The best website of your life

Well, it’s one month shy of my first post here at The Daily Elephant.   I would like to say a big thank you to all of you out there who actually take time out of your extremely busy lives [or so you say..] to read about my ridiculous life.  It has been my pleasure to get to know you all.  As much as I’ve loved my big, oversized, wrinkly elephant skin, – I need some space to breathe.  You know how I get restless.

The time has come to announce my new website, and I thank you for your patience.  Oh wait, you were a bunch of crazy LUNATICS continually griping in my ear everyday. 

I want you to know that in this era of social networking, twittering, and myspacing that YOU are the first ones to know about this wonderous new development.  And let me tell you something, you better come visit me cus that blog is nekkid!!!  And no,  it’s not the kind of nekkid you’d be excited about.   I spend countless hours copying some of my favorite blogs onto the new website so it wouldn’t be empty and now there are ZERO comments.  It’s as if I have the most hated blog on the planet.  Boo hoo.  First one to comment wins… uh… my heart? 

We all know that I’m challenged when it comes to things like choosing names, significant others, or things from the dollar menu.  So you can IMAGINE the heartache I suffered over the name of my new website.  Afterall, I’m pretty hard to please and I’d like to be happy with this for more than a year.  So I thought long and hard about the general nature of my blogs and conversations with friends.  And one thing kept coming to mind- I’m very direct.  And I like it that way.  And I like others to be that way with me.   So I present to you my new website, designed by yours truly:

***FAVOR:  All of you that have The Daily Elephant listed on your blog roll, could you pretty pretty please change that to bluntdelivery.com???  I will love you forever.

And just for that, I have some fabulous new blogs for you right at the top of the pile, including: 

A Post-it Would Have Been Better

Middle School Misfortune

Nitemare on Ex Street

I Dated A Slumdog Millionaire

Not to mention that there is now a picture up of Kenny and I from the actual night in question from my post The Kenny Chronicles: How We Met

BOO-YA!  Told you I’d have it up by today.  There’s all sorts of new things for you to feast your eyes on, so you’ll have to look through the categories.  I am also introducing THE SKINNY, which is where I’ll be telling you the deal about products, websites, and things that will either revolutionize or destroy your life.

See ya around kids.

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A Massage and Some Therapy

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:

me:  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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The Seinfeld of Blogging

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. 

 

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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The School of Life: Don’t do this

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.

2.  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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I’m just not that into him

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.

I went and saw the movie “He’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”

Want more blog traffic?  Let me feature your blog

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Groundhog day and a blogging contest

“Okay, campers.  Rise and shine and don’t forget your booties cus it’s coooooooold out there.”

While watching one of my favorite movies of all time – Groundhog Day [starring my boyfriend Bill Murray], I felt a calling upon my life.  If you haven’t seen the movie, I suggest you do that and then come back here to read the piece of wisdom which I have extracted from it.

If anyone’s life is like groundhog day, it’s totally mine.  I do the same thing every day.  Every freakin day.  I roll out of bed and sit down at my computer, oftentimes,  without even getting so much as a sip of water or a box of ice cream.   Many times, I do not even have to get out of bed because  I simply grab my laptop off my nightstand and start my day.  

My blog is also in a rut.  A rut of awesomeness.   Just kidding.  My readership is actually growing at an increasingly fast rate, which excites me, yes.  Thank you to all you people who find comic relief at my expense.  I’ve noticed something though.  I have quite a few blog stalkers.  Yes, stalkers.  You people who lurke around but leave no trace of your presence. 

This brings me to my next point.  There are quite a few of you out there who have some good blogs and/or websites.  So good, in fact, that I would like to tell the world about them.   Alot of you have asked about advertising, but since I’m not going to do any advertising until I switch to a website, I am going to do one featured blog or website every Friday.  What does that mean for you?  More readers, more exposure, and the recommendation of a widely respected Elephant.  I have the uncanny ability to persuade people that said item [insert: blog, movie, dairy product] will change their life.

How do I qualify to be the featured blog?  

