Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Why I Don't Text Guys First and Lots of Other Stupid Things.

I'm watching Singles for the 900th time today. Everyone has to see this movie and I promise you after you do, you will watch it roughly around that many times as well because it is that good. It came out in 1992 and is set in the Seattle grunge scene and goes into the stories of several, obviously, single people. Although they didn't have iPhones or dating apps or really nothing to save numbers and information in except for a Casio data bank watch, I can still identify with it tremendously. Especially with the Bridget Fonda character. This romantic idealist, filled with hope but for the wrong person. There's a scene where she wants to call the guy she's in love with after he stands her up. She teeters back and forth from trying to convince herself that men like to be called and then wondering if calling him would have her appearing desperate. Later on she realizes that he's just shitty and that she should just be by herself since being alone is so much fun. She ends up doing such cool stuff in her spare time alone like painting the legs of her chair green and eating a salad. And she's so happy! Anyway, with that being said, I never contact guys for similar reasons. I think this stemmed from the one time I called a guy first when I was 17. He answered the phone, and I was so psyched. That is until he said, "Hi Candice, I'm at a wake." I immediately became plagued with cringe ridden regret yet also wondered why in God's name he had a cell phone in 1999 and not a beeper. So nowadays I have this overwhelming fear that all guys are at wakes at all times and that I probably shouldn't bother them. Instead, I just wait for them to contact me which is probably really stupid? I mean, I could be super into a guy and I'll just wait around and paint objects and figure if he doesn't text me, he's just not interested. Anyway, as I was just zoning out, staring at this movie eating a Luna bar, I started thinking, "What could be worse than that? Wait a sec, what kind of maniac answers the phone at a wake? What a maniac, man. This Luna Bar kind of tastes like a wall." Then I figured, someone's gotta come up with a modern day version of this movie. And it's not gonna be me because I don't want to be another asshole in LA sitting at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf off Fairfax writing and discussing my screenplay at that one giant table by the bathroom. Instead, I'll just compile a list of ridiculous things I would never ever do while waiting for a guy to call me even though they could be really funny if I did them. Okay cool, here we go:

Be Upfront:
Text him, "Hey cutie, what happened to that relationship we were supposed to have?" We know how much guys love relationships and they especially love commitment. They'll appreciate your honesty in regards to your high expectations. Let him know that's what you wanted.  If you really want to increase your chances, download that app that morphs faces together and show him what your kid would look like. Then tell him you drew it. Creative girls are sexy so expect lots of sex after that.

Be Real Chill and Hang Out:
Haven't heard from him? No bigs, just go hang out in his favorite cafe, place of employment, yard.
Guys forget easily so it's good if you just place yourself in plain sight so they can remember you. When you see him, go ahead and run, not walk up to him and say, "I knew you'd be here eventually. I've been waiting here for two days. Nice yard." And now that you've spotted your desired one, it's time to...

Woo Him:
Sing him popular songs like "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel. But only the African back-up part. Be all like, "Ee yah yaaaaah. Yah yah yah yah. Doopa da da da da da da da yah yah." Just like that. Look directly at him and don't blink at all throughout your love-professing ballad. Guys like confidence, I've read that in lots of blogs. You'll make him conjure up images of John Cusack with a giant boombox and he'll really love you for your efforts and knowledge of bitchin' 80's classics.

Utilize Your Apps:
Go on his Instagram and like all of the photos of his you haven't liked yet. Even though he hasn't texted you back in a year. This'll show your dream guy you don't hold grudges. Guys love cool, calm chicks. And people get really happy when you like their photos on Instagram. Double win.

Utilize Another App:
Post Passive Aggressive Facebook statuses in the shape of bitter love songs. Remember when you'd have to call your favorite radio station and dedicate a song for someone? Now with social media, you can be your own disc jockey! Post a song about a break-up and the excruciating agony associated with it. The lyrics should be along the lines of, "I've cried 19 times today so far and it's only 1pm," or "I can't breathe good without you," or maybe, "I see your face everywhere that I go and my floor even looked like you a little bit so I cried on it." That way he knows where you're coming from, melodically.

Post a Photo of You in This Chair on the Internet:

Sup, dudes.

Overthink Everything and Do the Wrong Thing After:
You're still wondering why he hasn't called? Okay, great! Now think of every possible thing that could've gone wrong and discuss it openly with your crush via text. Make sure you do this no earlier than 2am and after you had copious amounts of caffeine so your imagination is in full swing. Sabotage whatever you could've had and when that's over, go and not think at all and hook-up with someone you just met at a goth club. You've learned that fear destroyed your potential relationship so go ahead and don't have any more of that lingering around in your life. Fear is the devil's way of saying, "Hi, don't use me to fuck up your relationship, but definitely use me with normal stuff."

