the name game

LOOK!!

2005-08-08T21:59:00.000-04:00

i have a new website!

my blog will now be located at www.namegameblog.com

it's totally pretty and classy.
i'm still in the midst of the transfer, but if you continue to post comments here, i think that they will continue to be perpetually floating in cyberspace. because they've certainly disappeared.

thanks for reading!
see you over there.

movin' on up

2005-08-08T09:06:00.000-04:00

i'm working on my new site!

there are still lots of little things i need to take care of, but if you want to check it out, cruise on over to namegameblog

i'll let you know when it's official.

sooooo exciting.

a long post about my weekend as a yuppie

2005-08-07T13:19:00.000-04:00

i'm about to tell you that i went on a day trip to a little island off the coast of Connecticut. well, it's really part of New York, but whatever. but before i tell you this story, you must know that taking day trips on an airplane to ritzy islands does not make me a yuppie. i assure you. in fact, the details of my story will likely reassure you if you don't believe me.

so, yes. my friend Jon can fly planes so he invited me to see Fisher's Island with him. i was totally nervous about being in one of those little tiny planes (even smaller than the ones you may affectionately refer to as "puddle jumpers"), but it was a trip to the beach--on an island--and we were flying there. of course i'm coming!

while he flew, i took up some light reading.

once we landed, i took loads of pictures, but pictures can be boring unless they have people in them. so, my story is going to be about the people we encountered on this ritzy island. the island that has only two (i'm not exaggerating) fucking public restrooms from end to end. that's 7 miles.

in fact, the absence of restrooms was certain to be my demise as we walked to the "town" from the airport--whose bathrooms were unfortunately out of commission. there was even a sign directing me around back with cruel lack of compassion.

when we got to town, an area of the island that was host to the place's only cafe, i was met with more of the same. "No public restrooms! Sorry!" yeah, sorry my ass. whatever, i was hardcore, right? we went inside and got something to drink. regardless of my bladder situation, i was thirsty. we had been walking in the heat on an island in the sun. replenishing our liquids was essential. so, i ordered an iced coffee.

we grab our drinks from the foreign girls working the counter and sit outside to rest up before our long hike back. this is where i met the first group of people of this little story. there were about four or five of them and they were all dressed head-to-toe from J Crew's mid-summer catalogue. seersucker shorts with purple polo shirts and dragonfly flip-flops. or the summer-weight capris with the oxford style shell and ballet flats. at first i commended their style. but then i heard them speak. having sat outside in the midst of their conversation, Jon and I only heard the punchline.

"the strongest force in the world is COMPOUND INTEREST!"

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! she said COMPOUND INTEREST! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"yes! it may run a CLOSE second to gravity, but that's it!"

more laughter.

ok. maybe i'm just ornery because i have had to pee for about two hours and i'm now drinking more coffee to test fate, but i could not find a single way for that dialogue to be amusing. i even spent a few moments thinking of the way the joke could have began. was someone hospitalized with compound interest vertigo? had their crony recently been urged to marry based on this threat of compound interest? was their plane delayed en route to Fiji because of the strong compound interest stream?

it didn't make sense. this was not funny and these people were some rare island species that i had been certain only existed in comedy sitcoms.

after snapping their photo, the one in the purple asked me (i'm sure with condesention) if i'd like him to take Jon and I's picture. "oh, no thanks." i'll just put you on the internet and make fun of you instead.

we walked over to the post office to see if they had a restroom. the lady smiled and said that there were only two on the island. one at the yacht club and one at the ferry. i wanted to burst in and proclaim i'd simply use hers, but she was old and nice, so i just said "ok", smiled weakly, and started back toward the airport hoping to find the ferry.

well, we did find the ferry and i peed. and i took more pictures and saw a jelly fish and made fun of the island people some more when i came across the fifth one of these signs:

now it was beach time. ahhhh.

we went to the beach and i took craploads of pictures of the water and pretty rocks that looked like sunbathing seals. then a little doggie came to visit us. Jon went off to find some revolutionary war bunkers he'd read about and i trekked down the beach with my new friend, the dog.

the dog sniffed out the few sunbathers as we walked, and one couple were not happy with the doggie's visit. in fact, the man of the couple rolled up his magazine and tried to hit the dog! so i took their picture:

please make fun of the fat man to yourselves.

i found some smelly things and took more pictures and then met back up with Jon, who claimed to have stumbled upon the lady from the postoffice--sunbathing topless. so, i promptly put my shoes back on and off we went to find her.

sure enough, i saw her postoffice vehicle parked at the edge of the island.

while Jon described her rockin bod, i reminded him that she was at least forty years old. then i told him that he should have asked her for her digits. apparently Jon has yet to master the art of aking topless women for their phone number. instead, i took some tasteful photos of her--for his sake, of course.

i'm sure the other people, including the fishermen and boaters, had prime viewing real estate. but i'd had enough, so we marched back to our spot near the dog.

i read Jon the Jennifer Anniston interview from Vanity Fair, and we packed up our stuff and headed back home.

on our tiny-ass airplane. (and YES! they do have keys!)

thanks, but no thanks

2005-08-05T13:32:00.000-04:00

well, my kiddly-winks.

