Friday, January 29, 2010

Dermis Levels


About 1 to 5 times a day I am verbally or mentally saying that some dude is a ‘skin stealer’. I use the term so frequently its like second nature- don’t get me wrong though, there are crazy people…and then there are Skin.Stealers.


**This Just In**
Though this entry is not totally work related I must further prove why I am so awesome and read people like the friggin’ Mentalist (CBS show)!
So a few blogs ago I mentioned this dude whistling a John Mayer song and me feeling douche-y for even recognizing the tune-well come to find out that when this guy isn’t pressing his Dockers and moving large dollar amounts…he plays the guitar!!! He carries his guitar in a case that is covered with band stickers, like: NIN and PHISH
Dude is a toolbucket and that’s all she wrote!
**Roger, that**


Okay, now where was I?
Yes, explaining the many levels to the dudes-yes generally I feel men will be more apt to steal/take/covet skin than women. We tend to hurt ourselves, boil animals or boil ourselves like animals to prove a point.
Guys/dudes steal skin because of their hunter's nature and the need to do shit with their hands. Guys with a clever of mix of insanity, intelligence,aggression, outcast-edness, and tech/tool love will steal your skin.
Unlike child predators/molesters/rapists of children and animals, these stealers of skin don’t have an easily identifiable look. You just have to go with your gut on this one and notice the signs-that’s a whole other blog though, this one is just to explain when it goes from you being chained to a radiator with bits of your skin being removed to a dude who has killed you and widdles your bones to make doll pirates and uses your skin for capes and doll pirate boots.

Level 1: Skin Stealer
This guy doesn’t really want to hurt you. He may love you even, but you don’t want anything to do with him. So, one weekend- because you choose to ignore the ‘weirdo vibe’ you get from the dude-he invites you over for some Tang and board games. Once you come to, you find yourself attached via handcuff to a radiator. You feel freshly exfoliated. This is only the beginning though. Because this guy isn’t really adept in torture or murder you can probably get away…or he’ll let you go when you explain how insane this is…or you negotiate going to see one movie with him.

Level 2: Skin/Flesh Coat Maker
B came up with his one. This dude just reeks of weird vibes and perversion. He is usually standoffish, aggressive and wanting to talk to you-all at once! He is the hunter and you are his prey…or you are just not into him. In any case, it (he has decided) has been decided that you are meant to be together forever, you’re just too dumb to realize this…or maybe you just looked at him too long on the train. In any case, you must die and he must sew patches of your skin together…and maybe others (depending on type of coat) to make a flesh/skin coat. These types of guys usually prefer trench coats.

Level 3: Bone Filer
The Bone Filer has to be the most clever and diabolical of them all! This dude is usually insanely smart. For whatever reason, he has set his sights on you and now you must die. This guy can amazingly remove your skin-tearing very little of it- and then he takes your skin sac which still has your shape…and he props it, dresses it, talks to it, etc. He’ll make your empty skin self watch as he files down your bones. Its pretty impressive, but not so much cuz you’re dead.

I’d say stay away or move quickly away from these types. Quickly. You know some. You know that feeling you can’t put your finger on-these are the explanations.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

The Place Where I Work: It's ON.


I don’t know if there is something in the air or the power of seeing some dude in cargo pants and saying: no thanks.
Especially when it’s a dude you casually mind stalk. In any case, there is definitely something in the air because there are guys who really can get.it. checking for my loin Evite. It feels pretty sweet too.
Drake is not going to be fashionably late to my loin party. No siree. Yes, I know I don’t ‘shit where I eat’, but I am also no fool and dude is FINE. Drake has invited me out for drinks-then asks who else should come. Everyone I mention he says: uh…I don’t know.
The only people he feels good about going for after work cocktails are he and I. I only have soooo much self control. Will stay strong though because The Bangout (‘member him) is on the list too. I can’t be the ho that effs PEOPLE at her job-though its not like The Bangout is pursuing my cooch, I just want him to. I’ve mentioned before how physically attractive this guy is…there is also this pull he has on my loins where if he is anywhere near me, I am inching myself closer to him. Think magnets of lust.
Here’s a PRIME example of his fuckability. There I am paying for my Starbucks, but soon I forget that I am doing this when The Bangout walks by. I even say to myself (though the female barista heard me): hot dayum.
I then let out this sigh. The female barista smiles as she watches The Bangout walk and says: oh man, that’s real nice. I inform her that I work with him and she pities me because it takes a strong woman not to just jump his bones on sight.
Must keep myself in check though because I kinda work here-yet when The Bangout is around I always find ways to touch him.
Train run anyone??
No, but seriously….

Sidebar: I FINALLY LEARNED HOW TO ADD PICTURES. I RULE!

