Tuesday, May 31, 2005

You guys wanna get high??

Internet, I think we're close enough now that I can tell you about the closest I've ever come to dating a convict. See, most of my time from when I was 15 to 22 was spent dating one guy who I'll call Mick. We dated in 9th grade then broke up and got back together at the beginning of my junior year in high school and dated until halfway through my senior year in college. There was about a year and a half there--most of 9th grade and most of 10th grade--that we weren't together. And for most of it, he was dating a friend of mine who we'll call Giggles.

I am the one who broke up with Mick in 9th grade so it shouldn't have mattered to me one bit that he and Giggles got together a few months later, but it did. It bothered the crap out of me. I was insanely jealous-just out of my mind with envy. By the time that my 10th grade school year came about, I had decided I was totally in love with him. It was about this time that the Homecoming dance happened. I knew Mick and Giggles would be going together, and I decided I HAD to be there-any way I could. Enter Towelie (note: not his real name).

Towelie was this kid who grew up in my friend Jenny's neighborhood. I was over her house all the time so I ended up hanging out with him a lot. He came up to approximately my belly button and smoked A LOT of pot. He was weird, but I tolerated him. I like almost anybody who isn't in front of me in line somewhere or driving within a 10 mile radius of me. Towelie had a crush on me which I thought was strange because I was a total goody-goody, and he hated people like me. I guess it's because I was so damn hot in my feetless tights and hair scrunchies.

At any rate, Towelie asked me to go to Homecoming. I was conflicted. Here was my chance to go to the dance and see Mick. But on the other hand, I had to go with Height-Challenged, Substance-Abusing Towelie. I am ashamed to say, my "love" for Mick won out, and I decided to use Towelie to go to the dance.

Yes I know I'm a bad person. Quit judging me, Internet. It's not like you've never done anything you were ashamed of (you know what I'm talking about).

Homecoming was a disaster. I told my mom no pictures were to be taken, but she insisted I allow her to take one of me and Towlie (it has since been conviscated, Towelie has been ripped from the picture, and the negative was destroyed). Towelie's dad drove us to the dance and brought a goddamn video camera. I can't imagine how pissed off I look on that tape. By the way, plans are currently in place to hunt down Towelie's dad and take that tape back by any means possible. At the dance, Towelie made me get professional pictures with him--which I had sent to my house and then promptly burned when they arrived.

The highlight of the night was when Mick asked me to dance with him and told me I looked really pretty. Then he said that he was "really happy" for me and Towelie. Goddammit. Not only was he completely no longer interested in me, he thought I was dating Towelie. What a clusterfuck. I just wanted to leave. Towelie asked me if I wanted to go anywhere after the dance, and I said no. God I'm a bitch. I would still feel guilty about it if I hadn't found out later that he a) had gotten drunk before the dance and b) smoked pot in the bathroom during the dance. What a catch, huh ladies!? Towelie asked me out a bunch of times after that, and while I said we could hang out as friends, I wasn't interested in him. He was, shall we say, unhappy with me.

A couple months later, he called me while totally high and said this: "I only have one thing to say to you. You, Jenny and Kim: drive-by." Normally, the threat of a drive-by would scare me. But here are the reasons why this particular one did not:

1. He didn't have his driver's license or any access to a car.
2. When I pointed out #1 to him, he said he would get his friend Matt to drive him. Ah yes, Matt-a very sweet and shy 16 year old who used to come over and study for math tests with me. I was terrified.
3. 30 seconds after threatening me, Jenny and Kim, he said he wouldn't do it to Kim because she was moving away to Michigan soon and had "enough to worry about". Then he said he wouldn't do it to Jenny either because they were childhood friends.
4. When I brought up that he did not have a gun, he said that he could get a bee-bee gun and "those things can cause some serious damage".
5. When I suggested he carry out his plan by riding his bicycle and carrying a Super Soaker over to my house, he got so upset he almost started crying.

Two years later when we were seniors, the police came to our high school and arrested him in the middle of his remedial math class. The crime? Selling LSD to schoolchildren. God that's hot.

