Monday, August 27, 2012

Blackout Factory Summer Cookbook: recipe for a beach bar cover band

Ingredients:
1 guy singer who is indescribably confident he can pull off a fedora, and is more than willing to take off his shirt if it's so required (usually when people are still sober enough to be having scream-over-the-music conversations in the crowd)
1 guy who can kind of rap
1 guy who took some music lessons in some instrument, at some point in his life
1 girl to sing the Fergie parts for Black Eyed Peas songs.

Preparation:
First, make sure to get booked at a bar on a night with insane specials on rail liquor, and start an hour  later than you're supposed to. Before, during, and after every song, address the crowd with ONLY haughty comments about how much drunker they could still get. Next, dedicate a song to a birthday girl and mass-compliment all her squealing friends so they start crowding around the stage and giving you slut eyes. This should start drawing guys forward as well. Cover at least two LMFAO songs, and one of them should always be "Shots." By now, things should be rolling along nicely. If not, it's likely time for fedora guy to pop that shirt off, and maybe try a very animated performance of "Livin' On A Prayer." 

I really don't have any suggestions for you after this, because I've seen all of these strategies garner wild success. 

Thursday, May 10, 2012

tricky treats


I was thinking today about some options for a 'casual treat' outing sometime in the next couple weeks, and a couple of really fun, cutesy ideas popped into my head. But there is slippery slope to these things. Shit can go seriously awry if you aren't practicing awareness.

First, Brunch. Brunch is the greatest meal ever. It has all the best foods, you don't have to eat it at a stupidly early time of day, you can guzzle multiple glasses of Champagne (in the morning!) and not look like a sad, single lush on New Year's Eve, and unlike dinners, the more people you have, the more fun it is.

The danger: If you're like me, you're thinking, "It's a derivative of breakfast! I drink protein shakes in my car on my way to work for breakfast, every day. What's the worst that could happen?" Well, sloppy brunch people are the living worst. You've heard (or been) that person telling the story of last night's debauchery to the entire restaurant, because a couple strong Bloody Marys eliminated your ability to speak with an "inside voice." Sometimes knocking over four people's water glasses with uncontrolled hand gestures will snap you out of it, and if not, maybe the hostess having to call you a cab before noon will. Or maybe you're just the living worst.

Bitches love Wine Bars. When I went to a wine bar for the first time, I thought I was really fancy. I feel like the title "wine bar" gives the implication that you're at some sort of wine tasting, which is for the refined noble class. You'd get "lit," but not drunk. You'd gossip in a polite voice about your doubles partner, and rave about the sale at Sak's you caught on Friday morning, when you were shopping instead of having a job. But far better than a tasting, you get full glasses of wine here. Done.

The danger: It's a bar. And when you're at a bar, you usually drink. And when your wine options fill a four page menu, you're gonna try a few of them. And when you try a few, you might approach strangers' tables for weird mingling, lose your phone, forget most of what you learned about socially appropriate behavior/conversation, and leave with your stilettos in your purse.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

to love is divine.

To all the religious zealots, the bible bangers, the so-called "Jesus freaks" and ultra-traditionalists, the gay-bashers, the haters, the uptight, the hypocritical, the self-denying and the delusional who voted to pass North Carolina's Amendment 1:

You live every day attesting your entire life to a savior. To this “Christ”, whom you supposedly strive to be more like in all that you do, so that you can reach attainment of some sort of divinity, as you believe he was divine. A Christ whose gospel rules your life. A Christ, coincidentally, whose actual messages were “love your neighbor as yourself” and to be compassionate to everyone, especially those who suffer the most. A Christ who spent his entire life with lepers and cripples and prostitutes who were all looking for love and acceptance, while the religious dictators of the time denied these people from society and refused to recognize them as worthwhile, casting them aside like garbage. These were the people your Christ kept company with: those who suffered at the hands of societal leaders.

God is love. It’s written in your Bible over and over and over again. You sing it in your songs. You say it at your services. You quite literally spend your entire religious livelihood preaching a message of love and acceptance for that which you cannot fully understand, and yet here you stand, blatantly cultivating hate. Imagine if your Christ had his “second coming” that you all wait for in vain, and was to see the way you treat people who share this earth with you. Imagine his dismay that you could have intentionally chosen to discard your human brothers and sisters; label them as “less than” and deny them compassion and consideration and love. His ONLY mission was love.

