It's 2:20 on a friday morning and I'm awake, high on the buzz of caffeine and academic dreams! I induced this high with a few cups of pop and lots of sugary goodness. I did however manage to complete the most vile paper (on time!) which at one point suggested a "binary opposition equating the boy with femininity through his cow."
Well anyways, the reason for my impromptu visit (where?) is to discuss a matter that has annoyed me to the point of "blogging my inner thoughts and feelings" - yuck. I'll try to keep this as heartless as possible, and say 'fuck' a lot...I'm certain that will prevent this from becoming a whiny pathetic agnst fest...no, wait, that'll just increase its "i'm so daring and rebellious I say fuck, like, fucking, every fucking sentence" angst.
Fuck. Scratch that.
My body doesn't handle caffeine well, or sugar for that matter, and well, I indulged a lot, and even enjoyed some twizzler pull and peels (though, I opted not to pull and peel, because that would've just been tedious and time consuming, and i'd be left irate and the licorice would've lost its flavor and charm. Then i'd become uninspired and unable to perform on an academic level - therefore, pulling and peeling= bad, bad time)
Back to my point. After completing my paper which used the words "affirm" "dichotomy" and "antithesis" far too much for any papers good, I watched 2 episodes of gossip girl (OMFG Serena, how could you, like, even WANT a relationship with him?!) and then creeped on facebook for a staggeringly long while. What is up with people and their need to share their inner most thoughts and feelings on their status?! Or, what's even worse, why oh why do they feel the need write a pathetic and shameless status revealing their inherently flawed disposition. Are they looking for some e-sympathy, cause I can give them some real fucking sympathy. (That was, hands down, the WORST threat ever uttered)
Ok, but seriously now, get a blog or something.
This post is really only directed at one person in particular, and I'm fairly certain this individual doesn't read my blog, and if they do, well, HEY THERE! BFF?! No, really though, they don't...they can't...right? right? I NEED SOME SUPPORT HERE PEOPLE!
I know I wrote a blog about this very topic a few months ago, but I just felt the need to say it again...nobody gives a shit that your iguana died and you can't get it up. (that was never mentioned in a status... i just made it up, as you can probably tell because it's not funny, or neat, or based in any sort of reality, and you know what...i'm rambling...this is NOT a stream of conscious blog, I am NOT one of those people!)
I'm certain I'm going to wake up in the morning and regret this...damn you caffeine and your sleep prohibiting powersss!!!
Friday, November 14, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
This week in pictures: copulation, trannies, and post-election fever
Picture this: 52 hours, 650 square feet, 2 grilled cheese sandwiches, 2 salads, 1 bag of popcorn, 2 bananas, 1 bowl of mini wheat’s, a box of hair dye, an “E! True Hollywood Story” on Dawson’s Creek, and season 3 of How I met Your Mother. This my friends, is how I spent my Friday and Saturday.
It appears more reclusive and painstakingly boring than it actually was. Yes, I may have stained my bathroom door with dye, and gained a few pounds, but I laughed and cried, and learned that “Josh is really a lot like Pacey.” Thanks, E! True Hollywood Story, thanks.
So it’s time for me to clear out my pictures folder at work!
This is Britain’s oldest virgin! She just turned 105, and has never been laid! She's adorable, but her facial expression just screams, “I cast judgement unto you, YOU FORNICATORS!” Well, I’m sure it would be a little less harrowing than that, but you never know, some elderly woman can be real pistols!
And on a completely related note: apparently there was a sex shop down in the States that was giving away free vibrators to anyone that voted.
Not only is Obama making history, unleashing hope on millions, and changing lives, but his victory means that these two twats LOST! I’m so glad we’ll never have to see “speidi” walking around LA with a riffle, a six-pack, and their hideous attempt at political campaigning.
Here’s a close up of their shits, whoops, I mean shirts:
Seriously, faking photo ops is sooo last year.
I was watching Anderson Cooper the other night…like I do a lot of nights, dreaming of his luscious silver locks and crystal blue eyes…right, uhh, so… I got to thinking about aging. Why is it that when women age they just get furrowed, loose, and unattractive, but as men age, they become “distinguished” and “sophisticated”? You know what, fuck that! Damn those silver foxes and their ability to still get all the women they want (and in Cooper’s case, men). It makes me sick! In fact, it makes me so sick I want to make sweet passionate love to him to cure myself.
Oregon: electing hot Tranny Mayor's since 2008.
I’ve always had a thing for Oregon; I’ve never actually been there, but I perceive it to be a place where everyone drinks like alcoholics on Intervention, and calls all-dressed chips “Canadian.” I’m not sure if it’s because they’re raging drunks, or just really awesome people, but a city in Oregon just elected America’s first Tranny Mayor. His/her name is Stu, and he was a dude for his first stint as mayor, but this time around, he decided to run as a lady, new breasts and all! And he...i mean, she, won by a landslide! It’s weird that a small city in Oregon will elect a tranny, but California, a supposedly progressive state, banned gay marriage.
If you haven't, go see Zack and Miri Make a Porno...or don't, and just go read the review I wrote about it.
