Monday, April 26, 2010

Brett and Buffy

You know it’s a time when you find yourself clicking your TMZ app just to keep up with Brett Michaels condition. For serious though, put aside the hair extensions and his love of whores…who would’ve thunk I would find myself thinking the dude is okay (again, I mean Poison RULES) after catching a couple episodes of Celebrity Apprentice.
The fact that I revealed I’ve watched Celebrity Apprentice just goes to show how much I care.
Pull through, Brett!
…in fact I’ve dedicated all my interviews to Brett- well my strength to..uh job hunt... in this time of in between. It seems the time of looking for a job so that I don’t have to look for a job is upon me (again). Going to go the clich├ęd route and say how interviewing is a lot like dating. All smoke n’ mirrors till you’re in it 6 months and realize you hate the person…or you like their brother better.
That was NOT a true story.
Interviews don’t make me nervous, I think I make a good first impression…but I fear rejection-which has been the pitfall of my life. I can take rejection though…which is what makes me that special medley of insane that is special (in a lovely way).

When I am not checking in on Brett, perfecting a ricotta fresh oregano pizza (with shallots, pepperoni and is thin crust), and job hunting, I am watching the final season of Buffy. Finally, I have procured the FINAL SEASON! It was like a sign (or a sale); Best Buy had it for 19bucks!!!!
A little cheddah and my life is complete. I know how it all ends, and like Buffy I slowly smirked (at the end) and was like, ‘That’ll do, Scooby Gang. That’ll do.”
*sigh* Then I go back to finding a way to make money that doesn’t involve lucite heels and pasties.
I also think about how I am a lot like Buffy. Fighting evil. Standing alone. Like boning vamps. That is a whole other blog though.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

The Place Where I Work(ed): A Lil Ditty

There once was this place where I worked
Filled with ill fitted suits and soulless jerks
There were people who smiled to your front
All the while placing sharp painful objects in ones cunt
I shaked and I shimmied, but reality hit me with a thump
Now I am back to a leisurely grind
Fast n’ carefree with my time
…and thinking that sliding down a pole is where I will wind.
Onward to new adventures with a sunnier disposition
With people who suck less and fucking over is not their mission!

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Why They Cheat.

With the recent abundance of celeb marriages falling apart due to (numerous) infidelities, I have decided to take it upon myself to explain why men cheat.
Well since these are celebs I will first explain why CELEBRITY men cheat.

Are you ready for your mind to be blown?Celebrity men cheat because…THEY.CAN. Like P!nk once sang: sometimes it be’s like that.
They may not want to, they may not need to…but the vaginal openings are all lined up and ready for them…and OOPS, they just happened to fall into a few.
….and if the ‘ladies’ are missing teeth, they’ll easily fall into their mouths a few times too, but not consider that cheating.

Now getting to why REGULAR men cheat, that is a tad more complex, but I have boiled it down to this: men are just bigger boys.
Meaning they need all the attention and to be coddled, reassured and fed. If they don’t get that, they will find a homely chick that will do that for them.
Sometimes like the celebs (though), it’s just there! It being vaginal openings just there waiting…sometimes throwing themselves upon the taken shaft.
Because as much as men can be dog-like, women can be theivin’ scallywags.

I won’t say that all men cheat and we should just live with it (we being hetero women) because that is just shrugging at weakness and saying: ITS OKAY!
It is NOT okay.
God forbid, I am dating a dude and Idris Elba HAPPENS to come into my Starbucks and we proceed into the bathroom for some sleazy-yet DEEPLY satisfying bathroom sex. The said dude I’m dating would be SCARRED FOR LIFE!
…but see, I wouldn’t do that because if I were in a relationship I would respect dude enough to call right before Idris put the tip in and say: hey listen, it’s Idris Elba. I’m breaking up with you. Hollaback.
So simple, but at least I wouldn’t be CHEATING.

Men stop cheating, start growing up. Women stop sweatin’ taken men, start loving yourself a lil.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

When the Kitten Smiles...

Things were looking bleak. So bleak when I woke up from a train nap this semi-creepy dude let me know I was smiling a lot in my sleep.
I explained to him that…so only in my subconscious am I allowed to roll about in the sun like a kitten playing with a dandelion.
Shits real.
I’m over it though. By ‘it’, I mean the feeling like a turd.
It also doesn’t help that I am being vague in my blog, but everything isn’t for everybody.
All you need to know is that I am OVER IT and ready to entertain…and reveal what I wanna about my life.
Like this past weekend, it was a clever mix of my lameness and my cool.

