So this morning, Milan checked the news and announced that McCain had picked his Vice President running mate, Sarah Palin, and that she was a staunch pro-lifer but more importantly a beauty queen. Further research on my part revealed that she was Miss Wasilla (her hometown) and in fact merely competed, but did not place, in the Miss Alaska beauty pageant. This is essentially the equivalent of me saying that I am a runner-up for America's Next Top Model contest, because I threatened to apply when Megan dared me to and I said I would and I STILL PLAN TO FYI. At this point I would just like to say that I might CONSIDER voting for her if she had won the Miss Alaska contest because I agree with the idea of beauty queens in office, but the fact that she is publicly and embarrassingly announcing that she basically failed to even win the lame state of Alaska where Perry could have both his legs shot off AND win the contest is frankly humiliating and if this is the best looking candidate possible there are serious problems.
I'm leaving today for the war torn beaches of Croatia, prior to which I will be stopping at the Soho Calypso to purchase a dress that I have been drooling over and was sold out in every U.S. store and which will increase my beauty by a factor of 30%. In preparation for my trip I bought a power converter so that my hairdryer and flat iron work out there. If they do not, I will be back tomorrow. Milan has promised me that there will be churches with icons and out there and rest assured I will be seeing them all and buying many Jesus souvenirs to add to my extensive collection much to my parents' disapproval.
My boyfriend and I are planning a trip to the islands. I suspect I make more money than he does. This is our first big trip together and I'm kind of nervous about who is expected to pay for what. Should I offer to pay for some stuff or split shit?
Dear Paid For,
Thank you for bringing this issue up so that I can once and for all clarify the rules so everybody understands what the hell is supposed to be going on. In its most elementary form, the paying issue comes up in the form of a bill situation at the end of the date. There are several acknowledged tactics that are in wide usage regarding the date bill, namely a) the strategic bathroom departure, wherein you conveniently go to the bathroom as the second round of drinks is winding up and when you return to the table the bill has magically and "surprisingly" been paid, b) the vintage fake-reach bag fumble wherein you "offer" to split it and fake rummage through your bag pretending to be looking for your wallet which ends with the date's insistence that it's his pleasure, and c) pretending not to see the bill while maintaining conversation and eye contact as the date pays the bill.
Having been on many MANY dates with guys ranging from alarmingly poor to disgustingly R$CH, I have determined that the ONLY acceptable tactic to implement is approach c), i.e. paying for nothing and letting the date pay for everything. This is because if you are seriously considering relationshipization and regular sexifying, if they're not paying for cheap shit like drinks upfront, you're basically signing yourself up for a future of construction paper cards, macaroni necklaces and Dulce & Fontana bags. Similarly, if your boyfriend can't foot the bill for your island vacation IN ITS ENTIRETY, you can pretty much take your dreams of quitting your job and watching Bravo all day long and throw them out the window because if you get married you'll have to CONTINUE working until you die which is in no way acceptable and 100% defeats the purpose of getting married which is to get someone else to pay for things and to have someone to complain to. I hope this answers your question.
Today is Megan's 26th* birthday. Megan is one of the funniest, most loyal and in general most awesome people I know. The first time I met Megan, I was walking into synagogue with my family for Yom Kippur and Megan was standing outside of temple with manic panic red hair, smoking a cigarette and standing by her dad's motorcycle (which he regularly rode to temple) and refusing to go in. My parents warned me against people like her, but to no avail; we met again in law school and the rest is history.
"A graceful, lithe, well-balanced dog with no sign of coarseness, weakness or shelliness." - AKC bigoted standard
Apparently Barack Obama's kids have been pestering him for a dog, and whether or not he becomes President he promised to get them one which I fully support due to the fact that dogs rule. The American Kennel Club got wind of this and also the fact that Obama's kids have allergies, so they took the liberty of handselecting a few breeds of hypoallergenic dogs for America to vote on to be Obama's Next Top Dog. The AKC has given America the choice of a poodle, a bichon, a mini schnauzer, a wheaten, and a monstrous chinese crested. Where is the hypoallergenic Bedlington terrier you ask? Um, how about NOWHERE, because the AKC hates Bedlingtons and has been trying to destroy them for some time now as evidenced by this contest and by the fact that they insulted them in 2007 when they published the most popular breeds list based on AKC registrations and ranked Bedlingtons 129 out of 157 which is a damned lie because I personally know at least 4 other people who own them.
