A Tale Of Two Bitches

For those of you who actually read my shit, you know that there's a lot of stuff that really pisses me off, to put it mildly. (And for those of you who don't read my shit, what the hell are you doing here???) However, nothing actually amuses me more than those morons who try to knock me down when I've just said something extremely fascinating and witty, like this bitch.

If you don't know (loyal readers my ass), some of my stuff is also on Official Dynasty's page. Recently, I went there to check if anyone had commented on my blogs, because I'm a flaming narcissist, and came across a gem of an IM conversation that he had chosen to share with all of us. Since, for some reason, this blogsite won't let me copy and paste, I'll have to paraphrase. Basically, it had him laying the smackdown to some slut who wanted him to jerk off to her picture. Classy. You know, they have porn for that. She also told my friend to kill himself, and threw in copious "lol's" at inappropriate moments. The comment I left on Official Dynasty's blog in reponse to this crater-faced harlot went something like this:

What a fucking mental patient. Seriously, I'm ashamed to have a vagina. Nice work, though. Party on, Wayne. Party on, Garth.

Hilarious, no? If you're going to say stuff that moronic, expect people to call you on it.

A few days ago I was going through my inbox AGAIN (damn you, Myspace! you're the crack cocaine of the Internet!). Nothing too exciting: a message from my friend Amazing confirming plans for later, something from my friend Consuela about X-Men 3 (hint: stay until after the credits are over. Trust me.), a note from my mom- yes my mom has Myspace; isn't that awesome?- and an email from someone named Christen. The subject line was intriguing: "ouch..ur dumb...scary". I immediately had to open it. Who would be brainless enough to call me dumb and spell "you're" with a "ur?"

So of course, I clicked on the message. What was inside was so hilarious- and frightening- that I immediately forwarded it to, like, 11 people:

Read your comment on dane's blog about vaginas(the AIM conversation) it is scary u shouldnt be allowed to have a vagina if u dontknow how it works....as in self cleansing......go read a book...really try it...

At first I was drawn, again, to the subject line, where she called me dumb, but didn't bother to check her typing, spelling or grammar. But that's just my need for intelligence; I guess I can let that slide. What really confused me was the fact that I had NO CLUE what the hell this crack whore was talking about. While it is true that my vagina's recently been used less than Britney Spears' birth control pills, I don't remember ever mentioning anything on "self-cleansing." Then again, it's obvious that she understands a little too well how vaginas work. She has one of those lesbian faces, and not the kind that guys watch on DVD's. She's more the kind of carpet-muncher that you see on Jerry Springer telling her girlfriend that she was born a man, right before she throws a chair at the audience.

Just for my own personal enjoyment, I decided to check out this chick's Myspace page. It's probably the funniest thing I have ever seen in my life. For those of you interested in telling this mental midget to go screw herself, it's http://www.myspace.com/nurselola. Anyway, the first thing I noticed about her photo is that she has that side part in her hair that acts like she doesn't have a forehead that you could eat a three-course meal off of, but it doesn't hide anything, and you can tell she totally does. She actually gives you her full name, which is really smart to do on an Internet site which pretends that it's for music but is really just a glorified dating service. She's kind of fat, too. She has Dunlap's Disease- you know, where your skin "done lap" over your clothing. Ugh. I hate that.

Anyway, you scroll to the right and read her "blurbs," and she says she's a nurse. Um, Christen? I had Operation and that little doctor's travelling kit too. I think I was three. That doesn't make you a nurse. That makes you stupid. Also, kidnapping a kid from the playground doesn't make you a mom. That's a horrible thing to do- shame on you, Christen.

Also, strangely enough, all the comments on her page have to do with retards and/or penises. What a role model.

Judging from this idiot's (non)ability to form a coherent sentence and her obvious aversion to my friend the apostrophe, I decided not to let her "go read a book" comment bother me in the least. However, I did think it would be funny to tell you guys exactly what I thought of her, because the only thing that's more hysterical than that are the girls that try to out-bitch me to my face.


(The link to the conversation is here)

I Thought Reading Was Supposed To Make You Smarter. Apparently Not.

Last week I went to Barnes N' Noble to pick up something to read on the way to visit my grandmother. I knew that I'd be going with my family, and what better way to avoid actual conversation than to bury my face in a book?

It didn't work. My dad asked me what I was reading, and I told him it was the new James Patterson (I love his stuff). This, for some reason, inspired my entire family to launch into a conversation about what books we used to read as children. Don't look at me; I don't get it either.

Participating in this reminiscient dialogue not only brought me back to the 80's and mid-90's, it also made me realize (once again) that shit made for kids is never entirely honest. Or, for that matter, even close to being honest at all. For example:

My favorite books as a kid were the Sweet Valley series. All the girls probably know this one: they were the stories about a California family that had parents who never fought, a substantial amount of cash, and perky, blonde 16-year-old identical twin daughters. One was supposed to be a "bad girl" but somehow she never took drugs, got wasted or was a total slut. The other one was an absolute pussy and at even at like, nine, I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and tell her to lighten up.

Now, at 23, I kind of picked up on the fact that the Sweet Valley books were completely unrealistic. First of all, both girls were supposed to be a "perfect size six." Even in the '80's, if a 16-year-old girl was a size six, she'd be hiding her food in her napkin and bending over the toilet trying to shove herself into a size two. Sad, but true. Besides, how many natural blonds do you know, anyway? I know one, and she dyes her hair brown. And by the way, do you know of any high school on the planet where the straight-A do-gooder is one of the most popular girls in school? Especially when her best friend is a Grade-A loser? Yeah, I didn't think so.

Where the books really get retarded is with the whole abstinence thing. Everywhere you look, there's a Sweet Valley series: Sweet Valley Twins, Sweet Valley High, Sweet Valley University, Sweet Valley Crack Den. In every book, one of the twins (Elizabeth) is dating the same guy. That's like, ten years of the same boyfriend. I'm not kidding; I'd shoot myself. Of course, since these books preach morals up the ass, her boyfriend (I forget his first name, but it was really gay) spends all of high school NOT pressuring her for sex, because 17-year-old guys apparently don't care about that at all. But as soon as they get to college (everyone winds up at the same school, by the way), he dumps her because she won't sleep with him. I thought that was pretty fair, I mean, dude's been forced to jerk off for what, like, eight years?

On the other hand, the second twin was apparently a really shitty student, but wound up at the same school as her sister, who I think was like the valedictorian or something. Yeah, that happens. So after the author gets 90210 syndrome and makes everyone go to the same college but unforunately forgets to make anyone shoot themselves in the head, the "bad" twin runs off and gets married to some criminal on a bike, but still doesn't have sex with him. Whatever. That marriage lasted for about three chapters.

Of course, being a girl in the 80's, I was also into The Babysitter's Club. The only problem I really had with this one is that a bunch of 13-year-olds were responsible for kids that were pretty much their own age. Plus, one of them had a boyfriend; I think his name was Logan. That was pretty porn star-ish. Then again, so was The Saddle Club, the one about the girls and the horses. You wouldn't think so at age seven, but those saddles could make an awesome sex toy. I'm just saying.

Of course, if you've been paying attention to my blogs at all, you know that I'm devious, fucked-up and obsessed with the horror genre. I've kind of always been that way, actually, which is why I read those R.L. Stine books. He had Goosebumps for really young kids, but I liked the Fear Street series. I always figured out who the killer was, though- either the fat, pasty kid who no one liked or the obnoxious, popular cheerleader who everyone liked. Everyone was always one half of a couple but again, no sex. However, that was understandable because the number one rule of the horror category is that you have to be a virgin to escape from the knife-wielding psycho. So I can overlook it. I just have one question: if you lived on a street where everyone was constantly getting picked off, wouldn't you move?

So I've essentially come to the conclusion that childrens' books set us up for a fantasy world where high school is one big party and everyone looks like they're on a runway but is still super-nice and really rich, but you might get murdered. No thanks. Home-schooling- it's not just for scary religious people anymore.

Baby Carrot: Sauteed (Working Title: "Dangerous Bastard")

A few scrolls down, there's an unbelievably hilarious blog about my (sad? pathetic? frightening?) adventures in this world we call Dating Land. I was recently throwing a little pity party for myself when I realized that most of my girlfriends are taken, and sitting at home alone on a Thursday night, after a bowl of Edy’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough and an episode of The OC, I noticed that I’ve mentioned my ex-thing Baby Carrot in at least two of these hysterical re-tellings.

Now, you may be thinking, “He can’t possibly be THAT bad. What did he do? Dump you in front of a live studio audience? Throw your puppy under a train?” Au, contraire. A bunch of people, (OK, two) have asked me about him and what makes him so horrible, so you’re all finally going to get the full story. This is pretty long, so I’m warning you now: Don’t like it? Fuck you! Stop reading.

So...BC and I were friends for about six years before he finally told me he liked me. And even after he did, I waited a week and then finally, I was the one that made the first move. I know, wuss. But whatever. After that, not only did things go downhill faster than some five-year-olds on a sled, the whole situation was so hellacious that I cringe just thinking about it.

I would complain to all my friends, who probably wanted to punch me (and him) in the face for being retarded. I stayed with this douchebag for a year and a half, off and on. Once I dumped him for the second time you’d think I’d be smart enough (because I am a genius) to figure out that he was a complete asshole, but no! SIX TIMES, people! Six times!

So here’s all the crap that he pulled, in order of Supervillain-ness:

We’d be in my room, doing...um, stuff, and he’d start talking about how hot other girls were. And not just celebrities and porn stars, either- like, girls in his classes. I wanted to grab it and twist.

Besides that, he never took me out or bought me anything. Not once. I’d suggest dinner, movies- his answer was always “no.” No explanation, just “no.” What a great guy. He also never introduced me to his friends or talked to me in front of them. I think he was ashamed to be seen with me. I mean, I know I’m not Tyra Banks or anything (mostly because I’m white), but come on! I’m like, ten times hotter than he is!

