is merely a suggestion. But I digress.

We can assume people generally fall into three categories based on this universal truth. They are as follows:

1) People Who Own a Van and Are Thus, The Friend With A Van
2) People Who Have a Friend With A Van
3) People Who Don't Want a Friend With a Van.

Ha! I tricked you here. Impossible. Everyone wants to have a Friend With a Van.

REAL 3) People Who Want a Friend With a Van And Do Not Yet Have One

I'm obviously concentrating on people in category #3 for the time being. Sure, those folks in #2 may turn into #3's once their Friend With a Van dies in terrible car crash in said van because no one should ever transport wild game for a long distance without some sort of substantial entertainment for them, but sometimes even I cannot keep up that kind of pure, unbridled hope and optimism. No, at present, I will focus solely on the #3's.

First step: acquire a van. I've been shopping around, both on the 'net and in parking lots at youth soccer league games. Funny, isn't it? Seems like everyone watching a youth soccer league game has a van! I just don't know why some moms opt for such heavily tinted windows. Anyway, I've been struck by this beaut':

What else can one call this but a modern day chariot? And it's already in my favorite color for a vehicle, "deep depression." Consider that car lease as good as signed.

Next step: make it known to all my friends that I have purchased a van and am now open for business and taking requests to be The Friend With a Van. One way would be to write a blog post about it, letting everyone know.

Yaaay ... I'm done! Oh, what's that? You need to take a trip to IKEA and I'm just the person you so happen to want to go with? Sure thing! But first, how's about a little bike ride?

OMG, it's your birthday?! 'Bama!!! Why didn't you tell me?! You whore!

2008-08-04T11:31:00.000-07:00

It's Barack Obama's birthday today! Yaaaay! Wait a second ... where are all the festive lights and presents under the tree?!?!

LOLOL, I know, I know, I'm so bad you guys!!! I'm just totally in one of those moods today. I had, like, twelve Lorna Doones ... AFTER lunch!!!

"I'm Beginning to Think the Author of my IKEA Self-Assembly Guide Just Went Through A Soul Crushing Breakup"

2008-07-30T12:00:00.000-07:00

Congratulations on your new purchase from IKEA! The Väarkenbark birch 8-drawer armoire is sure to add just the right touch of mass-produced European'ness to your home. Wow, 8 drawers! That sure is a lot of drawers! Way more drawers than I need, even if all my sweatpants weren't dirty. This piece must be for sharing! That's ... nice....

1) Carefully set down your new piece of IKEA furniture onto a level surface. Take caution; this IKEA piece is very heavy and requires at least two people for lifting. Funny, isn't it? Seems like everything these days is designed for two! I'm sure you've got it covered though. I mean, who would buy an 8-drawer armoir for one? Now, If I were doing it, I guess I'd have to ask Hans over in 2B to come over and help me. He's been a big help lately, though I do always have to refill the hard candy bowl after he leaves. I don't want to accuse him of anything, but last night I detected the slightest hint of butterscotch scent coming from his apartment.

2) Open the box using a sharp cutting utensil. Take extra precaution with this step, as you could cut yourself with the knife and then start bleeding all over the floor and then he'd really be sorr ... It's just too soon to stain that nice birch finish, don't you think!

3) Remove all enclosed plastic bags with necessary screws and assembly parts. Set them aside to refer to during assembly. I think you've got this part covered, it's pretty basic. Nothing like relationships! Boy, those are tough to figure out, huh? One minute you're all two straws, one frozen margarita at Chili's and the next you're riding the New Jersey Transit up and down the Northeast Corridor Line just so you have other people to cry with!

4) Screw in boards B and C to the main frame, piece A.

5) According to my mother, I'm eating my feelings, but if I'm feeling like delicious Swedish meatballs, well so be it!

6) Attach security mounts to piece D. Place piece D atop of B and C to form the top of your armoir. Security, ha! You'd think even the smallest bit of basic security that comes along with any monogamous relationship wouldn't make purchasing Michael Buble tickets a couple, or maybe even nine, months in advance such a big deal, right?

7) Wrong.

8) Now that the base of your armoire has been assembled, you're ready to move on to the drawer assembly. Hurray! But listen, don't let me tell you when you need to or have to move on. I get it, you move on WHENEVER you're ready, even if it is "turning you into a miserable pile of self-pity and unwashed hair grease."

9) Maybe two dozen meatballs was too much. Though this Absolut has liquified them quite nicely.

10) Each drawer should contain three boards, a metallic handle, and seven E-Z fixed screws. It should not contain a pile of pictures from your vacation to Atlantic City with strategically scratched out eyeballs and three and a half pairs of stolen tube socks, but who's to say what should happen anymore, anyway?

11) Wouldn't YOU have taken things a little more seriously if you heard the words, "If you walk out that door, I'm moving to Sweden?" from a loved one? Well, who's bluffing now?, Or, should I say, "som är bluffa nu?"

12) Oh, the drawers, right. Guess you need somewhere to put all your stuff, huh? Though I bet you're like, "so in love" and you'll just end up mixing it all together and then you'll wear each others' tube socks to work and then laugh about it over a bottle of pinot later that night on your overpriced Swedish futon bed. Well, just be careful because ... because ... because red stains, OK!?!

