And again

Recent stream of text messages with a man that amused me:



Me: Hey, remember when paula cole was on the radio all the time? cuz i do.

Him: whos that??

Me: she's the one who did the opening song for dawsons's creek and also that song "feeling love" which is ridiculously graphic

Him: Do you remember when michael jackson wasn't a corpse?


Me: Do you remember when Ellen Degeneres wasn't gay?


Him: Do you remember amy winehouse was pretty?


Me: Do you remember when people were beating each other up over "tickle me elmos?"


Him: Do you remember ricky martin?


Me: Do you remember the Macarena?


Him: Do you remember when going to the movies was affordable?


Me: Do you remember when movies were worth seeing?


Him: Do you remember when what we are doing right now was considered science fiction?


Me: Do you remember when Jessica Alba was a sex symbol?

Him: Do you remember when tom cruise is legally a midget?


Me: Do you remember when Nicole Kidman was legally a giantess?

Him: Do you remember when porn was awesome?


Me: Do you remember when we were 16 and thought we'd be famous by now?


Him: Do you remember when we didn't live with our parents?


Me: Do you remember when we were 24 and thought we'd by done with Oly by now?

Him: Do you remember when we were 21 and thought we would have careers by now?

Him: I never want to say "do you remember when we were 25 and we thought we were on the verge of finally "figuring it out"

Me: I don't either.

Myspace photos: A dead art Week 1

Myspace totally sucks now and hardly anyone uses it as their main mode of internet communication anymore. Except for crazy people who have no idea that it's no longer cool, and sex offenders.

The other day I was trying to find someone who's phone number I lost, and I resorted to browsing Myspace. In my quest I found picture after picture that impressed and sickened me, so I am going to share them with the world. Weekly. Myspace lovers are hilarious with their pics.

...........................................

I looked at this picture and immediately came to the conclusion that this is his mother's house, she's in the black garbage back, the spill on the floor is bleach from mopping up her blood and he's taking a celebratory picture, with Virgin Mary smiling on in the background. Yes. I think that's what happened.

I SHIT YOU NOT, the caption of this picture is "Pitchin a Tent."



Love.

A man and his phone.

My most recent stream of text messages from a man.

Man (12:24): oh i'll read the blog. don't you worry.

Me(12:27): holy crap i just typed a really long msg not realizing you were the one it was going to. hope it didn't send, otherwise you'll think i'm on crack!

Man(12:28): lol who does that? get your texts straight.

Me(12:30): whoops! we're even

Man(12:32): totally! i just don't get to be as bitter as you were

Me(12:34): yet i've never sent you suggestive msgs not meant for you while we were bone-ing...which i'll never again have an opportunity to do, so we'll never be even.

Man(12:35): lol it wasn't suggestive at all!

Me(12:38): Bite your tongue.

Man(12:39): LOL done.

Me(12:40): holy shit. i think a pig just flew by.

Man(12:42): I don't think I like your tone.

Me(12:43): If I had a 2 by 4 for everytime I'd heard that I'd have the house you promised me.

Man(12:45): whoa whoa whoa. I promised you boobs, not a house.

Me(12:47): potato, potato...which surprisingly loses its effect over text message.

Man(12:48): i definitely read potato twice.

Me(12:50): did you read you college transcript twice? cuz I'm pretty sure it said you never graduated.

Man(12:51): that's what i had you for.

Me(12:55): why are you awake? sexy vampire, or recently developed coke habit. You chose.

Man(12:59): I'll have to go with sexy vampire. can I be the first one with skin cancer?

Me(1:05): no, you can't,

Man(1:09): there you go telling what i can and can't do again.

Me(1:10): if you wanna go balls out with the skin cancer, great. i just don't think many sexy vampires suffer from that disease...which leaves you with the unfortunate title of cokehead.
Me(1:10): On a side note, I'm glad I've been able to bring your happiness factor down to a place where you're no longer using "lol" every other text message.

Man (1:11): Yes, you've always been good at that. No more lol's for me, that's for sure.

.................

Me (1:19): Did you read it yet?

Man(1:21): Yes, it's evil and visceral and sort of gives me a boner. You at your finest. I don't think you should let him read it in the interest of ever getting laid again.

Me:(1:22): Delete the whole thing?