So my birthday comes around, and I was actually looking forward to it. Despite the fact that we’d had a fight like, three weeks ago because he’d told me I “wasn’t important” (that’s a direct quote), he’d actually begged for forgiveness and we’d made up. For his last girlfriend’s birthday he’d shelled out 400 bucks and bought her a ring, and they’d only been dating for a couple of months. For my birthday, he got me...a phone call. And he didn’t even come over! Three days later, he thought an appropriate birthday present was sex, and it wasn’t even that great. And I’d just spent $120 on him for Christmas (he’d also gotten me zilch for Chanukkah).

So that was it. I was like, “See ya, dude,” and I dumped his ass on the cold, hard ground (in case you’re wondering, I let him put his pants back on first). Nine months later, I (no, not that) saw him again when he came over to pick up a check from my dad, who had gone out of his way to give BC a job, and he drops this bombshell that- get this- he has brain cancer and only six months to live. Not only that, but then he says that all his friends think that he’s lying about everything and they won’t talk to him anymore. I was appalled. Who does that? What fucking idiots.

So my plan to be a complete bitch goes AWOL. We start hanging out again, and eventually we get back together. All my friends think I’m stupid, but I don’t care. Then all of a sudden I don’t hear from him for a week. I’m flipping out- calling hospitals and all that crap. Then I finally see him in school and he’s like, “What? I went on vacation.” Then he SHRUGS ME OFF in front of like, ten other people. Oh, hell no. Even though he’s sick, he’s still an asshole. I reluctantly dump him again. He’s a complete dick, like he doesn’t even care, which makes it a lot easier.

I run into his mom like a month later and ask how he is, and she goes, “Cancer? What are you talking about? He never had cancer.”

I’ll give you a minute to process your reactions: There is a person on this planet who can MAKE UP BRAIN CANCER. No wonder everyone hates him.

Since I now include myself in the “We Hate BC Club,” I was pleasantly elated to get a text message a few weeks ago from one of his ex and my current friends. It informed me that he got his ass kicked by one of the people that he told this cancer story to- apparently he’s still telling people that he’s dying. Hey, if he’s so gung-ho about it, I’d love to help him out.

Seriously, paired with the Mets having the best record in the division, this is like, the greatest news ever. I wish I had been there so I could post a picture of his mangled face.

Really, I may have told some whoppers in my day (“Dad, me swear, me drinked only two beers”), but that one is in a class by itself.

Here I Go Again (On My Own)

So there’s this guy that I met about a month ago when his band was playing at a bar (no, wait. This really IS a funny story, I swear). When the band took a break he came over to talk to me, and we had a decent conversation that didn’t include the words “sex,” “boobies,” or any form of drool, so I figured he was probably ok.

Since then I’ve seen him play a few times, and it’s totally been one of those situations where even my mom knows we’re gonna hook up, but both of us are too much of a pussy to do anything. Like, we’re always touching each other and crap like that. His friends keep making jokes about him holding his instrument over his crotch, so I guess he’s pretty obvious.

A few weeks ago I went to one of his shows, and as soon as I got there I went in to say hi. The drummer told me he was standing in the back by himself, and then he was like, “Don’t worry, there’s maximum blowjob space.” Thanks, dude. Way to turn on the pressure.

I find him in the employee room and he shows me the set list and all that shit. I’m thinking, “Do I just take my pants off now, or wait until he asks to see me naked?” Then I remember that he goes on in like, 10 minutes, so that might not be the best idea. If he can’t last longer than 10 minutes, maybe I don’t want to find out, ya know?

Anyway, there’s one of those totally awkward silences that never happens in movies and I’m pretty much sitting there in agony. Then, all of a sudden, he goes, “So do you wanna hook up or what?”

Excuse me? You can’t ask that! You’re supposed to just let it happen. I’m so shocked that I just kind of stutter, “Well...I mean...I...well...you...what?”

David Cover-my-ass (PLEASE tell me you get that reference!) backpedals and goes, “Well, you kind of act like you do, but you haven’t done anything, so I don’t know.” OK, fair enough. “And I really want to hook up with you, but I have a girlfriend.”

Whoa whoa whoa...back the fuck up. Pardon me? Unfortunately, that’s all I get, because the bar owner comes to collect him and tells him it’s time to go on.

I’ll spare you the details of my fucked-up brain and it’s inner workings for the next few hours and skip to the drive home. Basically, we have an awkward conversation for the next twenty minutes, avoiding the real topic, until he pulls into my driveway and has the balls to go, “You never answered my question.”

I may not have much morality left, but I refuse to hook up with a dude whose balls belong to another chick. I go, “Um, didn’t you JUST tell me you have a girlfriend? Like, three hours ago?” He then proceeds to tell me they have a “don’t ask, don’t tell arrangement.” I ask him if this means she doesn’t ask if he sleeps around and he doesn’t tell her. This bullshit stinks worse than what my neighbor’s dog used to do in our driveway before my dad got pissed off.

Then this idiot actually says to me, “I don’t usually cheat on my girlfriend”- note the use of the word USUALLY and not NEVER- “but I really want to hook up with you.” Not, “I really like you.” Way to make me feel like a cheap whore. How about no?

Survey says: This “arrangement” is really “I fuck other women as often as possible and pray my girlfriend doesn’t find out,” and “I don’t usually cheat on my girlfriend” means “YES! It’s Tuesday!”

So once again I strike out. I tell him I don’t screw guys that are taken, exit the car, and contemplate growing a penis. I’m not sure if this is to help me understand the male sex, or just to keep them away from me.

So everyone: Is my assessment of this situation accurate? Because I could really use some help here. Am I really destined to have like, 12 cats and live in a van down by the river? Is my box really going to stay closed for the rest of my life? Somebody, god, just give me an answer!

Dancing Queens

I’m a Jew, so most of my family gatherings follow the same protocol:

1) Arrive sometime around the dinner hour and greet family with fake smile;

2) Eat said dinner in either silence or fighting and pray for fire alarm to go off (or something- ANYTHING- to get me out of there early);

3) Arrive home in a worse mood then I was in before I got there.

So when my aunt called me a few weeks ago and told me she had tickets to the ballet, I was skeptical. No- make that “inwardly cringing.” However, I can never say no to family. Plus, my mom would be there, and she’s usually my barrier in situations like this. So, despite my better judgment, I agreed.

We get to the theater on Friday night and are immediately accosted by some moron in one of those old-time usher uniforms, holding out a bucket with money in it. “I’m collecting donations,” he tells us. For what? “AIDS research.” I know how AIDS starts; if I want to give to charity, I’ll buy my brother new clothing. Get your bucket out of my face. No one tells me what to do.

The four of us get to our seats and my mom and I flip through the Playbill. One of the dancers is actually named Dick Hyman. I am not shitting you. Imagine what he went through as a kid? That poor bastard. And what douchebags he has for parents. If your last name is Hyman, do you really name your kid Richard?

I show my mom, my aunt and my grandma, and we all start giggling just as the curtain goes up. This old couple in front of us turns around and gives us death glares, and my aunt goes to them, “You can turn around now.” Nice.

So the nightmare begins. Not only is there ballet dancing, but there’s opera. I thought ballet was supposed to be quiet! I literally jump out of my chair as some bitch starts crooning away in some weird language I’ve never even heard before. Then, just as I start to get used to this shit, a bunch of dudes come running onstage, their hairless bodies clad in nothing but Speedos with little holes cut out.

At this point panic sets in. Only one thought runs through my head: “Please, God, don’t let me see balls.” I swear it was THISCLOSE. There is a time and a place for ball-seeing, and let me tell you, that was NOT it.

The next two hours are spent contemplating ways to jumpstart the route to my own death. I got pretty creative, actually. I could have climbed up to the rafters and jumped, electrocuted myself with the lights, strangled myself with the wires...my favorite is the scenario I concocted where I rush the stage so the security guards all freak out like Arnold in True Lies and come at me with their guns drawn. That would have been sweet.

I guess I’m a lot less “cultured” than I thought, but you know what? I’ll take my zombie movies over these freaks in their fucking banana hammocks any day of the week. I went to theater camp, and that was STILL the gayest thing I’ve ever seen.

I want my MTV...

It Ain't Easy Turning Green

This year I decided to take my mom out for St. Patrick’s Day. I’m not Irish, but I was wearing green underwear, so fuck you. Anyway, my mom decided that she wanted to go to this bar that isn’t as vile as the rest of them, so I was like, “Alright, what the hell.”

We got there around 11ish, and there was this band that was doing a cover of American Idiot by Green Day. The band was good, but ugh, please. I’m so tired of that song. My mom and I go to the bar and immediately, some jerkoff comes up to me and goes, “So...who are you here with?” I tell him I’m here with my mom and he goes, “Oh...that’s cool,” and leaves. Way to show me you’re a real family man, asswipe. This just in from the bleachers: BOOOO!

So Mom and I are standing around talking when the guys onstage launch into that awesome song by The Outfield that was the best pop tune to come out of the 80’s. We start dancing, and then they start playing “Back In Black” by AC/DC. FUCK YEAH! Some moron sorority girls try to upstage me, but the bass player’s already told me that I’m awesome, so it doesn’t work. Whores. Then I get a song dedicated to me. I’m thinking, “Maybe this bar is OK. All the other ones make me nauseous, though.”

All of a sudden some penis-breath comes up behind me and starts grinding his crotch into my ass. I hate when guys do this, cause most of them can’t dance for shit. I’m nice to him and keep dancing, though.The band takes a break and I turn around to check out the slippery little weasel- um, new prospect. Kind of lumberjack-ish, with a moron-like quality. My friends in the band later refer to him as “Buckwheat” and rank me as about “seven times hotter” than he is. Honestly, I’d rather go for the bass player, who I had like, a twenty minute conversation with earlier. He didn’t try to feel me up in front of my mother, and his tongue wan’t hanging out like one of those stupid Puggles.