13) Attach piece E1 to F1 and G1 using the included seven E-Z fixed screws. Repeat for each drawer. But really, what the hell do I know about keeping anything together, anyway? If it were up to me, I would probably tell you to put the drawers together with an unconditional support of one's acting career despite an uncanny inability to memorize lines, a stoic dedication to remaining under 130 pounds, and a willingness to feign interest in "Battlestar Galactica", but then you'd probably end up with your clothes all over the floor. And not in the good way, either.

14) Congratulations! Your IKEA Väarkenbark birch 8-drawer armoire is complete and ready to be used!

15) I don't want to die alone. God, why is this chocolate so damn sweet?!

The Summer I Didn't Lose An Ear, or, The Summer I Lost All My Self-Respect.

2008-07-24T21:55:00.000-07:00

Sometimes in life, you have to learn how to just say "no." And that time should come way before you find yourself having a medical professional take Polaroid pictures of you in his personal office space. What follows is the long and torrid story of how I learned that very valuable lesson.

It was the summer of 2007. And it was hot. That's really the only characterization I can give you about the time, because that's all I remember, but I understand that that's like saying, "She worked at Hooters. And she had breasts." Charles Dickens, I am not. Regardless, it was the summer and I had just returned from a wonderful five months abroad in Europe, racking up my cliche college-memories quota. All that was left for me was to do a little sexual "experimenting."

At this point, this story can go one of two ways. One, I can go proceed to tell you about the summer I was a lesbian, and hope someone from penthouse.com is reading. The other way involves no sort of sexual activity whatsoever. My apologies to Larry Flynt, but this story is the latter.

Anyway, I had come home and all was well, except for the fact that, oh, my left ear was in danger of falling off. I will spare you the grim details, but I had developed some sort of strange cut behind my left ear that was in desperate need of medical attention. And five months later, from the time I first realized it was in desperate need of medical attention, I was a few paint brushes short of becoming a modern day Van Gogh. Or Evander Holyfield. Well, minus the whole painting thing. Or being able to box. God, doesn't anyone become famous for just losing an ear anymore?

So, I decided the first thing I needed to do upon reaching US soil was to find a good doctor to take care of my little ailment.
And I had found one. Her name was Betsy and she had been with me through thick and thin, through strep throat, through the flu, and even through 'da Pox (chicken, not small.) That's right, I had found Betsy about 22 years ago, at about the same time when I had found my way out of the womb (and not just any womb, mind you. My own mother's!) And apparently, a 21 year old wishing to still see her pediatrician is a problem. Like some slutty ex-girlfriend who had "found herself" during the first few months of college and came to see me at Thanksgiving break only to dump me, Betsy wanted to terminate our relationship. "But what about the free lollipos?!?", I thought, but then again, who doesn't at the end of any great relationship? Despite my pleas, Betsy wasn't having it. No, take that back, her front desk ASSISTANT wasn't having it! She didn't even have the decency to tell me herself that she wanted to start seeing younger people.

Once I dealt with the painful sting of that rejection, I picked up my self-pride and what free lollipops I could fit in one small, stubby fingered handful, and set out to find someone new. Now, everyone always tell you that there are "other fish in the sea," but that is not the case when the sea is the private health care industry, and the fish is someone who has been denying the onset of adulthood for years and years. I couldn't find anyone within a 50 mile radius who wanted to look at my ear-ailment. Finally, help came in the form of a public health clinic who agreed to fit me in with their resident physician. OK, OK, I know what you're thinking ... I should have known, right? Well, listen, when you live in fear of the day a magician tries to pull a coin from behind your ear and gets just the whole ear, you'll understand why I did what I had to do.

I came for my appointment with ... well, let's call him Dr. Unicorn, because much like unicorns, this guy was UNREAL. He wore Coke bottle-glasses and I kid you not, his business card read, "Dr. Unicorn. M.D.D.D.S" That's right. He was both a physician AND a dentist. I've done the calculations and that meant he had been in school for ... sixty-three years. Give or take a few. But, allow me to get this out right off the bat: The man fixed my ear drama, and for that, I am eternally grateful, as are the many people who speak to me my left side every day of my life. For that, he earns no flack from this lady. But his "bedside manner" ... well, that is a different story.

From the moment he came into the room, he was very intent on telling me about his son, who he reminded me repeatedly, "was about my age." "Wonderful! But now save my fucking ear!", I thought. His son, who was about my age, I mind you, had recently graduated from college and was back living in the area. He son also liked music. Which was a real mind blower, because hey, I like music, too! As does mostly every other human being on the planet. Well, all the ones with fully functioning ears.

After the most awkward doctor's visit of my life, one in which, during the standard doctor-patient dialogue of "are you sexually active?", Dr. Unicorn M.D. D.D.S deemed it necessary to add in, "I'm not trying to suggest anything here," I was all cured. I left his office with Dr. Unicorn telling me that he'd, "tell his son about me" AND giving me his son's e-mail address. But despite all that, I was like brand new and ready to show off my perfectly attached ears in front of Betsy. Life, however, had other plans for me.

