Okay, so, Michael Jackson died.
And what a sad thing it is that Farrah Fawcett died this morning and nobody cares.
All day long people have been raving about a dead M.J., and it pains me to see that
1) people care so much about a celebrity that was a weirdo as it was and
2) that Farrah Fawcett was the big story, but now it's "Farrah who?"
And this is what life is like. You're only great until someone greater does something to outdo you.
People, take note.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
espresso
I've got this horrible tendency to creep craigslist and have a good lol over the desperate missing connections ads. Tonight, however, I prowled on one that is actually sort of impressive. It reads:
Coffee Hottie - m4w - 31
We approach things differently. I appear conventional, you do not. You have lots of interesting flair. I am WHITE to the extreme. My little government job makes me so.
I see you when I get my little coffee drinks. We have awkward interactions. But it's so on.
This is going to happen. It's just a question of when. And when it happens, I am going to rock your fucking world.
And for some reason, I am swoon-zilla over this.
Girls are silly.
Coffee Hottie - m4w - 31
We approach things differently. I appear conventional, you do not. You have lots of interesting flair. I am WHITE to the extreme. My little government job makes me so.
I see you when I get my little coffee drinks. We have awkward interactions. But it's so on.
This is going to happen. It's just a question of when. And when it happens, I am going to rock your fucking world.
And for some reason, I am swoon-zilla over this.
Girls are silly.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Tonight, in South Central
Okay, can I start this off my saying in lieu of cooking tonight, I bought my dinner at a place called M&M Meat Shop. That shit was disgusting. Just thought I'd let you know.
I haven't watched television in a very long time, and by the looks of it, things have changed. It's been about 10 months since I have watched any real amount of television, and while tuned in to a movie on late-night TV last night, a newer looking Dr. Pepper commercial came on. The commercial's star? Dr. Dre.
Now, isn't this the same man who alleged beat the shit out of Dee Barnes? Reading an interview that Spin magazine conducted with the guys from N.W.A. back in September of 1991, Eazy E gives a fairly detailed description of the beating Dee received, with Dr. Dre laughing and making the attack valid by stating that he "was drunk". Violence against women is a joke to him, and yet we put him in a Dr. Pepper commercial because...?
It seems almost other-worldly to me to consider a man that once glorified gang violence is now trying to sell those same hated suburbanites a popular American soft drink. Am I the only person seeing an issue with this? It just doesn't make any sense.
It's the same as Ice Cube appearing in family-oriented films like "Are We There Yet?". Perhaps the gangsters of the early 90's have gone soft? Maybe the lack of album sales in the last 10 years have prompted them to find other means of income? Or, it's perhaps the idea that over 20 years have passed since the release of N.W.A.'s Straight Outta Compton, and in those 20 years, the surviving boys from hardcore gangster rap outfits have grown up to realize that rapping about killing and slapping bitches is both horrifying and immature. When you think about it, every adolescent goes through that period in life where they rebel against society and the criteria of idealistic existence. When you grow up in the projects, I guess you rebel a little differently.
But the real point of this is hello, Dr. Dre is in a fucking soda commercial.
It's pathetic to the point where you feel bad laughing about it.
I haven't watched television in a very long time, and by the looks of it, things have changed. It's been about 10 months since I have watched any real amount of television, and while tuned in to a movie on late-night TV last night, a newer looking Dr. Pepper commercial came on. The commercial's star? Dr. Dre.
Now, isn't this the same man who alleged beat the shit out of Dee Barnes? Reading an interview that Spin magazine conducted with the guys from N.W.A. back in September of 1991, Eazy E gives a fairly detailed description of the beating Dee received, with Dr. Dre laughing and making the attack valid by stating that he "was drunk". Violence against women is a joke to him, and yet we put him in a Dr. Pepper commercial because...?
It seems almost other-worldly to me to consider a man that once glorified gang violence is now trying to sell those same hated suburbanites a popular American soft drink. Am I the only person seeing an issue with this? It just doesn't make any sense.
