September 30, 2009

You knew it was coming.

So, its Wednesday (that was when I started this shit, sometimes I hate my FTJ), and I trust you've had a pleasant September 30, 2009 ... I know I have. I know you all are sitting there reading and/and being adorable (obvi) and have already figured out where this post is headed and I'm here to let you know that your guestimations are correct! The topic at hand right now? Sarah Palin.

I know you've already heard she's written a book, and I want to apologize that I wasn't the Geraldo Rivera to your news-hungry mind, but its been a busy day. No, before you ask, I'm not going to purchase the book for myself, nor am I going to add it to my Barnes & Noble half-birthday present registry. Rather, I'm going to base the rest of this post and all further opinions about the text itself on pure assumption. Before you quote that age-old adage about the consequences one suffers from basing anything on assumption; stop ... I think its fair to say that SP has already made an ass out of herself (circa CBS News/most of what she's "done") and me, and the bitch didn't even ask permission. Allow me to clarify.

First off, Sarah's a downright quitter. I mean, really! I know she's finished this book early (or so I think I overheard on CNN) but shit dude, its the only thing, and I'm pretty sure she pressured the hell out of her ghostwriter (y'all saw that pen handing from a yarn cord around her neck, too, right?). But I mean, she quit being governor. Didn't anyone ever tell her that "winners never quit (and quitters never win)" . . . ? I used the shit out of that line to justify my social/every day blow habit. But I mean, really, its true. Palin's got no staying power, well at least as the head of Alasska. I know it didn't pay much but I read that she got some gold encrusted & embroidered knife case with her name in Native American symbols on it. Come on, that handmade shit is priceless! I guess its good to see her finish something other than a pregnancy, down syndrome or not. Whatevs, I love the Special Olympics, too.

So, the book, homegirl titled her memoirs "Going Rogue" . . . yes, I'll give you a second to really grasp how fucking mindless that title is. I mean what's this book going to have in it? Will it chornicle her 'extracurricular activities' that got her into the prestigious University of _________ (pick one out of the 6 she attended for that blank) ... ? I fucking hope so.

Okay? Back? The thing is -- when I first heard that title, after I completed LOL'ing I began to remember that I had heard that title somewhere before . . . I couldn't place it. I went to my local library to scan the card catalog. As I brushed up on my rudimentary knowledge of the Dewey Decimal system, I stumbled across the same exact title . . . written by my fucking ovaries. (Yeah, they aren't part of the 40 million illiterate American adults, but I'll save that for later.)

We all know the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, and my lady organs are fiesty as shit. They started the book after meeting Sarah Weddington at Texas and finished when Palin used the word "choose" and "what to do with her pregnancy" in a sentence together . . too bad she was talking about her daughter and totes leaving every other 'adult' woman in the US. Whatever. I remember their fury with Palin's woman-hating attitude - she might as well be a Little Rascal.

So, I've got to finish up here . . . we have an appointment with a copyright attorney in a half hour. Don't worry -- I'm sure they'll put it in the next edition of "Going Rogue."

September 29, 2009

Hello Kitty > Ed Hardy.

And a very good afternoon to you, little one! So, I know you look to me for guidance & advice on things like what not to wear and who not to bang (without a forced window escape) but I've got some news to break to you. Jon Gosselin's been dropped from TLC's award-winning reality blow show. I know, first it was MJ's passing, and now this. I'm going to keep this short (like Jon himself) and just say a prayer of t-h-a-n-k-s. Jesus is always watching out for our best interests, and this is proof.

I hate to brag (fine, you know me too well; I've never hated bragging) but I felt this shit coming on. No, really. As I was driving to work this morning, I heard some story about Jonny's favorite "pick-up" line. To start, I think its safe to say that the only thing Jon Gosselin should be picking up is a buffer to finish my fucking manicure, but alas, I'll continue. Apparently, after skipping into any New York City club, J.Goss's go-to-line is, simply: "I'm single." He's used that gem to attract plenty of really attractive bitches (and I am using really attractive objectively, like, for a Jewish girl and/or someone with a hooked-nose, just to clarify).