it's poll day once again.

i must say that i'm a bit disappointed in the results of last week's poll. too many think i have a "pretty face" and that i should model it, along with my fat body. also, the differential between about 4 or 5 of the other options was just too close for me to listen to you. it's like that polling-the-audience option on Who Wants to be a Millionaire, but when basically the crowd is full of morons.

thanks anyway.

be sure to vote in this week's election. let's get serious, folks.

lay off the sweets

2005-08-03T19:29:00.000-04:00

once again inspired, but this time by alex blagg over at blaggblogg. after reading his piss-your-pants post, come back over here so i can lead your laughter cool down with my additional thoughts on Starbucks.

the other day i was in the Barnes & Noble Starbuck's Cafe. i was sipping my small vanilla latte and eating my sugar shortbread cookie, my greasy fingers probably lubricating the pages of the magazine i certainly wouldn't be buying.

little did i know that, moments later, i would be pondering one of modern society's greatest mysteries.

while i was sitting in the corner, i peered up to spot a somewhat attractive boy placing his order at the counter. i quickly tried to slide my cookie out of sight, because we all know that such a quick move takes pounds off your figure--sometimes even moving the weight to your breasts.

i adjusted my glasses and kept a coy eye on his place in line. nice clothes. decent figure. stylish hair. no wretched birth defects visible. things were looking good.

but then Starbucks stepped in.

my boy was ordering his beverage along with a "Double Chocolate Chunk-N-Nut Cookie, please."

sonofabitch!

Starbucks, you bitchy little wench! how on EARTH is a man supposed to retain his dignity after ordering such an atrociously-named sweet? CHUNK? no wait, DOUBLE chunk? and did he just say he wants to eat a NUT?

no one can come out of that situation looking cool. i don't care who you are. this dude may as well have been wearing high heels and carrying a bag from Louis Vuitton.

seriously. think about it. Jonny Depp ordering a Gooey Fudgy Peanut Butter Bar? *shudder*
Jude Law ordering a Sticky Bun? ick.
how about Trent Reznor or Sid Vicious asking for the Triple Moist Mocha Layer Cake? even they would look like complete assclowns.

don't think so? well, now let's call it a Kremey Karamel Krispy Kookie.

yeah, that's what i thought.

let's get logical, logical

2005-08-03T12:55:00.000-04:00

a recent entry of justin's over at dude.man.phat. left me initially feeling virginous, and then feeling perplexed.

seriously. who makes up these things? no really. who?

for the sake of discussion, let's take the dirty sanchez. (if you don't know what it is, drop justin a line and he'll redirect your call.)

but for those who can participate, let's be adults for a moment. surely we can apply logic to an odd sexual act! of course we can.

the format of this round-table discussion will be that of me asking questions, me talking about my theories, and then you answering them. preferably with humor. or complete distaste. make sure you see the sign-in sheet. it's floating around there somewhere.

good. so, back to the ol' Dirty Sanchez.

first and foremost, is there anyone out there who has actually been one consentual half of this, um, technique? does it simply exist in porn?

maybe this is why i'm sexually deprived, but i can't see this happening in most beds, or any bed, of anyone i know, have seen, or could imagine. if one even wanted to try such a thing with their lover, how is the topic approached? do you take her out for some Mexican food first to allow for a little transition? are there instruction manuals? i'm sure that some kind of poorly judged move could lead to some painful bruising, at the very least. i think the horrors of having to explain your predicament to the ER nurse would be deterrent enough. heh. i wonder if Richard Gere has tried this out...

also, do such conceived activities exist for those who need such fetishes? if so, must there be a corresponding act for each weird thing? one maybe where the man is strangled with the strap of an espidrille before the woman finishes him off? it doesn't always have to be the female being exposed to the vile parts of such fantasies, i'm sure. because that would just be sexist. and i don't have to take that.

and lastly, let's talk about the fact that these techniques are all named by what was either an immature email-forwarder or a pornstar producer seeking to increase it's popularity with thehungry, mexican, or youthful viewer market.

actually, let's not talk about that.

in fact, this meeting is adjourned.

let's never speak of this again.

i don't look like lisa loeb: my proof in 5 steps

2005-08-01T16:33:00.000-04:00

i know i'm hot. let's just get that out of the way.

this post is in no way to be construed as an attempt to recieve praises and compliments from strangers. in fact, i hate compliments. unless they are coming from myself. (see first sentence.)

now, having established my hoTTT factor, i do have to carry around a specific burden throughout my everyday life. in fact, you just may be experiencing the same burden if you meet the following criteria:

1. you wear plastic-framed glasses.
2. you are a female.
3. you have brownish hair.

i would wager a large amount of money, drugs, or sexual favors that if you, in fact, satisfy those three prerequisites, you have likely encountered my grief.

"You know who you look like?! You look like LISA LOEB!"

now, this, in and of itself, does not have to be an insult. in fact, Lisa Loeb is quite striking (or so i've been told by several men). my problem does not lie with being compared to a somewhat attractive pop-folk-bubblegum singer/songwriter that will forever launch the lyrics youuuu saayyyy into my head at her very metion.

my problem is that i actually look nothing like this woman. don't believe me? please refer to diagram #1:

Diagram #1: Kristine

please note the following marked points:
A. smile/mouth
B. nose
C. forehead
D. glasses
E. chin

Diagram #2: Lisa

again, note the same marked points:
A. smile/mouth
B. nose
C. forehead
D. glasses
E. chin

in the spirit of simplicity, we'll go in alphabetical order.

