Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Tagged. Like a little Bitch. Again.

And now, as is my duty, I present to you my Report on 7 Songs I am Into Right Now:

"Trogdor," by Strongbad. Since Ben has been catching up on all seasons of Buffy, the reference to Trogdor in Season 7 made me all nostalgic. Besides, there's nothing wrong with "burninating the countryside." Or the peasants, for that matter.

"Curiosity," by the Jets. Yes, you'd think that maybe "Crush On You" or "You Got It All" would be the more popular choice in my noggin. However, recently, I've become quite nostalgic about the first nine years of my life, and how much I did enjoy that pink "Jet Set" jogging suit I had when we lived in Jersey, and my brother had the 12" single of this song. Does this bring down the man-quotient of said brother, now decidedly not a fan of the Jets? All systems go on that one.

"Jealousy," by Liz Phair. Oh, let us hearken back to high school, shall we? No, the real reason I queued this song up again recently was there was a whole internal debate on whether what I was feeling was jealousy or anger. After identifying the source of this wayward emotion, and listening to this song a couple of times, I decided it was anger. Pure, unadulterated anger. Thank goodness for that, huh?

"Rump Shaker," by Wreckx-N-Effect. Maybe it's the hypnotic sax in the background. Maybe it's the unabashed use of thongs. More likely it's Spring Break time in these parts, and for some reason, I always think of this song when Spring Break rolls around. Damn you, MTV marketing! For now, all I want to do is zoom-a-zoom-zoom-zoom and a boom-boom! Fuckers!

"Going Out Of My Head," by Fatboy Slim. I've been talking to Stumpy a bit recently, and this song always reminds me of her. Several years ago, on Valentine's Day, I took the boys with me to go see her and my old roommate D's dance troupe perform. Of course, the piece Stump was in involved several female dancers dressed up in Prohibition-era looking outfits, who, upon hearing this song, lose their minds, strip off their clothes, and start dancing around poles. By their own admission, this added up to the boys' best Valentine's Day ever.

"Cool Rider," by Michelle Pfeiffer off the Grease 2 Soundtrack. I can't believe I'm actually telling you this. Oh wait, yes I can. I got stuck in another Grease 2 craving cycle. This time around, it was this, "Girl for All Seasons," and "Charades" (wtf?). It's been an interesting couple of weeks. All I can say is that at least it wasn't a Rex Manning moment. I'm saving that for next month.

"Do Somethin'," by Britney Spears. You didn't think you could escape a list from me without a Britney reference, did you? Oh, how I miss old, non-bald, non-crazy Britney. But that's neither here nor there. Thinking about it just wastes too much of my energy. The reason this song has been on repeat lately is because it's the assigned ringtone for my little sister. And the way it came to pass is actually quite funny to me. Want to hear about it? Too bad, because here it goes:

About two years ago, right before Christmas, Lil' E was in town, and we went out to dinner with Danhole. On the way back from dinner, I have this song playing. Lil' E starts bopping around to it, and says she likes it, which is a rarity, because our musical tastes don't often intersect. This is even more surprising, because she does not have the patience for anything Britney or otherwise pop-related that I have. Pleased with this, I play it for her again, and she's singing along, dancing around in her seat. She finally asks "Who is this?" and without hesitation, I say, "Britney!" quite amused. E, on the other hand, falls very silent for the rest of the ride. Insert a Dave Chappelle "Gotcha, bitch!" here.

And there you have it. I can't think of anyone else to tag, since they've already been, other than Danhole. And the chances of him actually doing it are slim, since the last time he blogged was back in the way back. Which, of course, was a long friggin' time ago. Dammit!

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Thursday, March 15, 2007

Reason #74 Why I Love My Little Sister.

Amongst other things, it's the text message I received from her at 11:15 this evening:

Ha ha. Duke can kiss my ass!

Weird thing is, I was thinking the exact same thing at that very moment.

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Sunday, February 25, 2007

You're on the ride. You might as well open your eyes.

