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Archive for February, 2009

ghosttown

I understand it’s been a bit of a ghost town around here. My only question is, why are you wearing chaps?   Really, it’s not necessary.

Anyway, I’m really working hard on this new website… and I’m pretty sure it’ll be worth it.  You’re going to luuuurve it darlings.  So, we are making sacrifices for the better good.  Wait,  I didn’t know this blog was a socialist.   But listen, exciting things you have to look forward to on the new website:  Kenny will be revealed, the elephant will come out of the closet, new blogs, snazzy new layout, and of course, absolute hilariousness.   So can you hold tight just a little bit longer or what??????

Me:  [picking up my phone]   Yup.

Kenny:  Okay.  Before I say this, you can’t turn this into a blog.

Me:  What?  Are you forreal?

Kenny:  Yes, I’m very real.  you can’t write about what I’m telling you.

Me:  I really don’t think it’s necessary for you to say that.

Kenny:  I’m just saying… don’t.

Me: I think I can tell the difference between something that I should and shouldn’t write a blog about.

Kenny:  Well it doesn’t hurt to give the disclaimer.

Me:  I’m offended.

Kenny:  No you’re not.

Me:  No I’m not.  It probably is better that you use the disclaimer.   I am actually a pretty poor judge of what I should write about.  So this must be about a girl.

Kenny:  Ok… so the other night….

Me:  [interrupting]  Ok, but can I write about this?

Kenny:  What do you mean, I just told you that you couldn’t.

Me: No, I mean the fact that you told me I couldn’t write the blog.  Can I write a blog about that?

Kenny:  NO.  Just leave it alone.

this blog has officially moved to: www.bluntdelivery.com

 

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So, I took some time out of my busy day, actually took a shower, actually put on some real pants, and went to get a massage.   The entire time I was there, I was writing this blog in my head.  I’ll start from the beginning.

I’m standing there naked (but fully robed)  (although the robes are like paper thin)  (but at least it’s dimly lit)  OK.  I’m standing there and right off the bat the massage girl says:

girl:  So just go ahead and get in the bed, I’ll step out for a second. 

me:  Ok. sounds good.

girl:  Oh, so you’re a massage therapist then

me:  (a little bit freaked out that this complete stranger would ask me this)  Um, well… that’s a long story.  But not exactly.

girl:  Oh, well it says in your file that you were going to massage therapy school.

me:  (wondering why in the heck I have a “file” for getting spa services…  Also wondering what else this so-called “file” contains.  Also wondering if every conversation I have with my massage therapists are  recorded in said “file” because I’m pretty sure I remember talking about that last time I was here…)  Yea, well I was going, but I quit

girl:  Well I was just nervous that I had a trained professional on my hands and you were gonna be all judgey.

So I get into the bed.  She comes in.  No sooner than the blanket is off my back we are engrossed in a conversation about, what else?  …. relationships.

I said something about my bad experiences and  tendencies to date inappropriate (and sometimes International) men, and she responded with “stop stealing my life.”   It was in that very moment, when she cloned my favorite phrase, that the world stood still.  The clouds parted, and an epiphany shone down from the heavens…. Could it be?

Further conversation would prove that my hypothesis was indeed, correct:

seinfeld-george-costanza-getting-massageme:  so wait, let me get this straight.  You’ve been floundering around for several years, dating inappropriate men that you were convinced were perfect, avoiding marriage and illegitimate children, went to school for art yet  are now giving me a massage, you’re restless, confused, AND you say things like “stealing my life?”

girl:   Yes.  and I’ve dated inappropriate International men.

me:  (stop talking for a second to catch my breath)… who?  how?  …from where?

girl:  Well, first there was the German.  It was really fun travelling around with him.   Then there was the Costa Rican foreign exchange student.  But thennnnnnn there was the Ecuadorian.  He was trouble.  But we had a good time in Argentina.

me:  (this girl is me…should I be scared?…)  I know this sounds terrible, but have you found that many of your relationships have “overlapped”  because you have mentally moved on but can’t get the guts to break it off with the other person?

girl:  Oh yea… big time.