Monday, January 25, 2010

Taking Chances


I am not a fan of Celine Dion, but I like to fill my brain with useless knowledge- like her music. She had this annoying song (one of her many) called “Taking Chances”. Oprah co-signed that song meaning that it would be played consistently and would make you want to take a chance on carving out your own ear drum.
In any case it was the theme of the weekend. Took a chance on my liver –by continuing to damage it with delicious libations, musicians-who were more hot than talented and with trying out new accents- Eastern European

Friday I went to have a birthday celebration dinner with some peeps. Two friends birthdays and one amazing dinner. We dined at Perbacco an Italian restaurant in Alphabet City. It was one of the best dining experiences I’ve had here. From appetizer-antipasti to dessert, everything was out of this world! I believe I moaned throughout my meal and only stopped to sip my wine.
Afterwards, I was on my way home when I decided I didn’t really wanna go home. Marci and I had chatted about going to see this dude Taylor McFerrin at this spot in DUMBO. We only thought about going because dude looked kinda hot on the flyer- what better reason does one need really? So, I called Marci up and we made our way to DUMBO.
We had no idea what to expect and that was a good thing because it leaves you open, and you can’t find yourself disappointed-well you can hate, but you can’t get too upset.
Mr. McFerrin was VERY hot in person, but he was the tooliest of the tools. Its not that I spoke with him…I could just tell. I mean dude beat boxed while playing a piano-that totally reads ‘I am an artistic douche who takes myself VERY seriously’.
He was hot though so I refrained from booing or asking him (post show) if getting a drummer was really not an option.

Saturday I slept in and wrote. Very relaxing.
Saturday night I met up with some peeps at Tribeca Grand for pre-game cocktails. There I go again, PRE GAMING. I stuck with rum drinks this time and find that rum relaxes me and makes me pretty hilarious. Usually, I never venture to The Grand on a Friday or Saturday because of the high tool quotient, but this was about taking chances.
I was definitely right about the high tool quotient and now know that if/when I become a heavily accented Eastern European woman who likes to wear yeast tight low rise jeans and LOTS of makeup, I can go to The Grand with the hopes of bagging an older wealthy American man who dresses 20yrs younger than he should. I will do all this while rocking out to Jack White at high decibels.
Once our eardrums were properly molested, we made our way to this amazing Japanese jazz bar. They made fantastic fresh fruit mixed drinks and the vibe was wayyy chiller.
Marci text me to see if I would be heading over to White Slab, so I did. Now, I really should’ve gone home on the exclamation point-not saying Le Slab wasn’t fun, but after having such a great chill night, getting pushed around and poked wasn’t a blast. There were no lesbians promising threesomes and grabbing my ankles though, so it was definitely a TON more fun than last week.

Sunday was about football and more writing.

The oh-10 will definitely involve more stepping outside the box-but not to the point where I start munching on boxes- and embarking on some new journeys. For instance, I have decided to ixnay Puerto Rico and go to the San Diego Zoo. Either by myself or with peeps. Have always wanted to go, so why not?!

So whaddya say...to taking chances???
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKYKNZvQ6Jc

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Why I Do IT.


It makes me uncomfortable to tell people I blog.
Of course I want people to read and be entertained, but this whole bloggin’ thing is kind of ridiculous. 9 times out 10 you have some schmuck talking about rain splattering on cafĂ© windows or how areola’s taste like pepperoni. Shit a lot of people don’t care about!
I get uncomfortable because I don’t want to be one of them schmucks. I know no one cares-I’ll live, but I just enjoy writing …and if I didn’t write down a lot of the things that happen to me I wouldn’t believe them either. My homie DoubleDeuce takes pictures to remember and I write to never forget. Plus I think I have some good stories to tell.

For instance, last week B and I were on our home. We like to cut through Rockefeller Center-especially since all the tourists have gone and we can walk without bumping into scrotums and stepping on children.
We are also gluttons for punishment, and wanted to check in on John Mayer AKA the Michael Buble` Murderer. As we passed Godiva we see John Mayer in a hideous sweater vest stop mid-sentence to watch us walk by. There was a mix of hate, murder, chocolate and rage in his eyes. B and I ran, and laughed heartily. As we stopped to collect ourselves this elfin woman jumps out of a Fox5 News van. B looks alarmed, but I recognized her from Good Day New York.

Me: Hey you’re on Good Day New York!
Good Day Elf: (giggles) Yes, I am. You ladies look cheerful!
B: Well, we just got off work.
GDE: Ah yes. Would you guys like to talk about the whole Conan/Leno/NBC situation?

Now, this was near the beginning of the hot mess that was going on with the Tonight Show. B was a fountain of knowledge because she is knowledgable and I, being a true Gemini, skim through the stories gaining very little knowledge.
The camera comes on and the Good Day Elf asks B about the situation. B is all smart n’ poised. Cheekbones catching light. Then it is my turn.


GDE: What do you think about the Conan O’Brien situation?
Me: Booooooooooooooooooooooooo!

[Yes. I say ‘boo’ for about 2 minutes.]

