Category: Pat's Hobbies

There are many, many funny stories to share from this past weekend. One in particular stands out, but I am too lazy to tell it right now. I really know how to create dramatic tension, don’t I? I will keep you enthralled by sharing a tiny little bit of hilarity that occurred almost as soon as I arrived.

We were sitting on Boulos’s couch (Boulos and I never had a couch while living together so that was in and of itself rather extraordinary) and watching Wheel of Fortune, or as I like to call it, “Fucking Retards on Parade.” Andy was doing something in the kitchen. I was rather good at the ole Wheel that evening, and when only a few letters were turned, I said the answer aloud, because I am an asshole who likes to ruin people’s fun.

This is what Boulos heard, and repeated with incredulity: “RIMMING?...”

And Andy from the kitchen: “RIMMING??? Do you two know what that is?”

(Um yes dad, we do. At this point, let me please point out that Andy and Boulos clearly do not practice this activity, because I am inappropriate like that.)

Me: “BRIMMING. With Possibilities.”

And I think it took about 5 more repetitions and several screen-checks to finally get off the tongue-ass subject (except on TV, I’m sure, there were still 28 letters unturned and someone was flopping on the ground, swallowing his own tongue). Then, we decided that one of us would become a prostitute, meet another prostitute name Possibilities and start hooking with her, and eventually write a memoir called “Rimming with Possibilities.”

Ah, what fun we had. It was just like when I used to hang out with the old deaf mutes at the VA hospital. The old, gay, anally obsessed deaf mutes who could shout.

ROTFLMAO

Tomorrow I am off to New York/ New Jersey for a weekend of debauchery! I cannot wait to see everyone; I can’t believe it has been 7 months!

But before I go, I thought I would share some funny stuff Boulos and I have been discussing via email. I think we have, like, one other reader – I imagine him as a hobo who reads our blog at the public library (Hi Hobo!!). So maybe he will find this stuff amusing.

First off, we both found this exchange on Overheard in New York:

Hipster girl: On the train into the city this morning, I sat on a baby and almost crushed it.
Metal guy: There is no internet acronym for how funny that is.


In my subsequent search for an appropriate acronym, I came across one in this post on Wonkette: USFB. It stands for Under Skirt Finger Bang.

Which is truly awesome.

So, to clarify, the debauchery in New York will involve a lot of drinking and a WHOLE lot of USFB. I am packing nothing but skirts.

Later!

Molly!!!

It's been alluded to in earlier posts; my sister and I recently acquired a little dog. She looks like a miniature alien gorilla and I finally have pictures to share.

She followed my brother's friend to my parents' house. My parents' dog does not like other dogs, but luckily my sister and I happened to be visiting, so we took her home. When we first found her, she weighed 12 pounds and her ribs and spine were visible, which was gross. Most of these pictures were taken before she put on the full 4 pounds the vet recommended; she looks a lot healthier now, if not a little chubby. So, here's a bunch of pictures.

Oh, and sometimes she likes to wear little ill-fitting dresses.

SUPER Scary!!!!

Alright, this is a MAJOR delayed post, but procrastination has made me avoid buckling down to write this for a couple weeks. Anyway, without further ado, I give you my Halloween post.

Halloween for me involved being dressed as Supergirl! Unfortunately it also involved dealing w/ a skirt that weighs NOTIHNG, and 40MPH winds, so it led to my flashing my sweetass bike shorts to all of NYC, and the eventual loss of my favorite jacket. Aside from that tragedy, some of the highlights of the evening involved several people screaming to Andy in his Superman outfit stuff like, "Why you waitin' for a cab when you can fly, Superman???" and several girls hitting on him, and then seeing me, and being like, "Oh, you're with Supergirl..." and subsequently running away. Haha. The best was the little boy who's mom said, "Look, Superman!", and that kid was in AWE of Andy, he seriously thought he was looking at the real, live Superman, and it was the cutest thing ever.

We were accompanied by Susie and her boyfriend Ken, who were dressed as a Scarecrow, and a Sumo Wrestler respectively. Susie's costume was super cute, and Ken's was hilarious b/c it was kept inflated by a fan. This proved to be INCREDIBLY hazardous to him, b/c while outside having a smoke, he was bodychecked at full speed by some girl who had assumed his costume was solid padding. It was hilarious, and luckily the other people who tried to punch his stomach, realized there was only air in his suit before making contact.

Overall it was a fantasical Halloween full of drunken debauch, although I may have to re-upload the pic later, b/c it doesn't seem to be showing anything but a giant black square... and I'm not gonna be one of those till next year.

~Boulos

Boo!

On Saturday, I dressed as Minnie Mouse. As you can see, Susan was a bee:

My sister went to the store last minute and was thus forced to buy a super slutty Old West Sheriff Lady costume. She had to modify it with personal items to make it appropriate for public appearances. In a wonderful turn of events, someone was wearing an identical costume at the first party we attended. My sister attempted to find (and offer) solace; she said, “This costume does not fit over my boobs. I just got it today; it was the only one left.” Her slutty sheriff twin replied, “I bought mine a month ago.”

Whoops!

We went to a couple of parties and a few bars. It was fun; I love Halloween and everyone is so festive and willing to actually be fun and act like total asses (well, I suppose the nay-sayers and party poopers tend to stay home). I ended up hooking up with Borat, and lived to regret it. I guess I should have known better; he’s funny, but he is clearly a total chauvinist.

I already carved my pumpkin and toasted the seeds, but tonight I plan to carve my sister’s. She packed up and left myself, Molly and her untouched pumpkin for Toronto. Molly (that would be our newly found little dog) has a little ballerina costume. She is very excited about watching scary movies with me tonight and tomorrow, and possibly giving out candy.

I really enjoyed my costume. I plan to wear nothing but dresses with puffed sleeves from now on. Also, expect to see me randomly showing up with a black nose and whiskers.