The ironic thing is . . . Jon's not single. IDK about y'all, but if I was to pretend that I'd even consider banging a gentleman unable to hit the "Must be this Tall to Ride" mark at Busch Gardens and J. Goss sauntered up to me with that shit line, I doubt we'd hit it off. Now, I know what you're thinking and you're totes right. Yes, in 2004, I was rumored to have started saying that "everyone is the same height lying down," but you've gotta draw the line somewhere. Furthermore, Jonny, you aren't single. In fact, he hasn't been single since he allowed that buzz-cut, almost-ex-wife of his to go on and plow out 8 kids. Let's be honest, any dumbass fellow with 1 kid might as well have the clap . . . but 8? Holy shit, he sure must have had faith in his marriage when he took that plunge, because I can't think of one functioning person I've ever encountered that would have the desire to pile on that amount of baggage, no matter how many Bartles & James promotions he's attended. Homeboy's lugging around 8 lifelong STD's and a pitbull named Kate.

To conclude, you're welcome for the urgent and extremely important news. I guess, if I had to say, I'm glad that jackass is off the show. I don't watch it, nor will I ever, but I do revel when we can 'stick it to the man,' who, in this case, is only slightly taller than Danny DeVito. Hopefully VH1 is working to get J. Goss his own show, I'm keeping my fingers crossed on this one. I'd love to see what he's up to with that trash-journalism Glassman chick, I'd DVR every episode of them jetsetting across the Shanghai, reading each others' fortunes aloud, and binding each others' feet. A humble suggestion though, if I may be so bold, to the future producers and bachelor himself: From here on out, how about we see a little less of "almost open/closed eyes" and a whole lot more of the following: (1) cell phone charms; (2) Hello Kitty merchandise; and (3) dry cleaning tips.

Thank you and you're welcome.


Well, good morning. Yes, I am still alive -- please quit your bitching. For the past few days, I've been bogged down with a horrible case of influenza -- no, not of the swine variety, this case was far more seasonal. Anyway, the fucking worst part was that it all started out with my simple, not-too-much-to-ask need for a (few) day(s) off work! I mean really! God only knows how hard I work during the 30 (give or take 5-7 hours) hour work week I'm forced to do.

Listen to this shit. I took off two Fridays ago because, well, my roommate mom wanted someone to complain with and, to be honest, there was a really great episode of Judge Mathis scheduled for that afternoon. That was fine, and my roomz and I enjoyed a delightful cool almost-Fall Friday of revelry and good times.

Fast forward to the following Tuesday night. After I finished watching some History Channel show about the Druids and Jesus, I really, honestly began to feel downright feverish. Perhaps this was because earlier in the evening I had totes challenged myself with an extra three minutes tanning, but, I'm not a doctor, I won't even attempt to self-diagnose. I did decide to prescribe the next day off, that's for sure . . .

September 28, 2009

IDFK if and/how blogging via SMS works, but if it does, be ready for some new stories about my growing United Nation of middle-aged friends.

September 22, 2009

A real travesty.

I've been waiting for dayz to have this chat with you. I won't waste any time and get right into it. I've really been aching to further discuss the Video Music Awards and since you bitches have totes been M.I.A. (more figuratively than Indian) from my life lately, I had to talk to the big guy about the VMA's, I just felt like there was way more that needed to be said. So I kept forgetting and then I've been so busy lately and on and on. Anyway, this morning, as Michael and I were driving to work (well, really Michael, Dirty Diana and myself (three's never a crowd with MJ in the mix) ). . . I broached the topic of the VMA's. Apparently Michael hadn't had a chance to watch them yet, but I described the general chaos that became of one of the (if not the) greatest awards show in history. I didn't want to dig too deeply for a number of reasons, namely, methinks Michael feels a little silly about his 1994 performance with Lisa Marie. I mean, yes, they were young and in love, but such a blatant display of affection should have saved itself for soft core porn; where it belongs. Also, I remembered that MJ hadn't been nominated in some time, not even for his collabo with Jay-Z . . I didn't want to pour salt on the wounds, after all --

September 15, 2009

126 years young!

Well, here we are again. I've just got to take a second and totes give a birthday shout (of sorts, if you will, and, let's be honest, we both will) to our favorite (unless, like most, you couldn't get in) school that is far superior than yours, The University of Texas at Austin. Yes, this day marks the anniversary of Texas' opening, back in 1883, and I felt the need to figuratively tip my hat to one of America's most prestigious public ivies, obvi. I mean, yeah, its my alma mater, but, jesus, name me one other school who produced the likes of Walter Cronkite, Marcia Gay Harden (is it officially Dr. Harden? regardless, please see her in "The First Wives Club" as Dr. Leslie Rosen and Disney's 1997 breakaway hit "Flubber" as Dr. Sara Jean Reynolds); Janis Joplin (almost); world renown humanitarian Jenna Bush; and last, but certainly not least, Roger Clemens. Right, you can't.

