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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.