Happy Halloween!

Morality Tale

Ayayay, my wife and correspondent, Boulos, is home sick today. This means that I am bored. I suppose now is the time to update re: my escapades of the past few weeks.

Sidenote: god, I love this picture. One lady is in her Sunday best, with hat, and flashing some crotch. The other is possibly a man (?), and wearing a skin-tight -- not minidress, but mini-skort type thing? I think it really captures the feel of the night I'm about to describe.

Well, in her post about being drunk and disorderly, Boulos implied that I had a rather insane night that same weekend. Yup. It was 3 weekends ago, the first in October. My sister and I went out with a crowd for her best friend’s birthday. We started out at a club on Rush Street, and this is the kind of thing that makes me really hit the bottle – I know I will not have fun at a club unless I’m drunk. Once I’m drunk, I’m a fool and I dance like a moron, but have fun. I made a very prudent decision to start out with vodka, then switch to gin martinis, and end the night with a series of tequila shots with beer chasers. Wise move; I was pole dancing with the birthday girl’s sister before long (for those unfamiliar with clubs/bars on Rush Street, they generally feature a pole on the dancefloor, specifically so that the female clientele have the option of acting slutty and ridiculous while drunk). We went to another bar, another pole, and things get hazy. We tried to go to a third bar, one that I visit pretty regularly. I got as far as the ATM – there was CLEARLY something wrong with it, as I remember my transaction taking about 15 minutes -- but I was promptly escorted out after being told I was “overserved.” My friends didn’t even get in; they’d been turned away at the door. Apparently the b-day girl’s sister was attempting to argue her sobriety as she fell into the street. We were, altogether, a class act.

But wait, it gets classier! I must preface the next part with this: I do not condone drunk driving. I am totally against it and generally take cabs everywhere when I am drinking. Yet on occasion, I find myself at the stupidly overconfident stage of drunkenness with a set of keys in my hand and a car nearby – again, this is no excuse, but it happened. On this occasion, it seemed imperative that I obtain McDonald’s for me and my sister, so off I went. I had been carrying a tiny purse, and had separated my house keys so they would fit. I entered the house to get my car key – and apparently decided to exchange it with my house key. Cut to me standing on our porch with a ripped bag of McDonald’s in hand, fully aware that my sister was passed out on the couch. I rang the bell 100 times. She had 57 missed calls from me the next day. Eventually I began pounding on the door, which woke up the man who lives below us. When he opened his door to ask me what was going on (this was about 4 am), I gave up. I walked back to the car – which was parked next to the side entrance of a church – and resigned myself to a night in the backseat. Which is a really pathetic fate, when you are alone. I left my sister one last plaintive message, and passed out (in a miniskirt with fishnets and slutty boots, I might add). Around 6 am or so, I elegantly opened the door, delicately vomited on the curb, and shut myself back in. I was the definition of a “lady.”

I woke up around noon –having slept through the part where churchgoers gawk at the drunk, sleeping hooker/gutter girl parked outside – and my sister finally let me in. We listened to my messages together; they started off angry and ended rather pathetically. I vowed to never drink to excess again. Then, the next weekend was upon us.

This is a long post, so we will keep that “to be continued.” The next weekend’s story is not as great, but still an evening of booze, fun, and adventure, and probably one that a sane person would not experience in the immediate aftermath of drunken near-homelessness.

I may also write about our new dog, if you are lucky.

P.s. In case you are wondering, mystery celebrity after whom I model my weekend activities = George Michael. Sleeping in cars and all that.

Hot Dog!

You have not actually ever eaten a hotdog in your life unless you've eaten one that's deep fried. Last night, after some costume store browsing Andy took me to try a local, but actually quite nationally known favorite called Rutt's Hut. Alright, seriously this place is so good. Not only do they make their own relish (which I am not usually a relish user, but it's YUMMY), they use diner speak! Their dogs are called "Rippers" b/c they burst when you fry 'em, and there's all sorts of other lingo I can't currently remember, but it is really funny. You totally just stand at a counter too, the place has been there since sometime in the 30s, and it's REALLY well known by dog lovers. Although I'm pretty sure that I will be going into cardiac arrest later today from the side of onion rings and gravy fries we ordered, it was totally worth it. So... come on over to Jerz for a delicious dog or too! BTW- I am not a compensated endorser, they're just fantastical.

Drunk and Drunker

It was quite the debauched weekend for us RNR unicorns, however it was spent separately. I do hope that the wife posts her story, which is unrivaled in its hilarity and blood alcohol level.

I had my own share of booze on Friday night and I only paid about $10 in tips for it. A friend of mine has discovered a bar here in NYC called "NO IDEA" which features a name night special. When your name day arrives you drink FOR FREE from 5pm-11pm, it is hands down, the best deal ever. When I heard my day was 9/29, I knew that I had to be there and that it would be totally worth it. I was right. Aside from slightly injuring myself while innebriated (tripping, but not falling to the floor, thankfully) I just had the best time. To mastercard shorthand the evening...

Catching up with old friends: $0
Accidentally (and repeatedly) aggrivating boyfriend's neck injury: $0
Drinking for free and only tipping the bartender: $10
Seeing Carrot Top on the street and yelling drunken babble at him: PRICELESS

So that was my night. Andy and I spent our ENTIRE Saturday in hangover recovery, but that's when the wife took over on the alcohol front. God I hope she posts her story, as it is seriously so legendary and even parallells a certain celebrity's weekend debaucle. No more hints.
~Boulos

P.S. Please wish for my rapid neck recovery as I have mysteriously injured it myself.

Is he talking about a lady or a fish? You decide.

Overheard conversations after 4 pm are the best, because (in my office at least), people seem to think everyone else has left. So I just heard this, said loudly and in a most incredulous manner:

"She's Swedish?"

