Sunday, February 28, 2010

Under Constructi...


Heya errrbody. So what with my 6-day work week, being stuck in Nueva Nueva for days on account of the snow, working on a poem to submit for consideration in a magazine and my birthday happening this weekend, I've gotten slightly burned out in the creative department of mi cabeza. So I think I am gonna take a short, teeny weeny, little break from the blogosphere just so I can rejuice and let my body & mind catch-up wiff one another.

Don'tchuy'all fret though [read as: please do, so I feel validated in my existence]! I'll be back soooooooon wiff more deliciously poisonous pointless nuffinz to ramble oh so extensively about. Keep on werking it, all you gossip folkz! HeArTz aLL ARoUnD!

Friday, February 26, 2010

¿¡Tengo viente cuatro años!?

[Note: during the middle of writing dis entry, Mr. Pasteeeeeelnick surprised me with a whole lot of presents from a motley crew of bloggy friendz. Unbelievable amounts of thanks and gratitudez go out to Craig, V.U.B.O.Q., Mel, GoblinBox, Michelle, Chris D, Tam, Dave2, Adam, Jere, Polt, M. Nico, Bossy, Justerz & John. You folkz seriously have raised my spirits outta the annual February dumpster that I always find mahself stuck in.]


Hey errrbody! Just in case you all didn't know [aka missed my name in the obnoxiously long list of February birfdayz on Facebook] today is the day that I was plopped onto dis Earth! A glorious day it indeed is, too bad it takes place during February aka the crappiest/messiest/coldest/unhappiest month of the year. "Blah!" is what I say to you, February. BLAH!

But I just wanted to say to all you bloggy friendz of mine, be you from online or from da real world, that you really do make my life tonz better and I appreciate your support and hilarity very much. I might just get teary-eyed here (::gets teary-eyed::) when I say that you all are fabo amigoz and I lurrrve having you en mi vida! Here's to 24 being even more fantastico than 23!

Oh, save your applause and standing ovation for someone who deserves it...like some of mah celebrity friends who stole my thunda share this glorious day of being birthed conmigo!


Singer extrordanaire/maker of incredibly silly facez, Josh Groban! (29)


My favo Clinton, Socks! Chelsea! (30)


My least favo member of R&B supadupa group TLC, Chili. (39)


Political pepaw deluxe meal, Ralph Nader. (76)


What. A. DUMP! Crazyazz actrezzz, Elizabeth Taylor. (78)


Writer of one of mah favo books (Of Mice And Men) & one of mah least favo books (The Grapes of Wrath), John Steinbeck. (108)

Sunday, February 21, 2010

My Monday Muse

[Before we begin, lemme remind you that it is the last Monday of the month, which means you are all morally obligate to vote for your Favo Monday Muse of February! Scroll down to the bottom to make your gorge voice heard!]

"Short Skirt/Long Jacket" - Cake

Soooo a few dayz ago over @ Puntabulous, someone mentioned the band Cake and punched my head with a fistful of memories. I remember 10 yearz ago that they came out with a bizarre little ditty that featured a ball-rattling baseline and oddball lyrix. The song was called "Short Skirt/Long Jacket" and featured talk-singing vocals about a guy's specifications for his dream cholita.

And sure, the song is cool and shit, but it was the music video that really got peepz talking. I wasn't sure if I was gonna include it as part of the Music Video Vault or count it as a Monday Muse, but I thought that since 5 or more of the individuals featured in the video could be Musez on their own, I would allow it!

Basically some d00d that may or may not have been in Cake walked around accosting rando gringoz to listen to the song and critique it. It's kinda like when you're walkin' around Nueva Nueva and you constantly get bombarded by whorez on the street that try and forcefeed you their contemporary gospel R&B and even when you say "No," they still follow you for three blocks trying to coerce you. LEAVE ME ALONE! I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR GAWD-PRAISING BULLSHIT!

Anyway, they recorded all the peepz' responses and made a video for it! It was gRoUnD-BrEakINg! Checkita checkita checkitaout!



I thought I'd point out some of the most memorable critix (that I very well may have Facebook stalked):

Robert L. Clark: Within the first 2 seconds, he already lurrrvez the track. He is a man after my own heart...being more willing to purchase muzak instead of taking care of himself [aka his teefz].

Jasmine James: She hatez it cuz the singer's voice is "scratchy" which it is not at all.

Elizabeth Cullen: A golden-haired magical elf lesbian who pretends to think that the d00d'z voice is sexy while despising his high school poetry class lyrix.

Ke$ha's Mom Sandi Niklas: One of mi favoz! A stoner mom who probz got knocked up at Woodstock and now spends her days traversing the boardwalk, dancing (unprotected) in sunbeams and werking as a dry carpet cleaner to the stars part-time at the beaded necklace stand at the end of the pier.

Jim Soper: A retired architect who designed the chiseled plaster wrinklez in his forehead himself.

Steve Boeckels: Some important guy [read as: he's wearing a suit] wiff a cute face starts dancin' like he's not white.

