Tuesday, August 28, 2007

completely inappropriate. and therefore, completely hilarious. at least to us.

Me: someBODY once told me the WORLD is gonna roll me…

Catherine: I aint the sharpest tool in the she-ed!

Me: What if you had to have sex with the lead singer of Smashmouth RIGHT NOW or someone would kill your dog?

Catherine: He like, got arrested for rape or something. And I'd do it - even if my dog was safe.

me: I’d do it because I have a soft spot for rapists. I’m super attracted to them.

Catherine: Me too - I like it when the guy's in control of the situation.

me: Yes. He takes the initiative, and that really takes the pressure off a girl like me. Rape advocacy.

Catherine: I'm a rapist advocate. I speak for the voiceless. Give me money to fund my safe house for rapists.

me: Ok. I'll have a fundraiser. Called "Take Back The Night…Again."

Catherine: And the picture on your poster could be a big man and a little woman playing tug of war with the moon.

Me: Clip art style. And we'll have a kids’ haunted house where masked men jump out from behind mirrors. Everyone will be invited!

Monday, August 27, 2007

cat scratch fever.

Someone once told me that 90% of internet content was pornography. I would argue that at least 30% of that supposed 90% [that is, 27% of all internet content] is not porn, but cats. And this would be an awesome argument void of any anger or hostility. Because that would just be silly. Cats on the internet never make people angry!

I realize this is news to no one. Cats on the net have been hot for some time. [Note: I will, from this point in the post on, refer to "the internet" as simply "the net".] In fact, I was starting to worry that cats on the net had peaked. "Jumped the shark" if you will. But today, cats on the net have been re-energized for me, due to my discovery of the low-budge, cat centric, still photo heavy, music video.

I almost died.
Prepare to be awesomed:

Saturday, August 25, 2007

It's quite possibly the most gorgeous day in the history of all days ever...

And I'm at work, slightly hungover, space heater going full force. Every few minutes I'll gaze out the window wistfully and imagine myself swimming or running through a sprinkler in a pair of old Umbros or ... not working.

Sometimes I'll do a random Google image search for "dogs in costumes," an activity that unfailingly brings up a new and exciting array of costumed dogs. However, this past week's search dredged up something less whimsical and more nightmarish. It's not a dog wearing a costume per say, but rather a human wearing a dog costume. Technically, the costume in question is a "dog walker" costume, because it's common knowledge that dog walkers are so rare, so uniquely identifiable that a costume is required to recapture the look achieved when walking ones dog.

According to FamilyFun.com, dog walkers are A) Children, B) Charlie Chaplin, C) Hasidic Jews, D) Mustachioed, E) Disproportionately smaller than their dogs and F) In awe of their disproportionately larger dogs. Oh, and G) Male business executives. And H) Prone to owning men dressed like dogs.

Expect a second, equally meaningless post regarding that man's paws/leash/face.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

an overheard exchange.

Lady 1: Seth Rogen’s t-shirt looks soft.

Lady 2: It would probably feel good against your back if he was spooning you and you were naked. I'm just saying.

Lady 1: Yeah! Like if I was naked, and he was pantless, but not shirtless, and I could feel his boner on my lower back?

Lady 2: Yes! Or sort of on your butt crack.

Lady 1: Yeah! Like right where I’d have a pilonidal cyst if I led a sedentary lifestyle?

Lady 2: Right there.

Aaaaaand SCENE!

Friday, August 17, 2007

A little old. A lot . . . great.

Let us gaze upon the striped shirt once again.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

let me count the ways.

My girl crush on Katherine Heigl grows stronger each day...

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Two weeks without you.

In an effort to save money until our lease runs out - money that will inevitably be spent on more worthwhile things like unsweetened iced coffee with TWO sugars, tickets to bad movies and red wine - we've decided to go without cable television. And because my parents have the last remaining set of rabbit ears, gently duck taped to the side of their Zenith, we've been relegated to 72 channels of salt and pepper fuzz. An important side note is that, in addition to this loss, we're also without a functioning DVD player.

And we're going on day 14.