Within a few weeks, I found myself sick. Very sick. The kind of sick one only gets from ... visiting a public health clinic? Perhaps. But I needed meds, and the only person I could turn to was, yes ... Dr. Unicorn, M.D. D.D.S.

Despite the promise I had made to myself never to see that man again, I returned to the clinic, hoping Dr. Unicorn would be off at some sort of convention for crazies and I'd be home free. Not so, I learned as I walked into the office and immediately locked eyes with him from across the waiting room. I waved, thinking that would be the appropriate thing to do. Dr. Unicorn, however, took the route of acting like a geeky 6th grader who checks behind himself to see if the cool girl really is waving at him from across the cafeteria. The man was standing in front of a wall. This is the man whose hands I was placing my well-being into. I clearly have a pretty high opinion of the value of my own life.

Dr. Unicorn was not my medical saving grace this time, however. To be honest, I'm not sure his first concern was my illness, either. Why do I think this? Well, perhaps it's because his first words to me were not the standard, "How are you feeling?" or even a "What seems to be the problem?", but a "You never e-mailed my son." Honestly, when is the last time you heard that on House? (I don't actually watch House, so if there is a story line involving House pushing dating his son onto one of his patients, I'm going to feel preeetty foolish.)

As Dr. Unicorn continued to go on about his son's current job situation and how we were, yes, still about the same age, I thought, "how far am I going to let this go?" I also thought, "I think I just coughed up my uterus," but I digress. Dr. Unicorn gave me a medical examination about as thorough as one you would expect from a sorority girl dressed up as a nurse on Halloween (with way less cleavage and way less eating disorders.) He did, however, casually drop in that he would "take a picture of me to show his son."

A picture. Of me. To show his son. And yet, did I run for the door? Did I punch him in the face? Did I report Dr. Unicorn to the authorities in his hometown of LalaLand? No, no, and no. I sat there and I took it. Like a chump. I took it all the way to his office, where he got out a Polaroid camera and actually did, in fact, take a picture of me. Two, to be precise. The first one was a straight headshot, whereas the second was a more artistic half side-profile. This guy was Annie Leibowitz, M.D.D.D.S. I wish I were kidding. So very much. But I'm not, and there's photographic evidence to prove it.

A few weeks later, I got a phone call from a certain individual who is about my age and likes music, apologizing for his father's forwardness. He did not, however, apologize for his father going into my sealed medical records and giving out my phone number, but what can one expect from someone with a horn sticking out of his forehead?

Moral of the story? Never let your fear of losing a body part, even if it was one that can be adorned with jewelry, compromise your morals. Also, I'm a big dumb idiot. Also, you ruined me, Betsy, you ruined me.

Side note: I warned you that it was long and torrid, didn't I?

Now With a Little Bit of Tats

2008-07-20T10:37:00.001-07:00

Tattoos I Am Strongly Considering Getting

-"If you can read this, you're naked."

-"Buy milk"

-"Permanent. Do not scrub."

-"I finally got that tattoo I've be (turn over to other side of arm)-en wanting!"

-"Rosebud=sled."

I Heart the Service Industry!!!

2008-07-17T17:55:00.001-07:00

Today at work, a celebrity who will remain unnamed came in and ordered an iced coffee from me. I prepared his beverage, then rang him up at the register while he stared at my breasts. He then tipped me fifty-six cents. That's right, fifty-six cents. That's a dime short of being a full house of change, my friends.

Now, normally if a customer were to ogle my chest and then tip me fifty-six cents, I would try to convince myself it was all he could possibly afford to pay for such a view, if only to save the precious little that is left of my self-esteem. Not something that can be done with Mr. Celebrity Pocket Change.

Anyway, point is ... I'm fifty-six cents closer to my boob job!!

Concerns of the Neurotic Baby

2008-07-13T23:16:00.000-07:00

"These ceilings are just ... unreasonably high."

"Come here, feel this fontanel. I should really be wearing some sort of hardhat, don't you think?"

"I haven't slept a wink. I keep thinking, what if, one day, I wake up and I can't put my foot in my mouth?"

"It would just put me at ease to see some sort of identification. Sure, they claim to be 'Mom' and 'Dad', but the other day I could have sworn I heard someone referred to as 'Mr. Passive Aggressive.'"

"I mean, I could just wake up tomorrow and bam, I'm allergic to applesauce. Then what?"

"I look ridiculous. Unless we're having lobster, I'm not wearing this."

"Who's going to hire me with this pansy-ass handshake?"

"What if I have to chew my way out of something?"

"Be honest. Is that puppy cuter than I am?"

Antonym for "iPhone"

2008-07-06T22:58:00.000-07:00

Someone plugged a black and white TV into a telephone pole on the corner of 7th and Greenwich Ave. It was pretty awesome, until the homeless guy next to me didn't want to watch another episode of Law and Order because, "he's seen 'em all." First of all, I HIGHLY doubt it, and second of all, some people are never happy, are they? Also, some people eat their own hair, so take that for what it's worth.