I'm just going to take the rest of the day I've kind of worked and reflect upon the greatness that is The University of Texas, and everything we represent as students, alumni and lifelong supporters. If I were to list each of these out for you, I'd start with unparalleled ambition, drive and integrity, followed closely by (perhaps even tied for first) a keen ability to binge drink (both legally and illegally, thank you Jenna Bush), not to mention our state of the art observatory and primate center. I could obvi go on for hours, detailing what the (outside of the building that holds a copy of) the Gutenburg Bible looks like (from across the street with a Shiner in hand); I could regale you with tales of tailgating that essentially doesn't end and the reward of a stumble home from DKR; I could even pause to reflect how great the Tower looks illuminated to the shade of burnt orange as you're enjoying a Mexican Martini (or three if you sneak) from the Trudy's deck. But no, I won't do it to you, I like you too much. I mean, what would be the point of me sitting here, going on about how, even though its technically UT's birthday, 8 hours spent in the back of a raft with a cooler attached seems more like a present from Texas to me, rather than the other way around. There just isn't a point.

September 14, 2009


Well, I know, I'm going crazy over here with these millions of posts. Its totes NMF, but I (lit/fig) just have so much to discuss with you. After you thank me, you can thank Jesus.

Speaking of, whether you believe it or not, some in Raleigh consider me to be just the gift that keeps on giving, a living saint, of sorts. No, I'm not kidding you - oftentimes, behind the scenes I practice random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty - even if its just throwing my Tecate out of my sunroof window half full (you're welcome). I like to think of myself (and accordingly, I do think of myself) as an incredibly selfless person. I mean, I'm always doing stuff for other people, and if you're in a pinch just look over your shoulder, honey (MJ reference, obvs), and I'll be there.

With that being said, I've come to notice all of the millions of people not like me. I mean, I just think that if everyone did their part to make someone else's day a little easier (or at least help someone a little down on their luck forget their troubles every now and again - please see my Tecate example above), this world would be a much better place. Okay, to be honest, by "this world" I mean my world . . . okay, yours too (selfless, remember?).

So yesterday, while I was watching church on cable and nursing my hangover; I began to flip through the channels and came across an infomercial for some kind of thinning hair doctor in Houston or some shit. I immediately had to turn it, I don't allow people with less than perfect locks within ten feet of me, let alone in my (mom's) fucking living room - people like that often are carriers for communicable disease, its in the Bible! Anyway, it got me to thinking about this Dr. Leo Something-baum and the maven of "modern medicine" he claimed to be. Well, by the time I was finished pondering the subject (a good 10 minutes) I was so upset I didn't know what to do with myself.

Can I get a "What What" . . . ?

Okay, so check it; I'm going outside of the mold here and am going to post something strictly about me, ya dig? Excellent. So, rewind to a fortnight ago, and yes, there we were, a dear friend's bachlorette weekend hosted by Ocean Isle Beach, North Carolina; in additionthe entire population of the city (puka shell necklaces not optional). With that being said, I had my first foray into the world of lesbians and talk of bodily fluid(s) that fateful Friday night. No, gross! I was not anywhere within 50 miles of Chaz Bono; I did a little stand-up. Now, I'm not going to tell you how it was a whole set or how I was ah-fucking-mazing (the fact that you don't have a machine breathing for you should make that shit a given), but I will tell you this, it was liberating. Like not like in a "not having to worry about getting sexually harassed at work" type of way; or even like in a gross short haircut Title IX kind of manner but it just felt good. That could have been more the result of the 4 downed shots in the 30 seconds prior to my stage debut, but, whatever, I'll take it (ir)regardless.

So, to further explain myself, a group of 12 of my very best friends (plus one) and I saunter in, and settle down in this fucking dive bar and after counting on not-even-on-one-hand how many bang-able(s) were present, realized that we had stumbled into karaoke night. I immediately ran up to the stage to request a Michael Jackson birthday montage and in doing so, realized that this DJ is not only incredibly drunk, but incredibly lacking the wherewithal to speak in complete sentences (cue the reference to the high school level education), so as I'm waiting for homeboy to kindly put on "Dirty Diana" I see an open mic and then it begins. It was great and I'm really happy to report to y'all that having great hair and still saying "Can I get a what what?" doesn't discount any chance of you not banging after the bars close. Nice.