GDE: How do you think Johnny Carson would feel about this situation with the Tonight Show?
Me: I think Johnny Carson is rolling over in his grave and as he does this, he hits Ed McMahon and Ed McMahon is like: oooohhhh nooooooo (that would be me doing my made for TV Ed McMahon impersonation)

B looks at me and is like: WTF??? She is wondering when I came up with this new impersonation. I explain that something about the lights, the camera…the action. The Good Day Elf tells us we should have our own TV show because we are hilarious! We agree and ask her to put in a good word for us.
We then continue on our journey home agreeing that B would definitely be on TV that night.
Then we learned of the earthquake in Haiti and felt like jackasses because the only reason we were watching the news was to see our luscious mugs.
*sigh*
They wind up showing both B and I. B saying something really smart and appropriate. Then they show me and my Ed McMahon impersonation. It was hilarious, and my skin was glorious, but of course…that is what they show of me.

The next day I roll into work, and just as I’m about to tell a coworker what happened, this random chick walks by my desk and does a double-take. She asks if I was on the news. I say yes. She tells me I am a natural!
The day continued with random peeps calling me or family members to say they saw me on the news and that it was hilarious! At least peeps could chuckle a little during this disheartening situation in Haiti.

So, I blog for the love (giving and receiving), for the possible TV appearances and because I am one of those rare people that catches a dude passing by at work whistling John Mayer’s ‘Daughters’ song (the WHOLE song and I only know this because I went through a Mayer phase-it lasted a few months) and he catches me trying not to laugh because it was totally creepy. He starts whistling louder and then we laugh- I still wouldn’t leave any child of mine alone with him though.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

The Place Where I Work: Afternoon Delight


In my life outside the office, the romance is non-existent. This is shocking, I know, because I seem so open hearted, non-aloof, and never choose to stay in and watch old episodes of Bones instead of taking a chance on love.
That is me being sarcastic again-yet another reason I will be alone n’ graffitti’ing up them Valentines Day movie posters- besides me playin’ bitter, that movie just looks like it sucks. There are 15 actors too many in it and you know it’s going to be cheesy.
Anywho, my office love life is filled with drama, intrigue and more importantly…romance.

If you’ve been keeping up with my work ramblings you know about Drake and how we went from hate to love. He and I are buddies. I’ve brought out the personality that he’s hidden from the world. Call it breaking shyness…or our love being like water to a dying plant.
Yes, I just typed that.
Because I love the song ‘Big Pimpin’’, I cannot have love for one work ho. In my outside office life I don’t have the energy to love more than one ho. I’ve tried, but fail at it miserably.
At work though: its big pimpin’ babyyyy!
There’s Drake, these two interchangeable ho’s- they both have shaved heads, tall, nerdy awkward, are Black, and I am light enough for them to get promotions (honestly cannot think of names for these dudes). In my pimp-dom I’ve also stolen ho’s.
B loves this dude we call Ginger (he has red hair and therefore has ‘salmon cock’-which will be a whole other blog). Ginger AKA Quinger AKA Sheep’s Queef has caught B doing some pretty awesome things (like when she followed the 10 second rule with a cookie she accidently tossed in the trash, he watched as she pulled the cookie out of the trash and ate it)-he also makes her so nervous that she seems mildly retarded when around him.
Because I could give a rat’s hairy ass, he is smitten. He finds ways to chat and tells me things about his life. My looks of disinterest and one word responses just pull-him-into the vortex that is my loins. I don’t want to stab this dude like I do Black Tom Cruise (more on him later), but he wears these tri-colored boating shoes and ties with kangaroos on them. That just screams fetish sex-like he wears thongs or likes to be shat on.
It really just excited me too much that I used the word ‘shat’.
Didn’t mean to turn ole Quinger on, but I do. B is dealing-though we may knife fight by a pool or something.
Poor Blair attracted this married dude-who is attractive, but married-he loves walking by her just to stare at her impressive rack. Today, after 2 elevator rides, I have stolen her married boo and (thanks to B) named him Defelatio. I made the mistake of looking in dudes eyes which are gateways to creepy sexual things. He was also playing ‘pocket pool’ both times we spoke. Defelatio enjoyed holding the elevator doors for me and asking: going down? There was a twinkle in his pervy eyes.
I liked it. So, I let Blair know I was snaking that ish. She doesn’t seem to mind.

Lastly and certainly least, there’s Black Tom Cruise. One would think after he tried asking me out for lunch and I stared at him that he would understand my lack of interest in him or his permed ponytail. Like Quinger, my indifference only makes his Dockers fit a little tighter in the crotch area.
The other day Black Tom Cruise initiates this conversation with me. It began with him asking about my long weekend (I responded with ‘fine’), to him asking about my relationship status. I tell him I have no love for the ho’s. He mentions he just got out of a long term relationship. I stare blankly imagining the kind of woman that would stay with him for anything longer than a $20 hand job (it’s a recession). He goes on to drop life knowledge about how you can’t tell someone what to do, that they have to want to do it themselves. Then it was MY turn to drop life knowledge on him. I say that people enter relationships thinking they can change people. You shouldn’t and you can’t. You have to accept what you think are flaws…or don’t. He nods and says I am quite wise. Now he has been circling me like a shark. Oy!

