So, I decided to answer a random myspace survey the other day (something I hadn't done in over a year, I think) about my #2. It so turns out that your fave pair of wives are each other's myspace #2s. I thought our answers were so hilarious that you ALL deserve to see them. So... here goes!
First, here is mine about the wifey:
Can YOU answer 23 questions about YOUR #2?
: 1) What's their name? Amanda
2) What is their sexual orientation?
straight, aside from our "marriage"...
3) Where did you meet them?
We met in our dorm in sophomore year at NYU, and we've been wives ever since!
4) What was your age when you first met?
18!
5) Is this person one of your friends?
I GUESS...
6) Say something that only makes sense to you and that person.
Did we destroy the rules from the book? God, I hope so...
7) Is this person older than you?
older by 3 months exactly.
8) When was the last time you saw this person?
April on the drunkfest that was NASHVILLE!
9) Do you miss them?
I miss her sweet ass daily.
10) Are you related to this person?
She's my wife, does that count? Her sis is my faux sis.
11) Do you have nicknames for each other?
SOOO many. Oh Flapjack!
12) Is that person bringing sexy back?
You bet your ass.
13) Do you think that person will repost this?
If she know's what's good for her!
14) Why is this person #2 on your top friends?
My bro has precedent, b/c the whole blood relation, you understand, right Wife?
15) Have you seen this person cry?
Yeah, oh that Beaches! (j/k!)
16) Do you know this persons last name?
There ain't no ass in Glasbrenner, that's all I gotta say.
17) Do you tell them a lot about your life?
Probably more than she wants to hear, LOL!
18) Doing anything tonight with them?
Only in spirit... she's in Chicago.
19) If yes, What?
Uh, spiritual bonding??
20) Do you love them?
Well, she is my wife!
21) Would they date you?
She married me, what do you think?
22) What's something the person is obsessed with?
There was the tuna renaissance, but right now? A lot of things, the internets (as she calls it) in general I would have to say.
23) Does this person make you laugh?
On a daily basis!
And now, Amanda's response about me:
This works out perfectly, as boulos is my #2 (more important than my bro, it seems)
1) What's their name?
Kelly, better known as Boulos (in certain circles)
2) What is their sexual orientation?
bicurious
3) Where did you meet them?
Randomly assigned suitemates, or as I like to think of it, an NYU-arranged marriage
4) What was your age when you first met?
A few days before my 19th birthday, I would imagine
5) Is this person one of your friends?
Yes
6) Say something that only makes sense to you and that person.
omg I cannot BELIEVE you went there with yours, though that was perfect. Um... "If I drank a lot and tried real hard."
7) Is this person older than you?
Nope, younger by exactly 3 months
8) When was the last time you saw this person?
The end of April, in Nashville.
9) Do you miss them?
Yes!
10) Are you related to this person?
Not by blood.
11) Do you have nicknames for each other?
Um, yes. "wife" being #1. Also, chuckles.
12) Is that person bringing sexy back?
Duh
13) Do you think that person will repost this?
If she did, this would be a perpetual cycle
14) Why is this person #2 on your top friends?
She and my sister are actually neck and neck for "person I talk to/text/email most," but I've known my sister longer
15) Have you seen this person cry?
Yep. "Behind the Music: The Day the Music Died"
16) Do you know this person's last name?
What a ridiculous question. It's Boulos
17) Do you tell them a lot about your life?
Yes
18) Doing anything tonight with them?
Maybe accidentally watching the same thing on tv?
19) If yes, What?
America's Got Talent.
J to the mofo K! Probably Jeopardy or Law and Order!
20) Do you love them?
Duh
21) Would they date you?
I'm the kind of girl you fuck or marry, not the kind you date.
22) What's something the person is obsessed with?
WW (aren't we all?). Unicorns, kittens and rainbows.
23) Does this person make you laugh?
She lights napkins on fire in moving vehicles and insists we count Missouri 3x!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Enjoy all! Hope you pooped your pants from laughing!
~Boulos
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
POOP!
Ok, I don't even think an appology would suffice for my neglect of our dear blog at this point, so I will just say a simple, sorry, and move on to something that you NEED to hear.
Although the wife has been updating rather dilligently, she failed to mention the incredibly unbelievable trip that was NASHVILLE '07. My faux-sis (Amanda's actual sister and roomate) ran a marathon in Nashville on April 28th. She is quite the traveller when it comes to her job, and offered us a free hotel room courtesy of her points, if we flew down in support of her run, and for lots of drunken times. The wife and I would NEVER turn down a chance to share a King sized bed, or to drink at all times of day and night, and to eat more than our weight in BBQ, so of course we went.
The weekend was a FESTIVAL of gluttony. Being a member of Weight Watchers (I've lost 30lbs since Jan, thank you very much), I hadn't drank or eaten such an unimaginable amount of food in MONTHS. The conversations we had circled around our gassiness, desire to poop, or the constant surprise at how much we'd just ingested. After the victory party hosted by Melissa's running group, the wife and I continued to drink for several hours, and then somehow stumbled up the giant hills of Nashville to get home to the hotel. A few hours later, at about 6am I awoke to the blaring television, all lights were still on, and the wife was asleep in her clothes next to me. This did not at all surprise me, so I shut everything off in my hungover haze, and proceeded to the bathroom to pee. Now, this is where the surprise occured... Immeditately after flicking on the light, and see glaring up at me from the bowl A HUGE PIECE OF POOP swimming in pee. I was confused, and then laughed for SO LONG, I could not comprehend how one drunk wife could POOP DRUNKENLY, and then FORGET TO FLUSH IT!!!! Oh God, it is one of the top 5 funniest things that has happened in my life, I'm sure. The best part of the whole story was telling the wife what she'd done, and her asking me, "Was there toilet paper in the bowl?" as, she wasn't sure she'd wiped. LOL!
Way to go, wife. The Nashville drunkfest will forever be known as the time you left me a poop present. I will treasure it always.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Pothead (Po-theed)
Too bad Archana doesn't read the internets because she'd like this (and my subject, and I think she is one of two or three others who knows about potheed).
As noted previously, my company was kind enough to move us downtown to the land of the living. My monitor broke during the move, and then it was replaced with another dude's monitor, which was a similar big, bulky early '90s model, but had a nametag stuck in the middle of the screen and a rearview mirror. The rearview mirror was awesome for spying until I realized I was staring at myself in horror constantly, so I turned it around.
Long story short (too late!), the IT dudes were all, "hey, your monitors are from the stone age, technologically speaking. We are getting you all new, bright, classy flat screens!"
