The Wonderhauer

So I saw Katy Perry in Concert... (ended up deceiving a child, clearly)

2011-08-09T10:12:00.000-07:00

So my friend Sam informs me that she has

(des

pite her understandable reservations about the quality) secured tickets to see Katy Perry at Nokia.

We had VIP pit passes so we didn't have to mingle with lowly commoners!

I saw Demi Lovato enter in the door just before us.

Then Sam's friend's co-worker reluctantly gave us drink tickets, which when added to the carafe of Sake from Katsuya = GAME ON.

Two amazing things happened this night.

1.) I saw Noah Cyrus.

Google her if you don't know (you should see as many pictures as possible) but TLDR, she's Miley's 10 year old sister.

I tap her gently on the shoulder and ask for a photo.

THIS BITCH DON'T EVEN FLINCH.

Then one of her friends (clearly she doesn't have adult supervision, clearly) says in what you imagine to be the most blase teenage disinterest/attitude and multiply it by the celebrity/child star trickle down dickery. Amazing.

Shut down by the KID SISTER of a Disney Star.

Amazing item #2)

So I wore an outfit very Katy inspired (photos as evidence) and I was walking to the restroom when a girl around 8 or so years old stops me and with DETERMINED eyes asks,

"OMG are you Katy Perry?"

She has another little friend and they're both looking up at me, so very hopeful.

I kinda go, UHHHHH... and I'm about to let them know that it's not quite the case when one of their Dads goes

"YEAH, YEAH YOU ARE!"

Then obviously following the lying parent's suit, I confirm that I, Erin the IIIrd esquire, am Katy Perry.

She asks for a picture and being the most gracious celebrity, I oblige.

Then I went along my merry way to running up the stairs to hide in the bathroom, because I saw one start to follow me.

I lied to a kid and it was the best thing I've ever done.

Another scene from my life as an inappropriate child

2011-08-03T11:52:00.000-07:00

I am and always have been a rule follower*

I am, snicker if you will, a good girl at heart.

Student Council, church camp, the whole nine.

Now, picture me in 2nd grade (yes, I was that cute and no I am not suddenly "less asian"...that phenom was based on what my interior decorator Andy told me. They're called Mongolian Eyelids thankyouverymuch).

There I am in class, minding my own business, when an announcement comes on over the PA.

ERIN MECHANIC TO THE VICE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE.

I am quaking in my saddle shoes but I head to the VP's office.

Also, who gets called to the VICE principal's office?

Anyways, I head in and the VP, Mr. Wales, sits at his desk looking furtively at me for a moment.

He then speaks.

"So I hear you do a Mae West impression"

1.) if you don't know who/what Mae West was then google accordingly watch some clips (cliffsnotes: brassy balls-y entendre-wielding hourglass old time-y comedy star)

2.) Do you really call a child into your office to force them to do comedy?

And first off, yes, OF COURSE I did a Mae West impression.

I did two of Mae's signature lines, he laughed and basically sent me on my way.

That's a cute story, sure, BUT the real issue is why the FUCK DID A 2ND GRADER HAVE A MAE WEST IMPRESSION?????

We all know I am not, nor was I ever, cool. So the fact that I did old-timey impressions doesn't really come as a shock.

It's really the fact that I was called into the office of a 40-something year old man and said the following two quotes:

"Why don't you come up and see me sometime" (obviously implying sex)

and here's the kicker

"Is that a banana in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?

I ASKED IF A 40 YEAR OLD DUDE HAD A BONER FOR ME, A 2ND GRADE CHILD.

Did I even have parents?

*it doesn't count if the rule is utter bullshit and the authority the rule was based on is one I do not respect.

Your mission if you choose to accept it: Adventures at a Hollywood Premiere

2011-07-26T20:55:00.000-07:00

I went with my parents one time to the premiere of Mission Impossible II.

I was roughly 14/15 years old.

*Important piece of background info: When I was little my parents never really made it a priority for me to remember their friends/coworkers name, so I had to pretend to know a lot of people at one time or another. This still happens but since I'm not a kid anymore, it just makes me a dick.

Anyways, we see the movie (rad, duh) then head to the party.

These were usually pretty boring for me as it's really just BnS (boozing and schmoozing) so I'm kinda standing behind my mom as she is talking to someone. My dad is off somewhere else in the party.

I'm bored when some guy comes up to me (*it factors in here) and starts to talk to me.

Normal chit chat with what I assume is my parent's friend.

Then he asks me a question

"Why aren't you dancing?

(there was at least a dancefloor FYI)

me: um well you know I'm not much of a dancer.

him: oh yeah you don't want to get all sweaty...

RED FLAG ALERT

yeah so here's where I go. Holy shit, I have ZERO idea who this dude is.

He then says something else like creeper-ish (for the sake of this post, I wish I could remember but I just HAD to take the SAT's and remember shit for that)

I am pulling the hand of my mother, whose conversation has just wrapped up.

At this point, I think the dude caught wind that something was "off" and peaced out.

I was 14 he was 30ish, Courtney Stodden eat your heart out.

Rick Dees

2011-07-14T15:16:00.000-07:00

I used to listen to KIIS-FM every morning before I got ready to go to school.

The DJ at the time was Rick Dees. Yes, the man behind "Disco Duck."

This man might be older than water.

He babysat Casey Casem.

Anyways, you get it.

So Rick announces that he is going to play a short clip of a song run backwards.

Identify the song and win a prize.

I called in on a lark (I would occasionally but after the 2nd busy tone, apathy set in) and it starts to ring.

An operator answers and asks me name date etc and tells me that I'm going to be on air.

I hold for a few moments. My heart is racing as clearly this is my debut into stardom.

Rick gets on the line and asks a couple quick questions, then we get down to brass tacks.

He plays the song.

I make my guess.

Incorrect.

BUT he says that since I've been such a good sport and that since I sound so sexy (this is where I start to think things are going south) I'm going to get a prize anyways.

He tells me that I'm the proud new owner of a g-string.

As I was about to alert him to his Pedobear status, I was "disconnected."

Thank you Rick Dees for that moment.

Coulda gotten a g-string.

Summer Camp: The saga continues...

2011-07-05T14:51:00.000-07:00

When we last left our hero, she was still in Valencia but the full body rash was subsiding....

Paintball Camp

Yes, you read that right. I decided, as a person who hadn’t ever so much seen a paintball, to sign up for a week filled with nothing but combat simulations with a group of 50 thirteen-year-olds.

50 kids. 2 girls.

I do NOT like those numbers.

Here's where the fun sexual harassment element comes into play.

Exhibit A: Every time I was not facing the throng of furious spotty masturbators they would do jerkoff motions.

Exhibit B: They would calculate the number of dudes I could take on based on the number of orifices.

Honestly, I think that should be enough exhibits.

Every morning, my councilor who I was FORCED to call Jellybean (I asked her real name and she said something about camp policy. You best believe I used to shake some salt her way when I said her name.) would wake me up.

I would roll up from having slid into the corner of my broken cot and kindly remind her that I wasn't in her JetSkiing group and that she had once again woken me up a full hour earlier than I needed to be up.

After each morning's rather rude awakening I would head to the vans to be driven to a paintball ranch(?). The first day wasn't too bad.

Sure, Old Navy jeans and a vintage T-shirt from the now defunct 80's cabler, SelectTV, don't exactly constitute appropriate protective gear per se but I trudged along for the day and aside from the rampant mooning (still their best angle), I was almost having fun.

Day 2 happens and I find out that war is cruel as I hit my instructor on his helmet but because he couldn't feel the hit he stood above me as I was lying on the ground and shot point blank into my torso.

That was basically the end of the paintballing. I spent most days sitting in a van with no A/C with one of the three following songs on rotation:

She's So High by Tal Bachman
I Need to Know by Marc Anthony
Pay My Bills by Destiny's Child

It was a good time.

A brief moment away from the narrative to showcase the camp's high moral standards.

There was an 18 yr-old Japanese kid who didn't speak a lick of English. There was no one at the camp that spoke ANY Japanese. Somehow this did not constitute a cause for concern.

He ran away and was gone for a full day and a half.

Did they call anyone? ANYONE?

Clearly not.

He did come back and if he was traumatized, no one was any the wiser.

Alls well that ends well (if the person can't tell you they have PTSD).

Back to the story.

So basically this camp has become sexual harassment/wait in van in 100+ degree weather adventure camp. Which is great, because clearly as a child that was what I was really looking for.

One of the mob had taken an interest in me (again the 24 to 1 ratio was probably at work here) and he and his an even more midget version of Stephen Dorff ass proposed "making out."

As I was pretty self actualized as a kid, I said then, what I would say now...

"Ew" (maybe I threw in a no there too but I could have kept it simple, who KNOWS?)

Then he moved onto one of the "Watersports" girls (typical) and I went about being sexually harassed by 47, instead of 48 "youngsters."

One camp councilor, whose chosen name was "Tinman," decided to share with me a story.

He pulled me aside and told me about how he wanted to be a Marine. He went to apply but he had a hearing issue that kept him out. He told me that he can only hear higher registers and has a hard time hearing low noises. At this point he looks at me and says,

"So, I can't really understand what you are saying"

An adult male pulled aside a 12-year-old girl, who had been trying to communicate to him for the better part of a week, that her Barry White bass-down-low voice renders her essentially mute to him.

Just grand.

As in the previous week, they gave out awards to each camper. This week, due to the paintball theme, they gave out a trophy made for a shooting competition. A man in aviators and a ballcap holding a shotgun (or rifle...aren't you glad I don't know the difference?) stands atop a pedestal with a small plaque on the base that stated...

"Most Sarcastic"

Another moment for the highlight reel.

And now for the crowning moment of my camp career.

The final day, we're all saying our goodbyes and this one fellow, Kihei (a very white person I'll have you know) pulled me aside and told me that he thought I was a really special person. A ton of fun and I had great things in my future. He then wrote his number on my camp provided duffel bag and said that he would love to meet up.

Minor hitch in the plans.

He was 19 years old and one of the councilors.

Nothing like an appearance by Pedobear to really wrap up a sexual harassment camp story.

Needless to say, I never returned to that trailer park, nor did I ever attend camp again.

I moved on to the glory of playing men of all kinds in musical theater and the rest is history.

I should probably seek professional help but do you know how many shoes therapy money gets you?

I'm finding that out every day.

Thank you for your time

-From the Desk of Bronson Pinchot-

The things people say to me: senior class bonding edition

2011-06-30T14:33:00.000-07:00

On our compulsory senior trip to bond over the previous 10 years of forced bonding, we were broken into groups to participate in team building activities.

During one such an activity (I believe it was an Orienteering course...because those compasses are pretty tricky), one of my fellow classmates decided to walk up to me and share his thoughts.

Let me give you some background on this fellow.