Yeah, for sure don't do those things. Although I'm guilty of 1.5 of those above mentioned God-awful recommendations. I know, right? I'm thinking that maybe I should change my stance with the way I handle communication by going out on a limb and striking up a conversation with someone I actually like. If not, I may end up with an ex I had zero passion with and convince myself to stay in it by thinking, "No, this is good. Being with him is like being alone, together." Which is another line from the oh-so amazing Singles. That is nice and all, but you have to have some sort of emotion for somebody. Or else you're just settling and no one wants to do that. I'll just have to be sure to begin my text with, "Hey. U at a wake?"

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

When OCD and Shopping Collide

Ah, shopping. A fun activity to help take your mind off of situations that got you down, hence the term, "Retail Therapy.”  Shopping can make you feel as if you are building a better you; one slight addition to your wardrobe and you can completely change your look and bring some good ol' confidence back into your life. Yet for some, like those with the indecisive mind much like myself, a typical day of shopping can go like a little like this:

"Oh whoa, this top’s cute, I need it."
"Wait, no I don't."
"Do I?"
"What if I don’t buy it?"
"Shit, someone else might get it if I don’t."
"Then it’ll be gone. Forever."
"Okay fine, I'll just buy it."

The Following Day:
"Wait, why did I buy this dumb ugly thing?  I’m never going to wear it."

Ah, yes. Shopping.

With impulsive shopping comes the inevitable:
The Return.

The Return is a hobby. And my logic is- it’s a job. I make an effort, I am present, and in the end, I receive money.

Okay, clearly I'm aware that I am being refunded money. Yet the fact of the matter is, there is more money in my Chase account after the return than there was this morning. Therefore, I am earning money. This also eases the guilt that comes along with spending and purchasing overpriced material items. As a result, I am working on my days off and being frugal. Honestly, this isn't exactly fun. If I don’t put the effort into bringing back whatever useless thing I bought, the receipt will go missing and the 14-day return policy will expire, leaving me with more junk. Junk which will soon multiply and become clutter. Clutter that will make you feel inclined to start an eBay account or have a yard sale. All things that require so much effort. So for those intense moments of do or die purchasing, I’ve come up with strategies in order to avoid working a second “job” and having to deal with a lump of rejected clothes. Here’s some tactics I try to utilize whenever I enter the depths of the Shopper Center:

-Take Photos and Torment Your Friends with Your Meaningless Dilemmas:
If time permits, I will take photos of the items in question and send each of them to my very close, non-judgmental pals asking for extremely urgent, emergency level advice. One of my good friends does this as well. Here’s his, “Which Shoe Should I Mail Back to Amazon?" pic that came into my phone in a time of serious and dire straits:

I was very empathetic of his plight, for I had found myself in a similar predicament only a few days earlier when I thought I could make room in my life for a yellow plaid skirt. He quickly reminded me that I should probably never make room for that, and he was indeed correct. Therefore, I owed him. His intention initially was to keep one pair, yet in the end, he kept both. Why? Because he asked indecisive me, that’s why.

Shop Safe:
That’s why I now shop safe. When I say safe, I mean I buy clothes in the way I would buy water bottles in bulk from a Costco prior to a major weather epidemic. I will buy the same tank top, in the same color, 4 more times. Why? God forbid it gets lost, wrinkled, or it’s in the laundry bin when I really want to wear it. I now have several back-up versions of the one thing I actually like. If I am fond of something I also make it a thing to purchase it in every color available.
Case in point, same skirt, two colors:

I liked this skirt so much so that I wanted to wear it everyday. Which was pretty inconvenient being that it meant I couldn’t go to the same place two days in a row.  Not good, since I clearly despise change. Then I came up with the master plan of buying it in more than one color. Bam, problem solved.

Put Item in Question On Hold:
Put it on hold and slowly walk away from it. See if you miss it when you’re gone. If you forget about it, it wasn’t worth it and now you can move on. Treat it in a similar fashion to the way you would with some iffy dude on a first date. Are you going to go home with a guy who has a sort of cute face but you’re not entirely sure because he has a 90’s goatee in the way? Probably not, right? You see, you don’t necessarily need to go home with it and wake up the next day confused as shit because it’s not your type. And the cool thing is, you can put it aside and it won’t leave with someone else because it is stuck behind the counter with your name on it.

With all that being said, now you know how to shop safely and with less fear of loss. Truth of the matter is, buying stuff you don't need is one giant hassle. You should never be so overwhelmed that the act of ridding these things from your possession is more grueling of a task then accumulating them. Here's the thing: If you’re not going to love it and feel great with it in your life, why bother? You should be proud of everything you’ve earned that way in the end, you will be content with the life you created for yourself. I got real deep there over clothes, but if I didn't you might've been stuck being "That Chick Who Keeps Having All the Yard Sales."