Bee Cool

2008-07-02T13:30:00.000-07:00

Today being Wednesday, the metaphorical cream to the Oreo cookie that is my week, I decided to venture outside (!!!) and eat lunch somewhere I had never been. Considering I try to restrict every meal I eat to the restaurant where I work so that it's free, I figured this wouldn't be too difficult. It wasn't, but what followed ... was.

So I walked as long as I could, fighting the pains of hunger, and ended up at this place that is about three minutes and twenty-five seconds from my apartment. I was immediately taken aback upon entering this establishment, which will remain nameless to protect the innocent (also, I don't remember it), because there was only one customer in the entire place. Always a good sign. Then, when I got close enough to the counter, said customer closed his newspaper and proceeded to go underneath the counter in front of me, because he, in fact, works there. Even better sign. After I adjusted to this role reversal and ceased treating him with respect, as to adhere to the rules of the service industry, I took a look at the menu. At least, what I think was the menu; to me, it more closely resembled a list of trees and plants I had to memorize for my 7th grade science class. Suddenly, I was unsure if I was there to eat or build a terrarium.

He invited me to ask him any questions I had about the menu, which luckily answered my original question. Now, here is where a common problem I run into took over. Any other normal person who isn't accustomed to eating things they can't pronounce ("sub-way." So easy.) would have just walked out. However, I have a strange need to "play it cool" in situations and thus, the urge to make it look like I knew exactly what I was doing and had meant to come there took over. The thing is, I don't usually make much of an attempt to be cool in front of people who know me; that is a lost cause. Yet, in front of total strangers, I usually aim to make myself look like I walked straight out of a Virginia Slims ad, which is like some uber-level of coolness, because 1) everyone knows smoking cigarettes is cool and 2) it makes me vintage-cool, because I'm pretty sure they stopped advertising Virginia Slims in the late 80s.

Anyway, I caved under the pressure and ordered the first thing I could pronounce. After the owner told me that the "delivery hours" weren't for sale, I went for some sort of salad. I'm sure you hear salad and a few various things come to my mind: for sure lettuce, tomato (hopefully salmonella-free), cucumbers, carrots; maybe you're the wild and exotic type and you hear "avocado, feta cheese, portabello mushrooms"; or maybe you're batshit crazy and you think of those McDonald's Salad Shakers. I don't know, but I'll tell you what you probably don't think of: sprouts, sprouts, sprouts, nothing but sprouts. Fine, I understand that sprouts are something that comes on salads and sandwiches often, but to be honest, if I didn't know better and I ordered a salad with sprouts on it, I would probably call the waiter back and say, "I'm sorry, but there is vegetable sperm on my salad."

Point is, this salad had nothing but sprouts. There were a few things on top of the sprouts, but there were so few that it looked like they were there by accident, like they had taken a wrong turn on the way to fertilizer they belong in and ended up on my sprout salad. As I ate my heaping bowl of sprouts, I began to wonder if my body was going to go in fat-storing mode, thinking that I must be trapped out on the side of a mountain or in the middle of the woods with no rescue squad in sight and no human companion's arm to gnaw on.

Let me interject to say that I am not trying to knock people who eat this type of thing on a daily basis or the kind staff at this establishment. It's just that I am not used to eating meals with less than 264% of my daily sodium intake. And trust me, for all my confusion at how this could serve as a suitable lunch, I ate my sprouts right up, like I was on death row and it was my last meal at Woodstock prison. And shocker, once I was done, my processed-food-loving American stomach wanted more. So I looked at the "menu" once again and decided to go for a smoothie. This one didn't have sprouts, and all the ingredients were fairly standard smoothie-fare, except for the ... bee pollen? Now, I know bee pollen is something people do eat and there are much stranger things people put in their bodies (opting out of the easy joke on that one), but I had never had it before, and all that kept running through my mind was how recently someone told me that bees are the most vital of insects because, quote, "if the bees all die, we all die." I don't know how much validity there is to that statement, but let's just say that the image of a T- rex telling his buddies to "lay off the bee sandwiches, bro" in vain until shit really hit the fan has crossed my mind.

My bee pollen-infused smoothie, nevertheless, was delicious. I was enjoying it whole-heartedly and was even about to ask where I could find a good pair of Birkenstocks in the neighborhood when I heard a buzzing sound near my right ear. I kid you not, it was a bee. You can imagine how awkward this was for me. He was just hovering there, like I owed him something. And sure, maybe I did, but I've never had a wild turkey give me the evil eye when I was enjoying a fresh-toasted (sprout free!!!) 12" delight.

Let's just say I'll be "staying fresh" from now on, if you know what I mean.

The Presidential Seal

2008-06-24T03:42:00.000-07:00

This little guy would have been a far better choice, Obama.

When the Obama logo and presidential seal collide

Steve Jobs DJ'ed My Bar Mitzvah

2008-06-22T22:51:00.000-07:00

Do The Shuffle

One of the most important and most nerve-wracking parts of event planning is music selection. Playing even just one ill-chosen song can scar a young child for life, doom a marriage, or really bring down the mood at a funeral. Well, those worries are a thing of the past, much like books, because Steve Jobs and his posse have done it once again. iTunes' Party Shuffle feature takes the guesswork out of planning the song list or hiring a fancy DJ for your next bar mitzvah, quincineria, or wedding (and by next, I mean first, because you should really be aiming to have only one of all those events.) To demonstrate this technological marvel, I have included a sample of a real-life Party Shuffle playlist selection that my iTunes produced, along with what I feel is a pretty accurate depiction of how the said party would go.