Well, I’m going to lay out the complete details in my next blog.  But basically, I’m not gonna make it hard on you.  If you want to be considered for featured blogger or website, you must leave a comment on each post that week.  I will randomnly choose one from all who qualify.   Obviously. I can only choose one per week, so keep trying and eventually you’ll get your turn.   Leaving comments is basically like entering the contest, but if you didn’t know, leaving comments actually boosts your search engine rankings.  Yes, it is true my children.  The more you leave links to your blog the more clout your blog gets in google’s eyes.   So be ye not lazy. [if you don’t have a webite, but have something else you would like me to promote then that is fine]

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The WTF blanket

[OR The Secret to Financial Freedom]

When all you do is write for a living, you become a hermit by default.  When I say hermit, I mean that I’m skeptical as to whether or not my car will even start due to how long it’s been sitting in my garage.   Between the endless writing and working on my new business [which I hope to launch in the Spring but will not announce because as soon as there is a deadline I will crack under the pressure that only I have imposed upon myself]  I have no choice but to sit in front of a computer all day, unshowered and in sweats. 

It’s really okay though, for I have found the secret to financial freedom is in not going anywhere.  It’s 99.2% affective that you will not spend money if you don’t leave your house.   I say 99.2% because there are those of you out there who will find ways to scam the system and buy things via the internet or Home Shopping Network.  In which case, you are a lost cause anyway because you are attracted to things like Snuggies  (or as the YouTube video below refers to them – the WTF blanket) and ShamWows.  There is no hope of you ever saving money when you buy crap like that.  Enjoy your lifetime of financial ruin.

 

Today, I reached the breaking point;  the point at which I had no choice but to leave the “den” as my friends lovingly refer to it.  And I say lovingly because they too LOVE the den.  There’s something magical about my room that forces people to be lazy, maybe it’s the fact that I allow nothing other than ambient lighting.  In fact, I don’t think any of my friends have sat on my couch.  As soon as they enter the door, they head straight for the bed, where they can be assured to view mindless daytime TV, feast on an assortment of leftover holiday chocolates conventiently located on the nightstand, and check this blog from my laptop to see how I embarrassed them recently.  When you enter my life as an acquaintance or luckier yet a friend, you run the risk of me publicizing your life in any way I see fit.  And usually, the way I see fit is to make a mockery out of it.   OK.  Will you stop distracting me?   Anyway, today I realized that I’d eaten everything in my fridge except a very questionable  rotten pomegranite and some Ferro Rocher’s in the shape of a Christmas Tree.   I had to leave.

So I went to the grocery store and just as I suspected, I spent money.  If I would have just stuck to my plan I’d still be on top of the game.   So now that I have offically conducted a double blind experiement of my hypothesis, I will be re-writing this cost saving plan into an e-book, which will be available for purchase on my website.

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Like sands through the hourglass…

So are the days of my existence.

[ I have gotten alot of  questions lately on whether my blogs are just stories, or if they are actually things that happened in my life.  I understand why you may think that they are made up.  I do.  But unfortunately for me, they are not.]

So go  grab any flavor of Sun Chips (of course, you’ll be hard pressed to find ranch around here because that is some nasty crap), turn on some smooth jazz (I feel my blogs read best when set to this type of music),  open your minds (and your hearts), and grab a seat in this virtual conference center because it’s time for a little Q&A with the Elephant.

• Why do you call yourself the elephant? 

Well, I came up with a ton of clever and amazingly witty blog names.  Unfortunately, so did all of the other people who had already taken them. So then I just tried to think of something NO ONE would ever want or have.  Well I did.  But now, I don’t even want it because, seriously, what kind of a name is The Daily Elephant?  Plus, I get bored easily.  Which means, eventually, I will completely rename this when I convert to a real website.

• When you were 18, did you really empty out your savings account and fly to Mexico with a girl that you knew for only 5 days?

The way you word that it makes me sound so irresponsible.  And yes, I did.  And we lived in a dorm in the mountains, (in Veracruz) where I accidentally used the water to brush my teeth and got amoebic dysentery.  Thats what I get for heeding the advice of my dentist.  I spent my days trying to teach the locals how to say Walmart (which was endlessly amusing and futile since they can’t pronounce the letter “W”), and having random people with Virgin Mary statues on their dashboards take us to see various pyramids and Mayan ruins.  There was one picture in that entire dorm and it was of Charlie Chaplin.