In fact, if you click on the link that the AKC provides to other Obama breeds that are hypoallergenic, the Bedlington is the first one in the pack, and is alphabetically before bichon which means that some jerk at the AKC looked over the list, saw the Bedlington, thought for some outrageous and delusional reason that it was not good enough and then selected the bichon because it was obviously superior. Is this a fucking joke? I'll tell you what's a joke - when I registered Perry with the AKC for bragging rights, you get to pick the dog's official name, so I picked Lamb's End's Agnus Dei after the kennel that he came from (Lamb's End) and Agnus Dei meaning "lamb of god." So as I'm telling everyone I know about Perry's jeanius official name that I had thought of myself, I get his registration in the mail and the name on the certificate is Lamb's End's ANGUS Dei, which loosely translates to "steak of god" thereby humiliating both me and Perry to a very high degree, and when I called them up to change the registration they said that would be $45 extra and I told them that while I was VERY rich I wasn't about to pay $45 to CHANGE Perry's registration because of THEIR screw up and they would just have to get comfortable with the fact that they ruined both my life and Perry's life and that Perry would look like a fool when other dogs asked him his name and be the laughing stock of the entire dog run.
Next week, I will ONCE AGAIN be away on vacation, this time to the war-torn trenches of Croatia. My friend Milan is Serbian and has a house in Croatia, and I asked him why he PURPOSEFULLY would try and bait the infidel by having a house in enemy territory and he said that Croatia and Serbia used to be all called "Yugoslavia." Alrighty, I apparently did not receive that memo. I also did not receive the memo where another random country stole the name Yugoslavia from the former Yugoslavia, because based on my playing the country game in car rides (you have to name a country that begins with letter that the last country you said ends with, so like if I said YemeN, someone could say Namibia), I'm pretty certain that there is still a country called Yugoslavia, and if it's not the old Yugoslavia then obviously someone stole the name and people should get on top of that. My flight to "Split" which is apparently a place in "Croatia" connects through Frankfurt, Germany and rest assured I will be wearing ten Jewish star necklaces and will be draped in the Israeli flag during the layover.
In any event, I am definitely concerned about landmines and gunshot wounds but luckily I'm bringing a camouflage t-shirt and I intend to borrow Megan's hottt camouflage Marc Jacobs heels so there should not be any problems.
"In spite of everything, I still believe" -Anne Frank
Everybody knows that I don't read the news because it's a snoozefest, but one story I HAVE been following very closely is the whole discovery of Bigfoot by these guys from Georgia. When I first saw the convincing pictures of the Bigfoot carcass in the freezer, I dared to dream that the elusive beast had finally been captured, and that I now could dedicate 100% of my time to the hunt for Nessie, the Lochness monster. I remained hopeful when Penn Gillette called the carcass pictures "a piece of meat wearing a Halloween wig" and I stood fast as people told me that I, in fact, was living in Narnia if I thought Bigfoot was real.
Sadly, yesterday the Georgia people revealed that it was "just a joke" and acted like everyone who actually believed them was actually insane because, according to these jerks, "it's Bigfoot...Bigfoot does not exist." I'm sorry but that's REALLY offensive, especially when indisputably legitimate organizations such as BFRO (Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization) and Bigfoot Encounters are hot on the trail of the friendly monster and are thisclose to finding the creature in his natural habitat of U.S. states with high illiteracy rates. Until somebody provides me with conclusive proof that Bigfoot does NOT exist and that Harry and the Hendersons was a sham, I will continue to lobby for his inclusion in scientific textbooks along with Intelligent Design and when they actually do find him I will immediately update this blog with another "I called it" post and brag about it for no less than 3 days.
A few nights ago I saw Tropic Thunder which I was mildly psyched to see and which proved to be a decently funny movie except for the fact that TOM CRUISE FUCKING STOLE THE SHOW AND SINGLEHANDEDLY RESURRECTED HIS CAREER WITH HIS OFF THE CHARTS HILARIOUS CAMEO. I'm not kidding. It was truly beautiful - you know how everybody always refers to the corny "magic of the movies" and nobody ever knows what the hell that's referring to - well honestly, when Tom Cruise did his cameo (Warning: don't click on the link if you plan on seeing the movie), for one moment in time, all his couch-jumping lunacy disappeared, his Scientology nutbaggery fell away, his sham marriage seemed genuine and I forgave him for wasting my life during War of the Worlds.* He was, in a word, shamazing, and I couldn't stop talking about him for like a half hour after it was over and let the record reflect that they will 100% be making a movie based on his character, Les Grossman.