Thursday, April 16, 2015

Candice's Makeup Reviews

Too Faced- "Better Than Sex" mascara:

A beauty implement that's better than intimacy with another human being?! No fricken way! I had to try it. Sadly though, it's mascara and not a penis. I don't know, maybe I've just had really good sex or something but I just don't see what the big deal is. I'm no marketing expert but a less understated name would've been more appropriate. Ok, let me help the people over at Too Faced cosmetics because I love their bronzer and I don't wanna play them like that. I'm thinking, "Maybe Not Better Than Sex Because That's Not Even Close To What Mascara Is Because Mascara Is Not Sex What You Probably Meant To Say Was Better Than Other People's Mascara" mascara. I don't know if they can fit all that on the travel size version so that may not work.
I mean, if you have to remain all erotic about your mascara, Too Faced, may I suggest this for a name:
Better Than Anal.
That's perfect because mascara is definitely better than that.


Benefit- "They're Real" mascara:

I know, I'm an avid fan of mascara. Check it out though, this mascara's cool because it comes with a thing that looks like an actual medieval mace at the tip. Which is great in case you to were ever find yourself in a situation were you have to fight off foot soldiers in your village but couldn't fit your sword in your purse. Pro Tip: If you're using it for your lashes and not for dueling, make sure you don't apply too many coats because what happens is you will have one really wide lash. My mother would do this with her mascara all the time, and she would use a blue tint. So not only did she have blue eyelashes in the 80's, she would have one big giant blue eyelash in the 80's, so be careful.

Nars Blush.

You guys think this is just blush, right? Innocent, cheekbone defining blush. Until you stumble upon these awesome shade names, "Orgasm", "Deep Throat" and also, "Super Orgasm."


Ok, here's the thing: You can stop now. Sex things are sex things, makeup things are makeup things. No matter how well this facial highlighter would illuminate my complexion, let's face it; it's named after the act of a penis being as far into one's mouth as humanly possible. All I want is to have a nice, rosy flush to my cool toned face. And that is ALL.

Hi so those are my makeup reviews.

Saturday, November 15, 2014

Tis The Season...?

I guess.

Being that I live in climate controlled Los Angeles, the only way I was made fully aware of this was upon purchasing a cup of Starbucks coffee, which was now red and featured a very happy, winking snowman in a top hat. I was perplexed at the time for I was also standing near a palm tree set amongst the backdrop of the bright, white sun while dripping a combination of sweat and SPF 45. The thought of Christmas fast approaching reactivated my once dormant anxiety. I imagined having to spend an inordinate amount of money as well as time asking people what they want, shopping for what they want, waiting in lines to buy what they want, wrapping what they want and then having to hang out with them to give them what they want. I then have a silent panic attack and go on to drink more coffee.

Thursday, July 24, 2014

Me N' Alf.

I had my only Tinder fling. 
And it was with Alf.
Here's the story:

He understood me.

He was a great listener. 

I gave him my number. 
My outgoing texts were green so I assumed that he was either using Google Voice or an Android. Either way, not cool.

He took me for sushi, my favorite.

He won me Batman at the arcade. 

He was starting to get possessive. I secretly like that. 
Whoops, there goes that secret. 

We got dressed up and went dancing at the goth club. This is his look I call, "Alfin Gore". 
(He stole the spotlight. )

Then this shit happened:

Whelp, there goes that. 

Monday, July 14, 2014

I Found My Old Yelp Reviews and They're Kind of Absurd.

A majority of these Yelp entries were written during my coupon phase. 

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Hi, I Went on a Tangent on a Book About "Love"

As a person with an endless desire to think about everything, I've come to realize that many of us tend to speak to those we have feelings for in riddles, as methods of communication are becoming more and more impaired. Heartbroken? Upload a YouTube video with the word "damaged" somewhere in the song title onto Facebook and have your former love decode the meaning. Did a guy dump you and you never got the opportunity to explain your stance? Post an angry tweet to an audience of followers you bought and hope that maybe one day he'll read it. Sadly, a majority of people do not speak directly to another person to convey their feelings or even treat another kindly if it means they could wind up wounding their pride in the process. It seems as if speaking to the one we claim to love revolves around manipulation, using passive aggressive tactics and even displaying a cold demeanor. I can't grasp this logic since I possess this fun thing called "empathy" which enables me to understand and feel for even the most difficult of people. Leading my friends and family who care about me, to upgrade that extent of caring to a high risk state of worrying about me. When it comes to the way I've handled my relationships, I've gotten some shitty reviews. "You're too nice," is a typical reaction. "I'd tell him to fuck off," is another popular selection. "If he's going to follow other girls on (insert social media network here), go and follow other guys instead of bitching about it." I know they mean well with their opinions but I can't take this advice. All I want in the end is affection and trust. So why on Earth would I go about destroying any chances of that by showing someone early on that I can not be trusted? And besides, Super Personal Alert: A lot of memories I have growing up were of my parent's constant tango throughout the process of their divorce that was filled with a lack of communication and a impressive amount of games.  Games that were used to get a rise out of the other since vocalization apparently was never an option. I can never comprehend how one could harbor such wounded feelings. I remember long car rides with my father, laying in the backseat alone listening to all the classic rock love songs he'd play and paying attention to every lyric. And being with my mother while she attempted to belt out the notes to Gloria Estefan's "The Words Get in the Way." Now I can see why these songs were listened to on such heavy rotation. Perhaps society respects the artists behind love songs so much because someone managed to take the feelings everyone fears and turn them into something beautiful. All those emotions you have a hard time expressing, someone wrote them out for you and now you can sing along to them. Love songs will always be extremely important to me for they are sung from people I can identify with. People who can feel for someone on such a level where it's so strong it can be made into art. With that being said, I could never find a part inside of me that would go about retaliating in any vengeful manner even if the pain from another mounts to a height where it would be justified.  Nowhere in that song did Ms. Estefan say, "But the words get in the way. There's so much I want to say. But it's locked deep inside so now I'm going to follow a male model on Instagram." 