Friday night I threw 2 middle fingers in the air and did laundry AKA went to Club Wash n’ Rinse. For some reason there was club music bumpin’ and like 10 dudes in Armani Exchange in my laundromat. If I wasn’t pouring Clorox into the machine instead of tequila down my throat-would’ve thought I was in a club!
I then folded and sorted while watching my newly purchased New Moon DVD. Sure, I didn’t think much of the movie, but I have to own the Twilight series so that whenever I feel myself thinking I am just too cool for school…I’ll look at those DVD’s and remember. Remember the exquisite lame girl within!
Saturday, we celebrated my dear friend Marci’s born day. Marci is into tapas so a few of us made a dish, some brought wine, and others dessert. I made camarones de ajo…with a twist, I added white wine. Just a pinch. I heart cookin’ for my peeps…just don’t ever let me learn how to bake. I swear I will be home.bound. Needing a crane just to let me see the sky one last time before I eat the 3 whole cakes (at once) that will kill me.

Now Sunday I was cool…and that is only because my brother is cool and in a band. I went to go see them play and I was quite impressed. Though he is blood and I may have changed his diapers a few times, my bro knows I’ll be the first to throw tomatos or whatever else is handy if he sucks. It’s the only way to keep him from sucking.
One thing to be lame and another to just suck.

For some reason saying various versions of ‘suck’ made me think of my current obsession with Jeffrey Dean Morgan!
What the fuck?!!It’s only spring! I still have time before White Boy Summer…but I dunno, seeing him all rugged and sexy next to Idris Elba (in the Losers movie trailer)-maybe that’s it. Idris Elba would make me wanna hump a cactus if he was standing next to it!!! He makes things just downright sensual.
…so while Iddy and I are off being sensual, I’d have computer camera on Jeffrey Dean building me something. He looks like he builds things and likes it. No pansy shit for that dude. He’s liftin’ beams and drinking scotch straight up.
…will work more on this fantasy….

Friday, April 9, 2010

Conversations With Ice: The Tingley Fight

Everyone talks about their first love, but what about the first time you ever felt your lady parts tingle.
Let’s say you’re about 9 or 10 and you’re-okay I see Johnny Depp for the first time (on 21 Jumpstreet). I felt a warmth down low in my belly…that wasn’t gas (for once). It was something I hadn’t felt again till I met a family friends son when I was about 11 and he was 18 (always had refined tastes). Then again in 5th grade when Pablo this kid from Spain, moved to this country and into my heart. He walked into the classroom and I was a hot.mess.
…but back to Johnny Depp. Oh man. I loved that guy. Still love him to this day because no girl ever forgets the FIRST guy to make her lady parts tingle.

All this 21 Jumpstreet talk came about because of my fear of NBC not picking up Law and Order:SVU for next season…yet.
You know there is only ONE person that can set my heart at ease. That person is Ice T.

Setting: Ice and I are playing WII in his recording studio. The game is tennis. Due to my ‘mojito insanity’ during our Scrabble game, we are drinking milkshakes and eating finger sandwiches.

Me: Aw, Ice are you letting me win or am I just that good?

Ice T: It’s not that I’m letting you win; it’s just that I’m not in the right mind space-

Me: Oh? What’s up?

Ice T: I’m not good when my futures hangin’ in the air like some testes. I like to know what’s up. NBC not letting us know what’s good…

Me: I know I am not used to doling out the advice, but what the fuck are you talking about?

Ice T: We don’t know if we’re being renewed next season. SVU.

Me: What. The. Fuck?

Ice T: The show is doing great, but I dunno if they wanna take it in a new direction or sell us out to the USA network and turn the show into some soft porn-

Me:…or Monk.

Ice T: What the fuck is a monk?

Me: I’ve only seen commercials. I have no idea. All I’m saying is…Ice; you’re like a cat with 15 lives. You did Leprechaun in the Hood and bounced back from that. You’ll be aight and the show will get picked up.

Ice T: Well done, grasshopper. I know I’ll be good-I’m taking this as some sort of sign that maybe I need to get back into the music scene-

Me: Woah…what?

Ice T: T, that’s why I wanted us to hang in the studio. Wanted you to hear some tracks-

Me: No. Ice, what is our relationship based on?

Ice T: Honesty and you respecting my gangsta.

Me: Exactly. So, when I say go to NBC’s top brass and tell them to quit leaving you hanging like Octo-Mom’s tits…I mean you MUST NOT, CANNOT, WILL NOT come out with another album.

Ice T: Awww…you’re right, Sweet T. Plus Coco will wanna be all up in my video’s…and I’d miss doin’ TV and seeing Benson’s titties all trying to be covered up in her mock turtlenecks.

Me: Fight for what’s right, Ice. Fight for what’s right!

The End.

Let's hope this situation gets resolved SOON!!

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Yes She Is And I Hope She Burns In HELL!

