Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Why showering is overrated
How come when someone busts me on wearing the same outfit two days in a row or not showering I feel like I've done something horrible, when in fact, I have not. Not showering is ok. Actually, it's not really great for you to wash your body everyday. Your skin, like, hates it. So let's all make a pact that it's ok to not shower everyday (unless your job involves sweating all day). Whose in?
Monday, June 29, 2009
Am I right, or am I right?
In 'n Out burger is like the Pacific Ocean to me. It's very close, so I never go there. But as soon as I am away from it, I romanticize my relationship with it.
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| From Gibblertron |
Friday, June 26, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Ahoy!
This is the photo I took while trying to take a photo of a guy with a parrot on his shoulder while I was driving.
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| From Gibblertron Blog Photos |
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
I love sleep
In the morning, when the alarm clock wakes me up, I curse it. Not like in my head, out loud. Cursing, raging, screaming “Why is this happening to me?”. Getting up in the morning is like having a cupcake ripped out of my mouth and having acid poured in its place. It’s awful. You know why? Cause sleep is brilliant.
I have anxiety attacks every night before I go to sleep. They’re vague anxiety attacks, mostly about dying and someone breaking in or not setting my alarm and not waking up on time for something. These anxiety attacks keep me up for an hour past the moment I lay my head on the pillow. So when I get to sleep, I am so happy. I think. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m happy. If sleep weren’t so enjoyable, why else would my body and mind react so violently to waking up? I mean, there’s no other explanation other than sleep is the most awesome thing ever invented by God. Other than the Internet, which, let’s face it, is pretty great.
I have anxiety attacks every night before I go to sleep. They’re vague anxiety attacks, mostly about dying and someone breaking in or not setting my alarm and not waking up on time for something. These anxiety attacks keep me up for an hour past the moment I lay my head on the pillow. So when I get to sleep, I am so happy. I think. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m happy. If sleep weren’t so enjoyable, why else would my body and mind react so violently to waking up? I mean, there’s no other explanation other than sleep is the most awesome thing ever invented by God. Other than the Internet, which, let’s face it, is pretty great.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
I hate Pizza
There I said it! It feels so nice to get it out there. I. Hate. Pizza.
Yeah, that’s right, besides flags, I hate the other thing that American’s most love. Pizza is gross. It’s cheese and bread and symbolizes the only two things that are wrong with this country:
Lack of self control – You think you should be able to eat pizza whenever you want? Wrong! It’s a food item that is designed to destroy you. First, with it’s power packed carbs and secondly with it’s artery blocking greasy cheese. The same reason people eat pizza is the same reason people buy Hummers. Cause they wannna!!!
Bargains – Bargains are 99% of the time the wrong choice for you. The same reason you shouldn’t buy an ugly shirt because it’s on sale is the same reason you shouldn’t eat a whole slice of pizza cause it’s cheap. The shirt you’ll just keep in the closet and the pizza you’ll poop out over the course of the entire next day, in soft, cat poop like skinny stringy bowl movements.
I hate pizza and I hate America
*** Please note, because of my lactose intolerance I am apt to hate on things because my body simply cannot digest them. I wish I could eat pizza, but I can’t (see the section about soft cat poop). So instead, I will attack the people who can and pizza itself. Thank you.
Yeah, that’s right, besides flags, I hate the other thing that American’s most love. Pizza is gross. It’s cheese and bread and symbolizes the only two things that are wrong with this country:
Lack of self control – You think you should be able to eat pizza whenever you want? Wrong! It’s a food item that is designed to destroy you. First, with it’s power packed carbs and secondly with it’s artery blocking greasy cheese. The same reason people eat pizza is the same reason people buy Hummers. Cause they wannna!!!
Bargains – Bargains are 99% of the time the wrong choice for you. The same reason you shouldn’t buy an ugly shirt because it’s on sale is the same reason you shouldn’t eat a whole slice of pizza cause it’s cheap. The shirt you’ll just keep in the closet and the pizza you’ll poop out over the course of the entire next day, in soft, cat poop like skinny stringy bowl movements.
