Shameless self-promotion

For those of you who aren't too terribly observant, I added some links on the left side a few days ago for Love is a Battlefield. These quasi-columns are from a co-blog I'm on called the Monkey Barn (go show your love over there) where I basically shoot off my mouth (keyboard?) about the trials and tribulations of dating. You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll want to cover me in banana pudding and Nilla Wafers.

Heartache to heartache, we stand!

Doggy style

Through a series of very uninteresting events, I wound up with one of my dad's dogs. Rusti is a mutt of some sort that my brother and stepsister found almost 13 years ago on Halloween. She's as sweet as sweet can be, too, she just likes to be petted occasionally and lay near my feet when I'm at the computer. We have a pretty chill relationship, I do my thing around the house and shower her with Beggin' Strips and slices of processed American cheese while she chews on her butt or sleeps in a sprawling Rusti puddle in front of my closet.

You don't love me, you just love my doggy smile! Now go get me a Milkbone!

But there are some problems. For one, I am out of the house (on my Pirate Stripper calls) for a minimum of 10 hours a day, so when I come home there's always some Rusti pee waiting for me. It's not her fault, she just can't hold it for that long. Plus, anyone who has ever been to my apartment can attest to the fact that it's pretty small, which is fine when it's just me, but the addition of having a large animal in the mix is upsetting the natural balance of things. I'm constantly tripping over her. And then, there's the fact that she's pretty old, and she has arthritis in her hips, so getting up and down the stairs is going to get difficult for her.

So, even though I've only had her for about a week, I think I'm going to have to give her up. I think my stepsister will take her. If not then...I don't know what I'll do. I'll think of something, though, because I'm all awesome like that. But man, do I feel bad. I know it'll be better for her to be in an environment where she can run around and not have to tinkle in my closet when I'm not around to let her out (by the way, it smells so rank in there now) but I sure am going to miss her. It's nice to have a Rusti to come home to.

Things I'm Embarrased To Like: The Girls Next Door

I don't watch a lot of TV. I just don't. My work schedule is kinda messed up (we Pirate Strippers keep odd hours) so I don't mean that in a 'I'm a crunchy, granola-humpin' hippie so I'm too good to just sit on my ass and watch some mindless crap on TV ' way. I'm honestly not home a whole lot, so thats the reason why.

But a few weeks ago I had some free time (and a few bottles of Paulaner in me) so I was randomly flipping though the channels and I came across a show where this uber-dyed blonde with the most perfect fake tits I've ever seen was chirping about how she couldn't wait to get her new grill. Wow, thought my Hefeweizen-soaked brain, this is going to be one hot mess to behold.

And lo, it was, and I saw that it was good, and there was much rejoicing throughout my apartment. The show I stumbled on was none other than 'The Girls Next Door', which is about Hugh Hefner's three live-in girlfriends at the Playboy Mansion. Yeah, the dude's 80 and he has three pretty blonde girlfriends who are in their 20s and 30s. (I'd like to take a moment here to honor The Hef, the Original Playa. Thank you for raising the bar for us, dude. I am humbled in your televised presence. You are the king.)

My girls, from left to right: Holly, Bridget and Kendra. I really wanted a picture of Kendra with her grill, but sadly, I didn't find one.

One of the most striking things about the show is that the three girlfriends (Holly, Bridget, and Kendra... and yes I am to the point where I can refer to them by their first names) are in no way catty with each other. I mean, it's a reality-ish show so if there was even the tiniest hint of jealousy there I'm sure they'd be all over it like a rat on a Cheeto. But they very much act like sisters and spend a lot of time together...and that's another thing about this show: it seems as though these chicas were put on earth to look pretty and figure out new ways to waste time and Hef's money (and I am so envious of this, by the way). Besides the episode where Kendra gets her wicked pink-and-white grill, there's another episode where Holly decides to throw a slumber party and sets up the world's most fucking rad Slip-N-Slide on the rolling front lawn of the mansion. Then there's the episode where Bridget thinks that the mansion is haunted and calls in a couple of paranormal experts to check it out. Hilarity ensues.

I don't know what it is about this show that just absolutely sucks me in, but it does. Maybe it's because all three of the girls are very charismatic and entertaining, one minute they say something completely goofy, like Kendra talking about a costume for a party: "I really don't start planning my outfits until, like, a week ahead, because, whatever I put on is gonna be hot - you know, you could wear... two Band-Aids and a cork. " But then the next minute Bridget is talking about working on her second Master's degree. Or maybe it's because when I watch it I keep thinking goddamn, these girls would totally know how to party.

Well, for whatever reason, I am totally indulging mega-hardcore in this reality show. I am in the middle of watching the first season from Netflix. I will probably just go ahead and buy the DVDs. They did two photo spreads for Playboy and I'd love to get the back issues of them (hint hint, Sea Hag fans).

I Hate Everyone!

You know what? A blog just isn't a blog unless it has one thing: a good, slobbering, slightly psychotic rant! In fact, I should do a weekly-ish thing in which I direct my laser beams of scorn upon a specific victim or victims so they may feel my wrath!