Amendment 1 is not a preservation of “God’s” marriage. Marriage was not created by God. It was conceived by people. Earthlings. Homosapiens (notice the 'homo' in that?) It’s a societal institution that recognizes the decision of two people who elect to form a domestic partnership under the law, and/or the Church if they so choose. The decision to lawfully deny basic human rights to any human is archaic, and quite honestly, nonsensical. How does it not make sense to you? HUMAN. RIGHTS.

To paraphrase political analyst Rachel Maddow, rights are rights for a reason. They shouldn’t have to be voted on. By voting to pass this amendment, you have not only set us, as a people, back to a level of perceived acceptable ignorance that most hoped was a faint shadow of the past, but you have violated the mantra and core rhetoric of your life’s savior. You have set in place a law that encourages the idea that loving a certain way is not acceptable, as if any of you are fit to judge. By passing this amendment, you have accomplished the opposite of what you are claiming to have done: rather than preserving something beautiful, you have shattered the notion you claim to base your life on, and contradicted the message of love.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

get me out of here

You know when you're in bed the night before something really crazy/exciting/fun/unknown is going to happen, and you're just WAITING for it, feeling super anxious and considering every single possibility to the Nth degree?

And your imagination is going wild and totally takes over to where your body is legitimately buzzing with anticipation and you may find yourself flailing your limbs around and karate kicking your blankets to physically express your feelings?

And it eventually gets to the point where you just feel nothing but frustrated because it occurs to you that you're LYING DOWN WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED and not even sleeping, and you don't want to be doing something that dull and trivial that you have no say in? And your face may start to get hot because you're so annoyed that mild tears are a possibility?

And you so desperately want it just be over with so you can finally get to experience that feeling of pure joy and attainment and the thought of your current situation is the total opposite of that and totally mind-numbing?

Right now, every day is like that.

Except, I have no idea if or when the good thing I'm clenching my eager little fists for is actually going to happen.

So I continue to pummel through mindless paperwork and office tasks at my temp job. Continue to eat lunch alone in my car every day just to escape the crippling office setting, staring at the parking lot of a post office and day-dreaming about being somewhere else. Continue to be shot down again and again by creative agencies and media companies who keep perpetuating the Catch-22 of "experience": they won't hire me without industry experience, but I can't get the industry experience without them hiring me. And I know how good I am, and how great I could be. But I still feel like a cliche twenty-something, bitching about my mediocre life... because I am.

My homeopathic remedy? I absorb all the media I can. Analyze the ads. Eat grammar. Drink spelling.  Have a love affair with type. Shoot up style.

Lather, rinse, repeat.*

Every.

Single.

Day.



*Results may take extensive period of time to yield noticeable results, if any at all. Repeat cycle diligently until lucky break occurs, or futility inevitably sets in.

Friday, January 27, 2012

finding a new hood in the hood

did you major in Philosophy or 20th Century French Literature? not sure exactly what you want to do with your life, but don't want to be forced into the corporate confines of soul-sucking, hyper-productive living? Do you have a certain desire to surround yourself with people more pathetic and unfortunate than yourself in order to salvage some sense of motivation and self-worth? Well, you're in luck! There happen to be a few places with growing young populations that have your name written all over them. Cheaper-than-cheap rent, a thriving 'art' (and crackhead) community, endless shaggy-haired, tattooed strangers to drunkenly make out with, and certainly more liquor stores than you'll know where to blow your minimum wages.

Detroit
If you can handle sub-zero temperatures, don't mind turbulent racism, and access to Canada is important to you, Detroit is your city. Sorry if you hate hip hop, but I'm sure you will learn to love it when it's forced down your throat every day.
  • Eminem's hometown. YA HEARD????
  • Vernor's gingerale-- the worst gingerale ever-- originated here. But they drink a drink where you mix that with ice cream, which sounds OK. I'd try it.
  • where the automobile industry died a slow, painful death and has been recently attempting a zombie-like resurgence also known as government bailout. pity jobz?
  • tons of great music is emerging from Detroit, so it's easy to come upon some acts of real promise. But also, Insane Clown Posse is actually a thing here, so... yeah.
  • there's probably a Motown museum...
  • there is a floating post office here. I would EXCLUSIVELY use this post office.