Go ahead, raise your hand if you know this one. Anyone.



Anyone but Dan, who damn sure already knows it.



Anyone?


Oh, for the love of Heart-Kun, people!


Photobucket
Heart-Kun is not angry. No, he is merely...disappointed.


You all suck.

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Monday, February 12, 2007

I always ruin things.

Okay, thought of something to write about.

The other day, Ben and I were at the Dirt Mall. Apparently, at the Dirt Mall way south of us that we never go to, they now have a little stage for either a live band, or... wait for it... karaoke.

I know, it's blowing your mind, the possibilities. I just heard Danhole's head exploding somewhere north of here.

Anyway, I think they were doing karaoke when we were there that afternoon. Either that, or their cover band sucks total ass. Regardless, there was a lady on stage, doing her rendition of "You Were Meant For Me," by Jewel.

I didn't particularly care for her take on the song, but it wasn't terrible; I'll give the woman credit, because she could carry a tune much better than I ever could. But, as I am wont to do, listening to a song, no matter the singer, took me back down Memory Lane. This time I went down that road to a simpler time, when Jewel was still living in her van, I wasn't up to my eyeballs in student loan debt, and no song could escape a rewrite by one or more of the Suspects.

Take, for example, "Santa Monica," by Everclear, which fell victim to myself and Amanda, aka the Sack, when we introduced the themes of a person's visage and the act of sitting into our new lyrics. I'm sure you can guess which words in the line "I am still dreaming of your face" were replaced in our version.

We did that shit all the time, mostly changing songs to be about sniffing glue, sexual innuendo, mad cow disease, and Sacky's half-Jew pride.

So, it should come to as no surprise to anyone that "You Were Meant For Me" did not escape this same fate. I shan't post the butchering we did to those two particular lyrics. But, I can at least tell you that one of the lyrics was modified along the lines of the Everclear one, and the part where she sings "I'm half alive, but I feel mostly dead" was, well, similar to the Everclear one as well. I guess some themes are more prevalent than others.


Heh-heh. Blog five!

Back to where I was originally going with this: we're walking through the Dirt Mall, and Ben puts his arms around me and stops to listen to the lady singing. As she's finishing the song, Ben leans in close and tells me that it's about us.

As romantic as the whole scenario was, what with us standing together in a sea of humanity, listening to a love song about people being meant for each other, all I could do was stand there, silently think about Jewel singing this song about oral sex instead, and burst out laughing. This effectively sucked any and all romance out of the Dirt Mall.

Needless to say, this required a maximum of explanation to effect a minimum of boyfriend ego bruising.

I told you I was always ruining shit!

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We're already wet, and we're gonna go swimming.

I know, it's been a while since I've posted a lyrical blog title, but I still have 13 Going On 30 on the brain from a few weeks ago. You'll have to forgive.


I have often found myself doing the same thing. Except without the really expensive dress. Or the bod. Crap.

Anyway, I've been spending the last few weeks thinking about blogging, so that should count for something. I've been otherwise occupied with trying to say my age without coughing uncomfortably, threatening to burn couches at a moment's notice, and fiddling with blog and MySpace layouts. Seriously. You know it's sad when I get all jazzed about changing the colors on my template and renaming everyone in my Top 20, and I still don't do dick about posting.

I should probably take a hint from Lisa and keep the MySpace layout simple. But the colors are so pretty!

Jesus, this dry spell is getting annoying.

Anyway, I managed to get through the birthday with thankfully little fanfare. I got some nice gifts, one of the greatest of which was a picture frame with four Gator Football photos: one of Tebow flying into the end zone, one of Reggie Fuckin' Nelson breaking shit up during the Alabama game, one of Urbs hugging Chris Leak after the MNC, and a black and white one of just Chris Leak. Ben did an awesome job of picking out the photos. I'll have to post a picture of it here later, so you can view it in all its glory.