Andy was the kid who inherited all of this one guy's goth clothes (when we got into designer labels natch).

He was the kid who worked at Starbucks (and you avoided that Starbucks).

He was the kid who drew his own Hentai (if you don't know, Google, but beware it's NSFW).

So this very Andy strolls up to me and looks me in the eye and says,

"You know, I just don't like you."

I squint in his general direction.

"Well I thought that the fact that we never talk to one another was evidence of that, but good to know anyways."

He then walked away.

Another successful peer interaction.

No wonder I'm so well adjusted today.

For the record. I don't recall ever telling anyone to their face "I just don't like you" so at least I've moved back one place in the line to Hell.

Summer Camp: A saga in two parts (hint: no, it didn't go well)

2011-06-29T20:53:00.000-07:00

I wasn’t ever a social child. I know you are simply shocked at this revelation. I used to go to day camp but every year I would head off to one camp but always felt like I missed out on the "classic" camp experience. Mostly as seen in DCOMs (Disney Channel Original Movies, what’s up Ryan Merriman how’s the SMART HOUSE? Luck of the Irish still paying off?) and other teen movies.

In 1999, I decided to attend a sleep away camp. It was associated with a high school in Pacific Palisades so I figure that’s pretty legit. It was an "adventure" camp, meaning that each week you would pick a theme such as watersports (Ray J, HAND DOWN).

For the first week, I chose Scuba Certification. I thought, hey that's some James Bond shit right there.

I arrive at the pick up location, my parents wave me goodbye and I get into a van and off into the horizon...

One hour later, I find myself in a trailer park in Valencia. (yes, the home of Six Flags)

The tents and cots were all army surplus. I snagged one that had springs! (nevermind that one corner of the springs were detached and that I would slowly sink into that hole through the night.)

In the whole camp there were 50 kids per "program." For the first week, I selected to train to be scuba certified. I am going to break this into two separate sagas as each really had a different "vibe" to it. (Spoiler alert: one vibe is "sexual harassment")

Scuba Camp

So I show up with all my enthusiasm to experience what I kept seeing in movies (I realize later that my expectations based on previous film viewing is what makes me basically The Cable Guy). Aside from the less than posh digs, the camp was alright. We did classroom and in pool training. Almost had an international incident because there was a group of French campers that we had to share the shower facilities with. I very clearly heard them say repeatedly something to the tune of “the American pigs can go fuck themselves” so I gently urged the councilors and campers to avoid them. It is this reason that I own a plaque with a scuba diver etched onto it with the words “Most Likely to Become a French Citizen” on it.

I did develop a crush on a fellow camper named Luke. The climax of that relationship was when one night, we were lying on top of picnic benches watching the stars. Overhead, I see a shooting star and point it out to him. He pauses. Then he says “Sorry, I farted” then proceeds to go into detail about why white swimsuits are the best kind. I really should have taken this as some sort of sign of things to come.

We finish our pool training and it’s time to head out into the ocean for the final hours to get the certification. We head to Catalina.

First issue, they accidentally took all the luggage to the camping site instead of straight to the docs where we had to dive that day in order to get the correct amount of hours. We were given a choice.

a) You could dive in your underwear and camp provided wetsuit.

b) You could dive in just the camp provided wetsuit.

c) Or you could not be certified.

Obviously “I don’t know where that’s been” was my guiding philosophy and I went in my skivvs. Most of the rest of the campers (10 girls, 40 boys approx.) decided with a resounding “FREEBALL.”

It should also be mentioned that said wetsuits were basically one size fits all and the way they would ensure the suit would “fit all” was to line the inside with Palmolive and just shake you in there.

Here’s a little something I learned.

Poorly fiting wetsuit + dish soap + salt water = full body rash.

Oh, sweet hindsight. Those freeballers never had a chance. I made it out alive and with my swimsuit region (then and now, thankyouverymuch) rash free.

This was also the first event that marked me being objectively cool (aka slow mo hallway walk to Imperial Teen’s Yoo Hoo…for reference see the seminal film, Jawbreaker, which you should do anyways).

There was one moment where I figured it out. It was the dinner after the fateful “freeball dive” and I was walking to my table where I was going to sit with a new object of my affection, Matt when the “cool table” asked me to join. More than that they were voicing their surprise that I would sit anywhere else. I, in typical Erin fashion, sat with the nerdy crush kid.

Once I sat, he looked at me and said “I can recite Green Eggs and Ham by memory.” Then proved it.

Choice well made, Erin.

Intermission!

Aka the weekend optional trip I should have opted out of.

Long story short (yes, we all know it’s too late for that) I spent the whole weekend with my hood up trying to ignore the fact that the 6 male campers and 2 male councilors were just sizing up the “talent.” A charming weekend but it was also the one where I convinced a group of teens to see an IMAX Shark movie instead of American Pie. (Not just because of the awesomeness of sharks but I ultimately felt that American Pie would be inappropriate. For your reference, I was called Alex P. Keaton by my mother throughout adolescence.)

I, having already been through so much, had to face the next day knowing that there was a week of non-refundable camp fun ahead of me….

The saga continues…

A Midget with Tits

2011-06-12T16:45:00.000-07:00

I was at USC in my friend's car about to pull onto campus.

I see this girl bike in front of the car.

Now, I went to high school with this chick. She was popular and all (in a class of 54 popular is a pretty warped concept...like 20% of the class was cool) but one of those girls you're like what the fuck. Why does anyone like this person?

A couple years out of high school, I had my answer.

Giant tits on a midget.

It's really all in the proportions.

ANYWAYS, this chick and her big tits were riding on her bike in front of the car when I look at her and go

"Ugh, INSERT GIRL'S NAME, EW"

At this point, I see that all the windows are down and she, on her bike, turned and looked me in the face.

My only response for that is just...

"Oh my god, have you SEEN the top of the inside of the car, it's...a stain....or .....ehhhhhhhhhh"

DIRECT eye contact, reader(s, just let me put the s in and feel special)

Direct eye contact.

This one time at a bar...

2011-05-06T11:20:00.000-07:00

I used to frequent the Silverlake bar, The Short Stop, weekly for their Soul Nights because it's one of the few kinds of music that make being unsuspectedly "taken from the rear."

One of said nights, me and my friends are "cutting a rug" aka the slightest form of a twist looped for about 2 hrs (pepper in spins for the bravest)

A gentleman dressed in vans, cut-off dickie's, a short sleeve button down shirt, pyramid studded belt and spiked hair. He was also a fatty.

He grooves up to me and the conversation goes like this....

Suitor: "I'm the big bad wolf and I'm going to blow your house down"

Me: "Well I'm a brick house"

Suitor: "Yeah? Well I'm going to piss on your doorstep"

Me: "Yeah? Well I'm going to shit on your face"

Thus endeth the conversation.

And I am single....

Another chapter in the waxing chronlicles

2011-05-06T10:55:00.000-07:00

So it has been well established that people say things to me that typically don't get said to others. It must be something with pheromones.

This isn't exclusive of any location, regardless of how appropriate.

Waxing.

So I go in to have my lawn manicured, if you will and all, it should be mentioned, at a salon called Pink Cheeks which is the waxing salon to the (porn) STARS!

They finish with the top area and the lady politely asks me to flip over on my elbows and knees and "spread" myself with my hands.

I flip over and "assume the position."

Not the one they asked me to, interestingly enough.

Back story (oblig.) I used to sleep with my shoulders, face and knees on the floor/bed and ass way up in the air. It was and still is very comfortable.

Back at Pink Cheeks, I head into this position and proceed to finish with the final step when the lady goes...

"No need to do that, your body just opens naturally"

My response?

"Well THAT is a compliment"

(adding to resume....)

That is all.

Hope you feel better about your life now, I think that's really my form of community service.

Glamour, elegance, photobooth at the Primm outlets. (still needs moar eagle)

2010-09-09T08:51:00.000-07:00

Girls aren't funny.

2010-09-08T18:07:00.000-07:00

Really?

I agree with the statement that being raised to have a "typically male" mindset would make you funnier, as there are less restrictions and there isn't the "ohh should I say this?" moment.

But the male equipment I say actually would make you less funny.

You, and your penis, take yourselves way to fucking seriously.

While my vagina reminds me constantly that I am not in control and that I might be insane, which, let me tell you does wonders for those creative juices. (I wish I didn't just say juices in the same thought as vagina)

Lorne Michaels, SIT DOWN. (Unless you have some sort of lucrative offer? Can't I just work for Tina Fey or someone who smokes a lot of weed and as a result has low standards/is easily amused?)

THIS JUST IN

2010-08-31T18:12:00.001-07:00

I. LOVE. SOPHIA. VERAGA.

Skirt so short, she need TWO haircuts!

2010-08-26T15:18:00.000-07:00

So I went and got my business waxed. Don't worry that's as gruesome the details get.

I wanted to share something with you that I took away from the experience.

As she strong armed me into "a trim" which I was going to DIY since if it gon' be patchy, may as well be my fault, I realized something. Everyone should get a Brazillian wax because someone grooming your vag makes you feel like a goddamn Roman Emperor.

I honestly thought the only thing missing was the BMI of a Weinstein and a slave feeding me grapes.

That is all.

A fatty reminisces....

2010-08-24T12:16:00.000-07:00

I troll facebook every once in a while, I find myself going on a facebook friend purge. If I have to go "Who?" then no, you're done. Unless I want to keep you around out of morbid curiousity or for strictly schadenfreude purposes. ANYWAYS, the point of this all is that as I look at pictures from people who I knew or knew of (why was I so creepy that I added people that I knew of?) and I see that most people come out the other side of college looking worse for the wear. I understand aging etc, but shit we're 24-25 years old and we shouldn't look so....

And that's another thing, I mean you look bad, let's get that straight but what exactly is it?

You're fatter. (One of the reasons I praise being shit at

drinking is because it totally makes you fat...so all those "fun girls (or guys, as the gut fairy isn't gender discriminatory) from college" you look like this.

(P.S. look up Horatio Sanz, because he lost weight and is totally cute now, Sam: disregard per your love of fatties)

But being fat isn't just it.

You look wonky too. Like all your facial features decided to go more "Wal-Mart" for your middle years.

Basically these thoughts have brought me to the conclusion that you should totally look your worst in college, then subsequently get way hotter. So when you run into those people

1) They don't recognize you (amazing, you get away without having to talk to them or you get to rub in their face you look so hot that you are almost unrecognizable [take that as a compliment, if you go the other way, that's a long dark tunnel man])

2) They do recognize you but are enraptured by your extreme and undeniable hotness.

This theory does have its glitches though.

If you lose weight and look worse (some people when the fat melts away, the wonks come to play), then you just get the "you looked better/I bet your lunch will see the business end of a toilet inside of 20 minutes"

Also you can't really show off the weight loss unless you want it to look like an accomplishment that you worked hard on (which you probably did either that or a butt-ton of drugs) because then you lose the illusion that your fatness was transitory not something to overcome.