Now, I'm not going to pretend I know what these guys are talking about, but I can't imagine that this is quite as unbelievable a fact as Dude #1 makes it sound (Dude #2 exists, but is silent in this scenario). I mean, unless she's black, or only speaks Japanese, or something.


Also, please visit this, and tomorrow, observe a moment of silence for one of history's great thespians, Mr. Steve Guttenberg.

And see this, stolen from the same blog (I think I just want to BE that guy). I need to link it for the wife, as it concerns a little tune we sometimes sing at Winnie's, and btw will undoubtedly be performing there the second weekend in December, when I shall make my triumphant return to NYC.

Lastly, I have added a new link to the right; it concerns Marmaduke and comes highly recommended.

I <3 Words (in a non-platonic kind of way)

At night before I go to sleep, I usually read awhile in bed and have a cigarette or two. I generally move through life in a sleepy fog, and when I’m in or near my bed this fog gets even thicker, so I tend to occasionally leave random items from this nightly reading session in bed with me and sleep with them. The morning I threw aside my covers and realized I had just spilled the half-full ashtray across my quilt because I had slept with it all night was particularly gross. I even momentarily considered quitting, as the whole scene was way too flophouse.

Anyway, I am currently reading “Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters/ Seymour: an Introduction” by J.D. Salinger, who likes to use ginormous words that I don’t know offhand. He tosses them in like they’re just another “and” or “the” (don’t remember if he always does this, it’s been awhile since I read anything else by him). I’m beginning to think of him as a bit of a vocab show-off. In any case, I am too stupid to know a lot of these words, but I am also the type who really needs to understand every nuance of what is being said. I used to just assume definitions from context, but I recently realized that this method had led me to completely mis-define the word “non-plussed,” among others, for my entire life thus far.

So, since I’m a dork and have always enjoyed reading through the dictionary anyway (though apparently not with the same gusto as old Salinger), I have been frequently consulting it during my nightly reading session.

It was no surprise, then, to realize this morning that I had slept with my dictionary. I know, I know. How slutty.

This Is What You Get, ASSHOLES.

For a long time now, I thought that the most pathetic and ridiculous thing one could do is play “Karma Police” on a bar jukebox. I mean, come on guys, I like the song too, but it is inappropriate in a bar setting. Way to instantly turn everyone’s smiles into suicidal grimaces. Thanks for making our jovial time that much bleaker and more doomed.

But people continue to do it, again and again. And then, on Friday, I discovered that there is actually something gayer than just playing the song: holding a table-wide sing-a-long of the song while it plays on the bar jukebox.

Good going, idiots. No one has ever looked more stupid. Nice Radiohead circle jerk. And now, I have 3 or 4 suspects in my “who the hell plays this song????” investigation. You are all looking at a severe beatdown.

Unwrapped Food Stuffs

I have not written in a while, as once again my life has been a whirlwind of activities, and since most of them were focused around alcohol, and not near any computers, I have been negligent and I apologize for it.

Anyway, aside from all that boring shite, I will tell you a few things about the past couple of weeks...

A list, for old times sake, dedicated to teammate, co-star, and of course, my wife:

1)If you only ever see one more Broadway show, it should be Mamma Mia. Ok, perhaps it's my half Swedish side talking, but seriously, in addition to it being a showcase for the excellent songs of the ABBA library, it's also hilarious! It's really funny to think of someone coming up with this wacked out story around the contents of the ABBA Gold Album, and it's definitely worth a look. It also comes highly recommended by Mamma Boulos, and you can't argue with a good review from her.

2)A visit to Ocean City, MD. Despite the insane amounts of rain, it was a super cool town. It's got a really long boardwalk, and an excellent all you can eat seafood buffet. Also, it was hosting Bike Week, so my boyf's parents started talking to a couple of redneck bikers while we were walking, and thought they were super nice people despite the fact that upon discovering his Dad was from Italy, the guy literally called Andy's dad "paizan". Um... ok, thanks Mr. Hell's Angel, you are a moron.

3)The Fireman's Convention in Wildwood, NJ. Once again a weekend of drunken debauchery. I spoke with a myriad of ex-fire chiefs who were all excellent in different ways. I also met an ex member of the dept, who was such a SLEEZE!!!!!! His last name is appropriately CUNTSHAFT! Yeah, way to live up to your name there, bucko. I'm not surprised your wife left you after spending less than 30 mins with you.

4)Finally, I just found out that a girl I used to be friends with in junior high/high school has gotten a divorce. Despite everything that happened between us, most of which I can't really specifically remember, I feel really bad for her. I can't imagine that. We are only 25, it just seems really insane to me. I suppose it's better that they didn't have kids, but still the whole thing is still mind blowing to me.

5)Ok, this is the last item actually... I just watched the premiere of Studio 60, and it was FANTASTIC!! Watch it... Chandler + Evil Eric= brilliant comedic genius.

Princess Consuela Banahammock

I like my name, I really do. I am super happy to be Amanda. However, I am reading through a report at work, and it is with some sadness that I realize I will never know what it is like to be named LemLem.

What an awesome name.

Also, this is a really neat idea. If I start writing now, maybe I can enter the 2015 contest. I think I know what the protaganist's name should be...

Children, Sunshine, Daydreams... and Terrifyingly Ugly People (in love!)

I watch a lot of TV.

Let me get more specific: I watch a lot of TV, and a good deal of it is BAD TV. Luckily for you, I also have ti-faux. Thus, when I am watching my crappy television shows, I can pause, rewind, and scribble down some of wonderful things one hears while watching bad nighttime soap operas and reality tv. In fact, I have a couple of amazing quotes to share right now.