• Did you really drop out of college?  did Bill Gates drop out of college?
• And massage therapy school?   does your mom make a mean casserole?
• And every other program you’ve ever started?   does the sight of Neil Diamond send shivers down my spine?

• Why do you hate Neil Diamond so much?

Please refer to 9 Reasons to Hate Neil Diamond (if you don’t already)

• Who is Kenny from “The Kenny Chronicles?”

Kenny is the fake name for my best guy friend.  He’s the marshmallow in my hot chocolate.  

• Did you really go to school in London and end up meeting a Britsh guy who moved to America for you and then turned out to be a multi-millionaire / heroin addict?

Seriously, what is this the Spanish Inquisition?  I’m sorry,  I don’t understand the question. 

• Did your “too-italian” ex-boyfriend really coerce you to enter a beauty pageant for scholarship money?

Wait, we haven’t talked about that yet.

• But why would he do that when you can’t sing, dance,  play an instrument, have no hand-eye coordination or experience, and hate beauty pageants?

That’s a good observation.  And probably why I dumped him on top of the Eiffel Tower.

You seem to dump alot of guys.  Do you just happen upon inappropriate men, or do you suffer from a fear of committment?

You must be new here.

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Why I’m screwed up

The problem with me is I had a great childhood. 

 

This is a bittersweet  fact of my life, as now I have nothing to blame my issues on.  My mom wasn’t a career obsessed, impossible to please crazypants, who tried to force me into childhood beauty pageants and acting classes so that she could live out her dreams.  She was actually a stay at home mom, who had cookies and a plate of assorted cheeses waiting for me every day after school.

 

 

 

 My dad wasn’t in the slammer after various robbery attempts, therefore prompting me to search for love in all the inappropriate places because I suffered from daddy abandonment issues.   Instead, he sat through the intolerable rehashing of my entire school day each night after dinner, when I would give him a plethora of “homework assignments” to be handed in the next night. 

But can I just say that it’s pretty sad when you can’t pass a spelling test given to you by your 7 year old daughter.

My brother, on the other hand, he was the thorn in my rose garden of a chidhood.  He never once in all my living days:  a) talked to me, or b) let me so much as walk in the same vicinity of his Nintendo.  Although deeply scarring, I don’t feel that I can justify blaming all of my insanity upon him.   Ugh. 

By the way, Who’s the elephant?

www.wordsbybrit.com

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I owe alot to you Al

I was just thinking about how I’m staring at this little  piece of whatever and that I am connected to everyone in the world and IT BLEW MY MIND.  And although I might not always ever want or care to know that you are currently “writing thank you notes” or “baking cookies with your sister-in-law”  – it’s nice to know that I am able to access that kind of information if need be. 

And all I have to say is, thank you, Al.  Thank You. 

 

By the way, Who’s the elephant?

www.wordsbybrit.com

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My lemonade stand can beat up your lemonade stand

My entrepreneural spirit and business savvy disposition began at an extremely young age.  Younger than most. 

I remember waking up at 5 am., walking over to my neighbor’s  house, and telling him that he needed to get his butt in gear and come help me make the cranberry juice.  (neither of our moms ever had lemonade, so we had to improvise)   I didn’t even realize at the time that I was not only providing a cool and inexpensive beverage on a scorching day, but also a lifetime of antioxidants and healthy bladders.  Don’t feel bad as you start to think back on your own childhood.  It’s not your fault.  I was just so much more advanced than you were.  I think it had something to do with my mom not sending me to kindergarten.

I could have just stopped with the cranberry juice, as that would have been enough for any seven year old to offer, but it wasn’t enough for me.  So we would walk out to my parents garden and gather the equivalent of a children’s farmer’s market worth of assorted foods for our customers.   And if that weren’t enough to set up on some sawhorses and an old board at the end of my parent’s driveway, I also busted out the entire candy shop that I had set up in my closet. 

 

 

It was always round about noon, when it would occur to me that a bunch of candy in glass canisters sitting directly in the sun was not such a good idea. 

And it was about three yrs later, when it would occur to me that my business venture would have been much more successful had I not lived on a

dead end street in the middle of the absolute nowhere.  