A--notice how my mouth curves slightly upward when smiling. now notice how lisa is more of a straight-smiler. we also have different teeth. apparently she was privileged enough to experience an orthodontist's office as a child.

B--again, lisa's nose is somehwhat wider than mine. in fact, mine is down-right beak-like in comparison! one would be clearly blind to suggest they are in any way similar! perposterous!

C--now, this section is difficult because lisa has bangs and i do not. however, i would wager that behind those wispy strands is the home of a much smaller forehead, unlike my expansive one.

D--THE GLASSES. now, this is where people tend to reassure me that i do, in fact, look like lisa loeb. "but you have the glasses!" well, my friend, as you can see here, our glasses are quite different. so, you're wrong. you have a poor visual memory and you should rely on other cognitive devices to recall important information.

E--this is probably the most subtle of our differences, but it does round off the inequity. lisa's chin is slightly more square, whereas mine is a bit more rounded. it's true! take a closer look! see?

so, there we have it. i actually don't look like lisa loeb. so please stop suggesting that i do. it's only making you appear very dumb.

in fact, according to a very scientific celebrity-look-alike computer software, i look more similar to the likes of Anna Kornikova, Amelia Vega, and Sophie Marceau

my sad place: the county fair

2005-07-31T14:50:00.000-04:00

i'm about to make a strange request of all of you, but bear (bare?) with me.

there are people of the world that will tell you, in jest, to think of your "happy place." this typically occurs when the two of you are having a conversation. you are annoyed with something to a degree that is entirely socially and psychologically acceptable, when your friend takes the opportunity to make you feel foolish by suggesting you're completely off your rocker. the only way to put you back on your rocker is for you to imagine your "happy place." likely some secluded beach on a tropical island with lots of sunshine and shade and barely dressed men that are holding palms to fan you as you sip on a tropical drink and soak in the sea air....

but i digress.

my request is for you to push all these happy thoughts aside for a moment and think of your "sad place."

that's right. go ahead.

...

...

what have you got?

maybe that time that your pet parakeet was feet-up at the bottom of the cage?
the day you didn't make the JV cut for the basketball team?
when Sam dumped you for that other chick/guy who was SO not fucking hot?

ok. all excellent sad places.

you want to know what i've got?

i've got the county fair.

the county fair, almost universally across this great nation, has got to be one of the most depressing places. having attended one the other night for my summer job, i realized that county fairs indeed make me sad.

where else can you witness a morbidly obese woman wearing spandex and selling deep-fried twinkies for $5?
or how about the booth operator who will flirt with every member of the family, including the infant you're pushing in a stroller, or the dog you've brought along to aid your feeble grandpa, in an effort to get you over and pop some balloons with a dull dart?
where else is it expected that parents will lose their children--guaranteed!--that there is a booth established for reclaiming such ill-babysat toddlers? toddlers who are then turned over to the awful parents without so much as a warning or repremand for ever breeding in the first place?
where else do you see people dumb enough to still be intrigued by the lady with a snake's body? where else can you find people on this planet who are willing to part with their own money to witness something that , if you've managed to complete at least a 5th grade level of education, is irrefutably a poorly-masked con?
where else do you see old men trying to sell some cookware or garden hose to a group of equally old-ish county fair attendees with more vigor and passion than can be found on most daytime soap operas?
where else to you find individuals, again paying money, to get on a ride that is visibly rusted and rickety, tossing all care to the wind, to completely trust some greasy-haired toothless freak that they won't be hurled into the sky when that cable finally breaks?
where else is it ultimately clear that America has, indeed, jumped the fucking shark?

only at the county fair--a place that is still envisioned as a time for family fun and excitement.

and that makes me incredibly sad.

who is the hottt-est of them all?

2005-07-29T00:05:00.000-04:00

and the winner iiiisssss....

...TDDLLDLTTTLTLLDLDDLTTLD...(that's a drumroll)

PAULY D!

(sorry guys. next time i'll hook it up so these bigheads can't vote more than once.)

second place goes to BILVOX!

and last, BUT HOTTEST, is my fucking cute-ass mutt, ANGIE! (she doesn't have a website, folks. she's a goddamn DOG.)

and Paul, you know i love you, but your GRAND PRIZE has become null and void because you broke a TRIPLE-DOG DARE.

so, now, we're just even.

LOOK AT THIS WEEK'S FUN NEW POLL!!