I think the best thing about looking better after college than in, is that you are setting up a positive outlook for your future hotness. Now you're hotter so even if you happen to succumb to whatever fug-disease is striking the masses, you're starting off on a higher peak than those who slowly slip into being unsightly.

One time I asked (I guess I asked because I have no idea how it might have come up otherwise) a fellow classmate of mine from high school if I was hot (yeah I am secretly kind of needy in terms of validation....I am hot though, riiiiiiite?) and he looked at me and said something along the lines of "you're nice looking now, but I feel like you'll really be good looking when you get older".

I asked this in college (less fat currently, thankyouverymuch) and I asked a nerd. A kid who double majored in music and math at Santa Cruz, and was once locked in a closet during a cast party from a play in high school because he kept asking to have sex with everyone. Seriously, did I just come out and ask him? Did I preface it at all?

I have no idea. But thank you Kevin, because consider thy prophecy fullfilled-ish (kinda hoping it's still getting better).

Signing off this is, as always,

Rosie Perez

(how can you not love this face?)

OMGle (pronounce omegle...duh)

2010-08-23T17:57:00.000-07:00

I hate when people ask for ASL first on Omegle.

But later in the convo I find myself....

"hmm I wonder what their age, sex, and location are...."

damn.

I'm a lurker

Do-Over

2010-08-06T09:52:00.000-07:00

I think we should be able to take the name Kitten Heels away from that kind of shoe. The name sounds so sexy but in reality its much more like wobbly bobbles isn't it?

Harrumph

A kindred fatty spirit

2010-07-23T17:16:00.000-07:00

As he took his seat at the panel and noticed a handful of Hershey Kisses: “Chocolate, huh? They know how to attract a fat man — put some fucking chocolate on his seat.”

Guillermo del Toro, my future husband.

Today two children saw my vagina.

2010-07-23T10:46:00.000-07:00

Now you might think that this either was an innocent accidental flashing in a changing room or locker room, but no. This story will test the bounds of your imagination.

It was a day like any other day. I had an OB/GYN appointment. They keep me waiting for almost 2 hours in typical fashion. When the nurse finally takes me to her station and does the old blood pressure, scale (this is a REALLY heavy sweater....) routine and she says "The doctor has some students with him today. Is it alright if they are in the room for the exam?"

I say fine, who cares.

So I get into the exam room, have my exam wardrobe (aka 2 toilet seat covers strategically placed) on and I wait for the doctor.

Knock Knock!

Doctor walks in, hi how are you...

and what follows

are a 13 year old red head girl and a 10 yr old Asian girl with braces.

It should also be noted that my legs were in the stirrups all ready to go and when the doc walked in he was like oh sorry and pulls out an extension on the exam table so I can rest my legs.

At this point, I am very confused as to why there are children and I also feel slightly perverted because of the whole "already having my legs in stirrups" thing.

OK, I calm down and think okay maybe they aren't going to get up close and personal with me.

Doc goes to do the breast exam and I am like

"Okay this is happening"

Boobs out. Oh, it was happening.

Fine, boobs no big deal. Even though Doc referred to a self breast exam technique as "mowing the lawn"

It's time now for the serious business.

I figure the kids will move or leave or SOMETHING since they are standing just over the shoulder AKA Mezzanine seats to my lady show.

They. don't. leave.

I literally start laughing as he starts the exam. My arms are covering my face and no words can describe what I was thinking aside from the words "Larry David doesn't have a vagina"

The exam went as usual and I sit up after its done and answer a few final questions.

The Doctor says thank you and turns to go, then the girls look alternately at me and at the floor and say "Thank you"

CHILDREN.

SAW.

MY.

COOTER.

In times of yore, I would have said "Is Dom Deloise hiding in a bush somewhere?" but now I think it would change to "Is Ryan Seacrest hiding in a closet somewhere?" and honestly I really don't want Seacrest to jump out at me ever, so I'll just leave this latest chapter in the Mortification Files as it is.

Thank you and I, as always, am Judge Reinhold.

Notes from the Brain of Erin M.

2010-07-21T15:53:00.001-07:00

Why can't I apply blush correctly in more than one way?

I have the "natural in soft lighting" look down (mostly terrifying in daylight or flourescents...and who INVENTED THOSE? people who wanted to raise the suicide rate? I can't even sum up how I look like the plumper version of I lose ME to METH).

I try to get the look with the flushed cheeks like....

and I typically get......

And then she died of SUPERAIDS (a new feature?)

2010-07-09T00:46:00.000-07:00

So like the crackie deadbead dad you never had (or did...sorry?) I keep making promises and breaking them. I cannot change that it is in my nature. But I will keep "trying" to "try" aka I think I have discovered something that is fool/Erin proof.

Movie reviews?

I see enough of them (more than enough...I am the Cable Guy but more of a downer?)that it can provide structure for my posts. If I feel like going off topic....haven't you read any of the other posts...that's never an issue)

Ok so off we launch into the fucking Horizon man (soundtrack is 30 Seconds From Mars "Kings and Queens"...don't you say anything, it's epic sounding enough for the Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'Hooule trailer...good enough for me)

So I saw this movie called The Informers

It's a Bret Easton Ellis novel so that should color the whole discussion.

Bret Easton Ellis also went to my FINE ACADEMIC ACADEMY, The Buckley School but to those not included in the LA Private School circle of life, he is best known as the author of such book to film translations as American Psycho, Less Than Zero, The Rules of Attraction and probably some other shit that is a watered down combination of the above 3 films (one of which is already a watered down version of the two..copies of copies his name was Robert Paulson etc)

It should be shared that a boozy Irish (redundant but why not)_teacher I had told me that the cool elusive world of the extremely privileged and terminally bored youth of LA Private School (or whatever but private school was definitely involved) was essentially an invention on his part. He was a dork and saw the cool kids play and basically fantasized about it. The boozy Irish take on Ellis was that he was a dork who wanted to play with THE BIG DOGS and never could.

So when I see his movies (Buffy I am so rich, lets do cocaine and have a threesome because I am so tired of the modern cosmopolitan ennui that I suffer, so on and so forth)I look at them with an eye roll because not only are they just genuinely shitty movies (bar like 2 of them) but the message the lifestyle the whatever he is selling is nothing short of Grandpa Bunion's Miracle Tonic.

Shit.

But on to this particular turd as it were.

The Informers

Plot: Kids are rich in a non collegiate setting late 80's LA. Lots of drugs, promiscuity etc. I didn't really pay attention beyond that.

It was Renfro's last movie, if that matters to you, but most likely if you have heard of this movie its a) the movie where Amber Heard shows off her boobies a lot (I like lookin at em, we all like lookin at em-bonus points to...) and b) where Kim Basinger's career went to die. (say what you will about the rudelittlepiggate, at least Alec is on a critically adored TV show)

The characters are useless, the dialogue is hilariously simplistic (some conversation to the tune of "but how do we know when things are bad for you" "because they are bad" it might have been worse but c'mon use your imagination)

The lowest common denominator of 80's movies is "hey at least the fashion/soundtrack are diverting"

True here as well.

But let's get to the one (well 2 i guess...boobies) reason I actually have thought about this movie at all.

SUPERAIDS

I wish I could give the film credit for being quite so good as a SciFi (sorry SyFy...how are you enjoying that copyright boys?) movie.

Moral neutrality or absence leads to bad things okay (except american psycho where SPOILER he totally gets away with it? Dude even American Psycho 2's mila kunis had her comeuppance.) Amber Heard is a dumb whore who fucks random dudes and does a butt-ton of drugs. This will not end well for her.

Our lead character (do NOT ask me to point this dude out of a line up Sienna Miller Syndrome sufferer to the max) gets a call from some Rockstar's wife. Hey your girlfriend is here and she is sick and wont see a doctor.

Okay our "protag" heads to the beach where the rockstar wife is like she wont see a doctor (yeah we got that)

He heads out onto a cloudy beach, long past summer season (PERHAPS A METAPHOR FOR LIFE??)

Amber Heard is the only person on the whole beach. Her towel perfectly placed on the sand not a wrinkle to be seen.

BUT THIS BITCH IS FUCKING PURPLE.

They have a whole conversation like
dude:hey come on in let me take you to a doctor
Amber Heard: No im tanning i love the sun
dude: there's no more sun
Amber Heard: I am tanning

But really she is bright Barney purple. Like the hottie corpse cut in half when Beetlejuice is in the Afterlife waiting room? No? Buller?

And there isn't anything before or after to explain exactly what she is dying of (i mean she's dying right?) But she is fucking purple.

The moral of most of those era stories is like you can party but don't party too hardy or you get AIDS (Reality Bites much?)

Sadly I don't really know how to screen cap and I cannot find any pictures online.

But sufficed to say....she totally died of SUPERAIDS. It was what I thought and then roared with laughter at when I found out that when he walks away from her (and her SUPERAIDS...WHICH HE PROBABLY HE HAS AND MAYBE YOU SHOULD GET YOURSELF TESTED WASNT ONE OF HER FINAL WORDS OF ADVICE BUT MAYBE IF YOU FUCK A CHICK THAT TURNED PURPLE...YOU MIGHT WANT TO GET CHECKED OUT ANYWAYS)....

and THAT'S the end of the movie.

It was like the cool kids in high school (probably your school the cool kids were mostly smart at my high school and never will I understand or possess their ability to hit a rave till 4 am then still mop the floor (academically) with me the putz who was just going to church camp and hoping for the best) decided to be really HEAVY about how their lives are hard but were but got bored halfway through and at p 20 just decided to add random threesomes and rock star scenes for filler.

That's it.

I will continue to Netflix his films because things happen then they end and well boobies.

Sadly no Van Der Beek in this installment.

Going back to reading footloose meets the lake house meets nurse betty set in morocco.

That's all hope this happens again. Or I could be like that guy who you see out and you're like oh my god we should hang out like everyday i missed you so much then he turns around and you a) go who the fuck was that or b) roll your eyes thus ASSAULTING them with your devil may care attitude.

Until next time, I am Vincent Price

Feelings...ew

2010-07-06T01:36:00.000-07:00

So I feel as though the path that has led me to my current life location has put me in quite a predicament.

I feel like Mariah Carey.

Wait....come back.

I am specifically referencing her racial background.

No don't call Sharpton. Nothing good can come of that.

She always said that being half black half white, she wasn't ever enough of either to really fit into either world.

While my whiteness is certainly undeniable, I would argue that it is having one foot firmly planted in the bizarre and one in the supremely mass consumption world of normal.