And we were like, awesome. Except that no one is really in charge here, per se. The person closest to being in charge is my friend and coworker Meghan, and most of the time we kinda wing it. So the old dino monitors have been sitting on the ground for about 2 weeks now.
She finally decided they needed to be removed, so just a few minutes ago, she said she was calling Amvets. She dialed, hung up the phone and turned to me.
"They close at 4:20. Who closes at 4:20??"
And of course I replied, "Stoners!"
I dunno, it made me giggle at the time. Maybe because I took a break with those amvets workers about an hour ago.
As noted previously, my company was kind enough to move us downtown to the land of the living. My monitor broke during the move, and then it was replaced with another dude's monitor, which was a similar big, bulky early '90s model, but had a nametag stuck in the middle of the screen and a rearview mirror. The rearview mirror was awesome for spying until I realized I was staring at myself in horror constantly, so I turned it around.
Long story short (too late!), the IT dudes were all, "hey, your monitors are from the stone age, technologically speaking. We are getting you all new, bright, classy flat screens!"
And we were like, awesome. Except that no one is really in charge here, per se. The person closest to being in charge is my friend and coworker Meghan, and most of the time we kinda wing it. So the old dino monitors have been sitting on the ground for about 2 weeks now.
She finally decided they needed to be removed, so just a few minutes ago, she said she was calling Amvets. She dialed, hung up the phone and turned to me.
"They close at 4:20. Who closes at 4:20??"
And of course I replied, "Stoners!"
I dunno, it made me giggle at the time. Maybe because I took a break with those amvets workers about an hour ago.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
At Least It's Not That Old Lady, Dirty Pantyhose Smell
I have been experiencing hygiene issues for the past week or so.
That sounded disgusting. Okay, here is the issue: I have been noticing that I have smelly armpits. Like, yeah, BO-smelly. But I use deodorant! The same one I've been using for months, except I recently bought a double-sized stick of a different scent. Maybe this is why it was on sale... maybe I will never buy sale deodorant again (it IS a brand name, in my defense).
In any case, I checked and it's anti-perspirant as well, like I always buy. I've never had a severe armpit sweat issue like, oh, about 1/2 of my female friends have. And I've never had this smell issue! It's really getting me down. I bought a new deodorant during lunch but I almost don't want to try it, for fear it won't work and I will be left smelly and friendless forever.
To top it all off, later this afternoon is the party (with booze) for my new office and I don't really know 1/2 these people. I'll probably get tipsy, throw up my arms in celebration, and promptly become the office reject.
Great.
That sounded disgusting. Okay, here is the issue: I have been noticing that I have smelly armpits. Like, yeah, BO-smelly. But I use deodorant! The same one I've been using for months, except I recently bought a double-sized stick of a different scent. Maybe this is why it was on sale... maybe I will never buy sale deodorant again (it IS a brand name, in my defense).
In any case, I checked and it's anti-perspirant as well, like I always buy. I've never had a severe armpit sweat issue like, oh, about 1/2 of my female friends have. And I've never had this smell issue! It's really getting me down. I bought a new deodorant during lunch but I almost don't want to try it, for fear it won't work and I will be left smelly and friendless forever.
To top it all off, later this afternoon is the party (with booze) for my new office and I don't really know 1/2 these people. I'll probably get tipsy, throw up my arms in celebration, and promptly become the office reject.
Great.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Best Picture Ever
I've seen a lot of pictures of the famous, stupid nipple incident at the Super Bowl a few years ago. How can anyone possibly avoid that nonsense? Usually, any mention of the incident makes me want to go to sleep and wake up when people have grown reasonable and, I dunno, neither idiots nor publicity whores roam the streets in the staggering numbers they do today.
However, I came across a depiction of the incident I don't' think I've ever seen before. I don't know if it's a different picture or if it's been manipulated in some way (lengthened?) but I love it. It's possible you've already seen this a million times and I just discovered it because I've been shielding my eyes from the whole thing for so long. Whatever, humor me.
I present to you Justin Timberlake, captured just as shock and awe have contorted his face into that of a old ex-con pervert who is simultaneously pooping his pants and shooting his load. While thinking of dead puppies.
However, I came across a depiction of the incident I don't' think I've ever seen before. I don't know if it's a different picture or if it's been manipulated in some way (lengthened?) but I love it. It's possible you've already seen this a million times and I just discovered it because I've been shielding my eyes from the whole thing for so long. Whatever, humor me.
I present to you Justin Timberlake, captured just as shock and awe have contorted his face into that of a old ex-con pervert who is simultaneously pooping his pants and shooting his load. While thinking of dead puppies.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
OMG where have I been?
Unintentional hiatus. Work has been crazy busy, and on top of that we were moving to a new office. I didn't want anyone to catch me blogging amidst that insanity, but I have no Internet access at home. I'm pretty much living in the 18th century over there, but it's a nice 18th century in our new place.
But, our move is over, and I finally work in the actual fucking city and not in the gross suburbs! IT IS THE BEST. My sister works in the same building (random coincidence) and keeps trying to tell me I'll be over the whole riding the el, working amongst normal people and not insane freaks who play accordions at work during one of their weekly birthday parties (seriously. this happened.), having a million lunch options in walking distance thing. I swear to god, I never will. I will cherish these opportunities from this day forward and never ever take city living for granted again. (cut to a few months from now, when I'm not returning Chicago's phone calls quickly enough and she slaps me in public, ending it for good).
I have been compiling a list of things I meant to post here, but the list is in my brain, which erases things without my consent. Especially considering the tequila I've been drinking every weekend.
However, here is an interesting tidbit: I visited Target Tuesday evening, looking all run down like I do after working all day and wandering aimlessly about the store like I do anytime I visit. Luckily I had my sister back by my side when I spotted a dude I'd hooked up with last August. Running into someone you knew for only one night is strange (well, THREE NIGHTS really, considering he accosted me in a bar another time, accusing me of having been a bitch the first time, and then hit on my friend another night in a failed attempt to inspire jealousy after I didn't learn my lesson and abandon that particular bar forever...). I mean, I only associate this guy with that bar and then also with the next day, when I had to work at kicking him out of my house for an hour or so. But get this: he was buying paper towels in bulk with a girl. Rather than, you know, drinking and hitting on me.
Briefly, every stereotypical chick-lit-ish knee-jerk reaction these situations conjure up ran through me. Then I thought, sucks to be her! And checked out with my sister, as people around us continued playing that "lesbian couple, roommates or sisters?" game we encourage.