It's the same as Ice Cube appearing in family-oriented films like "Are We There Yet?". Perhaps the gangsters of the early 90's have gone soft? Maybe the lack of album sales in the last 10 years have prompted them to find other means of income? Or, it's perhaps the idea that over 20 years have passed since the release of N.W.A.'s Straight Outta Compton, and in those 20 years, the surviving boys from hardcore gangster rap outfits have grown up to realize that rapping about killing and slapping bitches is both horrifying and immature. When you think about it, every adolescent goes through that period in life where they rebel against society and the criteria of idealistic existence. When you grow up in the projects, I guess you rebel a little differently.
But the real point of this is hello, Dr. Dre is in a fucking soda commercial.
It's pathetic to the point where you feel bad laughing about it.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
toothy smile.
I'm having big issues with my derriere today.
I happened to catch a side view glimpse of it in the bathroom at mirror at work and I thought to myself, "hey, look at that cute rump." Okay, and then I did the saucy "check your ass out from over your shoulder in the mirror" schtick, and I was mildly horrified. My bum is a good size - I'm not complaining that it's too big. It's just that it's got this really awkward shape to it that kind of makes me a little bit sad. This is amongst a long list of physical discrepancies. Don't worry about it.
So, the new homestead has a lot of issues - it's true. What's great is that I'm a real trooper, so I can handle them in waves. What I can't handle? Single stall shower. My legs are longer than my torso, so it is a long way down for me when it comes time to hack at the manly leg stubble that I constantly regenerate. Tubs are convenient for this. Single stall showers create a bit of a challenge, and with the acrobatics I pull...let's just say that if the Starbucks thing doesn't work out, I hear the circus is hiring. Also, the strip club. No biggie.
But the real big fear with having the crown of my head pointed towards a soapy wet shower floor for unnecessary amounts of time is that I tend to get a bit head-rushy. The very last thing I want is to like, get a bit too much blood to the head, lose my balance, fall down and smack my melon so hard I die. This would suck more than just dying because I would only be found after:
1. Starbucks goes from pissed off to concerned when I fail to show for work for more than 5 shifts and don't answer my phone. I imagine they'd contact my "emergency contact" who would, in turn, contact the po', who'd come to my house and find me.
2. My landlord finally notices after 3 days that I'm somehow still in the shower, and in an Asian spitfire blaze of fury over me finagling all the hot water, storms into my humble home and finds me.
And how do they find me? Well, naked, dead and with only half of a leg shaved.
How embarrassing. ...speaking of which:
Did you hear David Carradine died? Did you hear how he died?
I used to have such a high image of him; it was lonely on his pedestal.
I happened to catch a side view glimpse of it in the bathroom at mirror at work and I thought to myself, "hey, look at that cute rump." Okay, and then I did the saucy "check your ass out from over your shoulder in the mirror" schtick, and I was mildly horrified. My bum is a good size - I'm not complaining that it's too big. It's just that it's got this really awkward shape to it that kind of makes me a little bit sad. This is amongst a long list of physical discrepancies. Don't worry about it.
So, the new homestead has a lot of issues - it's true. What's great is that I'm a real trooper, so I can handle them in waves. What I can't handle? Single stall shower. My legs are longer than my torso, so it is a long way down for me when it comes time to hack at the manly leg stubble that I constantly regenerate. Tubs are convenient for this. Single stall showers create a bit of a challenge, and with the acrobatics I pull...let's just say that if the Starbucks thing doesn't work out, I hear the circus is hiring. Also, the strip club. No biggie.
But the real big fear with having the crown of my head pointed towards a soapy wet shower floor for unnecessary amounts of time is that I tend to get a bit head-rushy. The very last thing I want is to like, get a bit too much blood to the head, lose my balance, fall down and smack my melon so hard I die. This would suck more than just dying because I would only be found after:
1. Starbucks goes from pissed off to concerned when I fail to show for work for more than 5 shifts and don't answer my phone. I imagine they'd contact my "emergency contact" who would, in turn, contact the po', who'd come to my house and find me.