September 13, 2009


Well good evening, little one! I hope this post is finding you very well, naturally. So anyway, I know I'm totes posting in the middle of the VMA's but tell your little sister to hold the fuck on, while I respond, publicly, to a jackass text I just received. I didn't read it with any seriousness but the general message was something about the fact that I wouldn't hate on Kanye because he's black and a liberal. Well, friend, you're right. Being the liberal leaning adorable girl I am, I only point fingers at people that disagree with me. Then, I received a text comparing Kanye to Joey Wilson, my future apprentice. I couldn't disagree more!

After I finished deleting the numbers of those texters, along with the messages themselves, I decided to address 'ye's outburst and get your feedback. Okay no, I don't really care what you think, unless you're agreeing with me (see above). I mean, first off, what do y'all think Kanye raps for? To push a fucking RAV-4? Exactly, he's an artist, an entertainer, if you will - and I always do. So he got up and was a jackass in front of Taylor Swift and America. Big fucking deal. Furthermore, why are we (you) surprised? Did we forget his Hurricane Katrina truthburst? I mean, if I were Tay, I'd be honored, tonight is probably the first and last time she's ever been in anywhere close to being in the same group as George Bush.

In terms of TayTay - homegirl is like . . . 10 right? By the time she grows up she won't even remember it! Her and Miley are probably playing MASH right now! She's okay y'all, seriously.

Now, yes, Kanye was a jackass and totes outbursted, but remember the lesson I've tried to teach you last post, ladies and gentlemen. If there was ever a place to be a jackass during - its awards shows. This is how Joe Wilson and Kanye differ. Duh. I mean, and obviously, both Joey and Kanye are paid to entertain and perform but methinks, if I was a betting woman, Kanye would totally make a better apprentice than Joe. Whatever.

Anyway, on a final note or two - how fucking good did Eminem look? Kind of having sex with Mariah Carey treated him very well, ahhh, thank you!

And I just have to add - JayZ, Canadian tuxedo? Really? You're the only one who can make it look swag, thank you and your welcome.

September 10, 2009

Part Two (of Two), Joey!

Now that I've covered Joe Wilson's tasteless and behavior completely lacking in the Southern charm I have come to adore; I'm going to quickly respond to a comment I heard post-speech. I don't remember it verbatim, but I do recall that the concerned citizen made mention of "Canadian-style health care coming to an American city near you!" This is incorrect and disgusting on about a million levels.

Not even speaking factually (which, of course, if I were, I'd have to point out that the claim is silly and has no basis in the health care plan whatsoever), but strictly on a Canada level, its about time they gave us something worthwhile! I mean, Jesus, if we are anything with those bastards up North, its at least equal, right? Last time I tallied (just now) they owe us a shit ton of things. We've given them Michael Jackson, Velcro, a huge fucking (and easily cross-able) border with us; and MTV. What's the last thing they've given us? Fucking Dave Coulier? Alanis Morrisette? No fucking thanks, dude. Its about time we square up with Canada. From what I know about history in general (not much), especially as it pertains to the American/Canadian relationship, the last time we were even and "all debts paid" with each other was like the fucking eighteenth century. Even, if you don't count the fact that we were ripped off, of course - I blame it on the giving and trusting American spirit. Yeah, y'all know exactly what I'm talking about. I'm pretty sure that sometime in the 1600's or 1700's we bought New York or the Hudson River or some land for like a nickel (that is not valued at its current rate today, folks) and some mink pelts. (Ir)Regardless of the fact that that land is good for shit up there (as are most people that come from it), Canada owes us, big time. Yeah, I mean they've given us . . well . . they've enhanced our palette, I suppose, but last I checked small round slices of ham calling itself "bacon" doesn't hold a candle to NAFTA. But, as an American, I'm willing to have pity and offer them a deal. I think we can truly square away, debt wise with those maple-leaf idiots if, in addition to them giving us a Canadian-style health care system (because that, after all, is what Obama's plan calls for, right?), Canada coughs up full ownership to Niagara Falls and takes back their damn Canadian-style tuxedos.

Joey! Over here! (Part One of Two)

So, I've actually got about a million things I need to share with each and every one of you, but lets start with what I want to, for a change. I know its so unlike me to do things my way, and think nothing of other people but, there's a first time for everything.