But, our move is over, and I finally work in the actual fucking city and not in the gross suburbs! IT IS THE BEST. My sister works in the same building (random coincidence) and keeps trying to tell me I'll be over the whole riding the el, working amongst normal people and not insane freaks who play accordions at work during one of their weekly birthday parties (seriously. this happened.), having a million lunch options in walking distance thing. I swear to god, I never will. I will cherish these opportunities from this day forward and never ever take city living for granted again. (cut to a few months from now, when I'm not returning Chicago's phone calls quickly enough and she slaps me in public, ending it for good).
I have been compiling a list of things I meant to post here, but the list is in my brain, which erases things without my consent. Especially considering the tequila I've been drinking every weekend.
However, here is an interesting tidbit: I visited Target Tuesday evening, looking all run down like I do after working all day and wandering aimlessly about the store like I do anytime I visit. Luckily I had my sister back by my side when I spotted a dude I'd hooked up with last August. Running into someone you knew for only one night is strange (well, THREE NIGHTS really, considering he accosted me in a bar another time, accusing me of having been a bitch the first time, and then hit on my friend another night in a failed attempt to inspire jealousy after I didn't learn my lesson and abandon that particular bar forever...). I mean, I only associate this guy with that bar and then also with the next day, when I had to work at kicking him out of my house for an hour or so. But get this: he was buying paper towels in bulk with a girl. Rather than, you know, drinking and hitting on me.
Briefly, every stereotypical chick-lit-ish knee-jerk reaction these situations conjure up ran through me. Then I thought, sucks to be her! And checked out with my sister, as people around us continued playing that "lesbian couple, roommates or sisters?" game we encourage.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Recurring Pain in my Ass
We are very bad bloggers. Sorry, reader. I was laid up with a mysterious illness for a few days, plus I’m preparing to move at the end of the month (AGAIN). And, I’m lazy.
I realized recently that I have moved every year since high school except one. Ah, 2005. So beautifully cardboard box-free.
This time, my sister is buying a condo and I will essentially be renting a room from her. So there’s been more insanity than ever, with figuring out when we can move in (it’s a rehab so the dates have been tentative and frequently pushed back), finding a painter, and a whole mess of other stuff that she handles and I remain blissfully unaware of.
And an update regarding the neighborhood in which I grew up: Yesterday, as my sister and I drove to my parent’s house for Easter, we were forced to take a detour down an alley because a fire truck was blocking our way. A few hours later, our friend dropped by and told us there had been a huge drug bust less than a block away (a few houses down from where my ex-boyfriend lived!). The cops recovered $1.2 million worth of pot! How awesome. I expected to see Mary Louise Parker in handcuffs on my street.
I realized recently that I have moved every year since high school except one. Ah, 2005. So beautifully cardboard box-free.
This time, my sister is buying a condo and I will essentially be renting a room from her. So there’s been more insanity than ever, with figuring out when we can move in (it’s a rehab so the dates have been tentative and frequently pushed back), finding a painter, and a whole mess of other stuff that she handles and I remain blissfully unaware of.
And an update regarding the neighborhood in which I grew up: Yesterday, as my sister and I drove to my parent’s house for Easter, we were forced to take a detour down an alley because a fire truck was blocking our way. A few hours later, our friend dropped by and told us there had been a huge drug bust less than a block away (a few houses down from where my ex-boyfriend lived!). The cops recovered $1.2 million worth of pot! How awesome. I expected to see Mary Louise Parker in handcuffs on my street.
And now, please let me share with you my favorite moments from the past few weeks:
Friday, March 09, 2007
The other 3... FINALLY!
We were tagged by Brooklyn Sea Hag:The Rules : Each player of this game starts with the “6 weird things about you." People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own re: 6 weird things, as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says “you are tagged” in their comments and tell them to read your blog.
Sorry it took me SO incredibly long to write my 3 things, I am a busy lady, and I am really quite the procrastinator, so here goes.
1) I have a gap in my teeth, and never got it fixed because of many reasons...
it would require surgery (no thanks!), my Grandma always told me it was good luck, and finally, because I think it's SEXY!!! Haha. The weirdest part is that my boyfriend ALSO has one, which is super hilarious and odd, I think.
2) I have NO SENSE OF SMELL. Like, once in a blue moon I might think that I smell something, usually garlic, and only if I am cutting it myself. I am lucky though, b/c when the gassy boyf lets 'em rip, I am immune to their awful aroma (well, I'm told they are awful).
3) Finally, I am the only naturalized US citizen in my family. My bro is in the process of getting his now, and my parents were in the country for over 20 years before getting theirs. I am the only one who didn't have to go through that process because I was born smack dab in the middle of DIRTY JERZ! Woo!
Alright, Amanda has already tagged who needs to be tagged, and I appologize again for the delay in my list. Enjoy!
~Boulos
Sorry it took me SO incredibly long to write my 3 things, I am a busy lady, and I am really quite the procrastinator, so here goes.
1) I have a gap in my teeth, and never got it fixed because of many reasons...
it would require surgery (no thanks!), my Grandma always told me it was good luck, and finally, because I think it's SEXY!!! Haha. The weirdest part is that my boyfriend ALSO has one, which is super hilarious and odd, I think.
2) I have NO SENSE OF SMELL. Like, once in a blue moon I might think that I smell something, usually garlic, and only if I am cutting it myself. I am lucky though, b/c when the gassy boyf lets 'em rip, I am immune to their awful aroma (well, I'm told they are awful).
3) Finally, I am the only naturalized US citizen in my family. My bro is in the process of getting his now, and my parents were in the country for over 20 years before getting theirs. I am the only one who didn't have to go through that process because I was born smack dab in the middle of DIRTY JERZ! Woo!
Alright, Amanda has already tagged who needs to be tagged, and I appologize again for the delay in my list. Enjoy!
~Boulos
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Poetry
What could be better than a Saved By the Bell-themed Law and Order: Criminal Intent episode in which Dustin Diamond's character is portrayed as not simply a pathetic opportunistic horndog, but a dead one? And Mark-Paul Gosselaar is into screwing Dustin's Albanian sloppy seconds and pirating unreleased movies? I'll tell you what: Saved by the Bell poetry.
A couple of nights ago, while somewhat insomniac, I was struck with a brilliant lightening bolt of inspiration. I sat up, turned on the light, grabbed a pen and recorded a Saved By the Bell-themed haiku.
The following day, Boulos and I composed a number of Saved by the Bell haikus via email for this tribute to Mario Lopez. The one that came to me as if by magic is last, to properly heighten your anticipation.