Baltimore
Charm City! Where people smoke crack on the bus, gunshots and sirens are a nightly lullaby, and tranny hookers will probably troll your sidewalks on the reg. Baltimore has a dead legacy of once being a thriving port city with a real aristocracy, now upheld only by inbred teen parents and ridiculously entitled jaywalkers. No matter how nice your newly gentrified neighborhood is, just remember: you're always 2 blocks away from a formidable ghetto.

  • drunk driving poses less of a threat, considering the cops have way more important crimes to address and everything is super close together. Also, you can use the confusing one-way streets as an excuse for why you're swerving like an asshole.
  • you will only drink Natty Boh (National Bohemian Beer, if you haven't heard). It's actually not terrible and costs under $2 a can at most bars, which is crazy awesome. Pretty sure I just replaced all beverages with it the entire time I lived in Baltimore, hence the bullet previous to this.
  • most of the original architecture around the city has been left almost entirely in tact, probably due to financial inability to completely bulldoze Baltimore and rebuild it as a giant condo/Target. Lucky!!!! You will probably be able to find pretty dope digs for about the cost of a pack of cigarettes in New York or DC. Act fast though, because all the little bitches in DC are catching wind of how cheap Baltimore is, and are snatching up spots left and right.
  • best crabcake in the country... but you have to elbow your way past a sidewalk jammin with street people and petty criminals, and then walk through a 'market' that reeks of rancid meat to get to it. Your move.
  • biggest rats and roaches in the goddamn universe.... and they're ev. er. y. where. djfgkjdshfgkj
  • I lived here for 7 months (street cred! kind of...)
Oakland
kinda near San Francisco, but far enough that people who actually live in San Fran don't feel the need to associate with Oakland too often. From what I can tell, everyone hangs out on the sidewalk or in parking lots.
  • at least you're in California!
  • viral YouTube videos are a major export, and have led to internet celeb status (although, once such status is achieved, a swift relocation to L.A. usually occurs shortly after)
  • racial ambiguity prevalent, as residents generally fall into one of two categories: gangster thug or resentful hipster without a trust fund
  • dreadlocks rampant
  • Raiders' fans are hella loyal. and have killed people.
  • speaking of hella, you'll start to use stupid lingo that everyone thinks is cutting edge.
  • close enough to Coachella that MAYBE you can scrape up the cash to pay for a ticket. Good luck getting there if you can't find/afford a ride, though, because we all know you're not a real vagabond hippie and therefore don't have the balls to hitchhike with a stranger.
  • people actually ghost ride their whips here! I've been dying to see this in real life.

Friday, January 20, 2012

lmfao

I just tweeted (on Twitter) at RedFoo (my celebrity soulmate). I hesitated for like 15 minutes after typing it out, and asked two different people if I should send it, and was legitimately nervous. I have that scared feeling like before you go on a roller coaster, and you want to know why? Because I was having deep-seeded thoughts that a silly tweet might interrupt my fantasy of having a really romantic life with him.

Let me remind you all what this guy looks like.



A rave clown. A rave clown of love.


Ugh, I finally tweeted him: I keep wanting to tweet at you but my ginormous crush on you makes it very difficult to think of something clever. You go first.

 I'm so lameeeee (ihopehetweetsback!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

what january is.

january sucks. it's freezing cold, everything is gray and shitty, and there are no holidays. AND the next holiday upcoming is Valentine's day, which also sucks and I hate the color pink. I'm moving to North Carolina in a couple weeks (thank Krishna) but my leave date keeps getting pushed back so I'm trying to fill my time with something other than drinking and smoking, now that I'm on the wagon(s?). Apparently I need to re-learn how to be a regular human being, because it seems like those were the only two things I did for fun. I'm sure everyone is doing something way more fulfilling, like going to the gym every day until last Thursday, but this is what January is like for me:

  • I have watched 3 seasons of 'Law and Order: Special Victims Unit' in the past week. I feel like I know Detectives Benson and Stabler intimately, and I am compassionate to their personal issues. I've had to stop myself from thinking I'd like to visit them at the precinct. I'm starting to get lower back pain from time spent on the couch, observing them in their natural habitat.