All this leads me to wonder: Why is this behavior where one's own fear of being hurt results in using mind games to control anothers' emotions as well as their own? 
Why has it become so morally acceptable? 
What the hell happened?

Thursday, March 13, 2014

Dentistry Can Be Funistry.

A few weeks ago, I had to get Oral Surgery Extreme for the first time. It was a procedure I never even knew existed. It was so unheard of I had to go to the special dental God of teeth in the far off land of Glendale, California. I mean, I have had some pretty bad experiences at the dentist prior to this. When I was a kid, I had to get 4 teeth pulled to make room for awesome braces. It didn't feel oh-so spectacular yanking them out all at once and I might've been a little theatrical with my reaction. So much so the overweight assistant thought a soothing approach to this would be to sit on me. In which case, she went and sat on me. So serene. Later in my teens, my stepmom found a great dentist in the nostalgic neighborhood of Forest Hills that I grew up in who accepted her plan. On the day of my appointment, we walked into an apparent 1960's nuclear fallout shelter: Mint green walls, ceilings and floors, dental instruments that have been dental instruments during the Kennedy administration and a man about 8,070 years old with round, black rimmed glasses thicker than his own head. Needless to say, I grew a bouffant. No, needless to say, I freaked out and never went back to that guy. These days I'm usually not that miffed by the idea of going to the dentist and try to go once every other month as a precautionary measure so that I never need a root canal again. Not because it's painful, but because it's expensive. Fear of the dentist should never be so crippling that you turn into someone walking around looking like a pirate on purpose. But when my new special super dentist looked at my x-ray and explained the reality of the situation in utmost detail, fear started to creep up on me and I slowly realized that this was not going to be fun:

Thursday, February 13, 2014

How To Somewhat Enjoy Valentine's Day.

Hey guys, guess what? Valentine’s Day is tomorrow. Yes, time to make like you actually do like your "loved" one. Buy heart shaped things with heart shaped designs on them that are found inside of other heart shaped things, and probably a card too. But it also means that you should be on your best behavior and refrain from having any outbursts or unnecessary tantrums for an entire day. Here’s some greatly overlooked typical Valentine's Day issues that should be avoided: 

Thursday, February 6, 2014

How To Make Sure You Will Not Be Embarrassed After You Die.

Anyone who knows me is aware of the fact that I think about death quite a bit. Sometimes it gets to the point where I won't leave the house for an entire day for I will think to myself  "Hey Candice, you know if you go out today, there's a possibility that you may die." I understand it's a little much but fact of the matter is, it's true. Yes of course I could croak in my apartment by perhaps choking on a baby carrot or somehow accidentally eating hair dye, but walking around Los Angeles is certainly more likely. On an average day I come close to being hit by a car at least twice because as I believe the case to be, LA drivers have this superhuman power where they can actually see through pedestrians. Either that or if they do see our kind, their brains don't quite register right away what this object is moving before them since it is not in the shape of a vehicle. Leisurely strolls are something to be found in dreams as I am always to be on a high alert while walking. I'm aware of the obvious fact that my death will occur at some point and there's nothing I can do about it. What perturbs the control freak of a woman I am is that I don't know when this event will take place. And there are many little things that could be overlooked; Loose ends that you don't tend to which may leave you with a bit of a strange reputation if they are to be noticed without explanation. I would prefer to have things in place before I were to leave this world in order to facilitate my need to maintain a good name. Let's say I were to be expecting company, my home would be tidy without the usual hot pink bra on the couch or all the glitter in the kitchen sink from making my boyfriend gifts coated in 8 layers of sparkle madness (poor guy). The house would smell like a giant Citrus Tango Yankee candle as opposed to it's recent putrid microwaved bacon aroma that my roommate is ever-so keen on. I would like it if there were a way to take the same approach when it comes to how my body were to be found once it decides it's going to expire. For all I know, I could die in my sleep wearing a Jem and the Holograms shirt and bicycle shorts with a massive poof for hair on my head. I have no idea and it will forever weigh on my mind. Hence why if I am to leave the house, there's no way I would do so wearing a pair of sneakers and sweat pants with vainglorious claims such as "#1 Princess of the World" printed on them.  The day I do that is the day a Prius mistakes me for a car lane and runs me down. Understandably. Nevertheless, with that being said, here are some pointers on how to NOT be embarrassed after you have dropped dead:

Friday, January 31, 2014

Monday, December 30, 2013

Another Post About My Relentless Faith in the Lost and Abandoned Underwater City Called "Love"

Bloop bloop.

