Friday, February 29, 2008

Douchebaggery: It's not just a New Jersey thing, we just do it best

With over 11million views, I'm sure you've seen the "My New Haircut" (thanks, Kaori!) or any of its many variations, by now. - This thing cracks me up. I view it more as a documentary-style clip than parody. After 11yrs in NJ, I can confirm these guys do exist and, yeah kiddies, they have absolutely no sense of irony.

For the record, douchebags are everywhere. New Jersey doesn't have an exclusive first-look deal with them, as the equally entertaining site "Hot Chicks with Douchebags" confirms (thanks, Matt!). - The state just gives them the perfect environment for their douchebaggery. It's God's little Garden State for asshole breeding. If only we could get pandas to screw like these guys.

Maybe it's the whole bridge-and-tunnel mentality where Manhattan is the cooler, older step-brother and we're just trying to get his attention. Apparently that is best gotten with barely-buttoned silk shirts, over-producted hair, and 'roiding attitude. In NJ they know every Bruuuuce song, is kin to a Bon Giovanni, and can get you a deal on a dozen, no less, leather jackets. The "Sopranos" wasn't just good TV. It was Sunday evening at the Globe. It was Shakespeare's pen and Maya Angelou's soul. They were telling the story of your uncle, your cousin, and all that you secretly wanted to be. In New Jersey, the last 3 governors have all ended up in the hospital in some sort of "accident". In New Jersey, strippers are dancers and dancers are always landing-stip waxed. You so want to bang that.

I think NJ is kinda proud of its douchebags. It's like, "Yeah, ok, we're douchebags, but at least we ain't fags. Whoa!" - I think that should be the new state motto. "At least we ain't fags". Nothing sums up the douchebag mentality better than that. - Though, of course, saying that, dressed as they are, might be the gayest thing ever. And trust me, I've seen some really gay shit. Can I get a "sweetie, darling Amen"?

So next time you're at a bar, the Port Authority at 1am, or karaoke night (they fucking love those places), take a look around. Find your state's douchebags. Don't get too close. Just watch. Marvel at how they wedge their off-the-truck Versace shades between spike#4 and 5 on their head. Be stunned at the ladies who line up and laugh at their jokes and witty lines that always end with, "so, you wanna check out the back of my cousin's Escalade?". - - We've got some pretty awesome, top-notch douchebags in the NJ. We're talking Olympic athletes. How good are yours?

Thursday, February 28, 2008

In case the Lunesta Butterflies aren't doing the trick...

I've posted the most recent episodes of my on-going myspace story there. I don't post those ramblings on here as most of my readers are there. But hey, if you are bored, you are more than welcomed to check it out.

I post them as I complete them so they are in reverse order. The dates are listed with the episodes so you can use the myspace date filters on the blog to pull up the section you want.

Input is always welcomed and appreciated. Thanks!!

Oh, and I should mention that there is language and sex. But it isn't what you think. Some of my red state friends freaked out over Part I. Like it was all about sex. No no. Just had to establish that up front. *laugh*

Parts I, II – 12/30/07

Part III, IV – 12/31/07

Parts V, VI – 12/31/07

Part VII – 1/22/08

Part VIII- 1/22/08

Part IX- 1/27/07

Part X – 1/27/07

Parts XI, XII - 2/27/07

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Lifetime is proud to present Alyssa Milano's FIRST time ...

Yep, our lovable tomboy-cum-Poison Ivy vixen-cum Wiccan Badass has been sold to the proverbial dark-side. The Sithy dark-side, not, you know, the Eddie and the Cruisers one.

I really, really. really adore Alyssa Milano. I think she's spunky and feisty. I think she could have been lost in the shuffle and been a throw-back punchline. I love that she and Holly Marie Combs took control of their show and it really became something they owned and cared for. I love that she seems to "get" herself. You can't discount the power of getting your own reference. So yes... I enjoy Alyssa Milano and wish her only the best.

So, yeah, imagine my horror when I hear the commercial proudly proclaim, "Alyssa Milano in her first Lifetime Original movie...". FIRST?? First would seem to indicate that there were more to come. As if a second, nay, even a third was in the bag. WTF?! Like there will be one for every season.

!See Alyssa come home for Easter for the first time in ten years. She quit college, a privilege her whole family sacrificed for, one semester shy of graduating with a degree in psychology to pursue her dream of art design. Mother is sick in bed, her heart more broken than under attack. Her sister is pissed that she had to keep everyone together and Daddy is waxing simple-philosophy while whittling intricate puzzle boxes. Can Alyssa put the pieces of her daddy's toys and her mother's heart together again?!

!Set the DVR to romantic-comedy as the recently-divorced and relationship-jaded Alyssa, determined that they will, in fact be a happy family and have happy family memories, takes her young brood on a hijinks-ridden vacation at their summer rental in the mountains. Just wait until the hungry mama bear shows up! Only by working together can Alyssa and the hunky, single ranger save their summer and give Alyssa back the love, and desire, she thought she had lost.-!