(and if you actually vote for me to take on the world of plus-size models, just know that i'm a good stalker. OH, and for the "smart" people, the last vote option is like a write-in ballot. to chose this option, you have to WRITE IN your suggestion.)

ok, GO.

fuck office space

2005-07-28T15:58:00.000-04:00

i want to let all of you in on a little secret. i'm on the verge of a REVOLUTION. that's right kids, a damn rebellion.

i share this with you today, because i think you want to be part of this grand war. i think you are all suffering, quietly suffering, every damn day of the workweek.

oh, that's right. i'm talking about idle workplace discourse.

overweight office-lady #1: "hoo! it's a scortcher out there Betty!"

overweight office-lady #2: "you betchya, Karen! i'm heading to my daughter's after work to take a dip in her pool with the grandkids!"

overweight office-lady #1: "well, aren't you the lucky duck! send some cool thoughts my way!"

overweight office-lady #2: "i sure will!"

ladies, ladies, ladies.
there will be no sending of thoughts! telepathic communication only exists in the MOVIES. are you in a movie? NO! you're NOT IN A MOVIE. people do not speak LIKE MORONS in real life. there will be no more use of the terms "hoo-boy!" or "you betchya!" or "irregardless" or "as per" or "take care, now!"

there will be no more of this oblivious commenting either. like when you're riding to the deli to pick up the group's lunch order.

nerdy office-man #1: man! it's hot as balls in my car, huh?

balding office-man #2: you can say that again! (rolls window down)

nerdy office-man#1: (gives balding office-man #2 a sideways glance and turns up the A/C as he pulls out of parking lot)

balding office-man #2: the breeze is nice though! thank God for that!

nerdy office-man #1: yeah. well, i could put on the A/C if you want

balding office-man #2: nah! i love the fresh air.

nerdy office-man #1: (fuming silently, turns air vents directly at his face)

listen, driverman. you clearly have not heard of the REVOLUTION. this is how you handle the situation: "um, jackass...you wanna roll up that window? i have the A/C on."

there. done.

JOIN THE REVOLUTION.

tell your cube-neighbor to stop farting.
tell the lady in accounting that she needs to stop fucking up your paycheck. her job is specifically to not fuck up your paycheck. remind her of that.
when the random what-does-that-guy-do-here-anyway dude strolls by to remind you that it's almost friday, tell him that you already have a calendar that you're capable of reading. tell him to stop being annoying, already before someone reports him for being a trespasser.

let's not pussyfoot around this, mmkay? there is no need for such behavior. you do not need to comply with moronic exchanges. inform your boss that being productive requires you to as little interaction with idiots as possible. then tell him, on that note, that you need to get back to work. do not say "pronto."

you have now joined the REVOLUTION.

(if you forward this VIA EMAIL to your friend, who works down the aisle from you, i will officially kick you out of the REVOLUTION.)

on a weeknight?!

2005-07-27T21:31:00.000-04:00

last night i had to attend a teen dance party. it's all part of my job this summer as a fancy interim coordinator.

(on a side note, the director told me yesterday over lunch that i had signed a full year contract with the department. oh. "i thought it was only through august." he laughs. very loudly. and longer than i was comfortable with. "heh, no." more laughter.)

so the dance party was hosted by my group of kids and the region's top 40 radio station. it was nothing short of awful. i busted a few moves for pure comic relief and then resigned myself to texting people i hadn't spoken to in months.

since i had transported two of the girls, i got to hear about how much they thought the party sucked during the drive home. since this was making me feel even better about how i spent the past three hours of my life, i opted to change the topic of discussion.

"why didn't your sister come, tatiana?"

"she's on punishment." kiara piped in from the back seat.

"what'd she do?" i asked.

"i dunno, but it was real bad 'cuz she's in trouble for the rest of the summer."

"well, didn't you ask her what she did?"

"no." tatiana had no interest in elaborating.

"aren't you curious? i mean, she's grounded for the entire summer? it must be bad right?" i pleaded.

"i guess. if i asked her, she'd just tell me to mind my own business anyhow."

i was really shocked by this. apparently i'm more nosey than my youth activists. before i could insist any further, she turned the conversation toward her crazy events from the previous evening. this is something i was completely unprepared for.

the two girls settled in to explain how tatiana almost got jumped by some girl while ordering chinese food late last night.

"you were out at 11?! on a weeknight?" i mean, yeah, it's summer, but come on! it's no secret that this city is known for it's ghetto-tastic qualities.

kiara ignored me and begain. "i was outside with mines and tati was in there wit' Mr. Ling..."

"wait," i interrupted. "mines? are you talking about your boyfriend?" the girls laughed in agreement. "you have to translate these things for me."

"miss kris, you crazy!" they call me miss kris. and yeah, i am a little crazy.

"so anyway," tatiana took over. "this girl came up cuz she thought kiara was my sister and then when she saw she wasn't, she thought she could fight me."

i interrupted again. "you still confused miss kris?" kiara was laughing again.

"well, why did this girl want to fight you?" these girls clearly needed some tips on good storytelling.

tatiana sucked her teeth as she tried to gather her thoughts. "well, it kinda started with pappi...you remember that crazy old man that lives with us?...she was makin' fun at him the other day and pappi is crazy. so he was like 'i'm gonna kick that fat bastards ass!' and started runnin' at this girl. and pappi's crazy and he gets this look in his eye and you just gotta run."

oh. ok. i didn't bother asking anymore questions. i was now giggling along with the girls.

"so mr. ling sees that this bitch..."

"tatiana! you ain't supposed to say that!"