I am not weird enough to really hang with the unrepentantly weird. I like eurotrash music and britney spears and god help me because I don't go out of the house looking like death warmed over. I like to look cute, so fucking sue me mkay?

I can't hang with normal people since they immediately label me as cool (sometimes "too cool" which does give me a good laugh because I always thought I was a certain kind of cool but I figured that was like the homeless guy on the corner screaming at the Cheese King or whatever....that it was really my definition alone and that I was comfortable with that)

I really enjoy weirdness but the sorority thing coupled with the kind of family I came from (elegant and mature obviously) that basically keep me and my sensibilities firmly in the "I enjoy grooming and find no shame in over produced music" crowd.

It is a life I don't know that leads to anything aside from the creation of a unique one man path.

Sounds great. trail blazing sure I guess but ultimately I think I alienate both sides.

I have just decided (again) to you know "I gotta be me" thing and just count down the days till I am famous.

That's what this generation has become.

I am an iconoclast waiting for the icon bit.

Thank you that is all.

You should probably watch this

2010-03-17T23:08:00.000-07:00

the music is okay

but let me tell you, you are not prepared for the twist on this bad boy

Hot Chip - I Feel Better

Hot Chip | MySpace Music Videos

Hello lover.

2010-03-14T00:08:00.001-08:00

So it's really been a while. I'll save the apolgies becuase at this point it's the same value as 3rd world currency.

A brief story

I am in line at a theater when behind me a guy goes
-and it's going to be sold out and so's the next theater and then your car is going o break down.

The girl then steers this ship into dangerous waters

-ok so what else? I'm going to get pregnant and the baby is going to have autism.

The guy pauses and then thinking the better of himself says
-there's a lot of other bad stuff that can happen to you but....

-what? Like a miscarriage? That's not that bad.

(what? WHAT?)

here's my predicament. I wanted to yell "you could get cervical cancer!"

Such is my life.

5 Christmas Songs for the Salty Scrooge

2009-12-11T11:07:00.000-08:00

note: I consider myself slightly scrooge-esque in that I don't like "get" christmas. It's fine and presents (fuck yeah, amirite?). I don't find the warm cozy thing enticing at all. After Halloween the year is all downhill, except for shopping. I think this lukewarm response to the holidays was only deepened during my tenure in retail. There are only so many indie-ish/starbucks approved adult contemporary songs that a modern store can play so, hearing the same FUCKING REMIX of some Bing Crosby song, which is fucked up on its own, over and over for two seasons, then only to be followed by the same saccharine drivel while I am doing my duty to re-invigorate the economy is really going to put me in a decidedly uncheery mood.

BUT!

1. Funky, Funky Christmas - New Kids on the Block

My mother tells me I was into KNOTB and that my favorite was Donnie, the bad boy. No matter if you were a fan, I challenge you not to love this tune.

2. Last Christmas - Wham

This song was the single song on the BR soundtrack that didn't make me want to take a powersander to my face. I still love it. Plus props to George Michael for being like I like cruising for anonymous sex and smoking weed, and? Big up to you indeed.

3. All I Want For Christmas Is You - Mariah Carey

First of all, Mariah. Amazing. Lives entirely in a land of fantasy and has the budget to make that shit fucking HAPPEN. The vid below also incorporates one of America's greatest treasures. Johnny Depp.

4. Christmas in Malibu - The Rad Dudes

What is Christmas really for, if not chintzy novelty songs? This is so imbued with the delightful Keanu-esque mentality that one cannot help but be wrapped up in the tubular tune.

5. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays - N Sync

Shut up you know you love it. P.S. Check Chris's beads out. Looks like a fey pale Williams sister.

BONUS

For the New Year I feel compelled to include this song. Which I listen to in non holiday times as well.

Basically Merry Christmas and Good luck with (judgement) all that.

I just remembered this

2009-10-23T15:56:00.000-07:00

I was looking through my list of facebook friends and whenever I do that I go "holy shit. that guy." and typically that's not a good thing.

I saw this guy and I flashed back to how I know him.

It was some sorority (yeah I was in one, I don't know if I have covered that before I know I will touch on that later) invite that I didn't have a date for. Big surprise there I think I had like 5 dates in 4 years (and you don't want to go to the quality not quantity because...just no).

So on this particular eve I believe I was on Standards duty (briefly: fun police. People barf and then I fill out paperwork and ask them why it is that they fuck up) and a friendly sister decided to set me up. I basically said whatever.

Actually, now that I am thinking about it, I didn't say whatever. I show up ready to do work by myself and Sister X tells me that these two dudes that she brought were ditched by their would be dates and they have to go with someone and this girl already had a date. OK whatever I'll sign them up under my name.

So I have two dates. One a short surly British Man the other a soft spoken nice guy whose eyes were kinda rapey through no fault of his own.

They are drinking, I am not. We spend the entire night out on the patio with them chain smoking in my face.

By the time we get back on the bus to go home, they are both wasted. British Surly guy tells me he likes me a lot and he wants to come to the next dance with me. (Imagine my reaction to that one. ) He then goes on to profess his love for his buddy/roommate in the typical "I love you man" vein..

Then he kisses the guy. On the mouth. It lingers.

And that was my night.

dreamy

2009-10-08T15:18:00.000-07:00

So hearing about people's dreams suck....

EXCEPT MINE!

I wanted to throw this out there to see if anyone can take a gander at my subconscious and perhaps decode this one:

I saw a young John Goodman and found him "striking".

These two dudes murdered two women but I played it cool and was like yeah...no big deal, totally not reporting this action. Then I realized it was okay since one of the murderees is that red haired girl from glee so when she didn't show up for filming they'd investigate.

I was walking outside on a pathway when I had to pee so I literally laid down on the sidewalk and peed (through my clothes) but since I wasn't standing no one noticed.

Then a sexy youth minister started giving me a back rub (unfortunately in a platonic way)

We went to his office and I hoped no one noticed the piss stain on my pants.

John Goodman. (should be noted he was in wrestling gear in my mind)

things that have happened to me that don't happen to other people.

2009-10-07T21:28:00.000-07:00

one time I had to show the school nurse my vagina.

I think I was in elementary school but more towards the end than the beginning.

I slipped and fell off the monkey bars vag first onto a bar.

I had some extreme pain and there was something "afoot" in the general region.

So I showed my cooter to the school nurse.

And then there was Britney (Night Two)

2009-07-27T19:04:00.000-07:00

Morning.

A harsh morning if I recall correctly. Space Cadet and I wake up and decide to hit the pool because who are you if you don't have a tan (just kidding....but really) I was still in my shade of winter white (which is actually quite blue-ish...I look a bit like a ghost but with blackheads) but had a nice shellacking of spray tan taking my hue to maybe having stood in a sandstorm for about 33 seconds. We lay out and attempt to soak up all of the glory that the Hooters Hotel pool has to offer.(I should mention the fact that it's been about 3 months since I left this as a draft so it might be more fiction than fact but what the fuck right?) Ok so here we are Saturday morning, nursing a hangover by the Hooters pool, of course. We decide that a gourmet meal is in order so we head on into the luxurious Dan Marino's Restaurant because we all know that an excellent football career and even better cameo in the eternal film Ace Ventura: Pet Detective make the best chefs of us all. Allow me to concede that the food was actually pretty good and considering how badly my stomach wanted to retaliate against me, was a fairly high mark. So we eat about as much as we can stomach and begin preparing for the evening that lie ahead.

Off we head back to our rooms, where I believe a nap was in order. And if we didn't nap, then we should have. We begin our evening by selecting outfits which were numerous and sparkly. And the other girls had dresses too. We start boozing AND HOW but we didn't want to get too wasted before the concert as every detail had to be committed to memory! Dressed and ready we head to MGM Grand Garden Arena.

THE SHOW

So basically words cannot describe just how epic the show was. I mean Britney was there. Nuff said.

I will say I wish that she danced a bit more. I have had this discussion with Space Helmet and probably my mother who I like PROGRAMED to love Britney that basically Beyonce ruined everything. Specifically, that she started dancing in like epic-ly high heels. Flash back to the Dream Within A Dream tour Pre-Blackout era she was always in flats or wedges so that she could more easily shake her business much to the delight of the throngs of fans. But then FUCKING BEYONCE had to come along and ruin it by shaking a good deal more business in skyscraper fetish heels. Britney or more likely TEAM SPEARS decided that it was time to follow suit. Why oh why can't a lady wear some fucking Sketchers or whatever. You don't often see dancers wearing Loubs. I digress.

Basically we had a grand ole time.

We head back to Chateau du Hooters and start the real party. We start hitting the sauce and a while into it, it becomes clear that we aren't really going anywhere. At this point, (I don't remember the euphemism that I called this lady previously so I'll call her Big Gay Al.) Big Gay Al decides to tell us that she had informed a friend of hers from high school who is now based in LV that three ladies were down to party. So since we weren't really going out, I slur that we should just invite him to party with us in the hotel room. Biggest. Mistake. Ever.

He arrives and let's just say that rape-y doesn't really begin to describe him. Tall and lumbering. I'll just throw the word lummox out there. Now that that's covered let's go on to see just how the rest of the night turned out.

We start boozin some more and he decides that no of course we should take our show on the road. OHHHKAAAYYY..... so I throw out there that I basically am unwilling to pay for a cab (shock there...I will climb any mountain....to avoid paying for transportation or parking) so this leaves us with clubs that are close (which being off strip limits us to tropicana or MGM) or the elegant night spots that Hooters hotel has to offer. So we hit Dixie's Dam Bar which I will describe as being like Coyote Ugly but without all the ambiance and filled with lazy strippers. I am all for strippers in the on-screen sense (probably too terrified to go in the real life sense...not enough purell in the world and I don' t think that a biohazard suit follows dress code....maybe if it was assless but that somehow defeats the purpose) but when they aren't really giving their all (they're going to be hygienists!) it's pretty depressing. Also you know it's a good club when it's really brightly lit. I mean they weren't even going to give you the luxury of dim lighting to obscure the sadness that lurks in the shadows. So we hang out for a while and ole rape-y makes friends with an asian new zealander or something (totally fabricated but it was some random shit like that). Also of note there was a pole and so a photoshoot was in order. I realized later that the phrase "dance lessons ten cents" which only lends more class and elegance to the whole eve. We head back up to the room after absorbing enough local culture and continue boozing. By the way raperino is drinking up our drinks....gross.

This is where shit goes downhill. There was a photoshoot of course but its where that went was where it was no bueno. The photoshoot ends in a natural winding down fashion when he goes "don't stop taking pictures" "I'll take your slutty pictures"

Let's just say that for anyone who has ever seen these photos is that slutty really isn't one of the words. It's usually way more visceral than mundane sluttiness. I mean they are all about being as ugly or chromisonally challenged as possible. So I start giving the side eye like nobody's business. I then decide to pull the sheets over myself as to protect from any overly pervy moves.