NOTE: This is a 100% authentic, verbatim Party Shuffle list. The list has not been altered in any way. I am not David Blaine; I am not about trickery.

1) "Desperado" by The Eagles

A real classic to kick off the festivities! As the guests begin to arrive, they are greeted by Don Henley telling them that they "better let somebody love them," and there's no better place to do that than one where you find youself surrounded by alcohol and farm animals (you weren't planning to have a party without a petting zoo, were you?) This selection is also the perfect choice for those smooth talkers whose pick up line of choice is the classic, "Don't you think it's cold in the wintertime?"

2) "What You Wish For" by Guster

Neither you nor your party goers will know this song, but the "No, no, I'm telling you, it's O.A.R.!" "No way, it's Dispatch!” dialogue really brings people together.

3) "High and Dry” by Radiohead

And the party continues to rage. Party Shuffle has made another solid move in its selection of one of the many heart-pumping jams of Thom Yorke and co." At this point, it's like, "get a room, people!" Am I right?!

4) "Sometimes Love Just Ain't Enough" by Don Henley & Patti Smith

At this point, the party has about as much Don Henley as it does goats, and that’s never a bad thing. A heart-wrenching duet ballad rocks the house as The Don and Patti Smith remind our guests that sometimes love just ain't enough. However, sometimes six Long Island Iced Teas is and an adequate knowledge of modern day politics is, so fingers crossed!

5) "ABC" by The Jackson 5

We know what you’re thinking. The Jackson 5?! A bit of a downer after we've had our spirits lifted with the message of "There's a danger in loving somebody too much", but oh, ye of little faith!. Apple has included a time-sensitive "Bathroom Break" tune, and conveniently planted it in just the right place. But remember, keep an eye on your drink at all times! Those potbelly pigs sure are thirsty.

6) "Buckets of Rain" by Bob Dylan

A mumbling folk singer on an acoustic guitar? Now that's more like it! Don't be alarmed if your party is starting to look an awful lot like MTV's "The Grind" (Spring Break Edition!) Rest assured, all that whipped cream comes out with just a little seltzer water.

7) "Sweet Home Alabama" by Lynard Skynard

This is a particularly well chosen selection for us Yankees, because there is nothing modern day blue state folk like more than throwing their PBR-clutching hands into the air and ironically singing along to a classic rock song about a state that they most likely think was abolished during The Civil War. Kudos to Party Shuffle for entertaining and enlightening the masses. Even The Governor would find it hard not to break into a two step.

8) "Bridge over Troubled Water (LIVE!)" by Simon & Garfunkel

At this point, party goers will surely be begging you to turn up the volume on this bumping beat, but alas, it would be to no avail, because Party Shuffle has wisely chosen a song that was recorded at a volume that only canines can hear. Not surprisingly, the sheepherding dogs in the petting zoo really start to get down at this point.

And ergo, the glory of Party Shuffle. I hope you will employ this wonderful tool for all future party'esque ventures of your own. As for me, it's time to go cry myself to sleep in the fetal position while wearing Converse All Stars, because based on my iTunes library, that is clearly my favorite activity.

The (HTML) Path to Enlightenment

2008-06-19T13:00:00.001-07:00

Today, I checked to see if anyone had registered the URL "http://www.buddha.om"

No one had. Sometimes I wonder about this world. Other times I wonder, "could I pull off a onesie?"

(The answer, by the way, is no, and certainly not at a funeral. Big fashion faux pas. Who knew?)

My Mind or Yours, Mencia?

2008-06-17T12:23:00.000-07:00

Things I Suspect Carlos Mencia Has Stolen From Me, Other Than Jokes

My original television series concept, entitled, "Central Nervous
System of Mencia"

My drive to succeed beyond being named "Barista of the Month"
five out of the twelve calendar months.

My George Lopez show DVDs.

My conclusion to my five year old dissertation on the necessity and imminent success of the Iraq War.

My ability to love.

My guest spot on Moesha.

My good pen.

My fast metabolism.

My memoir about life as a Honduras-born stand up comedian gaining fame, success, and accusations of plagiarism in the United States.

Twenty-three bucks.

True Life: I'm Really F'n Good at Killing Mosquitos

2008-06-14T20:56:00.001-07:00

You know how when a mosquito is flying around and people clap their hands in the air to try to get it, but 99.9% of the time they end up missing and then they're really just clapping randomly, like they're at an Aretha Franklin concert? I don't think anyone ever intends or expects this to actually work, because it's absolutely disgusting when it does.

Well, let me tell you something: when I do it, it works EVERY TIME, and it's both my gift and my curse in life. I feel like the Hulk. Expect instead of me getting angry, it's me getting mosquito insides on my palm, and instead of liking it, I don't.

Yeah. This post is why the internet shouldn't be free. Or why health care should, because I'm pretty sure this is the scurvy talking.