About 10 months after he was arrested, I went away to college. Pretty soon into it I received a letter. It was stamped "This letter originated from the Grafton Correctional Institution". My freshman year roommate handed it to me looking terrified and said, "Why the eff are you getting mail from prison? Who the hell am I living with?" It turns out, Towelie was going through a 12 step program in jail, and part of that program was apologizing to people he hurt while he was high. He had written to me to apologize for threatening to do a drive-by and for being high at Homecoming.

I laughed for a really, really long time. I didn't want to write him back, but I didn't know if getting no response would set him back in his healing program so I felt bad and wrote back. He then replied and said that the fact that I wrote him back meant the world to him (obviously-I am awesome). Then he said that he still had feelings for me and would there ever be a chance that we could date. Um.....what? Duh of course there's a chance!!! It has always been a dream of mine, not to mention of my parents, that I would date an inmate who sells drugs to little kids. One who would make me a Christmas card out of aluminum foil and Crayola markers (this really happened).

So now we are married, and we both sell drugs at playgrounds and school bus stops, and I lift him up so he can get things off of the top shelf in the cabinets. But we can't go on any of the good rides at Cedar Point because "you must be this tall to ride this ride" and he never is. What a happy ending to a magical love affair.


To Erin and Neal:
I'm sorry I had to leave your wedding early. Thank you so much for inviting me and for having the first wedding I've ever attended where the groom pulled up on a horse while being led by a group of dancing people and a minivan blasting Indian music. That...was...awesome.

To the people who live across the street from me:
I apologize on behalf of the guy who lives 6 houses down from you and walked out of his house with his old couch and took it down and threw it in front of your house for the garbagemen to pick up. While I think that guy is totally fucking awesome, I can appreciate why you may not share my opinion. I'm also sorry if you heard/saw me laughing my ass off. It's just that that was really effing funny.

To the Kenilworth bar:
I'm sorry you can't afford to put in a paper towel dispenser or hand dryer in your bathrooms, but you seriously need to upgrade. As much as I love rubbing bacteria all over my hands, it's time to get rid of that cloth towel roll that goes round and round and hasn't been washed since '84.

To my weirdo-possibly retarded-neighbor who dances to 1970's Lite Rock on her front porch every night in the summer:
I'm sorry you're mildly retarded and don't get the point of Memorial Day as evidenced by the fact that when you saw me today you yelled very cheerfully, "Happy Memorial Day!!!"

To Shannon:
I'm sorry I told you I wanted to hang you from my rearview mirror. But your hair did smell really awesome.

To my new downstairs neighbor:
I'm sorry I smoke all the time and smell up the entire house. Oh wait--that's you. Well then let me apologize in advance for tearing off all the political statement bumper stickers on your car and putting on ones that say stuff like "My other ride is your mom!".

Thursday, May 26, 2005

Goodbye, MC!

A co-worker of mine is leaving. She and her retired husband and two teenage kids are moving to San Antonio, Texas (shout out to ThatGirl7278). Her last day is Friday, and today we took her out to lunch. Right before we left the restaurant she told us a story.

She and a friend had gone out to lunch one day across the street from our building. She ended up not eating any of her sandwich from lunch and decided she would give it to one of the homeless people out on the street since it was completely untouched.

She spotted a man sitting on a bench from a distance and started walking toward him. She noticed he was holding a puppy and was excited to give him lunch and get to see the puppy. As she approached him, she realized that he was not holding a puppy. He was holding HIS "puppy", if you know what I mean. And if you don't, I mean he was holding his pet trouser snake. And if you don't know what that means, get out of the house more. Not only was this guy holding his "puppy", he was playing with it-violently.

She backed away, went into our building and told a security guard that a homeless guy right outside the building was going to town on himself, and the security guard started laughing and said, "Yeah-they do that all the time."

After she told us the story, and we had all regained our composure and/or changed our underpants, she said, "If you remember one thing about me, I want you to remember that story."

Holy shit I love her. MC, I promise I will never forget this story!!

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Things I hate more than packing

1. Unpacking the same stuff I just packed when I move 10 miles south in a month

Yeah...that's pretty much it.

P.S. To Tom Cruise: I saw you on Oprah yesterday, and you looked fabulous....for a 42 year old man high on E. Seriously what's your problem. You were a complete jackass, and you freaked me-and most of the nation-out. Mid life crisis much, Tommy? Also I can't think of anything more comfortable than dating a man for one month and then watching him announce on national TV that he was going to ask me to marry him. That seems like the most appropriate place to begin the talk about marriage-in front of the entire world while I'm not there. Psst..Katie...put down the midget and slowly back away.

