Don't Hate the Player, Hate Me

What if you love the game, does it mean that you have to love the player too? Board games just got a new level of sexual tension

All the world's a stage, and we are only players, or playa' haters. I am fortunate to be in the players category (just look at my wardrobe and you will see that I am not joking). I am a fly girl and I need me some fly guys to keep step with this bitch. In this scenario, I am what I am referring to as “this bitch.” I think of myself in a flattering light, clearly.

Why am I bring this up? Am I bragging about my playin'? Don't worry, I'm not. It ain't braggin' if it's the truth. Also, I wanted to clear up some unsavory rumors about myself that I am some kind of slut lady. Whore rumors never taste good to anyone. Sorry, I meant whore bloomers.

Looking for Gloves in All the Wrong Places, Looking for Gloves (Repeat 20 times)

An actor representation of what I look like in church.

I lost my favorite proper white church gloves. The same gloves that I use to handle my raw chicken. If the gloves are white, you can see the diseases on them. I heard that from a doctor. A Witch doctor, so you can trust that. Since I been using those gloves, I have only gotten the chicken sickness 10 times. Pretty good for a period of 2 months!

When I went to take the chicken out of the oven, the white gloves got stuck in the oven wormhole. I have lost many things in that wormhole, especially worms.

felt so attached to those gloves and now I will have to search for a new pair. I hope that there is a reality show I can go on where I will find the perfect white gloves for me. Maybe the show's title will be: Looking for Gloves: Whites Only.

Running Out of Steam

Getting to Jesus is just like this. But with a lot more dump trucks.

My car ran out of fuel on the freeway today. But I learned something very important today; the world seems to define “car” very differently from me. But it's okay! I wish people could just learn to accept to others for who they are.

It turns out that some people define my car as a small child's rocket. You may have been worried about me being on the freeway in a small child's rocket. I really do appreciate your concern. It's good to know that someone out there cares about me besides Jorge. Because Jorge seems to be distant lately. He keeps talking about how he will have to leave the U.S.A. very soon in order to avoid “execution.” I think he means extradition! He did commit a lot of crimes against humanity in his homeland! Memories...

Anywho, there is no need to be concerned about me on the freeway because I was on what I define as a freeway, not how the world defines it. So, my freeway is the road to Jesus Christ. Why do I define freeway in this matter? Because a lot of people are trying to get to Jesus Christ, some are speeding, some are going too slow, and some are getting in fatal car accidents but we will all get to him someday. Unless we get in a fatal car accident. So don't die in a car accident on the freeway. You will never get to Jesus.

First World Problems

Makes a nice bubble bath and a mean spaghetti.

I read something about Gwyneth Paltrow saying that one of the items that she can't live without is a bathtub in her bedroom. People are saying that this is somehow ridiculous for a young lady as Mistress Paltrow to saw that a bathtub in a bedroom is a necessity.

Well, I must stand up for her and as a fellow rich person, I can be in agreeability with her. I need the bathtub in my bedroom. I could not live without it. I could also not live without the fridge and sink. Well, technically the sink and bathtub (and stove for that matter) are all the same thing. Yay for studio apartments!

Party Boots

This should be an advertising campaign. Steel-toed boots: Keep the party going, all night long.

I needed to buy some steel-toed boots recently. I was going to a rough part of town where there were many places that had some glass and tacks and push-pins on the ground. Like there was a quilting convention nearby that left a dirty mess in its wake and I needed to go downtown and see the disaster that had resulted from the quilting frenzy.

When I bought the boots, they were surprisingly expensive. Like more than you would think, which is what I mean by surprising. Something that is surprising is something that is not what you would have expected. Therefore this adjective applies to the price of these boots.

I went to a party in these boots after I went to see the quilting disaster. The party was good expect that it took place at a jewelry store at 2 in the afternoon on a Wednesday. I didn't know anyone at the party. There were two nervous looking young men who kept looking at engagement rings. Also, there was an elderly man with his young blond daughter, who was wearing a red bra-style shirt. They clearly had a strained relationship because he kept asking her what she was going to do for him if he bought her jewelry. Come On! This is a party. You are killing the atmosphere! Be in a party mood like me, with steel-toed boots.

An Excursion Excursion

The best way to win something? Just take it!

I got a Ford Excursion yesterday. Why, you are probably not asking? It was sitting in front of an ATM with the keys in the ignition and I though,t as any local woman says to herself in this situation, “Price is Right this bitch and come on down and get yourself a free car!” So, with my best Bob Barker impression I announced to everyone that the Price was Right and I skipped over to the car and rode away into the sunrise.

My eyes hurt for a little while because the sun was looking right into my eyes. I have to stop letting the sun trick me like that. That's how it gave me that weird mole. It ate all of my turnips but none of my rats. Sun Lee, my Korean landlord that sold me the weird mole for $459, you tricked me good! But I will never be tricked again. Unless it is by Criss Angel and the trick is that I get to lick the insoles of his feet.

Back to the Excursion. I needed to pick up my dry-cleaning before the store closed at 5. When all these cops kept trying to pull me over (don't they know that stop lights are not rules but only GUIDELINES. Please get a brain), I just ignored them and drove my great new car. After about 3 hours (my dry-cleaners are in Grand Rapids, a full day's drive! Glad I have a comfortable car now!), they shot out my tires. I am in jail now. But yay! Free wifi!

What Came First: the Cheese or the Cheeseburger?

MeatBurger, kind of. If you consider ground up horse hooves meat.

The eternal question. Truly. But whatever, no reason to ponder a question that no one can answer. So instead I will think about cheeseburgers instead. That's what I usually think about when I have a difficult question that I am thinking over. Like does God really exist? Or when does the McRib come back? But why bother? Cheeseburgers!