I'm all over the joint, as usual. I can't focus for shit. This is probably why I can't put together a sensical post. My head is starting to hurt. I'm going to go drown my sorrows in a glass of milk and a few Peanut Butter Creme Oreos. Don't fucking judge me.

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Tuesday, January 30, 2007

"I cook, and then I chill."

Man, do I ever miss that show.



Every time I see Thomas Lennon, or Michael Ian Black, I hearken back to Barry and Levon. I just have to. When will they put that shit out on DVD, already?

Okay, enough of the complaining. For now. I'm just so tired. And I'm debating whether or not I should post a response bulletin for the "What does your middle name mean?" brilliance lengli posted this evening. According to the bulletin, my middle name reveals that I am a bedroom powerhouse and an excellent kisser. Sweet how we've sort of come full circle with the whole blog title thing, huh?

Never mind. Maybe I'll just watch the clip another 3 times.

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Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Thirty and flirty and... oh, who am I kidding?

I swear, my main mission for the day was two-fold: get through work without killing anyone, and ending my evening watching 13 Going On 30, because, well, dammit, the day's here, and I owe it to myself. I also miss seeing La Garfleck on my tele on a regular basis, but that's neither here nor there.


Oh, come on. You know you miss them.

Alas, things didn't pan out exactly the way I had hoped. I did manage to complete my workday sans casualties, but I didn't have the time to watch La Garfleck "spectacularrrr" (imagine Uncle Jimbo from South Park during the episode when he went to Mexico with Ned to get illegal fireworks, and you've got it). Oh, well.

I did, however, manage to have a great dinner whilst sitting in a booth behind who had to be the strangest couple I have ever witnessed eating together (ever), and across from a booth occupied by what I could only conclude was a rehearsal for one of those "real-life" dining scenes on Laguna Beach.

It did get weird, however, when Mr. Pretentious (half of the Strangest Eating Team Ever power-couple) started to talk louder, thus drawing the attention of the LBers. This somehow encouraged him and he started what I guess was his style of flirting, which consisted of him getting even louder and having his two-person conversation heard by the whole restaurant, along with openly mocking the LB Rehearsal Girls. The two LBers (and the rest of the joint) grew increasingly uncomfortable, while I was just glad Ben and I were sitting behind the guy, so he couldn't really turn around and engage us in his general dickery.

Did I neglect to mention that when the Eating Team got up in the middle of their meal to burn one, it was only then that I noticed that Mr. Pretentious looked to be as tall as Danny Devito, and his female counterpart was a fucking Amazon? Sorry I forgot. But enough of my Birthday Dinner Theater.

So, this is thirty. Not much different from twenty-nine, except I referred to myself as thirty today, and the reality of those words coming out of my mouth somehow startled me. I'm not sure why.

As long as I keep getting carded for R-rated movies, however, I think I'm good.

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Monday, January 22, 2007

Getting antsy.

So yes, I could have spent the evening ogling much Prison Break goodness, or doing something otherwise productive, but instead, I chose to fidget with my blog template settings. What do I get for my troubles? Oh, the inability to have my comments posted correctly, as well as a stiff neck (couldn't find the headset for the phone while I was doing all this).

But, I did get that cool picture thrown up there.

I'm a genius!

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Delaying the inevitable.

I know. I know. I've been MIA ever since the National Championship game. Suffice it to say, I watched the game, lost my voice by halftime, and took the next day off. I didn't even really get my voice back until I went back into work on Wednesday.



Because after all, victory... is exhausting.

Perhaps a more complete photo retrospective will be forthcoming. We'll see.

For now, I'm going to go dabble with this layout. Back in a bit.

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Sunday, January 07, 2007

"When will then be now?"



Soon.

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Tuesday, December 26, 2006

Tube tops and the Nativity.

And so, we conclude yet another Christmas Holiday with my family, complete with all the ensuing drama that comes with shopping like an idiot, encountering relatives and other people you don't see all year who routinely question your sexuality and/or your ability to produce viable grandchildren, and shoveling food into your face until you've gotten way past critical mass.