As you can see, my office love life and outer love office life share one commonality: when I don’t want it, it wants me.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

My Long Weekend by Me

I went into this first long weekend of 2010 with no set plans. I knew I wanted to sleep, eat, drink (libations) and shake my ass-you know keep it simple. Since the oh-10 is about sayin’ n’ doin’, I feel rather accomplished right now because I succeeded in all I set out to do. May have also said (to Naomi) that the oh-10 was about ‘deep dickin’, but I blame alcohol for that one….

Friday was about the slow wind up because I am entering my ‘golden years’…or realm of spinsterdom, I need to work my up into my party-hard frenzy. I met my friend Elisa for some dessert as dinner action at the Chocolate Room in Carroll Gardens. Since the weather was not ‘witches tit cold’, I decided to walk up Atlantic Avenue and got into some amazing late night Walgreens action. This dude tried to ‘holla’ as I looked for a good nail topcoat, but I was focused, man. Plus he was disrupting my iPod listening- ‘Love, Sex & Magic’ was on, had to get my aisle dancing on.
As I made my way through the Atlantic Avenue train station I run into Kris, who I NEVER RUN INTO, but hung with he and his lady on New Years, so I guess its how 2010 is going to be. He and his boy were feeling good off the ‘quila and were on their way to Sycamore for more dranks. Kris grabbed my hand and was like: you’re going.
So, I went. Stayed for one drink and had a nice time. There were chats about haggis and ‘skin stealers’.
Good times, indeed.

Saturday was about sleeping in and possibly going out, but I wasn’t sure. When I finally got out of bed around 2:30PM-HELL YEAH- I was definitely in the mood to get my schwerve on. After careful consideration…and mostly because I like being able to wear a t-shirt and jeans out, decided to go to White Slab Palace. The Darkness and Milkmoney throw a great, non-sceney party filled with people I enjoy…so again, HELLS YEAH! Marci and I pre-gamed at her crib with homemade vodka’s- Elisa made us flavored vodka for Christmas!!! She matched the flavor with our personalities and tastes. Marci’s was apple cinnamon, and mine was ginger. De-friggin’-licious.
I don’t know why we felt the need to pre-game because we are both lightweights when it comes to the drink. Needless to say I was a lil tipsy leaving her apartment and may have been singing ‘I wanna make love in this club’ during our journey to White Slab.
Unbeknownst to me, Victoria hit me up on Facebook to see if I was going to be at the Slab-awwww the cosmic love. Not only did I show up, but we all rolled in around the same time. Sweet!
Crew was assembled, drinks were got and the music was popping. Arden AKA A1 Special Sauce rolled through and told us about how when he rolled to the restroom this chick tried to follow him in. The chick was Heather, who becomes an essential character in the night’s follies. He was definitely put off by that, but mostly because Heather appeared to be a rather butch lesbian. This caused me to point out that Arden’s long (dread) locks and feminine stride could be his downfall. I know, I am such a supportive friend.
Because karma is a bitch indeed, there I am dancing when Heather introduces herself. She tells me her name, that I’m hot and that we’re gonna dance. Since I was already dancing I figured-why not?! Also, Heather was keeping a safe, comfortable distance-which wasn’t happening most of the night- at one point I was playing around reggae dancing ass-in-the-air sorta thing when this lil Asian dude rolled all up in my ass area. I jumped and then fell on a couch laughing. Then this pretty random dude rolls up and tells me that I have a nice tummy-he also drops some life knowledge…but I forget what he said.
Anywho, Heather and I were dancing-when suddenly she drops it low to the ground, grabs MY ankles and then slaps her hips…or ass, and rolls her body back up so that we are eye level. I back up and am like:WOAH! Marci runs laughing hysterically to the other side of the dance area. Arden is laughing and ignoring my pleading ‘please play boo-pretend with me’ look. Heather sees me shanking A1 with my eyes and asks if I know him. I say I do, and pull him over. A1 makes sure we’ve all been properly introduced when Heather throws out this clever suggestion: why don’t we all do a threesome?
Usually A1 and I can come up with a witty response to ANYTHING. This time we were both speechless. Suddenly I was holding my arm up with no A1 underneath it because he joined Marci in the laughing at my demise.
Finally, after seeing that my dancing turned into me standing there just moving my hands ‘jazz hand’ style, Heather says,” I can see you’re not into this…I think you’re pretty and I thought you were gay.” I say, “Thanks and no I like dudes.” She lingers though and A1 musters some type of sympathy and pulls me away from Heather and into a corner where I whimper ‘why can’t I wear a t-shirt n’ jeans without looking like a lesbian!!!! ‘ I just wanna be comfy. A1 says I don’t look like a lesbian and that Heather was just saving face. He then offers to grab my ankles for me, but then declines when I said that really would make me feel better. *sigh*
When I confront Marci, she says that she’s a lil thing and I looked like I could take Heather….because I’m so butch.
Bleah. My butch-ness was proven when Queen Latifah’s ‘U.N.I.T.Y’ came on and I went a lil too ‘aggressive’ with it. A1 is like: you may wanna simmer that down…
Geez.
Anywho the night was filled with awesome music-including Birdman and good times.