I ordered a portobello mushroom burger but guess what? It wasn't even a meatburger. It was a vegetable made burger. Yuck city! Population: Portobello mushroom burgers and Shirley MacLaine.

I once before was disappointed with a non-meatburger. It turns out he was a she. Worst 2 dollars I ever spent.

Romp On, Romp On (Sing this in Neil Young voice for full effect)

Romper: Stylin'

There is a trend in the world called rompers. They are not those big blow up things that children bounce in order to distract them while parents drink at their birthday parties. They are an item of clothing that is like a pantsuit that has the pants and shirt connected but it is short, so kind of like a shirt connected to shorts. Or a dress that does not have a skirt at the bottom but it is shorts instead. Makes more sense now doesn't it? 

I bought one off of the Internet last week. I did not arrive until today though. The Internet is so slow. I mean, all the Internet is is a street performer, he should have more time to delivery clothing. But I guess those chalk drawings of snakes or velociraptors don't draw themselves. His toes draw them.

I tried it on and it is a little bit tight in the crotch. But after I took the sock out it fit a little bit better. Unfortunately, my labia is very cold now. I think I will look very snazzy on the bus. Also, maybe I will finally be mistaken for a child and live my life long dream: ordering off the children's menu at Denny's.

Who Knew Ice Cubes were so complicated?

Vodka on the Rocks Recipe: Add Vodka to Ice Cube(pictured above)

I recently discovered that there is a rapper called Ice Cube. To solve any confusion that this may cause, I've developed an simple flow chart for you in case you are faced with the question, is this frozen water or is this a gangster rapper from the early 1990s?

Are you cold?

→ No: This is neither Ice Cube nor an ice cube.

→ Yes: Be more speific

         → Are you an ice cold motherfucker?

                  → Yes.

                        → How do you define a good day?

                                      → Sitting in a freezer, without threat of consumption in a coca-cola

                                                    → Congratulations: you are an ice cube. Delicious and Nutritious

                                       → Well, it didn't have to use my AK, so I got to say it was a good day.

                                                → I'm sorry have to disturbed you Mr. Ice Cube, I will let you get     back  to picking up that girl you been tryin' to fuck since the twelfth grade.

Hidden Talons...oops I mean, Talents.

No thanks. I have talented legs.

I've always wondered what my hidden talent is. But seeing as it is a hidden talent, I've had a hard time finding it. I've looked in many places, including one embarrassing incident where I looked in my neighbor's house. That one landed me in the big house! Good times.

But one of my new year's resolutions this year, along with eating more fresh cantaloupe and getting back into televised professional fly-fishing, was to finally find that hidden talent. I thought for a minute while I was learning the clarinet when I was a little girl that that was my hidden talent but it turns out that it is not suppose to sound like a cat screaming. Who knew?!

I finally found my true hidden talent today. I found out that I am very good at walking! I was at an old folks' home today, visiting an old man that told me one day that I was his wife, Claire, and I discovered my ability. After I was done telling my husband stories about the zombies I encountered at the Battle of Stalingrad (He should know the truth. I am his wife after all!), I saw all of these lame old people hunched over walkers. Well guess what, 80-year olds, I got two walkers right here. They're called legs! Booyah! Schooled you, gramps.

Before I Die

Look at this face. How can you not give?

Do you ever question what will happen to you after you die? I know that few people think about it. I would say only about 10% of all people under the age of 30 really think about it at all. I mean, you really need to consider, will I be cremated or buried or eaten by rabid dogs? I would like a say in this matter if at all possible.

That is why I decided that I need a last Will and Testament. But guess what? There is no guy named Will included. I thought geez, guys named Will and Testament never have to worry about being unemployed because so many people need them to prepare for their deaths. It turns out though that it is just a piece of paper prepared by the arbiters of life and death: Lawyers.

When I went to the lawyer he asked me about my possessions. I thought that he was either trying to assess the value of my property before he stole it or he was just a rude person. Then he asked who I would give my property to if I died. I said probably Hillary Clinton or poor African people. Why do Hillary Clinton and poor African people need a collection of gently used B2K cds and pantsuits? Because they are the ones that are most in need at this time.

Pillow Talk

I bet you thought that this was going to be some kind of sexy post. Don't worry, it isn't! I bought a pillow today and I just wanted to tell you all of the gory details. The details are gory because I was watching Freddy vs. Jason for a full 50 minutes before I realized that I was at a movie theater that only showed movies that were released in 2003 and not at Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

You gave your life to me. I sort of appreciate it, kind of.

So, this pillow is pretty good stuff. Like the stuffing is made of feathers. I asked the woman in the Bed, Bath, and Beyond what kind of feathers were in the pillow. She just asked me to please get off of the floor and if I wanted to try pillows, to please go to the bedding area. I guess she didn't want to admit that she didn't know. What an idiot.

Jorge believes that the feathers are made from a pigeon. He sniffed the pillow for about 2 hours and rubbed his head on it for about 20 minutes after that and then stopped because he said he felt dizzy and then he continued for about 10 minutes after that. He then proclaimed that it was made from “the right side of a dirty pigeon, most likely hatched in South Orange, New Jersey and caught by two young men with hearts full of malice and a lust for blood.” Thanks pigeon for giving your life for my pillow. I will avenge you.

Good Food

Goes well with saltine crackers.

I called the president of my local elementary school board last night to complain about the school lunches. I don't think that they are nutritious or delicious. Most importantly, delicious. Because what really matters in life? Food that tastes good or food that is good for you? Answer: Neither! It is food that is good for your soul. Or for soldiers. Whatever, all I know is that one time I ate a book that said Chicken Soul for the Soul. I have never had such well-formed bowel movements in my life. 

Yeah! Cameras!

A question for the ages. How do you get a picture of a camera? I am confused and I am smart. Whose solved a crossword puzzle? This guy! I'm pointing at myself. I am not a guy.