Polt Ralph Walbridge: Some grumpster who blah blah blahzzz about how this song doesn't compare to any of the old music that he listened to and snoooooooooore....zzzzzz. Chut uh! Listen to Britney Spearz! And what makes me sad is that he is a poet like Enrico & I! Whatevz...I looked up his poemaz online and they were manufactured in the Snooze Factory! Donda estan Anne Sexton, William Carlos Williams & Joshrico?!

Aaron Saag: Wannabe music snob. Go eat a crotch! Take your ugly jacket [feat. st00pid buttonz], pointless dress hat and your ska muzak library and go get dragged to hell (not in a good way).

B.N. Duncan: Some supagrrrl that a feminist would approve of?! Excuse me, Mr. Old Man Beard, she has a name and her name is P!nk. And "Ass Load Comics"...WHAT?!

Rafe DeWitt: An unemployed, recently divorced (and bankrupt because of it, I assume) tattoo man that uncomfortably refers to ladies as "broads." Cute!

Jens Wallat: He's made completely outta pork roll and misses the "rising action," whatever that means. Nice shades! GIMME!


----------------------

Who is your Monday Muse of February 2010?!

MySpace Kid?
Maxine Swaby?
D.O.G.O.B.G.Y.N.?
or
"Short Skirt/Long Jacket" by Cake!?


Saturday, February 20, 2010

We R Da World


So a thousand yearz ago, Lionel Richie Nicole Richie's dad co-wrote a song wiff Michael Jackson called "We Are the World" and it was a huge charity record that featured a bunch of dinosaurz singing for the benefit of ending hunger in Africa. Fossilz like Tina Turner, Dionne Warwick, Cyndi Lauper & Billy Joel sang about how we're all children and there was a music video that was a who's who clusterfuck of famous peepz and it raised prox $63 million. Good jerb!

But not to be outdone by old people, stars from my generation [feat. a few dusties from yesteryear] rerecorded the song to aid the current situation in Haiti. It was officially put on the airwaves last week and has its own accompanying video filled wiff celebrities and singerz for me to obsess over. Reviews of the song haven't been too good, but I thought that I would give the video a looksie and give all you bloggy readers a review that you probz don't give a crap about a synopsis of the ditty spiced with my geniuz knowledge of popular culture [read as: I am obsessed with dis stuff and it's the only thing I care about].

Oh, and don't get all bent outta shape and say that I'm being insensitive to the cause or whateva...I appreciate what they're doing and all. But I am still a pop music critic deep down to the core of my soul! Watch the video...my comments are below:




Video begins wiff Jamie Foxx talking for 8 years...snorezzz...

1:30 - And the person to lead off this monumental single is...Justin Beiber?! And WHAT?! Why is Jennifer Hudson [feat. Pussycat Slut Nicole Scherzingeringeringeringer] singing back-up to Beerbaby?! This is some real life Dreamgirls shit.

1:53 - Josh Groban & his terrifying demon eyez looks like he's about to heave his opera lungs out.

2:02 - Old man Tony Bennett further proves my Aretha Franklin/Chaka Kahn theory that Talented Singers + Gettin' Mad Old = Mediocre Monster Vocals.

2:08 - Mary J. Blige singing for serial bores me more than watching Scarlett Johansson act.

2:21 - Michael Jackson's refrain from the original [feat. Janet awkwardly photoshopping her way into the shot, looking sleepy and not singing].

2:33 - Barbara Streisand sings like an old person and pronounces werdz strangely [i.e. "...juztchuanmeeeee."].

2:49 - I don't know why everyone says Miley Cyrus can't sing. She has power and a cool tone. Especially when compared to...

2:57 - ...Enrique Iglesias who a) sounds like shit, and b) isn't important to the musical landscape anymore (what is this, 2001?!).

3:15 - Wylef Jean sounding "authetic" & "cultural" [aka crappy & redic].

3:21 - Adam Levine [feat. stubble] from Maroon 5 is mad handsome and I'm in lurrrve wiff his nasally vocal sTyLiNgZzZz.

3:26 - Annie Lenox P!nk gets a solo (duh) and sounds amazing (duh).

3:52 - Celine Dion blowz my mind, belts like a rockstar and rips the spotlight away from Fergie. YAY.

4:09 - The Pussycat Whore makes another appearance to prove why her solo album is NEVER COMING OUT.

4:19 - One of the Jonas Brothers clan memberz groans like he's injured/constipated.

4:21 - Everyone's least favo American Idol judge smiles like a goofball. Where's Kara DioGuardi's solo?!

4:28 - Toni Braxton [feat. emo bangz] sings wiff her beautiful man-voice.

4:46 - Everyone everywhere else online HATEZ this part, but I like Lil Wayne and his overly autotuned vocalz! Almost enough to buy his new poorly-received RaWk album! His metallic smile @ the end of his solo is so cute!

4:50 - I LOVE how dis guy (I have no clue/care as to who he is) is not singing/moving/doing ANYTHING.

5:00 - Fuck yeah P!nk gets belting rights over the chorus!

5:28 - T-Pain hints @ the uncomferz hip-hop section coming up. Prepare to be unimpressed.

5:39 - Jamie Foxx sings like an artard and gets the cutest smile from J-Hud!