I hate pizza and I hate America
*** Please note, because of my lactose intolerance I am apt to hate on things because my body simply cannot digest them. I wish I could eat pizza, but I can’t (see the section about soft cat poop). So instead, I will attack the people who can and pizza itself. Thank you.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
I love secrets
Secrets are fun because they are just for you! Like when you cheat on a person who you took a vow in front of a signifigant number of family members to honor and respect and love for the rest of your. But after you got married that person somehow became your gay best friend, and you both get that he’s gay, but no one is calling out the elephant in the room. So you’re still having somewhat enjoyable, albeit infrequent sex, because you care for each other. A level of care that allows both of you to have an orgasm. Then one day, you talk about what would happen if one of you cheated and your husband gets really upset and starts crying, because the thought of you with another man rips him up inside. Even though the thought of him with another man ripping him up inside seems right. So you’re blind sighted by this because you already started sleeping with a guy you are having really great sex with. It’s a relationship that allows you to have everything you want – a best friend to raise kids with and an awesome sex life. Because you don’t want to marry the dude who you are fucking, cause even though he’s this really sexy kind of nerd hot, you know the kind, Oliver Peoples glasses, skinny arms, face like Harry Potter but more chiseled, wears lilac American Apparel underwear that are three degrees away from being ladies panties, which is pretty sexy. You don’t want to marry that guy cause he writes poetry everywhere on his Facebook, even in the high school name field and is always sending you love songs with a stupid “Spanish Guitar Ballad” app and you can’t deal with that long term. But the guy who you’re married to is also hot, hot in a gay way, cause he is gay, but he loves Lost and wears Calvin Klein boxer briefs and hates fantasy fiction and loves clean countertops and loves kids and you and gets that when you tell him a stupid joke you know it’s stupid, and he laughs cause he totally gets why you’re saying it. And you love him and he loves you. But you can’t hurt him. So you have to keep your secret. Forever.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
I hate LA Starbucks
Dear All Employees & Managers of LA Starbucks,
Are things that bad that you feel the need to take it out on my coffee? I don’t get it. All you have to make me a non-fat vanilla decaf latte in a timely manner that doesn’t suck. But you can’t do that! Why? I was in the valley yesterday and I had a coffee from the Starbucks on Ventura that was not only made licketty split but was so delicious I almost spit it out. That’s how much you have ruined me LA Starbucks. Jesus!
I am not a monster. I am not demanding things I think are unreasonable. I am demanding that you drop your ‘tudes and just do your job. And I’m not even saying “do your job” in a way that means you can’t gossip or have breaks. I am all for that shit! Just make the coffee right. You can do that and talk about “The Hills”. It’s possible! I promise you!
I am also not a snob. Wait, that’s not true. Please, please, I can’t buy lattes from McDonald’s.
PS – If anyone reading this knows of a Starbuck’s that makes delicious drinks, please let me know. But I will not drive west of the 405.
Are things that bad that you feel the need to take it out on my coffee? I don’t get it. All you have to make me a non-fat vanilla decaf latte in a timely manner that doesn’t suck. But you can’t do that! Why? I was in the valley yesterday and I had a coffee from the Starbucks on Ventura that was not only made licketty split but was so delicious I almost spit it out. That’s how much you have ruined me LA Starbucks. Jesus!
I am not a monster. I am not demanding things I think are unreasonable. I am demanding that you drop your ‘tudes and just do your job. And I’m not even saying “do your job” in a way that means you can’t gossip or have breaks. I am all for that shit! Just make the coffee right. You can do that and talk about “The Hills”. It’s possible! I promise you!
I am also not a snob. Wait, that’s not true. Please, please, I can’t buy lattes from McDonald’s.
PS – If anyone reading this knows of a Starbuck’s that makes delicious drinks, please let me know. But I will not drive west of the 405.
Monday, June 15, 2009
I love guns
I love guns
To look at me, you’d think “Oh, now there’s a lady who loves puppies and shoes and Bobbi Brown winter travel palettes. “But you’d be wrong, but not about the things I just listed, those things are spot on. Ok, so you wouldn’t be wrong, you’d be almost right, because there’s one thing you’re missing when listing the four adjectives that sum me up completely. I. Love.Guns.