It should also say that Big Gay Al was not the subject of any of rapey's affection, that honor goes only to me and Space Helmet. I am under the sheets when he starts to rip the sheets up and snap pictures of what lies beneath.....

I am terrified and am trying to cling to what dignity I had left. I then fall off the bed after a series of escalating hide and seek moves between myself (i.e. the Moranis....my vag is named Rick Moranis...don't ask) and rapey. I am on the ground and by the way he keeps taking pictures and I look increasingly violated. In one shoot I am fully under the sheets and Big Gay Al is posing on top of me as Rapey is lurking/hovering above me. All you can see are my hands....thanks for defending my honor, friend.

This eventually ends (thank jesus) and he starts lumbering to a corner. Around 3 I stand above him and point to my watch. Then I kick him and point again to my watch. He then says ....I can't drive home.

Yeah because Vegas is really hard to get around in super wasted. Lummox takes up like half of the floor space and is really hard to wake in the morning. I should have just vomited on him.

And I am pretty sure that covers it all....we did another cameo at the val party (aka the Hooters pool) which was generally awesome as the pool wasn't heated at all so it was frigid (which I am kinda into...explains a lot...or not) and the hottubs were fucking cesspools so we dare not enter....drive home primm....end of story.

FIN.

And then there was Britney (Night One)

2009-07-08T00:55:00.000-07:00

This has been in mind for over a month but don't worry this is what my brain capacity has been dedicated to.

I saw Britney Spears in Concert at the fabulous MGM Grand Garden Arena.

Consider my world rocked.

Here's the set-up:

Sunshine (myself plus the space cadet and the busy beaver let's call them) decide that we obviously must reconvene in order to live the Britney Experience. We couldn't get three seats next to each other at the $150 price range in LA or Anaheim (before they added more dates) so we obviously see this as the perfect excuse for a Vegas trip ( I am sure that at some point down the road I will pontificate on my love of Vegas, so don't you worry). After buying our tickets and booking flights (I drove because I love to drive and continually disregard the fact that my car is made for Tokyo Drifting or whatnot and as a result the seats are equivalent to the back row of a transatlantic flight).

The Beav can't make it till Saturday so I drive in on Friday to spend the day with Space Cadet. I grab some In-N-Out (any excuse really) and meet up with her in the parking lot of the Tropicana. We figure, who cares where we stay because most of the time won't be spent in the room. We head up to registration and begin checking in when the concierge (that doesn't seem appropriate) informs us that they are "out" 500 rooms and they will be sending us to a different hotel. My mind swims with thoughts of slightly more upscale digs. She then finishes her sentence by saying "and you'll be staying at the Hooters Hotel, just next door." It's hard to describe the noise I made in response. A chuckle of disbelief? A chortle in jest? At any rate she gives me a look as if I told her that I enjoyed rubbing my shit on her mom's face and I make like I didn't just make a chortle of any kind. As I didn't book the hotel and Eager Beaver was still at work in LA, we reluctantly drag our shit back to the car and drive even more reluctantly, into the Hooters Hotel parking lot.

As I kick open the doors (like I am going to touch anything in the fucking palace that Valtrex built), my sense of dread only deepens. I didn't really think about what the "theme" of the hotel was (tits? ornithology?) but as it turns out it's basically as if someone decided to bring all the luxury and glamour of St. Petersburg, FL to Paradise, NV (just to be a nerd, techincally Vegas, the strip part, isn't in Las Vegas...kinda like the Vatican!)

I am not really good at negotiating in spite of being told that I have "solid gold balls" since approximately 4th grade (they retract when I really need them), so I don't really put up much of a fight with the agency that we booked the hotel through. We were going to make the best of it. We get into the room, that doesn't even have a mini-bar mind you, and what lovely accessories have they left for us? A plastic Bud Light ice bucket and a Hooters magazine which should really be renamed Busted Faces Monthly.

After settling in to our new surroundings, the Cadet and I start to prepare for the evening's festivities. A friend set us up by putting us on the list of the members only Hard Rock Foundation Room at the top of Mandalay Bay. It's pretty ritzy and if anything I stand for refined elegance with a rock n roll twist. We pre-game like champs and the night is going pretty well. Cadet even learned a lesson! If you use a bathroom item offered, you must tip the attendant, it's like the only reason they are hanging out in the loo (aside from the scat fetish...dirty bitches). Basically after that the old lady allowed us to basically pass off the flask of Jimmy Beam in the stall. There wasn't actually a dancefloor which was quite dissappointing but they were at one point showing The Lost Boys on the TVs. We head out onto the balcony where we start basically drinking out of the flask out in the open.

It should be said that I don't really make "friends" in bars (or anywhere...) but this is not the case for the Cadet, who caught the eye of a tiny Azn. One should note that the Cadet stands proud at 5'11" and the azn, didn't. But he and his friend who finds me so fascinating that he literally walks away in the middle of saying something and doesn't really ever come back (swoon!) do buy us drinks. Cadet ends up with a beer and I got a crown and dc (I don't really know how I swung that one) after the drinks and he continually slaps my friend's inner thigh, we declare it high time to leave.

As we walk out the Cadet hands me the flip flops that she brought in her purse for aching feet. Interestingly enough, my feet didn't actually hurt. Until I put on the flops that is. It was like when you wear those soccer athletic spa massage-y sandals for the first time and what should feel like comfort, seems more like searing pain. I do not change back into the heels, that would make too much sense.

Here's where it gets really good. We head back to the hotel and I promptly put in my silocone ear plugs (they are AMAZING, I started using them when I lived in a room with 7 roommates) and pass the fuck out.

I awake later, being tapped on the shoulder. I sit up (at this point I should mention that I do not sleep with a shirt on) and see the Cadet standing above me along with about 4 burly security guards.

"Tell them you know me"

Slowly pulling the sheets up I respond, "Yeah, I know her. Way to go" then promptly fall back onto my pillow in time for me to see the men RUN out of the room. It was like I had some Total Recall shit going on.

In the morning I find out that dearest Cadet got locked out of the room (she doesn't remember why) and had to walk down to Security in the lobby wearing a sleep t-shirt, no bra, soccer shorts and was of course, barefoot. Since the room wasn't registered to her name and she had no ID anyways, they had to check with the occupant to make sure that they weren't letting in a lunatic (that I didn't previously know).

Way to go indeed.

Part 2 to come.

I've made a huge mistake

2009-07-07T18:38:00.000-07:00

I have already found someone I know (and don't want to know any better on JDate)

You can't really say that you're shallow on your profile (No fuggos?)

Oy.

Jew-wanna-man

2009-07-07T01:14:00.000-07:00

Ok so how jewish is jewish?

I mean I wasn't raised jewish and I didn't come out of a jewish vagina so that's pretty unjewish.

BUT i have an estranged rabbi uncle! Also, the jew blood runs through my veins and I feel like the sarcasm also gives me more jew cred.

I ask this because I want to be on J-date.

I don't think it's technically a fetish when my real type is "having of a pulse" but I totally cop to loving the sarcasm and well neuroses are the ties that bind.

It's a whole nother discussion when it comes to online dating in general but I am a nerd and I don't really go outside except for going to movies and I am terrifying and apparently other nerds scare easy? I don't really have the answer to why I don't really meet people but that's a nother nother discussion. I think online dating is fine when you're not of MTV age and I think I am still in their demo for another two years.

Because I didn't meet anyone in college I immediately feel behind in the game. I mean don't get me wrong because I'd rather be in my situation than married to anyone I met in college. Really. And I am sure there were amazing nerds hiding but alas I went greek so I kinda shot myself in the foot with that one. On the plus side being greek was way more rape-y and now I could end up writing a straight to dvd classic. I like to keep positive.

So do I wait er out or well lower my standards?

Whatever I guess, back to the jew-scussion.

It would be weird if I joined a black dating site. Does the same apply with a religious and cultural tradition instead of skin color?

There isn't really much of a point to this as, even if I did join, I almost guarantee that I am going to get enough attention to boost my self asteem to like indigo on the terror color coordination chart, get creeped out and quit.

Are there others like me, indoor cats, nerds, sitting on their couches at 3 am watching Buffy (hopefully not...maybe BSG...yeah...more masculine. Male buffy fans...confused people or TV nerds, perhaps both) thinking the same thing?

For the record I have been on J-Date and I tried as much as I could to assert my lack of any knowledge of Jewish religion or history (My mom, former deacon at Bel-Air Pres, called me the worst jew ever because upon reading about Alfred Molina's Playbill interview, I asked my mother, what's a YAR-MULKE?) but then I got an IM from a rabbi who wanted to chat me up? What was he looking for? A rebel (Dottie)?

Basically any sort of face to face human interaction terrifies me and so I prefer digital screens. Not that this is case in point.

If life was Three's Company (which I wish it was) I would be some freakish Mr Roper/Janet/Jack hybrid. That sounded cooler than I expected. Throw in Mrs. Roper's caftans and I embrace 23-yr-old spinsterdom.

Until then, there's always cable.

Yeah, I'm a lazy douche

2009-07-05T00:29:00.000-07:00

So it's been more than a month since I have graced you with my lovely witicisms.

I am going to give you an excuse, not a reason, for my absence. I am lazy and then I saw that my "friend" (you know the person you call a friend but find yourself counting down till they leave your presence...if you're reading this it's probably not you) had a blog and I read like three lines of an entry and I rolled my eyes more times than when I read Cosmo (I was in the dentist's office cut me a fucking break) and I was like "do I sound like that?" "do I sound like that much of a douche bag?" It basically justified the whole lazy blogger (oxymoron?) fear and basically I wasn't going to stoop to that level. Two months later....

I realize that no matter how hard I may try (very, very hard) I will never be the douchebag he is and if I am, what are you doing reading this?

So basically the message is that I am back, bitches.

Wonderhauer, now with 90% more resolve!

I have a lot of back material to work with so batten down the hatches.

On a final note, what does it take to become a fitness celebrity? Can I just buy some airtime, wear spandex and commit to mono-syllabic speech punctuated with often completely unrelated, always forceful hand gestures? Speaking of raging narcissism, I got an email (actually two, because this bitch just didn't get the hint) from facebook saying, let's call her sumdumbitch, sumdumbitch suggests you become a fan of sumdumbitch. Literally asking me to be her fan? This girl who clearly comes from the home life that most american idol audition round "competitors" come from thinks, that despite having seriously tree trunk legs, she's going to be a model. What kind? Hand model?

I love how the only thing that our generation has to bind us all together is raging narcism and being easily amused. I think by being post-post-modern it's basically equivalent of fighting in a world war or inventing important shit. They may as well give up the search for the cure for AIDS because honestly, does anyone think we're going to last long enough for the world to see another generation of Heidi and Spencers? I hope not.

