I had the pleasure of interacting with a bystander in my life that claimed that the only reason I liked David Sedaris was because his books were on sale at Urban Outfitters. I use the term “bystander” to describe people in my life who are like human furniture in the background. They’re around. They’re lurking back there somewhere forcing me to interact with them in a cursory type manner, but they are not real active people in my life. Furniture is interchangeable and so are these people.
In any case, what I wanted to say to said bystander was, “Nice thought, douche, but believe it or not, David Sedaris’s books can be bought at other retail outlets. His work is not solely sponsored by our dear friends at Hipster Central.”
I cringe to think that people may overlook Sedaris’s brilliant work because it happens to be in Urban Outfitters on the same shelf as the picture book of penises, which by the way we shouldn’t automatically judge to be poor literature/art anyway. (This is probably another topic for another post on another day.)
His books are at Urban. So, what? An asshole with his plaid shirt, smug self-entitlement, and skinny boy jeans in the damn store in the first place buying another hip trendy knit cap is going to discredit books that are being sold at the very store that supplies his hipster wardrobe/ forced lifestyle? Contradiction? Paradox? Douche baggery?
Oh, yes. I think so.
Read his essays. They are fucking hilarious. His work inspires me every day to talk more shit.
David Sedaris should be given the acclaim he deserves especially from douches that haven’t even read his work or douches that claim they read voraciously, but actually only look up books on Wikipedia for plot summaries.
You douches suck. Sedaris rocks.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Gym, Rats!
There are only two criteria that go into choosing a gym: hospitality and hotness. The big H’s that go into most decisions that I make in my life. My gym closed and relocated to a farther destination and I decided to see what other gyms were in my close vicinity.
Choosing a gym is a serious decision. It’s like choosing a second home. After several weeks of cautious deliberating, I called ahead of time and made an appointment with a nearby gym.
I walk in and I say, “Hi! I’m here for an appointment.”
The Neanderthal-looking douche bag behind the counter says sarcastically, “Ummm. Could you be more specific?”
Hmmm. Well, let’s see. We are at a gym. I have a gym bag on my shoulder. So, I say, “Ya. I’m here for my colonoscopy appointment. Is Dr. Roto-Rooter in, you dumb fuck?”
DISCLAIMER: I did not say this, but instead I say, “Um. I made an appointment for a gym membership.”
Douche bag curtly says, “Well, who was it with? Jimbo? Dumbo? Tardo?” (Okay. Those are probably not the names he said, but at this point, it should be clear that I do not recall the name of the person I have an appointment with. Naming arbitrary names does nothing to help the situation.)
I say, “I don’t remember his name.”
This is where douche bag gets really upset by the complicated problem he is faced with and with no credible solution to solve this challenging conundrum, he grunts, shakes his head in annoyed frustration, and stomps away.
I’m not fucking kidding.
Then the pudgy girl behind the counter steps up and says, “Oh. You must be here for Jimbo’s (who knows the name?) appointment. He’s not here. Something came up. He won’t be in until Monday. I’m covering for him.”
Silence.
I say, “Okay.”
She says, “What did you want?”
“A membership! I want to join a gym!”
She says, “Oh. Well, it’s going to be $39.00 a month.”
Silence.
More silence. And she’s staring at me.
Now, I’m completely in shock. This is how you sell shit to people? A blind, deaf, dumb, mute, semi-unconscious chimpanzee sells shit better than that.
I say, “That’s it? That’s what you’re going to tell me? This is the membership meeting?”
Her response: “Yup.”
No one shows me around the gym. No one tries to tell me about any specials or deals. My membership meeting was over in 30 seconds.
This is when I turn around, get in my car, and drive the extra 15 to 20 minutes to get to my relocated gym.
On my drive over there, I replay the incident in my head. I may have been more lenient if the gym staff had been hotter, which finally brings me to the second H.
