October 25, 2009

Damn it.

Have you all missed me as much as I've missed you? I know you have, you don't have to act tough just because its me. I won't judge. Aha! Suckers.

Listen, I had a crazy fucking bosses day and have really been working hard on outfits to wear for the "This is It" premiere in 2 days. Oh yeah, obvi I've got tickets for the midnight showing, and a few more times later in the week. Let me tell you, iron-on transfers are not as easy as their instructions make them out to be. And to top it all off, I mentally had to prepare and make up a medical condition to get out of work this past week so I could mentally prepare for the Backstreet Boys concert that was ahhh-fucking-mazing and also last night in Charlotte. Yes, I know you're way jeal.

Anyway, I'm sorry for the week respite. And long story long, I'll be back in black tomorrow, for your pleasure, as per usual.

You're welcome.

October 15, 2009

"Myagi have hope for you." and/or "Put him in a bodybag, Johnny."

Riddle me this, little ones. Pretend that every single morning you stroll into work and every single afternoon as you depart for your three-hour lunch, you noticed a small middle-aged Asian gentleman with large gold-rimmed bifocals sitting in the lobby for everyone to see. Said man has a laptop out (odds are its a Sony), earphones on and a phone book open (no, you jackass, not to stand on, even though we all know Asian men are especially short) on a table.

What would you do? Let's also imagine that, in addition to having been born with killer hair, Jesus also graced you with a keen sense of intuition and incredible problem solving skills, too. And that upon realizing years ago that these characteristics are can be both a gift and a curse, let's just say that you've noticed, upon the face of this lobbyist (I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself), a slight twinge of pain, a hint of remorse, and an aura plagued by sorrowful lamentation. What would you do? Would you answer "the call" to action?

You're goddamn right you'd answer that call. I mean, you're a giver, right? While at first, you surmised his look of despair was a result of squinted eyes paired with a bright computer screen, you quickly begin to understand that the issue has to go deeper and is probs far more complex as you address the problem internally. You start each day asking yourself what you could do to brighten this man's day, despite the fact he is probably a direct relative of Jon Gosselin and that motherfucker who forgets to utilize his right turn signal every morning in his Toyota Corolla.

Okay, fuck that, I can't keep up these guessing games anymore - but I will continue with the story. For like three days I wondered what I could do to help out, and add yet another middle-aged individual to my ever-growing United Nations band of office building friends.

To get a better feel a few afternoons ago, I sat, square across from homeboy, just to get an idea of his mindset. You know what happened? Not a fucking thing. After vowing to figure out which Honda Accord (with the Beijing Olympics bumper sticker) belongs to him in the parking lot (calm down, I just wanted to leave a note of good cheer), it hit me. I, being a typical American, was totes making this all about me. I changed my mantra myself, "What does Albert (IDFK what a good Asian name is, sorry . . . Wang?) need?" and "How can I make Albert grin and show me those communist-cared teeth?"

I'll tell you what Albert fucking needs, besides to start teaching me karate and helping me prune my bonsai tree. He needs a friend, an ally in this bitter world of lobby politics. And if there's one thing I can do (albeit begrudgingly) its that, provide my shoulder to cry on and open my heart, in essence, I can be that friend.

But first, as per usual, I've gotta break the (r)ice. The thing is, the bitch is ultra-unresponsive. Maybe right now he thinks he doesn't want to be bothered, or he's jealous that I can pronounce the "l" sound, but as soon as we're pal(r?)s, he'll change that tune. I've decided that all I need for a "friendship go-ahead" is a basic salutation, or at least acknowledgement. This might be tricky for the following reasons: (1) I'm not sure if he's blind; and (2) I'm not sure he knows a lick of English! I mean, both of those are totally fine, I do love a challenge.

I think I read somewhere that there are like 100 million Asian dialects -- like Chinese and Taiwanese and North Korean (the communist, American-hating dialect plus any others) and then South Korean and Japanese and Mongolian, the list goes on forever. But, for my friends, I've got all the time in the damn world. I've already tried sitting across from him and confronting him the American way - head on. That was unsuccessful. Yesterday, I waved as I walked in . . nothing. Today, I bowed, as if he were my Sensei or that teacher in Karate Kid. Not even a bite.