Sunday involved more sleeping and some deep reflection on my look. I mean I think I look feminine and like I like dudes, but thanks to chicks making out on cue at clubs, and ‘experimentation’ being the in thing-one never knows.
Elisa and I knew we were meeting DoubleDeuce at her local watering hole because it had to be a chiller night. There also needed to be food involved and since I’ve been dying to try my friend’s hubby’s restaurant/bar-Sidecar-we did so. Amy AKA Juicebox (her Jersey Shore name) met up with DoubleDeuce and I for dinner. We dined! DINED! I had a raw oyster for the first time in my life! Drank lots of rum. Ate pate`and mussels avec frites. It was all delish. They hooked us up with dessert…though I had dessert idea’s of my own which mostly involved me and our South African trapeze artist waiter. Totally forgot his name. He was very easy on the eyes AND I offered to stay at his crib in South Africa during World Cup. He was basically like ‘nah’ because he wasn’t going to be there…and so began my sexual harassment of him. All I kept thinking was ‘trapeze artist’ and I am at a sexual low point. He wasn’t totally against me, but he wasn’t all for me either.
Anyways, I drank more rum and got over it.
Oh, and the Golden Globes were on. I missed them, but caught the highlites… like Monique’s hairy legs and win. Mariah’s globes- my friend Mel texts me and says she wants me in that dress for her wedding. Done and done. Robert Downey Jr.’s speech-I *heart* RDJ. Avatar fuckin’ winning. THE HANGOVER WINNING-now that was a surprise. Halle Berry just being perfection. Like if I were going to whatever award show and they were like Halle is gonna be there too. I would just roll in jeans and flats because no matter WHAT you wear, you will not out sexy, out beauty, out ANYTHING Halle Berry. This was proven that night.

Monday was another day of rest and reflection. I spent a lot of it crying-just the whole Haiti situation. Its hard to even discuss in public because I get teary eyed…so like a true thug I do my crying in private.
Also caught Oprah (which kept the tears flowing) where she had families who had one of their loved ones killed by someone texting while driving! How fuckin’ senseless and idiotic! I stopped dating a guy because he felt he could efficiently text and drive. I felt he was dumb and NOT THAT FUCKING IMPORTANT TO HAVE TO TEXT EVEN WHILE DRIVING.
Ugh.

Well, that was my weekend.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

The Place Where I Work: People Think I'm Stupid

One of my biggest peeves besides people with lazy eye's, are condescending assfucks. Being a person who asks questions when they don’t understand something- and though I'm prone to daydreaming/zoning the fuck out/and relishing in reverie-I am often able to keep up. So when people talk to me as if I am a 2 year old with special needs, I tend to get a bit upset. To the point that said person who spoke to me in such a manner now lives in fear of me. He makes no direct eye contact and is always apologetic when we speak- no, I didn’t go OFF, but I did do the subtle strong eye contact thing with a tone of voice that let’s one know they’ve gone too far and this may end in bloodshed.
When I am not being spoken down to, it’s the normal working in a financial corporate environment with a bunch of peeps that went to Ivy League schools and think that anyone who isn’t doing what they do is dumb. So when they speak to me and I respond with a complete sentence or know about anything ticker related...I get a ‘wow’. Fuck you.
Actually, I don’t get too upset because a great deal of these financial whatever’s lack personality, depth and cock inches (or are just ‘missionary’ tricks if they are women).
To pass the time I like to make fun of them without them knowing... which doesn’t take much. I also like to make things awkward by staring at them and not smiling or saying anything, but this only makes them think they are needed in a meeting between my thighs. Ugh.
Dockers make me dryer than sand on a hot beach, but oh well.
It’s a paycheck.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Where It Comes From

I bet at some point in time you’ve wondered how I’ve come to have the sense of humor I have.
Biting. Hateful. Perverted. Funny at times-but mostly to me.
Life made this way. LIFE. Not saying mine has been all backshot’s and bullets- it’s just that we’ve all been through some shit.
My strength comes from the shit though, my humor is a product of being picked on as a kid AND a gift of wit.
Also, it keeps me slightly sane and less likely to be total recluse…I mean you have to laugh at things to keep from stabbing.
Two things happened today that are prime examples of why I do how I do:

1) Many months ago I applied for a flight attendant position with Jet Blue. I figured I like travelling and I hate the confines of offices.
I LOVE writing and would be able to do so-plus think of all the awesome blogs I could write about my travels n’ such. I got through 2 rounds of prerequisite stuff, and then much later I get an email that seems like I am going in for an interview, interview. Sure I have a gig now, but opportunities are opportunities. Before I got my hopes way up though, I get another email saying something like this: hey, remember that time we said come in for an interview…therefore getting your hopes up and having you contemplate a unique uniform look-yeah, that was a mistake. Sorry. Buh-bye.
I read the email twice and shrugged and was like, go figure.