"awww...you girls are so good!" i say to them and allow tatiana to finish telling her story of fighting a girl at the chinese food store at 11pm on a weeknigh in the ghetto.

"...and he calls mommy and my sister. and then kiara calls hers."

i couldn't help myself, "wait. mr ling has your phone number?"

"yeah, errbody got my phone number!" tatiana says to me.

oh. ok.

i resolved myself to silence as tatiana and kiara took turns telling their highlights of the story. it all ended in what i imagined to be a crowd of people spilling into the streets in the middle of the night. mr. ling with his portable phone, yelling incoherently to tatiana's mother, who i'm sure must have translated instincitvely as if talking to Lassie. then boyfriends ran up, in outfits to match their girlfriends, to show their undying support of tatiana and kiara. when the mother and sister of tatian arrive, they're in their skivvies, rollers in their hair, more fired up than a bull in a bullfight.

all on a weeknight. in the middle of the night. thank god for mr. ling.

on driving, violence & drifters

2005-07-27T15:11:00.000-04:00

i spent a lot of time driving yesterday, which has prompted me to discuss a few things about drivers and their automobiles--habits of the road in general. and i'm not just referring to the fact that nobody on the fucking planet seems to have passed driver's ed (well, except for me and you...and that chick from college. man, she sure knew how to handle a stick.).

no, no. i'm referring to people driving very fancy cars--more specifically, those people who clearly should not be allowed to even ride in one.

i was getting off an exit, waiting for the BMW in front of me to merge into traffic, when i noticed a few things.

one: it was silver. do they make that frigging car in any other color for christ's sake? i'm thinking it must be cheaper in silver. or maybe it's a knockoff from Canal Street.

secondly, the dude had a busted tail light. sure, shit happens and people are busy. but when said shit transpires and you have little time to spare in your busy BMW-driving world, do you then go to the automotive supply store to buy that red masking tape shit that never sticks for more than a week in an effort to repair the busted plastic? well, if you drive this silver BMW, you do.

and to top it ALL off, you are a big fan of those little tree air fresheners. and by "fan" i mean that you dangle at least one from your rearview mirror at all times, with the plastic baggie still attached, allowing the vanillaroma-goodness to seep proportionately into your leather interior. and when that one is kicked, you get another one, in a clashing color--probably blue, and hang it alongside of your previous tree. maybe those are your school colors and you can't get past your high school glory days. maybe the combination is a odor you just can't get anywhere else. or maybe you're just a fucking douchebag and you should move to Maryland.

you're not fooling me, mr silver, air-freshened, busted-light BMW driver. do the world a favor and merge into this approaching Mack truck, k?

*****

moments after my BMW episode, after i had successfully merged off my exit ramp, across another highway's entrance ramp, and around a lost driver, i came upon a curious sight. alongside this treacherous roadway was a group of individuals, walking.

everyone has seen this now and again. sure. you run out of gas. your car breaks down. you're running away from a zombie in some horror flick. and, inevitably, you must walk where you typically would not.

however, this was a herd of people. i did a double-take in an effort to count them. there were at least twenty. i'm not exaggerating. 20 people of varying ages walking alongside a major highway. surely this was illegal. but beyond that, what the hell were they doing?! i was tempted to swing around and inquire about their destination, but i was on a tight schedule.

and quite frankly, i was a bit scared. there wasn't much explanation for their presence aside from them having just emerged from the woods, a secret access point to their tribal village...underground, even. i'm sure they were savages. savages about to wreak havoc on modern society in some sort of defiant, violent protest.

i should have at least pointed them toward the silver BMW.

laugh. you'll feel better.

2005-07-26T17:09:00.000-04:00

i've been adding new links to my list, so please be sure to check them out. they're really freakin' hilarious. like, for real.

today's adds are:
(in no particular order)

1. Citizen of the Month
2. dude. man. phat.
3. pink is the new blog

none of them need much help with publicity, so this is really just me looking out for my readers'/visitors' well-being. you know, to help you laugh more. they say that's good for you now.

especially if you're in a bad mood. force a smile. no, i'm not kidding. DO IT.

DO IT AGAIN!

see? don't you feel silly and happy? it's totally a scientifically proven fact that i read somewhere.

edit:

AND DON'T FORGET TO VOTE! looks like P-Diddy was going to sweep the competition (have you people SEEN his picture?!) but Bilvox is making an impressive comeback!

DO YOUR NATIONALISTIC DUTY. DON'T BE APATHETIC. VOTE OR DIE.

on guard!

2005-07-25T21:39:00.000-04:00

let's wrestle.

i have 1505. how badly have you beaten me, kind sir?

it's all about the embracing--or--my "back tat"

2005-07-25T15:38:00.000-04:00

if your name is gina favata, and you're writing a bakery-girl memoir in Gallway, you know all about this story. but for those of you not falling into this category, allow me to tell you a little tale...

i'll never forget the details of that day in September (or was it October?). i was in Plattsburgh and it was sunny. i think it was the evening, and i made Katie and Gina come with me to meet Mad Pup of Mad Pup Tattoos.

at the ripe age of 18, i was what i would call most of my students today: a punk. i had the manic-panic dyed hair, bleached first of course, for maximum color. i shopped primarily in thrift stores. i owned clothing that was meant to be worn by men. i did drugs. i drank. i wore brown lipstick. i totally dug poetry.

oh yeah, i was effing cool.

when i finally got to college, i kind of became anorexic, sustaining myself on cigarettes and coffee and the occasional french fry. now that i had the hip figure to go with my oversized Mr. Bean-clothing, there was just ONE THING i needed to complete my image.

a back tat.

i needed some mothergrabbing ink, my friends. and everyone on campus knew that Mad Pup was the dude that had maybe helped that Lizard Boy get all his tattoos, or maybe it was the Lion Lady, or Cher, or someone completely different. regardless, i knew he was my go-to man for my punkass completion.