I tried to take the Laura Ingles approach to this dilemma - finish the books I've started over the past year, dog-eared on the 80th page and cast aside underneath a pile of US Weeklies, start some new ones, hold lively conversations by the unlit fireplace and make molasses candy with Pa.

In actuality, I stockpiled every VHS I could find, rummaging through crates left sealed since freshman year of college, raiding my trunk for boxes never unpacked from previous moves, combing the dusty collections at Thrift America in search of films released during my childhood, when I was forced to go Bambi or go home. Cortney managed to come up with "Inventing the Abbotts" and "Center Stage." I brought a well-worn copy of Guffman to the table, a never-watched copy of "Sliding Doors," a "Circle of Friends" covered in my sixteen-year-old kisses and chubby angst, and an "Only You" that I purchased at the afore-mentioned thrift store for $.75. Our arsenal of plastic and tape lasted all of one week before we'd watched them all - twice or more.

The question at hand is this: Are 16 more days of this even remotely feasible? I'd like to think I'll spend the remainder of this emotional obstacle course finishing those books, listening to NPR in my idling Ford Focus and slowly coming to the realization that I never needed TV. When all is said and done, I'll renounce its continued presence in my life and slowly sip the alternatively purchased glass of Yellow Tail Shiraz, proud of the maturity a Cox-free lifestyle has summoned. However, as I listen to muffled commentary of last night's "Hills" episode through thin cubicle walls, I get that tingle in my toes that reminds me of how intrinsically tied I am to every one of those 72 channels. It's only a matter of time before we're reunited. And I have no doubt that it will be beautiful.

Monday, August 6, 2007

i've got some good news and some bad news.

I got my fortune read over the weekend.

Or rather, I got a really shitty fortune made up for me by my friends Jason and Shawn.

It's bittersweet, my future.

The good news?
I will fulfill my lifelong dream of marrying a caricature artist. It will be a beautiful and special relationship and our wedding invitations will be hand made by said life partner, featuring comical, big-headed renditions of the two of us riding in a hot air balloon together.

The bad?
Within months, my new life partner will die, leaving me nothing but his unpaid student loan debt from years of caricature school. And I don't know if you guys were aware, but caricature school is fucking expensive.

But as Shawn was quick to point out, I'm the one who supported his artistic ventures and encouraged him not just to buy the "How To Draw Caricatures" book, but to go through professional caricature school to ensure his talent was recognized and not squandered.

And that's just the price I have to pay.

Saturday, August 4, 2007

It's a nuclear show and the stars are gone.

Four-years-behind-the-times-me really likes this song.

Friday, August 3, 2007

fucked up item of the week.

Happy Friday everyone!
Now scream. Scream real loud!

(Revelation of fucked up-ness courtesy of Jezebel and Salon.)

What you say in between bites of parsley, Britney Spears, is beautiful. And I believe.

I realize that this is the internet equivalent of wearing chandelier earrings or eating bunless Quarter Pounders (what else is very 2005?), but until Annie sent this to me today, I hadn’t seen Britney Spears’ reefer-induced, belch-laden elegy to time travel. And I almost cast it off as just another piece of meaningless drivel I use to pass the time between minutes, when a few of her many words cut to the core of my very being.

Britney, I’m missing out on life too. I’m watching it pass me by from my Seward Street porch, once shaded by that diseased tree that shed day-glo powder all over the driveway. And like you, I wonder if any of those inventors have gotten off their lazy, bespectacled asses and invented time travel yet. Because you know what I’d do, Brit, if I could travel back in time?

I would pause “Inventing the Abbotts” when I went to the bathroom because I think I missed the part where Joaquin Phoenix pushes Billy Crudup off the porch.

I would give my dad a better father’s day present.

I would quell my desire for instant gratification and leave my Lean Cuisine in the microwave for the full 2 minutes, 45 seconds, thus avoiding any unpleasantly surprising frozen diced tomatoes.

I would learn how to do a cartwheel.

Thursday, August 2, 2007

girly post.

Joel McHale is a fox.
I wish I had cable.