The first comes from Beverly Hills, 90210. Donna Martin, of course (who else can say such ridiculously naïve things in such an earnest way?). Picture this: Donna Martin has recently lost the Rose Queen title to some black chick. They are suddenly really good friends, and Donna has to cover for her at this neighborhood convenience store – and by “neighborhood” we of course mean “ghetto.” Her boyfriend (who is subtly portrayed as a bit of a closet racist) picks her up and they run out of gas (?!?!?!Who runs out of gas in a city?!?!?!) and they are very nearly almost messed with but this kid that Donna befriended at the ghettostore saves them. They go to his apartment and realize that his mother leaves him alone with the other two kids most of the day. Boo hoo, this breaks Donna Martin’s heart. Coincidentally, her sorority is holding a casino fundraiser for children at the Peach Pit After Dark (I feel ridiculous even writing these things, who wrote this show??) Brandon is losing his shit at the tables, and the Rose Queen is standing by – um didn’t she have Rose duties? Why was Donna covering for her in the first place? Donna eventually meets her there and reveals that she would like to help the kid out in some way. Her friend gets really defensive, presumably because Donna met him in her ghettoville. And Donna, that saucy little saint, says (in reference to the Rose Court or whatever they call it):

“I mean, what is the theme we’ve been talking about since day one? Kids, laughter and dreams.”
What, no rainbows, unicorns and puppies? Wtf? Why not Lisa Frank-ify it a little further? Why not make it a little more abstract and meaningless? Btw, this is not a one-time thing – a few episodes later, when they bring Christmas gifts to children, Donna mentions the kids, laughter and dreams again. And I peed my couch, again.

Our second excellent quote comes from Extreme Makeover. I realize this show is very 2002 or so, but the Style network was on and I was not paying attention. Then I was totally sucked in. Because as it happens, two people undergoing makeovers for the show FELL IN LOVE!!!!!!! Can you believe it? Two self-loathing misfits met during their series of plastic surgeries and discovered they were soulmates! FYI, watching their first kiss – both of their noses and her chin all bandaged up for the occasion – was utterly disgusting. And the sounds they made indicated he had, at the age of 22 or so, NEVER kissed a girl before (she was married previously so we’ll give her the benefit of the doubt).

So, we get to the end of the show. It should be noted that the guy was not UGLY. He looked like one of the quiet nerdy types from high school, yes, but like the quiet nerd you just might date (of course, I have very low standards). Apparently he had been beat up and they also removed scars that made him cry sometimes? Um I’m not very clear on this, as I was doing dishes and general housework during the majority of this episode. Anyway, after the exxxxxxxxxxtreme makeover, he looked like Clay Aiken. This, to me, was not at all an improvement. In fact, he looked worse than Clay because it was obvious that he had undergone plastic surgery. I don’t know why they decided he needed to look like an effeminate male lesbian (aka Gayken), but they did.

Anyway, the Xtreme makeover people convince us that they are in love, he attends her big premiere as a busty not-quite-as-big-nosed babe, and they fall into one another’s arms. Yes folks, this relationship will last all of 5 seconds once they turn off the cameras. Or who knows, maybe someone who goes on xtreme makeover is – duh – destined to find their soulmate only in another xxxxxxxxxxtreme makeover participant. Regardless, the narrator’s last line was sooo condescending and awful and heartbreaking, yet hilarious, I had to share:

“James and Kasey: From lonely and homely, to lovely and loved.”

And around the country, a new generation of pre-anorexic, future self-mutilating, plastic surgery addicts-to-be shed little tears of joy (from the wonky mis-shaped eye, not the good one).

What Happens When I am Allowed Out of My Cube

Offices are so weird.

1) Why did someone totally shut down the coffee machine at 3:30 pm? Come on, man, I need my midafternoon cup. (it should be noted that nearly everyone at my office seems to have a 1 hour+ commute and some of us might need caffeine to stay awake behind the wheel).

2) And if we are shutting down the coffee machine at 3ish, who is making a lean cuisine at 4:20? Is this dinner at the office? If so, how sad is a lean cuisine at your desk for dinner? Will your cats be moving in here anytime soon?

3) Why are there so many cute boys here that I have yet to be introduced to? Why did the cutest one just catch me touching my boobs in an awkward manner? I mean, I wasn’t doing anything weird or perverted – I’m wearing a new shirt and it seems to weirdly blouse out at the top of my cleavage and I was smoothing it… oh forget it. I’m a perv and now he knows.

It's Official

"Set Adrift on Memory Bliss" by PM Dawn is one of the best songs ever. I heard it on the way to work today and it made me like 100 times happier. I know that someone else is with me on this, but I can't remember who. I'm thinking it's Vince, but if anyone reads this and loves the song too, feel free to leave a shout-out comment for PM Dawn, wherever they may be.

It is just about the most beautiful day EVER in Chicago. It is sunny and clear with perfect cotton-candy looking clouds. It feels like a beautiful late September day. Luckily I am stuck in an office for this.

Oh, and I had to renew my license yesterday, and they made me take a written exam! Even though the letter told me this, I really didn't believe it and wasn't at all prepared. Luckily I had about 15 minutes to look over the little book they give you -- because even though I brushed up on a lot of stuff, I still got one of the 20 multiple choice questions wrong, and I mis-labeled one of the 15 signs. Which was ridiculous, because it was the "railroad crossing" sign, and I cross a railroad every day on the way to work! I felt like an idiot. How embarrassing. Luckily, they appear to give licenses to just about anyone.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen...