So before I can extract myself from this dude’s clutches, he studies me intently (or pretends he’s not trying to see down my shirt-whatever) and asks me if we didn’t go to the same high school (I’m not telling you losers! You think I want more stalkers?). I was like, “Yeah, when I was a freshman, like ten years ago.” Turns out this asshole and his friends were all mean to me when we were fourteen, and now he thinks I’m hot. HA! He had a slim chance before, if I got drunk. Now he didn’t have a prayer.

So of course, when he actually asks me out and tries to get my number, I give it to him like a nice Jewish girl- with the last two numbers transposed. Watch him get an old lady from some random town. That would be hysterical.

Revenge is a bitch. Just like me.

Adventures In Babysitting

Last semester I took this job where I babysat for my friend’s eleven year old sister every couple of weeks. I would buy her one of those stupid teenybopper magazines with PINUPS! of JESSE! and HILARY! and ASHLEE! and other talentless celebrities with annoyingly spelled names. I’d give her the magazine, make her a snack, and she would pretty much keep out of my way for the rest of the night. Then I’d be free to lock the door, pop in a DVD of some Colin Farrell movie, and... sorry, I’ll stop there. That might be too much information.

Actually, despite her love of incoherent composition and nine year olds that are famous for standing around and looking pretty (eh, she’s eleven. I’ll forgive her), she’s really a pretty intelligent kid. Last time I was in her house, I was trying to figure out a bill and, thinking out loud, I said, “Hmmm... 304 divided by two.” This sixth grade math genius doesn’t even look up from her puzzle and goes, “152.”

I was like, “Scusemewhatthefuck?” That would have taken me like, five whole minutes! None of my friends are even that smart!

You know that point in your life where you realize that you hate people? I’m serious. It’s a Friday night, around 9:30 p.m., and I realize I want to shut down all means of communication and just reach for a good book (and I don’t mean Little Golden Books, either. Anyone remember those?). The sad part is, I’m only 23. 23, people! That’s the age where you’re supposed to cry and lock yourself in your room if it’s a Wednesday afternoon and no one’s yet to hit up your cell for a drunken Friday night orgy (oh, yeah. Nothing says “We’ve got a promising future together” like Jell-O shots in the navel).

The naked truth is (naked. Huh huh), bars are sad now. There are always two different groups of degenerates that frequent these kinds of places (aside, of course, from the usual perverts that always seem to find me, no matter what. I think I’ve got some kind of a beacon or something. You can only see it from lighthouses, or if you’re horny and drunk):

1) The REALLY young sorority girls/frat boys, who either just turned 21 or are sporting a fake ID. You can always spot these idiots by the yelling/grinding/making out they do in public, and they usually have the DJ make some ridiculous announcement such as “Phi Beta Retards in the hoooooooouse!” Then they all scream, grab each other, get up on the bar, and do something disgusting that makes me question why these fucking loons got into college in the first place. Unless they’re sleeping with the Dean of Admissions. Or the Dean’s a relative. Yikes. I just went to a scary visual place.

2) The aging hipsters- you know, the guys in their mid-thirties who frequent college bars, usually alone, but never in packs of more than two. They think that wearing chinos and button-down shirts will help them land the 22-year-old girls that they’re leering at from across the bar. The only thing I can say about these losers is Dude, no. Go home, take a cold, hard look in the mirror, and realize that you’re still single for a reason.

And what’s with all the rap and reggae music, anyway? Doesn’t anyone listen to anything else anymore? Oh, I’m sorry. It’s reggaeTON. Right. Like the extra syllable makes it suck any less hard.

Basically, I hate bars because no matter what, everyone becomes a shrieking eleven year old girl- even the guys. I always feel like I have to babysit my friends so they don’t get so drunk that they start walking like Bambi and spill shit all over themselves. (Don’t EVEN try to pretend you never liked that movie and you have no fucking idea what I’m talking about. Whenever Bambi’s mom went into the forest I would always scream, “No, Mrs. Bambi! They have a gun!” like she could actually hear me, and that would stop her from running into the trees and getting shot. Dude- that is NOT a children’s movie. That shit was fucked up.)

BTW, I would like to point out that when I tried to find Bambi pictures online to illustrate my point, I kept getting pictures of naked lesbians and one of the rabbit sticking his ass in the air and grinning like a hooker that’s just won a whole case of free diaphragms. That is INTENSELY disturbing. Disney movie my ass.

Anyway, I thought eleven year olds weren’t even allowed to drink. Nice job, there, bartenders. It’s a sad day when the conversations I have with a sixth grader are more interesting then the ones I have with college students.

AC/DC was right. We’re all on a highway to hell.

Fake Plastic Losers

Everyone has something that they’re ashamed to admit that they watch, whether it be American Idol, porn, or their grandmother getting out of the shower. My vice is The Real World.

The only reason I watch this show is because I started when it was first on, when it actually dealt with some serious issues. They used to cast guys with frizzy hair and girls with linebacker shoulders, with college educations and jobs that could possibly lead to success. The San Fransisco season even had that guy who was an AIDS educator who died right before the show aired, who married his boyfriend on TV. They wouldn’t do that anymore. Now everyone on the show looks like rejects from America’s Next Drunk Model or Who Wants to Be a Slut? (“I do! I do!”)

This season, filmed in Key West, FL, just may turn out to be the most sickening one yet. The show opened with some caption superimposed on the screen about how this season was filmed during one of the worst hurricane seasons on record. I was thinking, “Finally! Something on this show with some relevance.” Instead, we get a four second rainstorm, with the cast laughing about how their hotel rooms lost power. Then we cut to a bar, and we show them toasting Katrina, “that slut.” This is how MTV chooses to cover the country’s biggest natural disaster to date? I could feel my I.Q. slowly start to drop.

In the beginning of the show, I saw a girl from Connecticut and a Jewish girl. I thought that maybe, MAYBE, there would be someone on this show I could finally relate to. Unfortunately, they turned out to be the two that I’m probably going to hate the most. There’s actually a little something that I can’t stand about everyone on this show. I think Thom Yorke said it best:

KNIVES OUT: TYLER, 23, MINNEAPOLIS, MN
Of course, MTV had to cast the resident flamboyant homosexual. What they didn’t bank on was the guy being a raging psychotic. Within fifteen minutes, they’d already shown footage of him bragging about his sexual conquests (EW!), making fun of the anorexic girl (more on that later) and joking about plane crashes. Jeez, how long before he actually tries to kill someone?

BONES: JANELLE, 23, SAN JOSE, CA
This chick was so thin I actually thought SHE was the anorexic girl. Nope, but she was blowin’ in the wind. What bothered me about her was her nose. That thing is quite the can opener. Staring at her face was like looking down the barrel of a gun, which is kind of like what watching this show feels like.

2 + 2 = 5: JOSE, 20, SUNRISE, FL
I actually don’t really have a problem with this dude. He seems semi-intelligent- he’s 20, and already a college graduate. He claims that he majored in finance, and bought a house shortly after he graduated. Then again, he was dumb enough to apply to The Real World. So maybe not. He’s rooming with the gay guy, who keeps gushing about what a “sweetheart” he is, so we may get to see some blowjobs.

CREEP: JOHN, 23, FULLERTON, CA
Unfortunately, all my brothers’ friends remind me of this egotistical jackass. There’s a shot of Tyler camera-hogging that he expected John to gulp down a beer and crush the can into his forehead, and I thought, “That’s EXACTLY what I expected.” This idiot is so typical frat-boy that I keep thinking that MTV made him up. He brought a blow-up doll into the house and he keeps commenting on how skinny Paula (the girl with the eating disorder) is. Dude, you are all class. You just make me want to drop my pants.

HOW TO DISAPPEAR COMPLETELY: PAULA, 24, MERIDEN, CT
Paula has an eating disorder, and not even I’m going to say anything about that. That’s too fucked up, even for me. Unfortunately, it’s not too fucked up for her roommates, who rag on her every chance they get. Wow, way to help her out there. Why don’t you totally ensure that she’ll kill herself by the end of the show? (What I can make fun of is the fact that she’s from Connecticut, because I live in Connecticut, and I know for a fact that no one likes it.) As if being anorexic weren’t enough, she also appears to be a total nutbar. All the roommates go out the first night and get trashed, like the network requested, and for no reason, this bitch ends up crying that no one likes her. Right, because they’ve totally gotten to know you in the last six hours. See what happens when you mix alcohol with a blond?

AIRBAG: ZACH, 22, PORTLAND, OR
This guy’s hair fills up the entire screen. I’m not kidding. Other than that, I didn’t really get enough about him to form an opinion, other than the fact that he willingly went on this show, so he’s most likely stupid.

JUST (YOU DO IT TO YOURSELF): SVETLANA, 19, RICHBORO, PA
I hated this girl the minute the camera panned down to her barely-there skirt. She’s Jewish and has dark hair, so I thought that MAYBE I would give her a chance. Lucky me- it turned out that she’s the cast member I hate the most. She’s fluent in Russian, and when the gay psycho starts speaking the language, she goes, “Great, now I can’t talk shit about you.” OK, good, we’ve got the Bitch role covered. Then she makes a point of telling everyone she’s got a boyfriend, but she still drapes herself over all the guys. So she’s the Slut, too? Fantastic. MTV covered all the grounds with her. She admits that her name is hard to pronounce, and insists on a nickname, and when one of the distinguished gentlemen of the house courteously suggests “Funbags,” she laughs and squeals, “OK!” For me and all my friends, who actually have self respect, that would have merited a kick in the crotch, but, hey, whatever gets you through the night. She then calls her boyfriend, blames him for being her boyfriend, and becomes the roommate I hate the most in about 3.5 seconds.

When I think of the mindless programming that gets flushed onto the airwaves, it kind of makes me heave. Then I realize that by watching it, I’m actually doing the networks a favor and it’s because of people like me that this shit is allowed to continue.