The next step is obvious. I'm going to have to figure out how to say "Hi! What's up?" in every single Asian dialect, language and colloquial slang, put it in a list and then mark them off as I try them out.

Let's cross our fingers that he isn't like the bitches that do my nails, though. I will not have him freaking the fuck out & ruining my manicure just because I address him as Vietnamese when he's really from Taiwan, or whatever! You know all that shit is "Made in China" anyway. I'm also going to take it a step further and put a Hello Kitty cell phone charm on my Blackberry and a spoiler on a P.O.S Honda I'm going to have to borrow.

At this stage, I'm confident in our budding friendship. Sure, it may take time, effort and a whole lotta love, but, as Confucius said: "the journey of a thousand miles begins with one step," and let's be honest, I'm in it to win it.

October 12, 2009

Male, middle class & white.

No, I'm not petitioning to bring back Ben Folds (or Ben Folds Five even though they write a mean ballad about ab-whore-tion) but I do want to take a second to address some rather disturbing news I've just heard. MTV today announced their definitive top ten list of the top MC's in the game. As if the recent VMA's didn't turn me off from that god-forsaken channel enough, this was maddening.

Now, before you judge, just realize that while I'm not male, and the closest I've been to the middle class is re-instructing our maid on how I like my sheets tucked in but damnit. I do know the pain in the ass it can be to be a pretty, intelligent, tall, hilarious white girl. Before you hoodratz start bitching, gimme a second. The list is as follows, well okay, I only remembered a handful because I was so blind with rage. I think its something like Jay-Z, Wayne, some other bullshit and then 50 cent at No. 9 and so on (to No. 10). You know who was missing? Exactly, a white dude. But not just any white dude, one of my favorite jort-wearers, Eminem.

You know, because I love you so much, I've copped the list, it is as follows: 1. Jay-Z; 2. Lil' Wayne; 3. Drake; 4. Kanye West; 5. Rick Ross; 6. Gucci Mane; 7. Young Jeezy; 8. Fabolous; 9. 50 Cent; and 10. Raekwon. Now, I'll leave 1 and 2 alone, I'm a fan and I feel bad that God has punished those two with insanely unattractive faces. But Drake? Eek. My fucking Dad can karaoke Nelly's "Hot in Herrre" better than homeboy (and my dad, always the Jerry Seinfeld of the family, continually says things like: "Have you heard that new artist Drake? He's a quack!" . . . if you can't put that together, please, never let me know). Further, Rick Ross? Like I know homeboy has a raging fake cocaine addiction but come on! My rap sheet (wrap sheet? public record?) spans longer than his, and my blow habit was real. I will say No. 6 is totes legit. Any artist that can include the line "white-boy wasted" in a track and know exactly what it means probably has a grandpappy in his family tree thats caucasian. Truth. But, this list! Its pathetic. And its more pathetic that I've got to note this travesty in my J. Crew ballet flats and freshly pressed Brooks Brothers oxford shirt. Sick.

I haven't taken the time to look at the panel of judges, or read why they feel that my homeboy (after Jesus and Michael Jackson) totes got the shaft in this list. I mean, give me a fucking break. Like, I won't even get started, or take the time to put my cup of syrup down to address the fact that any/all notable Texas MCs were neglected, but Slim Shady? Bitch please! Didn't he win an Oscar for "8 Mile" . . . ? Yeah, I'm pretty sure he did.

The thing is, and I hate thinking this, but it just effects me to the core for a number of reasons. I am a staunch Eminem fan, mainly because he broke the color barrier for so many white MC's. I mean, fuck a glass ceiling and Hil Clinton (not literally, I wouldn't do that to you), but I'd rather make my "6 figures" on the turn tables and not underneath the desk of my boss. Go figure.