Ok, so while watching tv the other night I was hit with the saddest/most hilarious realization of all time while watching a Domino's commercial. Disregarding the creepiness factor of the walking brownie "fudgem," the delivery guy escorting him is none other than Benjamin Salisbury, AKA Brighton Sheffield, the horny son on tv's "The Nanny". Imagine, days of watching Fran Dresher parading around in outfits roughly the size of a postage stamp, and then BOOM, you're a balding has-been who's co-starring with a life-sized brownie. Wow, way to go Brighton, Mr. Sheffield would certainly be proud.
I think that my favorite part of one of the spots is the chocolate marks left everywhere, including on a mother/daughter team who HUG THE BROWNIE, making them look like they are COVERED IN SHIT!!!!! WHAT?????
Kudos to you, Domino's, for juxtaposing your cardboard pizza facsimile with a walking piece of shit. YUM!
OMG- just when I thought it couldn't get any better, I just saw this phrase on the website..."Visit fudgems en espagnol to see Brownito!"
Please click here for the spot, and then here for the dancing fudgems. Dear Lord, it just doesn't get any better.

Enjoy poo lovers!
~Boulos

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That subject is dedicated to the 3 professionals, who always make fun of me for my excessive use of the exclamation point. But... GREAT NEWS!!!!!!!!! I AM WRITING THIS BLOG FROM MY APARTMENT!! WHAT?????? YES!!!!!!!!! I SINGLE-HANDEDLY HOOKED UP A WIRELESS INTERNET ROUTER AND GOT MY SHIT TOGETHER, HALLELUJAH!!!!!!!


Ok, enough of that...

I will now write something of more substance, I just wanted that to be known. You may all rejoice, and by "all" I mean my wife, basically the only reader of this lovely blog.
~Boulos:)

One of the many reasons I am an entirely ineffectual person

I always have insane dreams. My sister won’t even listen to them anymore because they are so ridiculous. Every time I tell her one now (after only like four months of living together), she shakes her head and says, “I don’t wanna hear your crazy dreams anymore!”

Usually I’m knocked up, or once a few weeks ago, I had to kill snakes in order to determine what my dead grandmother had left us as our inheritances, and often people are needlessly slaughtered. The dreams are usually quite unnecessarily graphic.

A few nights ago, I dreamt about whistling. I was leading this group of people around a house, and I was whistling a song perfectly. I even tried whistling when I woke up, because I was sure I could do it.

I can’t whistle at all, much less whistle an entire song in tune. Assuming that, in my dream world, I can acquire any ability I really, really want– um, whistling? Way to dream big.

Pure Evil

Do you know how sometimes you are just daydreaming, thinking about things, and you suddenly realize that you are really cruel, or depraved, etc? Well, I was just walking to the bathroom, thinking of how my boss had complimented my shoes today, and I was thinking, that is what nice people do. You should start noticing nice things about people and complimenting them. Tomorrow, you should compliment something she is wearing (yes, these are the things I think about – and yes, I have to REMIND myself to be an appropriately sociable person). And this was my mind’s response:

But she is so short, I never really notice what she is wearing.

Yes, I am an evil giant who hates dwarfs.

Two birds, one stone?

This ad is like the best thing I have ever seen (I would post the picture but blogger still is not letting me do this.) Was there a Queer as Folk about this? There should have been. I don't really understand how they expect to make a difference here, though. I doubt using a gay couple in the ad is really going to sway the pope in terms of birth control policies. Also it appears that it might be an interracial couple; the one dude looks like charlie sheen and the other looks like Jesse Vasquez from 90210, receding hairline and all!! I'm pretty sure the pope hates interracial couples too (he IS german).

~Amanda

Melancholy

Today I have been listening to my playlist of sad songs (called “oh poo”), which is leaving me a melancholy emotional wreck. They are so sad.

Here are songs you must listen to NOW if at all possible:

The Professor and La Fille Danse, Damien Rice: We saw Damien Rice (with Fiona Apple) about a month ago, and his performance of this song was amazing. It’s on his B-sides album. It is wonderful.

Walnut Tree, Keane: In general, I was not a fan of their first album, and when we went to their concert, Tania and I were horrified by the crowd of VH1-watching couples who were way too into it and really earnest in a way that disturbed us, probably due to our own self-esteem issues. We spent the majority of the concert laughing at people. Ironically, one person who was really, really into it was totally a guy who I spotted that night at the concert for the first time in about a year. The next time I was at his place, he played "Somewhere only we know" way, way too loud at 6 am about 5 times and sang along and despite this, was still so sexy. This song, which is much more melancholy than "somewhere only we know" (and is not on any Keane albums – on an OC mix album) reminds me of him.

Retour A Vega, The Stills (probably my favorite song for about the past 6 months): It’s all in French, so I had to translate the lyrics and I can confirm that they are as brooding as the music itself. It’s gorgeous. Again, not on either of their albums (and so far I really don’t like their second one) – on the Wicker Park soundtrack. Lame movie, excellent soundtrack. “We Have a Map of the Piano” by the Mums is also an amazing song.

I Want You to Stay, Maximo Park: “Missing” is good as well, but this song is pretty much stripped of the bravado that characterizes the rest of the album, and sounds kind of desperate, and it thus makes me extra sad (which I enjoy). However, this dude’s accent makes me happy.

Cheers Darlin’, Damien Rice again: So, so excellently bitter, just like me (j/k!!). If someone just walked out on you or loved you and left you or whatever, Damien will commiserate via this song, which sounds like the band showed up at a bar as they were closing up and proceeded to drunkenly record while knocking over empty pint glasses. He didn’t play this at the concert and I was very sad.

A Case of You, Joni Mitchell: Well most people probably already know this song. When I heard the title, before I'd heard the song itself, I thought it was going to be a “case” like a case of the measles. Drinking a case of someone is so much cooler, and sadly sweeter. Oh, bittersweet Canadian love. Oh, Canada.

Arrow, Cheryl Wheeler: Such a pretty song. It kind of makes me feel like I want to buy a farm and tend it alone and live in the middle of nowhere, leading a melancholy life wherein I occasionally long for a man. Then the song ends and I feel like a fool.

Leif Erikson, Interpol: This song literally brought a tear to my eye in the car the other day. No other song can make me so sad, with such a sense of foreboding. Right about now, I’m wondering if I’m premenstrual constantly.