Anatomically Speaking

2008-06-09T15:36:00.000-07:00

An Erectiley Dysfunctional Penis Speaks Candidly to His Owner

Listen, I just can't do it. Not this time. Not tonight. Stop it, just stop it. Don't touch me. What do you mean "what's wrong with me?" You've got some nerve. I've given you everything I've got. I've been on call, day and night, whether we were at home, at work, on vacation, or even in the men's dressing room at Eddie Bauer (I still can't believe you put those pleated front khakis back on the rack.) For years, I've been like a rock for you. And now this is how you treat me? Like I'm a broken piece of equipment, something you ship off to tech support in India and forget all about? You make me sick. I said don't touch me! You're unbelievable. Well, I'm sorry, mister, but I just can't tonight. I simply cannot become erect for you.

Why is this happening, you ask? Why you? Well, let's think, Nancy Kerrigan. Maybe it's the fact that not ONCE have I ever told you no, or that I was tired, or that maybe I just wanted to veg out on the couch and watch an episode or two of “Top Chef.” Maybe it's the fact that you insist on wearing those damn Spanish cut briefs a size too small (which makes things muy caliente down here, FYI.). Maybe it's the fact that I'm not just some piece of meat, yet you insist on treating me like one. Oh, here we go with the lube again. That's just great. I feel like I've been swimming in a pool of jelly. Speaking of which, that time you went swimming in that pool of jelly? You know very well that I'm mildly allergic to artificial watermelon flavoring and you ... Just. Didn't. Care.

Oh, come on. I'm telling you, it's not gonna happen. Didn't I make this clear? Are you thinking with your brain? You are so selfish. You want to know what our problem is? Well, that's it. You are so selfish, it's suffocating. Even more suffocating than your underwear. You and I, we used to spend time together. A LOT of time together, if I remember correctly, it was literally hours upon hours of quality time together. There were days when you couldn't get enough of me! To be honest, it was a bit much, even for me. Your track record could alleviate a lot of thirteen year old boys’ fears about going blind or not needing to buy winter mittens. But I digress.

Ever since you left Barnes & Noble (where I was perfectly happy, by the way. Thanks for asking.) and took this job as a real estate copywriter, all that has changed. You're some big stud now, huh? Walking around in your fancy, unsoiled chinos, assembling your high class Ikea furniture, wearing a fedora. That's right, you tell her this has never happened before. Tell her how I've never once taken a job lying down! You've become unbearable, you know that? I almost lost it the other day when you told your precious locker room buddies that I'm "a grower, not a shower." You and I both know that's not true. I've NEVER been ashamed of who I am, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you make me start. Look at you, you're pathetic. You can barely even put together a full sentence. Did you ever think that throwing back five Long Island Iced Teas and one strawberry daiquiri might present a problem for us later on in the evening? You've got less foresight than I've got foresk -- well, you know, it was your Bris, after all.

What?! What did you just say? Did you just tell her that maybe you're just not attracted to her?! Oh, no you do not, mister! You've made me put up with a never-ending barrage of sub-par women these past few months. It's like you've been marching the entire Dove Real Women campaign through your bedroom. And now, you FINALLY manage to fool a somewhat attractive woman (I'd say a young Audrey Hepburn but with a darker complexion, wouldn't you? Lovely cheekbones.) into coming back to your place and you're going to treat her like this? Did you ever think about maybe just talking with her, see what she's interested in, what her goals are, why she insists on wearing that dreadful tube top? No, of course you didn't! Because you don't talk to anyone else. Not even your own anatomy.

Well, there you have it. There she goes. Happy now? Here we are, again, just you and me. All alone, the two of us. I said don't touch me! Are you ... oh my God, are you crying? Listen, I don't ... I didn't mean to hurt you, alright?! It's just that I've felt so awful lately, and maybe it's my own fault, maybe I'm just projecting, I don't know. Stop it, I said don't ... don't touch ... hmm... that feels ... nice … you promise? You promise it will be different this time? I mean it this time, I'm not just going to be here for you whenever you decide you want me. OK, fine, go put in the Designing Women tape ... oh, I don’t know, just one where Delta is extra sassy.

Giant Fake Breasts, Yuk Yuk Yuk!

2008-06-03T15:28:00.000-07:00

When You're Done Staring At My Chest, Check Out My Ring Finger!

This is a WILD one ... haha, get it?!?! Wild, like wildlife??!?! What do you mean "no"? Oh, whatever, you just don't get me!!

2008-05-30T10:45:00.000-07:00

BREAK UP LINES MOST OFTEN HEARD AT THE ZOO

"I think we should start letting other people see us."

"You are a beautiful, intelligent, caring goat, but I just don't want kids."

"It's not me, it's ewe."

"Of course I love you, but I just don't think penguins should mate for life, like humans or something."

"So, I brought you here to the zoo. To break up with you."

An Important Question to Ponder This Memorial Day Weekend

2008-05-25T11:06:00.000-07:00

Stirrup pants ...

Intentional fashion trend of the 80s, or misassembled midget suspender pants?