Put A Donk On It

2009-04-20T15:06:00.000-07:00

This will make sense later.

While I am not exactly as gung ho on the Anglophilia as English is, I do really appreciate the magical gifts the brits give us. Girls Aloud. Sugababes. Sasha Baron Cohen. Many many British men in dresses. Bedazzled. Their gifts are numerous. While most of those gifts are ignored by the American public, there is one lost in translation moment I have. Their version of white trash also known as chavs are pretty amazing. Ali G is one such iteration and Katie Price aka Jordan is certainly their style icon. Now we come to it....

There is a musical phenomenon known as donk.

I first came across the donknomenon on a little site called Popjustice. It is in their words "literally quite good". Basically its a thirty-something year old straight male blogger who writes about pop music. Britney, Kelly and of course scores of music that will never make the leap across the pond (but for digitally). This is where I am informed of the glittery magical music that will be on my iPod and in my brain henceforth.

Donk is a kinda techno-y noise and well its this and this and this

and for kicks here is a donk-ed remix of a song you know and love!

Allow me introduce you to the Blackout Crew.....a boyband for todays youth!

It's like a mensa group picture.

Key among chavs and Donk lovers alike is sportswear. Not in the ironic bearded hipster trash kind of a way (if this is you don't worry...I inexplicably own upwards of 4 individual windbreakers) but in the kind where nothing is ironic...not even in the Alanis Morissette kind of a way.

Kind of like wiggers in a country that pretty much invented being Vanilla....these are not the Lock, Stock characters....trust.

Wow I just googled chav for your viewing pleasure but not even my Google Image Search Go! skills can withstand how face meltingly awesome the collection of pictures on Urban Dictionary are.....and the definition if a lack of irony and presence of windbreakers didn't make it real clear for you. I aims to please.

They start young....you'll see a trend here.

I do appreciate the return of the neckerchief a la fred from Scooby Doo.

You're never too young to get involved in your kids' lives!

Gollum put a donk on it....so I have been told... I am not much of a reader.

Defying the Obvious

2009-04-20T14:51:00.000-07:00

No, I am not talking about today's date.

Let's talk about the heat instead!

I really do like the heat. I don't really do anything above 93 degrees (barring 98 degrees of course) because at that point I think the major systems start shutting down. I like the sweating and the licks of fire you can kinda feel on your skin. Plus I mean TALK about the season my wardrobe was coordinated for....well I mean if you want to get specific due to the light materials and prominence of floral prints it's probably spring but technically its not summer yet just...99 degrees out today.

Here's the snag with the whole sweltering situation.

Well there are two but black leather interior just calls to be so 3rd degree ass burns are a price I must pay.

Let's talk about real burn.

So I don't know if you suffer from this phenomenon but if I walk more than like 6 paces my thighs have formed some Congo-esque atmospheric conditions. I mean like UNCOMFORTABLE.

So the burning has commenced. Okay, what to do? Chances are this is happening to you not in the comfort of your own home but rather en route to a location and perhaps this voyage is only the beginning of your day!

Enter the John Wayne walk. You don't want the thighs to touch so you have to waddle a bit (which can be really awk if you have some big ole thighs because I mean a little "just got off a horse" walk is cool but people will start looking if you look as though you tried to do the splits but realized that you are bulky and awkward about half the way down.

I figured that this phenomenon was suffered by myself and the other fatties only (I found out some normies also suffer) but the enemy was given a name when a chick I was talking to oh so eloquently referred to the event as, get this,

chub rub

Let's think about that again.

chub rub

There are a lot of ways to describe the fat.....but chub is not among my favorites.

fuck you, chub rub.

There is no climax to that story I just wanted to tell you about that literally quite horrendous name for skin irritation. Huzzah!

Google Image Search Go!

2009-03-27T17:23:00.000-07:00

Zany

Main Entry:¹za·ny
Pronunciation:\ˈzā-nē\
Function:noun
Inflected Form(s):plural zanies
Etymology:Italian zanni, a traditional masked clown, from Italian dialect Zanni, nickname for Italian Giovanni John
Date:1588

This was from some sort of retail page where they were profiling their zany customers....is this who shops at Anne Geddes?

I will say that I have my doubts about the authenticity of this photograph.

Zany or dismal? YOU decide!

There is a saying "don't hate the player, hate the game" to which this man replies "I invented the game....literally all games"

High School Musical cast, the before picture.

I remember when I was an eager teen in the mid 80's. All I had was a dream and a unitard.

One of the people in this picture is named Zany Janie....I do not know whic.

Somebody saw the Jonas Brothers: 3D Concert Experience

Yep.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand, one for the road.

Manners: When is it okay to say cum dumpster in public?

2009-03-27T17:04:00.000-07:00

Well technically, probably never.

Unless you subscribe to the Wonderhauer school of "I jus don give a fuh"

Storytime: So I was in a Ralphs foraging for some funfetti or maybe ice-cream, I don't really keep track of my nuclear leaning* nutritional habits, when I get in line at the self-checkout (amazing invention, totally circumvents the cashier experience, only con is that you miss out on any possible acrylic nail action). The line isn't too long but after about 3 min there is a bit of a traffic jam. I peer around the gentleman in front of me so as to see exactly what "the commotion" was. I feast my eyes upon 3 chicks in varying degrees of stripper-wear. We have classyslut who was mosly in sororstitute gear (shorty shorts, natural hair gel, etc), dumbslut who is wearing only forever21 and all the wrong items (ladies you know what I am talking about) and megaslut who literally looks like she was on her way back from the dayshift to hang out at a Greyhound bus station or some shit (I am quite clearly not as elegant and refined as she is so I couldn't really begin to follow her habits).

Here's the best part. So all three are each at a station and basically they finish up in terms of sluttiness (least to greatest) and we are left with the ho who even Vh1 reality dept rejected. She couldn't get her stack of crinkled one dollar bills into the machine.....so she could buy Popov Vodka....not even the kind they upgraded to glass bottles.

It was at this point where I start to get a bit miffed that they are taking up my precious time. My compadre says to me "Well that's what you get for dressing like that"

To which I respond, "No, that's what you get for being a cum dumpster."

We see the man in front of my rustle a bit then turn around slightly, enough to reveal his now tomato red face. How dare I offend his senses.

Moral of the story.....cum dumpster is a powerful word....so best not use it in any sort of family setting....or directed at a specific stripper/Ralph's cashier (think of the acrylics).

Post Post Script

2009-03-23T10:23:00.001-07:00

Spoiler Alert!

My blow by blow of the experience known as KNOWING

Posted in the comments section for those of you who are planning on experiencing it for yourselfs.

Post Script.

2009-03-20T15:15:00.000-07:00

So I forgot to add these pics of N.Cage and one random one that could not be ignored.

I think that one is literally from GQ.
Nic Cage redefining "GQ motherfucker" daily.

Showed up dressed like this to be the President (or whatever) of Mardi Gras.
Leather pants + Leather trench with Feather detailing = Haberdasher Extraordinaire.

Peas be with you!

AAaaaaand the random one.

2009 Predictions

2009-03-20T14:49:00.000-07:00

I will go to jail.

Evidence:

Those are directions from my house to Conan's.

It's only a matter of time.

GHOST RIDAAAA!!!

2009-03-20T13:49:00.000-07:00

Is this post in 3-D?

NO, BUT YOUR FACE IS

An Ode to Nicolas Cage

I find myself defending my entertainment and lifestyle choices with much regularity and the one that most people guffaw the most about is my unabashed, unbridled love for one Nicolas Cage. I present images that would warm even the coldest heart to the man, the myth, the legend. Cage.

Let's start with a long hard look into reality.

Now, his hair is a point of much contention to which I say, if Nic had a full luxurious head of hair like say Robin William's groin area, would I have had the good fortune of seeing Mr. Cage driving down Wilshire in his Bentley Convertible, top down, asian child-bride in tow, wearing a fucking hat last seen on Dame Judy Dench so as to control the comb over floppage? Doubtful.

I mean he is kinda old, cut him some slack. They say baldness can be caused by too much testosterone. Oh I am sorry that Nic is so goddamn badass that his folicles needed a vacay in Club Med to recover from 24/7 badassing/ass-kickery. My bad.

Okay, the man is pushing 50 (technically 45...but then again ass kicking takes a toll, see above) I get it. Let's check out what's going on under the hood.

Slightly terrifying. But let's put it this way, if he were ever to hold me captive I would be Stockhokming all up in his business.

Flash back like 20 yrs.....

NOT TOO FUCKING BAD NOW???
I mean seriously, if we have learned one thing its to appreciate hottness retroactively.

Let's get serious.

Here are some facts.

I hate boring "entertainment."
I love things that are ridiculous.
Nic Cage embodies the latter and fucking WAGES WAR against the former.

No matter how horrible the project, Nic brings like 11298% to the table. From Bangkok Dangerous to Adaptation (legit amazing) he leaves no emotional/psychological stone unturned.

Nic is smiling because he just slapped the acting game in the face with his dick.

Now since most of you, my devoted angry mob, are here because well I have like 3 friends, you have probably seen Ghost Rider.

For those who haven't I provide solid evidence that you should re-evaluate that situation.

Omigod, my face is literally being lit aflame. Fuckin hilarious. Crazy laugh time!

BOW DOWN MOTHER FUCKER

God bless the ubiquity of photoshop. Expression for the masses. New Relgions being formed as we speak.

"Wow, that's embarassing, just a second ago I was wearing pants, I swear!"

This is fake, BUT at one point Nic Cage was attached to star in a Tim Burton version of Superman. They even did wardrobe tests, apparently to taunt me and the adoring public.

Flying Elvises, selling your wife to James Caan. Classic Cage.

Whoever says the man isn't 100% made of awesome is really just lying to themself.

Also, extremely suave.

THIS IS A REAL PHOTO.

AMEN.

FANTASY BLOCK PARTY

2009-03-20T11:35:00.000-07:00

In theory, if all the clouds align or whatever, here is a situation that is literally possible.

I saunter to the table with sushi. I ask Michael Jackson what kind of moisturizer he has been using because he looks fabulous; we discuss gloves. I head for the jello mold and I compliment Mariah on adding glitter and marabou to her Hello Kitty mold and Nick Cannon on, smiling so consistently.

Then Rapper X (I can only guess the house is occupied by a rapper due to the sheer number of Escalades) and I discuss kicks for a while and decide to form a partnership to make all glow in the dark shoes.

I then high five the little girl from the "landlady" funny or die (typically the latter) video with will ferrell.

I saunter back to my pad and carouse with the ghost of Burt Reynold's old face.

This is all prompted by the fact that Mariah and Nick just put down a bid for the Fleur Dr Lys estate ($125 mil) 4 doors down from me.

It's versailles recreated.