Haikus by Boulos:
Oh Tori Spelling
Playing Nerdy Violet
9-0 Will Save You
Beach Club Days go by
Scientologist* Romance
Love lesson for Zach
I’m so Excited
I’m so scared, I’m so scared Zach!
Jessie Spano Rocks
*Leah Remini
Haikus by Amanda:
Money in a bag.
What to do? I want tickets
to sell for profit
Hey, how gay am I?
Good question, AC Slater.
You’re totally queer.
Miss Lisa Turtle:
Stop teasing my prick, you bitch
Let's fuck already
Just take off your pants
Mr. Belding. We're not at
Bayside any more.**
**To be read suggestively but with contempt by Nomi Malone, formerly known as Jessie Spano, in the back lapdance room at the Cheetah Club, a place that almost certainly allows hooking in the Champagne Room.
A couple of nights ago, while somewhat insomniac, I was struck with a brilliant lightening bolt of inspiration. I sat up, turned on the light, grabbed a pen and recorded a Saved By the Bell-themed haiku.
The following day, Boulos and I composed a number of Saved by the Bell haikus via email for this tribute to Mario Lopez. The one that came to me as if by magic is last, to properly heighten your anticipation.
Haikus by Boulos:
Oh Tori Spelling
Playing Nerdy Violet
9-0 Will Save You
Beach Club Days go by
Scientologist* Romance
Love lesson for Zach
I’m so Excited
I’m so scared, I’m so scared Zach!
Jessie Spano Rocks
*Leah Remini
Haikus by Amanda:
Money in a bag.
What to do? I want tickets
to sell for profit
Hey, how gay am I?
Good question, AC Slater.
You’re totally queer.
Miss Lisa Turtle:
Stop teasing my prick, you bitch
Let's fuck already
Just take off your pants
Mr. Belding. We're not at
Bayside any more.**
**To be read suggestively but with contempt by Nomi Malone, formerly known as Jessie Spano, in the back lapdance room at the Cheetah Club, a place that almost certainly allows hooking in the Champagne Room.
Love you A.C.!
Ummm... [vomits a little in mouth]... you too, Screech!
Friday, February 16, 2007
Love of my Life?!?
Yesterday I found my Valentine!*
(The rasberry Zingers, which are woefully underrepresented on the Internet -- I would have photoshopped out the donuts if I knew how to do it, and wasn't lazy).
I had never tried these Zingers before – though my mom, sister and I were seriously obsessed with Zingers during my childhood – because I didn’t like coconut, wasn’t too into raspberry, and in general though they were gross. But I tried them yesterday, mostly out of curiosity and because the vending machine did not have yellow Zingers.
They are wonderful, amazing, and in the running for Love of my Life (you can enter to be in the running, too. Just use the comments). There goes my “figure.” (those are ironic quotation marks. Since my current figure is nothing to talk about, I really don’t care! By the way, I love parentheses!)
* Just to clarify, I didn't sit home last night and eat ice cream and zingers and a heart full of candy that I bought for myself at CVS because I’m single. It was actually a coincidence that I discovered my new love on Valentine's Day. If I had to make a list of things I would have liked more than a date on Valentine’s Day, it would be long. And let's just say it would probably involve booze and inappropriate behavior with one or more cohorts. I compromised and had dinner, but no booze, with a few friends, because I am old and lame.
This is just a disclaimer to let anyone who doesn’t know me personally know that I am not one of “those girls,” whoever those girls may be. Especially because if I don't marry snack foods, I'll likely marry a gay man. I'm well aware that neither will give me diamonds on February 14th.
(The rasberry Zingers, which are woefully underrepresented on the Internet -- I would have photoshopped out the donuts if I knew how to do it, and wasn't lazy).
I had never tried these Zingers before – though my mom, sister and I were seriously obsessed with Zingers during my childhood – because I didn’t like coconut, wasn’t too into raspberry, and in general though they were gross. But I tried them yesterday, mostly out of curiosity and because the vending machine did not have yellow Zingers.
They are wonderful, amazing, and in the running for Love of my Life (you can enter to be in the running, too. Just use the comments). There goes my “figure.” (those are ironic quotation marks. Since my current figure is nothing to talk about, I really don’t care! By the way, I love parentheses!)
* Just to clarify, I didn't sit home last night and eat ice cream and zingers and a heart full of candy that I bought for myself at CVS because I’m single. It was actually a coincidence that I discovered my new love on Valentine's Day. If I had to make a list of things I would have liked more than a date on Valentine’s Day, it would be long. And let's just say it would probably involve booze and inappropriate behavior with one or more cohorts. I compromised and had dinner, but no booze, with a few friends, because I am old and lame.
This is just a disclaimer to let anyone who doesn’t know me personally know that I am not one of “those girls,” whoever those girls may be. Especially because if I don't marry snack foods, I'll likely marry a gay man. I'm well aware that neither will give me diamonds on February 14th.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
My Next Career Move
Hello All!
This Saturday I spent about three hours doing some of the most amazing special effects makeup the world has ever seen. That's right, the Boulos siblings are involved in the production of the upcoming film, "The Unexciting Adventures of Unemployed Skeletor". The trailer can be viewed here.
So, Shane's part is that of Panthro, who has turned psychiatrist since the ending of his once popular 80's Cartoon, Thundercats.
In case you don't remember him, I will refresh your memory!
I, using my powers of ingenuity, turned a regular 28 year old musician/graphic designer into one of the most distinguished cartoon heros the world has EVER SEEN!!! That's right, my many talents continue to reveal themselves as time progresses, what can I say? I AM A CHAMELEON!
Alright... enough suspense though, I shall reveal my masterpiece...
BEHOLD!!!!!! PANTRHO LIVES!!!!!!
I'm sorry, but if that isn't one of the most awesome things you've ever seen, I don't know what is.
Enjoy! The movie is coming SPRING 2007!!!!!!!! And yes, I actually earned a credit for being a makeup artist!! I should also mention that Shane's scene with Unemployed Skeletor (or Skelly, as he's known) is so f-ing funny, keep your eyes out kids! This shit is gonna be HUGE!
~Boulos
This Saturday I spent about three hours doing some of the most amazing special effects makeup the world has ever seen. That's right, the Boulos siblings are involved in the production of the upcoming film, "The Unexciting Adventures of Unemployed Skeletor". The trailer can be viewed here.
So, Shane's part is that of Panthro, who has turned psychiatrist since the ending of his once popular 80's Cartoon, Thundercats.
In case you don't remember him, I will refresh your memory!
I, using my powers of ingenuity, turned a regular 28 year old musician/graphic designer into one of the most distinguished cartoon heros the world has EVER SEEN!!! That's right, my many talents continue to reveal themselves as time progresses, what can I say? I AM A CHAMELEON!