 By the way, Who’s the elephant?

www.wordsbybrit.com

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Pomegranites are the new orange

Unfortunately, pomegranites are also the new disfunctional relationship.  We sense there’s something worthwhile deep down inside, but there’s just to much crap to go through in order to get to it.

But we’ll still try.  God knows, until we are old, grey, and in a mental institution…we will still try.

www.wordsbybrit.com

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Why my shrink sucked

I remember the first time I went to a shrink.  My boyfriend at the time insisted I go since I was making him go.  The difference between him and I was that he was a bipolar crazypants and I was an innocent bystander to his madness.  But being the five-star girlfriend I was,  I went anyway.  As long as he was paying for it. [because are you kidding me? I don’t just have piles of gold bricks at my disposal to pay for pity counselling to oblige my soon to be ex-boyfriend] 

[And I say soon-to-be because what am I?  A saint?]

After the first five minutes, the counselor [she was a female, so…counselorette?]  basically reiterated everything I had been stressing my parents out about for years.  She told me I was a perfectionist and people pleaser.  And then she asked me why I was like that. 

And then I told her that’s what I was supposedly paying her for.  my boyfriend was supposedly paying her for.

And then I left her.

And then my boyfriend suggested couples counselling.

And then I left him.

www.wordsbybrit.com

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I was told there’d be cake

Today, I conquered the world.   Or so it seemed.  Granted, my own imaginary world, where only I exist, but it was still something to behold.  It started with me actually prying myself from the computer which I have been diligently placed in front of for the better half of a month.  First, I returned the dvd’s which had been patiently awaiting next to my door since New Year’s Eve.

  Then, I mailed three books that I sold on Amazon two weeks ago, but agreed to ship within 2 business days.  After this, followed a triumphant moment in which I deposited my check from Chicken Soup for the Soul.  Triumphant only to me, I realize.  Then, as I was driving home, I attempted to read the book that was glaring up at me from my passenger seat. 

<—–not me, but a good likeness on any given day.

I think I’ve made it clear before that I don’t read books.  And that still holds true, except in the event I find a book that offers me some sort of meaningless and hilarious commentary.  Books which have fit into this category include: 

Couplehood by Paul Riser,  Sein Language by Jerry Seinfeld, and He’s Just Not That Into You by [whatever guy helped write Sex and the City].  That’s about it.  Of all the stacks of amazing books that I own, these are the only ones I have actually cracked open.  Add to that list: I Was Told There’d Be Cake by Sloane Crosley.   With a title like that, you can imagine why I was willing to risk my life  [and the lives of several others] today in order to read the first paragraph.

Exciting things happening in the Elephant’s life these days.  New clients, a new business on the rise, and most excitingly I’m starting to take this whole book writing thing more seriously.  The problem is with creative people is that we have TOO many ideas.  Know what I mean?  The thought of choosing one, just one measley little topic to write a book on is the most daunting challenge I can imagine.  Which is exactly why I’m not doing it.  I’ve come to the conclusion that my book will be:  a) non-fiction of course;  b) non-serious of course;  c) either short stories or essays compiled with some cohesive theme.   Choosing that theme will probably take another couple years… yea. 

 

Okay, so I really didn’t get anywhere today.

www.wordsbybrit.com

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Cheers to ending your crappy relationship

So I was at Target yesterday, browsing through the dollar spot, when I picked up a snazzy ’09 desk calendar for myself.  It was right about then, that I realized the time is fastly approaching. ..

 A New Year.  A clean slate.  A fresh start.  Full of endless possibility and golden opportunity.  I don’t really believe in resolutions, but I do believe that you should take a moment to stop.  think.  and analyze your life over the past year.   And while you’re analyzing, you should also stop and realize that all that clean slate talk is nothing but a smelly pile of B.S.  I mean, that DUI is gonna ride your coattails right on into the New Year hunny. Sorry for the blunt delivery.

On a serious note, I think you should all take a moment to think about the relationship you are currently in.  I have compiled a list of common relationship classifications so that you can easily identify which one you have.  Then you can take appropriate action.