5:51 - Will.I.Am, Snoop Dogg, LL Cool J and an army of assorted rappers bark @ us. They're just angry & mad jellerz that they didn't get a solo like Weezy! [please note when they shoot to the chorus, how Babz is not feeling it!]

6:30 - Tanx again, Wyclef. ::realigns ear canal::

6:35 - J-Hud gets all Effie over dis bitch!

6:46 - P!nk's derrricious growl makes ANOTHER cameo! Smart move!

---------------------------

So...those were the highlightz! What did you folkz tink? I thought it could have done wiff more rock 'n' roll...like where were Hayley Williams, Maynard James Keenan & Chino Moreno?! Where were Ke$ha, M.I.A., Amy Winehouse, Gorillaz & Santigold to make it wEiRdEr?! And why were none of the Grammy golden grrrlz there (Taylor Swift, Lady GaGogglez, Beyoncercopterz)?! And I think I speak for all of us when I ask "WHERE THE FUCK WAS ALI LOHAN'S CHRISTMAS MAGIC SOLO?!?!??!"

Friday, February 19, 2010

The rhythm of an engine always makes me empty.


I know that every d00d in his early 20s is supposed to lurrrve driving and speeding down the highway [feat. total disregard] and suping up their cochez wiff all sorts of special engines and spoilerz and rocket boosts and shit, but as we all know, I'm not LyKe EvErY oThEr bOI In Da WeRLd! I absolutely despise driving and try to do it as little as possible.

It's stressful and peligroso and injects a double helping of Anxiety Deluxe into my brain. Sure, I may seem to enjoy it and might seem a little too comferz when I practice my favo hobby, but be assured that I only do this when there is barely anyone on the road and it's of reasonably calm weather conditionz outside!

I REFUSE to drive on the highway and have only done so less than five times in the past two yearz. I only drive when I'm commuting to one of mah two jerbz, visiting family or friends who live somewhere I can get to wiffout making more than four turnz [i.e. Enrico & my family], or goin' to the mall which is a 15 minute drive I've done a million timez befo.

But what's mah beef wiff driving? Let's find out, shall we?!


SNOW

Want to lose complete control of your car and have your automobile go skidding across multiple lanez and smash into snowmen and trees and other peepz?! Then feel free to drive in the winter. I used to for supa serial adore the winter, back when I was in primary school and it lead to canceled classes & Christmas magic. But now that I'm a) outta school & b) a licensed driver, I have grown to despise the season as a bringer of stress and fright! I guess it doesn't also help that when I first started driving, I had a recurring dream that I was involved in a snowy car wreck [feat. I killed someone]! Terror City!

Durante the past tres semanas we had prox 3 snowstorms here on the East coast. Lucky for me, Mr. Pasteeeeeeeeeelnick let me stay @ his place for four nights so I wouldn't have to commute to and from Nueva Nueva in the blizzard. And while it was a great help, I still envisioned the crap fiesta that would await me when I got back to Jerzee and found my car in the bus station parking lot. Here are before and after shotz of mah car:




Sure, it might not seem too bad, but what sucked butt was how the snowplowz seemed to clear out the entire parking lot, up until the drift that my car was stuck in. What a crock of crap! LAME FACTORY! It took me about 20 minutes to get mah nalgaz outta there (I LOVE Clint & his 4-wheel drive) which was obnoxious and made me late to werk!


OTHER DRIVERZ

It is mah firm belief that every single other person who is on the road is out to hurt me. Regardless of whether they actually harass me or not, they're all thinking about jetting their metallic bodies into my life and through mah dreamz! I've had a few close calls in my 5 years of driving and they've filled mis pantalones wiff caca every single time!

I also hate overly aggressive/dopey drivers that do any of the following: Tailgate me. Honk @ me. Honk near me. Honk @ all. Drive too slow. Drive too fast. Flip me off. Get in mah way. Talk on the phone. Drive on the road @ the same time as me.

Another thing I can't stand about other drivers is how TERRIBLE peepz seem to be @ parking. Sure, it took me some gettin' used to, but within a month of having my license, I was able to park and parallel park wiffout much issue. Which is why I don't understand how dificil it is for perasonaz to dump their goddamn carz in between the clearly marked space lines in parking lotz! Do it near me and hellz yeah I'ma smash mah car door into your new pantjob [edit: "paintjob" but it stayz]! Park better, azzholes. If I had gutz I would totez leave a lil' bitchy note like these heroez of mine did:



ACCIDENTS

Of course the most obvious reason I loathe driving is the possibility of getting into an accident. (like one of these beauties of destruction). Be it due to either of the aforementioned factorz or mah own stupidity or whathaveu, the prospect of damaging mah car (or myself/other hoz) scares the bloody taint offa me!

Back during my Junior year of college (a week before mah birfday!) I got into a car accident when I switched lanes and some dumbazz 18-year-old kid smashed into the back of mah car and sent poor helpless Clint careening into some grrrl's vehicle. The back of mi coche was smashed hardxxxcore, as were the other two vehicles involved. It was mad stressful and somehow it got blamed on me for switching lanes too dangerously. I had to pay a large chunk of change to get my car fixed ($1,000!!) and to pay off my ticket ($80!!). My insurance covered the damages to the other buttholez, but that caused my rate to go up and my life to suck more!