I grew up in Texas. In Texas, it ‘s kind of important that you know about guns so that you don’t get extradited to California, where you can live with the other “gun hating faggots” (Texas’ words, not mine). I held a gun in my hands while I still had braces on my teeth, making me the most bad ass 5 foot 11 inch, braces wearing teen lady who had the bold inclination to wear button down jean shirts with similarly rinsed jeans, and top that motherfucker off with a Mickey Mouse tie.
The first gun I ever held in my hand was a single action revolver. A cowboy from my high school took a liking to me and snuck me off during lunch to his piece of land, aka homestead, aka, property to shoot cans. The gun felt so natural in my hand, as if my palm had been developing in a way that one day would suit it to fit into this gun perfectly. That or that guns were made to fit into hands. Either way, it was love at first grip.
It would be 6 years before I would shoot another gun. This time it was a Jericho 941single action handgun. My boyfriend at the time, ex army, present AFLAC supplementary insurance salesman, had taken me into the woods so that we could consummate our love in nature. And so he could kill dear. While he was out murdering animals, I was loading a clip into a handgun that flooded me with the emotions like what I imagine it would feel like to be reunited with a child I had abandoned, but then found on Friendster, then met at a coffee shop and then kept in contact with.
Guns and I could have been great friends. But then my Hollywood aspirations got in the way. There’s no time in Hollywood to shoot guns. Not only that, I don’t own any guns or have access to the type of guys who own guns, who I could sleep with to get close to their guns. All I want in my life is to feel the soft grip of molded metal, and the power to take a human life, in my hands once again.
And for Scoops Ice Cream shop to be open past 6 on a Sunday. C’mon Scoops, people need their ice cream on a Sunday evening!
To look at me, you’d think “Oh, now there’s a lady who loves puppies and shoes and Bobbi Brown winter travel palettes. “But you’d be wrong, but not about the things I just listed, those things are spot on. Ok, so you wouldn’t be wrong, you’d be almost right, because there’s one thing you’re missing when listing the four adjectives that sum me up completely. I. Love.Guns.
I grew up in Texas. In Texas, it ‘s kind of important that you know about guns so that you don’t get extradited to California, where you can live with the other “gun hating faggots” (Texas’ words, not mine). I held a gun in my hands while I still had braces on my teeth, making me the most bad ass 5 foot 11 inch, braces wearing teen lady who had the bold inclination to wear button down jean shirts with similarly rinsed jeans, and top that motherfucker off with a Mickey Mouse tie.
The first gun I ever held in my hand was a single action revolver. A cowboy from my high school took a liking to me and snuck me off during lunch to his piece of land, aka homestead, aka, property to shoot cans. The gun felt so natural in my hand, as if my palm had been developing in a way that one day would suit it to fit into this gun perfectly. That or that guns were made to fit into hands. Either way, it was love at first grip.
It would be 6 years before I would shoot another gun. This time it was a Jericho 941single action handgun. My boyfriend at the time, ex army, present AFLAC supplementary insurance salesman, had taken me into the woods so that we could consummate our love in nature. And so he could kill dear. While he was out murdering animals, I was loading a clip into a handgun that flooded me with the emotions like what I imagine it would feel like to be reunited with a child I had abandoned, but then found on Friendster, then met at a coffee shop and then kept in contact with.
Guns and I could have been great friends. But then my Hollywood aspirations got in the way. There’s no time in Hollywood to shoot guns. Not only that, I don’t own any guns or have access to the type of guys who own guns, who I could sleep with to get close to their guns. All I want in my life is to feel the soft grip of molded metal, and the power to take a human life, in my hands once again.
And for Scoops Ice Cream shop to be open past 6 on a Sunday. C’mon Scoops, people need their ice cream on a Sunday evening!
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Don't forget
Help me to remember to write that sketch where kids in a kids show pop out from between naked guys legs to say their name. The funny thing about this is the idea of kids with dicks on their heads.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
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