How did this happen? What my Mom said when she found out she was pregnant with me!

Extensioning Myself

Don't look a gifted whore in the mouth. For the sake of your health.

After last week's failed haircut attempt, I decided that instead of cutting my hair, I would get hair extensions. Surely someone that extends hair is much easier to find then someone who cuts it. Everyone is always trying to grow their hair out, so young men in pink button-ups who say things like “girlfriend, please!” must be highly in demand for extending hair.

When I found an extender, it turned out not to be a person but some kind of sex toy or pliers, I couldn't really tell until I tried them. Definitely pliers. Then I tried again to look for a human person to do my hair or at least a dolphin, they are very intelligent. And amazingly, I found one! Unfortunately, he said it would cost $500! I was shocked and I said, don't you mean 500 rupees, or yen, or rubles. He just left his mouth hanging open and his eyebrow cocked for a while, so I figured that he had had a stroke and I did what I always do when someone has a stroke, I ran away and said “don't bill me, he's trying to trap me! He's doing it on purpose for attention!” Geez, I don't miss grandpa.

Then I decided that since human or synthetic hair was so expensive to put on my head, I would use horse hair for extensions. Unfortunately, I accidentally bought WHORE's hair. Now I have crabs. Third time this month! I guess I'll never get my hair done properly.

Rupert's Revenge

Site of Rupert's Revenge. Also, site of JUSTICE and my pooping

My Mom used to sing me this poem as I went to sleep. Maybe that's why I poop in my sleep on the Thursday before The Feast of the Santo Nino.

Poor young Rupert never saw it coming

Little small Rupert was never in the running

Ugly smelly Rupert could never imagine the results

Dumb disgusting Rupert lost the rhyming competition

Rupert did not blame himself for his lack of rhyme

He blamed the historical time

period

also limes

What could Rupert do?

He could sue!

That's just what Rupert did

He sued and won in small claims court

This was on the Thursday before the Feast of the Santo Nino.

Moral of this story:

There are people like Rupert that can sue you.

Fancy Cheese: You Pay For the Stink

If only you could smell this cheese, you would vomit.

I went to what I thought was a grocery store. But as I entered the very crowed room (why is everyone wearing backpacks all of the sudden? Just because it cost you $400 doesn't make it cool. Not unless that $400 includes an air conditioner, which would make the backpack very literally cool), I noticed that this grocery store was not a grocery store at all. All it sold was salt and cheese. I feel so bad for Walmart, being run out of business by all of these specialty mom and pop stores. Mom and Pop, thanks for destroying Walmart's profit margins! Assholes.

Instead of leaving the store (that would be letting THEM win!), I decided to shop for my week's groceries there. Yum, salt and cheese for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It beats what I was eating last week: Taco Bell hot sauce packets and duck liver. As I looked around the store at the sea of combat boots, Toms, and boat shoes, I felt very out of place in my re-purposed shoes. I didn't feel good enough for them. But then I realized that I need to be happy with who I am. So, I stood up tall and made no apologies for my appearance and when my clown shoes slapped people's ankles.

Between slapping people and making babies cry, I found some cheese in that cheese filled store. But it was very expensive, like what I make in a day minus a thousand dollars. I bought the cheese and then $600 worth of salt. But it was worth it. Cheese, salt, and $100 bills make for a delicious breakfast.

Lumber, Love, and other Government Conspiracies

If only Woody Woodpecker could peck away all of the wood between Jorge and I.

I went to buy some lumber this morning in order to provide some warm on these hot summer days and to create a sense of community in my apartment complex with a bonfire circle of trust and sharing. But unfortunately, as I was leaving, Jorge undermined me yet again, just like he did at the 1998 Nagano Olympics. Let's just say he takes after Tanya Harding; he has some female genitalia. 

Jorge questioned my need for lumber in the middle of July. I told him that if he loved me, he won't have asked me. Also, I informed him that I am on my period, and if television shows and commercials tell me anything, women (note: I am a woman) are extremely unreasonable, hungry, emotional, and downright smelly during their periods and men, who are victimized by terrible, bitchy, period women, are suppose to cower in front of them

Jorge did not appreciate this response in this least bit and told me that I am stupid and lumber is expensive and needs to be saved for important occasions like caribou season or for burning Ke$ha CDs. But he did tell me that I am smelly. So, haha, proved him wrong!

Conversations with Women*

Minutes before calling her therapist

I had a conversation today. To make this a little bit more interesting, I'm not going to give you any background information about this conversation. Good luck and god speed.

Me: Man, this chicken is delicious

Person, Animal, or other (for example: Pop Star Ke$ha fits into this category): I'm not interested in your opinion

Me: Oh, okay. I'm very sorry if I offended you. I don't know how I should make up for this. Is there a present I should give you that conforms with your cultural traditions? Maybe a wallet or a baby horse?

Person, Animal, or other (for example: former Governor of Illinois, Rod Blagojevich): No, there is no way you can make up for this, I will have to shun you forever.

Me: Really, but we've become so close since you were last elected. Can I at least have my stuff back?

Person, Animal, or other (for example: The Loch ness Monster): No, I will keep them as a matter of pride. Like the excellent American film about domestic unrest during the Reagan presidency, Sixteen Candles, I want to keep your underwear to show it to people so that they will think that I had sex with you.

Me: But why? We never slept together. And those underwear are so soiled and smelly, why would you want to keep them?

Person, Animal, or other (for example: morning television personality, Kathy Lee Gifford): I want your mother to think that we slept together, than I will shame you just as you have shamed me with your chicken question. I think the odor will be good to catch stray dogs.

Me: Well, I guess it would be cheaper than having to buy them from the pound. But promise me one thing: don't harm those dogs. They have fragile self-esteem as it is and making them dress up as chunky firemen will be emotionally damaging for them.