  • I am obsessed with LMFAO. I have a huge 12-year-old-girl crush on the older member, RedFoo, and have started watching behind the scenes YouTube videos of their musical performances. He has a giant afro and a fu manchu, wears shiny animal print pants and joke glasses with the lenses popped out. He dances like a sexy noodle.This is one of the weirder habits I've adapted, and I will not apologize.
     
  • I got really excited when I got a phone call today from a number I didn't recognize. As soon as I answered, I realized it was a mistake: I haven't gone out in 2 weeks, so it couldn't be a cute boy calling to rescue me from my miserable self-assigned house arrest with a romantic date. Plus, his thick Indian accent told me instantly he'd be asking me to do something I didn't want to. Assumptions correct: from a collections agency, took the remaining money from my bank account.
     
  • I have no money in my bank account. I should be getting some soon, but it's hard to pin down an exact moment. This is called being a freelancer.
     
  • I have a Tumblr. omfffffg.

  • I've been eating trail mix for meals because it's easily transportable in plastic baggies... all the better for couch-lunch.

What the hell is wrong with me? Does anyone else not have a real job right now and/or do anything remotely like this? The only good thing that has come from this month is that I'm so bummed out all the time, I've written some really deep poetry. Maybe I'll submit it to a review! It's time to hit the road southbound and get a job STAT...

...I reallywantLMFAOtoreadmyblogandcallmetohangout (336-266-6611).....

BUT SERIOUSLY I'M OVER THIS MONTH

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

new year, new blog. one that I actually write on.

Happy new year! I haven't written on here since August, so maybe one of my New Year's resolutions will be "blog on Blackout Factory more". That's a good one, because my other one is quitting smoking. That one is good for me ultimately, but it sucks so bad right now. I feel like I'm constantly going to throttle strangers and kick inanimate objects for no reason.

I went to the grocery store yesterday to buy some bread and kept doing that really obvious heavy sigh thing over and over again to the woman in front of me so she would hurry up. Ew! Who does that? Who have I become without cigarettes? Those passive aggressive heavy sighers and throat clearers are the living worst! I can't let this progress.

So instead of being a raging bitch in person, I'm just going to come on here and blast everyone who annoys me. It'll save me from ruining someone's day! Isn't that so nice of me? And I'll probs say some cool, funny shit too, so please read Blackout Factory all the time and help me become a celebrity blogger that somehow (Twitter.) becomes friends with movie stars and singers. That is my third New Year's resolution in my trifecta, for the record.

2012: Smoke-free, blogging so I can be nice to your face, famous.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

aren't you hungry for deep-fried claw?



The new Rip'n Chick'n from Popeyes. Barf city.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

This one time...



I saw this in real life.


Monday, April 25, 2011

OMFGLOL

I'm moving to BALTIMORE on June 1st! So many rad stories to come. And shut up about The Wire.

Oooo I can't wait! I'm dreaming of sugarplums and Natty Bohs and $500 rent on a street with a resident crackhead and pronouncing the letter "O" like a jackass.

Seriously I'm not being sarcastic, I'm so flippin psyched, hon!

Monday, February 21, 2011

Ima get me a fancy schoolin, yes I am.

You know, for the past two years of my college-graduated life, there are two words that have been more valuable to me than any others. And no, they aren't, 'happy hour' (I'm a writer and a waitress, not a real person. Come on!) They in fact happen to be 'grad school'. Ha! I find this to be an excellent realization, because I have not made any attempt, whatsoever, to look into grad school. I have not even thought about applying since I graduated from regular college, so it is peculiar that grad school would be such a strong saving force in my life, but allow me to explain, in a rather long-winded fashion.