People keep telling me to date, to have many options and just have a "blast". Not knowing how I may have succumbed to signing up for meat market sites and apps such as OkCupid and Tinder. I've tried both momentarily just to see what this could feel like. I felt nothing. I just couldn't get into it. I think I liked Tinder for a period of 30 minutes to take screenshots of the single man photos. I've learned that men in Los Angeles have some pretty unique things in common. One of which being posing with a tiger. Something on many an LA man's to-do list. Where one goes to acquire a photo session with an actual willing tiger I do not know. I'm going to have to assume that somewhere within 2 miles of Hollywood lies an underground big cat zoo dubbed Ford: Tiger Division. A place where tiger models wait with their portfolios and comp cards, wide-eyed and eager to be apart of your fashion world. Until Terry Richardson walks in and their lives are turned upside down as they are now sprawled along an unfurnished apartment's floor wearing nothing but American Apparel disco shorts and knee high socks in the aftermath of a four day cocaine binge. Maybe I'm wrong. Other popular Tinder photography includes far off in a distance mid-hiking shots. These are great because you get to learn right off the bat that the person you have stumbled upon thoroughly enjoys being one with nature. In which case, I thoroughly enjoy being one with noping the shit out of you. If you love the great outdoors, that's one thing. You're only entitled to five photos on Tinder and if you dedicate one of those slots to a picture a pal took of you from two mountains away where your posture is being severely impacted by your seventy pound assorted rock climbing shoe and flare gun filled backpack, then you make a whole lot of NO SENSE. Allow me to type as I'd text for one minute:

Thursday, October 31, 2013

Slut Cops: The Movie

Being Halloween and all, I have a slight feeling that later on today when I venture off to the West Hollywood Parade I will surely end up annoyed by the many walks of life that will be present. Some of which will include a girl with those humungous 8 foot wide feathered angel wings that take up an entire car lane, the idiot with the pointy and very unnecessary bullshit thing on his shoulder that is capable of stabbing me through the face, the drunken guy disguised as drunken foam hotdog guy, Cheech but with no Chong because he smoked the costume and of course, 8,000 Slut Cops. So many of them walking aimlessly back and forth like some sort of Slut Cop zombie nation along Santa Monica Boulevard eventually being splattered upon it's sidewalks in the throes of hysteric episodes because their boyfriend, Super Mario with felt mustache, made out with Slut Pumpkin. But being that I give everyone the benefit of the doubt, let's make believe that Slut Cops serve a purpose to the community asides from looking sexy on a budget and with limited creativity. That way when you inevitably bump into one today, you can look at them in less of a demeaning light. Regardless of whether you are a female who would typically take pleasure in viciously smearing the contents of a bottle of Nair onto their head or a male who just wants to bone them. So, here's Slut Cops: The Movie.

    Slut Cops is a romantic comedy about two former models (Banks, Fisher) who at 37 years old, have surpassed their peak yet have the difficulty of coming to terms with their diminishing career and accepting a life with an average, run of the mill 9-5 job. When their rent controlled apartment goes up in flames after Banks leaves her flat iron on her cat, they are forced to seek a new means of accumulating income other than receiving residual checks and selling their old boots on eBay. They answer an ad on Craigslist from the private investigation company "Sexy Surveillance", operated by surly ex-cop (Eric Stoltz), which seeks attractive women to become undercover agents aimed at catching cheating spouses. Together the girls lurk in seedy taverns and local dive bars enticing husbands in question in order to collect as much photographic documentation to prove acts of infidelity. Obliging to all sorts of zany proposals, Banks and Fisher have the time of their lives regaining the sex appeal they had long lost in 2002. That is until they bust top notch, sort of fat guy with a super shiny ponytail, mob boss (Val Kilmer.) His wife (Mercedes Ruehl) threatens to divorce him on the grounds of adultery, in which case she gets half of his assets as well as child support permitting her to live the rest of her life watching the Oxygen Network on an otherwise zero income of her own. Also stars Owen Wilson for no reason and Matthew McConaughey just to make it somewhat romantic. Directed by that one guy who directed that movie with the girl with the face and written by Who Gives a Shit Man who takes up two parking spots at the Universal Studios stages lot with his 2014 Volkswagen Who Gives a Shit About That Either hatchback. Craft services provided by Doug "The Fork" O'Rouke. 