Person, Animal, or other (for example: idiot, Glenn Beck): You will control me no longer! (runs away)

Me: President Bush, come back! You forgot your knitted cap! Your soft spot will get cold!

*This is not a conversation between women.

My DVR, My Dog Videos

TiVo, don't go.

I recently got a DVR (Dog Video Recorder) for the first time. I don't know why it is called a dog video recorder when it does not record any dog videos. Well, not unless I ask it to. It should just know that I want to watch some cool Schnauzer show. But the great extra feature about the dog video recorder is that it not only records dogs but also other types of shows! If I had known this before, I would have cried with joy but after that dolphin accident, I don't have any tear ducts.

So last night, I recorded (and also taped, just in case!) the show Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. I haven't seen it, but I just felt like I should tell you. It is a milestone in my life that I wanted to share with you, internet. I recorded my first television show on my Dog Recorder. It feels as special as all of the other milestones in my life. I will now list every single milestone in my life. There are 7.

1. Birth, duh
2. My first dog bite (he was delicious!)
3. Catching, Killing, and Preparing with various salts a young Mother Hen
4. Seeing my reflection in a mirror (age 8). This list is going in order.
5. Cage fight
6. First day of school (age 21)
7. Recording my First Television Show

I can't wait to watch it. Unfortunately, I got so excited about my milestone, I wet my myself and then tried to clean myself with the Dog Recorder. I tried to dry it with my hair but it just won't work. Oh well, bye DVR, I loved you like a brother, but in a weird, incestuous way.

Oops, Where's My Soul At?

Now with 10 extra  gigabytes for enhanced soul-storage!

So the aborginoids or something like that, have this idea that whenever someone takes their picture it takes a part of their soul. I tots (short for totally) agree with this theory. Therefore, until yesterday I only allowed my picture to be taken on my birthday and at those red-light cameras that take a picture whenever you accidentally can't find the brake pedal on a red-light. P.S. Does anyone know what a fine is? Because the police came by my house yesterday and said I needed to pay fines or I would be arrested. Stop using those ten-dollar words, coppers! I can't afford 'em!

Seriously. I ate a bean today on the street. Delish, btw!

But horror of horrors, I got my picture taken yesterday for something called “Crimestoppers.” Me and Jorge were just eating at our favorite Mexican place and a camera placed over the doorway took a picture of us as we ran away. I don't know why they are so unfriendly there. Every time we go to the Sanchez's house to eat out of their fridge, they sick their dog on us or try to shoot us. You would think in a recession that business owners would be more friendly. As my Mom would say, what happened to the customer is always right? I guess that's a little different because she only says that at massage parlors. Or as my Mom calls them “massage” parlors.

I need some tips on how to regain my soul. I'm not into praying because it always leaves me with a weird horny feeling. Killing a person for their soul doesn't gel with my belief that you should only kill someone out of self-defense or when trying a karate move that goes terribly wrong. (RIP, Tony the Turtle). Well, hopefully I'll get it back soon, my chest is feeling icy without it. Or maybe it's because I've been putting ice cubes down my shirt in order to prepare myself for the next ice age.

Hair Stylings!

Goodbye Mustache: I just wish I could be this beautiful

My hair is growing very long. In fact, it almost touches my fingertips and that's only the hair under my armpits! But the hair on my head is also quite long. I would say that it is at least 6 or 7 inches or centimeters. I don't know the difference between the two, yet. I will when I finally learn how to read properly.

Jorge suggested that I go to the hairstylist if it is really bothering me. He referred me to this lovely man named Dr. Wayniston (I guess he takes his hair-cutting pretty seriously if he wants to be called a doctor. This is evidenced by the band the Spin Doctors and also Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman).

He just asked me for the reason why for my visit. I told him that I had excess hair that needed to be removed. He then examined my face, I'm guessing trying to figure out if my face is more heart-shaped or square-shaped. But then he used a laser tool thing (he made me put on glasses and everything! He IS serious), on my upper lip. He was probably just cleansing my aura like the last doctor I saw. He was a witch doctor and ever since I keep seeing my dead ferret when I eat my cereal in the morning. It's more entertaining than the Today Show so I'm okay with it. Then he charged me $1500 and I left. Worse hair cut ever. He didn't even touch my head-hair and my mustache is gone. I'll miss my lip-warmer.

When I got home, I asked Jorge what kind of hairstylist was that and how did he hear of him. He said he was the best hairstylist he ever had. I guess we just have different ideas about what is good. I guess I will just go to Fantastic Sam's next time I want to see a dermatologist. For those non-English speakers out there, "dermatologist" is another word for hairstylist. 

I'm Saving America, One Lick at a Time

QR code: If you look closely at it, you may find something actually useful.

There is a disturbing new trend among youngsters and oldsters trying to be youngsters. I'm talking to you, Jennifer Lopez. And yes, I consider 41 to be an oldster. Anyway, this trend surrounds something terrible on the back of my cereal box this morning and it was not a very confusing and difficult maze to find Lucky the Leprechaun.

It was a strange little box thing. Devilish really. It is part of the conspiracy to turn this country into Pagan territory. Strange symbols. I have one piece of evidence that it was definitely pagans. See my Mom was wrong it was not that the Republicans were trying to turn the good ol' U.S.A. into Palin territory, it was definitely Pagan. I have never been wrong before, except for once.

I asked the lovely Bolivian cashier what this horrify symbol was. After rolling his eyes several times, as is customary in Bolivia when dealing with a ram or bull, he told me that it was a QR code. I asked about what this meant to pagans. Then he stared at me with his face pointed down and one eyebrow up, as is customary in Bolivia when handling dangerous fruits. I figured it was best to leave as I am already afraid of fruit as it is.