Mad Pup is likely the exact image of who you've already imagined Mad Pup to be. he was a man in his late 40s with long dark hair and a beard. he had a pot belly and wore a tank top with some sort of Harley Davidson graphics on the front, tucked into belted pants that sat right below his round belly. and of course he had tattoos all over his arms. he was quite intimidating, but i was too amped to care.

so, i picked out the first pretty design from one of their books and plopped myself, face-down, onto Mad Pup's tat chair.

he didn't speak too much, but when he did, his words were laced with dry humor. gina would peak in occassonally and ease my discomfort with her nervous laugh and a quick photo of the procedure. when i felt comfortable enough, i even started chatting with them. a song came on the classic rock station that Inkmaster Pup had playing out of his beat-up radio.

"i love this song!" i started singing along....see the thorn twist in your side...i waiiit.....for you....

"what song is this?" Mr. Pup inquired.

"ummm, U2?! you don't know these guys?!" i was shocked. he had to have been joking.

Mad Pup was apparently not joking, and did not appreciate my mocking his yuppie-band ignorance. "You better watch your tone to a man who has a needle in your back."

i heard Gina's nervous laugh and her subsequent scurrying out of the room.

i quickly apologized and he let out a mischevious laugh.
there was not much more conversation between Mad Pup and myself after that exchange.

that's the story of my back tat.
i don't like it anymore, but at least its connotations have changed in modern day to symbolize an extremely worldly and intelligent female. i'd hate to be seen as someone with a very high bangability quotient.

ryan fucking adams

2005-07-23T22:53:00.000-04:00

this dude is one of my favorites. like, top 5, if not top 3.

but, he's also a tremendous asshole. it's a struggle to see this guy in concert and still love him afterwards. if he talks, it's gibberish. if he plays, it's not what you want to hear. if he's on stage, he's likely taken too much of some sort of stimulant. or depressant. or a nice mixture of both.

so you go home, curse him out a bit, pout, bemoan Ticketmaster, and then play a bunch of his songs that made you a fan to begin with. eventually, you decide to not totally give up on him. there's always AA, or rehab, or zoloft. i'm sure the chick that dumped him in NYC was a complete bitch. i'll give him that. it'd fuck any of us up, probably. it's not his fault. right? right.

because, in the end, he's still one of the few artists that has the balls to do this: "shut the fuck up, asshole!"

god has a message for you

2005-07-23T13:48:00.000-04:00

i checked my site statitstics this morning and noticed that i'd had an unusually high number of unique visitors. soooo, i checked my referrers, and this is what i found:

1. http://www.pauldavidson.net/2005/07/22/words-for-y... 4

2 http://legendarysurfers.com/blog/blogger.html 3

3 http://djkrishkay.blogspot.com/ 3

4 http://omahaundergroundchurch.blogspot.com/ 2

5 http://pink_toes.blogspot.com/ 2

6 http://juanlenonblog.blogspot.com/ 2

7 http://chatterbots.blogspot.com/ 2

8 http://auntiescountrycorner.blogspot.com/ 1

9 http://vitordasilvarodrigues.blogspot.com/ 1

10 http://cyberanger.blogspot.com/ 1

11 http://chroniclesoffreespeech.blogspot.com/ 1

12 http://blogdocagareu.blogspot.com/ 1

13 http://www.joywalker.blogspot.com/ 1

14 http://jillyoung.blogspot.com/ 1

15 http://cuty-pie.blogspot.com/ 1

16 http://lyrikallounge.blogspot.com/ 1

now, the freaky thing about this is that a vast majority of these sites are freaky RELIGIOUS PEOPLE'S BLOGS. i mean, i have nothing against the religious, but:

A. i've never met one that actually had a blog
B. when i checked a random sampling of their sites, none of them had any kind of link to me.

clearly, this is a message from god. he has intervened to send these people to my site.
and i think what he's saying is obvious:

God says,

RELIGIOUS PEOPLE! (god kinda always has that shouting-booming kind of voice, so caps are necessary.) THROW DOWN YOUR...EH....(god turns to someone in his posse: WHAT ARE THEY CALLED? he can't really whisper. it's like one of those Greek "asides" where everyone just has to pretend you didn't hear.) AH, YES! THROW DOWN YOUR KEYBOARDS. YOU ALL HAVE SOMETHING TO LEARN FROM THIS HERATIC AT THENAMEGAME.COM! LET HER BE YOUR LEADER!

and it was so.

i expect to have an interesting following showing its presence around here in the next few days, people. let's embrace them. they have so much to learn and need our guidance.

you must be this tall to enjoy this ride

2005-07-22T16:34:00.000-04:00

thanks for playing, kids. a new poll has been posted.

fyi, relations were had, but said boy has been kicked to the proverbial curb on the grounds of acting his pathetic age.

if you are interested in having relations with me AND can act an age (with photo ID) of at least 26 or higher, i may or may not be interested. it all depends on how much money you make, really. and how much travelling i'd have to do.

et tu, scallywag?