Monday, October 28, 2013

Idealistic 90's Revival: The Telephone Conversation

The other night a friend of mine contacted me to tell me she wanted to hang out and talk about a recent turning point in her life that she was super excited about. I decided I needed a break from diagnosing myself with nervous system disorders on WebMD and left the house. We went out for a drive where she went into a story of how she had just met someone in LA who was different from those she dated in the past. Typical story thus far. Everyone comes off as pleasant and on their best behavior in the first few weeks. But here's the kicker: Right after she gave him her number, he did an astonishing thing: He called her. This was strange. "Wait, he called you??!" I responded, just in case I had misheard something.  She quickly assured me with a "Dude, right?!" In which case I was all "What?! You mean, with your VOICE THING?" (I didn't say that but it would've been kind of cool if I did.) She went on to say that they did cute little impersonations, told jokes and related on many levels during their 2 hour conversation. I'll admit it, I was jealous. I haven't done this Get-To-Know-a-Guy-Over-the-Phone thing since 1998. Shit, man. I never let myself have expectations and tend to tell dudes to take me to a dinky diner or a cafe for a date since it's a comfortable setting for me but a phone conversation? Wow, if I could that and then go to Canters I'd feel like a princess.

Saturday, October 12, 2013

How To Passive Aggressively Get Your Male Roommate To Move Out.

As I've stated in previous posts, my former husband and I broke up earlier this year. Surprisingly, we remain good friends and do favors for one another whenever we can. He moved out and in his caring Canadian way, told me that I could stay in this apartment without changing the lease. My options were that I could live here alone or rent out the bedroom or even the living room to someone else. Since I am accustomed to being uncomfortable, I took the living room and rented out the bedroom. I was never in there much to begin with and spent most of my time near the front door so that I could easily evacuate the apartment if my ex-husband were to start doing that thing where he'd talk about house music, Detroit house music, techno house music, techno techno music and how we don't have sex. As a person who doesn't know other people, I took my search for a roommate to Craigslist. A great website where you can meet some real all-stars in your area. My first potential co-occupant was a 24 year old ex-party girl who seemed to be going through a phase of enlightenment. So much so that her imagination was clear and vivid and it involved installing shelves in my home, refinishing the wood in an English oak hue, painting the bathroom and retiling the countertops. She was the type of person that expressed such an amount of overzealous joy without shutting the fuck up that your personality excuses itself because it just can't handle all that is exploding right in front of you and you're left standing there with only the mere ability to nod every once in a while. Regardless to say, I later sent her a text that simply read "Nope." I was already going through a huge change called No More Husband and didn't want to deal with energized, dominant female looking to play arts & crafts with my apartment like it was some sort of fun project to eventually sell on Etsy. I then continued my search and interviewed other prospective roommates. Some of which included a man with a tinge of I Can't Help But Rape In My Sleep look to his eyes, a girl who seemed as if she just took ADHD medication that she found in someone else's purse and a few typical Craigslist flakes. All hope was lost until this wonderful thing happened: A young guy in his 20's came over and said these words "Ok this place is nice. I don't have anything but a sleeping bag and some shaving cream and I keep to myself." I said "Cool, you're in!" He had a girlfriend that he couldn't stop talking about so I knew he wouldn't invade my bed in the middle of the night as I slept alone and vulnerable in zit cream. A completely harmless person whom I had a good feeling about. He still stays in his room for the most part and I think collectively I may have seen him 12 times during these last few months. So with that being said, I do feel as if I live alone in a studio apartment. But the fact is no matter how much I can make myself believe otherwise, I still have a roommate. And we all have moments where we just want to be alone. So I thought to myself: What could be the most passive aggressive tactics one can use to get their male roommates to leave their living quarters? This is what I came up with while I sat around on yet another eventful Friday night in face mask:

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

The Adventures of Trader Joe's Guy.

As an avid thinker of absolutely nothing, I wondered to myself: Does the Trader Joe's "Captain" wear his glorious Hawaiian shirt in a life outside of the Trader Joe's facility? With this ever-present need to know, I took my ponderings to Google. Again, as they tend to be, my assumptions were in fact truths. Here are some rare images of Trader Joe's Guy in mid-adventure:

I found this gem on an old archive site that had stored away various images from Hit Parader magazine. Here's Trader Joe's Guy '84 being a pretty bitchin' dude as he hangs with Van Halen on a nice, sunny day:

Trader Joe's Guy remained bitchin' throughout the 90's as well. Here's a shot of him crowd surfing during a NOFX set at Van's Warped Tour '98:

Trader Joe's guy clearly loves his outdoor festivals. So much so that this past summer he rented an RV and drove to Black Rock Desert in Nevada for the annual Burning Man event. Here he is after taking 12 double dipped hits of acid posing for a group shot with whom he called "Big White Oblong Head Bag Man" and others. All of which are not real people, only mere open-eye visuals from his psychedelically hallucinatory imagination:

Trader Joe's Guy also loves to take time out to relax and unwind. Just like he's doing here at Morongo Casino and Resort after winning $35 on the Wheel of Fortune slot along with his Aunt Rose and her girlfriends from the assisted living home:

Monday, October 7, 2013

Let's Talk About Being Single.