That sealed the deal.  I was in love.  We had more things in common that I could possibly write about and we ended up talking through the entire massage… but dont’ you worry I’m a master multi-tasker, thus I was able to simultaneously relax.  I gave her my card (because obviously I can’t let this one get away)  and immediately headed over to Panera where Kenny was chillin.   I storm in, sit down and say:

me:  OK.  You’re not going to BELIEVE this!?!#$%   After all these years, I have managed to find the female equivalent of myself!

kenny:  But…. you are female.

me:  I know that I’m female.  But you’re the male equivalent of me, right?  So she’s the female. 

kenny:  Oh.  Well good for you. 

this blog has officially moved to: www.bluntdelivery.com

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I admit, I did watch the Oscars last night.  I also admit that I didn’t really pay attention since I was working on my website… but you know that you can still rely on me to bring you those diamonds in the rough, those few and far between moments, where someone got totally made fun of in an inappropriate way.   And here we have Ben Stiller ripping apart Joaquin Phoenix and making fun of his appearance on David Letterman.  [if you haven’t seen this yet, scroll down about 3 blogs and you’ll find it]   He even took out his gum and put it on the podium.  …Ugh, priceless.  

 

 

 

Then, we have my new hero, Steve Martin.  As if I didn’t love him enough already, he and Tina Fey single handedly offended half of the celebrities at the Oscars by making fun of Scientology.   Hopefully Tom Cruise wasn’t there, or his head might have exploded.

 

 

 

 

this blog has officially moved to: www.bluntdelivery.com

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annoyedI have an announcement to make:  you are all really starting to annoy me.  A hefty amount of you would have qualified to be the featured blogger, but you failed miserably to comment on all four posts.  Three, yes.  Three you could do, but four?  That’s where you lost your mind.  I only show you tough love, because I care, and I want to feature your blog.  But if you don’t want me to feature you, then whatever, I never liked you or your stupid blog anyway. 

Well, I’m happy to announce there is one strapping young lad that managed to comment properly on all blogs written this week and for that matter, every previous week since the beginning of my blogging career.  And that lad’s name is Whitty Diatribes.    Think of him as the male version of me, except a bit more brutal.  He recently gave up his lifelong struggle against starting a blog, and now has his very own, shiny new blog.

Some posts to check out:

Men Aren’t The Only Ones Who Need Advice

Public Service Announcement: You’re a Tool

Don’t make me come to your house, hose you down with cold water, and force you to watch Crossroads over and over again.  Pay your blogging friend a visit.

IMPORTANT BLOG NEWS:  I am hoping that I will have my spankin new website up by the end of this week.  WARNING:  I will no longer be the daily elephant, as previously mentioned, I cannot get the dot com.  I am almost positive that when it switches over, this blog will automatically be redirected to my new URL, but if not you know I’ll keep ya posted.  It is a PAIN starting over, but it has to be done.  I’m copying some of my favorite posts to the new site, so it won’t be naked. 

 You’re not going to abandon me because of this, are you?

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I suppose if I were conventional, I would have started the Kenny Chronicles with this post, but no such luck.  It was a cold and rainy night several years ago.  Well, I don’t know about all that, but it was night, for sure.   I went to a music festival that we have in my hometown every labor day.  It’s an event that you have no desire to attend after the age of 17, but somehow you end up going every year because someone’s dad got free tickets from their work [ or ] you’re bored out of your mind.

garbage-truckI went with my psycho British boyfriend and a guy that pretty much every person in my town either knows or “has heard of” because he’s just that absurd.  We’ll call him Joe.  Oh wait, that’s his actual name.  Oh well.  As we’re walking back to our car, this guy walks up to us, Joe turns to me and says, this is my best friend Kenny.  Shortly after that Joe started chasing one of the cleaning trucks, hopped on the back of it, and rode off into the sunset.  At that very moment, Kenny and I looked at eachother, shook our heads, and said, “Yea.  That’s about right.”  

[Skip ahead a couple of weeks]  We’re at birthday party downtown Chicago.  We ended up sleeping on the floor of one of Kenny’s friend’s apartments.  I’m not going to make any apologies for what I’m about to say: this place was a skeezy trash hole.  There was like 8 people living there and I felt like I was getting a disease just by looking at the toilet seat. 

In the morning, I rustled a little, tried to go back to sleep but I couldn’t.  I looked over at Kenny and he just had a confused look on his face.  We glanced up at the tv, and what do we see?  Gay porn.  YUP.  Apparently, one of the tenants was gay.   He wasn’t seriously watching it, he was making fun of it, but either way – Kenny and I looked at eachother and immediately said “let’s go get the car.”