I call on all of you, if there are any of you, to resist paganism in all forms. When you see one of these terribly dangerous and somehow sexually tempting codes, you must deactivate it. How do you do this you ask me? (Or you would ask me if you were brave enough to leave a comment? Or if anyone was reading this?) Do what I did: Lick it and then watch a few episodes of Night Court. Goodbye Paganism! Hello justice, nighttime style.

The Most Heart-Breaking Night of My Life

Jorge's pride is similar to the cheese. It has melted.

Last night, my strong, North Korean, former priest (also known as Jorge) and I went dinner at our favorite restaurant, Pizza Hut, a delicacy in Canada, or anywhere where malnutrition is common. I'm sure they just what some food of any kind probably, you know in Canada.

We had some real good pizza but Jorge ate very fast. He stormed out the restaurant before I barely had a chance to pull up my underwear (I roll them down when I'm eating a big meal, like everybody else! See, I'm totally normal!). When I caught up to him back at my apartment (He had driven away without me so I walked the 4 miles home. His passion is incredible and irrational!), seven hours later I asked him what was wrong and why I walked so slowly. After we discussed the fact that swimming is only an effective means of transportation when in water and is not considered walking by capitalist, bourgeoisie societies, he finally told me what was on his mind.

Jorge told me that earlier in the day when he was spying on the the cashier at the local supermarket (Jorge calls him the former president of Bolivia who he calls a “rat who betrayed the deer leader.” Okey Dokey, how likely is it that a rat, who was president of Bolivia, would serve a deer? That has only a 21% probability), he saw that there was a Pizza Hut coupon in the newspaper. Jorge bought the newspaper, discarded the news section (it's like he's an American already!) and just clipped out the coupon. It was 4 Dollars (American dollars!) off of a medium pizza. Incredible. Beautiful. God smiled upon us this day. I was in awe by his food fortune.

But Jorge went on to explain that he went up to the counter and after he had already ordered extra pineapple, was told that the coupon was only valid at the Pizza Hut across town. Despair rang across Jorge's fattened cheeks and Deep Desire Lips (that's what the color is called on the lipstick) as he admitted this shame to me. I tell this as a precautionary tale, not to humiliate Jorge for his recklessness. This should be one of God's commandments: Thou shalt check the restrictions before thou uselth a coupon. Amen.

mp3, How I Love Thee

iPod Touch? Okay, but only if I get to touch your Pod too!

I made two new resolutions today. Who says you need the new year to make resolutions? Also, what is a new year anyway? And how long is a year? Because there is Lunar New Year and Rosh Hashanah and also the Nordstorm's Bi-Yearly sale.

It's all very confusing for an urban, materialistic, semi-illiterate, Francophile girl like me. I'd rather be walking around on the exciting streets, shopping, or eating things that are French (I'm gonna guess....Star bursts on top of some raspberry yogurt), and pretending to read Cosmo. (Side note: if I can't read, how can I write? One of life's great contradictions like the Catholic belief in the Holy Trinity. How can they all be one God?)

My resolutions are that I will shower (yeah, that's gonna happen *wink wink* *cough*) and that I will buy an mp3 player or, as the Germans, Austrians, Liechsteiners and some parts of Switzerland and Luxembourg, mpdrei players. See, I'm a total Francophile. Ich liebe Frankreich!

Some of you may be asking yourselves, how does she not have an mp3 Spieler (if you're French) yet? Why am I reading this? How did I get here? The latter two you can only answer after a deep amount of soul-searching. I suggesting going the Eat,Pray, Love route and getting fat off of a shit-ton of pasta while you listen to what what your soul says to you. Make sure you can hear your soul over your loud pasta-induced farting.

So there you go. A post about mp3 players, kind of.

I Can't Keep Up with the Kardashians. They are Too Fast

"All mankind love a lover" -Ralph Waldo Emerson

I own a color television. Again, I'm pretty frickin' cool. This allows me to watch the complex, human drama that is Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Some people may say it is stupid, but I won't know because everyone I've asked says that they have never seen it or avert their eyes and say that they have to get back to work now.

Why is this such a wonderful show that demonstrates the human condition and demonstrates the American dream? It is because it does this by talking a lot (I mean A LOT) about feces and implying incest particularly between sisters. There is also a delicate balance of talk about dog testicles and talk that is not about dog testicles (ratio is approximately 3 to 1). 

 

I once asked someone why they received their own television show and they said “I know, right?” I didn't want to ask because of their rude response but I thought “You know but you wouldn't tell me and now you are laughing at me because of my ignorance. For shame!” I had inquired because I would have enjoyed having my own television show. Unfortunately as my Mother and Doctor say, I have a face made for radio. But I've tried to get my own radio show. But that was in Croatia, so who knows if they even understood me.

Though I have deep envy for the Kardashians, I have come to peace that I will never have that certain something that they have. What is that certain something? Armenian Blood.

Riding that Unicorn, on the Road to Court!

Pop Music Icon: Kermit the Frog

Contrary to what I thought until 42 days ago, Pop music is not a series of loud popping noises that you can hear only when in a chamber or when watching the Tonight Show with Jay Leno. It is music that smooths your ear canals with sweetness. See I'm up on the trends, phatcats! If you still do not understand this definition, I will provide a series of examples.  For example; Justin Timberlake, Rupert Grint, Cats. 

 

Now I will explain my original (and important) point. I was listening to a Lady Gaga song, also Pop Music (see above for explanation if you have already forgotten. Also, you have a terrible short term memory. Consult a physician. You may a worm that is in your ears that went to your brains and is hunger for brains so it eats the part of your brains where the memory shelf is), and I could not understand it at all.