Now that I'm single for the first time in 8 years, I forgot about all that's involved when it comes to dating. From the planning, to deciding on what shoes to wear, to the "Oh wait, you're not my ex, I should probably put on some pants that smell good" to the "Hey hi, you're not my ex, whoops, I totally just forgot about sexual boundaries" and then to the "Oh hey, you're not my ex, so I probably can't sit here and do that thing where I binge eat and stare at the wall while I ignore you, huh?" and various other dilemmas. Here are some things that perplex me and make me all the more content on sitting alone at the Coffee Bean like I have been for the last 4 and a half hours.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

And Here We Have Some Fucked Up Dog Wigs.

"The Sexin' Perm." 
This wig is aimed at an audience of female dog owners who are not acquainted with the penis of a man.  

The "Last Second Halloween Costume Oh Cool Looks Like I'll Be That One Obvious Guy From A Seventies Disco Where I'm Making References From Saturday Night Fever All Night Long Until I'm Passed Out Drunk In a Parking Lot Shit Now Someone Stole My iPhone and Also My Car" wig is a hit at all major celebrations. To further accessorize this look, pair it with a collared shirt. Preferably one with a spiral pattern. (TIP: the more directions that spiral takes on the better). I repeat: THE MORE DIRECTIONS THE SPIRAL TAKES, THE MORE THIS WILL INDICATE YOU ARE THE ULTIMATE PARTICIPANT IN ANY DISCO FRENZY)

"The Toup'"
This works well if your dog aspires to be a politician. Put your dog on the fast track to success in this lovely hair piece that naturally bred Republican descendants would marvel at. Weaved from the bountiful scalps of the original old money, this mahogany masterpiece will have everyone RSVPing to your $8k plate party in a flash.

This versatile wig can go many ways. Because it is versatile. And that's what that means. Instructions on how to prep this style range from thrusting yourself face first towards a high powered fan to fancifully tossing yourself out of a 4 story window. The higher the altitude, the better the results. Set with cold and you're good to go.

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Here Are the Updated Lyrics to My Brooklyn Song.

"I Got a Cool Haircut, So I'm Gonna Move to Brooklyn."

(Sung by the guy in the B-52's)

I got a cool haircut.
So I'm gonna move to Brooklyn.
I got a cool haircut.
So I'm gonna move to Brooklyn.

I'm gonna take the L train.
And then I'm gonna transfer.
I'm going to the Whole Foods.
And I'm gonna eat some tempeh.

I got a cool haircut.
So I'm gonna move to Brooklyn.

I'm gonna ride my bicycle.
Bicycle with the basket.
I'm going to the thrift store.
I'm gonna buy some corduroys

I got a cool haircut.
So I'm gonna move to Brooklyn.

I live in a great, big loft.
Where I make
Some great, big art.
I live with 5 other people.
We share only 1 bathroom.

We all got cool haircuts.
That's why we moved to Brooklyn.

I got, I got me a girlfriend.
She wears
A 90's faded denim jacket
She's got a cool haircut.
That's why she moved to Brooklyn.

We came from South Carolina.
We came from Omaha.
We like to reuse fashion.
We like slip-on shoes.
We like wayfarer glasses.
We like Beacon's Closet.
We like hi-top Reeboks.
We like Indie Rock.

We all got cool haircuts.
That's why we moved to Brooklyn.

I got a cool haircut.
So I'm gonna move to Brooklyn.

Monday, November 5, 2012

VH1 Presents Behind The Music: Jem & The Holograms.

In the midst of the 1980's, Jem and the Holograms were the darlings of pop rock music. A side project put together by Prince, they were initially dubbed The Wet Walls Of Wild & Purple Sexy Juice Nastys. Only to have to change it after learning that a Moroccan wedding band had already coined the name.

Here is Jem on the night that changed her life forever:
It was highly publicized when Jem made allegations claiming that after a night out at Miami club The Electric Spandex Barracuda Cheekz, she was gang banged inside of a bathroom stall by Gumby and his Japanese protege, Ayumbi. Charges were later dropped after the parties reached a undisclosed settlement outside of court.

In March of 1989 on a trip to his native country of El Salvador, Jem's long time boyfriend Rio died tragically in a seven hour knife fight over his Horchata. Since then she has taken a vow to bring peace to the world as a Global Ambassador. Even though she still wears painted shit on her face.

Jem realized her drug addiction was out of control when she came close to knocking on death's door. According to Jem's tell all book "Totally Outrageous: Well At Least I Heard It Was But I Was Too Fucked Up On Blow And Qualudes To Remember", she recalls being with Motley Crue bassist Nikki Sixx the night he shot up heroin and died in his leather pants and then came back to life and then died again but not really. Shortly after, Jem checked herself into a Utah rehab facility equipped with a swingset and small petting zoo and left Hollywood for good. She felt it was time to do some soul searching and subsequently joined a missionary. These days, she gives out cans of pork and beans and creamed corn at the church.