This is what mah car looked like despues de la accidente:



So there we have it folkz! These reasonz why driving dragz mah scaredy cat azz to hell (not in a good way). What about you? Tu te gusta racin' down the road? Are you a safe driver or a butthole as defined by me earlier? Are automobiles your friends or your sworn enemiez?!

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Mowgli Sings the Bluez

Yes, I am still deluding mahself into thinking that I a) have a decent voice; and b) have any clue whatsoeva on how to play the piano. And aren't all you bloggy readerz/viewerz/foolz lucky enough to be the first onez in the mundo to be exposed to my clouded perceptions of talent?! If I had a PayPal account, I'm sure all you peepz [feat. your moneybag pocketz] would be flashing me all sortz of dough. But since I am doing this for your entertainment [not feat. Adam Lamebert] and not for the monetary value, I'll let you save your dolla billz for other important things. You know...like buying me birfday presents (Is that February 27th I see looming on the horizon?! Why yes, it is...).

Anywayz, this time around, I did a rather easy-to-learn terribly daunting and time-consuming ditty by four-time Grammy winner, Taylor Swift. I know a lot of peepz dislike her, but whatevz. She's got mo' money than you and doesn't waste her time complaining about your duet wiff Stevie Nicks at the Grammys, so chut uh! No, she uses her time writing simple yet heartbreakingly sincere country-pop songs that make Enrico & I explode wiff derrriciouzly salty tearz.

So here I am [feat. mah duet partner Mowgli] performing her cryathon deluxe, "You're Not Sorry":


Monday, February 15, 2010

My Monday Muse

D.O.G.O.B.G.Y.N.

I don't know shiz about female parts. For serial, I just found out two months ago that the chipclip is actually outside the hootenanny and not in it like I originally thought. Sure, sure, I had that sex-ed crap in high school but to me that was just another study hall where I could do mah math homewerx (all wrong) and sleep. Aw hell, half the time we just ended up watching documentaries on growing armpit hair and our voice getting deeper or movies on rape victims [see: We Were the Mulvaneys]. Soooo please forgive me that I missed the class where we talked about the vag33n and its do's & don't's!

Luckily, Wonder Showzen is here to provide me with all the schooling I need. I give you, D.O.G.O.B.G.Y.N.:


Oh! So that's how babies are farted out! Cute! When I get my wife (through unlawful meanz), I will be sure that when she's ready to shoot out the spawns of the devil my beautiful children, that we will break the record for highest skydive by a preggerz woman! I alwayz win!

I hope my dreamwife is like the genius lady in dis video...Cesarean sectionz all the way! D.O.G.O.B.G.Y.N. made it looks so easy too! ::scratch, claw:: ::dig, scrap:: ::bite, pull:: & then you have it! A wonderful little black infant to add to your family! Laughter! Gigglez! Take a couple hundred photoz of your new child and post them on FaceBook! Everyone cares, I swurrr.

Considering how ugly I am, though, I doubt that my bundle of airborne baby joy will come even close to looking as angelic as cross-eyed Elinore there! How adorz!

So if all you hoz got freaky wiff your S.O.'s yesterday & have gotten your fragile bodies plump wiff child, may I suggest you get D.O.G.O.B.G.Y.N on the phone as soon as your water breaks all ova your hubbie's puss. And guess what?! All he will charge is the price of gobbling up the umbilical cord and the right to have the first shag on you post-pregnancy! I don't tink that it's too much to ask.

Shugadug quack-quack!

Sunday, February 14, 2010

¡Feliz Día de los Enamorados!

I thought I would just post real quick today to wish all you bloggy readerz a HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! Make sure you eat lots of heart-shaped candies and light sexxxy incense and spend time wiff your special someone! If you don't have a S.O. this year, then buy yourself some candy anyway, fix yourself some rum + cokez and spend the day watching Mean Girls instead!

For me, I'll be working a double shift today at the restaurant where we have a ridiculous number of reservations. I probz won't get home till prox after midnight, but I'm sure I'll have a buttload of $$$ in my pocket, so who cares?

Whatever you decide to do today, make sure you don't act desperate. If you're in a relationshit, don't be obnoxious and tongue in front of everyone like cats cleaning each other. No one wants to see you make babies in front of them (unless of course you are P!nk & Carey Hart...I want a front row seat to that)! If you're single, don't be a cranky, snotty lump and spend the day whining and bitching cuz you're alone. No one wants to date a bitter sourpuss!

But because I empathize wiff both sides of the spectrum, here are some tunes to help you out today:

Here's a DITTY for all those in lurrrve.

And here's a DITTY for those who are angry & resentful.

Now, I'd like to leave you wiff a violent and morbid warmytime cutesy Valentine's Day animation that is sure to pump your heart two sizes bigger [read as: quite possibly could induce vomming]:

Thursday, February 11, 2010

God knows the world doesn't need another band.

Hiya all you cornballz! I have an extra special [read as: ehh...it's aight] treat for all you bloggy readerz out there! Tanx to some detective work by my high school co-worker Nick (enjoy your shout-out, kid) who went hunting through the Hopeless Valley Butthole High School AV catacombs, a glimpse of moi back during my "rock 'n' roll" dayz has come to light.