It appears more reclusive and painstakingly boring than it actually was. Yes, I may have stained my bathroom door with dye, and gained a few pounds, but I laughed and cried, and learned that “Josh is really a lot like Pacey.” Thanks, E! True Hollywood Story, thanks.
So it’s time for me to clear out my pictures folder at work!
This is Britain’s oldest virgin! She just turned 105, and has never been laid! She's adorable, but her facial expression just screams, “I cast judgement unto you, YOU FORNICATORS!” Well, I’m sure it would be a little less harrowing than that, but you never know, some elderly woman can be real pistols!
And on a completely related note: apparently there was a sex shop down in the States that was giving away free vibrators to anyone that voted.
Not only is Obama making history, unleashing hope on millions, and changing lives, but his victory means that these two twats LOST! I’m so glad we’ll never have to see “speidi” walking around LA with a riffle, a six-pack, and their hideous attempt at political campaigning.
Here’s a close up of their shits, whoops, I mean shirts:
Seriously, faking photo ops is sooo last year.
I was watching Anderson Cooper the other night…like I do a lot of nights, dreaming of his luscious silver locks and crystal blue eyes…right, uhh, so… I got to thinking about aging. Why is it that when women age they just get furrowed, loose, and unattractive, but as men age, they become “distinguished” and “sophisticated”? You know what, fuck that! Damn those silver foxes and their ability to still get all the women they want (and in Cooper’s case, men). It makes me sick! In fact, it makes me so sick I want to make sweet passionate love to him to cure myself.
Oregon: electing hot Tranny Mayor's since 2008.
I’ve always had a thing for Oregon; I’ve never actually been there, but I perceive it to be a place where everyone drinks like alcoholics on Intervention, and calls all-dressed chips “Canadian.” I’m not sure if it’s because they’re raging drunks, or just really awesome people, but a city in Oregon just elected America’s first Tranny Mayor. His/her name is Stu, and he was a dude for his first stint as mayor, but this time around, he decided to run as a lady, new breasts and all! And he...i mean, she, won by a landslide! It’s weird that a small city in Oregon will elect a tranny, but California, a supposedly progressive state, banned gay marriage.
If you haven't, go see Zack and Miri Make a Porno...or don't, and just go read the review I wrote about it.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
and then I said, "this is what blogs are made of..."
Friday night I ventured out to celebrate my second favourite holiday of the year, Halloween. I spent a mere 12 dollars on my costume and 2 hours HAND SEWING it. You don’t know how many times I pricked myself with that gosh darn needle.
We must stop for a second though and think about the logistics of Halloween; someone thought up a holiday where young kids gallivant through the streets, knock on strangers door and then walk away with candy. It preposterous! Who is responsible for this utter madness! I want to give them a prize!
Mr. Inventor of Halloween is probably stirring in his grave now, thinking about how his innocent holiday has turned into what it is today. And I probably don't need to repeat myself a thousand times and use the phrase "whore fest" again. So I won't. You get the point.
So back to my night out.
I won the best costume prize! (I was a giant crayon in case you were wondering) I think I won the prize only because I was persistent on mentioning to everyone that “I HAND SEWED MY COSTUME! BY HAND! WITH A NEEDLE! AND THREAD!” Plus, when the actual prize was given out there were probably only 15 people in attendance, so the odds were already in my favour.
At the end of the night I hit a brick wall and realized that I was far too drunk to function. I took a lay on the couch and then fell asleep for a good while, periodically waking up to write the most incoherent text messages, ever. Finally, Jeff came to rescue me from myself and walk me part way home. On our journey we stopped to get some pizza and because I was unable to stand for more than 2 minutes at a time, I took a seat and watched. And watch did I ever. Drunk people are great. It’s really amazing how social everyone becomes at 2:30 on a Saturday morning.
I find the first set of people who I watch intently; the girl, who’s less than attractive is wearing a sailors outfit, and the guy she’s with, who she clearly just met, is wearing some boring, generic costume; he was probably a vampire, I don’t really remember. Then, for some reason, they decided to talk to me. It was probably because in my drunken state I was staring at them with the most scornful look on my face:
“You sure look unhappy, don’t you want any pizza?”
“I’m not not unhappy, I’m just waiting for my friend.”
“Oh cool. What are you?”
“I’m a crayon. A red crayon. See. I HAND SEWED IT!”
“OHHHAKHLSDHAHAHAH! That’s awesome! Can I take a picture!?”
“No.”
He then proceeded to take a picture of me.
Some random guy now has a picture of me in a giant crayon costume on his phone. I hope he makes it his wallpaper.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the pizza shop there were two girls wearing the shortest black skirts, corsets, and orange and black thigh high socks. They had pumpkins on their skirts, so I’m going to assume that they went at “sluts with pumpkins on their skirts,” but don’t quote me on that. One of them, we’ll call her Darlene, was chubby and unattractive, but as she stumbled around the pizza place I watched as all the guys in the joint gave her this “I’d totally fuck you silly” look. Poor Darlene. I hope she finds love someday. In the 10 minutes I was in the pizza place, her and her friend managed to chat up, pick up, and then leave with two random guys. One was dressed as a doctor, and I’m certain to think that he used some awful line like “I’m a gynecologist! Can I take a look?”