2) Then (the same day!), there I am minding my own business, just trying to do a lil shoe n’ Sephora shopping at lunch when this dude is about to pass me. Being a Native New Yawker-and also from BROOKLYN, I can feel him looking. So, I give him a look to say: I see you, son and to see if he’s crazed.
Dude is smirking and says: you would be prettier if you weren’t wearing glasses.
I say: fuck you.
It was succinct and efficiently shut.him.down.
This guy was wrong on so many fronts, but the most important were: my glasses make me look SEXIER-they bring out my already exceptional cheekbones and make me look wikked smaht, peeps stopped looking ugly in glasses since they stopped making them the size of ones face-even though hipsters seem to love this look, and so on... I could go on really, but what’s the point. In the end, people should learn that if I don’t know you-I’m simply passing you by on the street- and even if I do, I truly don’t give a fuck about what you think about my look. I think I look fantastic-sometimes.
As an often offensive person this really peeves me (when random peeps just comment on you) because I never set out to just say shit to people. Especially mean shit. I don’t wanna ruin your day-unless you had it coming.

Monday, January 11, 2010

‘Bedrock’ as Avatar: My Summary of Avatar

PLEASE NOTE: This will not blow your mind or give some new perspective on this overly hyped White mans fantasy film. This is just me doing how I do. If you plan on seeing this movie, you can still read this-there are no spoilers because this shit has been done before. You will not be surprised. If you are, then you probably won’t be reading this anyway because you cannot read. In no ways do I mean to condescend, but if you are shocked by anything in this movie then you probably believe in Santa or that THOSE are real.ALSO NOTE: My brief comparison to the Young Money song ‘Bedrock’ is brilliant and came to me as I was snuggled under my covers on a Saturday night.


On Friday it was decided that we would eat good American meat (overpriced and oversized and friggin’ delicious) and then head to see Avatar in IMAX 3-D- America, Fuck Yeah!!
I’ve read a great amount of write-up’s about this movie, listened in on debates-but either way I wasn’t going into this all deep. First off, it’s a movie. Second, it’s a movie I would be watching with 3D shades that made me look like a Willy B resident. Thirdly, it’s hard to be all self righteous after drinking Starbucks, eating a 12 dollar burger and watching the 20 dollar flick on an IMAX screen!!
For Katherine, going in with a full belly wasn’t a good idea, and made her quite queasy with all those 3D IMAX effects-so she saw about 8 dollars worth of the movie.
So the movie begins with the Earth being fucked. This means man had to explore other planets. Done.
By exploring they mean depleting the land of resources and killing the Native peeps (in this case the Navi peeps). The usual. Exploring is done by the military and scientists-to balance out the guns n’ shit. The ‘money’ behind this exploration was this company run by Giovanni Ribisi (wow, long time no see, boo) who basically phoned this role in (paycheck, bitch) and just watched eps of Entourage. He was just like ‘Ari Gold as head honcho’. Done.
Sigourney Weaver played the lead scientist. Wilson, Katherine and I were amazed at how gracefully she’s aged. Meaning, no ‘tox. I mean she is like a trillion years old (in Hollywood years) and she hasn’t gone under the knife! Well, it doesn’t look that way at least. She was cool…though I kept waiting for an Alien to explode from her stomach.
The lead dude, a Marine named Jake Sully, don’t know the actors name, but I was told he was in Terminator Salvation- no one saw that ish, so it’s understandable that I didn’t know who he was. I was also ashamed that even though I wanted to stab him in the heart and say no prayer to the Gods (it’s a movie thing- or basically what every ‘savage’ group of people do with animals)- I still kinda wanted to bounce on it. That was until I saw his (CG under enhanced) legs (he was wheelchair bound). Not sexy at all.
Then there was the Whitest White Man On Earth who played the army sergeant or colonel or something. He was typical.
You know what it is, the scientist are all like- hey, the Navi of this land are people too, let’s work with them, teach them our civilized ways, lube them up and THEN fuck them up. The army is all like-no lube bitches. We’re going in!
As a last resort the scientists go in as avatars- oh yeah, the Marine dude had a twin bro who was a scientist, but he died…so Young Sully went in his place. Something about DNA. Yeah.
Blah, blah…Marine dude as avatar goes in and at first is a typical asshole, but then thanks to the Native nani he grows a soul and is like the best Navi that ever did it!
Young Sully pretty much rolled up on Natirikah and was like- call me Mr. Flintstone;I can make your bed rock. Natirkah was all like-oh yeah, lemme put this pussy on your sideburns.
Then shit exploded and because Young Sully bitched up this pretty colored flying dragon, he became the best that ever did it. Even better than the Native warrior leader-Tupac (something with a T). Young Sully was good at everything cuz Natirikah was Tupac’s girl!!!! Young Sully was all like- that was your girl, I thought I recognized her! Then Tupac died n’ shit.
Lot’s of people died. Including Michelle Rodriguez who was an army pilot, but the whole time I was thinking-isn’t she supposed to be in jail???
So yeah, peeps died and the Navi win and Ari Gold has to go back to Earth…OH and the Whitest Man On Earth gets capped by Natirikah.