Monday, May 23, 2005

Hit me baby one more time

Um...holy shit, you guys! Have you heard about this new show on NBC called "Hit Me Baby One More Time"???? Bands from the past compete with each other by singing their big hit from back then and a new current hit, and then the audience votes on who should get a second chance at stardom. Here is only a partial list of the performers they are bringing back for this:

- Arrested Development
- Tiffany
- Vanilla Ice
- Loverboy
- Flock of Seagulls

I am completely losing my mind. It's like someone at NBC reached directly into my brain, pulled out all my deepest thoughts (Flock of Seagulls is one of my deepest thoughts) and then used it all to create a show solely for me. I had other things to write about tonight, but I can't remember any of them* because all I can think about is this show premiering in one week. All I know is, Tiffany better effing win or heads will roll. You listening, NBC and the rest of America!? TIFFANY!!!!

*Although I do remember one thing: last night I was watching "Law & Order: SVU", and Martin Short was guest starring as a guy who rapes virgins. In my head all I saw was Ed Grimley, and he was talking about how pure virgins were and how "surprised" they looked when he would have sex with them. As expected I immediately took a steel wool shower and then cried underneath my covers for a half hour. Gew.

Sunday, May 22, 2005

Letters for May 22, 2005

Dear Ricardo's Laundromat,
Sorry if I broke your washer. When I came back in after buying magazines at Medic and saw that it was literally moving itself across the entire room, I was a little embarrassed. But then I read your sign on the wall that said, "Welcome to Ricardo's Laundromat. So clean your pants do a dance" and realized that maybe you guys are the ones who should be embarrassed.

Dear Becky aka Boobs McGee,
I am not someone who normally branches out into the opposite side of the playing field, but when you accepted the challenge inadvertently laid down by Kim and unhooked my bra...one-handed...in the middle of a crowded bar on Saturday, well I wasn't nearly as freaked out as I'd have assumed I would be if I ever found myself in that situation. I also want to say that I'm very impressed that you were able to do that given the liters upon liters of alcohol that were coursing through your veins. I mean, it did take you a good 15 minutes, and most people thought we were slow dancing, but still-good job.

Dear Gordo and Drew,
I could go on and on about how Kim and I OWNED YOUR ASSES in Bocce ball and how you ended up having absolutely NO POINTS. Or I could point out for all my readers how Diane and I SCHOOLED YOU at Euchre a mere 45 or so minutes later. I mean I could tell everyone how much you were both totally our bitches-and namely mine since I was on both teams that BEAT YOU SENSELESS. But I am above that kind of shameless flaunting.

Dear women who breastfeed,
Some of you protested last week for your right to breastfeed in public, for example, in the middle of Wal-Mart. As a woman who believes in the merits of breastfeeding, I would just like to say fucking stop doing it in the middle of Wal-Mart. Sorry, but nobody wants to see that. Yes, I am a female and so it seems I should be on your side, but yeah no. I'm not. I have heard giving birth is a less than modest experience, and you sort of stop caring who sees what. I don't doubt that is true. But the thing is-the rest of the world was not in the delivery room with you, so for us seeing your body parts isn't "business as usual". Your argument is that it is a natural fact of life. I agree. So is going to the bathroom, but you don't see me pulling my pants down in the middle of the greeting card aisle and dropping a deucer (sorry for the visual, everyone). Anywho, ladies, if you're going to whip out a ta-ta in public, get a blanket and cover that shit. Then we'll all be fine.

Thursday, May 19, 2005

May the force be with you

I just got back from seeing the new Star Wars movie. There were a few people dressed up, and I laughed at them appropriately*. I can't imagine dressing up for a movie as a character in the movie. However, if this were something I was going to pursue, I think I would dress up as Sloth to go see "The Goonies". That way I would attract a lot of men. Or people would give me Baby Ruths. Either way, I win.