I put my heels back on, which fit nicely over the massive blisters I acquired the night before and we stepped outside.  I have mascara smeared all over my face, it’s blazing hot outside, and I’m still wearing my black “going out clothes.”  It’s 10:00 am Sunday morning and we look ridiculous.  After we had walked around the city for about 20 mins, I say:

me:  wait, I think we already went passed that building.

kenny:  naw, I don’t think so.  the car is parked on the street over there.

me:  but that’s the White Hen Pantry that we saw 5 mins ago.

homeless-guy-funny-signkenny:  no, no it’s not.  they’re like on every corner here.

me:  but… WAIT! that’s the same homeless guy.  we just went in a giant circle!

kenny:  homeless guys wander around. 

me:  NO.  they stay in one spot.  wait, you don’t have any idea where the car is do you?

kenny:  well, I don’t know if you could say I have no idea, but I’m not exactly sure either.

me:  WHAT?  Well then why are we wandering aimlessly in the blazing sun when i’m tired, dehydrated, and blistery?  and i look ridiculous?   Why don’t you know where it is?  you’re the man, you’re supposed to know.

kenny:   Everything looks the same here.

 

For more chapters in the Kenny Chronicles, please check out:   How to talk yourself out of dating almost anyone,   A conversation at Starbucks,   Black Friday, depression, and a Salvation Army chair,   A bad gordita and some classy water,  and   A metrosexual in a Yankees hat

Want more blog traffic?  To qualify for this week’s contest, you must leave a comment on the following posts:  Seinfeld of Blogging,   13 yr. old dad,   The school of life: Don’t do this,   and The Kenny Chronicles: The Begininning.  Winner will be chosen Friday night.

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Ok, hop in your DeLorean. Anytime I’m writing at 3am you must expect some sort of introspecion.  A little glimpse into the past.  So strap in kids. 

delorean-back-to-the-future1

 

Waaaay back when I first started writing blogs on Myspace, (uuuggh, dad, do we have to bring that up?) I called myself:  “The Davey Crocket of Blogging –blazing trails of truth.”   For what reason, I have no clue.  Kind of like I have no clue why this is named The Daily Elephant.   

 

Back then, I was different.  You know all of  the crazy events that I casually mention on this blog from time to time?  The ones where you leave me comments and you’re all:  “what the crap.  that’s bs… that didn’t happen.”   And then I tell you, yes it did.  And then you still don’t believe me?  Well, the myspace days were when they happened.    And that is their official title in the rolodex of my life: the myspace days.  [Definition]  Myspace days = a period of 3-4 years where I lost my damned mind.

After I recovered from my trip to crazytown, I started this blog, to chronicle my extended stay there.  And can I just say, that if you are planning a trip to crazytown anytime soon – invest in some deep conditioner – cus something is up with their soft water

So here I am, back from crazytown and my blog still has no point.   It’s like the Seinfeld of blogging.   And again, I’m stuck with a retarded name that I’m not even sure how I came up with, yet I can’t even buy the domain for it cus some other idiot already did, who also has no idea what he’s gonna do with it.  I mean, if some portly guy in a ski mask held a gun to my head and asked me what my blog was about, WHAT THE HECK would I say?   I mean,  after spewing the obvious immediate response of-  “holy crap you need to get up off my grill cus I can’t concentrate like this…and seriously, I don’t know where that gun’s been.”   But after that, then what?

I got nothing.  But speaking of losing your mind… have you all see this clip of Joaquin Phoenix on Letterman because OH MY GAH is it nutty?!?   Apparently, he is giving up acting to pursue a career in Rap music.  I thought this was a publicity stunt at first, but then after closer analyzation it’s pretty clear that he’s just high.  It’s HILARIOUS!

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alfie-patten-and-chantelle-baby-moiseTHIS BLOG HAS MOVED TO www.bluntdelivery.com

HOLD. THE. PHONE. I usually don’t report news, but I have no choice but to interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you quite possibly the most disturbing, yet hilarious news you’ve heard all year.  I’d like you to meet Alfie Patten, a strapping young 13 yr. old British lad and his new baby, Maisie.  Alfie stands 4 ft tall, and when asked how he and his girlfriend would afford the baby he told The Sun, “I thought it would be good to have a baby.  We didn’t really think about how we would afford it.  I don’t really get pocket money (allowance).  My dad sometimes gives me ten bucks.”

Alfie’s dad, who sold these pictures to The Sun, says that “Alfie could have shrugged his shoulders and sat at home on his Playstation, but he’s been at the hospital every day.”   Well, sounds like he’s shaping up to become dad of the year! The baby is living with Chantelle, Alfie’s 15 yr. old girlfriend (he’s quite the ladies man) and her family of six, currently being supported by the government.  BONUS:  Alfie is allowed to “stay the night.”