My generation seems to be extremely well-educated. Newsweek and TIME and plenty of other society-revealing sources have informed our parents and their friends that everybody's children are sooooo GD smart. We have the highest average SAT scores in history! We have the highest percentage of high school graduates, who then go on to attend college! But somehow, we also have the highest number of unemployed persons with Bachelor's degrees, who can also drink 15 Miller Lites in an hour and a half. It's all really quite astounding information. I mean, clearly we all care about our intellectual gratification and ultimate success. It's totally awesome to be forcefully educated and handed our paid-for tickets to professional triumph by our parents. College was expected of us and we did it! Some of us even took 1-3 extra victory laps to celebrate. (We weren't paying for it, might as well ride it out!) We deserve everything, because look how great we are. We are so smart and great, and should only have the greatest of smart jobs, where we hang out with other smart, great people and get paid smart, great salaries and sometimes do related work.

But sometimes, this doesn't work out. Like for me. I sure do think I'm pretty smartgreat myself, but somehow I'm still a waitress writing blogs in my free time. But listen, everyone: This is where grad school comes in!!!

Grad school is a pretty important institution for some. Going back to school later in life to elaborate on your education is nothing to scoff at, and an excellent opportunity for mid-lifers and almost-old-timers in pursuit of being born again intellectuals. And going on to get your Master's right after college is an excellent way to bypass the rest of us quickly in the work world, and be the shining star on every job application, you assholes! If executed properly, grad school can be your jump-start to a very successful career, in a very cut-throat job market. So, thanks in advance for taking my dream job.

Unfortunately, my undergrad loans kept me living in my parents' basement after college, so grad school wasn't the immediate answer for me. Instead, as you may have concluded, I wasn't met with the instant job success I was hoping for-- even as such an amaaaazing college grad-- so I took a restaurant job to pay my bills, that somehow turned into over a year of waitressing.

I will confess: yes, it is very discouraging to have a degree and not be using it. And I know it could be worse, but I really don't want to work weekend nights anymore, and I don't want to have callouses on my fingertips from hot plates, and I HATE wearing an apron every day, and I don't want to smell like french fries when I go out straight from work to try and desperately salvage my social life.

I want my smartgreat job. And I will find it (I hope). I am, like, the #1 Craig's List viewer/searcher and have written a bajillion trillion cover letters that are all so awesome, but have had no real success yet. In the mean time, since I work in the town I grew up in, I keep running into my friends, their parents and my parents' friends. And even though I think it seems kind of obvious, they always ask me the same thing, "So what are you doing these days?"

So, I brush my calloused peasant hands off on my apron, set down the pile of dirty dishes I'm holding and begin to execute my grand spiel. Aaaand stop-- you know what I've come to realize? Even though I've never even really considered grad school, somehow, grad school is ALWAYSalwaysalways incorporated into my "plan" that I tell to everyone! And you know why? Because as soon as I mention grad school, the opposing party is satisfied, and I'm done telling them about my super boring, frustrating life.

"So, how come you're working here?"

--"Well, I'm paying off student loans, living back at home with my parents, doing some writing and temping here and there."

(Silent nod, possibly accompanied by uncomfortable glazed eyes and lip bite)

--"And uh... yeah. Maybe getting ready for grad school in a year or two."

"Ohhh OK. Great. Grad school. Great, great. That's really great to hear. Great."

When the relief sweeps in after those two magic words are uttered, the effect is really terrific. I could probably say, "Yeah, I'm actually working the streets after my night shifts and pushing a little heroin here and there on weekdays. I killed a cat the other day, and backhanded a stranger's child. Stomped on a butterfly! Yeah, on purpose... but... it's for grad school." And I swear, the person would smile and nod, only hearing those delightfully satiating closing words, 'grad school.' Congratulations!

I fucking love grad school.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

sorry i'm not sorry for barfing all over your sperrys

You may be familiar with Lisa Birnbach, because in the 80s she wrote a slightly mocking but mostly serious douche-guide called "The Original Preppy Handbook". It's kind of funny, but not enough to distract you from the stark realization that many, many people use it almost biblically.

Recently, Birnbach has put out a "sequel" to the Handbook called "True Prep", (add-in subtitle: "How to Dress like an Asshole in the 21st Century"). Why anyone cares to have TWO books about wearing polo shirts and having the preppiest breed of dog (yes, she covers that) I do not know, but they do.

The Washington Post published a piece in today's paper about Birnbach and her new book.