Ok. Maybe I'm being a bit tangent skirting. And yes, this obviously deserves the observation that, well, to have even seen the commercial, I was probably watching Lifetime. And further more, in order to rant about the banality of Lifetime movies, I've had to seen a few. - So yeah, fuck, ok... I find Lifetime on my TV. Sometimes. Like, you know, right now. It's "Will & Grace" people! I had given up on it on season 3 and now, well, now enough time has passed and we can be friends again.

I don't know. Maybe it'll be a good movie. I trust Alyssa. I'm going to go with her. Ok. So it's Lifetime. But you know what, I got ovaries. So, yeah. And, honestly, I'd whore myself out to Lifetime too. If they would have me. I can logline like a bitch, baby. Like a cheated-on, angry, bitch ready to get back at my husband by running over his golf clubs, screwing his friends, and besting his business. - You can msg me here ;)

Friday, February 15, 2008

Google, you ignorant slut, what do you mean no matching documents found?

Are you f'n kidding me? WTMF?! And what are you doing now? Asking me did I mean something else? - And what was that, Suzy Sunshine? Maybe I should try again, putting quotes around grouped words? Seriously? You're advising me on how to compose a query? Ok, yeah, uh, bitch, now's whens you best be stepping the fuck off. This isn't my first rodeo.

C'mon, I'm not being crazy, am I? If there is one grand truth to the world, one shining point of light of Athenian promises and Herculean strength that makes the daily drop-to-your-knees, lips rounded and parted, suck-off acceptable it is this: Someone, somewhere, has posted it.

That's the moist smack of the Internet, no? That all information is available, you just have to look. That for every freak, there are 1,000 more just like you,huddled and whacking off to, well, whatever it is you are whack off to. The Internet is the Bushiest of uniters-not-dividers. Spread wide and ready for the insert of your query, your manifesto, your fanfic, and your family reunion pictures of Uncle Tommy passed out in the lawn chair, Heiny in hand, covered in silly-string.

It isn't a particularly picky lover but there's an agreement. An understanding between the Internet and us, right? We feed it. We put our petty shit out there. We lube up and shove in our secrets and our lusts. We disrobe and prance and feel pretty behind our avatars and our clever nom de jeu and give up the layers we have until we are a raw nub, just right for the mutual rubbing.

All the Internet has to do is be there for us. To never let us down. To hold us and let us freak out and cry we aren't pretty enough. That our friends don't really like us. That we are disappointed in life, ourselves, and our parents. It should be there to tell us how to find Mulberry Street and what is the highest Zagat-rated Thai joint in Chelsea. It should alert us when sad things happen and when Britney makes her 3am Rite-Aid run.

And, mostly, it should always be there, and have handy, any bit of information we are wanting. Because really, we've come to expect that. We've come to deserve it. We've given it our souls, our social security numbers, and our credit history. So, honestly, no matching documents found? Fuck you Internet. I never loved you in the first place. I've been fucking the NY Times Print Edition anyway.

p.s. I still love you, Internet. I still love your Google, it's just that... well, I can't be with you right now. Give me some time. Yeah, I remember when you won me that netsuke on eBay. Yeah, we've had some great times. We'll always have this Winona clip. - Fuck, baby, you know I love you. Come here. I just put on a fresh coat of lip plumper. Let's see how that feels on you. Let's see if I can leave a mark.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

The profits from one Cyrus might have paid for my HS party daze...

Good Lord help me, I seem to be under the spell of another Cyrus. I forgave Billy Ray all of his cheese because, well honestly, the dad of one my best friends in high school wrote "Achy Breaky" and as such, I enjoyed a libation or two thanks to that man, his sleeveless shirt, and mullet. Cheers to you, Billy Ray. Cheers to you.

But like a 6yo tossing back Pixie Stix and Juicy Juice chasers, I can't seem to get enough of this song. Why must I love stuff like this??? Miley Cyrus??? Are you f'n kidding me? Am I not the person who, just last night, posted a blog confessing time spent on my evening drive contemplating if people watch porn while in their cars?

C'mon though. With it's steady throb of a bass line and catchy lyrics and head-bopping, how can you not love this Corey Hart recall of a song? It's got some undercurrent of wink-wink-nudge-nudge Lolita charm and enough poppiness to make the most painful of rain soaked commutes bearable... even sunny.

I couldn't find a video (which is probably a good thing). But I did hear this on the radio last night and had to run and look it up online. Yeah, that would be the same drive that prompted the adult-viewing blog. I'm a very complex person, people. - Anyway, yeah, if you're having a bad day, just take a listen. C'mon, tell me you aren't all Rainbow Brite after this. And if you aren't, then well Peculiar Purple Pie Man (yes, I know I just mingled my Rainbow Brite and Strawberry Shortcake references ... it's BOGO in Kristy-land today, enjoy the 1/2 off sale) , then you can stay in your Pie Tin Palace and console yourself with Coldplay. :P

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

So, when is it okay to watch Porn on your car DVD player?