Now for all you hoz that didn't know, I started playing the bass guitar back during my freshmen year of high school. As mentioned before, I also played the cello but it was boring and nerdy and all we ever played in orchestra was the "Hallelujah Chorus" [aka extra yawnz wiff a side of lamesauce]. So I put all of mah MuSiCaL PaSsiOnZ into my bass-playing and songwriting. And of course by "songwriting" I mean I lifted crappy poetry from mah My-Diary account and called them lyrix.

The band was called Big American Party and wiff three good friends of mine (Brian on guitar/vocals/mandolin, Mike on guitar/vocals & Dan on drumz), we started practicing all the time. We were pretty damn diligent and disciplined if I do say so mahself! We met up outside of school on the weekends and not only put together some original muzak, but tanx to Brian's brilliance, frrrealz recorded some of our songs and put out a CD! YAY! Here was what our album cover/band logo looked like:

That's each of us, L-R: Me, Brian, Dan, Mike. You can try and figure out what our shirts mean, but you'd fail cuz you're st00pid [read as: they're inside jokes]. We had a legit website, that has since lost it's funding (Mike's parents) and has been shut down. Boo! We also made like $20 each off of selling our CD around the halls of our douchebag high school. Back then, that was like $ONE MILLION!

However, the greatest achievement of our lives was when we performed at da highly publisized BATTLE OF THE BANDS! I swurrr there were famous peepz there! Okay, there weren't. We played some of our originalz as well as a cover of the theme to Donkey Kong Country and a rock version of that "Castle On a Cloud" song that stupid azz Cosette whines all over in Les Misérables (Team Eponine Forevz!). We didn't win cuz life hatez me and I'm never allowed to be happy, but it was still worth it. I tell people that the voting was neck'n'neck and that we came in 2nd by. a. hair., but I don't know if any of that is true at all.

Through and through it was a great experience and I really learned how to actively function in a...blah blah blah snoooooooooooooooooze.

To get an even deeper perspective into our musical prodigy genius brainz, watch the documentary that a fan of ours, Maddy, made about us. Hope you enjoy the video and my interesting hair situation. For serial, why didn't anyone tell me how fucking disgusting beautiful I looked?! ::beef::





Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Q+A!: Lucky Number 7

So after getting outta werk later than I wanted to during one of mah shiftz over the weekend, I came home to a freezing cold abode wiff none of mah gatoz in sight. Bored, I decided to stalk Mr. David's blog before heading to bed. While hunting through old entries to find embarrassing things to blackmail him with jest wiff him about, I found one of those goofy "Tell-All, Share-All" questionnaires and thought that I'd fill it out and post it so all you bloggy hoz could learn some meaningless nothingness about me! Yay! Now, heads on the desk & thumbz in da air! It's time for 7-Up!


7 Things I Plan to Do Before I Die:

- Get a book of poetry published & get rich off of it [read as: have at least three people I don't know consider purchasing it].
- Be on the cover of a magazine.
- Have my own Wikipedia page (preferably not written by mahself or an appeasing friend of mine).
- Somehow make it into the top 12 of a season of American Idol (ha...yeah...sure...).
- Get a fulltime jerb werking in the music industry in some way.
- Be covered by health insurance.
- Take advantage of the passport I got and never used and go to any foreign country. Trip to Canada to visit Tam?!


7 Things I Can Do:

- Cry at the drop of a hat.
- Whoop peepz' asses in any of the three Donkey Kong Country games (nerd festival deluxe?).
- Spontaneously start singing a pop song based on the conversation I am having with somebody.
- Make perfectly timed fart noisez con mi boca.
- Write devastatingly heartbreaking and emotionally jarring poetry Attempt to write devastatingly heartbreaking and emotionally jarring poetry.
- Serve carmelized onion & goat cheese tarts promptly & with the greatest of eaaaaaase.
- Be strong on my own, see through the rain, find my way.


7 things I cannot do:

- Stand pretentious dickholez that think their tastes are too refined for certain kinds of music/movies/books/anything.
- Ride a bicicleta.
- Do any sort of math outside of adding or subtracting. Variablez? Exponents? WHAT?!
- Drive long distances wiffout having a shaking anxiety attack.
- Live, if living is without you.
- Understand & care about sportzzz. Snooze City Central High School!
- Speak Spanish as well as I think I do.


7 Things That Attract Me to Someone:

- They laugh @ the st00pid crap I say.
- Maybe a lil' bit of gray in their hair/beard.
- DEFINED JAWLINE!
- DEFINED ACHILLES HEEL!
- DEFINED ADAM'S APPLE!
- The P!nk "stomach V".
- They don't take themselvez toooooo serial.


7 Things I Say Most Often:

- Do you love it? (duh)
- Dumb bitch.
- Hi folkz, how ya doin' tonight? Can I start you off with something to drink?
- Ugh, sick!
- Lovez it.
- How's mah precious little Mowglaron/Boobaloon/HermaGrrrrrl doing today?!?
- HAAAATEz IT!