It was called 'Highway Unicorn' and I could not understand her at all. It was just so perplexing. I put my ears up to the speakers, hoping that I would be able to make out what she was saying. How are you suppose to understand what she is saying when the she speaks so softly? I could not hear a single word that she said. Also, there was no musical accompaniment.

I was enraged so I went to the record establishment where I purchased this Lady Gaga album. The man then told me that it was not a Lady Gaga album but really a jelly bean and we were at a grocery store. Confusing, right? Then I was arrested for public urination and I'm due in court on the 23^rd. Thanks a lot Lady Gaga!

Dreaming of the Flying Beast

The dangers of air travel

I have never ridden in an aeroplane before. It is not only because that costs money but also because my credit card was denied when I tried to buy a round trip plane ticket from Burbank, California, to Los Angeles, California. Actually, me and my credit card were denied because the ticket selling lady told me that the Burbank Aeroport and the Los Angeles Aeroport are a total distance of 33.9 miles away from each other. I told her that that was a very far distance to walk. She gave me a look, the same one I get at the grocery store when I'm at the cash register and ask them how much fruit costs.

So, I left and got to walking. It took me two days to get there. But I don't regret it one bit. Getting there is 4/5s the fun. And it was. I took a short detour through Compton. I met some very nice, heavily tattooed young men that really admired my blue cardigan and a group of meanies that suggested I looked better in red. I've never got such detailed fashion advice in my life!

I went to buy a plane ticket to Europe yesterday. I was able to fund my trip through a kind Nigerian prince. He gave me something called internet money. I just printed it off my e-mail. Three hundred whole dollars! Then I went to the aeroport and they again denied me! They said “Oh, you don't have a passport, or enough money, or “real” money.” I told them, all money is real money. Also, $300 is a lot of money, just ask the bill collectors and my former landlords. Also, passport? Whenever I have gone through a seaport they have never asked for any pass. I went to a Holland America (yeah, THAT Holland America) cruise and they did not ask for any pass at their port.

My dreams of riding the Steel Falcon have been dashed yet again. Fly on proud sky beast. My body is not with you but my heart is (I gave my Mom a birthday card that said “For all that you do, I give you my heart.” And she left it on a plane).

I'm Phat, Dawg!

Protests in Greece boycotting jibberish

Jorge told me that I am completely out of touch with reality. Yeah, I get it. Who are you? My Mom or my Therapist, or my Parole Officer?!? But then he clarified that he meant that my post yesterday was outdated. Rebecca Black is old news, like the debt crisis in Greece or skinny jeans. Or worse; granite counter tops with stainless steel appliances. What is this? 2008?

Today I read a newspaper. Shocking, right? WRONG! I am extremely informed but I get all of my news from the scandal sheets or as the kids call them, tabloids. But all those tell you are about Jennifer Lopez's ass eating a small chinchilla or UFOs making crop circles because they aren't advanced enough to make crop rhombuses. I don't know why the police haven't arrested J Lo's buttocks yet. It is not good for her bum or for the chinchillas. If her butt seeks treatment, it can perhaps be rehabilitated and go on to lead a normal life sitting in chairs and providing comfort during particularly painful poops.

The newspaper today had even more important news to tell. Today, I could get 20% off of All laundry detergent. And it gets even more shocking. I could get Quaker Chewy Bars for only a dollar a box! Crazy right? Also, something about a debt ceiling. I think I need that because if my debt would pile up in my apartment to my ceiling, it would remind to stop spending so much money.

I apologize if my post yesterday was a little bit out of date. I swear that I'm no square! My shirt says Impeach Bush! Me and the Zeitgeist are best friends, clearly.

Rebecca Black: Commie Hater?

Rebecca Black fearful of the Red Menace (not her period)

I was on Youtube searching for things, like a normal person (see Mom, there's no reason to feed me anti-psychotic drugs secretly hidden in Havarti cheese). I found a video called “Friday” by a charming young lass named Rebecca Black. No only was the video of the highest standards of quality, it was lyrically complex and hauntingly beautiful. 

As I analyzed the lyrics (as I do with all YouTube videos. Yeah, I'm talking to you Katy Perry!), I realized something disturbing. Rebecca Black is extremely frightened of Communists, even more than my Dog, Mr. Gorbachev or anyone that has met Jorge.

Let me explain. Here is a sampling of the suspicious lyrical stylings of the 13-year old Miss Black (I changed the font to convey a serious tone): 

Seven a.m., waking up in the morning
Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs
Gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal
Seein' everything, the time is goin'

Tickin' on and on, everybody's RUSSIAN
Gotta get down to the bus stop

See the extreme paranoia in the lyrics?!? Should I say Rebecca Black or Rebecca McCarthy, like Jenny McCarthy, who does not like Communists? She is in such a rush to eat her precious cereal because she is fearful of the Russians coming to get her. Classic Cold War paranoia about the expansionism of communism. Two “-isms” in one sentence. I bet DeVry University is totally kicking themselves for denying me admission. I am not “mentally deficient,” as the Jackholes at DeVry said but mentally AFFICIENT. 

Let this be a warning to all of the YouTubians: not all is as it appears. Watch out, Lady Gaga might be trying to convince you to buy a blue wig. Go with your gut. Buy the green one.

This Land is My Land...Or Is It?

The Internet: actual size

I asked Jorge what he lists as his country when he signs up for things on the internet, you know because he lives in the U.S.A. but he is from Northern Korea. He said that he just puts whatever he clicks on first, even if it isn't the U.S.A. or Northern Korea. Just one of the many crazy impulsive things that Jorge does! Yesterday, he stole some pens from my office and he held up this guy at gunpoint for his iPad. He's so cute! 

I wondered, do other people do this? I mean that is just lying. It's okay for Jorge to lie because in all other parts of his life he is very honest. He told me that I am fat and the only reason he stays with me is that I don't make him pay rent. Also, I work for the government and he is a spy. See, what makes a good relationship; communication and easy access to state secrets.