Relationships come in all shapes and sizes and the only thing that is consistent is the inconsistency [and the huge suitcase of issues that moves in with them and their inability to pick up their own socks.]  In my expert experience, these unions can be defined in a couple different ways:

1. The Rite of Passage Relationship: “You couldn’t be more wrong for me, but I’m still going to let you suck the life out of me until I have nothing left to give because I enjoy a challenging project.” (see footnote a)

2. The We’ve Been Together Waaay Too Long Relationship: “I’m pretty sure this has no potential of going anywhere meaningful, but we’re both too lazy and unconfrontational- so let’s just forget to break up and be eternally unsatisfied, sound good?”  (see footnote b)

3. The I Deserve Better, Yet I Don’t Relationship:  “You treat me like crap.  I like to complain about it to everyone, but for some reason I never leave you.  In fact, I’m so desperately and completely in unrequited love with you that I am satisfied with being the object of your un-affection until you ultimately dump me.  After that occurs, I will shed rivers of big, fat, elephant tears.  And eat myself ugly.”  (see footnote c)

4. The Biological Clock is Ticking/ If I Don’t Have Kids Soon My Mom Will Lose All Reason To Live Relationship:  “Alright.  This is as good as it’s gonna get.  courthouse or vegas?”  (see footnote d)

*footnote a).  this type of relationship is a rite of passage for every woman on earth.  some will learn.  others will continue to fall into this trap until they either despise men and resort to lesbianism, OR they snap one day and go on a shooting spree.

*footnote b). this is a common result of a long high school relationship, in which the person to whom you were originally attracted has now grown up into an entirely different person.  unfortunately, both parties will be too lazy and comfortable to end it, so they will go on to have a miserable existence.

*footnote c).  this person could very well be an attention -seeking, insecure individual with daddy issues.  OR it could be every girl i’ve ever known.

*footnote d).  hopefully, these two love eachother, but this is not a guarantee.  other possible factors leading to marriage could include but are not limited to – loneliness, peer pressure, a bad experience on Match.com, and the desperate need for a second income.

So unless you want to travel down the long, bleak road to a loveless future – by all means, end your crappy relationship!

www.wordsbybrit.com

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How to live the best fake life you can imagine

So the other day I wander into the Salvation Army.  Why?  Because it’s across the street from where I work.  And because I’m looking for some props for a photo shoot.  Ok.  And because I’m poor.  Why do our conversations always consist of you making me feel like crap? 

Anyway, WHY i went there isn’t what’s important Inspector Gadget.  As I’m strolling around and sifting through the ginormous pile of other people’s crap, I am taken aback by the smell of mildew and grandmas.  I find a couple of cool lamps, a chair, and some other random things that might be useful for my plans.    I started to walk over to the book section, just to see if i could find some good looking books, and what happened next was completely out of my control;  thus, I do not take responsibility whatsoever.  [much like with everything in my life] 

So I’m standing there staring at a huge wall of books and so I start doing what any person such as myself would do: peeling off all the sleeves to see if there are any books that match the colors in my living room and/or office area (they’re only a buck, and how can you ever have enough?).  In case I haven’t mentioned it, I collect books.  No, not antique ones, or special ones, or limited editions – just ones that match my color scheme.   I don’t actually read them, so much as I  admire them on my shelves and let them give the impression to all the world that I am mind-blowingly intelligent.  Because in all actuality, I hate to read.  And queue the following conversation between you and I:

you:  but, wait, weren’t you an English major?

me:  why, yes.  yes i was.

you: isn’t that kind of a weird choice of major for someone who doesn’t like to read?

me:  why yes.  yes it is.

you:  so how did you get through that if you hate to read?

me:  well, first I used cliffs notes and then i just quit.

you: oh.  so this all goes back to you being a loser then?

me:  wait, what?  how are you cutting me down again? this is a hypothetical conversation!

Alright, so to recap:  I like pretty books to put on my pretty shelves for my big, fat, fake life.  okay?  I can’t get enough.  So as I’m browsing the books, this man comes running down the ramp and says “wow, $0.10 a book today, can’t beat that huh?”  To which my response was “you’ve GOT to be kidding me!”  No.  folks, this was no joke.  Immediately, I started stockpiling them.   As I am racing to tear off every book sleeve possible before they closed, i am distracted by the following conversation between him and i:

book man:  find anything interesting?

me:  uh not really.  i mean, i really don’t care what they say.

book man:  (takes out a little gadget and scans a book)  well, i’m actually in the book business.  I sell used books.  This one is worth $94.00.  Anything I can help you find?

me:  well, i’m just looking for certain colors.  I only need them for my fake life.

book man:  (just laughing hysterically and sort of staring in awe) 

me:  ( after ten minutes of conversation and filling up TWO carts of books) ….well, I think this is all I can fit in my car, but i got some really good ones. 

book man:  Well good.  good for you.  it was nice meeting you.  you are a very unique and interesting woman. 