I don't have the time or energy to write a strongly worded and lengthy letter to the inventor of affirmative action (pretty sure I'll give Abraham Lincoln credit on that gem) but its one thing to keep me out of a sub-par university because I'm just another privileged Wake County white girl, but it is certainly another to rob the half dozen (give or take) white people from the upcoming hip-hop generation from a hero to hold on to. Sure, 50 Cent is awe-inspiring and has really had some great love songs, and otherwise. But lately? I mean go shawty.

No, seriously, Shawty, get the fuck out of here with that list, MTV. I thought you were better than that, I thought we were better than that.

You've been poked!

But this time, I guess it was a bit more literally. Thanks but no thanks, Dad.


P.S. In case you were curious, its only 35 weeks until Father's Day 2010.

October 6, 2009

Thank you, Tuesday.

I will promise you this: as long as Levi milks his 15 minutes of ... fame (?) and I continue to feel bad he had to bangout a Palin, I'll keep him around. And yes, I know he's a high school dropout, and he just had to quit his oil field job because he isn't licensed to be an apprentice or some shit (btw - Levi, holler, I'll take anyone as my apprentice, obvi), but you gotta give homeboy credit. First off, he's showing off his badass arm tatt and at least now can joke about the 18 year STD baby he's got with Bris. If anyone should get a pat on the back for taking a look at the man in the mirror, its Levi. At least he's wrapping it up now, thank god for small blessings.

October 5, 2009

Is Chris Brown forgiven? Haven't heard a thing about his "comeback" song. Is it because I don't have easy access to 6th St. / hoodratz anymore? We'll discuss.

Tap the rockies? Better than tapping anyone drinking this.

I'm going to give you the following link to view, think about, reflect upon and delight in. Don't you fret -- of course we will be discussing the following at some point in the near future, but I just wanted to ease you into this one (that's what she said) a la Linda Richman-style. So go ahead, sit back, click away, zoom, and enjoy the fuck out of this (only figuratively, for now at least), I'll be back after lunch (i.e. a mere 3-ish hours).

You're welcome.

October 2, 2009

Yes, Alex, I'll take "The Blowout" for $1000, please.

Well, I know you're speechless having realized this is like my third post in one day. You're welcome. If you know me at all, you'll know that I was blessed with far above average intelligence. I know, its not fair, my homeboy Jesus also graced me with fabulous hair, dashing wit and a button nose, as you well know. But back to that intelligence. I'm not here today to tell you that I read "War and Peace" in second grade, or that my teachers wanted me to skip fourth and fifth grade. What I am here to discuss is far more important, and a subject that I have a deeply personal and complex relationship with . . . "Jeopardy." Allow me to elaborate.

I grew up watching that shit. Its marvelous. I still remember the first "Final Jeopardy" I answered correctly, at age 5 (the answer was "What is a duck-billed platypus?" ... truth). I know you aren't surprised. I spent an entire summer internship filling out interesting trivia (along with my contact information) on fucking 3x5 index cards addressed to the show, and yet, I've never been on. When I am on, though, I don't want you to worry. I won't be one of those lame ass contestants telling you about the time I did something incredibly boring that no one in their right mind gives a shit about (with a lisp, to add insult to injury!) -- like most of the ass clowns they feature. Mainly because I'm better than that, and you are too, and I'd never dream of disrespecting you. Furthermore, you would never think someone with hair like mine would be anything but incredibly fucking interesting . . . and you'd be absolutely right.

After a disgusting contestant introduction on last night's program, I have compiled a short list of some of the possible quips I would have Alex tell the viewing audience in his adorable (albeit obnoxious as shit) Canadian accent. They are as follows:

1. My little sister is blond/hair (naturally), blue-eyed & adorable. In the late 90's a rash of little girls that looked just like her were getting snatched up left and right. In response, I forced/taught her to escape out of a moving car at speeds up to 18 mph. Its impressive, and she can still do it.

2. After a crushing second place county-wide Accelerated Reader finish at the end of my 3rd grade, I spent the rest of elementary school reading non-fiction books about the history of states and presidents. No one knew I could give a shit about either subject - I really was only doing it for the AR points; and non-fiction earned double points. Bitch please, I also never came in second place again.

