that's what happened baby

I can't remember if one of my New Years resolutions was to quit drinking, but I have a sneaking suspicion I have failed it. It begins innocently enough, with some sparkling apple cider to clear the head, and ends with attempting to drunkenly text message whilst speeding down the highway in the wrong direction after 8 martinis and a shot of Jaeger. Not that this has happened yet, but really it's only a matter of time.

I went out dancing last night for the first time in a while with just the ladies. I forgot how much better it is sometimes to have not a single cock in attendance. Not that we were misbehaving or otherwise acting up, it's just nice to know that no one is going to fight and everyone is going to have a good time because we're all on the same page. And then you get to return to the penis you know and love and everything is right with the world. Or something like that. A good time was had by all. Until I woke up this morning after about 4 hours of sleep and a glorious hangover. But that's what Fridays are for.

In a side note, Hector bought tickets to the Editors next Friday, and I must say that after hurriedly downloading every song of theirs I could get my hands on, I am going to enjoy this concert. They sound like Interpol/Joy Division and also of course, different. I've liked every song I've heard so far. And then the next day we get to see Murray from Flight of the Conchords at the Improv. I am going to be wet pretty much the entire weekend, is what I'm saying.

This weekend is SuperBowlExtravaganza and promises to be fun for all. With ping pong, homemade t-shirts, chili dogs and potato skins, how can you go wrong? Go Giants!

live for nothing or die for SOMETHING

Twenty years after the last film in the series, John Rambo has retreated to Northern Thailand, where he's running a longboat on the Salween river. On the nearby Thai-Burma border, the world's longest-running civil war, the Burmese-Karen conflict, rages into its 60th year. But Rambo, who lives a solitary, simple life in the jungle fishing and catching poisonous snakes to sell, has long given up fighting, even as medics, mercenaries, rebels and peace workers pass by on their way to the war-torn region.

That all changes when a group of human rights missionaries search out the "American river guide" John Rambo. When Sarah and Michael Bennett approach him, they explain that since last year's trek to the refugee camps, the Burmese military has laid landmines along the road, making it too dangerous for overland travel. They ask Rambo to guide them up the Salween and drop them off, so they can deliver medical supplies and food to the Karen tribe. After initially refusing to cross into Burma, Rambo takes them, dropping off Sarah, Michael Bennett, and the aid workers...

Less than two weeks later, pastor Arthur Marsh finds Rambo and tells him the aid workers did not return and the embassies have not helped locate them. He tells Rambo he's mortgaged his home and raised money from the congregation to hire mercenaries to get the missionaries, whi are being held captive by the Burmese army. Although the United States military trained him to be a lethal super soldier in Vietnam, decades later Rambo's reluctance for violence and conflict are palpable, his scars faded, yet visible. However, the lone warrior knows what he must do...




Rambo not indispensable!

Even old and plastic surgerized, Rambo still kicks ass. I only wish that at retirement age I could be so lucky as to be running around Burma garroting and knifing at will. Maybe if I had a Rascal...

I’ve been a bad wrinkles

and have neglected to post for quite some time. It's not that nothing has been happening, just that I'm lazy and busy at work. I have a lot of pictures to upload and when I do, well let's just say that another photoblog will be under my belt. I think you should be most excited about the White Trash party...because I am.

So please understand that momma's been busy, it's not that she doesn't love you. But you do kinda disappoint.

Happy Holidays!

Today was a good day. Busy busy busy till office lunch at AP Stumps at 11:45 where we were served by the most exquisitely flamboyant of homos (think, flock of seagulls hair and excessive oohing and ahhing over my gold plated dove necklace). The bossies ordered us three bottles of wine, resulting in a glorious tipsy glow for all, and the filet medallions were magnificent. Then they told us we didn't have to come in tomorrow and gave me a huge cash bonus. Yeah...I'll take that.

Now I could put this in my savings or spend like my life depends on it over the next two weeks.

Anyway, I wont' have internet access for the next couple weeks while I'm out of the office, so I hope everyone has a lovely holiday season. I plan on peppering mine with alternating bouts of blackout drunkenness and sleep.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

coral lipstick. check. wife beater. check. now where the hell are my press-on nails???

Putting together a costume to dress like a trashy crackwhore from the trailers is a lot harder than it sounds. Looking through my closet, I was surprised to discover that I actually had NOTHING that would suffice to wear. That is equal parts upsetting/relieving. I now have to buy things, and buying things is hard work.

I went to Longs last night and was very displeased to discover that gone are the days where Lee proudly displayed their mulitpacks of press on nails in every hue under the sun. I went hoping for gold and was lucky to find one almost hidden pack of maroon. This will not do. Yeah, I could just buy and paint the french manicure ones they have on display by the hundreds, but now it has become a private battle to find the last standing pack of gold or otherwise offensive press on nails at a retail store. Watch out, Rite Aid, I'm coming for you tonight.

a bit touched

I woke up at 6:30 this morning from a dream where a man was slowly and quite painfully slicing off the tips of each and every one of my fingers. I was sitting at the kitchen table and I have no idea why he was doing it, but I watched as the knife cut through each one like a stick of butter. I instinctively curled my hands up into a ball when I woke up and I felt that weird dream-pain where you know it probably wouldn't really feel anything like it does but it's uncomfortable just the same. Then I started thinking about how there's no way the knife would have gone through my fingers like that since they aren't made of dough and have bones that would most likely stop the blade. So it was an unrealistic, but still alarming dream. It's at times like that I wish I didn't sleep alone most nights. Piglet is no protection from torture-minded intruders who want to sever my fingertips.

Work has been incredibly busy this week. But it did make me happy for a moment today to be able to control who in the company's association would be lucky enough to get a Holiday Greeting card this year. I enjoy pretending that the happiness of small office/warehouse/R&D tenants rests in my hands and mine alone. Congratulations, Silicon Optex, you made the cut! Yes, of course you may kiss my hand. Just be careful of the finger stumps.

last great american whale

So I just finished reading this book called The Average American Male. And I know, I am not male. But when I was at the library, I was intrigued enough to put it in my stack, and it was red, so you know, at least it will match my apartment for as long as I forget to take it back.

And let me just say... lame. I don't mean lame as in I take offense at its in your face macho attitude. I get that. I mean lame as in this book is way more of what the average american male wishes he was rather than the sad truth of what he is. Which makes it even sadder. The entire book consisted of the main characters stupid relationship with this twit of a girlfriend whose sole plan in life is to get married and get fat. Throughout this relationship he is miserable, until he meets a younger hotter girl he begins to have amazing sex with but ultimately and inescapably turns into the same kind of girl he broke up with before. I don't know if that is supposed to be a commentary on the fate of all society, but again, lame. The main character in the book is supposed to be the average male: horny, carefree, and stuck because all women want to tie him down. The first two, ok. I agree that most guys are like that. But to make all the female characters in the book hell bent on securing themselves a male to provide for them and take them off the market...I mean come on. I just don't think that works today. All the women I know are independent and do pretty damn well without a man to make them housewives. If anything, the women I know are more afraid of marriage than the men, and would much rather be free to do whatever they want than have to report to a complaining guy at home. I think this book could just as easily be called the average american female by changing all cocks to vaginas, all whiny girlfriends to crying whiny boyfriends, and we'd have the same damn story.

Moral: grow a pair, average american male. Your women have outgrown you and you haven't even realized it yet.