A midst all the commotion and activity, every three or four minutes you’d hear some drunk douche bag yelling incoherently. It went a little something like this:
“AHHHHHUHHHHHHHHHHhggggggggggggggUHHHHHWOOOOOYEEEAAAAA”
Once Jeff finally got his Pizza, we left, parted ways and I spent the rest of the journey walking home alone, because a cab was near impossible to find. I figured that wearing a giant crayon costume amongst a bunch of slutty outfits would be like wearing sweatpants in a strip club; I was certain no one would even look my way.
Apparently I was wrong, and in their drunken quest to get laid, the men of the evening were hitting on anything and everything, even giant crayons.
Two guys walked past me and used this line:
“You looking to get laid tonight?”
“Not by you!”
ZING!
A homeless man then came up and asked me if I had some matches. He seemed nice enough so I gave him the pack I had and then started talking to him about Halloween and my costume. He laughed and thanked me for the matches. It’s funny when a homeless man is the most coherent and sober person in the middle of belligerent 20 something’s. I’d be proud if I were him.
If you were wondering, I made it to my apartment safe and sound, but vowed to never again walk home alone wearing a HAND SEWN red crayon costume.
We must stop for a second though and think about the logistics of Halloween; someone thought up a holiday where young kids gallivant through the streets, knock on strangers door and then walk away with candy. It preposterous! Who is responsible for this utter madness! I want to give them a prize!
Mr. Inventor of Halloween is probably stirring in his grave now, thinking about how his innocent holiday has turned into what it is today. And I probably don't need to repeat myself a thousand times and use the phrase "whore fest" again. So I won't. You get the point.
So back to my night out.
I won the best costume prize! (I was a giant crayon in case you were wondering) I think I won the prize only because I was persistent on mentioning to everyone that “I HAND SEWED MY COSTUME! BY HAND! WITH A NEEDLE! AND THREAD!” Plus, when the actual prize was given out there were probably only 15 people in attendance, so the odds were already in my favour.
At the end of the night I hit a brick wall and realized that I was far too drunk to function. I took a lay on the couch and then fell asleep for a good while, periodically waking up to write the most incoherent text messages, ever. Finally, Jeff came to rescue me from myself and walk me part way home. On our journey we stopped to get some pizza and because I was unable to stand for more than 2 minutes at a time, I took a seat and watched. And watch did I ever. Drunk people are great. It’s really amazing how social everyone becomes at 2:30 on a Saturday morning.
I find the first set of people who I watch intently; the girl, who’s less than attractive is wearing a sailors outfit, and the guy she’s with, who she clearly just met, is wearing some boring, generic costume; he was probably a vampire, I don’t really remember. Then, for some reason, they decided to talk to me. It was probably because in my drunken state I was staring at them with the most scornful look on my face:
“You sure look unhappy, don’t you want any pizza?”
“I’m not not unhappy, I’m just waiting for my friend.”
“Oh cool. What are you?”
“I’m a crayon. A red crayon. See. I HAND SEWED IT!”
“OHHHAKHLSDHAHAHAH! That’s awesome! Can I take a picture!?”
“No.”
He then proceeded to take a picture of me.
Some random guy now has a picture of me in a giant crayon costume on his phone. I hope he makes it his wallpaper.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the pizza shop there were two girls wearing the shortest black skirts, corsets, and orange and black thigh high socks. They had pumpkins on their skirts, so I’m going to assume that they went at “sluts with pumpkins on their skirts,” but don’t quote me on that. One of them, we’ll call her Darlene, was chubby and unattractive, but as she stumbled around the pizza place I watched as all the guys in the joint gave her this “I’d totally fuck you silly” look. Poor Darlene. I hope she finds love someday. In the 10 minutes I was in the pizza place, her and her friend managed to chat up, pick up, and then leave with two random guys. One was dressed as a doctor, and I’m certain to think that he used some awful line like “I’m a gynecologist! Can I take a look?”
A midst all the commotion and activity, every three or four minutes you’d hear some drunk douche bag yelling incoherently. It went a little something like this:
“AHHHHHUHHHHHHHHHHhggggggggggggggUHHHHHWOOOOOYEEEAAAAA”
Once Jeff finally got his Pizza, we left, parted ways and I spent the rest of the journey walking home alone, because a cab was near impossible to find. I figured that wearing a giant crayon costume amongst a bunch of slutty outfits would be like wearing sweatpants in a strip club; I was certain no one would even look my way.
Apparently I was wrong, and in their drunken quest to get laid, the men of the evening were hitting on anything and everything, even giant crayons.
Two guys walked past me and used this line:
“You looking to get laid tonight?”
“Not by you!”
ZING!
A homeless man then came up and asked me if I had some matches. He seemed nice enough so I gave him the pack I had and then started talking to him about Halloween and my costume. He laughed and thanked me for the matches. It’s funny when a homeless man is the most coherent and sober person in the middle of belligerent 20 something’s. I’d be proud if I were him.
If you were wondering, I made it to my apartment safe and sound, but vowed to never again walk home alone wearing a HAND SEWN red crayon costume.
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