Alright... enough suspense though, I shall reveal my masterpiece...
BEHOLD!!!!!! PANTRHO LIVES!!!!!!
I'm sorry, but if that isn't one of the most awesome things you've ever seen, I don't know what is.
Enjoy! The movie is coming SPRING 2007!!!!!!!! And yes, I actually earned a credit for being a makeup artist!! I should also mention that Shane's scene with Unemployed Skeletor (or Skelly, as he's known) is so f-ing funny, keep your eyes out kids! This shit is gonna be HUGE!
~Boulos
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Might As Well Face It....
In an AOL article on Lindsay Lohan’s half-hearted rehab attempt, I discovered the following:
The Wonderland Center specializes in treating addictive disorders such as love addiction.
Awesome. I hope that is what she’s undergoing treatment for, please god let someone leak that information (I’m looking at you, Harry Morton). What I don’t understand, now, is the other patients and their constant bitching regarding her frequent field trips. Dudes, you people haven’t been committed – you are doing half-assed voluntary crap at a place that treats LOVE ADDICTION. Dicking around, especially by celebs, is to be expected there. You probably knew when you checked in that this place would be a waste of money. Chill out, or better yet, take a trip to the psych ward at your local hospital. A week there will straighten you out like no amount of time at Wonderland can.
Whiny rich rehab babies are not my only current obsession. This story is. How absolutely insane is it?! My favorite parts:
Hartsfield said he couldn't recall the last time an astronaut was arrested and said there were no rules against fraternizing among astronauts.
Can you even tell astronauts what to do? They are astronauts for fuck’s sake! They’re like living legends, or actually a lot like unicorns. Have you ever seen an astronaut in person? I didn’t think so. But here is the best part:
Nowak raced from Houston to Orlando wearing diapers in the car so she wouldn't have to stop to go to the bathroom, authorities said. Astronauts wear diapers during launch and re-entry.
I take back everything I said about Wonderland; this is an obvious case of love addiction. I think we all know what the judge’s sentence should be.
Thanks to Boulos for pointing out the Robert Palmer connection I so ignorantly overlooked!
Monday, February 05, 2007
Daily Log
Something you may not know: Boulos and I spend a good deal of our "working" day emailing one another. We prefer this to instant message; I think we end up amusing one another more when we have to compose whole emails rather than type knee-jerk “ROTFLMAOLOLOLOL”s to each other. Anyway, this is how we KIT and continue to confide TMI in one another.
Today I decided to sum up “this day in the lives of Boulos and Amanda” in one of my final emails to Boulos. Keep in mind, we’re both a little out of it today due to the Super Bowl:
So today we have learned that data is good,* poorly written "medical" fluff articles suck, getting dirty rocks off is gross,** and we created our future euphemism for sex. Hopefully the sex won't be as mundane as the euphy!***
Oh, and you settled your debt**** (let's pretend it was mafia-related), but your teeth suck.*****
Kind of a mediocre day, but it had some highlights. Of course if it had featured Highlights, you would have loved it.******
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
* This might be more accurately worded as, “access to data is good,” as I was dealing with a non-functioning database. Having thought about it a bit, I think it’s actually a program and not a database. Oh well.
** Reference to Debbie, a woman with whom one of us works. Wanton sexual adventures are unattractive in a married middle-aged mother. Her habit of leaving early to partake in these adventures is not good form, but even worse is the TMI. The constant TMI.
*** A brief misunderstanding led to the mutual decision that we will one day, in front of our children, refer to sex as “trying to help him relax.”
**** (credit card)
***** Possibility of lower wisdom teeth causing chronic headaches
****** Boulos maintains a notorious, child-like appreciation of the magazine Highlights (also she loves books of Garfield comic strips, which is kind of irrelevant, but funny)
Today I decided to sum up “this day in the lives of Boulos and Amanda” in one of my final emails to Boulos. Keep in mind, we’re both a little out of it today due to the Super Bowl:
So today we have learned that data is good,* poorly written "medical" fluff articles suck, getting dirty rocks off is gross,** and we created our future euphemism for sex. Hopefully the sex won't be as mundane as the euphy!***
Oh, and you settled your debt**** (let's pretend it was mafia-related), but your teeth suck.*****
Kind of a mediocre day, but it had some highlights. Of course if it had featured Highlights, you would have loved it.******
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
* This might be more accurately worded as, “access to data is good,” as I was dealing with a non-functioning database. Having thought about it a bit, I think it’s actually a program and not a database. Oh well.
** Reference to Debbie, a woman with whom one of us works. Wanton sexual adventures are unattractive in a married middle-aged mother. Her habit of leaving early to partake in these adventures is not good form, but even worse is the TMI. The constant TMI.
*** A brief misunderstanding led to the mutual decision that we will one day, in front of our children, refer to sex as “trying to help him relax.”
**** (credit card)
***** Possibility of lower wisdom teeth causing chronic headaches
****** Boulos maintains a notorious, child-like appreciation of the magazine Highlights (also she loves books of Garfield comic strips, which is kind of irrelevant, but funny)
Thursday, February 01, 2007
BEST THING EVER!!!!!!
The wife commisioned one of the most excellent pieces of art of all time, it's here!
Thanks, Joe!!!
~Boulos
~Boulos
Monday, January 29, 2007
Events Unnerve Me***
My sister received XM radio for her car as a Christmas gift. I drive her car to and from work everyday, and on Friday I was having a great time in horrible traffic, listening to XMU, the college/indie rock station. Then it all came to a grinding halt.
A song begins, and I think, “hey, I kind of recognize this…” I look down at the radio and realize it is “Ceremony,” as performed by a band called Xiu Xiu. If you are a huge Xiu Xiu fan, I apologize for the following, but I have never heard of them and will thus assume that no one else has, either (particularly none of our 5 fine readers – readership has increased!).
Immediately, I was reminded of what I think of as the Rules of Covers. They are simple, and there are only two. The first is that the cover differ somewhat significantly from the original. Not so much as to be unrecognizable, but professional musicians should not be releasing karaoke-d versions of one another’s songs.
The second rule is simple; do not completely destroy the charm of the original. Don’t change a wonderful little ditty to a crapfest, just because you can. (Here is one that, miraculously, fails on both counts).
Xiu Xiu totally took me up on the first rule. And utterly shat upon the second. The general idea I got from this song is that a bunch of slackers visited Chuck E. Cheese, and while playing arcade games created for five-year-olds, the most astute of the bunch noticed that one of the games featured a recurring audio that somewhat resembles the New Order song “Ceremony.”