Listen, Sandra Bullock is a racist. This would explain why I never allowed myself to like her or be okay with her nose. To me she was trying too hard with the whole ‘America’s sweetheart’ thing. Trying to seem down-to-Earth. Trying to be dorky-cute…this is something that Tina Fey OWNS because that is who she is, she isn’t trying.
As you can see I am not an advocate of trying to be anything-like liked, or cool…or a sweetheart when you’re really a racist beatch!
This is why she was SO GOOD in that role she had in Crash. She pulled from her true self and wasted no energy on ‘trying to be’.
Her being racist also explains why Matthew ‘Dirty Naked Bongos’ McCounaghey (sp…actually I don’t care) didn’t wanna make babies with that ass. You see, Dirty Bongo’s is all about a pleasant coexistence. Plus, he likes boning women. All kinds of women. So Sandy going to skinhead rallies wasn’t gonna cut it.
That’s when she found her SOUL MATE Jesse James. I don’t judge books by their cover (out loud) but I could tell that dude would buy left over Hitler semen found in young blonde babies off EBay.
He just has that look.
So when peeps try to say that ole Sandy HAD NO IDEA that he collected Nazi memorabilia and is pretty much a racist, I know that to be LIES because Sandra Bullock is a racist.
When their sex tape comes out, it is going to be fetish porn. Sandy will have on a Hitler ‘stache and JJ will be fisting her third Reich style...on sheets made from the skin of all the minorities (and Jews) they've collected and killed.

Mark my words!

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

The Place Where I Work: New Path

A great deal of my day is spent wondering how much people make. Not because I am a money hungry /status seeking twat, just because I’m fascinated by people who are completely useless and make a ton more money than I do.
In the corporate world, the less you do and the less you know, the more you make. It is an unfortunate formula, but an important one to figure out.

…so I’ve decided to give up (well consider giving up) the corporate world and delve into the world of professional bowling.
I don’t know if anyone knows this, but I am a damn good bowler. This past weekend I spent a good 20 minutes discussing my need for a bag, gloves, and shoes. If I am going to do this, I am gonna do it RIGHT.
My bowling name will be ‘Fast Balls’ or ‘Magic Wrists’. I will procure an entourage, endorsements, and male (hot, young and supple) groupies.
Basically, I’ll be the Tiger Woods of bowling-just with better taste in ho’s.

My soundbites will involve me saying how well I handle balls and how I take special pride in lubing my balls.

There will be smoke machines and a thumping hip-hop beat when I enter alleys. I’ll wear chinchilla visors-there is no sunshine in bowling alleys, but I am fashion forward, yo. Painted on jeans and high-heeled bowling shoes will complete my look.
Oh-my bowling glove will have a flame on it. My bowling ball will either be 24 karat gold or clear with Justin Beaver’s (I know that’s not his name, but I simply don’t give a hoot) head in it.

Wish me luck!

Thursday, April 1, 2010

The Little Things

It’s not like this week has been totally trivial, but so many little things have nipped at me like a summertime bug that I feel worn the eff out.
Not really, but mostly tired and uninspired writing wise.
Also, I’ve spent all of April Fool’s Day and have come up with NO JOKES! I live for this day because as most know: I got jokes…for days.

…this week was just about me getting through each day without bodily harming anyone. It’s not like I’m a violent person or even that I have a short temper, it’s just I have a low tolerance for BS and enjoy clothes lining jerks who don’t stay in their lane. Mostly I think it’s just that people see me and think: demure, tender kitten wouldn’t hurt a fly, etc.
Then they try me and learn that is not the case. Am not a gangsta bitch, but I will cut a bitch. Mostly, I get at the asshats verbally-which usually keeps them in their lane.
When I am not passed out on the train-kinda like I’m coming down from some sort of narcotic high. Recently, I woke myself up by singing along to the song playing on my iPod. Christina Aguilera’s ‘Dirrrty’. Didn’t open my eyes for fear of embarrassment.
If I manage to stay awake (because early, early mornings are unnatural to me) while riding the train, I tend to feel like kicking most people. This is no surprise though because I live in New York.
My verbal abuse is a surprise to those who choose to be puppeteers of sheer dicketry… like this dude this morning. After sliding his large ass down my arm and squeezing in between me and this other dude knowing he didn’t fit and therefore waking me from my train catnap, I say: What the fuck? You cannot fit and next time keep your ass off my arm!!
He was not amused and may have been embarrassed, but hey, no one told him to take that chance.

My verbal assault doesn’t help with attaining an office boo either.
Again, I cannot help that people say/do assholey things and I must be explicit about how that doesn’t work well with me. Especially when I have to get up at 4:30AM. I’d like to think of myself as a curvy, less animated Daria.

I’m thinking a lil fun in the sun. A long weekend. Eating and perhaps drinking a lot won’t make Honey T such a dull girl.