Check the full article for pictures of Alfie and his girlfriend, or if you don’t believe me.  Because I almost didn’t.

Photo courtesy of  thesun.co.uk

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Now that you’ve had sufficient time to recover from your recent overdose of all things ridiculous and heart shaped… it’s time for you to pull up a seat, sharpen your pencil, steal a couple glue sticks, and grab a lunchable [or maybe some of those pre-sliced apples in the little pouches designed for the world’s laziest moms].  Please clear your mind of all recent uncomfortable encounters, romantic endeavors gone awry, and anything else that might prohibit you from fully absorbing the knowledge I’m about to impart upon you.   Open your eyes, your ears, and most importantly your hearts… because The Elephant’s School of Life is back in session.

It’s time for another installment of “What You Can Learn From My Inexcusable Mistakes”  [or]  “The Moral of The Elephant’s Story”  [or]  “Just Don’t Do This And You Should Be Ok”

1.  Don’t be scared of braces.  Because if your teeth are jacked up then you’re gonna have to deal with it at some point if you want to be socially acceptable.  Except by that time, you won’t be covered under your parent’s insurance anymore, so you’ll be out six grand and 22 with braces. 

The moral: Get over it metal face.  No one’s gonna even notice anything past the unsightly acne and oversized glasses on your face anyway.

glove-box-engagement-ring2.  Don’t start dating a psychopath, one so crazy, that you must runaway to Europe to hopefully be rid of him.  It won’t work.  He’ll come to visit you and wisk you off to Paris, where he’ll lose his wallet and force you both to wander around the red light district, all dressed up, without any money, or knowledge of the French language.   Then you’ll get all deathly ill and it will start to hail.  Unfortunately, he will still propose to you.  You’ll say no, but he’ll have you keep the ring anyway in a lame, yet crafty attempt to get you to reconsider.  But it won’t work cus you are smarter than that.  When you finally come home, you will put the ring in your glove box so that you can bring it back because you are not a gold digging whore.  However, in a random twist of fate, one of your “friends” will borrow your car and steal it before you have the chance. 

I guess there could be two  three morals here:  Don’t date a psychopath.  Or let anyone borrow your car.  Or have a glovebox.

3.  Don’t accidentally use a long distance # to connect your dad’s AOL dial-up so you can instant message your high school friends all night long.  Please understand that “FREE TRIAL” doesn’t also apply to the phone bill.  Oh sorry, that one was kind of outdated.  But I’m serious dad, I’ll cut you a check for that real soon!

4.  If you should still find yourself dating a psychopath, [even after my strong warning against doing so] don’t runaway to Europe to get rid of him.  Not only will that fail miserably, but you will end up meeting a new, even worse, British psychopath. 

The moral:  If you have the choice between foreign and domestic psychopaths, always stick with American made.  Keep American jobs here!

This blog has officially moved to: bluntdelivery.com

Who’s the Elephant?

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It just so happens that I will be introducing you to a fine, young new blog on this very historical nightmare of a day.   A big thank you to everyone who participated… but the winner of this week’s featured blog contest is:

Woman In Black

Here are a couple of her finest works to put you in the lovey dovey spirit of this wonderful day!

Why women love bastards – and how you can be one

National Carrot Day!  Celebrate with my vegetable porn

I’m sure you can tell by the titles of these posts that Woman in Black is my kind of lady, except the British version.   Yes, she is your new favorite Euro-blogger.  I truly fell in love with her when she left me this comment on my What Not To Buy For Valentine’s Day  post:

valentines-day-gift“The real St. Valentine was caught assisting Christians, taken prisoner, beaten with clubs, and finally beheaded. And if that isn’t romance enough for you, I’m not sure what is.”

Spoken like a true cynical genius.

So don’t be a dodgy blogging friend and go pay her a bloody visit cus she is as awesome as the foil chocolate rose and that giant stuffed red thing someone just gave you.

 Cheers! 