They isolated the game’s audio (possibly they have a friend who works at Chuck E. Cheese and lets them in after hours), which unfortunately sounds like broken bagpipes. They played terrible industrial-type music over it. And I am referring to the noises the Sunset Island book series led me to believe constitute industrial music via the fictional band “Lord Whitehead and the Zit People” – namely, the beating of laundry room and kitchen appliances. Nothing so melodic as Nine Inch Nails.
After they settled upon this hodgepodge of garbage music, they hired a well-hung bull to violently rape the dude in the ass while he sings.
I did, however, enjoy my little fantasy that the dj at Fred (the new wave/alternative 80s station) might just give the dj at XMU a beating over this atrocity.
Update: Okay, so you can find it here. I just listened to it and the song is not as bad as I remember. I think I was a little off on the whole washer and dryer thing, but I have such fond memories of Lord Whitehead, I’m keeping it.
With this said, there is clearly no reason why this ever had to be done. Plus I think my description of they vocals was a bit too nice. Overall, my only kind thoughts were, “the drummer can keep a beat” and “hey, xylophones.” For anyone wondering: neither a respectable drummer nor the availability of xylophones constitutes a valid reason to destroy a good song. And, um, let’s mention the profile picture. The pervy dork at the local Holiday Inn is ready for the pool, guys.
I guess they're honest, though -- under "sounds like," they have listed only "Shit."
**** Totally gay to steal a borderline pretentious-sounding line from the song for the title, but I could not think of a stupid title. Sorry to be lame.
A song begins, and I think, “hey, I kind of recognize this…” I look down at the radio and realize it is “Ceremony,” as performed by a band called Xiu Xiu. If you are a huge Xiu Xiu fan, I apologize for the following, but I have never heard of them and will thus assume that no one else has, either (particularly none of our 5 fine readers – readership has increased!).
Immediately, I was reminded of what I think of as the Rules of Covers. They are simple, and there are only two. The first is that the cover differ somewhat significantly from the original. Not so much as to be unrecognizable, but professional musicians should not be releasing karaoke-d versions of one another’s songs.
The second rule is simple; do not completely destroy the charm of the original. Don’t change a wonderful little ditty to a crapfest, just because you can. (Here is one that, miraculously, fails on both counts).
Xiu Xiu totally took me up on the first rule. And utterly shat upon the second. The general idea I got from this song is that a bunch of slackers visited Chuck E. Cheese, and while playing arcade games created for five-year-olds, the most astute of the bunch noticed that one of the games featured a recurring audio that somewhat resembles the New Order song “Ceremony.”
They isolated the game’s audio (possibly they have a friend who works at Chuck E. Cheese and lets them in after hours), which unfortunately sounds like broken bagpipes. They played terrible industrial-type music over it. And I am referring to the noises the Sunset Island book series led me to believe constitute industrial music via the fictional band “Lord Whitehead and the Zit People” – namely, the beating of laundry room and kitchen appliances. Nothing so melodic as Nine Inch Nails.
After they settled upon this hodgepodge of garbage music, they hired a well-hung bull to violently rape the dude in the ass while he sings.
I did, however, enjoy my little fantasy that the dj at Fred (the new wave/alternative 80s station) might just give the dj at XMU a beating over this atrocity.
Update: Okay, so you can find it here. I just listened to it and the song is not as bad as I remember. I think I was a little off on the whole washer and dryer thing, but I have such fond memories of Lord Whitehead, I’m keeping it.
With this said, there is clearly no reason why this ever had to be done. Plus I think my description of they vocals was a bit too nice. Overall, my only kind thoughts were, “the drummer can keep a beat” and “hey, xylophones.” For anyone wondering: neither a respectable drummer nor the availability of xylophones constitutes a valid reason to destroy a good song. And, um, let’s mention the profile picture. The pervy dork at the local Holiday Inn is ready for the pool, guys.
I guess they're honest, though -- under "sounds like," they have listed only "Shit."
**** Totally gay to steal a borderline pretentious-sounding line from the song for the title, but I could not think of a stupid title. Sorry to be lame.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
This Must Be Posted
Our friend Lisa originally sent this to us when she was looking for a wedding gift for her husband. I have been able to find it twice since, but this always takes a good half hour of googling and searching my email.
Today, we were exchanging fun wedding links (Alice will be married in July!), when I remembered this.
First, a link to the suggested gift. It should be noted that I am a woman, but if a man ever bought me a crappy watercolor for any occasion, much less our wedding, I would shoot him in the face. And if I told my story and brought the painting to the court room, I am certain I would be vindicated (provided the jury was composed of peers with good taste).
Here is the best part, the page on which it is suggested that one might buy this for her groom. The responses to this are hilarious. Unfortunately, over a year ago this page started getting spammed regularly so it might take a minute to load.
Just thought I would share, but mostly I just wanted to create a permanent link for purely selfish reasons.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
There's no Ass in Glasbrenner... or Boulos!
Hello all!
I know that I have been quite negliegent in my posting, however I am here now, and I have a story that I haven't even yet shared with the wife, so that you could all be amused together... so here goes.
As some of you know, Vince was visiting from Reno recently, and had arranged a get together for some of us on the east side. Despite the chilly weather, I was lucky enough to get a cab immediately following my arrival into the city from good ole' dirrrty Jerz. I hop in, kind of flustered, and immediately start digging in my purse, completely oblivious to my immediate surroundings to try and find my cell to alert V that I might be a bit late. Half way through the ride across town, when I get more settled, I look up, and what name do I see staring at me but "BOULAS"!!!!!!! WHAT?? I want to scream and laugh, however as expected, the cabbie is in deep conversation with someone on his phone, and far be it for me to interrupt him. When he asks for a confirmation of my destination, I grab my chance...
Me: "Is your last name Boulas????"
Understandably suspicious cabbie...: "Yes..."
Me: "OMG! My last name is BOULOS, with an "O"!!!!!!!"
Cabbie: "REALLY???"
Me: "YES! Are you Egyptian???"
Cabbie: "Yes... blah blah blah, do you know where the name originates?"
Me: "My Dad used to tell me it was a derivative of Paul, and that it's Koptic."
Cabbie: "No, it actually comes from... (at this point the man suddenly forgets how to annunciate or traffic was loud, but I have no idea what the f he said).