When I walk into my gym, I want to see hot smiling people behind the counter. The gym staff should, by visual cues alone, encourage the rest of the gym to strive for a better life full of hotness. If you’re going to be a lazy incompetent dick, you better be smoking hot. It’s almost acceptable. If I see people behind the counter with worse bodies than my own, I will not be motivated. I’ll turn the fuck around and speed to the nearest Krispy Kreme Doughnuts.
This is what I was faced with: two non-hot inhospitable assholes.
Remember the two H’s: Hospitality and Hotness. It’s important for these important life decisions.
(I’m still searching for another gym.)
Choosing a gym is a serious decision. It’s like choosing a second home. After several weeks of cautious deliberating, I called ahead of time and made an appointment with a nearby gym.
I walk in and I say, “Hi! I’m here for an appointment.”
The Neanderthal-looking douche bag behind the counter says sarcastically, “Ummm. Could you be more specific?”
Hmmm. Well, let’s see. We are at a gym. I have a gym bag on my shoulder. So, I say, “Ya. I’m here for my colonoscopy appointment. Is Dr. Roto-Rooter in, you dumb fuck?”
DISCLAIMER: I did not say this, but instead I say, “Um. I made an appointment for a gym membership.”
Douche bag curtly says, “Well, who was it with? Jimbo? Dumbo? Tardo?” (Okay. Those are probably not the names he said, but at this point, it should be clear that I do not recall the name of the person I have an appointment with. Naming arbitrary names does nothing to help the situation.)
I say, “I don’t remember his name.”
This is where douche bag gets really upset by the complicated problem he is faced with and with no credible solution to solve this challenging conundrum, he grunts, shakes his head in annoyed frustration, and stomps away.
I’m not fucking kidding.
Then the pudgy girl behind the counter steps up and says, “Oh. You must be here for Jimbo’s (who knows the name?) appointment. He’s not here. Something came up. He won’t be in until Monday. I’m covering for him.”
Silence.
I say, “Okay.”
She says, “What did you want?”
“A membership! I want to join a gym!”
She says, “Oh. Well, it’s going to be $39.00 a month.”
Silence.
More silence. And she’s staring at me.
Now, I’m completely in shock. This is how you sell shit to people? A blind, deaf, dumb, mute, semi-unconscious chimpanzee sells shit better than that.
I say, “That’s it? That’s what you’re going to tell me? This is the membership meeting?”
Her response: “Yup.”
No one shows me around the gym. No one tries to tell me about any specials or deals. My membership meeting was over in 30 seconds.
This is when I turn around, get in my car, and drive the extra 15 to 20 minutes to get to my relocated gym.
On my drive over there, I replay the incident in my head. I may have been more lenient if the gym staff had been hotter, which finally brings me to the second H.
When I walk into my gym, I want to see hot smiling people behind the counter. The gym staff should, by visual cues alone, encourage the rest of the gym to strive for a better life full of hotness. If you’re going to be a lazy incompetent dick, you better be smoking hot. It’s almost acceptable. If I see people behind the counter with worse bodies than my own, I will not be motivated. I’ll turn the fuck around and speed to the nearest Krispy Kreme Doughnuts.
This is what I was faced with: two non-hot inhospitable assholes.
Remember the two H’s: Hospitality and Hotness. It’s important for these important life decisions.
(I’m still searching for another gym.)
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Support Paul Walker Weekend
I've been busy lately and haven't been following Paul Walker closely enough. Apparently, he has a new movie, Takers, coming out this weekend. I only saw a 15 second clip while I was watching t.v. with my peripheral vision, but I recognize a Paul Walker flick when I see one. Beautiful people. Action. Paul Walker's abs. Girls in bikinis. Fast cars. Shit blowing up.
Is it going to be Inception? No. But it is a hard boiled caper flick. Robbers. Cops. A femme fatale. Devious plans. Blah. Blah.
I could give a shit.
All that matters is: Paul. Walker.
Takers has an extra special treat: Hayden Christensen wearing a fancy hat.
Uh huh. That's right. Two hotties running around doing shit- who cares exactly what. There are other people in it, too. Matt Dillon. Jay Hernandez. Avatar girl. T.I. Michael Ealy. -Even more hot people doing shit. (Just try to ignore Chris Brown.)