Putting the Damage On, Tori Amos: One of the best songs about a relationship gone wrong.

Storms, Fleetwood Mac: #2 best song about love gone wrong. We used to listen to this almost every night my freshman year of college while smoking cigarettes. Nothing beats bonding over a heart-wrenching Stevie Nicks song.


I would link to these songs if I had the energy and the knowledge, but I am both lazy and stupid. So I will reimburse you if you buy them on iTunes or something, and hate them. (Plus probably only Boulos is reading this – most of these songs can be found on your laptop).

Also, I have officially decided upon my personal guilty pleasure album: Coming Around Again by Carly Simon. I think that most people, if listening to this album for the first time today, would rate it 0 to 1 stars (out of any number possible, really – 5, 10, 100, whatever). But my mom played this album a lot when I was young, and nothing makes me happier than listening to it.

So I am just finished “Everything is Illuminated,” which has made me cry (well, made my eyes water) several times. I’ll admit that I cry during movies (especially when I’m drunk and watching Raising Helen, embarrassingly enough), but books rarely accomplish this. Which isn’t to say I love it – I like the present-day parts. The stories about the grandfather and his ancestors are just a little too precious and postmodern, although they do raise the interesting question of how far removed we have to be from something before it can become a funny, twee little story. I’m not sure I really needed that question answered, though. But Alex and his grandfather are such great characters (does JSF deliberately make his namesake something of a douchebag?) Ok, and now I am done discussing a book 4 years or so too late. In fact, this reminds me of Jim Gaffigan’s stand-up, when he just saw the movie Heat and attempts to discuss it with unwilling people, as everyone saw it years ago.

Um, truthfully I actually wrote this last week and saved it as a draft, hoping to finish it when I was at home. But my sis's computer has gone bonkers and I had some time at work today. So here you go.

~Amanda

On Being Friends WIth Someone Who Could Have, Under Different Circumstance, Almost Been a Groupie

I was watching this (which I think is kinda funny, mainly because Slipknot is so utterly ridiculous – a skull on the turntable, 12 or so band members, and of course masks -- need I say more)? Anyway, I was reminded of a wonderful, wonderful event that transpired, um, maybe a year and a half ago? I don’t even know. But I’m not sure we’ve ever discussed it, which just seems wrong.

So one night, Boulos and I were hanging out at Rudy’s on 9th ave. If you’ve never been there, it’s a really fun dive full of old people, hipsters, sleazy men, and self-proclaimed Westies . I once felt very obligated to at least seriously consider dating the bouncer because his friend, while attempting to persuade me, managed to mention that he was an ex-con Westie several times. Anyway, it’s basically a great place for two single young women to go if they enjoy being hit on by all manner of sleazy men.

We were, surprisingly, drunk, and this guy came over and started to hit on Boulos. Hard. Not just paying her a fair amount of attention – paying attention only to her, ignoring me, crowding her, etc. I think Boulos had somewhat recently gotten serious with Andy (if you’ll allow me to phrase that like someone’s grandma, thanks), and it was really funny to watch her get hit on in this situation. Then he REALLY pulled out all the stops – he said that he was a member of Slipknot, and invited us (or maybe just her, I don’t remember) to a hotel party with some of his bandmates!

Unsurprisingly, we later used a cell phone picture of this guy to prove to ourselves that he was not, in fact, a member of Slipknot. I don’t even remember how – where do you find pictures of them sans masks? – but I think Boulos’s brother confirmed our suspicions.

The best part of this lie, though, was how insanely into it this guy was. First of all, he knew waaaaaaaaay too much about Slipknot. Like, I think he claimed to be the guy in the Pig mask, and he totally knew that guy’s name. He was talking about a show they had just played in Philadelphia or somewhere like that, which we did confirm they had played, and basically going on and on with just enough details concerning his identity, but not so many that it became obvious lying. Sure, we were drunk, but I think he really believed he was in the band.

So what do you think he would have done if we had gone to the alleged “hotel party” with him? A party that obviously didn't exist. My guess is, our mutilated bodies might have been found in one of those sleazy motels on the West Side Highway, but that’s just me. Nothing like a brush with certain death to remind you you're alive.

~Amanda

Modern Love?

So, I’m really fucking pissed because Dirty Pretty Things is playing their Chicago show tomorrow night, which I only found out about today because I prefer to keep my head in the sand, thank you. I’m looking for tickets on CL, but, um, I have like $40 and people are already offering $100 for one ticket. So the outlook is not good.

Anyway, to cheer me up, here is a story I should probably not post on a blog, and may have to take down:

So I have a friend – we will call her X simply because no one’s name begins with X, so good luck figuring that one out – who began talking to a certain Best Week Ever talking head on Myspace awhile ago. Best Week Ever Dude will henceforth be known as BWED, btw. Eventually, they realized that he would be doing a show in a town near her home, and they decided to meet up afterwards for drinks and general merriment. To make a not-very-long story short, they had sex (I mean, I just realized that this story is so much better if you a) know the girl, b) anticipated the meeting, and saw her anticipating the meeting – after googling the guy to figure out who the hell she was talking about, of course, and c) were there to see her say, “yeah, I had sex with BWED”).

Afterwards, he gave her an autograph that read: “Dear X, Thanks for giving me the Best Week Ever! Love, BWED.” (It wasn’t on like a paper napkin or some toilet paper, it was on a free piece of comedy-related merchandise). The message is kind of… eh. I mean, who didn’t see that coming? So, here are a few superior things I have come up with that he could have written instead:

• X: Hotter than the Sizzler!!!

• Dear X: We are totally going to make the Sizzler this week!

• Dear X: Unfortunately, the producers will not allow me to include personal conquests on the Sizzler anymore. But you will always be in the Sizzler of my heart!

• X: Total UPGRADE for BWED!

