Let me be clear about what you’re looking at here: I woke up in the morning with TWO bugs smooshed to my leg. A spider and whatever kind of creature that green thing is. They were not only dead, but I had somehow managed to crush them so thoroughly that they stuck to me.
Part of me feels super gross, but part of me wants to brag: that’s the most action I’ve had in bed in a while. I’m not a player, I just crush a lot.
1. I appreciates any advice for when I hit the club, but grabbing someone sexy and telling 'em, "Hey, give me everything tonight" strikes me as being a little bit forward.
2. If I ever meet the person who broke Adele's heart, I will fuck him up.
3. What if that's not autotune and that's just Britney's natural singing voice at this point? Has anyone checked?
4. This "new" Red Hot Chili Peppers song could be one they released fifteen years ago and know one would notice.
5. This song could only get more ridiculous if it were featured on the Drive soundtrack.
6. Thank goodness I'm rarely a betting man, because if a couple of years ago someone had me wager on whether the band that sings "Shots! Shots! Shots!" would have another song, let alone a number one hit, I'd easily be down a million dollars.
7. I am so happy that Avril Lavigne is back on the radio! (This is not sarcastic, I love Avril.)
8. It may be close-minded, but I really doubt Lil' Wayne has anything to teach me about "how to love."
9. Hey, I liked that Foster the People song, too - last year. Could someone please let the radio stations know that the band has other good songs?
10. Nine: the number of syllables Adam Levine sings the word "moves" as having. Also the number of fucks Mick Jagger doesn't give. Bet he was more excited when Ke$ha name-checked him.
"You have devastatingly blue eyes," Kelly told me recently, while greeting me at a cookout. (I think it was a compliment?) "How have I never noticed this before?"
After some discussion, we realized that even though we've hung out dozens of times, this was the first occasion that we were together in the daylight, and one of the only times that did not occur in a dimly lit bar. What does this say about my social life? That I can form good friendships with people revolving almost entirely around booze and dark rooms, to the extent that they don't even recognize me in the daylight?
This is a shame! Granted, I'm an oblivious person, so even if my friendships were to take place exclusively in the daylight, I wouldn't be able to tell what color my friends eyes are. For example, I have no idea what Kelly's eye color is; it never even occurred to me check even after we had a whole conversation about eye color. Nonetheless, the fact that some of my friends might not know what my eye color is despite the fact that they're DEVASTATINGLY blue is practically a tragedy. I have to reassess my social life.
Ohmguh, go see Drive. I'm not saying it's amazing, but it is thoroughly enjoyable. I have a lot of friends who love this film, as well as a handful who hated it, and I'm going to alienate all of them here by coming out and saying that Drive's appeal lies in the fact that it's campy as hell.
I didn't know much about the movie before seeing it Tuesday. I had heard it described as "action", "artsy", and "horror" by three different sources, and surprisingly all three were correct. Drive wants to be every genre possible simultaneously, with the result being something bizarrely entertaining.
The film is getting so many good reviews that it'll probably take at least another decade for people to figure out what the real deal is, but once they do, Drive is destined for midnight showings and ironic audience members.
I can see them wearing shiny scorpion jackets. I can see them chanting "Drive! Drive! Drive!" every time Ryan Gosling is silently driving his car. I can see them cracking up at the handful of "jokes" that are so unfunny they might actually become funny. I can see them whistling at each prolonged headshot of Gosling, Christina Hendricks, and Carey Mulligan meant to remind us how beautiful they are. I can see them cheering each time over-the-top bouts of violence abruptly change the tone of an otherwise slow-paced indie film. And most of all, I can see them singing along to the cheesiest soundtrack that ever existed, save for maybe Xanadu.
I don't know that you can take the music seriously. The songs are so distractingly dreadful that they take you out of the scenes rather than enhancing them. Gosling's theme song is a strange techno ditty that recurs, referring to him as a "Real human being. And a real hero."
Even with its 80s aesthetic, the cinematography is top notch, so it never gets boring to watch visually. And, though especially curious, the fact that there's no character development, no room for empathy, senseless violence, a muddled plot, and still an honest attempt at artistic integrity makes the film pretty compelling on the whole.
The biggest message I took away from this film is that, boy, Ryan Gosling's character sure loves to drive! And if you're able to appreciate that it never gets much more complicated than that, you'll probably enjoy the film as much as I did.
A few years ago, I picked up a bad habit of watching the UK's version of Big Brother. If you ever catch me talking with a British accent for no apparent reason, it's because I've been watching this show so much (it's on every day!) that it seeps into my brain.
My favorite character this season is Alex. She's not funny, she's not smart, she doesn't say much, and - objectively - her appearance is pretty unfortunate. In no way would she normally be put on television, but for that very reason she becomes compelling. In that respect, Alex is the perfect example of "so wrong, it's right" casting.