They basically had a casting call for all the Hollywood pretty boys. You know who's missing? Mmmhmm. Matt Damon. Just kidding. He's probably making another Bourne movie or something.
Let's get real. It looks terrible as far as plot, character development, dialogue, blah, blah. But so does porn, right? And we all watch that so..... Buy your tickets. Paul Walker needs our support.
Check out the trailer for yourself. The movie should be renamed: Pretty Boys Doing Shit.
Is it going to be Inception? No. But it is a hard boiled caper flick. Robbers. Cops. A femme fatale. Devious plans. Blah. Blah.
I could give a shit.
All that matters is: Paul. Walker.
Takers has an extra special treat: Hayden Christensen wearing a fancy hat.
Uh huh. That's right. Two hotties running around doing shit- who cares exactly what. There are other people in it, too. Matt Dillon. Jay Hernandez. Avatar girl. T.I. Michael Ealy. -Even more hot people doing shit. (Just try to ignore Chris Brown.)
They basically had a casting call for all the Hollywood pretty boys. You know who's missing? Mmmhmm. Matt Damon. Just kidding. He's probably making another Bourne movie or something.
Let's get real. It looks terrible as far as plot, character development, dialogue, blah, blah. But so does porn, right? And we all watch that so..... Buy your tickets. Paul Walker needs our support.
Check out the trailer for yourself. The movie should be renamed: Pretty Boys Doing Shit.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Inception Spoiler Alert, Bitches.
I literally cleared my schedule to see Inception this week before anymore assholes talked about it. CNN won’t stop posting stories about it and dickheads won’t stop posting hints about the plot in their status updates. So, I made time in my 80 hour work week to see the 2 hour and 28 minute masterpiece.
I was blown away. Mouth open. Eyes glued. Nails bitten. I loved it. Loved it!
Ensemble cast. And not just any ensemble cast. They actually picked talented actors instead of throwing any big name no talent assholes onto the screen.
The story is intricate and confusing, but also simple and unambiguous at the same time. It’s an action adventure with love, a heart wrenching Love in the Time of Cholera kind of love. -The kind of love, that when I walked out of that theater, I hoped I would never find in my lifetime. Because that’s the kind of love you lose your mind over, take impractical risks for, and can only dream about.
It was beautiful, visually stunning, unnerving, thought-provoking, and just fucking spectacular.
Christopher Nolan wove together a complicated concept, but cleverly kept the driving motivation of the film to a simple universal emotion, love. You thought you were in store for a macho action-heavy caper flick and before you knew it, you just watched one of the greatest love stories ever written.
Brilliant.
I was blown away. Mouth open. Eyes glued. Nails bitten. I loved it. Loved it!
Ensemble cast. And not just any ensemble cast. They actually picked talented actors instead of throwing any big name no talent assholes onto the screen.
The story is intricate and confusing, but also simple and unambiguous at the same time. It’s an action adventure with love, a heart wrenching Love in the Time of Cholera kind of love. -The kind of love, that when I walked out of that theater, I hoped I would never find in my lifetime. Because that’s the kind of love you lose your mind over, take impractical risks for, and can only dream about.
It was beautiful, visually stunning, unnerving, thought-provoking, and just fucking spectacular.
Christopher Nolan wove together a complicated concept, but cleverly kept the driving motivation of the film to a simple universal emotion, love. You thought you were in store for a macho action-heavy caper flick and before you knew it, you just watched one of the greatest love stories ever written.
Brilliant.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Video Calls Will Destroy My Game (And Yours)
I just saw a disturbing commercial for video phone calls for iPhones. I do not want this to catch on. I like talking on the phone when I look like shit. You mean to tell me, I'm going to have to put a damn shirt on just to answer a phone call. Nonsense! Absurd!
Not only that, how many times have I been on the phone with a dude and I'm rolling my eyes the entire time. How am I going to control my eyes from doing this? Video calls will eliminate the freedom we have from doing whatever we want on the other end.