Makes me long for the days of yore when I had nothing to do but watch Alias DVDs and play online games.

APO members who play online poker together...

Or, I can watch them playing online games on the Alias DVDs. Whatever. My collection still lacks seasons 4 and 5, so I'm still S.O.L. anyway. Sigh.

Anyway, back to the holiday and the dreaded Holiday Party from Hell.

Every year, my next door neighbors throw this shindig. This family is originally from Canada, and moved down here permanently the same year we did. Coincidentally, the husband is the brother of the woman we bought our house from, who, not so coincidentally, is a classmate of my mother's from nursing school in the Philippines. Every time someone explains this scenario, I want to blurt out, "What does that make us? Absolutely nothing!"


Me, left, with my neighbor at this year's party.

Okay, I'm back.

So, I have traditionally hated going to this thing. Mostly, because their kids went to Florida State, and for every year during my college and grad school careers, I got nothing but shit from their kids about Florida, whether we beat them that year or not. During the ensuing years, I got less shit about going to Florida from the kids and more shit from the elders about whether or not I was happy with my job, and when I was going to give my parents grandchildren. This last one they spring alternately on my brother or me, whoever they happen to catch first.

This year, after my father pulled his infamous "disappear into the mist/back to our house to watch football" trick (that bugger is amazing; I don't know how he does it and stays under the radar), I sensed the interrogation would start soon after all the baby carrying and coddling that was going on. After just about having my fill of the holiday spirit, I bugged out of there graciously.

I would later find out that soon after my exit, they got to my brother, who was given the option of either getting together with some random girl there who I remember as annoying as shit when we were in high school together, or with the single mom in the tube top and jeans who brought her kid, who looked to be about twenty-two years old. The Old Sideshow politely declined both tantalizing offers.

Christ, we have to get better neighbors.

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Sunday, December 24, 2006

Season's Greetings!

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Monday, December 18, 2006

Holidaze.

I know, I've stooped to trite, pun-like depths. Leave me be.

Bless me, Blogger, for I have sinned. It has been two full weeks since my last post.

I'm so damned beat lately. Christmas shopping, trying not to explode at work, weekends blowing by, and coming to the realization that I want to be back in the mental health profession yesterday will apparently do that to you.

I'm feeling really random this evening. My apologies in advance.


Darth Graduate layeth down the law: No Bike Parking.

I had to bring back the above classic from the "Star Whores" photoshoot, December, uh, '99? Shit. I need to sit down and think about that for a second.

Holy crap, that was back before Danhole had his hippie hair, and random 16 year olds in Buffy chatrooms would tell me that they wanted to eat him. Wait, was that revealing too much?


Danhole: described as "Yummy" by 45% of the readership of Tiger Beat, and 67% of the readership of Confessions of Lonely Househusbands.

Dear God, Christmas is a friggin' week from now. Have I done all my shopping? You bet your ass I haven't!

Sorry. It just seemed appropriate.

Now, I shall let your agony end and go to bed. Random, nonsensical posts make me sleepy.

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Monday, December 04, 2006

I would be mad, but I can't be.

I had this wicked long post (with pictures) late, late Saturday night, after I got home from the evening's festivities, all about the championship game. It was exceptional. It was moving. It had pictures of stalwart football players.

It, for some reason, would not save on Blogger. Fahk.


"What do you mean, it won't autosave? Bastards!!!"

It's just as well. Posting it now means you'll read it in the order it was meant to be read, or something. Let's get to it!

I ended up at a tree-trimming party where, thankfully, the hosts were Gators, and the game was on the screen large. It saved me the trouble and tackiness of sneaking out to the car to listen to the game on AM. (Which, actually, I was doing on the way to the party for the first few minutes. I truly do prefer to do this even while watching the game, since the commentators usually covering our games --I'm calling you out, Verne!-- make me want to shriek violently in protest. And you don't want that.)