(Here's the link to the full article)

A few excerpts that left my mouth hanging open:

"Last week, Birnbach came to D.C. to talk up "True Prep," on which she collaborated with designer Chip Kidd. At Georgetown's pastel shrine Vineyard Vines, 250 groupies clad in country-club best -- plus Mack, a Jack Russell in a plaid collar -- lined up. They politely sipped spiked Arnold Palmers while waiting for an audience with her. Many college students carried tattered copies of the original "OPH," as they like to call it, snagged from their parents; virtually all were in proper regalia, from pink polo shirts to needlepoint belts with oars."

"Are you wearing socks?" Birnbach asked J.C. McDonough, 48, from Baltimore. "My people don't wear socks." McDonough hitched up his khakis to show bare ankles sticking out of his Alden loafers. "No ma'am," he said.

First of all, gross. Second of all, people lined up to meet this woman so they could prove their preppiness to her. What?! She has to be partially kidding about this entire thing, and I have a very strong feeling most of her followers are blissfully unaware there is any kind of jest in the Lacoste cult. You know, because country clubs are a really relevant issue in America during a crippling economic depression. Perfect timing for a book about how to properly act like a rich person!

As a third generation Washingtonian, this is my favorite, favorite quote from the article. Ooo! I just love it:
"Washington had a major role in the writing of "OPH." Birnbach snagged a summer internship here in 1977 and discovered that the prep-o-meter ran very high. "I found something here unlike anything I had seen anywhere else," Birnbach says. "Everyone had the attitude, 'I am on the make this summer, and if I don't wear my Wharton baseball cap and my Dartmouth running shorts when I go to the Social Safeway, I don't have a chance.' "
I'm sorry, what? Pretty sure I feel like I have a "chance" at the Social Safeway without wearing college sweats. Are they going to deny me groceries without proving my secondary education? When I'm trying to purchase hummus, wheat thins and 2-for-1 Progresso soup (I'M POOR.), I really don't care how obvious it is I went to college. In fact, I'd rather you not know, considering most of my friends and I are practically unemployed and/or not using our really preppy and expensive college degrees... and buying hobo food.

I think I'm going to keep wearing socks and avoid athlete's foot, even if it means I won't be joining the prep elite. But I have to keep in mind, when I question this lifestyle, the response given by the late Patrick Bateman: "Because I want to fit in."

Friday, September 10, 2010

notes on a post graduate, one year later.

Considering it is now September, many familiar feelings seem to seep back in when the blistering heat of a DC summer finally starts to fade: A sense of relief that you no longer feel like your body is entirely suffocating, simply from having skin. An urgency to cram as many last-minute barbeques and blithe summery activities into each of your weekends before they are smothered out by mean Father Winter. A dominant inclination to wear earth tones. A pressing desire to consume harvesty food and drink. A resolute quest for coziness.

As the school year starts up again, and old memories of shopping for college essentials (and probably a multicolored octopus-armed lamp for your dorm room) start to surface, many of us are abruptly shaken out of these reflections only to realize that it has now been a full year (and few months) since we ended our happy, somewhat careless, and very drunk stints as co-eds.

Some of us got real jobs, and sold our souls to the professional world right away. Maybe you went to an Ivy League, and got recruited to a top consulting firm that ensured your financial stability and simultaneous crushing of your soul. Maybe one of your parents had a friend that slipped you in the door of a company, where you will constantly be aware you could have never gotten a job there based on your actual qualifications. Or maybe, just maybe, you're one of the rest of us.

We are stragglers, drifters, nomads. We work at spas, gyms, restaurants, bars, and boutiques. We are still the nightlife and the glory of youth, because we are searching for meaning and having fun. And we still live with our parents, who are starting to get pissed, and really sick of us eating their food and chilling on their couch.

The idea of moving home after college until we got settled seemed fine for a time. We didn't have to pay rent and we had the comforts of home and stability of family while we peddled ourselves to the work world. But after we realized LinkedIn was just boring Facebook, or our internships never turned into real jobs, we scoured Craig's List looking for service industry positions and inevitably got them. Why wouldn't we? We have degrees and personalities prepped for success! We have energy and spirit! Work didn't start until 5 pm! And it was fun! We got to work with cool people, just like us, and our money went right into our pockets... for like a second before we whipped it out again at the bar and got hammered on a Tuesday.