We then proceed to talk about Egypt, and I tell him I've never been, etc. I was so blown away by this man's name, I could not even deal with it. I don't even know what his first name is, b/c his last one distracted me so! Upon arrival at the bar, my Teammate ventured a guess...Kallie. hahaha, my alter ego is a male cabbie. Um, it wasn't that, for sure. Holy shite though for the rest of the evening, everything bad was referred to as Boul-ASS, and we decided it was a good insult.
Please await pics from the wife's NYC baby vomit invasion, and me and Andy's Chicago escapade to be posted sometime in the next year.
Lates! ~Boulos
I know that I have been quite negliegent in my posting, however I am here now, and I have a story that I haven't even yet shared with the wife, so that you could all be amused together... so here goes.
As some of you know, Vince was visiting from Reno recently, and had arranged a get together for some of us on the east side. Despite the chilly weather, I was lucky enough to get a cab immediately following my arrival into the city from good ole' dirrrty Jerz. I hop in, kind of flustered, and immediately start digging in my purse, completely oblivious to my immediate surroundings to try and find my cell to alert V that I might be a bit late. Half way through the ride across town, when I get more settled, I look up, and what name do I see staring at me but "BOULAS"!!!!!!! WHAT?? I want to scream and laugh, however as expected, the cabbie is in deep conversation with someone on his phone, and far be it for me to interrupt him. When he asks for a confirmation of my destination, I grab my chance...
Me: "Is your last name Boulas????"
Understandably suspicious cabbie...: "Yes..."
Me: "OMG! My last name is BOULOS, with an "O"!!!!!!!"
Cabbie: "REALLY???"
Me: "YES! Are you Egyptian???"
Cabbie: "Yes... blah blah blah, do you know where the name originates?"
Me: "My Dad used to tell me it was a derivative of Paul, and that it's Koptic."
Cabbie: "No, it actually comes from... (at this point the man suddenly forgets how to annunciate or traffic was loud, but I have no idea what the f he said).
We then proceed to talk about Egypt, and I tell him I've never been, etc. I was so blown away by this man's name, I could not even deal with it. I don't even know what his first name is, b/c his last one distracted me so! Upon arrival at the bar, my Teammate ventured a guess...Kallie. hahaha, my alter ego is a male cabbie. Um, it wasn't that, for sure. Holy shite though for the rest of the evening, everything bad was referred to as Boul-ASS, and we decided it was a good insult.
Please await pics from the wife's NYC baby vomit invasion, and me and Andy's Chicago escapade to be posted sometime in the next year.
Lates! ~Boulos
Monday, January 22, 2007
Family History
So the Bears are going to the Super Bowl. This is a very big deal in Chicago, since their last trip was 21 years ago – Boulos and I agree that this makes us feel old, since we remember it very clearly.
My father was there to see them win, in New Orleans. It sounds like quite the time. 13 men in all drove from Chicago to New Orleans in some kind of Winnebago-type vehicle. These included my father’s two uncles and his then-stepfather. My dad was 27 and probably one of the youngest guys on the trip; he and most of these men were big drinkers. That last sentence is actually a huge understatement.
His aunt sent them off with a big batch of chili. Thirteen men, a Winnebago and a bunch of chili sounds like a fun time, huh? According to my father, the men had an agreement that whoever was driving at any given time would not drink. And this was breached about fifteen or twenty minutes into the trip, when his stepfather began drinking a large amount of whiskey at the wheel.
Someone knew a guy who lived in New Orleans, and they parked the trailer thingy at his place, using his electricity. Some of them stayed in the guy’s house and I’m guessing they all used his bathroom. According to my grandma, she “does not know how his wife dealt with this,” but the woman was reportedly “a nurse who smoked pot every night,” which might explain her general coolness and permissibility.
My father told us that he and his uncle ended up at a strip club alone one night, and they met a guy who took them to a party at a trailer park. Everyone else at this party (including their new friend) was black, and my dad and his uncle were convinced they were going to be mugged. But they just ended up partying until dawn, when the man kindly returned them home. Of course, this is the story my dad shared. You have to wonder about the other stuff they did.
Over the years, I have seen several pictures of the guys with their bad-eighties hair and glassy, drunken stares and smiles. There is one of my uncle mooning the camera – I just found out last night that Jim McMahon had mooned the press and this picture is an homage. Which is classier than a random picture of ass, you know.
Family history is important, and so very fun. Hearing this story last night made me feel very straight-laced and rather ineffective in my attempts at drunken adventures. I am only 26, though, so I guess I have another year to plan something to rival this. Maybe when Boulos, my sister and I visit Nashville in April….
By the way, my aforementioned great-uncle, Tommy, passed away rather suddenly last week. He was a really great guy and probably took good care of my father in situations like this. He took care of everyone, in fact. Um, this story really didn’t capture him. I doubt he frequented strip clubs, but they were in New Orleans – I’d be in strip clubs in that situation (not performing, though, you dirty birds).
So, yeah. This is as close to a football-themed post as you’ll get from me.
My father was there to see them win, in New Orleans. It sounds like quite the time. 13 men in all drove from Chicago to New Orleans in some kind of Winnebago-type vehicle. These included my father’s two uncles and his then-stepfather. My dad was 27 and probably one of the youngest guys on the trip; he and most of these men were big drinkers. That last sentence is actually a huge understatement.
His aunt sent them off with a big batch of chili. Thirteen men, a Winnebago and a bunch of chili sounds like a fun time, huh? According to my father, the men had an agreement that whoever was driving at any given time would not drink. And this was breached about fifteen or twenty minutes into the trip, when his stepfather began drinking a large amount of whiskey at the wheel.
Someone knew a guy who lived in New Orleans, and they parked the trailer thingy at his place, using his electricity. Some of them stayed in the guy’s house and I’m guessing they all used his bathroom. According to my grandma, she “does not know how his wife dealt with this,” but the woman was reportedly “a nurse who smoked pot every night,” which might explain her general coolness and permissibility.
My father told us that he and his uncle ended up at a strip club alone one night, and they met a guy who took them to a party at a trailer park. Everyone else at this party (including their new friend) was black, and my dad and his uncle were convinced they were going to be mugged. But they just ended up partying until dawn, when the man kindly returned them home. Of course, this is the story my dad shared. You have to wonder about the other stuff they did.
Over the years, I have seen several pictures of the guys with their bad-eighties hair and glassy, drunken stares and smiles. There is one of my uncle mooning the camera – I just found out last night that Jim McMahon had mooned the press and this picture is an homage. Which is classier than a random picture of ass, you know.
Family history is important, and so very fun. Hearing this story last night made me feel very straight-laced and rather ineffective in my attempts at drunken adventures. I am only 26, though, so I guess I have another year to plan something to rival this. Maybe when Boulos, my sister and I visit Nashville in April….