I mean, are those players programmed to only accept Disney fare? The laser-eye scanning for the proper encryption code that says “naughty” or “nice”.

What circumstances do you so badly need to watch porn in your car anyway? From the backseat even.

Are you one of those swinging couples that have merry-dear-Penthouse-I-never-thought-this-would-happen-to-me type of entertainment? And say maybe your tag-team duo is in the back, warming up. Would that be a case?

Or are you feeling particularly amorous and you let your partner slither in the back, to get a head start while you adjust the rear-view mirror just right for the show?

Or maybe you’re alone and you got one of those portable units that slip over the headrest? You casually put it in the empty passenger seat. Just a little thought. A titillation that makes you giggle and blush. Exposed and protected by metal, paint, and oh-so much leg-room. You are riding high in your SUV. Why not whip it out or slide down , hand inside, in the double-sewn leather and grind one off?

Safety concerns of a distracted driver aside, what if someone saw? Not the act itself. But what if they could see the screen? What if they innocently slowed behind you at the traffic light and slowly realized that what at first just seemed like a steady ebbing of flesh-colored pixels was really digital-quality fucking? Is that a public display? And do you, the victim in all this who came to a halt, fidgeting with the Sirius, pick up your cell phone and report the tag number? Or do you follow them? Trailing to the next light. The right turn and then another. Do you need to see where such a freak lives? What your community neighbors are doing on their way back from Pilates, dinner at Café Amici, or a late night at the office?

And so these are things I pondered tonight. On my way home from the gym, high on endorphins and bored by the rain. Line of cars ahead of me with their “Proud Parent “ and “Ask me about my honors student” bumper stickers posing as EZ-Passes for the Happy-Average-Normal Turnpike. Cruising the NorthSouth corridor with their innocuous Wiggles, Veggie Tales, and Toy Story giving you a 30second drive-in-Saturday peek show that reconfirms that is, indeed, what they are, thank you very much.

Is watching porn in your car a serious cry for something more? Or is it just another way to get your circus-freak-on?

Technology can put them in your dashboard, right next to your Tom-Tom and Garmin. Toss one off and you can still make it on time. You can’t tell me that someone isn’t doing just that right now. Think about that next time you pile into super-multi-tasking Mom’s mini. And then check the 31compartments for the Ritalin that her kids ain’t taking and the unlabeled, black DVD cases.

Sunday, February 3, 2008

"Feed us drinks! Get us laid!"

A friend posted a comment on my mysp in reply to my "mood status" there stating that I " just got a msg that constituted some "quick" "drunken love". Ahh, it's like being back in college. And he was a Sig Ep even! ;)". My buddy Adj was up late and apparently he had been enjoying the weekend. He's a Lt in the Army. He's earned all the beer he ever wants.

The comment I got said, "i hated frat boys even though one of my best friends was one. the vile excuse to be in gang with greek lettering".

I get what he is trying to say I do. - But still... could any of us stand-up to scrutiny based on the oh-my-God-it's-so-huge-tools we were when we were younger? I mean, all of the world is an asshole at age 20. We are all scared, insecure, cocky bastards, weebling around, trying not to fall down. Either geared with keg-stand skills or armed with self-righteous schooled insight ("it's Knee-che people, like Che Guevara" - dude, I hate those people), we all pick teams, gather for warmth, and just try to survive. Accountability can't really start until you're 30. Everything before is just a testing-ground, Double-Dare obstacle course. There's bells to ring, slip-n-slides to belly-flop, and a shit-load of goo to be dived into, all with the intent of finding some ticket. Some thing that will get us to the next round.

I've known frat boys in my day. Some super-awesome. Some not so much. Even the worst of them had something to offer. I still remember the night one certain arrogant, womanizer broke down and "shared" something (ok, at 20 I had a real bad case of the messiah-complex ... that each of these guys had a sensitive poet inside them and their homophobic fuck-machine exterior was just window-dressing... yeah, I know. I f'n know.). He said, "You know, all women are beautiful... from the back of their head." - Yeah. They should put that on pillows and sell them with Thomas Kincade pics. But still, I love that moment. It taught me so much about boys.

Jeremy Piven has it right in this clip below. "PCU" is my favorite college movie. Maybe it's because I was in college (my first time, back in TN) when it came out and the political correctness was in full-swing. "Feed us drinks! Get us Laid!" - Geeks. Feminazis. Stoners. Jocks. And, yes, Greeks. - Basically at 20 we are all assholes. Who want to get drunk. Get laid. And forget that we are really just children thrown into an adult world we aren't ready for and the only equipment we have on hand is whatever we brought with us.

Friday, February 1, 2008

After this, I think I'd F*ck Matt Damon too...

One of my most favoritest thing in all the world is when people get their own joke. When they just make fun of themselves. Something Barry Manilow does but Elton John, eh, not so much (he is a queen, honey, it isn't irony).

Congratulations indeed!