It's fun to watch her just kind of hover around the interesting people, not knowing how to interact like a normal person. But this clip takes the cake: Big Brother is fucking with her in a so-funny-I-had-trouble-breathing way. WATCH THIS CLIP!
The gist is that, for a challenge, Alex must say yes to whatever Big Brother asks. I love how her fellow housemates figure out what's going on almost immediately, but it still takes Alex far too long to get it. That her housemates are dicks enough to say things like "Healthy glow," "It really suits you," and "It's like she jumped in a pool of shit or something" while laughing makes it even funnier.
And don't worry, you don't need to feel guilty about laughing at Alex. If I know the British public (and I do at this point), she will walk away from this show adored. The Brits don't like a woman who has intelligence, charm, opinions, or looks; fortunately, none of these apply to Alex. She's bound to become an antihero.
Isn't it funny how we go to a doctor for an honest assessment of our health, but when asked basic questions about our everyday practices, we can't help but lie? We want to believe we're treating our bodies right, so we say, "Yeah, I drink socially, occasionally, and exercise 4-5 times per week," even though in reality those activities' frequencies are probably switched. It must be interesting for doctors to have to go through this pointless charade day in and day out.
When one of my friends went for an appointment, a doctor-in-training ran the examination. For some reason, my friend felt too guilty to give false responses to the personal health questions because he didn't want to mislead someone who was still learning the ropes. So he wound up going for broke, rattling off a whole bunch of recreational drugs he had used in the past, as well as some other questionable health practices. The doctors present were amazed, unaccustomed to such candidness without there being a clear problem that would necessitate this sharing. Rather than chastising his unhealthy lifestyle, the doctors actually just thanked him for his refreshing honesty.
His story has now inspired some of my other friends to get real with their own doctors. "When they ask about my drinking habits, I'm going to tell them the truth: 30-40 a week," one said. "And at least two or three pizzas," another chimed in. On second thought, I'm not sure whether all doctors are prepared to hear the brutal truth of the way many twenty-somethings treat their bodies.
As for me, I don't even have to worry about this dilemma because I don't have healthcare. Bullshitting a doctor would require me going to a doctor. I'd actually like to thank all of those who fight to keep me uninsured, as it helps me to stay an honest man.
Yo, today I wrote a story on an important medical development. I think it shows a lot of professionalism and restraint that I didn’t include a Chris Brown joke. The video is a must-watch.
I know I haven't had the opportunity to address your kind since I was a high school teacher years ago. I also know that you didn't listen to me then, either, but if you give me just 30 seconds, I promise to leave you alone for a good long while.
When you are "helping" at a community volunteer event, and you agree to do the easiest job of all because you don't want to actually work like the rest of us, the expectation is that you at least get that minimal job done right.
You've been tasked with holding arrow signs to direct the rest of us volunteers to the starting location, which is not visible from the main road. When I walk by and you're too busy gossiping with your friend to acknowledge me, I'm going to assume the direction you have the arrow pointed is the way I should go. Ten minutes later when I've realized I've gone in the opposite direction, I am bound to be frustrated when I return.
I don't know whether you thought pointing it the other way would be funny. I don't know whether you dropped the sign and were too stoned to notice your mistake. I don't know whether you're really just that stupid. But one things for certain: you could have more effectively been replaced with a nail and a telephone pole. And that's true of teenagers in most circumstances.
In total, your incompetence cost more man hours than you offered in the first place; I alone lost twenty minutes trying to reorient myself. Therefore, I hope they forbid you from putting this "community service" on your college apps. If you can't point an arrow in the correct direction, you're not cut out for higher learning anyway.
While on a walk to the grocery store, I thought of some of the things that I believe are going wrong with this country. The postal system is bankrupt? The Tea Party has clout? We're still involved in wars? I should share my opinions on these topics with everyone, I decided. In fact, I bet I'd make a fantastic activist. Why haven't I thought of this before?
Arriving at Trader Joe's, I saw a pair of guys with clipboards asking shoppers to donate money to some cause. People like them are always there, tugging on the liberal, vegan heartstrings of the shoppers. Before I walked by, I put my headphones on so I could act like I didn't notice them, but they were on to me. "Hey, hey, hey," one said, and I pretended like I couldn't hear. "We know you can hear us!" the second one added, and although he was right, I didn't flinch. "THANKS SO MUCH FOR YOUR TIME, HAVE A NICE DAY!" the first one shouted at me in an angry, sarcastic tone. Upset that this guy felt entitled to badger me with his agenda, I turned around and gave him the middle finger.
That's when I realized I had no business being an activist. Still, I had a good five-minute run of changing the world before aggressively deciding not to give a shit.
Hey! America's Next Top Model's All-Star Cycle premiered tonight. I haven't watched it yet, but if I had, I'm sure I would have found it hysterical. Because ANTM casts some ridiculous girls and puts them in ridiculous situations. Which is why I started a blog "100 Funniest Moments on America's Next Top Model".