By the way, my aforementioned great-uncle, Tommy, passed away rather suddenly last week. He was a really great guy and probably took good care of my father in situations like this. He took care of everyone, in fact. Um, this story really didn’t capture him. I doubt he frequented strip clubs, but they were in New Orleans – I’d be in strip clubs in that situation (not performing, though, you dirty birds).
So, yeah. This is as close to a football-themed post as you’ll get from me.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
I Continue To Do Reprehensible Things
Oh, I was supposed to share this story a long time ago and never quite got around to it. It is called:
“How I desecrate family values,” or “Babies? VOMIT!” or “Hi, my name is Amanda, and I’m….”
This occurred when I was visiting Miss Boulos in New Jersey. In an attempt to recapture our more recent youth, we went to Winnie’s and sang karaoke on Saturday night. We drank Hawaiian punch, as we usually do. For anyone unfamiliar with Hawaiian punch, it is basically a mixture of every liquor in the bar, grenadine, lime juice and pineapple juice. A tropical Long Island iced tea, if you will.
We drank something like 9 pitchers of it (there were other people there, but we later decided that the two of us alone consumed at least 4 or 5 pitchers ourselves). We sang many, many songs, including our Ticket to Greatness, of course. We took a livery cab back to Jersey, I passed out on the sofabed fully clothed. Boulos woke me briefly so that I could eat the Texas toast she’d so lovingly prepared. What a good wife. I passed the fuck out again and did not wake until it was nearly time to catch a train so that we could spend the afternoon with our friend Lisa, her husband, and her one-year-old baby, Ava.
While Boulos encouraged me to get the fuck out of bed, I mulled over the previous night. “Hey, it’s really a shame we never sang Love Shack.”
Boulos looked at me with incredulity. “We sang Love Shack.”
“What about Spice Up Your Life?”
“We sang that.”
“I Wanna Know What Love Is?”
“Yup.”
So, apparently I had blacked out. Keep this in mind. I almost never black out, in spite of my near-constant consumption of copious amounts of alcohol.
We ate cereal, I opted not to shower or even wash my face, but rather “touch up” my make up (yes, this is kind of appalling. I had not seen Lisa in about a year). We got on the train. We talked about food, a lot.
Lisa picked us up with el babo in the backseat. She was adorable! Seriously, the very picture of innocence and beauty. My uterus fluttered, and the baby was very polite when I sat next to her. She didn’t even hiss or spit, which would have been totally understandable.
On the ride to Lisa’s apartment, I started to feel a little carsick. We got there, had a cigarette (outside – we try not to give babies lung cancer), and I asked for a glass of water. After sitting in their living room for maybe half an hour, I just had to say it: “Guys, I think I need to throw up.”
This is possibly the best thing ever said to me: “Oh sure, just do it in Ava’s bathroom, right there.”
So about two seconds later, I kneel in an adorable bathroom full of little duckies – duckie towels, duckie shower curtain, it was so cute -- and heave my guts up. Everyone in the living room, by the way, can hear every disgusting moment of the surprisingly long and drawn-out vomitfest. And, wonderfully, my immediate thought post-barf was:
“Yum, tastes like Texas toast!”
I am totally disgusting, I know.
If anyone else has a nice story about giving the big Fuck You to decency, now is the time to share.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Psychic Trouble
I clearly have issues.
This all began maybe 5 or 6 years ago, the first time I visited a psychic. Rachel, Emily and I were walking back from Magnolia Bakery when we passed a somewhat bare psychic storefront (someone PLEASE tell me how this weird psychic lady could afford that space in the west village). I think only Emily and I got our palms read, and I remember thinking this lady was right on through Emily’s reading, and then through mine… and then she told me that I needed my chakras cleansed.
I have dirty chakras! Haha, it was a funny joke. But I was a little bit worried.
Then, this weekend, I was coming home at 5 am with Meghan and our cab driver offered to read our palms. This seemed like an awesome idea, so we went for it. But during my reading, the guy could NOT stop repeating, “oh, you are very confused. You are troubled.” Every time he began to tell me something else, he’d interrupt himself with, “No, but you are very confused.”
At the time, feeling a bit emo in my drunken state, I thought to myself, “Hey, I am very confused and troubled. This dude is right on; way to go psychic cabbie!” So I kept nodding along, hoping he would find the cure to my confusion in some other line. Which, of course, did not happen. He basically gave me a warning: YOU ARE TROUBLED.
Now I’m thinking, what the fuck? Do I have some bad psychic energy? What is going on here? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME????????????
But the good news is, I just studied my palms – on one hand, a bunch of the lines don’t meet, which was his clue that I am utterly and irrevocably fucked up. However, on my left hand, all the lines meet quite neatly. So, my left side is A-Okay!
p.s. Sorry for the massive holiday break; I am lazy.
This all began maybe 5 or 6 years ago, the first time I visited a psychic. Rachel, Emily and I were walking back from Magnolia Bakery when we passed a somewhat bare psychic storefront (someone PLEASE tell me how this weird psychic lady could afford that space in the west village). I think only Emily and I got our palms read, and I remember thinking this lady was right on through Emily’s reading, and then through mine… and then she told me that I needed my chakras cleansed.
I have dirty chakras! Haha, it was a funny joke. But I was a little bit worried.
Then, this weekend, I was coming home at 5 am with Meghan and our cab driver offered to read our palms. This seemed like an awesome idea, so we went for it. But during my reading, the guy could NOT stop repeating, “oh, you are very confused. You are troubled.” Every time he began to tell me something else, he’d interrupt himself with, “No, but you are very confused.”
At the time, feeling a bit emo in my drunken state, I thought to myself, “Hey, I am very confused and troubled. This dude is right on; way to go psychic cabbie!” So I kept nodding along, hoping he would find the cure to my confusion in some other line. Which, of course, did not happen. He basically gave me a warning: YOU ARE TROUBLED.
Now I’m thinking, what the fuck? Do I have some bad psychic energy? What is going on here? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME????????????
But the good news is, I just studied my palms – on one hand, a bunch of the lines don’t meet, which was his clue that I am utterly and irrevocably fucked up. However, on my left hand, all the lines meet quite neatly. So, my left side is A-Okay!
p.s. Sorry for the massive holiday break; I am lazy.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
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!
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!
Sunday, November 19, 2006
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.
Friday, November 10, 2006
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
Monday, October 30, 2006
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!
Thursday, October 19, 2006
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.
Friday, October 13, 2006
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.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, September 29, 2006
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.
"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.
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