….And when i got home I sorted all 52 books into piles by color on my ottoman and sat down on my couch to stare at the victory I had just won.  As I was staring, I realized that now my own living room had acquired the smell of mildew and grandmas.  But it was worth it, all $5.41.

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BUSTED! By the Too Cool Police

In this day and age of nuclear weapons, off shore drilling, going green, and kindergarten sex education, I’d like to take a moment of your time to address something that really matters:  birth control. gun control. mind control.  self control.  … naw.  nothing to do with control, it sounds so communisty.  But since you brought up control, why did 574 of you search my site for keyword “hitler” yesterday?   Do I have a bunch of creeptowns stalking my site now?  Anyway, I would like introduce you all to the Too Cool Police.  They are here to keep our streets safe and clean from all the ridiculousness that this world has to offer.  You never know when they might show up in a neighborhood near you and bust someone you love.  So please, be on your best behavior… and don’t do anything too cool.

The School of Too Cool is back in session and some of you have important lessons to learn… 

1.  Big freakin Spoilers. You’ve all pulled up next to one of them at some point.  You’ve been blinded by the light of their rims.  You’ve watched them peel off in their Pontiac Sunfire like they actually have something important waiting for them on the other side of that stoplight.  I’m not going to ask the ever-obvious question  “who in the H do you think you are?”  But seriously?  And it’s not only bad enough that you have something so insanely unexcusable attached to your trunk, but it’s attached to a Sunfire. 

 

 

Sentence:  You are charged with never-ending acts of disturbing the peace of drivers-by. You are also charged with obstructing the view of birds and small planes. You will be forced to forfeit your license until you reach retirement age and purchase a spoiler-less caddy or towncar.

2. Chinese tatoos.  Sorry, maybe you didn’t get the memo… but not only was the world SO over these before they began, but they are also incredibly too cool!  If you don’t speak Chinese, and neither do any of us – then your tatoo is utterly pointless.  Perhaps you are seeking the attention that it brings when we are forced to ask you, “oh wow, what do all those scratch marks mean?”  and you say something like, “it says the power of the mind overcomes the power of the body”  or some crap like that.

Sentence: You will be serving a 1 year sentence in a Chinese prison.  That way perhaps you can actually learn the language that you have graffitied all over yourself.  After you get scorned continuously for actually having something on your arm that has nothing to do with peace or power, but rather the fact that you are an ugly bald guy with man boobs, you may return home via paddleboat.

 

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Let’s ride this Gazelle into the sunset, Tony.

So I finally broke down and bought cable.  Needless to say, other than HGTV [which teaches me awesomely useful things like how to turn my old lamp into a couch] I find it a huge waste of my time.  By this, I mean, that it now takes me an extra five minutes to scroll through all of my channels on Sunday night to realize that there is still nothing on. And no, I can’t just know that ahead of time. I still have to check. You know, just in case.

What’s the deal with weekend TV? Currently, as I’m writing this I have the option of watching the infomercial for either: a) Proactive Acne Solution. b) ScalpMed Hair Resoration. c) Urine Gone Pet Odor Eliminator. d) ShamWows. e) Tony Little’s Gazelle Freestyle.  OR I could watch HSN.  Somehow I always choose the exercise one.  I don’t actually watch it, but I have it playing in the background.  If everything is going according to plan, my abs will be subconsciously toned in no time…. which leaves me with:

**The Elephant’s 17 Rules You Should Probably Live By**

1. Don’t cry over spilt milk, unless if was effing hot.

2. Always remember that hot dates come and go, but STDs last a lifetime.

3. Carry a gun at all times.

4. Eat blueberries. and pomegrates. If you can’t eat them, then drink the juice. If you don’t like the taste, then get over it or suffer the consequences.