• Dear X, How can I begin to explain my loneliness? I can’t, really. I tour the country, seeking a bit of warmth and human kindness where I can find it. Did you know that I tape my segments for Best Week Ever all alone, in a tiny room? There is no empathy, no tenderness, no human connection of any kind in my life. Then again, can we ever really understand one another and forge that connection? Thank you for trying with me. Thank you for easing my loneliness, if only for 35 minutes.
  Introspectively, BWED

• Dear X, Let’s go to Sizzler. My treat.

Btw, he it should be pointed out that he is still maintaining contact, and wants to see her again. Hence, the title of this post.

~Amanda

P.s. There were going to be some pictures, but that feature doesn't seem to be working on Blogger... so, um, here you go. Maybe I'll add later.

Not Surprised

So, above is this word cloud, which shows us what words we use most frequently on this blog. I believe the size of the word indicates how often it is used. Found the link here.
Our names, Andy, and formes of the word "drunk" seem to take the cake. Why am I not shocked? Please see upper right side, too. Yum, ass-beer.

~Amanda

Bon Jovi Said I Could...

So I have returned from a sun-filled, record breakingly hot, week at the Jersey Shore. Through the drunken haze of the week, these are the highlights, in semi-chronological order. Please enjoy:)

-Shaving my boyfriend's back in the backyard of the house we rented. There's nothing like giant tufts of hair blowing in the sea air to say "Yes, vacation has started." Immediately after I finished his back, Andy grabbed the clippers, and decided he has the desire to look like a 13 year old boy, resulting in him shaving his entire chest as well (with a beer in hand, oh what a sight!).

-Learning how to crab. Did you know, all you need is some raw chicken, and BAM! You can catch a million delicious crabs for dinner? Of course you need to have someone around who is willing to rip their claws off while they are still alive, otherwise OW! I'm sure they didn't like it, but damn, they were good.

-We took a trip out to the historical Barnegat Light House:



Aren't we cute?


The craziest thing about that place was that the ONLY 2 places out by the lighthouse are Andy's Bait Shop, and Kelly's Restaurant. Isn't that crazy? Of course I forgot my camera, but I SWEAR I'm NOT MAKING IT UP!!!!

-We were attacked by flies at Island Beach State Park. Since we stayed on the bay, and the water there was piss warm, we thought we'd take a lil ride out to the ocean, where we could chill on a bigger beach, and enjoy the cool water. Um, yeah... apparently someone poured invisible syrup all over the damn place, and us, b/c we were ATTACKED BY FLIES!!! To the point where we tried getting out of the water for 2 minutes, and were immediately bitten up by the vicious bastards.

-Drunken Cranium- this happened during the week several times, many matches, and despite discovering that Andy is a complete board game Nazi, it was good times, and my team won nearly every time.

-Andy's shower fall. After one particularly drunken night, Andy got in the shower at 4:30am and while in there, the rod and curtain fell down. He apparently thought that someone was trying to break into the bathroom to take his picture, and so he fell out of the tub. He's fine, but he is crazy.

-Hanging out with our middle-aged, divocrced, drunken Irish neighbor and her crazy local co-horts. They drank almost more than we did! Everyone down there was so nice, they just invited us to hang w/them. Good times.

-Texting the wife about a movie I was watching, the great "Life with Mikey", and accidentally typing... "I'M WATCHING LIFE WITH MONKEY!!!!!!!!" (Plans are already in effect to film this soon to be epic"


-On our last day, during a drunken swim, I was kind of hanging onto Andy's back, b/c we were so far past the pier, and I suddenly felt a sharp, stinging pain in my arm. After ruling out an alcohol induced heart attack, we both realized we'd been stung by a jellyfish! It got Andy's shoulder and back, and my arm in two places. Luckily, no one had to pee on anyone, as sand and vinegar seemed to take the sting away. Although Alice said she would've peed on me if she had to, now that's a friend!

So that's the vacay wrap up... enjoy, and watch out for those Jelly Bastards!

I <3 New Slang

So I am always receiving spam with those interesting, odd subjects meant to entice me into opening the email. I CANNOT BE FOOLED. However, I came upon a rather excellent one a little while ago.

Subject: Condom Lodger.

Er, is this a new word for penis or something? All I know is, I have reworked it, and my vagina shall henceforth be known as "the lodge."

Here is a neat glimpse into the future of my sex life:



~Amanda

Knights in White Satin

Real Knight, or Robotic Beekeeper? You decide.

I am currently watching King Arthur, and I'm wondering... are they for real? Is this seriously a movie, like honestly, entertainment? It's ridiculous. First off, these knights are supposedly taken from some place (I can't currently be bothered with things like names) that looks to be in the area of eastern europe, and they all have English accents. Sure, they've lived there for years... but Lancelot seems to have already aquired an english accent when taken from his people. Good thing the Italians have horridly overdone, sleazy Italian accents! So then, just when the knights are supposed to be sent home after 15 years of service... j/k dudes! As your last LAST mission on behalf of the Roman empire, go rescue some Italian dude. His son is important. They show up, these guys who have been traveling the land, slaying people left and right, and Arthur is OUTRAGED!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh, the conditions in which the peasants live! This is medieval times, and the Italian guy, he is treating his subjects in a manner that is simply... Medieval! So Arthur is going to get medieval on his ass and randomly save serfs and peasants (the likes of which he's never seen before, I mean in all his time, never has he encountered a feudal system....), despite the fact that it will surely get them killed by the approaching Saxons. The leader of which pretty much has an American accent (which is funny, as it's Swede Stellan Skarsgård. I suppose it's a slightly swedish-tinged american thing he has going on). Of course, he saves Guinivere, and here comes Keira Knightley's pouty lips! About half an hour after they rescue her from the brink of death, she is lounging in furs, alternately giving Arthur her come-hither look, and sassily berating him for being so Roman.