*Editor's note: seen on an airplane where I had already finished by book and read all previously purchased magazines.
This morning, Risa informed me, JUST AS I PREDICTED AND/OR PRAYED FOR, and as countless gchat conversations, emails, and regular conversations can attest, JASON MESNICK is going to be the new Bachelor. All I have to say is "told you so" to the people who believe that my tarot cards, crystal readings and diving rods are ineffective, because this is 100% proof that I CAN tell the future. At this point I would also like to go on the record by making several other predictions regarding the Jason Mesnick Bachelor season, including the following:
a) Jeremy, the personality-less cyborg DeAnna castoff bachelor will make a cameo midway through the season in order to "help Jason with his difficult decision." This cameo will also reveal that Jeremy is in a "happy and serious" relationship with a "great girl" and he hopes Jason will find love too; b) "Ty," Jason's annoying son whom he refers to 24/7 will accompany Jason on half of the dates and at the end of the show, Jason will ask him which of the two remaining women he would want as "daddy's girlfriend" and Ty will pick the one that Jason ultimately will not pick, because the producers will have instructed Ty off-screen that the one that Jason ultimately does not pick owns toy AND candy stores and works in an amusement park, in an effort to surprise the viewers. c) I will be auditioning for the show, and during the first cocktail hour prior to the first elimination, I will attempt to impress Jason by doing pushups, singing "Amazing Grace," directly in front of his face at full volume with the hopes that I'll get a recording contract from someone watching the show, bringing him a collage I've made of pictures of him since I first saw him on The Bachelorette, and talking about how I work as a Kindergarten teacher and love kids and can't WAIT to have some of my own. I will then cry hysterically when I get eliminated. Who's with me?
Scales they use to measure the money which they steal from you
By way of background, all lawyers have to keep their lawyer license "current" by getting something called Continuing Legal Education (CLE) credits. CLEs are exceedingly boring seminars about boring legal topics that often have zero relevance to whatever field you practice in. You have to fulfill certain credit areas (like ethics, professional practice and "skills") every year before the anniversary of your admission to the bar, my anniversary naturally being 9/11 (not kidding). In any event, before I left my firm, I tried to stock up on CLE credits by going to the free CLE seminars offered at the firm, but it still wasn't enough so I just planned to ignore it after I quit my job and felt confident that the problem would just go away.
Well, unfortunately the problem DID NOT go away, so last week I had a goddamn panic attack because I started searching online for CLE classes that were being offered before 9/11 and pretty much there was absolutely nothing in NYC which meant that I would either have to apply for an extension and pray or just get my license suspended and then calmly proceed to the nearest bridge and jump off. Luckily, resourceful Megan found some free skills credits for me, but literally the ONLY ethics credit class available before 9/11 is a $355 NYC Bar Association class entitled "Ethical Considerations for Corporate Investigations - Updates 2008" a topic that anybody know knows me knows I'm passionate about. IN NARNIA.
That's right, they're requiring me to show up with an Us magazine, read it for 3 hours during the class, following which they will grab me and turn me upside down so $355 falls out of my pockets, and give me a piece of paper apparently made of shards of the Heart of the Ocean which then entitles me to renew my legal license for $360 per year, and which will then give me the privilege of paying $360 per year thereafter until I die or get disbarred. Basically what this means is that unless you're a millionaire (which I luckily am), might as well stop wasting time, write your own disbarment letter to the NY Bar counsel now and start panhandling ASAP. Is this a joke.
One of my favorite shows besides Rock of Love, Rock of Love 2, I Love New York, Wife Swap, Intervention, Breaking Bonaduce and I Know My Kid's a Star, is Say Yes to the Dress on Bravo. In it, brides to be who have lost all sense of reality and are currently living in Narnia roll up to Kleinfeld's bridal store in NYC in search of the "perfect" wedding dress. All the brides on the show are either Italian or Jewish pieces of trash and they have boring sob stories about how their dads always dreamed of walking their daughter down the aisle, how they've been planning their wedding since they could crawl and how it will the most glorious day of their lives. The show flashes a picture of the bride with her fiance who is usually fat and/or bald and always wearing sunglasses so as to conceal his identity so his friends don't see him on the show and ridicule him until he calls off the engagement and he doesn't get fired from his import/export job.