7 Celebrity Crushes:

- Robert Downey, Jr.
- Greg Kinnear
- Carey Hart
- Brandon Boyd
- Ryan Seacrest
- Rob Lowe
- Marc Jacobs

(and since David's post for some reason didn't feature a 7th category, I made one up that only Enrico & I will care about)

7 Songs That Make Me Cry:

- "Calm Under the Waves" - Maria Mena
- "Jesus Christ" - Brand New
- "Thinking Of You" - Katy Perry
- "The Day I Lost My Voice (The Suitcase Song)" - Copeland
- "So Far Away" - Carole King
- "Today" - Joshua Radin
- "Tennessee" - The Wreckers


So there you have it folkz! Don't you feel like you've known me for your entire vida?! Now what about you, what are you answers to this 7 of 7?!


Monday, February 8, 2010

My Monday Muse

Maxine Swaby

I know Valentine's Day isn't for another week, but the amount of love and affection that pulses outta this installment of My Monday Muse was too grand to hold off until then. I have only been in three relationshitz en mi vida and let's just say that the wisdom and beautiful wordingz in dis here song fully encapsulates all the wonderous feelings (and none of the crappy, self-centered, why-am-I-the-only-one-who-cares-about-our-love?! bullshiz) that comes with being in lurrrve wiff somebody. There is not much else I can say. Let Maxine's voice cover you like a blanket and whisk you away to a world of kissy red hearts and fuzzy intoxicating warmth...



No, no, no! I know you may want to, but you can't leave your significant other to start an affair with Ms. Maxine. I know it's hard and I have contemplated it mahself (sorry Mr. Sir), but you must remember that she lives solely on YouTube and can in no way be a REAL PERSONA.

I mean, for serial. That succulent orange skin, those dead swooning eyes wiff their zombie seductive gaze, that silky ramen noodle hairdo, those demon claw fingaz [feat. fully vaselined!]...she is too abundantly sublime to actually exist on this planet. And that voice! Well kick mah azz and call me Lady GaGa if it isn't what Gawd's naked angels sound like when they lullaby his holiness to sleep every night!

If the world didn't suck a lot [aka if I could get everything I want when I want it], then I would totez find whatever magical synthesizer planet Maxine Swaby is from and hire Lance Bass to take me there so I could propose to mah one true love (well...until next monday). I want to spend the rest of mah days running through open fields wiff her, watching the flowers bloom and the deer graze and the airplanes and trains go shooting off through the wilderness.

I'd get a job making sun-dried tomato curtainz (like the ones adorning the windows of her casa) and I'd save up so I could buy her all the stewardess outfits she could ever want. They really flatter her shapely figure! I'm always looking round & standing tall for this hot trick of a goddess lady. I love her sooooooo muuuuuuuuuch!

Now you all must pardon me, I have to go cry myself to sleep since this impossible dream fantasy will for def def defferz never come to troofz. ::crying & dying::


CLICK HERE to see some of Maxine's other admirers singsongy along wiff her masterpiece theater classic!

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Obsessive Compulsive Dumbass

Mr. David said that he tinkz I am brave to be writing about this. I think that I'm just foolish and crave attention in any way that I can think of. I want to be famous [see the first installment of No Boundariez that I wrote wiff my BFFL Enrico] and if I can get just one more comment by exxxposing and exxxploiting my embarrassing weaknesses and flawz, then I'ma do it! Anything for my art.

Anywayz, ever since I was a little tot & a half, I've always had these odd and sometimes distracting ticks that minimally yet still prevalently affect the way I go about mah day. These minor retardationz that fart about en mi cabeza are usually brought on by accidents or mistakes I've made in the past that have thus made me overly cautious.

For example, once I closed the refrigerator door yet didn't check to make sure that it was shut thoroughly, so the next day there was a HUGE puddle in front of the appliance with quite a bit of spoiled crap on the inside. Yuck Central! Consequentially, now I am uncompromisingly addicted to much more cognizant of the fridge door and I have to run my hand alongside the door's edge to make sure that it is shut all the way. But that's nuffin'...let's expose more of mah kooky little quirkz [read as: attempt to convince you folks that there is sumfing serial wrong wiff me] via the medium of crude MS Paint animationzzz:


The Door
So this is a common tick that I've seen countless peepz on countless Discovery Health showz chatterbox about. Not sure what caused it, but I am constantly in fear of someone breaking into mah house and stealing all my possessions [read as: garbage that I really should throw out] from me. Or worse, I am possessed by the idea that someone is gonna sneak into mi casa when I'm asleep and go into mah room and stare @ me like a creep festival. Then, as soon as I wake up, they jump on me and cut my insides out and BBQ mi cuerpo like it's the 4th of July!

So to quell this nagging bitch of a fear, I have been known to check the doorknob of mah house repeatedly until my brain figures out that it is in fact locked. Sometimes I'll shake the handle (quite aggressively, as though I'm a thief and trying to bust in the door) and walk away, yet still feel unsure of my house's safety and therefor need to check the puerta as many times as it takes to put mah mind @ ease.