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First of all, I’m implementing a new rule here at The Daily Elephant.  And that is that you address me by my rapper name:  ‘Lil Phant.  [pronounced ‘font’] 

There are two planetary certainties which occur ever time I leave the comfort of my surroundings and venture out into the cold, harsh reality that is our world:

1. I will step in gum that I myself spat out merely five seconds prior.

2. I will have an awkward encounter with an astranged friend I haven’t seen since the late 90’s. 

talking-in-grocery-storeIf you are one of these estranged friends, I’d like to take this moment to apologize for the abrupt conversation that just took place.  Cus see, I have avoidance issues.  Simply put, I wanted to avoid you, but you made it impossible by cornering me next to the tomato sauce.  Then you prodded me with questions all interrogation style and it made me uncomfortable.  Not uncomfortable because I am afraid to discuss my life with you, but uncomfortable in the sense that you were wasting my time.  And you don’t care what I’ve been up to and I’m [hopefully] not going to see you for another decade so do we really have to do this?  Yes?    Aw, crap.

 

estranged friend: Oh hey! haven’t seen you in forever.  What on earth have you been up to?   Married?  Kids?

me:   It’s been awhile, for sure.  No.  No thanks on the married thing.  And no illegitimate children. ..

[what I’m thinking:  Well, let’s see.  I went to college after avoiding it for a solid year, then ran away to Mexico for while, changed my major 6 times because I can’t commit to anything, then moved to London and travelled the world for a little bit,  came back,  dropped out of college to open a retail store,  successfully warded off two engagements, dated a british guy who turned out to be a bajillionaire, got sick of retail store….]

me:  Yea.  Just same old.  same old…

[still thinking:  then discovered british guys like heroin, rebounded with a bipolar crazypants, stood by as all my friends got married/ knocked up/ or both, started massage therapy school for fun, dropped out of massage therapy school for fun,  worked out once, got my house and my store robbed/  my purse stolen twice/ my car broken into all within a 6 month span, lost my mind, got some stories published, bought a condo..]

me:   Yea.  nothing to report here.  You?

estranged friend:  Well, Bobby and I got married after college and we’ve got little Joshy and Abigail at home.  We’re expecting our third in the fall.  You know, I’ve been reading your blog and I love it!

me:  Oh, really?  thanks

[what I’m thinking:  crap…. crap… CRAP!!#$%^!  what did I write about her?  There had to be something.  And she has to know it’s her.  UGH  WHY can’t I just not write offensive but truthful blogs about everyone in my past?  Well, cus they provide cheap entertainment.  ….Wait.  Hold the phone.  I don’t even talk to this girl, how does she know I have a blog?  Well.   In that case, it looks like we just took a turn to creeptown  -so she deserves everything I said about her.  In fact, I think I’ll write something about this when I get home.]

me:  Alright, well, see ya in another ten years.

In conclusion, it would really help me out if anyone that I personally know would avoid reading my blog.  Because see, you are what fans the flames of this blog, for without you, I would have nothing to criticize.  Then, I could be free to use you as comic relief without fear of awkward reprecussions, and you could live your life blissfully unaware that you are the source of public mockery.

Today is the last day to enter my totally rad featured blog contest!  To quality for this week, you must leave a comment on this post, and on each of these:

Skeezy ‘R Us

I’m just not that into him

What not to buy for Valentine’s day

Want more traffic?  Let me feature your blog

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Dearest lovebirds of all shapes and sizes,

With the corniest scam holiday of the year fastly closing in on us, I thought I’d take the opposite approach to many websites, which list “good” Valentines Day gift ideas.  This could be because I hate Valentines Day.  Or that I take the opposite approach to just about everything.   If you could just hold on for one quick sec, while I finish this box of ice cream.   Much appreciated.

This post is strictly for the males out there, as you know,  I’ve always got your back.   I suggest you brace yourselves cowboys – because there’s a fierce wind coming your way and it’s about to blow your friggen mind.

vermont-teddy-bear-bandit-bear1.  Stuffed animals.  Whether it be a GIANT red atrocity from the Walmart candy aisle or a Vermont Teddy Bandit bear, you are not to buy us any form of a stuffed animal.  Nevermind the bombardment of commercials tell you that this is a good idea, it’s a glitch in the Matrix.  It isn’t cute.  We aren’t going to sleep with it every night.  It won’t remind us of how much we love you, but rather the dilemma we face over where we can possibly place a  GIANT-bright-red-stuffed bear that doesn’t match anything.  Nothing

Exceptions: You are dating a 9 year old. 

2. Lotion sets.  Alright, how much lotion do you think we need exactly?  We’re already trying to rotate the twelve lotion sets we have from the past four Christmas, birthdays, Valentines Days, Flag days, and that bout with pneumonia  – none of which we even like the smell of to begin with.  Unfortunately, we won’t allow ourselves to throw away perfectly good lotion -so we are forced to hoard them in misery.