How about when you're with your boyfriend and your husband calls? You won't be able to pick up the phone. You're just going to have to let it ring and deal with consequences of not answering later.
Video calls will destroy us all. We will have to be more honest people or we will all have to take acting classes.
I am boycotting video calls. If you want to keep your husband and your boyfriend, I suggest you do the same.
Not only that, how many times have I been on the phone with a dude and I'm rolling my eyes the entire time. How am I going to control my eyes from doing this? Video calls will eliminate the freedom we have from doing whatever we want on the other end.
How about when you're with your boyfriend and your husband calls? You won't be able to pick up the phone. You're just going to have to let it ring and deal with consequences of not answering later.
Video calls will destroy us all. We will have to be more honest people or we will all have to take acting classes.
I am boycotting video calls. If you want to keep your husband and your boyfriend, I suggest you do the same.
Just Because You have a Dick Doesn't Mean You Know How To Use It
Through my travels in life, I have unfortunately happened upon dudes that are so arrogant that they claim to be an authority on everything. Or at least an authority over anything that I can do. It doesn’t matter what it is. I could be an astronaut and dude could be a bartender, he will tell me the ins and outs of NASA, as if I wouldn’t already know about it.
It’s always a treat to run into these dudes. They come in all sizes, shapes, and ages with the same irritating attitude that they are the best. I am unsure if this behavior is further compounded by the fact that I’m a woman. Maybe these guys are arrogant pricks to other dudes, too. I don’t know.
My point is that if you are an articulate and intelligent woman these dudes are at a loss of how to act. They are supposed to wear the pants and women are supposed to acknowledge that. They do what they can to tear you down, insult you on the sly, and assert their dominance over the given situation.
I’m too old and too tired for that bullshit. Just because you have a dick doesn’t mean you know how to use it. Doesn’t mean you’re the best at everything. Doesn’t make you an authority over anything a woman can do simply because you're a man. My womaness doesn’t prevent me from being talented, ambitious or intelligent. You need to grab that dick of yours and accept that there are women out there who are better at some things than you are.
Heed my advice because we (men and women) all just think you're annoying.
It’s always a treat to run into these dudes. They come in all sizes, shapes, and ages with the same irritating attitude that they are the best. I am unsure if this behavior is further compounded by the fact that I’m a woman. Maybe these guys are arrogant pricks to other dudes, too. I don’t know.
My point is that if you are an articulate and intelligent woman these dudes are at a loss of how to act. They are supposed to wear the pants and women are supposed to acknowledge that. They do what they can to tear you down, insult you on the sly, and assert their dominance over the given situation.
I’m too old and too tired for that bullshit. Just because you have a dick doesn’t mean you know how to use it. Doesn’t mean you’re the best at everything. Doesn’t make you an authority over anything a woman can do simply because you're a man. My womaness doesn’t prevent me from being talented, ambitious or intelligent. You need to grab that dick of yours and accept that there are women out there who are better at some things than you are.
Heed my advice because we (men and women) all just think you're annoying.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
For the love of God, my obsession with Matt Damon must stop
I have this habit or hobby rather, to collect Matt Damon look-alikes. It started Spring Break 1998. He was from
I often even lie to myself and tell myself that I don’t even like Matt Damon. I protest up and down whenever one of the Bourne movies comes on tv, but I secretly am enamored from the corner of my eye.
Throughout the years, there have been more Matt Damons, regardless of whatever I try to tell myself to do. Take a room full of guys. I will make a beeline for the dude that somewhat somehow kinda sorta maybe a little bit resembles from afar Matt Damon. It’s true. Dear God! It’s true!
It’s time for me to face my problem. I often carry on in ridiculous entanglements with guys simply because of their Matt Damon-ness physical qualities. Dude could be a narcissistic capitalist Republican and I would overlook this because of what he looks like. I fear that the only way I will get over this obsession is to actually nail the real Matt Damon. Is this going to happen for me?
Probably not.
So, what do I do? Nothing. I guess collect more Matt Damons. Maybe I should switch to Ben Afflecks…
Nah. Now we all know that is pure nonsense.
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