Sunday, July 31, 2011

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!

Saturday, July 30, 2011

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.

Friday, July 29, 2011

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
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.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

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!

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

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.

Monday, July 25, 2011

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.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

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.

Friday, July 22, 2011

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.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

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.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

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.

Monday, July 18, 2011

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 23rd. Thanks a lot Lady Gaga!

Sunday, July 17, 2011

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).

Saturday, July 16, 2011

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.

Friday, July 15, 2011

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.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

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*).

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

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.

Monday, July 11, 2011

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 20th 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.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

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.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

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!

Friday, July 8, 2011

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.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

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

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

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.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

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.

I am Woman! Hear me act submissive!

I was watching the news today and I saw a chipper young female named Michelle Bachmann (it was misspelled on  the television. Um, Michelle has two "l"s. I learned that in the my last year of school: The third grade). Well, Mrs. Bachmann is running for President of the Americas. She better pay attention to Chile. Can you say swing PaĆ­s? No you probably can't because you don't speak Mexican, as I do. 

Michelle Bachmann (Left)
 Anyway, I find it repHreshing like a pH balanced tampon that she as a woman(?), realizes that her husband is her master. She stated that  the Lord says, 'Be submissive wives; you are to be submissive to your  husbands.' Now, I have  never been married but I suspect that it is wonderful. For the woman, it involves no thinking. Your husband tells you what to do! Thinking is so hard for me, ever since the moment of the accident. My Mom likes to call the moment I was conceived "the accident." Thinking was hard at first because I was a zygote and then because I was a baby and then because I was a born a female. 

If God (she was not specific about the God so I will assume it is the Hindu god Shiva, the Destroyer) wants Mrs. Bachmann to be submissive, she will do it. All I hope is that when she bombs Canada, or some equally evil place, she will give credit to the First Dude, whatever-her-husband's-name Bachmann.

Friday, July 1, 2011

Transforming My Dark Poon

In celebration of the new Transformers: Dark of the Moon, I decided to shave my around my Vulva, whatever that is! I have waxed my bikini area before, but no one told me that you don't pour hot candle wax all over your lady parts, cut canvas off of your old pair of Vans, apply said canvas to vagina area and then put like an untamed steed at the reins of a cruel master. That was one embarrassing trip to the E.R.! It went something like this:

"It" is similar to this color
Nurse: You have pieces of black fabric stuck to your inner thigh

Me: I know, right! I got a big date tonight and I had to clear cut like a lumber company, if you know what I'm saying! By clear cutting, I mean tearing out my pubes with candle wax and shoe canvas.

Nurse: You need a mental health evaluation.

Me: Can my psychiatrist be sexy with a dark past?

So, in order to avoid another stay in the psych ward, shaving instead of waxing seemed to be a much better option. I purchased a razor blade from this cocaine dealer down the street. (Razors are so expensive these days! It was like $200! But he did throw in some complimentary cocaine).

As I shaved, I started to wonder why men want women to be as hairless as a young gerbil in the lady bits area? Is it because they are secretly desire women to look like prepubescent children? Do they want a smooth ride-and-glide? Do they want to fuck gerbils?

Whatever the reason, I am happy to oblige. Through all of this pain I've gone to for men, it was always worth it in the end. We would go to dinner at a fine establishment (Applebee's please!) and after we had had our fill of earthly pleasures, we would go to his apartment or mine or an unlocked car. After he saw my area, he would shriek in delight and run away. Thank you, my Dark Poon. We will enjoy our Applebee's alone together, as God intended.

A Second Chance at True Love

Yesterday, I found a dog on the side of the road. He was smelly, had patchy black hair, and was furiously chewing a corn cob. And that's how Jorge, my old boyfriend, and I got back together.

My Mom warned me about Jorge when we first got together. He was a bass player and I have a misplaced vertebrate in my back, so carrying his upright bass into his Chevy Traverse was very difficult. She said to me “Virginia, how are you ever going to shoulder all of that responsibility?” But this was during the 2008 election, so she may have been referring to the crucial role that the state of Virginia played in deciding who would win the electoral college.

But Jorge was kind. He once gave me 2 dollars to buy him a hamburger that he let me have a bite of. I loaned him money and he paid back 62% of it within 3 years. And I didn't even have to ask!

And his body. He was so pale and had a large lumpy belly. It was as if he was a Prince from the 16th century, proving his wealth with his enormous girth and his lack of exposure to any form of sunlight. This sort of power was intoxicating. He projected this power in his powerful scent. A mix of garbage, Axe body spray, and sidewalk chalk. This was the smell of success.

Our relationship ended on a positive note. He had to be evicted because the landlord could not understand how cool he was and he moved to a rehab facility. And it wasn't even court ordered! I asked if he and I could continue our relationship. What he said radiates with honesty and beauty in its truth: “Valerie, those sluts in rehab are desperate and I have to get at that while they are still kind of high.”

My Jorge! How I missed you! Ever time my back didn't ache, I thought of you and your sweet-ass Chevy Traverse. Your natural body perfume wafts through my 200 square foot studio apartment and I can resist no longer. My air mattress will squeak with the sounds of passion.