Needless to say the show is completely ridiculous with people crying hysterically after seeing themselves in corny gowns. However the most alarming part is that every bride appears to be picking the same Moulin Rouge Pnina Tornai gown which features a TRANSPARENT bustier top, a corset lace up back and a table cloth wedding cake explosion bottom. I think literally 7 brides from the show bought the dress and everybody acted as if it was completely normal to wear Fredrick's of Hollywood lingerie to their weddings. This either means that this particular crop of brides were insane (likely) or that this if the future of wedding fashion, and that by the time I get married (in Narnia) I will have missed the boat and I'll be forced to wear a see-through g-string and Priscilla of Boston nipple covers and everyone will act casual.
A few days ago, Aliza gchatted me that she was going to see Wall-E and I told her to prepare for no dialogue and to bring tissues because I was a mess when I saw it. Unfortunately, my sisters and I inherited a gene from our mother where we can't cry or show emotions in real life, but put us in front of tv or a movie screen that has anything remotely sentimental such as animals, animal death or rescue, or cornbag love stories or involves swelling violins or instruments of any kind and it's hysterics city. Um, let's put it this way - I spent half of The Dark Knight sobbing uncontrollably and people laughed and pointed at me during the movie thinking I didn't see that shit and then the lights come up at the end and I had mascara all over my chin and it looked like someone had bashed me in the face with a frying pan. Just to give you an idea of how bad the situation is, below I list the movies at which I've cried and a description of the meltdown:
1. Armageddon - (seen while on date in high school) - cried 7 times 2. Stepmom - 124 minutes, entire running time of movie 3. Sex and the City - cried 7 times 4 The Patriot - cried at death of all secondary characters 5. Tuner & Hooch - forget it 6. I Am Sam - unable to stop crying 15 minutes following end of movie 7. Phenomenon - don't even start with me 8. Homeward Bound - unable to collect myself 9. Any movie in which they animals die or get hurt - Bambi, Old Yeller, Charlotte's Web - can't discuss it 10. Dying Young - cried during opening credits
This also applies to books as well, with the most ridiculous example being that when I had my nosejob, my mom gave me Tuesdays with Morrie to read and cried so hysterically that I soaked the bandages on my face and had to have them reapplied while my mom pressed frozen peas against my head to reduce the swelling.
A few days ago when I was having "technical difficulties" and my computer froze at the start-up screen, I had 30 heart attacks and took my shit over to Geek Squad located at the Best Buy in Soho. I was nervous because I've heard bad things about Geek Squad - like they mock you to your face about what kind of idiot doesn't know computers and throw around outerspace terms like "motherboard" "RAM" and "recovery" in order to get you to crap your pants and hand over your credit card for immediate charging - but frankly there is no other place to go since Geek Squad is a monopoly. In any event, as I'm standing at the counter with my laptop, my fears were cast aside when a Geek Squad member approached me to discuss the problem. He had all the key characteristics of what I look for in a computer nerd - obese, zitty and a giant loser - so I knew my shit was obviously getting fixed asap.
At this point he turned on my laptop to see how the screen froze and either a) the mere touch of a nerd heals computers or b) my computer was once again attempting to publicly humiliate me by deciding to WORK in front of other people, so I say to the guy "Wow- you guys are really good at your job!" and he laughed and made some loser reference to a science fiction movie like Star Wars or Space Trek and it is for this reason that I will certainly be returning to the Geek Squad for all future computer needs and can recommend them without hesitation.
What do you think of these new "booties" that they're showing everywhere for fall? I agree with your opinions on mandals and gladiators, and I wanted to know what you think.
This is an excellent question and one the requires the keenest of analyses. I believe you're referring to the Victorian shoe-boot, popular with stern governesses, librarians and sepia "ancestor" pictures taken at Ye Olde Tyme Photo while on vacation in Bethany Beach, Delaware. The shoe-boot is a tricky - it can look normal and maybe even "good" under pants, but shoe boots can be horrifying in the hands of people who unfortunately reside in Narnia. For instance, I've seen people walking around the street wearing shoe boots with short skirts and/or shorts and acting like this was ok. This is obviously unacceptable. Wearing shoe boots with anything OTHER than pants makes it look like you can't afford to buy the entire boot and so you just bought 25%. It also makes peoples' legs look like they're being engulfed by a pilgrim.