Speaking of, GObama obvi hollllla'ed at the American people and the members of Congress last night about his health care plan, the need for reform, the future of our country, and so on. Did you watch? I decided to buck my own personal trend and totally skip the speech to do something way more important . . . tan. I originally planned on giving you my thoughts on the speech having only watched clips from Fox News and CNN, like the rest of the country, but, alas, nothing lulls me to sleep better than the soothing sound of President Obama's baritone voice. Don't mind if I did.

Unsurprisingly, it was a great speech. If there's one thing that man can do (in front of a podium at least) it is speak. Methinks his mastery rivals that of my own -- last seen in Ms.Umstead's Speech writing course in the 2000-2001 academic school year; or Socrates (I'd say we're all about the same). In addition, I thought the content matched its delivery. If I had to, I'd give it 5 starts, or two thumbs up, whichever you prefer. Rather than waste my (boss') precious time listing what I think are the benefits of a health care plan that stipulates and includes what Barack's does (you all can read the bill for yourselves, I hope), lets do something a little more fun -- examine the reactions to the speech last night (and obvi, in doing so, delve deeper into the irrational fears regarding said health care bill and, even deeper, the American psyche).

Okay, I'm no Sigmund Freud, and while I have a bizarre closeness with my Mom/roommate, I don't think we've got time for all that. Instead, I'll pick two comments I found rather interesting. The most ridic is outlined below.

September 8, 2009

Back to laboring and/or the Trail of Tears!

Well! I hope you all had a delightful and truly blessed Labor Day; I know I did! As per usual, I saw my share of ups and downs this past weekend. If there's something I've learned in my 20 or so (coherent) years on this Earth, its that things aren't always going to go the way you want all of the time. I mean, for me they do, until this weekend at least.

First off, what was up with those grey skies yesterday? Thanks but no thanks, Greg Fischel. Second, I'm having the hardest time with my son. Perhaps you fellow parents out there can offer some advice. That little bitch absolutely refuses to use cursive in formal correspondence, and let me tell you, it is maddening. No amount of punishment, restriction or kneeling on rice while reciting the rosary (shout out to my own Mother/Roommate) has broken his non-cursive spirit. Thoughts? Don't worry -- if there's one thing I know how to do, its totally break someone down, just to bring them back to a fuller, happier existence. (You're welcome 2nd grade friends.) Finally, while everyone was up in arms about homeboy Obama getting all up in schoolz and propagandizing (IDK if its a word, nor do I care), I found myself equally as heated. No, not over a "stay in school" message to the young minds and future of America, but a far more disturbing occurrence. I wasn't able to fucking mystic all weekend. I know, I know, disgusting, right? Those who know me best know that I like to maintain a becoming shade of burnt orange (more orange than burnt, let's be honest) 365 days out of the year, but apparently, it wasn't in the cards for the last weekend of the 2009 summer. Fuck. I mean, when getting down to it, tanning (after my son and Jesus) is a huge part of my life, and the inability to do so, when I pay top dollar, well it makes it hard function. I will say, If I hit day 4 with no mystic, there will be hell to pay; trust. Believe it or not, I can write a menacing complaint letter.

The weekend's highs? Well, I mean pretty much all of it, even the above wasn't enough to spoil time away from work (literally, I'm never really "at work" even when I am). Oh, real quick (ha); I'd like to take a second and highlight Texas' unsurprising football victory. We all know that I really do appreciate a blowout of any kind, (ir)regardless of the circumstances. Duh.

September 4, 2009

Don't mind if I do!

IDFK how I wasn't there when this story broke, but, despite the fact that I'm late (not literally, PTL), I wanted to discuss the following headline with you all.

"Levi Johnston Accepts Playgirl Offer to Pose"

. . .
say whaaatttttttt? I mean, I've always heard that good things come in small packages, and I thought we were about to find out how good. (On a side note, f-that saying, save your small gifts for the homeless or the church collection plate, I don't have time for that shit.)


Hey y'all hey. How are you this morning? Its a cool 60-ish degrees in the Old North State, and to be honest, I couldn't be happier. With the weather, that is. If I seem a little lackluster today, its because I was up so late last night. No, not binge drinking and making everyone admire my calves, but at a funeral. The "homegoing" to Michael Jackson was so serene and perfect, except for Reverend Al tweeting the entire time -- so obnox. Wait, what? You didn't see me? Well, first of all, they didn't allow television coverage and second, IDFK how you missed me, I was sitting right in the front row, nursing Blanket.