We started out well; Hetland actually made a field goal!

Poor, embattled Chris Hetland. When Mick Hubert announced on the radio that it actually went through the uprights, the collective reaction was "Holy crap, he made one???"

Then a little while later, my boy Chris Leak hurtled his hot ass into the end zone!

Please, no R. Kelly songs here.

And he managed to do his best Elvis while there.

That, or he was about to Fosse. It was really up in the air.

Follow that with the halftime update that UCLA beat USC, and you get the following:


That's right. A restroom full of male Gator fans, alternately shaking off, high-fiving, and washing their hands. And of course, the men's restroom would have complete coverage of other games. So, it was apparently like Joe and Suzanne's wedding, but with less good eats and just as much of Jim throwing gang signs. Word!

Of course, upon hearing this, the Gators immediately go into their nearly-patented Third Quarter Slump, which I will no longer dignify with mention at this point. In fact, thinking about it makes me not want to, so I will go ahead and leave it to the fellas at EDSBS to fill you in on the rest.

Hell, they're addicting, and they have even been so kind as to post another picture depicting "premature echompulation" and some priceless YouTube clips (not to slight our special teams highlight, but your shit will crack up when you hear Percy referring to his "buddy" Dallas about 45 seconds into the second clip).

But before you go off to read EDSBS goodness, let me leave you with the following:


I said it's GREAT...


To BE...


A FLORIDA GATOR!



Thank you, Gators. You have been crazy, frustrating, electrifying, and inducive of cardiac fits all season, but you've always come through, and you've done it with class. You represent the very best of the Gator Nation, and I know you will continue to do us proud in a month!



Now, I'm off to go calculate how much postage I'll need to ship myself to Glendale in a large box in time for the bowl game. And how many canteens I'll need for the journey.

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Sunday, December 03, 2006

Next stop: Glendale!

Oh, my Lord... The Gators are going to the National Championship Game!



2006 SEC Champs! It hath been too long!

I cannot even express in words the excitement, the anticipation, the stomach-churning anxiety that is coursing through my body right now. So, I won't. I'm going to watch the talking heads babble about the BCS and all that business, whilst I feel my crush on Kirk Herbstreit dwindle into nothingness with each word out of his mouth.

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Friday, December 01, 2006

Like a Post-It Note, but far less convenient.

Last weekend, Ben and I went to the hospital to visit a friend of mine. He hadn't met this friend yet, and looking back on it, I was probably a bit of a nozzle for making him meet her in the hospital of all places (I mean, come on, you meet up at the movies, or for dinner, but while someone is strapped to an IV and has a commode chair somewhere within a five foot radius? Man, I am an asshole). However, I did promise to go visit her and bring her some good iced tea, and she really wanted to meet Ben, so there we were.

When we arrived at her room, she was just getting settled back into her bed, so Ben and I waited outside of the room, which was right near the nurses' station. We carried on a light conversation as a person we can only naturally assume was a patient's loved one approached the station to talk to the male nurse standing there. We weren't really paying attention to their conversation, what with being involved in our own "Where do you want to eat?" "I don't know. Where do you want to eat?" Yalta Conference.

That is, until we heard the Patient's Loved One (heretofore called the PLO, but not for the more obvious historical connotation) express concern over the patient's constipation.

To which, of course, skilled and couth male nurse replied, "Oh yeah. I'm going to give him some milk of magnesia, two enemas, and some prune juice."

Ben and I froze, physically and verbally. His face was stuck in the middle of an explosive laughter expression, while mine probably took on the Look of Chastisement (TM) (which usually comes with the Tone of Condescension(TM) and Finger Wag of Humility(TM) Accesory Packs, by the by).

But, wait! It gets better.

In the round mirror posted at all major corners of hospital floors to avoid likely collisions, I can see the befuddled look on the PLO's face. After a few moments, he says to the nurse, "Really? I didn't think it would do much good, what with all the other stuff you're putting up there."