The acceptability of the shoe boot also depends heavily on the classification of the bootie, with certain genuses being immediately off the table. Although further data is required for full classification status, the following phyla are preliminarily unacceptable: Gulliver's Travels (often confused with Plymouth/Crucible booties, also unacceptable), suede tee-pee wigwams, Siegfried & Roys, with the most egregious offenders being booties that come with their own raincoat and/or neckerchief.
I urge readers to proceed with extreme caution when purchasing shoe boots and to remain vigilant at all times against known and unknown unacceptable species. I hope this answers your question.
Yesterday, my friend Ariel had a baby (congratulations! Lila Ruth, 7 lbs, 13 oz) which got me thinking about putting my affairs in order to ensure that Perry is taken care of incase Rock of Love does not come back on and I do something hasty. In any event, I hereby declare the following to be my last will and testament:
1. My ING savings account to Perry, so that he may live in luxxxury and finery all the days of his life. If Perry should predecease me, to whatsoever sheep-like dog that shall have replaced Perry. 2. My lime colored Louboutins, to Megan in perpetuity, and the remainder of my shoe collection to Aliza and Jenna, divided according to their needs, and following their deaths, to a museum. 3. My old nose, to be buried with me. 4. My makeup collection, to whatever clown college shall be neediest at the time of my demise. 5. My Diane von Furstenberg dress collection, to be auctioned off on Ebay, with the proceeds to be deposited in my grave. 6. My priceless Golden Girls autographed headshots, to be divided amongst Aliza and Jenna, but if they cannot agree on the division, to the estate of Estelle Getty. 7. My Jesus and Pope paraphernalia to my parents, Rusty and Sam, with the conscription that the shall display it at all times in the vestibule of their own home. 8. My stuffed bear, Oksana, who has attended to me dutifully for the past 20 years, I release from servitude upon my death. 9. And finally, my $45 Annual Platinum Legacy Membership at CountingCrows.com, entitling the holder to advance pre-sale tickets for Counting Crows concerts and one free bumper sticker, to my devoted Aliza.
Well, I just got back from the dog park and I would just like to report the there was a lab mix with a muzzle running around, picking fights with other dogs. The owner followed the dog around and beat it with a rolled up magazine every time the dog looked like it was going to get in another dog's face. The following is what ensued:
Guy who sits on board of dog park ("Guy"): That's it - that's the third fight - get the fuck out of here! Dog beater ("Beater"): Don't fucking tell me what to do! Guy: Don't point that fucking magazine at me, get the fuck out of here, go! Beater: I'll do whatever the fuck I want! Guy: I'll call the cops! You've been beating your dog for a fucking half hour! Fucking leave! And don't fucking come back! Beater: Don't talk to me like that! I'll fuck you up! Butch woman with pit bull standing outside of dog run, yelling at Beater ("Pit"): Get the fuck out of my dog run! Yeah, why don't you come here...come over here little man, let's see what my pit has to say about this! Polly will eat you alive. She'll fucking destroy you! Bring your dog over here, baby boy, we'll see what Polly does...
[Beater leaves park, cursing]
Pit: Scared? You'll be a lot more scared when Polly is tearing your face apart! Ha ha! She'll shit on your brains! Guy, you let me know if that guy comes back here - I live right around the corner and I'll just bring my pit over, and there won't be any more problems.
We're having some problems at Living in Narnia HQ and are on our way to the Geek Squad for IMMMMEDIATE A$$ISTANCE.
Hopefully we'll be back up and running shortly - stay tuned for a very important installment of Dear Robespierre dealing with the Victorian bootie epidemic that will be infecting feet near you this Fall.
Um, yesterday I took Perry to the vet for the second time in two weeks to deal with his raging and incurable ear infection. You see, last week, when I was on vacation, Perry helped himself to both an ear infection AND a bacterial skin infection which resulted in AIDS lesions all over his skin and which requires that Perry and I awkwardly stand together in the shower for 10 minutes a day while I slather his fur with $34 antifungal shampoo, feed him grapes and then dry him with the gentle breezes of a palm frond and I pray that the police do not barge it at any moment and arrest me for bestiality.