Wow. Sometimes I can’t believe that I had a 4.0 last semester.

A Dog, A Kat And Some Really Whacked-Out Chicks

I know you guys are dying to know how I spend my Friday nights. You probably sit up at night thinking, “She probably walks the red carpet, gets a million invites a day, and has to fight off celebrity dudes with a stick.”

Either that, or I sit alone in my room, eating ice cream by the pint and watching old horror movies on TV. Your call.

Actually, it’s probably closer to that one. Usually I go to a bar with a few of my friends, wonder why the hideous chicks are getting hit on and I’m not, crawl into bed alone at 2 a.m., then get a bowl of ice cream and watch an old horror movie on TV.

This Friday was different, though. Kat called me and asked if I wanted to go to a party. I was shocked. Someone in my town was having a party! I wonder if next weekend someone else is going to buy a telephone! Since Kat and I rarely get to hang out by ourselves (and because Kat is AWESOME), I was like, “Bring it on.”

So she got to my house around eight. She used her cell phone to call my house (since people in my town are Amish and actually voted AGAINST cell phone towers, I get zero reception at home) and whispered, “I know where you live.” Dumbass. There’s this invention called Caller ID? You should look into it. Plus I can hear you on my stairs.

We took full opportunity of our time together and (no, not that, you pervs) did the total girl bonding thing. Between massive doses of cookie dough ice cream and hair and makeup clinics, Kat helped me burn pictures of Supervillian as the What Not To Wear marathon played in the background. We discussed the horrendous fashion choices, and then we did some dirty Mad Libs. The best part of the night was imagining George Clooney’s balls- hell, that’s usually the best part of any night.

Kat’s friend called at around 10:30 and we left for the party. We got there in about 5 minutes (anywhere in my town is 5 minutes away from anywhere else) and we suddenly realized that we were the only ones that were actually proficient in English. There were all these insane Spanish chicks that were staring at the two skinny white girls like we were fresh pieces of meat. They all did that horrible thing with their lipliner- you know, pale lips and REALLY dark outlines. They probably had knives in their pockets.

Don’t get me wrong, I know some really nice Spanish girls. I go to a school that’s full of them. But these girls were creepy. They looked like they shopped at Stereotypes ‘R’ Us. Kat and I tried not to make eye contact as we slowly sipped our beers and counted to twenty.

Then I noticed that Kat's friend’s pants kept brushing up against her thigh, and he was all the way across the room. I said, “Dude, he wants you so bad.” Kat actually denied it.

I don’t get it. She’s not stupid- I mean, she majors in Engineering. I flipped through her textbooks once and it kind of made me go, “hmmm” (weren’t you wondering when I was going to put in a bad song reference?). Then it made me go, “What the fuck?” I had the same look on my face that Supervillian got when I tried explaining to him why sex should take longer than three minutes. Kat was like, “I guess I’m in denial.” Uh, yeah. You think?

Anyway, Kat had to work early the next morning, so we were out of there at midnight. As we were leaving, I got humped by what I can only describe as THE cutest dog I have ever seen in my life. I tried to steal him, but the guy who’s house it was saw me trying to stuff the puppy into my pants. I’ve seen guys try to stuff socks into their pants, and I never say anything! Douchebags.

Anyway, Kat dropped me off at my house, then called me the next day to say that her friend had left her a lovesick voicemail on her cell. Am I right, or am I a genius? If only that worked for MY love life.

I wonder if I can get that dog back. That humping was pretty good...

I Didn't Get Laid, But I Did See A Big Fat Dick

Someone alert the media: I had a date for Valentine’s Day!

Yeah, it was kind of a last-minute thing, but it still counted as a date...a horrible date in which there was only inexplicable torture and pain. If there had a been a visible clock, I would have stared at it all night before excusing myself to climb out the bathroom window.

I met this charming Casanova at a bar last weekend (I know, you’d think I would have learned my lesson from the Perv-inator, but no!), and there was some digit swapping. He used that three-day rule that guys have and think we girls don’t know about (note: we so do, and we’re over it) and called me at 9:30 p.m. on Monday to ask me out for that night. Hell-O! You can’t do that! So then he asks me out on Tuesday- at 9:30 p.m. again (is that like, his favorite time of day or something?). I agree to go, but tell him I don’t have a car. He says it’s no problem, he’ll pay for my cab, and he’ll drive me home. I’m like, alright, why the fuck not?

So I get there, and when I get into the bar, he tells me he can’t pay for my $46 cab because he has no cash. I’m mildly annoyed, but I figure maybe he’ll give me money later or something. But he’s already gotten me a drink- how’d you pay for it, douchebag? Uh huh. That’s what I thought. I tell him I have a headache and I’m not drinking, and he keeps trying to make me drink. That should have been a sign that something wasn’t right. But I’m retarded.

Anyway, I choose not to say anything about his little cash-flow problem and we sit down. The rest of the night goes pretty well- we talk for a few hours and find out we have a lot in common. I’m willing to overlook the fact that when I wear heels, he’s shorter than I am. Minor setback, but I can deal.

Anyway, he tells me that we then need to go back to his place so he can “sober up,” and me being a total retard, I actually fall for it! Eat me, all of you. I already admitted that I’m stupid. So we walk in the door, and he immediately attacks me. Dude, what a fucking rapist.

I’m fine with some mild tongue twisting, and some over-the-sweater action, but then he goes for the pants. He also does some weird dry-humping thing and I could totally tell that he was trying to make up for the fact that his entire body is about the size of the average guy’s dick. That’s when my brain goes to red alert. That’s also when I realize that it’s almost 1:30 and I have to get home. So he starts acting like a sulky little boy and complains that he can’t drive because he’s too drunk. Everyone I know that’s been too hammered to drive never admits that they’re hammered, so I knew he was full of shit. Plus, who gets that drunk on a first date? What a winner. What the fuck is wrong with me? How do I find these people? I remind him that he promised to give me a ride home, and he goes, “Yeah, in the morning.” What a fucking asshole. For someone that runs his own business, you’d think he’d be better at propositioning people.

I tell him I’m calling a cab, and at least he offers to pay for that. So he goes to an ATM (what a miracle! He can drive to an ATM!), takes out 60 clams, and calls a cab. He then leaves me to walk down the stairs to the parking lot by myself, and because there’s ice all over them, I miss the last one and almost kill myself. He doesn’t even ask if I’m OK. Jackass. Then he slams the cab door in my face, turns around, and walks off too quickly to see me give him the one-fingered salute.

Of course, because you need a college degree and a Mensa membership to drive a cab, the driver is a total genius. Plus, he speaks perfect English. So I tell him to go to my town, and he takes me to a hotel in a different town that has the same name as the place I asked him to go. OK, at least he’s half right. Then I tell him he fucked up, and he needs to take the highway. So of course, he takes a different highway. Then when I tell him to take a right, he goes straight. I then say left, so he goes right. I tell him to look for a certain road and he goes, “That one?” It’s a street whose name sounds NOTHING like the one I just named. Finally, 2 hours later, I get home. I throw myself into bed- alone- and picture bludgeoning Penis Boy to death with a rake.

Are there any brain cells left in America? Am I destined to be that lady on The Simpsons that throws cats at people? Is there a really a guy on this planet with a 5’6 penis? And if so, would it really be that painful? I’m only asking for one night!

You be the judge.

Harden My Heart (Huh Huh...You Said "Hard")

All of you are probably going to be pretty surprised to hear this, but I actually don't totally hate Valentine's Day. Ever since I was a little kid, my dad has always taken me out to dinner or gotten me candy or something like that, so I don't think the holiday is totally gay.

What I DO hate is the fact that everything having to do with the holiday has to do with couples. You know what I'm talking about- those asinine "Every Kiss Begins With Kay" commercials, every card in the greeting card section, etc. This may sound totally untrue coming from me, but I love lots of stuff. I love my family, I love my friends, I love black Prada boots (size 6, if any of you are paying attention). Valentine's Day doesn't always have to lead to sex- especially in my case, when lately, nothing leads to sex. Hell, I'd take some decent over-the-sweater action.

Recently I was going through my inbox when I realized I hadn't done a blog in a really long time. Seeing as how I have a legion of adoring fans (or like, four people that think I'm kind of funny sometimes), and V-Day is threatening to smite us all down really soon, I knew I'd have to think of something fast.

That's when I came across this gem. It was one of those stupid chains called "How to Make a Girl Smile" or some shit like that. The genius of it is, it was actually posted by a guy. Someone with a penis (well, that part's debateable). I've copied it down for you guys, partly because I needed proof that it actually existed. Note the lack of decent punctuation and proper spelling. I did, and it made me angry.

26 Ways To Make A Girl Smile

1. If you like her, say so.

2. Hold her hand at any moment . . . even if its just for a second.

3. Hug her from behind

4. Leave her voice messages to wake up to.

5. When she is upset, hold her tight and tell her how much she means to you.

6. Recognize the small things . . . they usually mean the most.

7. If youre talking to another girl, when your done talking, walk over and hug her and kiss her....let her know she's yours and they arent.

8. Write her notes.

9. Introduce her to your friends as your girlfriend.

10. Play with her hair.

11. Pick her up, she loves it- even when she says to put her down.

12. Get upset if another guy touches her and she doesnt like it.

13. Make her laugh.

14. Let her fall asleep in your arms.

15. If she's mad at you, kiss her!

16. If you care about her, then TELL HER

17. Every guy should give their girl 3 things: a STUFFED ANIMAL-she'll hug it everytime she goes to sleep, JEWELRY- she'll treasure it forever, and one of YOUR T-SHIRTS- she'll most likely where it to bed, and don't forget to bring her flowers once in a while.

18. Treat her the same around your friends as you do when your alone.

19. Look her in the eyes and smile.

20. Hang out with her on weekends.

21. Kiss her in the rain.

22. Kiss her just for the heck of it.

23. If your listening to music, let her listen too.

24. Remember her birthday and get her something, even if its simple and inexpensive, it came from YOU, it means all the world to HER.