Exceptions:  You are dating someone with incurable dry skin.  An aligator, perhaps.

pajamagram3. Pajama-grams.  First of all, what just happened?  Second of all, no.  Do you really think we want something from a company that says “this is the only gift guaranteed to get her clothes off”…..?  This is the worst thing you could EVER think of getting a woman.  Not only are these pajamas guaranteed to be butt ugly and itchy, but they come with additional accessories like “do not disturb” signs and flowered sachets.  gag.

Exceptions:  She is homeless and has nothing else to wear.

Guys, avoid these things along with anything that can be purchased from Walgreens of CVS and you should be alright.  For the most part.

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So if there’s one thing that might force me to relinquish all respect for my mother, it would be that she loves Neil Diamond.   And black licorice.   Both, unforgivable offences.  If you didn’t know, Neil made a guest appearance on tonight’s Grammies.  I wasn’t warned of this, obviously.   This  gave me no choice but to switch to Bravo, where they were playing The Real Housewives of Orange County rerun-marathon that I now have memorized, which gave me no choice but to mute it and write this blog.

he_s_just_not_that_into_you_movie_image_jennifer_connelly__jennifer_anistonI went and saw the movieHe’s Just Not That Into You on Friday.  I have been living in anxious anticipation of this movie since I first picked up the book – one of three that I’ve actually read in my life.  While I was watching it, I couldn’t help but reminisce on all of the unfortunate male mishaps I’ve had in my life, which there is not enough available space left on the internet to fully chronicle.    

Guys:  this post is for your benefit.  Just know if you do any of these things, no girl will ever be that into you.

1.  White-tiger-internet-guy.   Okay, so, remember when you were much younger and much stupider, and you and your friends put your profile on a dating site for the heck of it?  And then out of nowhere some guy actually contacted you and wanted to meet forreal?  And then you were super freaked out, but didn’t know how to turn him down?  Oh, just me.  Well, as the stars would have it, a charming young man would invite me to coffee.  In the course of casual emailing, I had mentioned that I always wanted a pet white tiger.  That may not be something that usually ever  comes up in your casual conversations, but it would if you were talking to me.  So I arrive, at a well-lit, public place (I was stupid, but cautious)  and waddya know the moment I sit down, he hands over a stuffed white tiger.  Okay.

dont. ever. do. that.

You better believe that one of my family members had a life-threatening emergency about 10 mins after he handed over the animal.

2. Underware-model-Wrigley-field-guy.  I’m sure there’s alot of people who may over look certain flaws or potential sources of conflict in a relationship if the person is strikingly gorgeous or from a famous family.  This would be underware model wrigley field guy.  Indeed, nice to look at.  Indeed, of noble blood.  But let’s just make something drastically clear: if you check your reflection in a car window or talk about water weight on a regular basis – we’re just not going to last.  An instant snapshot of our granola and jogging filled future popped into the forefront of my mind, and it was over.

3.   Italian-gold-chain-guy.   I love Italians.  But as soon as they leave Italy, something just goes haywire.  I myself, am Italian – but not that Italian.   Orazio was his name.  Orazio was one of the sweetest people on earth.  He had a good job, and was to inherit his dad’s uber successful business.  He opened doors, pulled out chairs, held the umbrella…all that good, but uneccessary stuff.  But this poor guy was just too Italian.  He wore a gold chain.  And as soon as my eyes caught the first gleam of that blinding light, it was the beginning of the end.

This is a pretty funny video entitled:  “10 chick flick cliches that aren’t in He’s Just Not That Into You”

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pervert1Recently, I was recruited by someone to put my freelance writing profile on IList.com.  Because I’m awesome, and for no other reason.  Don’t worry, the place is legit, it’s like a craigslist of sorts.  I checked it out and I thought, well since they had already set up everything for me and I only had to put in my web address – ok, fine.  Any more work than that and this elephant would have went right back to bed.  No longer than  12 hrs. after I listed my profile, I get this exact email to my personal address:

 

_____________________________
Yo!  I saw your writing ad on Ilist…. and I was wondering if you were open to anything other than “work”?  You’re REALLY cute and I’d like know something about you. You’re lookin’ damn sexy in those tight jeans!
‘Write’ on!!……………………………

Please reply to me at this address.