We match PLO's look with our own, except we look anywhere but in his direction. A beat goes by.

"No, no," the nurse corrects, "He drinks the prune juice." Another beat, as super nurse signs a chart and declares, "I'm gonna clean him out!"

At this point, either I, or Ben, or both of us must pass out from holding in the hysterics. Luckily, my friend was comfortably placed back in her bed, so we rushed into her room to excitedly whisper to her tales of constipation and education.

Afterwards, we kept reminding each other that one of us needed to write this story down, because it was so fucking hysterical (well, at least to us. I realize a lot gets lost in translation). More than once this week, a conversation was ended simply with "No, no... he drinks the prune juice."

This happened almost a week ago, so in fear of losing it altogether, I decided to post it here. Also, how could I not share this jaunty hospital tale with you fine-ass people?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

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Monday, November 27, 2006

Happy Birthday, Michael Vartan!

So, does this make it the first Unofficial Pocket Vaughn/Poche de Michaux/Michael Vartan Day? 'Cause I don't see any lengli Photoshop Goodness (TM) around here. I mean, hell, even Bateman got a border and some stars, no?


It appears okay with Michael. Hey, we're okay if you're okay. So long as you continue giving us beautific profile shots.

And so long as you stay just French enough to not be a sissy la-la. Hell, we may even forgive you for Monster In-Law. (I can just imagine how awkward that first conversation with J.Lo must have been... did you have some sort of ex-lovers pissing contest?)


Apparently, someone fights "On the 6" Style when discussing failed past relationships. She will cut you. And she will cut you deep.

Anyway, happy birthday, Mr. Vartan. Here's hoping for a successful post-Alias film and television career, not to mention your personal endorsement for Pocket Vaughn items, hopefully available for retail sometime before Christmas 2010.


I can't come up with a caption for this. Must... lie... down... Anyone see a bed nearby?

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Sunday, November 26, 2006

A beautiful and wonderful thing.

I'm just going to post a picture today. Now, I have to warn you, some of you gentle readers may get emotional upon seeing this image, but fret not. Don't cry. It is moving, but it is wonderful, and we're all going to get through it.

Jim, you in particular, should sit down and have a Kleenex handy, okay? Here goes:


Sheer joy knows no bounds!

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Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Okay, so I've been horrible.

I mean, look. I've not touched B. World for two full weeks. I could give excuses, but comparatively speaking, mine are not as good as others'. I couldn't come up with good reasons, like teaching the masses by way of Nicollette Sheridan, or getting married (so, sorry, dear cousins, but your almost annual bloodlust for taffeta and similar atrocities must yet go unsatisfied).

Sure, a lot of my time has been occupied with surviving work on a daily basis, spending time with people I care about, and Gator football (the latter two mesh quite nicely, I've learned). But I haven't been saving orphans from fires, or helping little old ladies across the street (unless stopping in the middle of a green light because one of them decides it's as good a time as any to cross the street to hold off any and all vehicles traveling at 55 mph from hurtling the oldsters into the void counts). Oh, hell. I'm already tired.

Next up: I may finish a coherent thought. Stay tuned!

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Monday, November 06, 2006

OMG, Bateman!

There are many things to thank lengli for, not the least of which is this:

The Third Annual Unofficial Jason Bateman Day!

I've never participated in one of these (knowingly, anyway) before, so I'm quite excited. Nothing beats a Bateman! Well, maybe except for live-action Pocket Vaughn.

Hey, lengli, does Michaux de Poche have his own unofficial day? Because it' s definitely something to consider.

Nothing else can beat a Bateman. That is, except two of them!

"What would we do, baby, without a couple of silver spoons?" Oh, wait.

What about... a Bateman with a friendship bracelet and snazzy jacket, with Fozzie motherfuckin' Bear?!?

"How... do they... do it?"

I am clearly on sensory overload, here. I need to lie down.

Anyway, go vote tomorrow, and celeBateman! (I know, I know... that was horrible. Whatever. You'll get over it.)

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