Overall, I thought the writing was poor and the plot predictable. Visually the film was stunning. Acting was bleah. Music…I guess it was aight. I mean there were drums and that appealed to my Native roots.
Will I buy this movie when it comes out on DVD? Nah. James Cameron’s pockets are lined enough. And even though I promised myself not to get in too deep with this. I got teary eyed at a few scenes- like when peeps were getting bombed and there were babies crying. I also got a little angry and vowed to not participate in my annual White Boy Summers for about 2 years- they can’t have all the Native nani all the time. Hopefully pulling mine out of the game will prove a point!

Anywho, I still don’t know if I like this film. Hmmmm….

Thursday, January 7, 2010

She’s My Favorite Girl…

Today is my mom’s birthday. Yay for MAMA’s!!!

My Mom is special for many reasons:

-birthing me.
-always saying the perfect thing to piss me off-NO ONE can do it like her
-teaching me the elements of style n’ class
-cooking so fabulously, I’ve never had to worry about succumbing to the coke fueled pressures of becoming a super model.

…there are tons more reason why she rocks, including her humor. She laid the foundation-is really the backbone of my amazing sense of humor. My dad was always literal and more mocking- dry almost. Mom is the practical joker. She’s pervy and rather spunky.

When I was younger birthday gifts were easier to give. The older and less fertile I get, the harder they are to give. My Mom wants grandchildren…and like most she has given up hope. So, being the HILARIOUS woman she is, she is pitting 2 lesbians that live in my building against each other for my affections. She’s noticed their interest in me and realizes that dudes just don’t dig me the same…so Moms is accepting of an alternative lifestyle for me. She’s okay with me and the lesbian of choice adopting babies and living in a loft space in DUMBO.

Now you see where I get it from.


Happy Birthday Mom!! Perhaps next year I’ll have lil Blasian babies to leave with you while I’m at da club.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

The Place Where I Work: One Taste

Sometimes it takes just one taste of insanity or loveliness to keep you away or keep you coming back.

Here’s an example of a taste of insanity:
B and I are the good kind of crazy- more funny at times, more crazy at others. We decided that John Mayer (a dude who looks like him) works at the Godiva near us in between his albums. Whenever we walk by, we say, “Hi John Mayer!”…but he can’t hear us through the glass. On a couple of occasions we have gone in to grab lil nibbles of chocolate to get us through the train ride home and John Mayer was never working.:(
Yesterday, we both had a day, so I treated us to some dark chocolate dipped macaroons. Proving that it was all meant to be, John Mayer was there singing along to this loudly playing music that really wanted to be Sinatra. It wasn’t Sinatra. It was Michael Buble`. I, ever so eloquently, state: fuck Michael Buble`. B looks disheartened and stops singing along because she hoped it was Sinatra. She agrees that Buble` sucks.
We also were excited about seeing John Mayer there-even if he was proudly singing along to Buble`. He was at the other side of the store when I said: fuck Michael Buble`.
Then this happened…

Godiva Minion: Ssshhhhhh…
Me: Oh…sorry, there are children around…
Godiva Minion: Oh no, fuck the children, it’s my manager. (points towards John Mayer) He loves Michael Buble`.
B: That’s unfortunate. (we give each other the ‘THIS IS AMAZING’ look)
Me: Well, I’m a paying customer…so I’m always right.
Godiva Minion: (chuckles) True, but he loves Michael Buble`.
Me: Fuck Michael Buble`. I hope someone kicks him in the throat so that I don’t have to hear him sing anymore.