The Pockets
There are always four things that I carry about wiff me in the pockets of mis pantolones o chaqueta: My cellphone, my wallet [feat. credit cards & ID], my MP3 player & my keyz. They're like a little posse of necessities that travel wiff me wherever I go & anyone that's spent a significant time with me will know that I am constantly under the impression that in any second I will suddenly lose one of them and have to kill myself since the stress of the situation would be too debilitating for me.

I have this scenario running through my clusterfuckfest of a noggin where I lose these four items and some terrible things begin to happen: 1) My phone gets charged wiff a thousand calls to Guatemala/Zimbabwe/New Zealand/rando other faraway countries and my bill goes through da roof. 2) My credit cards get maxxxed out and I go bankrupt while someone begins impersonating me and using my I.D. to buy drinkz for minorz. 3) I become locked outta my house not that it would even matter since I wouldn't have my car keys to drive home in da first place. Therefore I have to resort to being homeless and eating newspapers for dinner. And 4) Someone would delete the music off of my MP3 player and replace it with terrible overrated hell music like Bon Jovi, Nirvana, U2 or Nickelback.

So if any of you folkz like me enough to go out wiff moi, keep an eye on my hands and how they are more or less glued to the inside of my pockets, ensuring that my four blessed accompaniments are safely kept in my gorilla-grip grasp at all timez.


The Stove
One time when I was still in college and livin' wiff some amigaz in an off-campus abode, a housemate of mine accidentally left the gas on our stove when she went out for the night. I was the only one home when I got there and the entire kitchen was hazzzy and had that disconcerting suffocating smell that tells your brain to not effing light a match.

I got mad upset and wrote some sort of passive aggressive note on the Passive Aggressive Note White Board that we hung in the kitchen about it. I feel like my fear of the house burning down was justified and it has potentially scarred me for life now. Whenever I use the stove to concoct some sort of culinary delight of heavenly porportionz [aka pasta, canned soup or grilled cheese], I am crippled by my desire to want to check and recheck the gas switch 1,000+ times before I feel comfortable leaving the room. By the time I feel sure of the fact that my house and life aren't goin' to be incinerated, my food is usually cold but I still nosh it down, happy to know that my life isn't goin' up in flames (that night).


The Car
It is wiff Clint [aka my resilient '91 Subaru Loyale] that I outwardly demonstrate the most psychotic & dramatic example of my O.C.D. issuezzz. As anyone who has ever driven with me can tell you, leaving the automobile once I've reached my destination is a long and irritatingly bizarre routine that I must do or Gawd help me, I'll be anxious for the rest of the day.

Several events from my past [i.e. leaving the windows cracked during a rainstorm, not shutting the door thoroughly so the inside light stayed on and drained my car battery, and not locking my doors when I was on a weekend trip & left my car in a bad neighborhood] has made me so ridiculously anal about my car that I've had peepz refuse to want to drive wiff me simply for the fact that it takes me about 10 minutez (on a good day) to leave my car once I have parked.

My mantra routine involves leaving the car and making sure I watch the interior light go off when I shut the door, walking around my car and violently pulling on the door handles, and running my hand along where Clint's windows meet the car's rubber seal to guarantee that everything is watertight and safe. I often ALWAYZ have to do said procedures multiple times to put mah mind relatively @ ease. Am I retarded yet?!


The Alarm
This is an annoyance that has plagued me since I was in high school. Due to mah tendency to stay up late doing absolutely nuffin' blogging/writing poetry/playing video gamez/reading, I never end up hitting the hay as early as I should. So therefor I am one of those folkz that will never get as much sleep as they need and will forever depend on the beautiful death siren of their alarm clock to make sure they get up when they need to for school/work.

There have been COUNTLESS times when I have missed classes or have been late to werk due to my stupid brain forgetting to set my alarm before I glided on off to Supa Slumber City. So nowadayz, before I slip into my fantastical dream world, I must put on my cap of full concentration and turn my alarm on and off an abundance of times in an attempt to convince my mind that YES, the alarm is on and YES, it is set @ the right time.

Peepz who have been blessed enough yeah, blessed enough to share my intimately uncomferz twin-sized bed can vouch for this obnoxious and utterly bizarre routine. I'm supa serial, I'll stare @ my alarm clock with mah sleepy bloodshot eyes and turn it on & off & on & off until my stupid head accepts the fact that it is indeed set to wake me at 7:00, 8:00, 5:09 or whatever early bastard azz time I need to awake at.

======================================

So there we have it folkz. If any doctors or self-proclaimed know-it-allz are reading this, do you think I am a mental fuck-up that needs drugz/hours upon hours of counseling?? If so, can you direct me to someone who will provide their licensed services pro bono? Tanx!


Thursday, February 4, 2010

Let's go oooooooout tonight!

So prox 276 million yearz ago, I posted a song request for all you bloggy hoz to tell me what tunez you'd like to see me perform [read as: potentially die to] while doing mah car karaoke. I got a bunch of responses and since the weather is finally getting slightly decent enough for me to want to be outside, I decided to get my dope-azz into gear and get to fulfilling some of your requestz.

This first song is being performed butchered @ the request of Mr. Polt. It's from that broadway show that everyone was obsessed wiff in high school that kind of lost its magic after hearing the soundtrack a thousand times. Yes, I am talking about everyone's favo theater melodrama, Rent. And since I'm a prick, I decided to do the movie version of this song, recorded by Rosario Dawson. Yay! I lurrrve when actresses sing [see: Amanda Bynes, Gerard Butler & Helena Bonham Carter]!