Man(1:25): Yes, for the love of God, yes.

Me(1:30): Okay I'll send the link to him in the morning.

Man(1:32): You just reminded me of baby ducks in the spring. tiny and cute, but carry horrible diseases and would eat your leg if you fell asleep. Love you. Night.

Me:(1:35): Tolerate you, xo.

Funny thing happened on the way to the market.

My hometown sucks balls, literally. There are so many people here sucking balls that it's a miracle I only got out only meeting <2 sets of them.

I went to high school here, obviously, and it was horrible. Like most people, I assumed that I'd made an impression on no one during my 4 years in hell, and that if anything I was remembered as the chubby crazy choir nerd with anger problems.

Well this evening, 7 years after graduating, I hauled my 25 year old ass up to the minimart by my Mom's house (which I'm currently squatting in). I'd had a glass of wine and 14 hours of sleep so I figured I could do one of two things.

1) Go for a run, watch Emporer's New Groove again, and do breathing exercises until I fell asleep. OR,

2) Get some more wine.

I opted for the latter since I've been working out like a maniac lately, and also because there's a ridiculously cute 19 year old who works at the minimart at night that always says things like "you should come by more often."

Much to my chagrin, when I walked in it was the owner and some random dude who looked about my age working the night shift. I nodded hello and picked out the best bottle of wine I could find for between 4 and 12 dollars then walked up to the register. The dude was waiting to ring me up.

"I've helped a FEW people from Capital (my high school) tonight." He said.

"What?" I said incredulously. Not because I had any emotion invested, but because the air conditioner was all up in my ear business.

"I've helped a few people from Capital tonight, looks like a summer reunion." He ignored my ID, which he evidently didn't need since he knew who I was, and swiped my debit card.

"Oh is that right? What year did you graduate?"

"2004" he said, then looked over to the owner "We knew each other in high school."

Shit. "Oh, I haven't lived here for a while, I always feel like such an asshole when I don't recognize people."

"It's okay," he bagged the wine, "I wasn't, like, popular or anything. You wouldn't remember me." He laughed nervously after saying this and waited for my response.

Me, being the jerk that I am, didn't really get the pregnant pause so I said "It's cool, I wasn't popular either, I'm not sure I even went to school my senior year except to fight with my boyfriend and cuss out my counselor."

"Oh, I remember. You were quite the little lady."

I gave him a confused smile, told him to have a good night and started my 7 minute trek home. Did a 23 year old just call me a little lady? Was I popular in high school? Was I cussing that loud when I was on campus? Things I'll never know, I hope.

SYTYCD

Kayla and Brandon did an amazing dance last week which I put to a different song that I love, which in turn makes me happy and quite proud of my mad windows movie maker skillz.



Less depressing than the original song, but probably not as poignant. Whatever.

Cursed, cursed beauty!

I was at a bar awhile ago, and my date went up to get us new drinks; I took this as an opportunity to skulk outside and bum a cigarette. Because I didn't know anyone else who was on the patio, I stood in the corner looking down at my phone (I was trying to text my friend to let her know how things were going).

Apparently when I'm texting I look ridiculously angry and/or suicidal because the next thing I knew a woman who looked like a 6'1 Katy Perry had my face in her ample chest cooing, "Oh babydoll, what's wrong? Are you okay?!"

Well I hate Katy Perry, but I've also had my faced shoved into worse body parts than a pair of perfumy DD's when I've been drinking so I just laughed it off and told her that it's just the way my face is put together that makes me look so desperately unhappy. True story. She didn't believe me though, so she took a seat on the bench in front of me and pressed for details about my family life.

My date came back a short while later and looked a bit turned on, if not a little confused by my newfound ability to attract drunk amazon women with huge tits. She went skipping off into the corner after he showed up (and she'd assessed that he didn't look TOO creepy), but I saw her again before the night was through.

Turns out she was there on a date with one of the people I went to high school with, and she was celebrating her recent accomplishment of receiving her doctorate in functional psychology.

Moral of the story, don't practice your profession at bars unless you're a bartender or gynocologist. You just look silly.

Allo Poppet!

New space vs. Myspace
Assbook vs. Facebook
Litter vs. Twitter

The possibilities are endless.

love,