Now, as I approach the anniversary of pouring iced tea and not having done anything truly productive in a full year, I have started to form some thoughts and ask myself some big questions, and I will list them here for general consideration:

Questions
  • Why haven't my parents kicked me out yet?
  • Why do I still think it's alright to sleep until 11:30 on a week day?
  • WHY is my bank account empty when I have no real financial obligations other than my student loan payment and going out to eat daily?
  • What is the average time frame for "making something of yourself"? Is that even a real thing?
  • How long can I avoid health insurance before something small becomes really life-threatening?
  • Am I ever going to the dentist again?
  • Will I ever wear a suit to work?
  • Can someone please reboost the job-seeking confidence I had when I graduated?
  • Is blogging a conceivable potential career?

Thoughts and Theories of 2010
  • THE TIPPING STANDARD IS 20%.
  • Restaurant beverage lemons are disgusting, germ-ridden wedges of filth.
  • Please do not let your child talk to me that way.
  • No, I don't know why your food is taking so long. That is why I'm waiting on you and not in the back cooking it, you jackass.
  • When you ask for ranch dressing to drown your food in, I think less of you. Much less.
  • Not paying your parking tickets is a bad, bad, progressively money-losing idea.
  • I should have gone to a less expensive college.
  • Making out with your coworker at happy hour and having to face him/her at work the next day is SO much more awkward than just having to see them across the room in class.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Yaz is CrAzAy!

Female-targeted ads are consistently ridiculous and kind of embarrassing. We know this. Kotex even incorporated this concept into their new campaign, sarcastically addressing the believability of tampon ads where women are swirling around in A-line dresses and having the most awesomest time ever(!) at the POOL during their periods. Yeah, no.

In any case, my new favorite crazy is the most recent TV ad put out for Yaz birth control. Apparently, in addition to giving you a worry-free, baby-less, and promiscuous-as-U-wanna-be lifestyle, you also get to act batshit insane.
Behavior YOU can engage in, if you take Yaz:
  • Falling backwards into a bathtub while fully clothed!
  • Sitting on the ground barefoot and cutting off your own hair with random scissors!
  • Painting the walls of what probably isn't even your apartment to match your haircolor!
  • Dressing a mannequin as a robot lady-clown in an empty studio space and laughing maniacally!
  • And more!!!!

Yaz: Real crazy pills for a real crazy life.

You're welcome for the new tagline, Bayer pharmaceutical company. And since I use Yaz, I'll take my compensation in oversized teddy bears that talk, please!


See?

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

servin safari

Hey I got a new job!

iiiittttttt's.... waitress. Hurray.

Oh well, at least I'll be using my $100,000 college degree!

....wait.

My absolute favorite part about this new job is that I have to wear a neck tie... with jeans. It kind of looks like an outfit a small-town guy from the midwest would wear... when he goes to surprise a girl at her house on Valentine's day with a Whitman's Sampler, and maybe some carnations-- the flower of love.

Luckily, I really don't have much of a job ego to bruise, since my previous job was answering phones in a spa, and putting "green" eco-makeup on frumpy suburban moms. Oh, and don't forget making sure all the lady-clients were as comfortable as possible before they had patches of hair ripped off their skin with hot wax! Some things like that just make sense. Like taking a shower before you go to the gym, or drinking milk with a meal.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

double cartoon-themed post day





I think I might start a photo blog that's exclusively about real animals that look like cartoons. Actually... way too lazy, I'll just do it here when I feel so inclined.



<< real, live Puffin.


new cartooooons

So maybe you've heard, but FX recently came out with the animated series Archer. The previews didn't really lend much insight to what it would be like, so I watched it and my brain exploded from awesome. It's really hilarious and the animation is all old-fashioned and realistic-ish and sweet. But be warned: you should only watch it if you enjoy laughing. Otherwise, I'd stick to something totally unfunny, like The Cleveland Show.

Monday, January 4, 2010


Dear Ali Lohan,

Breaking news: you were definitely born male.
I'm so confused by your broad shoulders, weird mankini and skeleton head.

Sorry,

Me.

P.S. that "skirt" doesn't match. Or, pillowcase from 1963. Whatever.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Separated at birth?



A younger, pre-plastic surgery Donatella Versace and young Val Kilmer. Definitely brothers.