I hope you enjoy dis, folkz. If you decided to kill urself cuz my vocals are just too torturous angelic, please don't include mah name in your suicide note...I've got enough drama goin' on en mi vida @ the moment. Tanx!


"Out Tonight" - Daphne Rubin-Vega
Rosario Dawson



Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Brownie Deluxe Meal

As I've mentioned several timez before, I sadly [read as: indifferently] don't have cable @ mah place of residence, thus keeping me from keeping up wiff all the televisor gossip and chatter that everyone engagez in all the time. I actually don't really give a hoot since I don't find mahself ever wishing to loaf about and just stare @ a TV screen. Netflix fills up mah lazzzy bones time just nicely and what wiff my schedule during the week that gets me home kinda late, I don't think I'd really have the ability to stay dedicated to any sitcoms or such.

But as unimportant as television has become to me in the past year or so, I have to admit that my inability to partake in mah favo obsession, American Idol has gotten me a tad blue what wiff the new season starting last month. But luckyducky para me, Mr. Pasteeeeeeelnick a) has cable; and b) lets me crash @ his place on Wednesdays so I don't have to commute all the way back to da Dirrty Jerzeeee since I have to werk in Brooklyn on Thursdays anyway.

So last week, when we had our weekly get together, I suggested told him that we should go back to his place and watch Idol and watch guest judge Katy Perry verbally insult Kara DioGuardi. It was quite entertaining, but after the show, I got mad hungerzzz and asked [read as: non-stop complained] if we could make a snack or sumfing before I passed out and died. So we bought some Betty Cockhead brownie mix and got to werk...

I put the box in a glass bowl and watched it for 15 minutez, yet nuffin' happened and the package remained still and unbrownie-shaped.


It didn't taste too hawt.


I then attempted to cook the browniez via microwaving/toastering/ovening the box, but too very little success.


David scolded me for being a weetard, so I sulked in the bathroom and drank wine by myself...


...while David read the directionz like a normal person.


After crying for three horaz, I plopped outta the bathroom and had David read the directionz to me. First I put the magic brownie cocaine powder into a bowl and I cracked some dead pre-baby chickerz into it.


Then I posed like a desperate whore and poured in some veggie oil...


...or did I pour in the rest of my white wine?! I don't know or care.


I began stirring until my arm hurt [prox 2 minutes and then David took over].


I then got confused and ate all the batter like a fat lardazz. After David was done beating me, we repeated all the aforementioned steps and put the shit in the horno before I could inhale it all a second time.


Then David pulled out da browniezzz and made a goofball face.

I cut them cuz I iz a good helper.


I then taste-tested all of them while a zombie Michelle Obama jealously watched me from inside the TV.


To ensure that I stay thin and emaciated, I puked all the decadent treatz back up into the toilet. Calories lead to getting fat which leads to me never being happy ever. A boy's gotta do what a boy's gotta do! And what I gotta do is binge eat and vom. Huzzah!


So who wantz to cook wiff me nexxxt time?!


Monday, February 1, 2010

My Monday Muse

MySpace Kid

Back during mah freshmen year of college, I joined the vapid waste of nothingness known as MySpace in an attempt to socially network [read as: attempt to find rando peepz to hook up wiff]. I had like 300+ "friendz" that were actually 1 part peepz I know, 1 part gross hoz that thought I looked cute & 1 part shitty bands who bombarded my page wiff requests to look @ their emo bangs and listen to their shitty alt rock garbage.

Then I realized that MySpace is mad desperate and for peepz that don't have real friendz. So I put up a picture of mah cat, changed my name and have nearly all but abandoned it. Every now and then I go back on when I want a good laugh and I have an urge to look at retarded douchenozzlez that think they're AwEsOmErSkAtEz, but for all practical purposes, my page is as desolate as Jennifer Lopez's album sales.

But even when I gave a shiz about MySpace [circa three months in 2005], I was never as adamantly enamored with it as this inspired young chap below. You want passion? This is passion:


There is nothing save my family, catz and friends that I lurrrve as intently as MySpace Kid loves Myspace. It's the cream to his coffee, the air in his lungs, and the Fla-Vor-Ice on his hot summer afternoon. And I would also completely flip my fartz if one of my siblings started sending goofball messages to mah [fake] friends and shaming my name all over the interwebz. Only I can embarrass mahself over the World Wide Web, tank you berry much!

If someone was to hack onto my page, how would I be able to write blogs about what DuMbAzZeZ my sisters are? I need to rack up my friends count in order to feel accomplished, cuz really, the truth behind a strong & everlasting friendship is clicking about a bland and possibly fictitious info page to learn nuffin' about somebody. MySpace isn't ruining my family, YOU'RE ruining my family! ::throws saltshaker::

I too would incinerate my vocal chords wiff demonic barking if my cyber personality was compromised by some dumb gringo who knew my passwerd. Go die! ::knockz over chair::

And sure, it might only be MySpace. But remember, you're only a stupid bitch!