[at this point John Mayer saunters over)

John Mayer: Wow. Who do you want to do that too? (B’s eyes go wide; the Godiva Minion throws our treats at the cashier and scuttles, shivering into a dark corner)
Me: I was told I shouldn’t say anything bad about him. (I slide over to the cashier) Actually, okay, I hate Michael Buble`.
John Mayer: How could hate Michael Buble`?? Why??
Me: Sometimes I don’t need a reason to hate, I just do.
B: …well, we thought this was Sinatra, and we LOVE Sinatra…but it’s not.
John Mayer: (snarls) Well nothing beats Sinatra! This is great music, I can’t listen to that Rihanna crap- (he locks the door-the only exit to Godiva. I kinda blackout thinking about how to escape this murder that’s about to happen. B practically has to take my card and pay because I couldn’t move)

B and I freak out and are mouthing that John Mayer is crazy…and how are we going to get out of there. Thankfully there were like 2 other customers so he left the keys in the door. The cashier hoped that God blessed B and I…and we made our escape. We pretty much ran to the train station.
John Mayer is CRAZY. Like eyes glazed over, has a warlock cloak and a subscription to Skin Stealers Weekly-CRAZY.
We got a taste and spat it out.

Now a taste of loveliness is the opposite end of the spectrum. Its like ice cream and biscuits. Tastes so good.
On New Years Eve I gave Drake a hug to say HAPPY NEW YEAR and to say peace out. It was the first time we hugged…and I also hugged other coworkers.
He got one taste of that hug and now he can’t stop, won’t stop…eh, eh…eh, eh. Drake wants to hug me all the time (seriously, he’s said this-look how far we’ve come) though he knows it’s not work appropriate. He sends me air hugs and kisses-jokingly, but there is longing in his eyes.
I got that good, good…mos def.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

The Place Where I Work: An Erotic Poem About Today

I Feel Like I’ve Been Screwed
By Me


I feel like I’ve been screwed, guzzled, and lubed
Propped up on a thrown out mattress, legs astray
And Work is pinning me down and thrusting away
When work is finished, then ‘Everday Jerkoffs’ begin
Because getting a train run, means we can win
Pumps of intent and licks of glory
My ass feels as if its been spanked all morning
Pulling and tugging, fisting and smurfing
Raw and tender, they feel no regret
We wordlessly break because love is not the intent
Eyes staring, wanting more, but too tired grind
Until Work grabs me from behind
We slide n’ glide, ride till I’m wide
Then Time steps in and this is when the deep throatin’ begins
Gaggin’ and tears, hair pulled, eyes wide like deer’s
I’m hoping I’ve paid all my arrears, and tomorrow will be better
Cuz I don’t have enough in me to get wetter…

Monday, January 4, 2010

So far...

Resolutions broken: there were none made-so far, so good.

Liquid amount of champagne consumed in the span of 3 days: A Lot. I have never been good at math (or drinking champizzle). You know you’re living dangerously when you’re sipping a rose` champagne and eating an ultimate turkey sammich.

New Year addiction: red velvet cupcakes. Have always loved red velvet cake, but it’s like the cupcakes are calling to me…like I say the cock does.

The 2010 hair so far: its been pretty spectacular!!! I am blow drying and pin-curling. Shit is working like a charm!

Number of dudes I was a complete bitch to because I was distracted by hunger/impatience/champagne hangover: 3. Will try to be better in 2010-try.

Number of times ‘there’s enough for everyone’ was said during New Years weekend: countless times. Thanks to m’girl DoubleDeuce making me retell the story about the time I air traffic controlled to my crotch and said ‘there’s enough for everyone’. It’s the theme for 2010.

Number of songs written about New Years weekend: 1 and here it is…with an eloquent preface-

To pass the time or just cuz we’re jerks, B and I like to sing about life’s moments as if we were Regina Spektor or any of them other chicks that thinks its cool to play the piano and be quirky n’ heartfelt.
We mostly sing about riding the escalators and how comfortable pants are like kittens.

I’ve decided to sum up my New Years celebrations- though chill- with a piano and some lyrics.

Here we go.

*ahem*
(strong mid-tempo piano playing to showcase how deep I am and how much you’re going to enjoy telling everyone you love this song)

I’m not like her, I don’t party all the time (party all the time)
So I went to, the house of a friend of mine
I rode the train and I carried champagne
As the DJ, I played Mariah, Get Rich and Dyin’ 50 (what up gangsta)
And a lil Gwen Stefani (hey baby)
And I wrote this song
And I wrote this song…about the New Year

We never made it to the park, but we discussed Sparks
We didn’t watch the ball drop, we let the microwave be our clock
No kiss at midnight, only hugs for thugs, and mushes to the face
And we ate cake (oreo cake)
And we ate cheese (buffalo wing hot cheddar)
And I wrote this song,
And I wrote this song…about the New Year

I slept till 4 and didn’t unlock my door till Saturday
I brunched and on Sunday I brunched some more (honkodocious*)
Made no resolutions, only goals to fulfill
And I bought things at Target, and I kicked no children
Cheers to good will…
And I wrote this song,
And I wrote this …about the New Year.


*Honkodocious is a term I’ve stolen from JD because White peeps used to be the ONLY ONES about brunching, now er’body is.

Happy New Year!