And here I am, back in the day, writing my medieval blog

And is anyone else amazed at the way in which knives and swords seem to make metal-on-metal sounds every time they enter and leave flesh? At least, they do in Hollywood. I like to imagine that all the dudes are robots. Like medieval battlebots.

Why do I continue to watch this? Renaissance fairs are more realistic. But there's Gallahad, who is very sexy. And Clive Owen, you are ridiculously overdoing this, and Arthur is a major pussy, but you too are so sexy.... god, I wish I was a tortured English peasant in need of saving.

Medieval... whaaaaaaaaat?

By the way, the title is in reference to my stalkers. Never have I rated the song "Nights in White Satin," or any Moody Blues song for that matter, yet launchcast insists upon playing it every time I listen. So I have an imaginary scenario in which Knights dressed in, yes, white satin chase me around a city. I have a very vivid imagination, you see.

Lates,
Amanda

p.s. I got a job! More about that later.

double-p.s. Man, I'm really starting to care about these guys, just when they're starting to die off. Dammit, why must I be such a woman?

That's it, I'm dressing up as a wench and going to find me some knights with nice big swords. But seriously, I think this is my friend Sandy's old kitchen.

Wait a minute, wait a minute... found him.

hold on... sorry old man squire-y dude, my heart has been stolen by the minstrel man.

Um, this image search is not getting old.

And this is the caption to the above picture, for reals: "Princess Valaria & Sir Andy had their dream wedding.So why don't you..? "

Seriously guys, for real. Why don't I? Any takers?

Back on the Chain Gang?

What I have to look forward to:

Well, I've finally committed to finding a job. In the least half-hearted way I can. Two interviews today, one lined up for tomorrow. I HATE INTERVIEWS. I mean, these were ok. But I feel like such a phony in a jacket, trying my hardest to convince some person that I'm capable of things and no, I'm NOT just an alcoholic shithead.


Based on my extensive research (read: string of failed interviews), I have come up with a 5-step fail-proof plan to landing that job:

1: When your interview walks into the room to shake your hand, repeat the following: "(Interviewer's first name), come on! You know me better than that!" Then grab him/her in a big bear hug, and try to grab a little ass (or package!). This works especially well if the interviewer is of the opposite gender. Well, really it works either way.

2: If the interviewer remarks upon your stellar college record, be modest. Wave away his/her compliment by insisting that your memories of college are hazy and covered in a thick boozy fog. This example of your ability to multi-task will impress them.

3: If asked anything about your personal life (ex: So, what neighborhood do you live in?) explain that you don't really have a *home*, and you spend most of your time in a dive bar with a group of old retired sailors, most of whom now have alcohol-related dementia. Attempt to initiate the interviewer into your clique by teaching him a long and complicated handshake, and make sure that it involves several lewd gestures.

4: People love curse words. Their use indicates a confidence that many lack. Motherfucker is good, but Cunt is better.

5: When the interview is coming to a close -- whether it has gone swimmingly, or things went horribly awry an hour ago in an embarrassingly irrepreble way -- search for a pause in the conversation. Look down at your lap, sigh, lift your tear-filled eyes to the interviewer, and whisper, "I didn't get the job, did I?" Try to make yourself appear as unhinged as possible. Trust me, they love it.

One thing that really makes me want to work from home: that Starbucks commercial in which a bunch of white yuppies are singing about making today their day and doing some kind of embarrassing stomp-type dance amused me once and now makes me cringe further and further into the couch with every viewing. Everyone who know me knows that I'll take a green tea frappaccino, or a vanilla latte, or really anything they have to offer anytime, plus my mom works there so I have some kind of intense and twisted Starbucks loyalty going on. But this commercial freaks me the fuck out and instills within me great trepidation about returning to the workplace. If there is any chance that I will revel in my three-piece suits and sing songs about my ambition while throwing back canned espresso, please kill me now. Please. Now.

Then again, it's possible that I am just a lazy hermit. In fact, quite probable.

My greatest fear: dying among a bunch of

assholes I've always hated

I promise I will be posting more specifics about Chicago life soon, and possibly I will also post about my trip to Michigan, and maybe even about this past weekend, which was full of debauchery and left me with the shakes. Well, really, that's probably all I can say about that without angering or embarrassing anyone, including but not limited to myself, Jose Cuervo, and the proprietor and clientele of a place called Swank Franks.

One more picture I came across. I think it's funny. I'm also evil.

~Amanda

Ted Danson is SO JEALOUS!

While having a cigarette with my co-worker Jose, I was told the most unbelievably fantastic story in the history of celebrity gossip. Apparently Jose used to be a room service waiter at an upscale NYC hotel. He explained how that job lead him to witness some of the most insane celebrity behavior, more crazy than what the tabloids usually document. As we enjoyed our few stolen moments in the sun, he related a story about the famed actor and director (P.S. Your Cat is Dead) that I knew would entertain and shock my long-distance wife to her very core.

Apparently, on one routine trip delivering over priced hamburgers, and champagne, my compadre Jose was faced with the one, the only, Guttenberg himself. Jose was in awe of S.G's Police Academy greatness, yet he pressed on to perform his waiterly duties. As Steve sat at the table in the room, attempting to appear somewhat buisinesslike, a hot, naked, cokehead bounced from bed to bed, attempting to distract the Gutt from the task at hand. As Jose dutifully awaited his much deserved tip, the girl plucked a green M&M from a large array of colors, proclaiming, "OOOOH, A GREEN ONE, YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS?? YOU'RE GONNA GET LAAAAAAAIIIIIIIDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

What could Jose do, but await payment, as the girl mounted the star? (She must have known Gutt's 15 minutes would quickly cease, therefore, was taking her chance immeditately). Jose was astonished to witness that such a temporary celebrity could afford such a large mountain of drugs! His job was not to judge though, it was to serve.

So, here's to you Jose, I salute you!