So, I asked my neighbor if he list other countries beside his own also. After his initial shock of finding me in his apartment in the dark with only the flame of a candle illuminating my face at 3:24 A.M, he told me that sometimes he does list a different country. Then he said I should leave or he would call my Mom. Rude much!

Apparently, this whole different country thing is commonplace. Not “Commonplace,” the place where drug addicts go to socialize, mingle, and share needles. I wish! This means that it is common. Get it now? Next time I sign up for something on the World Wide Web, I will list a different country, like Mexico or Indiana. Look at me! Adding spice to my life! 

Everyone in the internet, what do you do? If you don't answer, it will just confirm what I've always suspected: the internet is run by one person who will remain anonymous (*cough* Katie Couric *sneeze*).

Thinkings about Politics

President Obama staring down the French President (not pictured due to shortness)

I found out yesterday that the U.S.A. has a president. His name is Barack Obama (pronounced: Bear-RAKE Orb-LLAMA. The English language never sounds the way it's spelled). He is very tall, which is good. He must go up to other countries and they shrink with fear as they peer into his eyeballs and he grips their hands. These other countrys' people then hunch their backs, put their hands up to their faces like rats, and cry and cry. Then they surrender part of their country to our tall, valiant leader. Example in History: the Louisiana Purchase (Napoleon: shorty!)

I may have voted for him. Some newsreporter came up to me in September of 2007 and asked who I would vote for in the next presidential election. If the next presidential election is when Mr. Obama was elected, then I think I said him and that counts as voting. We vote every 32 years. I'm glad because voting is so hard. I dry heaved for 4 days after that. 
 
Why did I vote for him? He reminded me of Zac Efron or Doogie Houser. Doogie Houser was a doctor and I probably associated him with being a doctor. So, he kind of reminded me of a pre-teen TV doctor. I trust TV doctors. They went to school and no one goes to college anymore because of the high cost of tuition, or potential visits from Def Comedy Jam comedians and concerts from little-known indie jazz-acid-folk string quartets with dreadlocks. I admired his courage. 
 
Can't wait to vote in another 29 years! I got election fever! But I did eat pizza out of the garbage 2 days ago, so that might be it too.

Computer Graphics for Extreme Genuises

You should only be reading this if you can spot the spelling mistake. This demonstrates if your intellect is advanced enough to view this post. If you guessed that it was Genuises, you are totally wrong. If you guessed “Computer” you are so right. It's actually spelled “Gateway.” I can tell this because that it is written on the Gateway that I am typing on right now. I apologize for past spelling errors. I was misinformed by the dictionary. And God. 

Gateway, before eating your brains

Now on to the thing for smart people, like me. So, I decided that my blog needed to look better. It is a little plain. In order to do so (note the intelligent language. Who needs college now, Supreme Court?), I painted the Gateway screen with some palm trees. But then I was kicked out of the public library and I couldn't see how beautiful it looked when it dried. It used oil paints and, as us smart-asses know, they take several days to set properly. 

I told Jorge about this and after he was done sobbing on the phone in Korean, he told me that I needed to use a Gateway language to change the design on my blog called HTML. But he doesn't speak English properly (he still spells “Gateway,” “Computer.” Get with the 20^th century, Jorge!). So I discovered a Korean Secret: You need to know the language HTML to make your blog look pretty without oil paints. And paint thinner because you need to use paint thinner with oil paints, Duhs-ville! Unfortunately, I don't know HTML and I can't learn it because it would make me a jerkface to know another language. I will only change the design of my blog when this Gateway learns how to speak some American.

Goose Stepping into My Heart

Not pictured: White Feathers and that Distinctive Goose Smell

I forgot to mention this, but Jorge is Korean. From peaceful, northern Pyongyang. He keeps asking me if I know anything about why America is so clean and also how to make a nuclear weapon. I told him it's Mentos and Diet Coke. He said that isn't right. But it makes an explosion....

He's so cute. He always lifts his legs so high and not only when he is peeing in the bushes. He also walks that way. I asked him why. He said goose stepping is a sign of discipline and respect. I don't know why he calls it goose stepping. Is he a goose? He does wear a lot of feathered outfits. 
 
Well, as a Korean from the North, Jorge has a few words that are a little different from mine. Instead of calling me sweetheart, he calls me “American Capitalist Pig.” I let him know that I am not a Pig because I am not pink or oink, despite my love of mud. And Capitalist is a big word. I told him he was being arrogant with his college words. Big Words are downright Unamerican. 
 
But for all of his flaws (he likes the Allman Brothers) I am so happy with my little guy. My little, little, guy.

Globetrottin': Seeing the World with the Trots

My homeland: Map of the beautiful U.S.A.

I've always wondered what the world is like. Here in the United States of Animals, all we know about the rest of the world is that it isn't as great. What makes the good old U.S. Of Animals so spectacular? I suspect it's our loose ferret ownership laws or capital punishment or when people chant “U.S.A., U.S.A., U.S.A.” If I have learned anything from Gregorian monks, whatever is chanted, must be true.

As an act of charity to help our less awesome fellow nations, I think I need to visit the world so they can learn from an American (that's me) how to suck less. Whatever country I grace with my presence, I'm sure they will pay for my trip, which will keep me out of the basement, except to do laundry and to roll around on the moist floor.

I'm open to suggestions but I'm thinking Europe. A map from 1988 says that there is a very large country in the world called the Soviet Union. My Mom warned me about the iron curtain, but I told her that I'm sure the next curtain I date will be more open and not so cold and distant like the last one: Chrome Curtain. I wished she would pay more attention. I was talking about my vacation not my past relationships with draperies!

Hawaii and Lake Tahoe: The Names of my Future Children

Lake Tahoe holds more fish feces than anywhere else in the world!