25. When she gives you a present on your birthday, Christmas, or just when ever, take it and tell her you love it, even if you don't.

26. Always call her when you say you will, it may not seem like it, but it does hurt her and makes her think you don't care so call even if you can only talk for a minute.

It's bad enough when shit like this is posted by a girl. But a guy? I wish I had his address so every one of my male friends could go to his house with flaming torches and beat the piss out of him. It's crap like this that makes me glad that I'm single. If you're a guy, and you would actually post a bulletin like this, you should also mail her your nuts in a jar with a sign that says, "These belong to you."

Oh, man. I should write a book.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.

Back In The (Black And White) Habit

The other day I went to CVS with my mom to get some Chapstick. I asked the nuclear physicist behind the photo counter what aisle it was in, and she pointed me to Aisle 7. Of course, this turned out to be the wrong aisle, and I was stuck staring at Valentine's Day candy and condoms. Somewhere, someone is laughing at me.

Not only am I not swimming in the dating pool, but I don't even have a pair of floaties to hold me up in the deep end. My recent attempts to find a suitable guy have been so heinously off-target that I've actually considered turning the gun on myself. If my life were a comic book, I would be the one stuck in the burning building while the cameras follow the mild-mannered reporter in the phone booth (btw, that wasn't fooling anyone). Observe, for your mocking pleasure:

1) THE PERV-INATOR
I met this loser at a bar on New Year's Eve. I know, never date a guy you meet in a bar. But he seemed so normal! He was a law student, we liked the same shows, not half bad-looking, etc. Consuela and I met him for drinks a couple days later, where we got past the awkward "we're not drunk anymore" stage and had a decent conversation- until he propositioned the two of us for a three-way in his apartment. We were horrified. Next!

2) THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING PROSPECT
This was a friend of mine who I hadn't seen in a while. He found my number and started calling me again, and we would talk for like two hours a night. I actually liked him. He was funny, and man, was he hot! You could have bounced a quarter off that ass! Then he started doing stuff that creeped me out. He whined when I had to get off the phone (he even said, "What if I told you I loved you?" Whoa! Easy there, Psycho!), and once he called me eight times in an hour and a half. I'm not kidding. Just when I was about to write him off forever, he totally sealed the deal by making a "funny joke" about doing shit to me when I was passed out. Fuck, no. Goodbye.

3) ARROGANCE MAN
You know how sometimes you're too nice to turn somebody down? This guy asked me out, and I said yes, because, well, I was just too nice. I wasn't attracted to him at all, but he seemed like an OK guy, so I was like, "What the hell?" It kind of pissed me off that he lived in the City and refused to meet me halfway, and I was pretty sure I was going to have to pay for myself, so my friend Dawn and I concocted a story about "not being able to afford" the date.

So a couple days later he finds me online and basically tells me that I'm "too attractive" for him and way out of his league, so he doesn't want to go. I'm pretty relieved that he did the dirty work for me, even though that was like, the worst excuse ever, but then he goes, "I would go, but there's something else I'd prefer to do. Maybe some other time." What the fuck? Who says that? And why would he assume that I would actually go out with him "some other time" after he said that shit to me? It's like, "Let's see...do I go with Option B? Or possibly get laid by a girl that I would need pictures to make my friends believe she would even agree to speak to me?" Cocksucker.

So here's my awesome plan: I'll agree to meet up with him "some other time." We'll head back to his place, I'll wait till he takes off his pants, look down, check out the trouser snake (or in his case, I'm assuming "little tadpole"), and then I'll say, "You know, I would, but there's something else I'd prefer to do." Then I will leave.

Oh, man. I love myself.

4) THE SUPER SEX-A-HOLIC
I have this ex-boyfriend that I'm kind of friends with, and occasionally (like, two or three times a year), we still hang out. Whenever this happens, he tries to have sex with me. Every time. Without fail. Last time, he actually said to me, "I knew you wanted me too." Whatever, dude. I just wanted to watch a movie.

You may think I'm bothered by this, but I'm not. I just think it's funny. What does piss me off is his new thing where he has this weird crush on Consuela. He hasn't seen her in like, three years or something, and he thinks he's gonna go out with her. I don't think guys understand girls' loyalty to their friends. Plus she's totally uninterested in him. Wouldn't it be hilarious if she made him come to Poland and it were like, the wrong city or something? I would laugh my ass off.

You're probably thinking, "Jesus, Woman, you have really shitty luck. Like, off-the-charts bad." But none of these winners even compare to...

5) THE SUPERVILLIAN
I will not even go into all the shitty things my ex-boyfriend Baby Carrot did to me. But believe me, he is in a class by himself. All my friends and family members want to like, run him over. They've actually threatened me with homicide if they ever catch me even talking to him again. You wouldn't find that extreme if you knew him. That's all I have to say.

Thinking about my dating experiences, I have come to the following conclusions:
A) I can't even look at my own girl parts in the shower, so any lesbitronic moments are totally out of the question;

B) and, seeing as how my house has a menorah, I can't become a nun. I mean, I could convert, but that would completely destroy my grandmother. So no.

Actually, maybe I haven't come to a conclusion at all. Please, someone help me out here.

Bring On The Massacre!

Now that I've shown all of you that I can be positive- for a few minutes, anyway- it's back to doing what you all expect- ragging on stuff. Yeah, I'm like that.

I've compiled a list of the worst crap that got splattered all over the airwaves in 2005. This is the shit that I hate; that if it were up to me would be banned from radio, TV, record stores, etc...just read. Seriously.

10) MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE- I'M NOT OK
This song wouldn't annoy me that much if the guy's voice were normal, but he won't stop screaming. I think this song was written for fourteen-year-olds who think they like punk music but are really huge fans of Justin Timberlake- you know, the same retards who think Avril Lavigne is hardcore. Guys that wear eye makeup are not "punk"- they're gay.

9) BLACKEYED PEAS- MY HUMPS
At first I thought this song was bragging about her being a slut ("humps"...get it?) Then Kat told me the lyrics were actually about the singer's boobs. What the fuck? My boobs are bigger than hers and I don't go around writing songs about them- although I could; they are pretty damn glorious. Anyway... this woman pissed herself in public, so I guess we can expect crap like this. Not only are the words stupid, but the song itself is totally obnoxious. Listening to it kind of feels like someone's drilling a hole into your eye, and you want to stop them, but if you do you'll have to listen to Hillary Duff. So you don't.

8) KELLY CLARKSON- BECAUSE OF YOU
I hate this song so much for two reasons: One, because I completely abhor everything related to American Idol (don't be fooled: "From Justin to Kelly" unfortunately does NOT describe the path of a wandering bullet) and two, because the lyrics are completely asinine. Kelly actually starts babbling about a guy not letting her "stray from the sidewalk." Congratulations, Kelly! It takes a lot of courage to admit to the world that you're mentally retarded. If this dude has to hold your hand all the time, he couldn't have held it while you were writing and guided the pen elsewhere? Like, say, into your skull?

7) CASCADA- EVERY TIME WE TOUCH
Trust me, you know this one- it's that annoying dance track that get played in bars every twenty minutes. It uses all those techno sound effects that drive me up a fucking wall, and the worst part is, everyone seems to love it. Ninety percent of my friends were like, "Don't put that song on the list! It's awesome!" I need to find some new friends. Bad songs are made worse when you hear them over and over (and over!) again, and then they play in your head like you're Jack Nicholson in The Shining. But at least I can dance to it if I'm drunk.

6) GWEN STEFANI- RICH GIRL
When I first heard this I thought somebody was kidding. I figured that no one could actually have seriously released a song this bad. Then when I realized it was Gwen Stefani, I thought, "OK, now it makes sense." I can't stand her. I want to lock her in a box and throw it over the side of a boat. Come to think of it, didn't that kind of happen in the video? I guess that made it OK, then, if I played it on mute. Also, I can appreciate the whole showtunes genre- I mean, I did go to theater camp and all that- but nothing prepared me for Fiddler on the Roof mixed with rap. I think I was actually speechless for a few minutes. It was really hard to pick which one of her songs was the worst one ("Hollaback Girl" was a close second, due largely to the fact that I couldn't understand what the hell it meant), but in the end, this one was the clear winner.

5) FRANKIE J.- MORE THAN WORDS
This song sucked in the nineties when it was first made (by Extreme, who were Extreme-ly gay), and it was even worse last year, when it was completely demolished by Frankie J. He's one of those awful R&B artists (I hate R&B) who sounds like a squirrel climbed into his pants and burrowed into his nutsack. I didn't think "More Than Words" could get much worse until a backbeat was added onto it. Stay away- far away.

4) EMINEM- ASS LIKE THAT
Eminem is a pretentious jackass. It's bad enough that he got mad at a dog puppet when puppets aren't even real, but to make fun of an eating disorder? Come on, dude. That ain't kosher. His songs were barely tolerable when he was just writing about his personal problems and all that crap, but now whenever someone says anything bad about him he has to insult them like they're a couple of eight year olds behind the swingset or something. The frightening part is, this man has a daughter. Wow, way to fail miserably, Trojan.

3) D4L- LAFFY TAFFY
It's a sad day when I only use the term "music" because I can't think of another word to describe the "song." I only had to hear about five seconds of this trash heap to know that I hated it. God, was this awful! That's the problem with rap now- all this shit sounds the same. You can't spell "crap" without "rap." And seriously, why can't these idiots use their real names? Do they think it makes them more "street" or something? You just named your song after a piece of candy, dude- I'm not exactly quivering in my stilettos.