So we rolled up to the vet and some how it was determined that Perry's current medicine regime was ineffective against the "rods" bacteria in his ear, and that I should only bathe him 3 times a week, throw away his other oral and ear drop medications and give him DIFFERENT more powerful antibiotics and a magical elixir mixed only at the Tribeca-Soho Animal hospital that was so rare and precious that I would have to come back next week to get a fresh batch, which was I was to put into his ear twice a day and hold it there for 5 minutes at a time and wash out his ears with special cleaning solution three times a day. They also informed that Perry was due for "all" of his 27 vaccinations, his heart worm test, "cytology" samples and various other made up Scientology procedures. The total cost for this was $353.60. Is that a fucking joke.
I then asked the vet if she thought it would be a good idea for me to quit my job and care for Perry's health full time and/or if she would be interested in renting Perry for a reasonable fee in order to cover the completely extortionate price of his medical care, and then she looked at me like I had ten heads and then I explained that I was joking, and that I was actually unemployed and so $353 was no big deal because I am made of money and despite the fact that I personally haven't seen a doctor in two years and have no health insurance, the most important thing was that Perry receive top notch medical care for his fleas and that he remain at all times covered under his ASPCA Platinum Advantage Pet Insurance plan.
I had drinks with a friend of mine from law school the other night and he was telling me about how he recently go out of a relationship that was "serious" and then "seriously bad." I asked him to elaborate on what he meant by "serious" - like did they stare at each other all day and talk about Darfur, watch C-Span and play Risk, and he said no, it was just one of those situations where she came home from work and described her entire day to him and he wanted to blow his brains out.
He then asked me if I could explain why women enjoy coming home and instead of sitting in silence and watching SportsCenter, rehash every lurid detail of our days including new theories on people conspiring against us at work, what happened at lunch, if stomach aches ensued from lunch, complaints about friends, and then concluding by casually asking why the boyfriend failed to respond to the last two emails sent we sent, and if that was his subtle way of hinting that he wanted to break up he could just man up and say it our face. I informed him that if he had a problem with this line of conversation, he might as well cut his losses and head to the monastery now because there is absolutely no point in wasting everybody's time sitting in silence when there are paranoid theories to propose, insults to be made and legitimate fights to pick.
On Monday as I was sitting on my couch watching Intervention and drinking a Smirnoff Ice because that's the way I roll, it reminded me that the whole problem with the show, which in general rules to a very high degree, is that you can always tell how serious the addicts problem is by who they get to be the interventionist. Like if Jeff van Vonderen is on the case, you know the producers are taking that shit VERY seriously, and the addict is going to be told that there are a bunch of people who love him, they feel like they're losing him and they just want to invite the addict to join the fight, and that they're going to say what they're gonna say, the addict is gonna say what he's gonna say and then they're done, and it ends with the addict going to rehab and staying sober. If the addict is beyond help (um, CRISTY) or will likely go to rehab and then immediately relapse and the intervention is a joke, they get chipmunk Ken Seeley who brags about his old addiction to meth so that Jeff's reputation for 100% ass kicking and recovery doesn't get ruined. If the producers REALLY think the addiction is ridiculous, like a tanning or compulsive shopping, they call in Candy Finnigan, because Jeff isn't touching that shit with a ten foot pole, and even Ken's people have advised him that it's bad for his image.
In any event, I'm not sure how Intervention is still on, because the show is premised on the idea that none of the addicts own a tv or have ever watched A&E before and therefore would know that if someone tells them they're filming them for a documentary about addiction they should be expecting an intervention in a hotel room in approximately 2 weeks.
Not that I watch the Olympics, but I accidentally happened to be in bars when its on, and if someone can explain to me why they even bother having swimming events with Michael Phelps that would be helpful. Seriously, just give him 40 gold medals and call it a day and knock it off with the fake anticipation, like "Will he break this record?" "Will the US prevail?" "Will the iron curtain fall?." He's obviously going to win due to the fact that he is a merman, which Aliza confirmed when he held the door for her once at CVS in Michigan. I don't know if you've seen any of the races he's been in, but it basically makes the other guys look like they trained by eating Hot Pockets filled with lead and then pretended the race was at the Dorney Park lazy river. This brings me to my next question of why didn't anybody notify me that 1910 pantaloon swimsuits came back into fashion for men's swimming.
I have always been of the opinion that instead of wasting time trying to come up with lame AIDS vaccines, cancer treatments or skin grafting techniques for burn victims, scientists should focus on the shit that people REALLY care about, like x-ray vision and turning lead into gold. Well thankfully someone has finally listened to me, because according to this article scientists are now VERY close to inventing capes that will make people invisible.