2005-07-22T15:25:00.000-04:00

last night was a really groundbreaking evening for me. i decided upon two things that will certainly change the direction in which my life is heading.

1. i no longer want to be a teacher
2. i'm going to bring back the term "scallywag" (or "scallawag"...whichever spelling you prefer)

you see, teaching is just kind of boring. plus, i learned that there are rumors that i'm a bad one circulating around my workplace. and, though i have tenure, i realized that i am, in fact, a lame teacher. because it's getting boring.

here's where you come in. if you would like to hire me, or even drop my name at the next meeting (making it a bullet on the agenda would score you some serious brownie points. and i don't pay in brownies, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN), i would be really thrilled. i'm thinking something that pays me better than you, preferably, and that will emerse me in beautiful, single men (you know, those ones that understand that being a size 10 does not make you a plus-size model, you asshole). oh, and it should be something in the writing field. with music. good music. and few to no emo-hipster doofuses. i'm willing to move anywhere in the nation. except Alaska. oh, and Maryland. nobody deserves to live in Maryland.

i mean, i could find this job myself, but i'm a very busy woman. i have smokers to save and floating bars to mutiny in an effort to sail to Gallway.

as for the scallywagging, i want to make insults fun again. as i was leaving my floating bar, i engaged in a verbal confrontation with a man who was wearing a hands-free cell phone adaptor. and this man was not driving. he was not even near a vehicle. clearly, this man needed to be informed of his ridiculous existence, but i had no tools with which to work. had i thought of scallywag at that moment, both he and myself would have had a much more enjoyable evening.

there isn't an expert on the planet that would refute that logic, my friends. not a single one.

spending time with mother

2005-07-20T22:41:00.000-04:00

a few hours ago, i was listening to the news while i ate some dinner. either Roz Abrams or one of the other evening broadcasters, perhaps Sade Baderinwa (i listen just to hear her say her name. it's salacious.), was talking about the recent Supreme Court Justice nomination. none of it was very entertaining or even insightful. they got to the part where they asked what i imagined to be some visibly annoyed or homeless new yorkers about their opinion on John Roberts. people droned about their worries, and valid ones, but i kind of tuned out. or maybe my mother's chomping drowned out the interview. either way, i managed to tune back in at the perfect moment:

"i hayuf aulwahs bean ah cuhnserfateve."

umm...ya think? where the hell did they find a hick in new york city? i wasn't watching, but i reckon it must have been the naked cowboy.

after dinner, i found out that my friend Lana had been evacuated from the mall in which she works because there were two bombs found. like, real live ones. they even had to detonate one! it was totally on the news and everything. naturally, recapping the incidents to my mother quickly went from concern to excitement to, hey, do you wanna go shopping?

(which, speaks volumes about like every major issue i have, but this is a funny post, so shut up and just let me tell the damn story.)

anyway, we get to Old Navy at the local dirt mall and i'm sitting on the bench of the dressing area waiting for her to show me some pants or something. her room was directly in front of where i was seated, so i could see her sneakered feet beneath the dressing room door. i could also see that she was trying on a pair of jeans WITH her sneakers on.

now, my mother is accident prone and very in-your-face about any kind of mishap she might encounter. seeing that sneaker trying to slip in through what couldn't have been a very wide denim leg, i instantly imagined her falling over. and not just falling clumsily onto the little bench they have in that little room. i envisioned her plowing into the suddenly cardboard-looking divider panels and creating a massive domino effect while narrating the entire decent with shrieks and flailing appendages. first her stall would buckle, her nylon pantied butt for all to see, and then the petite teenager in the next room would let out one of those classic shrills. i'm sure the event would be topped off with a third character emerging from yet a third dressing stall, holding her clothing in front of her wrinkly body. maybe the dude in charge of the fitting room would get on his little CIA-looking walkie-talkie contraption and call for back-up, which would be the entire store, and in lightning speed.

and i'm still sitting there, horrified, as the pressed wood creacks and price tags flutter to the floor.

the image was so real that i actually flinched and grimmaced as i sat. the patient boyfriend of the chick in the stall next to my mother totally saw me. he had been sitting next to me on the bench and i felt his sideways glance.

i stifled my smile by pretending to clear my throat and biting my lip, but since i'm not slick, this was not effective.

this is not the first time i've caught myself physically reacting to a little daydream that i've let get a little unruly.

and i STILL think i'm too cool for online dating.
boo-yeah.

a coupla' things

2005-07-19T22:43:00.000-04:00

for those of you playing at home, here are the result's for last week's quiz. windex was the winner and the correct answer. all other options run very closely behind my beautiful blue buffer.

i yanked this one a bit early so that i could run a oh-so-important poll for this week. please read and vote asap. mmkay? grrrreeat.