3. When I was 12, I ran away. . . to the library. Or started to at least. I didn't realize it was like 2 miles away. Thankfully, my Dad came to get me, took me to the store and made me my favorite lunch. All was right again, obvi.

4. In my 11th year, I penned a letter to President Clinton urging him to ban gangsta rap. This was the result of Snoop Dogg and his cop-killin' ho activity. Thank god he didn't listen (I mean, not that he would.)

5. In high school, when I would come home plastered, I'd wake my sister up from her slumber and force her to read me the famous childhood classic "Miss Nelson is Missing" in an English accent, while feeding me saltines that she broke into small, bite-sized pieces. Boys in college had to do this, too. Suckers.

6. Despite the fact I'm an amazing literary presence and master wordsmith, I fucking hate Billy Shakespeare.

7. I, along with 2 of my very best friends, gave "rickyboxing" a whole new meaning in 2002.

8. I never got hungover until I was 19 ... and it was because Sweethearts made the mistake of putting me in charge of four bottles of Everclear. Rather than carry them around (they were so fucking heavy), I added them to the mix, literally. Among many other travesties of the night, four Iron Spikes spent most of the night trying to find my heels and phone in Lake Travis.

9. A similar instance to number 8 occurred a year (2 months) later, except this time it involved a Britney Spears home-made music video, 6 bee stings, 2 skinned knees, a joint, Bubba Sparxxx, and 48 ounces of fine Carlo Rossi sangria in a "Younglife" Nalgene bottle.

10. As you better have read, my first fist fight occurred on a breezy September day in 1994 because someone told me to get my ass off of their property. First off, it wasn't their property. Second off, Joan said it was okay "as long as i didn't throw the first punch." Done & done.

11. I've been writing English essays for cash since I was 14. Suckers.

12. When I was "younger" (18); I was so much sneakier and way more of a bitch, and would spend hours trying to find my sister's diary. Upon doing so, and perusing every page, I would flip to the next unfilled sheet and write her a note, signing it "Your Secret Admirer."

13. The only time I ever was grounded was occured when my mom found Eminem's CD underneath my matress -- at the time he was strictly forbidden in our house. Now? Oh, that's right, my mother/roommate's favorite song is the theme to "8 Mile."

14. My first day as a nanny, my lovely little brats locked me out of their house and refused to let me back in; despite bribes of candy, cake, toys, whatever. They finally relented when they realized I was on the phone with the cops and Santa Claus, who was stopping by the police station. You can be certain I was never locked out again.

15. When i took my Notary Public oath, my first public office, I had my fingers crossed. Suckers.

16. I have a hate/hate relationship with Lance Armstrong; you will hear this story one day.

17. After a "date" (which was really an attempt to avoid a walk of shame) at Threadgill's, homeboy ran out of gas in West Campus right before the station on 26th Street. As he got the gas can out of his trunk, and ran off to fill up, I made a quick decision. I took my heels off and ran 5 blocks back to Waterford. I've never run so fast in my life, and I'm sure I never will.

18. "Putting it on the Johnson tab" & the "USPS Return Address scheme" are, to date, my two most important contributions to the world and successful ways that I have managed to not ever waste my money on shit like drinks or stamps.

19. I have talked about testicular cancer with Tom Green.

20. The first mistake I "dated" (before learning to bang out) owned every single "Not That's What I Call Music!" volumes ever produced up to 2004 . . . oh, also, it was 2004. And no, jackass, I didn't know it until he tried to "set the mood."

Well, there you have it. A minuscule sampling. Feel free to forward to Alex Trebek with a heartfelt "hello!" from yours truly.

Do I even need to say it?


You're welcome.


Just real quick, little ones.

When I was growing up my parents always told me that gays and black people (1) can't be trusted; (2) never follow through; (3) don't have jobs; and (4) will cheat on you and leave you pregnant . . . and you know what ? . . . they were fucking right.

Turns out that fame does kill ... each of our chances to see the greatest tour of the century.

Fucking Kanye and Lord Gaga . . . way to jack up my Friday.
(Not that I had tickets yet, but, its the principal, after all)