Phillip
____________________________
So, I thought given the extreme intelligence of this person to email me in attempt to lure me into some kind of perverted cyber relationship, when he was reading a listing for a freelance WRITER,  I thought I’d post it here for everyone to enjoy.  Along with his real email. 
 
On that note, I’d like to say a big “thank you” to Phillip over at Skeezy ‘R US, because I was totally at a loss of what to write about tonight.

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Senseless Jewels!

winnerKids, I want you to break off a piece of my shag rug, form a circle, and listen carefully to the words I’m about to say.   I’d like to introduce you to Julie of Senseless Jewels, winner of my featured blog contest.   If loving Julie is wrong, then you don’t wanna be right because this is one blog you’re going to love.  Now, now everyone, be good blogging friends and pay her a visit.

Check out a few of my favorite posts:

They’re Baaaack  

A Hypothesis, Experiment, and Conclusion

p.s.  I know that I just said Julie is the next best thing since grated parmesan, but don’t ever make Julie the winner of anything.   She is a BAD blog contest winner and did not tell me her her favorite posts, so I took it upon myself to list my favorites.   But that’s the elephant for you, always stepping up to the plate. 

This week’s contest starts today, so leave some comment love.

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Please keep in mind that I sold my only quasi-useable camera on Ebay recently.  And please keep in mind that I took these pictures with my the ancient Polaroid digital that my dad bought me in Italy in order to dry up the river of tears that I shed when I was standing in front of the Colloseum and my camera just decided to break.  So this camera’s been all over the world and back, and I’m surprised it still turned on. 

I want to thank all of you that participated in the contest this week.  I compiled all of the names of those who qualified and although I didn’t have a hat, I did fold them up and put them in a Victoria Secret shopping bag. 

blogging-contest-winner

Then, in a very scientific manner, I sent them off to the accounting firm Pricewaterhouse Coopers, where they drew a name.  And the winner is….

blogging-contest 

Julie, please email me at info@wordsbybrit and let me know if there are any posts you would like me to highlight.. I’ll feature your blog tomorrow.

This blog has officially moved to: bluntdelivery.com

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ATTENTION: If you want me to feature your blog Saturday, then this is your last chance to enter for this week.  You must have left a comment on each of my posts since last friday (not including this one), which include:

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Superbowl Psychoanalysis: the yellow team won

The Kenny Chronicles: A metrosexual and a Yankees hat

What women really want

the-daily-elephant-contest2The deadline is friday night 10:00 central time, cus that’s where I’m at baby.   I will draw names from a hat (not Kenny’s hat) and then contact you sometime after that.   And since you won’t believe me, I will even take pictures of myself drawing names and somehow turn it into a lame blog post.   Man, I make things so easy for you.  Plus I’m handing out reminders… what am I your mom?  what am I an elementary school teacher?  

What’s next, a glass of milk and a nilla wafer?

Did I even mention what’s at stake?  You get to put this cool thing on your website if you want.  $%^&@!

 

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when-harry-met-sally-billy-crystal

 

 

Harry:  “You were going to be a gymnast.”

Sally:  “A journalist.”

Harry: “Right, that’s what I said.”

 

 

 

Guys, if you’ve ever been perplexed and confounded by the ways of women, I understand.  I do.  Although I might be one, I only understand our ways about 45% of the time.   But within that 45% of understanding, I am going to try to share this secret knowledge with all of you poor, pathetic, and tortured souls out there.  Of course, the degree at which you need to execute the following steps varies drastically from one woman to the next, so in that aspect you’re on your own.

1.  We want you to be nice.  But we don’t.  If you’re too nice to us then we will slowly grow to hate you.  And by hate, I mean lose all repect for and view you as a pushover who can only be considered a good friend.

2. We want you to pay attention to usBut not too much attention.  This is a very important one because if you don’t give us attention when we need it [aka when other attractive girls are around or when we’re crying about something ridiculous] then it’s done.  But if you get all clingy on a daily basis when we just want some FRIGGEN SPACE for the love of everything then it’s also over.

pouty-face3.  We want you to give us our way.  But not all the time.  See, if you don’t ever give us our way then you’re a cold-hearted, insensitive, selfish bastard.  But if you give us our way all the time then you’re not enough of a man to be worthy of our respect.   And most likely, you’d be an awful father who’d let the kids do whatever they want just because they make that pouty face.