2) PUSSYCAT DOLLS- DONTCHA
Oh my god, do I loathe this song. It's that horrible, manufactured piece of garbage sung by a bunch of dirty, skanky dancers. DANCERS! They're not even supposed to sing! All they do is wriggle around like sluts and talk about how hot they are. Um, not really. Plus, the words don't even make sense: If the guy is dating the girl, he already thinks she's "hot" and "fun." I hate this song with a blinding passion that will not die. Every time it comes on, I leave wherever I am and go sit in the car for five minutes. Please, someone take a knife to their sternums.

1) HILLARY DUFF- MY GENERATION
All my friends know I'm a classic rock fanatic. That's why I was so appalled when I heard this travesty to the music industry. One of my friends sent me the file as a joke, but I sure as hell wasn't laughing. What the fuck is this bitch talking about, "my generation?" She's eleven fucking years old! She doesn't even have a generation! Doesn't she need to get the rights to this song to put it on her album? The Who should be ashamed of themselves. There's a line in the song that goes, "I hope I die before I get old." Hey, Hillary, if you're so gung-ho about it, I'd really like to help you out with that. I can't even talk about this anymore; it makes me too angry. This may be the worst shit ever recorded. EVER.

You know, considering how horrible music is right now, this list was pretty tough to narrow down. And since 2006 promises to be just as god-awful, expect another one of these next year.

Signs Of Hope (Maybe)

OK, here's the deal:

I promised my friends and family that I would stop being such a bitch (even though that's just my way) and show them that I actually do like some stuff. My mom even said to me yesterday, "Do you like ANYTHING?" I replied, "I like you, Mommy." And Mom goes, "I don't have any money rigt now."

So, in order to satisfy my adoring public (or the stone-throwing masses), here's my list of my favorite CD's of the past ten years. I'm pretty passionate about my music, so this is some serious shit.

Here are my rules:

A) No Greatest Hits compilations or reissues of older stuff (sadly, this left out Guns N' Roses, The Clash, The Beatles, Everclear and The Rolling Stones)

B) 2005 counts, because this list was originally made in January (like I said, I moved all this crap from my Myspace page and I published this list months ago)

OK, here it is. Behold my optimism, in its first, and possibly only, appearance:

20) GRAND THEFT AUTO: VICE CITY (2002)
OK, I'm totally cheating with this one. This CD came out less than four years ago, but everything on it is from the 80's. My friends all make fun of me for knowing every song from that stupid, addictive decade within the first three seconds, but still support my habit by letting me play my iPod in their cars (shut up, Kat! If you were a superhero, your name would be The Enabler). Every single genre of music is covered, AND it's a box set, so I had to throw this in. The game is cool too.

19) RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE- BATTLE OF LOS ANGELES (1999)
Normally political songs annoy me, but Rage used some really good beats. When this CD came out I was 16 and pissed off at the world, and this album was great for letting me vent my anger by blasting it in my bedroom. Plus, Zack de la Rocha and I have the same birthday (January 12th- presents are always welcome). That's awesome.

18) THE POSTAL SERVICE- GIVE UP (2003)
I first heard about The Postal Service through my ex-boss, when he played me their cover of Phil Collins' "Against All Odds." Somehow, they managed to make that song not suck, so I bought "Give Up" without hearing anything on the CD. What a fucking awesome investment. I can't even put them in a category. Just go buy the CD. Seriously.

17) THE STROKES- FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF EARTH (2006)
I'm such a huge fan of The Strokes. They're completely responsible for bringing back the NYC club scene, and until recently, no one even gave them any credit. Now there are all these stupid bands that are totally copying them, and they all lick balls. But The Strokes are the original, and this is the best CD they've ever put out. The first single, "Juicebox," is less than four minutes of aural sex, but it's more of an orgasm than my ex-boyfriend Baby Carrot ever gave me.

16) QUEENS OF THE STONE AGE- SONGS FOR THE DEAF (2002)
I'm totally gay for Queens of the Stone Age. Last year I saw them perform with Nine Inch Nails, and the show was stellar. Josh Homme wussed out a little when he put his girlfriend on their new CD, but hey, whatever gets you laid, right? "Songs for the Deaf" features the outstanding drumming talents of Dave Grohl (and if you don't know who he is, you shouldn't be reading this), and that just adds to the album's staggering genius. "No One Knows" is one of the most superior singles of the last 25 years. I'm not kidding.

15) SNEAKER PIMPS- BECOMING X (1997)
This band is actually still around, but no one knows about them because they have a guy singer now and they totally eat ass. Becoming X was made when their lead vocals were done by Kelli Dayton, and I've never heard a singer and a genre of music go together so perfectly. They had this awesome electronica sound which they totally abandoned with their next album, which they waited, like, ten more years to put out, and by that time, they totally sucked. I'm not shitting you- buy this CD or I will drive to your house and kill you.

14- SUBLIME- SUBLIME (1996)
Can you imagine how great this band would have been if the singer hadn't been stupid enough to kill himself with heroin? My friends and I all loved this CD because it had bad words in it and pissed off our parents. Now we love it because it has bad words in it and reminds us of how we can still piss off our parents. And there's a dog on the CD too.

13) MOBY- PLAY (1999)
I'm not really into that whole "techno" genre, but the reason I love this CD is because that's not the only kind of music that's on it. There's rock, gospel, classical and a video with Christina Ricci (she's really talented, but I don't look like her, even though I get that a lot). Plus, Moby is from Darien, which is about 20 minutes from me.

12) OASIS- WHAT'S THE STORY (MORNING GLORY) (1995)
One of the reasons I love Oasis so much is the fact that they're a bunch of assholes that smash bottles over each other's heads. They're brothers, and they hate each other! I mean, my brothers just pretend to suck each other's dicks. The other reason I love them is that even though there's all this weird tension, they still write really great songs. "Champagne Supernova" may have confusing lyrics, but it's still really, really good. And Ryan Adams (who, come to think of it, is another tempermental dick) deemed "Wonderwall" cool enough to cover- and it was on an episode of The O.C. Put that in your crack pipe and smoke it.

11) COLDPLAY- A RUSH OF BLOOD TO THE HEAD (2002)
A lot of people say that Coldplay is a rip-off of Radiohead, but Coldplay has had three great albums, and Radiohead blows goats now. So all those people are wrong. It was hard to choose the best Coldplay album, but this one won out because it has "The Scientist," which may be the most beautiful song ever written about anything.

10) ALANIS MORRISETTE- JAGGED LITTLE PILL (1995)
When this album first came out, I had no idea what any of the sex stuff in the lyrics meant. That's because I was twelve. Now that I figured it out (yeah...like, last week), I also know that she's not angry anymore, and the rest of her albums really suck because of it. That doesn't matter. This one is awesome, even though "You Oughtta Know" is about Uncle Joey from Full House. Yeah, I couldn't believe it, either.

9) U2- ALL THAT YOU CAN'T LEAVE BEHIND (2000)
U2 is one of the most amazing bands of all time, and this is the best album they've made in the last ten years. Anyone who disagrees is wrong.

8) THE BRAVERY- THE BRAVERY (2005)
My friends know that I have a disdain for pretty much everything in the music industry right now, which is why they're all in shock that I even made this list. Well, it was pretty tough, especially to find good shit from the year 2000 on. But I do love stuff from the 80's, and The Bravery combines New Wave sound with the current New York club scene. Another reason I love them is that they have some kind of ongoing feud with the guys from The Killers, and MAN, do I hate them.

7) WEEZER- BLUE ALBUM (1994)
My friend Consuela and I don't agree on much when it comes to music, but we do agree on Weezer (and the Chili Peppers- see below). Most of their CD's are pretty good, but the Blue Album (their first one) is the one that I like the most because it most fits into the rock category. It was a toss-up between this and the Green Album, which is also pretty great, but the Blue Album has "Say It Ain't So," which is the best song they've ever written.

6) RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS- CALIFORNICATION (1999)
I've always admired the Chili Peppers for their colossal amount of musical capability. They're the one band I've never seen live that I absolutely have to. They manage to mix every single genre of music into this CD, the muscians are incredibly talented, the lyrics are profound...OK, I need to stop.

5) NO DOUBT- TRAGIC KINGDOM (1995)
I can still relate to Tragic Kingdom, even though I'm not twelve years old anymore and Gwen Sefani needs to be run over. God, she's annoying. Anyway, I got my first taste of No Doubt when I saw Clueless and they played "Just A Girl" in that scene where Cher is driving and she doesn't have a license (that cracked me up). Later on, I saw them tour with The Goo Goo Dolls (when they were good) and Bush (when THEY were good) and I remember thinking, "I'm a girl, and I'm not allowed to do any of that stuff! Gwen Stefani rocks, even though she looks pretty stupid with that bead on her forehead." What makes this album so great is that it's essentially Gwen's diary, and she was putting herself out for the public (not that way, you fucking pervs!!!). This album still speaks to me, eleven years later.

4) INCUBUS- MAKE YOURSELF (1999)
Make Yourself wasn't Incubus' first album, but it was the first one to get them any attention, thanks to "Pardon Me," which blew up like an ex-cheerleader's pregnant ass in a trailer park. The single was pretty indicative of the entire album- mixed genres, rocking beats, and supreme amazingness. However, Incubus seems to have the Radiohead syndrome- put out one stunning album, then get worse and worse with each consecutive release. They kind of suck now, so listening to this CD makes me sad. And BTW, Brandon Boyd is not hot, but last I heard, he was dating a supermodel, so all those fourteen-year-old girls need to eat a big slice of Fuck You Pie and shut the hell up.

3) RADIOHEAD- THE BENDS (1995)
Contrary to what everyone seems to think, Thom Yorke is NOT a genius and Radiohead is NOT one of the greatest bands of all time. The Bends happens to be the only great album they have, probably because it was made before Yorke became a pretentious asshole and started believing his own hype. Now all they do is experiment with gay-ass sound effects and not enough actual music. Note: The expression "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" exists for a reason.