2. My landlord finally notices after 3 days that I'm somehow still in the shower, and in an Asian spitfire blaze of fury over me finagling all the hot water, storms into my humble home and finds me.
And how do they find me? Well, naked, dead and with only half of a leg shaved.
How embarrassing. ...speaking of which:
Did you hear David Carradine died? Did you hear how he died?
I used to have such a high image of him; it was lonely on his pedestal.
Monday, June 8, 2009
People Got A Lotta Nerve
I need to go no further than my patio to find top notch wildlife watching. About an hour ago, I watched two raccoons shit-kick each other out there. The other morning, I chased a deer away that was creepin' my house. I also have bunnies galore, and I wuv bunnies. Heart!
I don't know what's the matter with me lately. I've completely stopped writing and I haven't a clue why - it's not like I've got anything better to do.
Nope, the only thing I've been doing lately is thinking (and stalking wildlife from my windows). Thinking about what, you ask? About babies. It feels like my biological clock is tickin' waaaaay too soon for comfort. I can't really seem to go a day without thinking:
"Clothing at Baby Gap is adorable. Yellow is so nice, and gender neutral."
"What would make a unique but socially acceptable boy's name?"
"I really ought to find someone to father me a baby...now."
I'm really not okay with this at all. I am far too young to even consider taking on the responsibility of motherhood - I've barely started my life, and now I'm ready to ruin it with parenthood? Not likely. Christ, I can't even take care of Bump without getting antsy. Maybe it's just that I'm longing for something to take care of, because I just feel so lonely all the time. The worst part is that there was never a part of me at all that ever longed to be a mommy. It was just how I wanted things to be; I'd take care of myself and myself alone. I needed to focus on my future and my dreams and on all of my shit. So, what happened? This riot grrrl's gone soft. Perhaps it's got something to do with this funny feeling I keep having? It's kind of like a bird fluttering around in a cage, but the cage is really my heart. I'm inclined to say that this is a very scary feeling, however, it's a feeling I've yet to really make an opinion of. They say it's really great, but they talk a lot without knowing what they're talking about, don't they?
I downed a twenty-two ounce yellow slurpee tonight in about 3 minutes and had the worst brain freeze of my life, but it was awesome and perfectly childish and was exactly what I needed. I keep making myself grow up far faster than I should have, and I wish all the time that I could stop being that way.
Sad face!
I don't know what's the matter with me lately. I've completely stopped writing and I haven't a clue why - it's not like I've got anything better to do.
Nope, the only thing I've been doing lately is thinking (and stalking wildlife from my windows). Thinking about what, you ask? About babies. It feels like my biological clock is tickin' waaaaay too soon for comfort. I can't really seem to go a day without thinking:
"Clothing at Baby Gap is adorable. Yellow is so nice, and gender neutral."
"What would make a unique but socially acceptable boy's name?"
"I really ought to find someone to father me a baby...now."
I'm really not okay with this at all. I am far too young to even consider taking on the responsibility of motherhood - I've barely started my life, and now I'm ready to ruin it with parenthood? Not likely. Christ, I can't even take care of Bump without getting antsy. Maybe it's just that I'm longing for something to take care of, because I just feel so lonely all the time. The worst part is that there was never a part of me at all that ever longed to be a mommy. It was just how I wanted things to be; I'd take care of myself and myself alone. I needed to focus on my future and my dreams and on all of my shit. So, what happened? This riot grrrl's gone soft. Perhaps it's got something to do with this funny feeling I keep having? It's kind of like a bird fluttering around in a cage, but the cage is really my heart. I'm inclined to say that this is a very scary feeling, however, it's a feeling I've yet to really make an opinion of. They say it's really great, but they talk a lot without knowing what they're talking about, don't they?
I downed a twenty-two ounce yellow slurpee tonight in about 3 minutes and had the worst brain freeze of my life, but it was awesome and perfectly childish and was exactly what I needed. I keep making myself grow up far faster than I should have, and I wish all the time that I could stop being that way.
Sad face!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)