Marie Antoinette is attributed with "let them eat cake" to which Mariah responded "cake?"

pictures in the ONTD post

Google Image Search Go!

2009-03-16T17:17:00.000-07:00

See, already following up on the reoccurring post thing.

This week's topic: bears.

Let's kick things off right.

I mean right there. Fear, intimidation, and apparently Bank of California's entire marketing scheme. Free checking and bears have always been synonymous.

Lightening things up a bit....here's bear showing us his asshole!

This one's called President Boosh Bear......I like how it looks like it's wearing a shorts suit....while holding a gun. More like the president of San Franciso or Canada or some shit.

Don't worry, mine's already in the mail.

I remember this but apparently not enough to know why the one in the back is wearing a shower cap and why the one in the front is like a total dick.

Better not to ask.

It's a pretty fair assumption to believe that the kids in the above photo are siblings. I get that. But why are two of them dressed as parents and one is the kid......West Virginia, I am looking at you.

The story attached to this picture was something about bears demanding food, which I totally get. I don't know why they are looking on a road and in oil tankers. They are Russian bears.

Here's a link to yet another Russian feat...this time the venue isn't bears, rather, the dynamic world of European Nationalistic Pop Music Competitions.

What you see there is true. Enjoy.

Shitty things from the people we love.

2009-03-16T16:44:00.001-07:00

Another reoccurring post (yes, I am aware that none of those past posts have done anything but occur...no reoccurring...yet) where I discuss the shitty things that my parents say about me. I know they love me and blah blah blah but let's get down to it. My parents are dicks.

Look-alikes

Way back in 2003 when I was a senior in high school, I got my senior portraits taken. I did the same thing that most kids did which was go with the school hired photographer. The first shoot turned out fine but my mom looks at the contact sheet and says " maybe we should do another round. Okay. The pics were sub par maybe she was just citing the law of averages like maybe you'll take an even better picture.

I go to fucking Pasadena to this guys studio and to make matters worse my mom gave me the clothes to wear including some shit that not even Paula Abdul would wear. Things couldn't get much worse.

And then he rolled down the faux brick wall. Yes, I took those Sears Family portrait style cheesy as hell look i am just casually posing by this brick wall. I am THE original Backstreet Boy.

Needless to say those pictures turned out worse than the 2nd set. When I showed my mom the contact sheets she starts giggling. I ask her why she is laughing and she points to a picture and tells me I look like Gary Sinise.

Fucking Lieutenant Dan.

THIS GUY

And, I chose a nice picture of the man.

Thanks mom.

One more for the road.

I was asking my parents who/what I should go for Halloween as. Full of helpful suggestions always, my mom tells me that I look JUST LIKE this woman

Hey, she's pretty. Yeah? What was that? She looks familiar? Oh well maybe it's because her murder at the hands of her husband was a national news story. Don't remember her? Murdered when pregnant...something about a boat...decapitation.

Yeah, her.

Once again, thank you mother for telling me that I look like someone who was brutally murdered. The story (un)fortunately doesn't end there. My mother suggests that I go as Laci Peterson for Halloween. Not to be outdone by dad then does an impression.

How do you follow this? Well, if you are my father, it's by telling me that I should be a bear (think giant bear murdering rather than yogi bear). If you're my mom it's by telling me that I should go as a bear mauling victim.

I come from somewhere.

The things we do for love.

2009-03-16T16:29:00.000-07:00

or chocolate...in my world that's like the same shit. Well really if I wanted to make a more accurate ref it would be Doritos, Cheetos, Ice Cream, In-N-Out or Kites but for this let's just stick with chocolate.

This is a post about how hard I work to avoid hard work.

Here's the quandary, I want chocolate but have none at my desk.

There is a box full of Kisses and Hugz in all their Hershey's glory. BUT the box is right in front of my supervisor who doesn't really have anything for me to do but could easily be reminded of my presence and try to find me something to do. So obviously that's out.

There are various people selling chocolates to benefit MS research. I don't really want to commit to a whole bar even though I am well aware that I will be eating more than that but just incrementally. Also getting to this might involve walking past someone who is going to try to get me to work.

I end up paddling back to the kitchen where there are four large jars filled with pretzels, goldfish, mnm's and gummy bears, respectively.

BREAKING NEWS:

So I get my candy/snacks in the styro cups (they dont have bowls guys) and I also get these little mini ramen soup packets in the cups too. I went in for some chocolate but came out with extreme sodium laced "spring vegetable" seasoning. Yeah I put my hand in the fucking soup and I don't have a napkin, once again reingiting the lazy/avoiding work dillema. I think fast and shake some water on my hands and then rub them on my dress. I hear they are doing a MacGuyver movie....saucy female sidekick anyone?

Sinsporation!

2009-03-11T16:21:00.001-07:00

The Rock...ahem Monsieur Dwayne Johnson says "Take off yo panties"

As if he had to ask.

p.s. this might be a reoccurring thing....hot hot men telling you to do naughty things with their eyes.

CREEPO PT 2: The Neverending Story Uncut

2009-03-11T15:40:00.001-07:00

So being inspired by the creepy theme for today (well all days really) I am going to just copy and paste some excerpts from emails/facebook posts I had received from a man we will call ACIDJACK.

This man I met while I was working on promoting a book he wrote and my teacher published for an independent study class. ACID JACK admitted to me that he used to take acid by the sheet, luckily this 60-something-year-old man is three months sober(ish...at least the hard stuff). He aparently sensed we had some kind of Woody/ScarJo effect and that simply was not the case. I tried to keep it at a professional/keep it light kind of a situation. That didn't work.

Here is the first email I got...the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

WONDERHAUER

I owe U a great big kiss and a hug for helpin PAUL and myself with the marketing projects and just sitting around with us. You may have noticed that I get hypoglycemic at 4pm daily and that when the moon is full (the moon is full) the hypoglycemia increases exponentially by parsecs (i don't truly understand what a parsec means in distance. If a tiny black sugar ant had to walk to Tijuana from Portland, that would be a parsec.) I (or i) (i and i) forgot what I was going on about. Oh, thanks a bunch. Sugar rules my life. I have to eat lots of fish and lays off the sugar. You will have a Pop Quiz on that. All students have Pop Quizzes, are you still a student? A student of life.

I took PAUL for a ride on my Harley-Davidson today. It's way fast. 88 cubic inches softail springer. I cut off 100 lbs at least by chopping the exhaust pipes so they are only about 12 inches long. My friend Mike says 'you're too old, your sixty years old, you will end up like a hamburger on the freeway.' What is to worry about at 60 years old. I went thru more baloney (a euphemism) in the last 2 months than other people experience in their entire lives. Nasty naughty baloney.

Did you ever see that Charles Bronson movie 'The Mechanic'. Just a thought I knew some guys who played football with him every saturday when he 1st hit Hollywood and he had that drawn rugged face and the Adonis marble body. He never talked much to anyone except he clobbered the hell out of everyone on the gridiron, then went home. He wasn't mean, he just had it all broiling inside of him. At least he wasn't gay like Rock Hudson. I didn't say there was anything wrong with gay people. I don't have any friends left living but if I did they would be whatever they damn well wanted to be.

Well thanks again WONDERHAUER. Life is still a Rocky Road around here and it must be astrological or alien abduction implants. MiniMicroSubAtomic Control Beings running our brains. You don't seem to have one yet. Wear a face mask and rubber gloves. Hell, that won't trick any MiniMicroSubAtomic Control Beings. Almond Horns at Canter's Deli can turn a sad day into a bright happy day.___Peace, Love and Almond Horns, ACID JACK

MANY MANY MORE TO COME

Creepo Magnet

2009-03-11T14:38:00.000-07:00

There are many qualities I possess. Some better than others. One of them is the fact that I have the words "fuck with me" tattooed on my forehead in ink visible only to pranksters and one that says "I love being creeped out!" visible only to the deranged or near-deranged. I will post some stories from the former incarnation in my life but now is the time for a good old fashioned creepy story!

Gather round the campfire kids....this is going to be a good one.

*this will make more sense as the story goes on*

So I decided to go to Third Street Promenade for some shopping (and they say I am not a philanthropist!) which as you may or may not know is home to every pushy motherfucker holding a laminated sign who wants to change the world. I have pretty much mastered the blow off because I became comfortable with the fact that in response to the question "Do you want to help sick children?" I say "No" and walk away to buy the clothes that those tiny little hands helped make (yeah I know, I already have a deck chair reserved in Hell levels 2-3 because that's where the fatties and the sluts hang out and we all know that's where the party is at)(1.). So I usually do fine, although one time I was ultra-annoyed and this Chinese woman came up to me and hadn't really even said anything but busted out that laminated sheet and I literally went "Ugh, NO, GOD!" pushed my Dior glasses up the bridge of my nose and kept on walking (I went to High School with Paris Hilton, what do you expect? There were crabs left on a seat on the bus we shared and they nested and have been whispering evil to me ever since...explains a lot). So on this day I had brushed this one dude off when I got a text but the tone sounds like a ringtone so I was like "Sorry, I HAVE to get this, it might be some urgent business matters." But on my way back to the parking lot I saw the same one again and there wasn't anyone walking near me so I couldn't use interference or anything. So I am walking up to him and he goes "Hey Princess, can I talk to you for a minute" to which I give the usual "Sorry" while in motion and here's where it gets interesting. He said "Wow, you have a sexy voice and look at those toes, like a princess"

Toe compliments?

Picture makes sense now doesn't it.

Let's evaluate this in more detail.

This man presumably has some sort of charitable ties (perhaps to a deposed King in Haiti or something) so this would be the opportunity to compliment someone to get them to talk to him. I GET IT. Sexy voice...okkaaaaayyy...maybe.

Toe compliments? What was he letting people know that he was a registered sex offender? Some kind of podiatric fundraiser? Well, let me tell you I hustled those toes past that fool because fuck that.

Let's also consider my situation. I was dressed fine, no makeup as I was straight from the gym, but here's the clincher. I was wearing these really horribly ugly chunky athletic flip flops and my toenails are painted like metallic stripper sky blue....and they're chipped...and I have ALL SORTS of blisters from my insane "walks." I mean I wasn't even wearing heels. WTF?

And since you were about to ask, no, this ISN'T the first time this has happened to me.

I was walking down the row (USC greek row...my own fault admittedly) and I was about to deposit some checks at the ATM when this gentleman (re: "local", re:re: "mexican") asked for the time. I am a charitable lady (as proven earlier) so I tell him the time and keep walking. He then turns around and says "Can I tell you something?" Believe it or not, I am actually too nice (except when in cars and well verbally to most people I like...in spirit I am nice) so I tentatively say yes. This is when he stares at my feet and says "Your toes are beautiful"

Wow, and they say I don't know how to take a compliment.