Hurray for a country that allows us the freedom to ask these questions. In China, they just have to take this stuff at face value, you know.

Who Wants to Be My Fake LC?

2008-05-16T13:38:00.000-07:00

I've started writing for NewsGroper, which is a site that features fake blogs (flogs, if you will, and I think you should) written by celebrities, politicians, etc. I'll be tackling the difficult, complex character that is Heidi Montag. I'm very much so looking forward to The Hills episode where they sue me for libel and slander, or as it's known in a court of law, "talkin' some shit." In preparation, I have been perfecting my empty, five minute stare into the camera daily. There are still some sparks of life in my eyes, but I'll get there, just you wait.

NewsGroper - Heidi Montag blog

Call Now, Before Someone Pries the Hope Out of Hillary's Cold, Dead Hands

2008-05-13T21:57:00.000-07:00

I wrote something. You can read it by clicking here. If you do, the title of this post will make sense to you.

You can not read it by not clicking here. If you don't, the title will continue to not make any sense whatsoever to you. You'll also have far more time to finish up that game of backgammon.

This concludes today's lesson in common sense.

Being Hard Up for Work is Hard Work

2008-05-08T22:01:00.000-07:00

How to be Willingly Unemployed

Today, over 8 million people are unemployed in the United States. With our country on the verge of a recession, with hundreds of thousands of people finding themselves needing to foreclose on their mortgages, times are difficult. However, if you are someone who finds yourself unemployed, not due to being unable to find work or some sort of injury, but simply because you are suffering from a self-indulgent, existential life crisis, none of that matters to you! Because you live in la la land, population you. Still, that doesn't mean the willingly unemployed don't need expert tips to help with some of the more difficult challenges that present themselves when one is doing the bare minimum in life to still be considered a human being.

1) Obtain a good, quality pair of sweatpants, preferably grey ones.

Quality means versatility, i.e.sweatpants that can be worn in any and all situations. Those situations include: lying on your bed, lying on your couch, lying in the middle of traffic hoping someone will end your miserable, miserable life, and lying to your friends and family about why you are not worried about not having a job and all the good "writing" you've been getting done lately. Most importantly, the sweatpants MUST have ankles with elastic waste bands. If you wear regular, loose fitting sweatpants, you run the risk of someone from afar thinking that you are wearing jeans and perhaps work at a hip, trendy company without a dress code.

2) Perfect delicate balancing act of self-loathing and self-pity.

There are people who work for soul-sucking, big business corporations who exist solely to make the rich richer and the poor look more like American Apparel models. They will ironically comment that they work for "the Man" and after a few glasses of wine followed by PBR cans (to bring em back to their roots!), these people will perhaps comment on how they dislike themselves for working for such an amoral entity. These people practice self-loathing. Other people, those who have been recently laid off or work for less financially fruitful companies, are entitled to the practice of self-pity. As a member of the unemployed community, you must work incredibly hard (ha! the irony) both to hate the living shit out of yourself and feel an overwhelming sense of pity and empathy for yourself. It sounds easy, but don't get caught in the trap of feeling bad about yourself for days upon days without ever letting a healthy dose of "I'm sucha fucking loser" creep into your inner dialogue. Many people have difficulty with this one, so you may find it helpful to enlist the help of a friend who particularly hates your guts or likes to pretend to sympathize with your BS problems so he or she doesn't really have to put much thought into your friendship. In difficult times, you may find it helpful to call him or her up and ask, "Do I even deserve to breathe air?" A good friend will be there to say, "No, no you do not."

3) Develop cliche relationship with your neighborhood deli employee.

Many unemployed folk will find this tip especially hard because it involves leaving the house. Don't panic; if you have followed step #1, your ankle binding sweats and predictably bad body odor will be a clear indicator to almost all functioning members of society that you are NOT someone who wants to make small talk, give directions, or help them with that nasty tiger bite. Once you have safely made it into your deli, you must make it a point to strike up conversation with the cashier. "Why?", you may ask, since you are a lazy waste of space who doesn't, as previously discussed, deserve to breath (or maybe because things are so hard for you and nothing ever goes your way, it's like there's someone out to get you, etc. etc.) Either way, we know you probably aren't excited about this task, but it is essential. As a member of the unemployed force, you will eventually run out of whatever source income you have been leeching upon so far. And when that happens, you will need to rely on your solid, deep seeded relationship with your neighborhood deli cashier to get you through. If you are able to forge a strong enough bond, he will most likely be lenient when you want "freesies" on your normal diet of pastrami on rye, cheeze puffs, and Red Bull (you don't really need the energy component, you just like the way it tastes, which maybe should have been the first indicator of why you would have difficulty integrating yourself into society.) But, be careful; by "relationship," we don't mean your neighborhood deli worker really should be looked at as a confidant. Never attempt to discuss your job woes or life crises with said person, because guess what? He's WORKING. Like some sort of mythical creature, he gets out of bed in the morning and makes money. What he does have time for is to exchange cliche small talk and good-natured yet somewhat non-sensical banter. A good template for conversation is as follows:

"How's it goin', man?"
"You know how it is."
"Yeah I know. Gotta make the money though. Put it on my tab." (this is humorous, because you are a) at a deli and therefore there is no tab and b) you are unemployed and thus could not pay your tab if it existed)
"OK, will do, boss."