The movie theater was packed with dorks--including us. And just like Urban Princess said, people were cheering. It was pretty cool. I won't give anything away, but I do have a few comments:

1. It kicked total effing ass. Holy crap was this movie good. I am not even a total Star Wars dork, and there were parts where I had goosebumps.
2. When Anakin turns bad, the dude turns baaaaaaaad. Wow.
3. Hayden Christensen is one hot little piece. I don't know how old he is or how tall he is, but I do know that I would like him to show me all the "powers of the force", if you know what I mean.

*Last night my friend Kim dressed up as Princess Leia-buns and all-with a little bit of persuasion from her roommate Steph. And even though Steph blatantly admitted she was just messing with her, Kim went through with it and wore the outfit to the movie at midnight last night thinking lots of other people would be dressed up. We got the call about 20 minutes later that nobody else at the movie was dressed up. I think I can say with all honestly that I burst a blood vessel in my head from laughing so hard. Kim, thanks for the laughs. That moment will live on in my memory forever.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

Won't you be my neighbor

Today we went and checked out the condo which, by the way, has become a habit of mine. I just go to the windows and look in, longingly. Anyway, my appliances are in and are so awesome I just want to go inside and spoon with them. But that was not even the highlight of the day. More important than that, I saw the guy who will be living directly across from me.

He is very friendly and semi-creepy. He has two cars: one boring grandpa-like car and a Corvette. They both have the letters UAW in the license plate. And the best thing of all is that he has a perm that is dangerously close to being a mullet. That's right, folks-a Permmullet.

How hot is that. Most of the other people I've seen who will be living around me look like they are in my exact situation-young professionals with blogs, but I totally scored the Permmullet right across the street.

John and I have lists of things we want to do before we die, and all I'm saying is that I've never made out with a Permmullet before. Draw your own conclusions.

P.S. This morning on cnn.com this was one of the headlines:

"PETA accuses lab of punching monkeys".

Holy crap that's awesome. PETA would get more of my sympathy if they called more people monkey punchers.

P.P.S. Someone got to my blog by searching on this:


Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Condo update

So my condo was supposed to be finished in mid to late July. Last week my builder called to tell me that I close June 9th. JUNE 9th!!! I'm pretty sure I blacked from the lack of oxygen reaching my brain. I was completely panicking.

Since then there has been a flurry of activity around here-getting my insurance set up, putting together my down payment, submitting my loan documents, buying furniture, etc. There is so much to do that there is a distinct possibility I will lose my mind completely.

But every time I start to hyperventilate from the stress, I just look outside at my newly washed car…covered in bird shit because it sits under a tree instead of a garage, and then I calm down and realize that this moving thing will be pretty awesome.

Moral: There is nothing like a little bit of bird shit to make you remember the big picture.

I don't really know what that means, but remember it because it seems like it might come in handy for you someday.

Monday, May 16, 2005

Letters for May 16, 2005

Dear every single person in the grocery store,
I hate you. Get out of my way.

Dear tax return,
Mmmm….I love you. Let's get married.

Dear Alan Thicke,
I hear you got married last week and that your wedding ring is the ring you wore on "Growing Pains". I just want to say that is effing awesome. Also I think it speaks to the overwhelming success you've experienced in your career since "Growing Pains" ended in 1992, and you fell of the face of the earth. It's like you're still holding on for dear life to your one shining moment. How precious!

Dear satellite receiver in my bedroom,
What is the goddamn deal. Just to clarify your job duties, you are actually supposed to receive a satellite signal thus your official name of "satellite receiver". I'm not sure when you decided to just stop turning on, but this new habit of yours is not working for me. Believe it or not, I have you in my room so that I can watch TV in there. I do enjoy watching Conan O'Brien through fuzz and static and only catching every couple of words, however, could you please turn on before I throw you out the fucking window? Great. Thanks.

Dear migraine,
I hate you so much. You are hindering my ability to blog properly and watch TV properly because the light and the noise hurt my eyes. How about if you, hmm…how you say…oh I know--eff off. Seriously.

Dear Internet,
I'm sorry this post sucks. Please see above letter to the migraine.

Sunday, May 15, 2005

It's a jungle out there

Some people like to mow their lawn in the spring. Apparently my landlord is not one of them:

That is a standard 12 inch ruler. This lawn plus the Christmas lights that I still have up (I don't turn them on, but they're still up and highly visible during daylight hours) only serve to further the look I'm trying to go for with my apartment which is a mix of "White Trash" and "I Am The One Who Is Bringing Down Your Property Value".