So in order not to scar you for life I will throw in something nice. As I was looking for a good pic of QT (not an easy task) there were a bunch with him and Robert Rodriguez. THAT IS A HOT SEXY MAN and he is with Rose McGowan (idk if they are still together...I am not sure about the existence of a God so I'll just go out on a limb and say yes). This is a lady who was going to marry Marilyn Manson who actually believes in the shit he is selling. This is also a lady who used to be hot in a ren-faire kind of a way but has since gotten into a "car accident" that "cut her eye with glass" (who's taking bets she used Usher's Tranny wife's Brazillian surgeon?). She looks like a burn victim. No, thank you. What's worse is that her vag (which lays golden eggs, I heard) is whispering evil secrets (Paris's crabs?) to him telling him that she should be seen on screen let alone in public. It's a good thing that the whole world responded with FUCK THAT when they announced that they were going to be remaking Barbarella with Rose in the lead. AANYWAYS let's enjoy the hotness and ignore/question/study the man grabbing methods of the fuggo at his side. Added one for solo hottness.

1. Shit son I looked up the levels of hell to make a point earlier and this is a sin that will get you in the first level of hell (Temecula?) aka limbo.....The sins of incontinence — weakness in controlling one's desires and natural urges — are the mildest among them, and, correspondingly, appear first. What the fuck sometimes you GOT TO GO!

Google Image Search Go!

2009-03-09T11:14:00.000-07:00

So this one time, just now, I decided to immortalize one of my favorite pastimes, the random google image search. This week's installment features the word "awesome." FYI it was a SFW search so nothing too racy...you bastards get your smut somewhere else.

- let's start this off right. I mean look at this guy. No really. It's a grown man wearing kneepads but neigh a volleyball court or roller skates in sight. I'll let you draw your own conclusions. Mr. Awesome indeed. (1)

Thank you SkyMall. It's a good thing my short term memory is equivalent to that of a sea cucumber because otherwise my impending poverty would lurk even closer than it already does because everytime I open a skymall my heart sings to me. That Arwen she had some nice taste in jewelry.....let's pretend for everyone's sake that I was kidding with that last one.

So this is kinda unfair because most of these things were posted with a heavy dose of irony. But to that I say....NOW WITH EVEN MORE IRONY. See I am looking at the person who posted these thinking they were so funny but now I am laughing at the poster. And thus completes the 3 person circle jerk that is the internet. Plus you really can't go wrong with beets. Doug knows what I am talking about.

Someone thought this was awesome. At first I did too because with my carefully trained eyes I thought the tat was of a dolphin in an electric chair. Because you know what? Fuck dolphins....except that pink one.

From the author of "If God Loves Me, Why Can't I Get My Locker Open?"

I wonder if Miss ( I am assuming here) Lorraine Peterson knows a Mr. Tenedor "T.J." Bloom author of such books as I wish I was a Long Distance Truck Driver and I Sold My Sisters On Ebay. (totally 100% real btw but I just found out his name is Blossom, Tenedor Blossom.)

To be fair this was from the search "rad." How do I sleep at night?

1. So I don't get it. I am in hipster infested areas and I am consistently surprised by how many dudes wear extremely tight pants. Like I can see the hairs on your balls man isn't that constricting? BUT here's the real issue. It's 9/10 Senior Tiny Dick who is rocking these pants. That takes a bold bold man to showcase a lack of goods in such a fashion. Diff'rent Strokes ( I know there's an apostrophe in there somewhere but I don't exactly know so the placement is a guess)

Revalations!

2009-03-06T17:57:00.000-08:00

Maybe this will become a reoccurring thing, probably not because I forget shit the second I hear it. Anways here is today's revalation

To white people, Paul Rudd is the human equivalent of Target.

I will post a photo to emphasize my point.

Look at the photo of Paul Rudd, then think about exactly the love you have for Target stores.

Compare.

Lies

2009-03-04T18:04:00.000-08:00

So, you should know. I am a liar. In the kinda fun party trick kind of way.

It could be said that my sense of morality is well...on a sliding scale.

In lower school I used to lie so much that my mom cried about it thinking that I would end up some kind of con man. Mostly it was because I realized from a very early age, how dumb people are. I told people I met the King of China.

Now its more of horrific lies designed to get a rise out of someone. Holy shit I was just raped and my foot has been severed by a rusty bear trap. JK. See how that works?

The reason that I am posting this is because in order to sufficiently fly kites as I wished, I decided that I was going to be sick that day. Since the cold/flu thing has lots of evidence you can call them and they will hear it in your voice. That's really more effort than I want to put in. Usually I go for either sinus infection (antibiotics kick in real quick!) or something so ridiculous that no one dare question it. I have actually already told them that I couldn't make it into work because I had pink eye. I had a couple days off for that one. "Well, it's almost all cleared up but I am just worried that I'll forget and touch my eye and then the keyboard and then we'll all be infected!"

It does indeed take a bold woman to tell someone that they see on a regular basis that they may or may not have fecal matter in or around their eye area.

So this time, I decided to capitalize on something that could very well have happened. I said that I fell down a flight of stairs.

I fell down a flight of stairs AFTER laughing at my friend (sorry fictional buddy for dragging you into my web of lies) who had just fallen. See people laugh and considering the source...immediately chalk it up to my god-given grace.

I then decided to figure out which ankle I twisted....and developed the slightest hint of a limp.

A day in the life.

Giving in.

2009-03-02T11:48:00.000-08:00

So basically after a lot of people telling me I should actually do shit instead of just amuse myself and waste brain cells, I decided to quell all those voices and voila!...mon blog. I guess this bitch is going to run like my brain does. Random ideas, stories, proof that I am living in a sit com, basically whatever I feel like writing about.

So here goes:

Yesterday English(my friend) and I decided to hit that good shit....I know such surprising revelations....only on days that end in y...at any rate...I swing by her place, pick her up and we drive out to Disneyland. As most suggestions of mine go they involved In-N-Out and safety. So we head through the drive thru(1) and head to the back of the parking lot. Safety is had by all and I proceed to eat my grilled cheese. I am enjoying my cheesy treat when the car radio sputters off and the car shuts down. Interesting. Being a mechanic, I was able to quickly and correctly identify the problem. The car wouldn't start. While this was a good start soon we realized that this was some shit. I mean I don't know shit about cars so when English asked if it was turning over I responded that it's Asian I don't know if it's supposed to turn over. My car buzzes not roars so I only know what bad engine noises sound like on an American car not a pimped out Hitachi Magic Wand.(2) English, the eternal optimist (not really but I love that phrase) suggests to let it sit for 3 minutes so that it can make a full recovery and we wouldn't have to admit that we were fucked. Myself, being whatever the opposite of "eternal optimist" is, tell her that its retarded while I concoct my own plan. First, act casual, then quickly throw your key in the ignition and turn the key....interestingly enough the car wasn't in fact surprised by this move and was able to anticipate and annihilate my plans. After I finished my sandwich ( I am not a heathen after all) I call AAA. At this point, eye drops have been administered and I am putting my best "sober responsible" face. He arrives and I am 99% sure that this dude knows what's up but then again you don't get to be a tow truck driver in La Mirada without knowing some shit. He lets it slide, it was the battery of course, and yet again we set upon our path. Back on the road, we head to the land and of course hit traffic like it was LAX at Christmas or some shit. We finally get parked and head to Downtown Disney to make our movie.

It is at this point when I must admit something to you, kind reader. English and I were en route to seeing the Jonas Brothers 3-D Concert Experience. Judge me if you will but I read a review that had one phrase that were to seal my fate, "giant foam fire hose" It should also be mentioned that we were with our dear dear friend, Jim. (Beam, obvious) So we sit in the back and luckily it wasnt packed nor were there too many screamers....actually most of them were cute...who would have thought? The movie was retarded, so, really mission accomplished. There was only really one section that is worth going into detail for.

Each of the Jonai (yeah, I am single....ladies?) were serenading in Central Park when we cut to shots of each of the boys in different CENTRAL PARK activities. We start with Joe who is wearing his best boy-bait lip tickler as "the cop", then we head over to lil' Nick who is the carriage driver (awww....a top hat...just like Tiny Tim!). Finally, we pan over to what we can only assume is Kevin entering some sort of bathhouse circa the 1970's. English whispers, I bet they have him as a hot dog vendor, immediately after which I start making some pretty PG-13 gestures. We laugh, the film pans in....to Kevin as literally a hot dog vendor. The director of that shit has a fucking serious funny bone to put the gay ugly Jonas in a situation with a lot of weiners. Exactly.

We survive the movie and head back to the car to see what happened to that kite I was flying (did I leave it in La Mirada?) (3) I decide to obliterate myself and English came along for the ride. After my car officially looked like the writer's room on an Apatow movie, we head back out to the park itself. I can't really include too many details but I am pretty sure it's safe to say that I think I ate some food....sucked at Buzz Lightyear (tragic) and well...I remember being on Indiana Jones and thinking that shit is literally UNCOMFORATBLE. I spent the entire time trying to keep my hip bones from being crushed under the weight of the seatbelt (4). I had some ice cream...that was a good time. We probably did some other shit but I was over it in a big way. So we call it a day

Driving back on the 5, I see a red and yellow sign calling like a siren at night. Yeah, so basically I stopped to get In-N-Out again. By the way, this whole time English has been keeping to general human nuitirition guidelines not the Homer Simpson school of nuitirition such as myself. Essentially I ate fast food in front of her....a couple times. Meh....so we head back, find the kite that I found again, watch some Ab Fab and then I call it a night.

We'll see how long this lasts....I'll try to add pictures to keep things interesting

1. The dude working the drive-thru had worked the last time we went to Disneyland, last sunday. I really hate when you go through a drive through or go to a restaurant enough that the people who work there recognize you. Its never friendly either...9 times out of 10 their exact thoughts are "Back again, fatty?" to which 9 times out of 10 my response is "Indeed I am"

2. My car's name is the Hitachi Magic Wand, which for those of you out of the loop is a popular vibrato.....cough cough personal massage wand. It got this name because it's essentially a vibrator on wheels.

3. There are going to be a lot of euphamisms on this blog...get used to it...if you are confused by something that I am saying then just assume that it's weed...moving on.

4. Why is it that no matter what size I am or what kind of safety restraints are involved, I cannot feel safe in theme park rides. Granted, I am almost always wearing black stretch pants which don't really offer much in the way of grip. But seriously either it's crushing my hip bones or it's a foot off of my body and I slip around. One time I was on Thunder Mountain wearing said pants, and as the train was going I found myself unable to stay seated, I kept on sliding down and so I put my knees against the cart to stabilize myself, to no effect. By the end of the ride by back was on the bench and I was squished up against the bar. The chick working the end of the ride told me oh so curteously that I should sit up....to which I respond that I cannot....ain't that some shit.