I am trying to decide on my next vacation location. I was thinking about Hawaii. But then I found out that they have world class beaches. I am allergic to sunshine and salt water. Someone once said that I was allergic to fun. I just wanted to have a complete list of my allergies for medical reasons. So, also penicillin. 

Then I thought about Lake Tahoe. I really don't want to get in the water though because of the fish. You cannot trust fish. But they are suppose to have very nice ski trails. But I realized that it was July and it might not snow while I'm there.

But then I thought, if there is no snow, there must be a lot of dirt! That's what I am really looking for in a vacation destination: Dirt. Also, unlimited access to Martinelli's Apple Juice, for obvious reasons. 

Unfortunately, I found out that the trip to Lake Tahoe will cost money. Dumb. So, I just need to find a vacation location that will cost no money, have no sunshine, salt water, fun, penicillin, fish and lots of dirt and Martinelli's Apple Juice. Looks like it's the basement again.

Linux, Windows, Mac? What are these?

Mac Lion Logo: But I never went there in the first place!

People* keep telling me that I need to get a computer. I'm writing this at my favorite internet hot spot: the public library! I call it a “hot spot” because there is always hot spots from urine on the floor. I hope all of you will one day experience the pleasure of walking around a public library barefoot.

Many people* recommended it, so I went to the Olive Garden and I asked about their computers. They were kind and asked me what I wanted to eat. After I had the Fettuccine Alfredo (who knew that it was pasta !?!), I was referred to their friends, Best Buy. 

Best Buy is the most confusing place in the world. They had a section for computers but there were so many that I was confused and the salesman did not help. He kept asking me questions like Do you want a laptop or a desktop? Do you want to run Windows, Linux, or Mac? What is your spending limit? I am not a computer whiz! I told him I'm not a geek, so obviously I don't know what he is talking about. Also, I let him know that I am physically unable to run. So if Windows, Linux, or Mac are some type of marathon or foot race, count me out on my Podiatrist's orders. 

I did not get a computer. It's okay. I would have missed the library. Lucky me, there's a hot spot right under my feet. 

*I mean possums

Haunting my Dreams

There is a ghost living in my apartment complex. He is medium build, has icy blue eyes and skin, he does not wear a shirt, and he is alive. Very odd for a ghost. He haunts the trash cans. I came down to throw out my trash (some leftovers gone bad and an Allman Brothers album) and I saw his grotesque body. A transcript of our exchange is below (there happened to be a court reporter there):

Ghost: Hey, you.

Me: Me?

Ghost: Of course you, there is none one else around

Me: Oh, well I thought you might be talking to the rats. I know I do. I'm a little lonely. Do you want to be friends?

Ghost: What? No. I'm sick of you throwing your junk out and then not closing the lids. That's why there are so many rats here.

Me: That's also probably why there are raccoons.

He's just like Caspar! He even had a rotting pizza in his hands!

Ghost: Okay fine.

Me: There was a possum last week. He was such a good listener.

Ghost: Look, I don't know or care what kind of mental problems you have but you have to close those lids.

Me: But what about my friends, the rodents? Well, the possum is a little more than a friend. At least I think so. Do you think he likes me, you know in that way?

Ghost: How the hell am I suppose to know?

Me: Well, since you haunt these garbage cans anyway, maybe you can wait until he shows up and then tell me afterward what he said. I think he likes me because he is so nervous around me that he doesn't talk!

Ghost: I have to go.

He is a friendly ghost, like Caspar. I'm so glad that I FINALLY have someone to talk to about my relationships with possums. Well, now there's only one possum for me.

Childhood Memories of Peanut Butter and Jelly

I happen to enjoy stand-up comedy a great deal. I hope to one day have a range of emotions wide enough for me to understand humor. I practice listening to stand-up comedy for about 6-12 hours a day in order to try to understand what humor is. They say you need to do to something for 10,000 hours in order to become a master of it. I am certainly a master of listening to stand-up comedy and not understanding it. Someone else might have started to understand by now but not me! It's because I am the master of not understanding. Jealous?

Cassette Player or Dream Player?

On my Sony Walkman, I was listening to a humorous tape of George Carlin. I enjoy George Carlin not because of his comedy (duh) but because of his use of expletives. If I was asked what my favorite word was I would reply “Expletive.”

But I do enjoy expletives themselves. They remind me of my childhood. I grew up next to The Sausage Factory. They created homosexual pornography. Whatever homosexual pornography is (my Mom still won't tell me), it involved a lot of cursing. Also, they must have eaten a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches because they bought a lot of KY Jelly. I often heard them talking about nut butter a lot. Sounds delicious! I wonder what kind of nuts they were.

In summary: I enough stand-up comedy because there is a lot of cursing which reminds me of homosexual pornography. I have a Sony Walkman.

Breaking the Mold by Breaking a Door.

Eyes: The Doorhole to the Soul

I broke my door. You know how it goes, every two to three months you have to buy a new door. If someone had told me this when I moved into my apartment, I would have just kept living in my car. But because it is a cardboard box with the word “Automobile,” it would get slightly damp in monsoon season. 

 

I went to Lowe's and I saw my friend Veronica. I only see her once every two to three months. It happens when I break my door and I have to go to Lowe's. Veronica is an employed by the Lowe's Corporation. She asked me if I would like a door. She knows me so well! I'm thinking of adopting her as my sister or mother. 

 

This time I decided to be artistic with my door. I usually buy the typical plain black door with the gold trim and tiny dolphins engraved in the corners but this time I wanted something more exotic. I bought a white door and some charcoal. I used the charcoal to draw an upside down smiley face. But what makes it so artistic, groundbreaking, and ingratiating, is that it does not symbolizes sadness but happiness! Get it? I didn't think so.