P.S. I just realized that my parents are reading my blog now, and in one of my earlier posts I told the entire Internet that if they came and slept in my bed I would let them touch my boobs over my shirt. Nothing about that is embarrassing.

Thursday, May 12, 2005

Surely she has jaw issues now

My freshman year at college I lived in a dorm with this one chick who reeked of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. We called her "BJ" because giving them was her favorite pasttime. She had a boyfriend of 3 years waiting for her at home who would send her cards and presents and call her every night to tell her he loved her, and she would reciprocate by blowing some guy she didn't know. Isn't that sweet? Anyway, my friend Kelly bet BJ $20 that she couldn't give a BJ to every single guy in this one fraternity (I will keep the fraternity name a secret in order to protect the totally fucking nerdy). We posted a list of all the members up on BJ's door and as each one was "serviced" she would check them off. That girl actually did it, and Kelly paid up-at which point I do believe BJ officially became a hooker, no? I mean she was paid for sex. One time she got mad at me because I called her a slut. I apologized later, and she said that she was mad because I used the word "slut". She doesn't like that word. She said "ho" or even "whore" was okay, but not "slut".

BJ is only slightly less slutty than Angelina Jolie. That's all I'm saying.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

More proof that I am a lemon

So I've mentioned this before, but I have allergies. Really, really bad allergies. I've had them since I was a kid. Here is a-sadly incomplete-list of things I am allergic to:

grass, trees, weeds, flowers, bushes, mold, dust, dust mites, ragweed, hay, cats, smoke, eye makeup remover, some perfumes, some colognes, potpourri, certain body soaps and lotions, some cleaning products, PABA, the sun, sulfa drugs, mango, canteloupe

I've been on allergy medication since I was 12. Five years ago I went to an allergist and had some tests done. They poke you with 36 little needles*. Each one contains a different allergen. Then they wait 15 minutes and examine your reaction to each one to determine which ones you're allergic to and to what degree. About 10 seconds after I was poked (get your mind out of the gutter), I walked past a nurse, and she said, "Oh my God-come here for a second." I walked over, and she started examining my arms. Then she started calling people over. "Betty, come look at this. I've never seen anything like it. Dr. L, come here! You have to see this!" A minute later the entire office staff was around me examining my arms and saying things like, "Wow-I've never seen a reaction this fast." I was about to pass out from the anxiety. What the hell is going on? What does this mean? Am I going to die?

Then without any explanation, they told me to have a seat in the waiting room, and they'd call me back up later. Oh okay-thanks for basically calling me a scientific anomaly and then not telling me what is going on. No that's cool, I'll just sit over here and crap my pants and smell up your waiting room.

Not only was I pretty sure I was dying, but my arms itched like crazy. They said that whatever I did, I could NOT scratch my arms. They watched me to make sure I didn't. I'm not kidding. They sat there and watched me, and if I put my hand up there my mom would swat it away. It was pure torture. If you'd like to experience it for yourself go find some poison ivy, roll around in it and then force yourself not to scratch it. If you can't find any poison ivy, John knows where to find some...on his skin...about twice a year...for real.

Finally the doctor called me up. He told me that I was allergic to almost every single thing they did tests on, and that I was one of the most severe allergy sufferers he had ever seen in his career. Nice. I win.

It was then that I began on my journey of allergy shots. Basically the way it works is every week they shoot you in both arms with all the things you're allergic to so you can build up a tolerance to them. They start out with really small levels of all of them increasing them slowly until all the allergens reach their natural state, and your body no longer reacts to them. The doctor said for most people it takes 6 months to get to that point, but for me it would probably take 18 months since I was so severe.

Once you reach Natural State (I'm giving it a proper name), you can start to come every other week then once a month, etc., until you're finally free. The process usually takes about 3 years. For me, it ended up taking 3 years just to get to Natural State, and even then they still made me come every single week for another year. Finally last year I got the news that I could come every other week. That is until last night when my doctor told me that it is grass season, and that my allergy to grass is as bad as it can possibly get for a human. As bad as it can get for a human! Score! I am a freak of nature! Whoo-hoo!