In other news, the lost civilization of Roanoke has been located, walrus teeth are efficacious against smallpox and the hanging gardens of Babylon are now open to the public. At this point I think CNN needs to either just abandon ship on attempting to be a reputable news source or just throw in the towel and start reporting full time on UFOs.
For those of you who are keeping track, I "lost" the "contest" to become the new editor of Above the Law. The commenters thought (flatteringly) that I had armies of readers that came in and "rigged" the election despite the fact that I actually have approximately 5 readers on a good day. But for those of you who voted for me - many, many thanks.
In any event, click here to check out my moving farewell tribute to myself on ATL.
Well, yesterday as I was sitting in the dog park watching Perry kicking ass and taking names, this guy with an 80s black and white Swingers esque shirt comes in wearing mandals, Oakleys and has a blond coiffure hairstyle directly from Girl Talk, and sits down on the bench next to me. He was talking on the phone and I gleaned that he was a pastor at some evangelical church and was "auditioning" Spanish-speaking pastors to be the lead person at some other branch of his church. He was telling someone to submit a video of himself preaching and acted if this was completely normal and that all humble preachers of Christ have Blu-Rays of themselves handy to send to people at all times.
When the pastor hung up, he sat on the bench watching his Christian Yorkie run around for a minute and then he turned to me and said "Hi, I'm Paul, nice to meet you." So I introduced myself, told him what I did (nothing) and we chatted about the new dog park. Perry then ran up to me and then Paul said, "cute dog" and then I said, "thanks, he's Jewish" and then Paul said "ok" and then I explained that I wasn't necessarily listening in on his conversation but I had overheard that he was a pastor and that it was actually really ridiculous and offensive that missionaries waltz into poor communities and give starving people food and just as they're about to eat it, they take it away and say, "um, convert first and then you can have this delicious food." I then asked him if he knew the evangelical church DIRECTLY across the street from my apartment, and he said he did and I asked him if he could kindly instruct them to stop blaring their Christian rock music DIRECTLY into my apartment every Sunday morning, and said he would see what he could do.
The Marriott Aruba, the second best hotel on the island according to their staff. Note construction on right.
So I came back from Aruba last night. Let me just clarify the way in which Aruba was chosen. Cruises were a dealbreaker for me due to my EXTREME sea sickness, the Norwalk virus special I saw on 20/20, and the general corny and unacceptable nature of cruises. I'm sorry but getting on a boat and rowing it in a circle and then coming back is the most ludicrous idea known to man, except for possible midnight chocolate buffets, which are also on cruises. And all Caribbean islands are pretty much the same in my book, so Aruba was the cheapest and fine by me.
Well, it turns out that all Caribbean islands are not the same, as this island is appropriate exclusively for extras from Growing up Gotti, obese people with D-cup manboobs who buy two seats on the plane and eat Fritos on the beach, and women named Kristyn who have spent the last ten years tanning two inches from the sun and are dental hygienists. The main part of the island features a Senor Frogs, and its hilarious second cousin, "Iguana Joes" and a place called "Champions" which is basically TGIF's with some sports garbage hanging on the wall.
The weather and hotel were nice, but when I went shopping for critical souvenirs like silver spoons, thimbles, cigarette lighters with pictures of a woman's ass in a g-string bikini with "Beach Bum" written next to it , and license plate keychains that say Mary on it because they don't have Marin, they did not have ANY of that stuff so I couldn't buy any souvenirs which means I won't be able to remember this vacation whatsoever.
Daddykins: "Isn't it hurricane season in Aruba?" Me: "Probably." Daddykins: "Good luck with that." Me: "FYI I made a will - it's airtight and I've cut you out."
Daddykins: "You have no money."
For the next few days I'll be on "vacation" in Aruba...Don't worry, I'll be at my computer the ENTIRE time and fun is off the table. While I'll make an effort to post my normal crap, the next week will also feature a photo essay called "Ways in Which You Are Jealous" in which I post pictures of Aruba that will incite extreme envy in you and anger you greatly because while I will be sipping delicious alcohol on the beach and hiding my albino skin under 76 layers of protective covering, you will be sitting at your desk and your jealousy will escalate. Please make every effort to contain your jealousy.
I'm a lawyer living in NYC. I have a dog, a great group of friends, an inferiority/superiority complex (depending on the situation), and dreams of writing a book. I am trying to do more stand-up comedy and I will be very insulted when people don't show up because I'm pretty shamazing.