Thursday, May 3, 2012

11 pm- Friday Night At Any Given 711 in Nassau County

Starring these guys:

Yo bro, so I met this chick Gina, she's fuckin' bangin'. Boobs out to there and shit.
Yeah, where'd you meet her?
Fucking Mirage, bro. I was dancin', doin' my fist pump and I see her over in the corner looking all cute so I go up to her and I'm like 'Yo, ill beats, right? And shes like 'Yeah.' So I shoved my tongue down her throat.
Yo, that's cool. Hold up, I'm gonna go in and get a protein bar and a dutch.
Yeah yo. I want another Stacker 2.
Yo son, your hair's moving a little bit.
Word? Fix that shit.
Here, I got you. I got some Rave gel in the Civic.
No doubt. You my boy.
Yo, I got the Best of Ultra Dance Club House Party Hits Spring Break Cabo 2008.
Nah yo, chill. I got that shit. Put on KTU.
Yeah yo.
Turn up the bass, son.
Yo, let's go to club and get some bitches.
Hell yeah, bro.

Originally Published 6/14/08 and now guys like this have television shows and can afford rehab.

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

11:30 PM Friday Night- Any Given 711 in Nassau County

Starring These Things:

Hey bitch, I love your hair. Who does your highlights?
My girl over at Giorgio's. She's the best. I love her.
Yeah, it looks hot.
Thanks bitch. Hey, you got good color.
Yeah, I've been goin' tannin' 16 times a week in the Ultra Solar Mega Sun 5000 tanning bed. I gotta get my nails done tomorrow though. They're starting to look mad skanky. I wanna get some french tips with an airbrushed design of like tropical shit like a flamingo or a big ass palm tree, you know?
Flamingos are the shit. I want one.
Yeah. Oh, how's Mario?
We broke up.
Oh my God. Why?
He threw me out of a window the other day.
Seriously? Like a window?
Yeah, I'm okay though. I met some guy the other day when I was working at the salon. He wanted his back waxed and, oh my God, let me tell you, so hot. He came in with diamond Chanel earrings, Diesel jeans and an Armani shirt. I swear, I was like gonna die on the floor right there.
Yeah, I'm like in love and shit.
Hey, is that the new Juicy bag?
Yeah. I needed it.
So cute. Hey, why you hangin' out with that brunette slut?
I met her at my job. She's mad hairy and shit like that so she comes in a lot for arm waxes. She's okay.
She's a Jersey skank. I heard she gets abortions like once a month or something. That's why her boobs are like stretchy and down to her stomach. And her hair extensions are the worst. So nasty.
I just realized that she was using my lip gloss before.
Ew, did she use her finger?
No, oh my God, I have to throw that out! She probably has herpes. She gets down everynight with like every guy ever.
Ew. Hoebag.
Whatever. Ok I gotta go, there's no cute guys here. Love you, bitch.

Published 6/16/2008 and these girls are now mothers. 

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

I'm Definately Going To Get Beat Up By A Strange Man In a John Deere Cap For This

Hi y'all! I was out in the back with my Pa before and he goes "Hey MaryLouBethAnn, you see that there armadillo near that big ol' boulder over there?" And then I saw it. It was big. So Pa went into the shed and took out the big stick that we use when we go wrangle some gators and he got that armadillo good. Now his big ol' head is up in the den. I hang my hat up on it sometimes.

Wanna see my son, Jimbo? He's a cutey.

Once he shoved a blue crayon in his ear and we never got it out. Doctors said he's fine, he just can't hear all too well. So when we need him to go pick up some twigs, we just throw the remote at his head. Then he knows he's got some chores to do.

So then I got me this best friend Daisy Joe.

She's got some big ol' titties on her. She's stuck on the floor for life like that because her back done went out. I told her I'd help her up and everything but it's really hard.

Alright y'all, I'ma go fix me some cornbread. Long live Jesus. God bless. Jesus came and died or whatever. John 3:16

Originally written 8/19/08. God I'm old.

Saturday, April 28, 2012

If My Mother Sold Stuff On Ebay...

"Up for, ah, auction is a purple fringey jacket that I had sex in."

"Whateva. Then I got these jeans with the bows that I wore in 1991. I can't get them off because my socks get stuck so I don't want them no more, k."

"Then I got this beautiful blazer from a yard sale. I'm going through my changes and I get, um, hot flashes, so I don't want it. It's a size, ah frig, I don't even know. Whateva."

"What else? Balls. Oh, I got this cassette that I don't need no more because I got an IPod from my fiance. Yeah. He rides motorcycles."

"I also got big suede pocketbooks with ripped lining and sexy fireman calendars if you want those. Thanks for, um, viewin' my auction."

Originally Published 7-21-08 and my mother still hasn't sold a thing.