It's a countdown reliving the most hilarious moments, obviously getting more amusing as time goes on. I'll still be posting here, obviously, but you should start following that website, too!
Switched from the Tea Party debates to the Miss Universe pageant. It's important to understand international issues, too. Besides, I prefer something a little more progressive.
Yeah, Cameron, your summer sounds terribly busy. Baseball? How do you manage?! I'm surprised you even had time to write this note of gratitude what with all of the batting and catching you've been doing.
Maybe next year you should skip baseball and opt for summer school. "Bout"? Looks like someone's been more concerned with clothing than spelling.
As nice as it would be to get back in touch with you, Cameron, I won't be holding my breath. This note could have been a way to reconnect, yet you could barely be troubled to write even 4 sentences, 3 of which began with "I". Why not ask about how I am doing? Or am I just some nameless benefactor who "bout" you a "giftcard" and doesn't deserve the courtesy of a "Dear __" greeting? Addressing me would have even added to the word count - don't think I didn't notice your handwriting getting progressively larger to fill up space on the card.
As a writer for a plastic surgery website, I don't just look at boobs a lot, I get paid to look at boobs a lot. I'd still prefer health insurance, but as far as job perks go, not too shabby. Today, for example, I was collecting photos of enlarged boobs for a story I wrote, dragging them onto my desktop to sort through later.
Then I switched gears to work for another employer. While a coworker trained me on how to use a new piece of software over Skype, he asked me to screenshare so he could talk me through the steps. I accepted, and it wasn't until several minutes later that I realized he could see the boobs in the background.
If it were porn, I would have thought about it beforehand, and covered that shit up! But since these breasts are "work", it didn't cross my mind initially. And now this coworker totally thinks I'm a pervert. Don't think that just because I don't work in an office people don't gossip. It's actually even easier to talk behind someone's back when you don't have to literally see his or her back.
Don't tell anyone, but I worked a little bit today. Some people might consider this blasphemous to work on the holiday, but why do people not work on Labor Day? It's called Labor Day, and you're going to be lazy? If it were up to me, we'd all be working extra hard, and you'd be accountable for being twice as productive as you normally are. Let's champion the American work ethic with some unpaid overtime! Of course, as Ted pointed out, we don't make vets go back to war on Veterans' Day, so maybe my logic is flawed.
I wasn't too productive today, anyway. Unless you count that I spent a lot of time bowling. As Stacy noted, there is no better activity to celebrate blue-collar labor on this special day.
While I'm normally inclined to agree that bowling is not a sport, people who argue this clearly have never bowled thirteen games in a row. By the end, my hand was aching from lifting eleven pounds again and again and I could feel my arm muscles throbbing. I found that bowling might even be a legitimate work-out once I started playing by myself on a lane and had no time to sit down or rest my arm between frames. Talk about laborious!
Standing outside while conversing at a party, several of us kept finding ourselves in the dark. The motion sensor light that illuminated our area turned off frequently, but it was fickle and pretty arbitrary in what would turn it back on. We would jump up and down and wave our arms to no avail, only to later have someone bend over to itch, causing the light to return.
On one occasion of prolonged darkness, we tried everything short of doing the hokey pokey to make the light return, but after no success, we resigned ourselves to just chatting in the dark. Then, an unfamiliar long-haired guy who had been sitting alone and silently in a broken rocking chair nearby stood up. As he walked by, the light picked up on his movement and finally turned back on. Before we could even thank him, he told us, "It only turns on when it senses evil."
We laughed - a bit awkwardly because he seemed sorta creepy - but it was also genuinely funny. However, rather than saying "just kidding" or staying to prove he was actually friendly as I would have done in the situation, he just walked away, leaving his "evil" line to just linger.
I encountered someone who is either the personification of evil or really knows how to commit to his jokes.
In fourth grade, I took a test where I had to label every state on map of America. Not only that, but every state had to be spelled correctly, so this wasn't just a geography exam, it was a spelling test, too.
I studied a lot for that test, and when I handed it in, I was confident that I had scored 100%. But when it was handed back to us the next day, I discovered that I had gotten one wrong. Was it Missouri? That's a tough one, but no. How about Delaware? The vowels are confusing in that one, but nope, I got that one. How about Massachusetts? I studied forever to remember which letters were doubled and which were not, and managed to do that successfully, too.
It turns out that I got Connecticut - or as I believed it to be, "Conneticut" - wrong. I could spell 49 states, but to miss that one was tragic. I say that not because I'm a perfectionist, but because that was my own state - the one and only state I had ever lived in.
I guess I didn't even bother to study Connecticut, because I already knew it... or thought I did. Why does Connecticut need three Cs anyway? That's pretty excessive for a state full of moderates.
To this day, I live in fear that I will make that same mistake again, saying "CONNECT - I - CUT" aloud to myself whenever writing the state's name. It's just one of many complexes I developed while living there.