oh, and no, i'm not the dude in my profile picture. i'm a female. please check out my flickr page if you need to fantasize about me with an image.

thanks
--management.

just a few things on today's agenda

2005-07-18T12:29:00.000-04:00

first, the soreness in my right glandular region has now spread to the entire frontal surface of my neck. yesterday, i joked with kristen, in my ineffectual attempt to make her feel bad, that she's implemented a new diet regimen for me since it's become quite painful to eat. something about the saliva glands being triggered. i later mused with another friend that i partially think that, because there is no bruising, i am bleeding internally and will die a slow death, only to be remembered as the girl with the vampire-like lesbianic friend.

maybe the new soreness is just from nursing the other side. that's a theory, too. i guess.

next, if you haven't voted in my COOL NEW WEEKLY POLL!! i'm going to, well, i'm not going to do jack shit. because i'll never know if you've voted or not. but GOD will know, people.

thirdly, check out this new site that i've added to my too-cool-for-school roster: paul davidson's words for my enjoyment. it's very funny. very. plus he's hot. with a totally proportionate head.

lastly, my next interview with a rockstar will be We Are Scientists. i'm really excited about these boys because they're funnier than most people i know combined. i'm so excited, actually, that i've already told them that i'm nearly orgasmic with joy. this, perhaps, was the key to snagging the interview. if you have any suggestions for questions, please leave them in the comments section. i'm so excited that i'm kinda drawing a blank. eek.

and since there are no questions (don't you DARE be that person that asks a really fucking annoying question as the meeting is being hinted at dissolving, you bastard), please enjoy the refreshments at the back of the room. and if there are no refreshments back there, i totally give you permission to leave work early to find some.

my friend Kristen

2005-07-17T16:33:00.000-04:00

i wasn't going to go out last night. i'd been abandoned for the second time this weekend, and was literally all dressed up with nowhere to go.

then i remmembered Kristen was back in town from LA.

fuck yes.

when i found her at the waterfront, she was already very drunk. we hugged, with a bit of leg-around-the-hip lesbianic action. that's just what you do when you see kristen. you spend the evening getting yourself into suggestive situations that typically would not surface on a night on the town.

for example:

1. kristen is hot and she was wearing one of those shirts that ties in the back, but has no back. you get the picture. as the night marched on, it was growing loose and she asked me to tie it while we were at the ghetto duck bar. now, the ghetto duck bar has a really small bathroom that is *always* 20 degrees warmer than the rest of the place. thinking i could just be slick, i attempted to untie her shirt so that i could re-knot it more snugly. my puny finger nails were no match for the taut fabric, so i resorted to biting at the knot, which naturally resulted in an instantaneous bar-boner for the boys in the crowd. kristen reached her arms backwards toward my bum and squeezed. the crowd went wild.

i did a shot by myself to catch up with her and apologized to the bartender that i'd likely harrassed during my wednesday night bender.

oh, and then i spotted a transvestite. he/she was there alone, it appeared, and was likely in danger of a beat-down if any kind of flirting was attempted. these kind of things just don't happend in the 'burgh. i really wanted to tell him/her about that gay bar on Broadway, but by the time i thought of it, he/she had either left or was tossed overboard. i did see another one several hours later, so i can only hope that they were working some sort of buddy system.

when i found kristen again, she was on the deck of the ghetto duck bar with three boys from Brooklyn who had sailed in and were spending the weekend in jolly fraternal merriment. we sat with them and chatted for a bit. well, kristen chatted, and the rest of us tried to get a word in edgewise.

oh, and kristen bit me.

yeah, she bit me exactly four times. i have two large bruised on either upper arm and an intensely sore neck. it almost feels as if my gland has been removed. and maybe a piece of my jawbone. naturally, i bit her back. simply because this is the kind of behavior that takes over when spending time with kristen.

i know you probably don't believe me, but if you want, i can set up a meeting and we can test it out. it's true. you'll go home buzzed, strangely aroused, and wondering if your insurance plan covers Ear, Nose & Throat specialists.

say no to emo.

2005-07-16T22:27:00.000-04:00

i found this on stereogum.

it's really funny. oh, and kinda loud. so, if you're at work or have on some earthingies, then turn your volume down.

stop EMO haircuts

a word to the sponsors

2005-07-15T22:34:00.000-04:00

the following commercials should be put in a hole in the ground with terrorists.

1. the one for the mini-van that says "mothers have changed. shouldn't the mini-van?"
no, you assclown. you should fucking change you sexist, ignorant, fuck.

2. the one for some kind of menopause pill that says it can "increase the risk of uterine cancer if you have a uterus." YOU ARE A MORON.

3. the one for that new SUV that plays "Dust in the Wind." just because i really fucking like that song, and i'd rather not picture some phallic looking automobile when i hear it, you selfish advertising asses.

4. the one for Coke that has some lame-looking urbanites sitting atop a roof with an acoustic guitar in some new-age hippie circle, singing about teaching the world to CHILL. yes, yes. that's it. take a deep breath. just chill. that's what the fucking world needs. sonofabitch! HA! damn! how'd we fuckin' miss THAT ONE! whew!