2) FOO FIGHTERS- THE COLOUR AND THE SHAPE (1997)
The Foo Fighters have been one of my favorite bands for almost ten years, and this is the reason why. Whenever I listen to this CD, I'm like, "DUDE! Is there anything Dave Grohl can't do?" He sings. He plays bass. He plays drums. He plays guitar. He writes songs. He has, like, 13 billion side projects, all of which rock (if you want a list of 'em, just ask me). Apparently, the only thing he doesn't know how to do is suck. The album would have been on this list anyway just for containing Everlong, which is one of the greatest rock songs ever recorded (PS- the acoustic is just as great as the original), but every track on the album is amazing. My dad loves them too- we went to the live show for his birthday and were both blown away. The Foo Fighters will always kick ass.

1) GREEN DAY- DOOKIE (1994)
This album is in the number one spot and JUST above Foo Fighters because it completely changed the way I listen to music in general. I heard "Basket Case" on the radio and was like, "This is pretty good. Let's see what else is on here." The rest of the album blew my fucking mind. I was eleven and still listening to Wilson fucking Phillips and Nelson. Yes, Nelson (all of you can eat me- I said I was eleven). Anyway, Dookie made me realize that I needed to change my entire CD collection, and they all went into the trash. Green Day is one of the only bands from my childhood that's still relevant today, even though I'm REALLY tired of American Idiot. That's what makes a great band, and a totally prolific major label debut.

So...those were my picks. Sadly, because of the time frame and number of choices, I had to leave out some killer albums. Here are some more of my favorites that are too old or just didn't make it into the top twenty:

Soundgarden, Superunknown; U2, The Joshua Tree; Nirvana, Nevermind; The Prodigy, Fat of the Land; Dave Matthews Band, Under the Table and Dreaming; Interpol, Antics; The Fugees, The Score; Bush, Sixteen Stone; and numerous Beastie Boys albums.

And hey, leave me comments with your lists. It would be interesting to know what you guys are listening to. And, you know, if you're worthy of my time.

10 Ways To Ensure That You Will Never Get Laid

You know that friend I mentioned that subscribes to all those wedding magazines like they're the fucking DaVinci code of monthly publications or something? She sent out one of those "Perfect Guy" bullshit chain letters, and I could not believe the shit that she put on there. No guy in his right mind would ever do any of this crap, and if he would, he's gay (or really, REALLY desperate). So I decided to copy her list here and add my own commentary, because everyone thinks I am hilarious.

PS- When it comes to this girl, I use the word "friend" loosely.

1) TRY TO SECRETLY SMELL YOUR HAIR, BUT YOU ALWAYS NOTICE
Why the fuck would I want a guy to sniff my hair? Please- I know what you're really after. You're only trying to get to close to me so you can stick your hands in my underwear.

2) GIVE YOU THE REMOTE CONTROL DURING THE GAME
First of all, this assumes that girls don't like sports. I love watching "The Game." Second of all, no girl on her medication is dumb enough to change the channel when her boyfriend's favorite team is winning. And if she does, he SHOULD give her the remote- by burying her with it.

3) COME UP BEHIND YOU AND PUT HIS ARMS AROUND YOU
This would scare me. When you enter a room, announce your presence- loudly, so I don't think you're a serial killer and knee you in the nuts.

4) PLAY WITH YOUR HAIR
Again with the hair? OK, how's this for a trade-off- you touch my hair, I fling a ponytail holder into your eye.

5) HIS HAND ALWAYS FINDS YOURS
Hand-holding is for seventh graders. I'm always down for a good drunken lap dance instead.

6) SLOW-DANCE WITH YOU
Oh, please. Any girl that forces her boyfriend to slow-dance should have her face caught in a bear trap. "Nobody puts Baby in a corner"...with a firing squad.

7) REACT SO CUTELY WHEN YOU HIT HIM AND IT ACTUALLY HURTS
How come when a girl hits a guy, he should "react cutely," but when a guy hits a girl, she should call the cops and move in with her sister? Chew on that one for a while.

8) DRIVE 5 HOURS JUST TO SEE YOU FOR 1
Now that's just stupid.

9) BE CUTE WHEN HE REALLY WANTS SOMETHING
See, this is where the late, great art of "communication" comes in. If I want something...well, I pretty much just take it. But everyone else should just ask. This is how fights are avoided. No one can read minds, especially not those retards on the Psychic Network.

10) STARE AT YOU
What the fuck? How creepy is THAT? Psychiatrists have a word for that: SOCIOPATH. And while I have dated some scary losers, none of them have belonged in the mental ward- at least not officially.

So there you go. If you're a guy, you're probably rocking back and forth and shuddering uncontrollably. And if you're a girl, you're probably just thinking about how funny I am. BTW, you can see this bitch's list on plenty of other sites because she sent it to like 100 other people. I'm serious.

Contrary to popular belief, I DO like some stuff. My next blog will be positive, I promise.

Hey, Everyone! Scare Your Kids Into Servitude!

I love little kids. They always say what they're thinking, and they don't care whose feelings get hurt. My parents have all these stories about me and my brothers doing all these horrific things that could probably have gotten us arrested- actually, it's kind of a miracle that they didn't. My poor mom. No wonder she hates me. She probably wishes she'd pushed me back in.

I think a lot of people resent kids because when we hit our mid-20's, we all have one of those depressing melt-downs where we realize our lives are shit, we can't do whatever we want and our jobs and M.B.A.'s are meaningless. We get jealous of children under ten who ride around all day on their Big Wheels and watch cartoons, so we vow to ruin their lives. Completely unselfish, right?

I think that's why childrens' toys are so fucked up. Instead of letting kids be the rambunctious little delinquents that we all want to be, toy companies are like, "Let's see how we can show them what's coming." So they all work together in one huge conspiracy to make the most disturbing playthings possible. I've compiled a list of the scariest items that were dropped into my playpen as a child- ex-boyfriends not included:

SPEAK AND SPELL- I actually kind of liked this toy, and it is a good idea: Press a letter, and it teaches you to spell common words. The voice is scary, though. What? I told you I was a weird kid.

NIGHTMARE- This is one of those video board games that you're supposed to play and watch at the same time. Cool idea, if it weren't so craptastically scary for an eight year old. The main character is some "gatekeeper" that kind of looked like my 300-year-old philosophy professor probably did before she put on her makeup in the morning. They give you an hour to finish the game or- get this- you DIE. What the fuck? What a horrible way to set rules for a child! "Honey, eat your vegetables or you die!" "Clean your room or you die!" Nice parenting.

BABY ALIVE- As if toilet-training three kids wasn't difficult enough for my parents, they had to deal with a doll that shit and pissed itself on a regular basis. And what happened if I refused to clean up the fake diaper? Absolutely nothing. No Social Service visits, no 911 calls, nothing. They should have just named it "Neglectful Parent."

ASK ZANDAR- Ask Zandar was this stupid fortune-telling ball with a little plastic wizard that basically taught children not to make their own decisions. It was like that machine in Big, only somewhat less awesome because if you made a wish, it never came true (I never got to marry Kirk Cameron, but now he's a religious nutjob with no career who's like 50 years old, so maybe that's OK). The Magic 8 Ball did stuff like that too, but Zandar was less cool because A) Zandar played scary thunder sounds and B) if you broke the Ball open, that blue stuff was toxic and maybe you could kill someone.

PORCELAIN DOLLS- I still hate porcelain dolls. Those things freak me the fuck out. They look like real people, and they stared at me, and that just ain't kosher.LIFE- I hate this game because it's a terrible way to silence your kids into obedience. If you don't like the way your life is going, you TRADE IN YOUR CHILDREN? Oh my god! That is just awful! I mean, really. What kind of detestable human being do you have to be to come up with a concept like that, and make the game for "all ages?" Plus I was always afraid I would swallow the gamepieces. They were really small.

And last but not least, the toy I was (and still am) the most frightened of to this day...
TEDDY RUXPIN- I will always be terrified of Teddy Ruxpin, no matter how old I am. I'm sure you all know what he is- that atrociously terrifying robotic bear whose stomach played casette tapes. The only thing that moved was his mouth, so he looked possessed, which made me cry. I'm not scared of The Exorcist, but even thinking about this thing breaks me into a cold sweat. When I was a little kid, in the middle of the night, my parents used to sneak into my room and put him on my bed so I'd see him as soon as I woke up. They were mean. No wonder I'm so morbid.

I don't know if all these scary-ass toys are supposed to scar kids for life or what, but if they are, they've done their job pretty well. I can't even look at a picture of a brown bear without thinking back to 1986. If I ever have kids (and I know many who are praying for that NOT to happen), all they're getting to play with is like, a ball of lint on a string.

Things I Hate That Other Girls Love

Recently I was flipping through the channels at 4 pm on a Saturday and I came across Lifetime TV. I LOATHE Lifetime TV, and always have. Actually, I hate just about everything that's supposed to be "For Women." This got me thinking- did I ever once have a penis?

The next day I called my mom, who was there during my birth, and asked her. She said, "Well, I don't actually remember a penis, but you always have had that tomboy streak. When you were little you used to throw things at the other girls."

This made me laugh. Then I realized, there's a lot of things I hate that other girls love, and maybe I should list them. Why? Because I'm a cynical bitch. Here they are:

15) Z-100
For those of you living under a rock (or the awesome select few that choose not to listen to the radio), Z-100 is one of those gay-ass Top-40 stations that only plays those miserable popular songs or bad dance hits. Seeing as how the music industry is pretty much a shit sandwich right now, you can only imagine how bad every one of those songs are. I haven't willingly listened to the radio since I was in high school, but every time I get into one of my girlfriends' cars, they have this on their dial. It makes me wish that music were never invented, and that horrifies me.

14) PUBLIC DISPLAYS OF AFFECTION (a.k.a. "PDA")
This is pretty low on the list because it depends on how drunk I am and the level of PDA that is going on. Holding hands- OK, sure. Sitting on laps- depends on where you are and who's presence you happen to be in. But no one needs to see your tongue in someone else's mouth or your hand in someone else's pants. We know you like each other, alright? Now go upstairs.