5. [#3 only applies if you live in Texas. or Nazi Germany.]

6. Whatever you do, do not consume shellfish and/or walnuts.

 

7. Smaller clothes don’t equal a smaller body.

8. She probably does just think of you like a brother.

9. He probably is just trying to get down your pants.

10. [regarding #4, according to my mother, these are the best things that you could ever consume. apparently, you shall become immortal if you ingest them and nothing will ever harm you.]

 

11. [only adhere to #6 if you break out in a rash and /or unsightly hives when consuming shellfish and /or walnuts.]

12. Follow the golden rule.

13. Honesty is the best policy.

14. True love lasts forever.

15. [#12-14 are impossible and monstrous loads of smelly crap. I would like to recant them if at all possible]

16. You can’t ever be too rich [crap! Oprah is way too rich]; too thin [shoot! Nicole Richey is way too thin] or too pretty.

17. Never date a salesman.  Or the next thing you know he will be borrowing your car and stealing the engagement ring that you had in your glove box to return to your ex-boyfriend.  Well, maybe that was just a string of bad luck, but I’m just throwing that out there.

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David Blaine sends his best.

Dear Avid Readers,

I can do nothing but apologize for the pain I’ve caused you.  You know, I can’t help but perform disappearing acts because it is in my blood.  I’m kind of over the whole leviating while holding my breath in a frozen block of ice gig…. that is SO last year.  And for all of this, I am truly sorry- and I mean that from the deepest depths of my attention-seeking, fake-magic-trick-doing soul. 

Begging for your forgiveness,

David Blaine 

thedailyelephant

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Finding myself, Losing my sanity.

It’s a day for introspection, my friends…

Before, after, and during my college years, I was told by many a new agey individual and philosophy teacher that I needed to “discover who I was” or “find myself” or “get in tune with my inner person” or whatever.  The only thing about myself that I ever knew for sure was that I liked to write, I liked to make people laugh, and I didn’t want to rush off into marriage and five kids like the rest of my friends had.  I didn’t believe in all that inner self crap.  So although I was pretty confident that I knew who I was [after living with myself all those years] it sounded kind of entertaining… maybe, I’d find that I was cooler than I’d originally thought? 

So as I set out on my self-discovering journey, I realized that trying to find myself was really just a whole lot of “hanging out” and “gaining weight” and “drinking coffee while having delirious late night conversations” with random other people who also couldn’t find themselves.  This all resulted in alot of deleriousness, altering of career paths, meaningless friendships, and relationship choices that would damage me for the better part of my life, which I would inevitably spend undoing all the things I’d done while finding myself. 

 Every person who is trying to find themself thinks that they must live somewhere other than where they are currently living.  You cannot possibly find yourself in your hometown, you have to go far, far away.  I was no exception to this rule.  Even though I’d never been on a plane and I couldn’t even drive to my next door neighbor’s house without getting lost, somehow, some way, one of my meaningless friends talked me into getting out of one of my damaging relationships by moving to Europe… this took place over a late night cup of coffee, of course.

[more on the ridiculous European excursions later…]

After going away, traveling the world, partially losing my mind, realizing that Italy was all I had hoped it would be, turning down a proposal on the Eiffel Tower, and then coming back with a newfound sense of whatever, I had quite a bit going for myself.  I had “discovered” a strapping young British lad who followed me back to states and was quite taken aback by my charming American accent [and the cheap cost of Midwestern living].  I quit college and started my own business.  Little did I know that strapping British lads are also quite good at disgusing the fact that they are millionaires, heroin addicts, and manic depressives. oh well.  I gave it the old college try.  Then after years of cleaning up after the British invasion, which consisted of almost being sued, being robbed and stalked by drug dealers, and hiding it all from my family- I decided to quit my business, go to massage therapy school, and write.  Massage Therapy is a stress-free occupation right?  Well, then I quit massage therapy school, and started another business which consisted of…writing.

So here I am, and after all these years of self-discovery I’ve come to realize the same thing I always knew.   I’m a complicated, indecisive, and independent girl who likes to write, and all of my experiences have led me back right to where I started…  Well.  That sure was a waste of time.  But it was fun.  Sorta.

By all means, everyone, please go find yourselves.

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