The Weekly Doofus Award Winner: My Neighbors

There's a couple who live across the hall from my apartment. My first impression of them while I was moving in was their welcome mat, which had several plastic grocery store bags knotted on it. Judging by the smell and the swarm of insects this small pile produced, I'd say these little presents were full of poop. Yes, poop. It was a regular shit fiesta by their front door. I'm assuming they have some sort of small dog or cat or um... marmoset in there, and did not relish the idea of having animal crap sitting in the trash in their house, which I totally understand, but they just put it all outside of their front door, where it proceeded to stink up the entire second floor breezeway.

A few days later, these classy people finally decided to remove Mt. Saint Feces from the hallway (but I'd like to point out that they will still occasionally leave some shit outside overnight for all of us to enjoy, which is good, because I do get nostalgic for that rotten ass smell sometimes). However, I noticed that the welcome mat, now that it was not covered in butt nuggets, was actually a bath mat.

A bath mat, people! It has like, a bunch of hot air balloons on it, like they swiped it from one of their little brother's bathrooms or something. I hadn't mentioned yet, but these two are some of the most cliched emo dorks I've ever seen... and I've seen a lot of emo dorks. I mean, they're rockin' the shoe-polish black hair and plastic framed glasses and faux-faded band t-shirts and everything. They look like a Death Cab For Cutie video barfed on them. So anyway, I'm sure the bathmat thing is some sort of ironic statement or something.

See! I am not kidding, it's a BATH MAT! Fortunately for you, I took this on a turd-free day.

Also, their car is one of the biggest pieces of junk I've ever seen, full of trash and all banged up on the side and covered in Homestar Runner stickers. But, they got a nice new car a few days ago. Do you want to know how I know it's their car? They transferred the stickers over! What better way to celebrate the fact that you just bought a brand-new $23,000 automobile (emo-mobile? emo-bile?) than to slap some stickers on it? Oh, and by the way...the old car is still sitting in the parking lot, so they're taking up an extra space with their old, scabby, too-good-for-brakelights heap.

And so, this week I direct my loathing at my neighbors. I hate you so very, very much, neighbors.

I am the smartest person EVER!

I am obsessed with my iPod. Seriously, I think I need an intervention of some sort. I had the 20G one for about 2 years, then a few weeks ago ol' Poddy kinda crapped out on me, so I drove my butt to Fry's to get a new one. I was without an iPod for about 30 minutes and it was scary. So now I have a new super-duper 30G video iPod. Wooo! Long live Poddy II.

So anyway, it's always bothered me that I can't really listen to it at work. I can do the headphone thing, but that's pretty much frowned upon. I can't use the USB hookup to just have it play through the computer because that would involve me installing iTunes, and I can't do that to the work computer either. For a while I tried to use the FM transmitter in conjunction with the boombox we had in the office but it almost never worked, probably because the boombox was brought over on the Mayflower.

Seriously, check out this old-school shit. And yes, that's a wire coat hanger we have for an antenna.

But today as I was listening to my iPod in the car, it occurred to me that I might be able to use the cable that hooks my iPod to the auxiliary jack in my car stereo somehow. I brought it in, and after testing several different jacks or ports or whatever they're called (I know nothing about computers) I found one that worked! So right now, I am totally rockin' out to my leaked copy of The Decemberists' "The Crane Wife". Yay for my iPod! Yay for my brain!

And I will buy a copy of "The Crane Wife" when it comes out, so shut up.

Coffee-mate Coconut Creme = ASS

I've been on a big coffee kick lately, and I will be the first to admit I like some serious pussy coffee. I like a lot of milk and Sweet 'n' Low, and if I can get flavored coffee then that's all the better. So I decided to try Coffee-mate's Coconut Creme creamer, since I've tried several of their other flavors and they're all totally tasty (The Chai-spice flavored one is the balls).

Now, I like coconut, and the thought of coconut-flavored coffee sounded pretty good. I mean, it would be just like drinking a coconut creme pie, right? A coconut creme pie with plenty of delicious, nourishing caffeine.

I didn't think about it then, but the problem with any sort of coconut-flavored product is that you run the risk of it possibly tasting like sunblock. And, unfortunately for me, this was the case. This stuff tastes like SPF-ASS. I guess the only consolation is that my guts are now totally protected from the sun's harsh UV rays.

Sex and candy

I've been at this job for 4 years, and in that time we've had the same old, dusty, dark, anemic candy machine in the breakroom. It sat quietly in the corner, dispensing slightly-stale treats in a most unobtrusive manner, like an old, crazy pervert in a trenchcoat on a park bench. He doesn't bother anyone (except when your bag of Fritos gets punctured by the metal coils that held it in place, trapping it there for all time no matter how much you cuss it). He just sits there, occasionally rejecting dollar bills, silently but earnestly hoping you'll sit down next to him and partake of a crushed Butterfinger bar. And sometimes you did, because you just couldn't resist the pull of his plethora of sweet goodness.

But a week ago, we got a new machine. It's big and bright....holy hell, is it bright. They installed a spotlight or something all up in there, so now instead of being able to scurry past it and pretend you didn't see it like the old-but-polite-pervert-on-a-bench model, you are forced to acknowledge its presence, like a loud hooker wearing fishnet stockings and screaming in the middle of a busy intersection: BUY A HONEY BUN! I GOT FUNYONS TOO! EXACT CHANGE ONLY!

I don't know if the whoremachine is more disturbing...or the fact that I likened junk food to the behaviors of our culture's sexual deviants.

I did, however, just coin the phrase 'whoremachine'. Sweet.

Yup.

Well, I went and got myself a blog. Yup. Good times.