The point of this whole stupid post is that I am really effing pissed that I have to start going every week again. Dammit. I think I am going to live in a bubble.

*This is Scott's worst nightmare. He is scared of shots. And eating alone, but that is entirely unrelated.

I'm so effing tired

Kenny Chesney and Renee Zellweger got married.

Um...wtf? I must be the only one who didn't even know they were dating because this shocked the hell out of me, and it says they have been dating since January. I love country music, and Kenny Chesney is awesome but not to like marry and have sex with. Oh well. This is good news. They're both from the south, and Kenny is way better than Jack White who, by the way, should really think about getting some sun sometime this decade.

P.S. The subject line is due to my insomnia and is also why this post totally sucks. I am a walking zombie and am currently unable to produce a post of any value (unlike all my other posts which are very, very valuable). Anyway, since I couldn't sleep I watched movies last night, and I have come to an extremely important conclusion. Please pay close attention to this:

The Rock is seriously hot.

Take off your shirt, Rock. Right now.

Sunday, May 08, 2005

Lots of things to cover

First thing's first...

To my mom: thanks for always calling me to tell me to take a jacket, to watch out for cops, that there's an accident on 71 so take a different way home, figuring out I had gall stones and sitting with me at the hospital for 2 full days, helping me pick out appliances, buying me a Big Wheel and the Barbie Dreamhouse, being an awesome cook, helping me with my laundry on Mother's Day so I could take a nap (I'm a bad daughter), coming over the day B left and cleaning my entire apartment (along with my dad and sister) and not complaining once that I sat on my bed and cried the whole time because I was too broken to be of any help, giving me my tiny wrists and hands, finding me my prom dress, putting notes in my lunch even when I was in high school, making me call you when I get inside the house so you know I got home okay and for being so freaking awesome that I don't even enough time or room in the world to write down every single think I am thankful for about you. I hit the mommy jackpot, and I know it. I love you!

Now onto less important things...

- My tan has officially left the building. It lasted for all of 3 days. I am now back to being pale and sickly and very Midwestern.

- I'm pretty sure I saw Grady from "Sanford & Son" at BP last night.

- Jennifer Garner and Ben Affleck are having a baby!! I'm wondering what they are going to name it. I was thinking Ben is probably trying to keep up with Gwyneth so he will want to name it something similar to Apple, such as Orange or Kiwi or maybe move into the vegetables with Asparagus. Then I thought that there is no way in hell Jennifer is going to name her baby something similar to Gwyneth-the ex-so all food names should be counted out. Coco's been done, and the Zappas and the Phoenixes have used up a lot of good ones. So let's take a look at their interests: Ben likes gambling and making out with me and Jennifer likes kicking bad guys' asses and divorcing Scott Foley. None of this helps with figuring out the baby's name so I'm just going to go out on a limb and guess that they will name it Matt Damon.

- Someone on TV just said "nougat log".

- My mom and dad have found out about the blog because of someone who shall remain nameless.


Diane said she didn't give them the address, but then magically somehow my mom has been giving the address to other people. Interesting. Tell me, Diane, are you not, in fact, a big fat liar? Hmmm?? It's okay. I like new readers (hello, new readers!), and I wasn't really hiding it from my parents. I just didn't think they'd be that interested. My mom reads it sometimes so if you are reading this, Mom, hi! I'll see you tomorrow for dinner. My dad won't read it because he says it's my private thing, and he doesn't want me to feel uncomfortable. Here's the thing, Daddy, I don't say anything here that I wouldn't say in front of you. I actually even swear more in front of you than I do on this. Where did I learn that, I wonder? You alright! I learned it by watching you! Awesome.

Friday, May 06, 2005

Letters for May 6th

Vegas letters

Dear Las Vegas,
I heart you so much. Even though you take my money and make me fat, I would marry you if it was legal to marry a city. Incidentally, if it was legal I think B would marry Baltimore. But I digress. Thanks for an awesome vacation, and I think I will be back in the fall with some friends who are total hors so expect some outrageous times.