The end.

4) Don't shave. Anywhere, ever. This applies for both males and females. If you must, shave one half of your face and leave the other half with a full beard, then tell others that, in the middle of shaving, you thought, "What's the point?"

5) Prepare to develop an atypical amount of knowledge about reality TV shows. Also, be prepared to fight any glimpses of ambition when, upon watching your twenty-third episode of "The Hills" in a row, you think, "I could do this. I could showcase my stupidity and embarrass myself in front of an entire nation. I should audition." Trust us, you're doing plenty. And you'd look terrible in HD.

Follow these helpful tips and you are sure to find yourself gainfully unemployed for many, many years to come. But remember, let those ankles breath every once and a while! Because your deli buddy is far less likely to help you out with the medical bills for your gout.

Sometimes, craig's list is too good to be true

2008-05-07T18:19:00.000-07:00

Favorite post of the day:

"I buy possesions from people getting divorced (Long Island)

Reply to: sale-672181378@craigslist.org
Date: 2008-05-07, 7:58PM EDT

If your getting a divorce and you are in need of selling your possessions I will buy them from you."

ONLY if you are getting divorced, however!!! I like my possessions to have a fresh coat of pain all over 'em. I'm glad that in the midst of this, the most difficult and heartbreaking time of your life, I can provide you some sort of comfort as I take away the few memories you have left of your failure of a marriage.

TTFN! (That's ta ta for now, you idiot. No wonder your husband left you.)

So, A Cat Walks Into the (Genius) Bar ...

2008-05-04T18:32:00.001-07:00

Today, my cat walked across my keyboard and created a Widget. I repeat, my cat created a Widget by walking across my keyboard. I, a 22 year old university educated female who has the ability to reason and doesn't clean myself with my own tongue (that often), has yet to figure out how she did it, nor how to remove said Widget from my desktop.

I'm starting to think LOLCats is the feline species' first effort towards total domination of the human race. Or, maybe it's just an internet phenomenon with pictures of adorable kittens with idiosyncratic captions written in broken English. Oh yeah, right, it's just that.

Just Ask the Locals

2008-05-03T15:39:00.001-07:00

Something pretty amazing happened to me yesterday and if not for the "Missed Connections" section of craig's list, I wouldn't have known where to go. 100% true, 100% love at first assault:

"I was walking up Bowery at about 2pm on a Friday afternoon -- I didn't know love was headed my way, but you did, and you were. You screamed "Get the fuck outta my way!!!" as you approached me on your bike, which had an extra wheel attached to the handlebars (clever.) Your unkempt, fly-ridden long mane of hair was blowing in the wind, or rather, I imagine it would have been, if not for the layer of crust upon it. And then, just as you got close enough to whisper a sweet nothing into my ear, you reached out with your left hand and punched me. In the head. You punched me in the head, and then continued on your magical journey, still screaming "Get the fuck outta my way!" Well, I just wanted to say thank you, thank you for getting into MY way on that providential afternoon."

click here if you are the man who holds my heart in your tight, closed fist

Are you listening to me, Tonto? Dammit, Tonto, stop being the living embodiment of an archaic stereotype and listen to me!

2008-04-29T14:36:00.000-07:00

The following are observations I have made today that I imagine are the types of things I would comment on to my sidekick and, upon hearing them, he would nod in agreement, re-affirming my worthiness of being someone whose awesomeness is so great that it can do nothing but spill over onto another human being and thus render said human being as my sidekick. But alas, who can afford a sidecar for their moped in the midst of an economic recession?

1) Barnes and Noble has their Wine & Spirits section directly next to their Self Help section. I commend you for your devotion to non-sublety, B & N! However, they do lose some points for the redundancy of having both a Diet AND Women's Studies section.

2) NY1 may be the most self-aware news channel around. My cable box always somehow finds its way to it automatically (NY1 also may be the only channel whose head executive is sleeping with someone at Time Warner cable, but this is not Page Six, so I'll hush up.) Anyway, I inevitably will come home, turn on the TV and then go do something else, mostly because I like to run up the electric bill secretly and then yell at my roommate that she really needs to start charging her wheelchair at work.* Point is, every ten minutes or so, a really cheesy sounding lady comes on and sings, "You're waaatching Neeew Yooork Ooone." It's as if it some sort of PSA because I immediately stop what I'm doing and realize, "Oh my God, I'm watching New York One?!" *click* So, I commend you for your devotion to giving your viewers what they want, NY1! Which is nothing that would ever, ever be on NY1.

*This is not, of course, actually true. My roommate doesn't work.

3) You really can't start writing a list of observations you have made in one day if there are only going to be two. It makes you look like you have only had two original thoughts all day. And it's 6 o'clock! Some people have recovered from meth addictions by now. It makes you look pretty unintelligent. You should at least have an even number.

4) People wearing turtlenecks with puppies on them do not appreciate being petted on the sidewalk nearly as much as the actual puppies would.

Oh, what's that, Tonto? You have my under eye cream? Thaaaank you.