Stay tuned for the second intallment of what women want.  I’ll be bringing that to you as soon as I figure it out myself.

this blog has officially moved to: www.bluntdelivery.com

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42-15251969If you’ve read any of my previous posts regarding my best friend Kenny, you’ll be not so surpised to hear that he is indeed a metrosexual.  And when I say metrosexual, I mean he’s one manbag away from starring in an Off-Broadway musical and getting regular pedicures – except he likes the ladies.   When I say metro, I mean that he doesn’t comprehend the words “just throw on some clothes and meet me at the bookstore.”    This could be what I love most about him.  He comes with all the glorious benefits of a girlfriend,   but I don’t have to be tormented witless by the catty moodswinging madness.  Drama, yes.  He does have that.  But at least not between us.  Indirect drama I can handle.

So Kenny is one of these people who says he’ll meet you at noon, but by the time he gets done tweaking his hair, changing his outfit five times, and analyzing his level of winter “paleness” sufficiently – it’s over.  The moment has passed and I’m in my PJ’s, watching reruns of Family Matters.  Maybe it was the massive amount of whining I’ve done over the years, or maybe he just got sick of all the hassle -but Kenny decided he was going to become “I don’t care” casual.  Of course, the effort involved in Kenny trying to look like he doesn’t care, takes an awful lot of caring.

  [ Cut to conversation at my house]:

Kenny walks in…

me:  what?  why are you wearing a baseball cap?

kenny:  It’s the new, casual- I -don’t-care Kenny.    [points to hat]    what do you think?

me:  it looks weird.

kenny:  like, weird different or weird ugly?

me:  like, weird i’ve-never-seen-you-in-a-hat -ever-weird.   and a baseball cap?  I need to sit down.

kenny:  I searched for weeks to find just the right one that would look good on my head.

me:  the reason guys wear baseball caps is so they can disguise their unshowered hair.   it’s not supposed to look perfect on your head.   and it’s a Yankees hat.  Do you even know who the Yankees are?

kenny:  yea, they’re a baseball team.

me:  You could have at least gotten a Cubs hat.  That would have made more sense.

kenny:  yea, but my other friend got the Cubs one, I can’t have the same one.

me:  everyone has a Cubs hat – we live next to Chicago.

abercrombie-sweatshirt-menskenny:  well I like this one, it looks good on me. 

me:  wait…. hold the phone.  is that a SWEATSHIRT you’re wearing?

kenny:  yea. 

me:  huh, i actually like it.  looks good on you. 

kenny:  yea, it’s a fitted one.  i got it at Abercrombie. 

me:  ok, you’re already caring too much about not caring.  it’s not your thing.

For more in the Kenny Chronicles:

How to talk yourself out of dating almost anyone

A Conversation at Starbucks 

Black Friday, depression, and a Salvation army chair

A Bad Gordita and Some Classy Water

 

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[BTW this post is not included in the contest – you do not need to leave a comment to qualify]

the-bachelor-jason-mesnick

Tonight on ABC’s The Bachelor, Jason Mesnick brings the ladies back to Seattle to show them his hometown.  He’ll go on two one-on-one dates and one group date that gets a little uncomfortable when the ladies are drilled by some radio station hosts.   Only one poor bachelorette won’t be introducing Jason to their family… find out who.  Check out my recap tonight on Realitytvmag.com

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Superbowl Sunday.  Afternoon.  Conversation:

him:  I have to pick up some pop for the superbowl party later.

me:  We’re going to a superbowl party?

him:  Yea, I told you that.

me:  What?  I’m not so sure about that. 

him:  I did.  You don’t remember.

me:  No, I wasn’t listening.  Well, I didn’t know that was today.  What’s the date today?

him:  It’s February 1st.

me:  WHAT?  SONOFA  #$%^!   That means my $10 off Gordmans coupon expired.   DANGIT!!!!!

him: So I have to get pop.

me:  Well, what are my chances of getting out of going cus I have alot of crap to do?

him:  About as good as my chances of getting a back rub tonight.

me:  But what if I’m suuuuper tired? 

him:   ….

me:  Well that’s some b.s. right there.  You know how I get sick when I’m sleep deprived.

him:  Well good thing you work from HOME.  Sleep in.   Clearly, you need to get out of the house, you didn’t know what day it was. 

[cut to three hours later at the Superbowl party……..]

Steelers Cardinals Football

 me:  so who’s playing anyway?

him:   Steelers and the Cardinals.

me:  Ok, well, I hate yellow so on principle I have to hope the red team wins.

him:  Good, we want the red team to win.

me:  and have you ever smelt pittsburg?  seriously. what a crap hole.

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