Dear skin,
I appreciate that for the most part you tan very easily. But what is up with the sun poisoning? Why can't I lay out for more than 2 days without looking like a leper? I know, I know-tanning is very bad for you. That is why I only do it a couple times a year on vacation. All I'm saying is I would appreciate it if maybe once I could leave a swimming pool without a rash. It does help attract attention from the opposite sex, but not the kind of attention I had in mind. If I wanted to see looks of horror, mouths agape, feverish whispering amongst friends, I would show everyone my Fat Roll. Why can't you just be normal damn you.

Dear Las Vegas Airport,
What the eff was up with that alarm? At first I thought you were warning us of a fire. Then I looked at the alarm itself and saw a picture of a man running. Then I pooped my pants. Your staff didn't make me feel any more secure after I watched three airport employees have this conversation over and over for about 20 minutes as the alarm was going off:

Man: They said it's a false alarm.
Woman #1: Dave just said it was a security alert.
Man: A false one, though.
Woman #2: No-a real breach.
Man: Well that's not what I heard.
Woman #1: They might shut down this terminal. Call Dave. See if it's real.
Man: Okay.
Voice on man's walkie talkie: It's a false alarm.
Voice on woman's walkie talkie: We have a security breach. Stand by for instruction.

Goddammit, people. Twenty minutes ago you searched a 90 year old grandmother for weapons, and you can't figure out whether this 400 million decibel alarm is real or not? Get it together! I almost started punching out people who looked suspicious just so you guys would turn it off. Let's tighten up our operations, LV Airport, shall we?

Dear Continental Airlines,
What the hell was that that you served me? Yes I heard the flight attendant call it a hamburger, and I saw on the package it was called beef charbroil, but who are you trying to kid? I am a hamburger connoisseur, and that was not beef, my friend. And now every time I think about that sandwich, I gag. Also who's idea was it to play "Are We There Yet?" as the in-flight movie? Does Ice Cube own stock in your company or something? I knew it would be bad news when in the first 5 minutes his bobble head doll started talking to him. Every time I think about that movie, I gag.

Non-Vegas letters

Dear people who call for Dwayne or Paul,
This is not their number anymore. Stop calling me and certainly don't get bitchy on my answering machine because you "expect the courtesy of a return phone call". And if I answer: no I don't have a forwarding number for either of these people because I don't know who they are, and I don't care where they moved to and quit asking me questions as if I am related to them. I will cut you.

Dear Dwayne and Paul,
Next time you change your phone number effing tell people-especially people who are calling to RESCHEDULE YOUR HEART SURGERY, PAUL!!!! They might actually need to reach you whereas I don't want them to reach me anymore.

Dear Tom Cruise,
I don't even know what to say. You need to accept that you are aging. Dating a younger girl every couple of birthdays only makes you creepy. It'd be different (a little bit) if as you got older you dated girls in the same age range, but your girls keep getting younger. In 2 years you'll be dating Hilary Duff, and when you are 60 you will be dating an 11 year old Disney star. I know you think this makes you relatable and more marketable to the younger kids, but really they're all like, "Why is Katie Holmes dating that old guy from the samurai movie?" It's just sad.

Dear Katie Holmes,
Listen I know that right now all that is going through your mind is, "Holy shit I'm dating Maverick." And I will give you props for actually landing him. But, Katie? Tom is like Maverick's dad now. Please don't let this go on for very long. You can only quote "Top Gun" so many times until you run out of things to talk about.

Peace and love except for Tom and Katie cuz that's just wrong,

Thursday, May 05, 2005

Guess who's back, back again

Heidey-ho, neighbors! It's been a while. You look terrific. Did you do something new with your hair?

My trip was awesome. I landed in Cleveland an hour and a half ago down $175 but up 17 trillion pounds. I can't believe how much we ate on this trip. So to counteract it I came home and immediately ate McDonald's. I got married Monday night, but Britney Spears's mom came out and forced me to get it annulled. Man that lady loves annulments.

So pretty much I did nothing but eat, sleep, drink, gamble and lay out, and I am absolutely exhausted so I am going to put off unpacking and go to bed. I will write more later.

I hope you all had wonderful weeks even though I know mine was better.

P.S. Oh you better believe we will be dicussing the Katie Holmes-Tom Cruise situation. I go on one lousy vacation and all effing hell breaks loose. Goddammit Tom. We will have words.