13) REALITY TV
I've never watched any of the shows in the reality TV genre, but I hate them all because I know they're not actually reality. The worst offenders are American Idol, where everyone gets a record deal no matter what, and The Bachelor, where all the women look like whores. American Idol actually has a commercial where a girl cries into her cell phone, "I'm going to Hollywood!" No, honey- you're going to Playboy. The Bachelor, on the other hand, was clearly thought up by some pimply loser who got rejected by every girl in his high school. He's obviously sitting in some cave thinking, "Let's see, how can I get my revenge? I know! Let's make every woman on the planet look like a slut!" Real original, dude. You ever see Sex and the City? I pass.

12) "OMG"
I actually have friends that use this all the time, and it irritates the fuck out of me. "OMG" is shorthand for "Oh my god," and people that use it are apparently too lazy (my friends) or too retarded (everyone else) to use the correct phrasing. I guess it's ok if you're typing, but I've actually heard girls toss this into ACTUAL CONVERSATION. I was once talking to this girl who I thought was smart- she went to Yale- and she actually said, "You are too funny! OMG!" I went to get a strong alcoholic beverage and thanked God I wasn't a lesbian. I'll take a pervert over a moron anyday.

11) LIFETIME TV
If Lifetime TV is "Television For Women," how come the women are always getting beaten and raped? Hypocrites.

10) VIN DIESEL
If I hear one more girl talk about how hot Vin Diesel is, I may just set her on fire. Vin Diesel looks like a monkey. His ears are too big for his head, his nose is too big for his face and he can't act for shit. Movies have been ruined just by placing Vin Diesel in a scene. Plus I once saw a picture of him wearing a skirt. Ooh...sexy.

9) FLOWERS
Call me an "unromantic" (please do), but I just think flowers mean that a guy is incredibly lazy. To get flowers as a gift means that at the last minute he was thinking, "I know that I have to bring you something, but really, I'm an uncreative bastard and I just want to get laid." A guy that brings me flowers put absolutely no thought into my gift. I'd rather take the chocolates. Or the AmEx Black.

8) GUYS THAT PLAY WITH MY HAIR
If I'm on a date with a guy, chances are I spent a good half hour on my hair, and he better not be touching it. Then again, if a guy is playing with my hair, chances are he's gay anyway, in which case we're not on a date.

7) THOSE STUPID JAPANESE CARTOON CHARACTERS
Ever since I was eight, almost every girl I know has been into Hello Kitty and Crap N Pee or whatever the fuck that stupid frog's name is. It's ok when you're in the third grade, but last semester I had a class with a girl who wore pigtails (which is a whole 'nother story) with barrettes that had those gay-ass characters on them, and she looked fucking ridiculous. I think she was trying to hook a guy with that look, but she's 22. The only guy she's gonna get is a pedophile, but if that's your thing, go for it, I guess...

6) NAIL POLISH
Nail polish is a pain in the ass. You need total coordination to not get the polish all over your hands, and I don't have it. I guess I just hate nail polish because I'm a klutz. Call it resentment, if you will.

5) FIGURE SKATING
I've always hated figure skating. The winter Olympics are cool because they have stuff like skiing and hockey and other awesome sports, and then you have crap like gliding around a frozen pond in an ugly sparkly dress. There's horrible music and people moving really fast so I get a headache. People actually have the balls to call this a sport, and that really pisses me off. Any activity that involves twirling is not a sport.

4) "SEX AND THE CITY" AND "DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES"
It absolutely baffles me that EVERY SINGLE girl I meet loves these two shows. Every character on "Sex and the City" and "Desperate Housewives" is basically the whore stereotype that women have worked so hard to get away from. What annoys me even more is that everyone assumes that all women watch these shows. I recently took a quiz on Emode where one of the questions asked which SATC character I'm most like. How the fuck am I supposed to know? I've never seen it. Plus Sarah Jessica Parker looks like a donkey. She's got great shoes, though.

3) PLANNING WEDDINGS
I have this friend (we'll call her "Bridetard") that is 100 percent single, yet has a subscription to two bridal magazines. When I asked her why, she looked at me like I was the crazy one and goes, "Haven't you been planning your wedding since you were like, 5?" Uh, no, Bridetard, I haven't. I hate weddings. You have to spend time with family you hate, wear a stupid white dress (and for me and most of my friends, that's a big fat stretch), and pretend that you're prepared to love this person forever when in reality you're pissed at them for refusing to sign the prenup. Half of all marriages end in divorce anyway. Planning your wedding now is stupid. Get engaged (or hell, find a boyfriend), and THEN focus on the wedding.

2) "THE NOTEBOOK"
I've never even seen this movie and I hate it. In fact, my life's goal is to die without ever having seen "The Notebook" at all. Every single girl I've ever come across always gushes about how great this movie is. "OMG!" They start screeching. "This movie had the best love story ever! It made me cry! Blah blah blah." Movies with love stories make me nauseous. Besides, why would you want to cry at a movie? Movies are supposed to be enjoyable. Or about a guy getting his nuts chopped off. Either one.

And the number one thing I hate that other girls love...
BABIES.
OK, OK. I know what you're thinking. "This girl is one sick fuck. How can anyone possibly hate babies? They're so tiny and cute." No. Babies are not cute. I mean, I was really cute, but other babies look like pugs that have been hit in the face with sparklers. They cry all the time, shit their diapers, and they won't leave you alone to get five minutes of sleep. The only good thing about babies is the way you get them.

So that's my list. I realize I've probably lost a few friends over this, but you know what? I don't give a fuck. Maybe this is why all my friends refer to me as "a guy with boobs." Hmmm...

I Have Now Entered The Serengeti

January 12th was the commencement of the big 2-3, which, although it was exciting, was also strangely depressing as well. Although I am completely loathe to quote Jessica Simpson, as she makes my brother's perpetually stoned friend look like a member of Mensa, the thought of my 23rd birthday did kind of freak me out. I mean, if you think about it, it really does start your mid-20's, kind of, sort of. And here I am, living with my dad, still in school, spending the summer with no job and drinking with my friends. Classy. Call it a mini-meltdown, if you will.

So it's my birthday, and I'm hiding under my bed, crying and drinking (which is becoming a favorite pasttime for me), when a couple of my (much younger) friends decide to take me out to NYC and get me so fucked up that even Tara Reid would say, "Whoa, honey, put the bottle away." I'm like, "Kick ass! Let's do this shit!" The only rule of the night is: if my friends don't have to carry me home, I'm not allowed to leave.

It's now a little after midnight, and we all wind up at this awesome club that only plays 80's music, a prospect that excites me so much that even I'm appalled at how lame I am. We all started drinking at around 11ish, so we're all properly buzzed. At this point all of us are dancing, and my boobs have been groped by at least three of my friends (BTW, this was the most action that I got all night).

My friend Keith has a theory that he calls "The Antelope Theory," which I have shamelessly stolen and changed around to make my own (hey, Keith! You got your PR; quit yer bitchin'!). Anyway, here's my version:

1) I (the antelope) innocently enter a bar (the Serengeti).

2) A random asshole (the mountain lion, or whichever predatory creature I'm working with this time) immediately traps me in his radar. He comes over and tries some jerkoff line that has probably never gotten him any ass and I politely shoot him down.

3) He makes some comment to his friends about me being a bitch and he leaves.

4) This continues three or four more times with different losers throughout the course of the night. Hence, I am an antelope, being stalked by predatory dickfaces.

Anyway, my friend Kat and I are taking a break from our stellar dance moves (OK, hers are stellar. Mine are just...there. I'm REALLY white.) when two guys with a camera come over. Instantly, tribal music starts playing in my head and I picture two lions feeding on two bloody female carcasses. One of the weird dudes asks us if we want to be on a public access show, and, being totally soused, Kat and I brilliantly reply, "Sure!" Then Kat points to me and says, "It's her birthday!" I picture smashing my glass over her head and knocking her out cold, but I love her, and she got me a really awesome gift, so I don't. One of the guys replies, "WOW!" like I just discovered the Theory of Relativity and points the camera in my direction. Uh oh.

I pray this TV show lasts for an even shorter amount of time than sex with my ex-boyfriend and politely answer all his questions about how old I am and what I've done tonight and all that crap (leaving out, of course, my quarter-life crisis). Surprisingly, all his questions are pretty standard and not perverted or anything- until his friend with the camera slowly pans down our bodies and goes, "Check out their outfits." Goodbye.

We finish our drinks, round up our other friends and decide to get the hell out of there and go to the kick-ass hotel suite that my dad rented us. We get there, and it takes us about a minute and a half to find and destroy the mini-bar. Whoops. Sorry, Dad.

At this point I have to piss like a fucking racehorse. This is the direct quote that I decide to scream out inside my hotel room before we close the door, where a very rich-looking old couple is walking down the hallway. But what the fuck were they doing up at 3:30 a.m.? Shouldn't they be dead or something already? So I get into the bathroom, where I am greeted by the coolest thing I've seen all night (keep in mind I've gotten less ass than that guy on Growing Pains that was named after an erection): there are PHONES NEXT TO THE TOILET! Get the fuck out! This shit is awesome! I try to call my friend's cell while I'm taking a piss but apparently you can't call anywhere that's not in the hotel. Bastards. That would have been hilarious. However, the shower looks like it can fit all five of us, so my spirits are completely lifted.

I finish peeing and head into the bedroom just in time to see my friend Molly polish off her Heineken and throw the empty bottle out the window. Despite the fact that she could have killed someone, we all find this hysterically funny. That's probably because at this point, you could have squeezed us like sponges and have had enough alcohol to fill that enormous shower. Then we all get on top of each other, take some incriminating photos of us humping, lifting up skirts and sticking our hands in each other's crotches, and pass out around 5 a.m.

Best birthday ever. Quarter-life crisis be damned!