Wait for it… wait for it…

Alas, the moment is almost upon us… 

How I’ve missed all of you in the past couple weeks.  I’m sure it was harder for you than it was for me, thus, I vow never to put you through such unspeakable anxiety like that again. 

I will be announcing my new website at the end of this week – either Thursday or Friday.   Um.  That is where you’re supposed to show me your excited face, and I’m not too impressed so far.  So check back as I will have many new and exiting things for you to explore.   Did I mention that every visitor gets a FREE SNUGGIE?!!!!! 

In other exciting news, I have another story being published in Chicken Soup for the Soul.  It is the “Campus Chronicles” edition coming out on April 7th.  Unlike my first one, which was a bit cheesy [ I mean, I’d never even read these books so I didn’t know what they wanted ] this is a seductive tale of forbidden college romance.  A true story, of course, of a guy who changed my life.

 

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

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The Kenny Chronicles: Don’t make this a blog

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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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 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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What not to buy for Valentines Day

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.

1.  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.

3. 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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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”

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What women really want

 

 

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 us.  But 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.

3.  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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Superbowl psychoanalysis: the yellow team won

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……..]

 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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Daily Dilemmas: Can you run to the store for me?

The other day, when I was hard at work on the internet,  I accidentally came across a salad recipe that commanded my undivided atttention.  I know what you’re thinking, and no, I’m not one of those birds who eats salads and drinks skim milk.  I had just polished off an entire box of Peppermint ice cream (cus you have to get enough while it’s still in season) when I came across the recipe.   And it fit my criteria perfectly – it had linguini in it.  Cus if I’m going to have salad, you better believe there’s gotta be some pasta in there somewhere.

Unfortunately, this salad is so unique and appealing that it contains not one solitary ingredient that I actually own.  So I make the list of random ingredients that I’ll only use half of and then have to throw away because I don’t make anything else cool enough to warrant such ingredients as “nappa cabbage.”   So I send the boyfriend to the store.  He was going ANYWAY, chill out. 

He comes back, and a shock of excitement runs through my veins as I think of the new creation I will be making.  Oddly, he walked in with one bag.  I was thinking, huh, that just doesn’t seem like it would have enough stuff in it for this salad.  Then, I start to put the stuff away and this is the following conversation:

me: um, honey, why isn’t there any of the ingredients in here?

him: well, when i got there they were remodeling the store and they had everything moved around. 

me:  but there was still food there, right? 

him:  yea, but I couldn’t find anything.

me: so you couldn’t manage to find ONE ingredient on my list, yet you were able to navigate through the terrain and locate the frozen pizza and the Coke zero?

him:  no.  i got you cilantro.

me:  oh, thats right.  thank you.  but WHAT THE HECK am I supposed to do with a gigantic bunch of cilantro?

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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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Jason the Bachelor has first one on one dates

Don’t get your panties in a bunch….All of my love-stuck ladies who are freakishly anticipating the new bachelor Jason Mesnick’s every move, you can check out my weekly recaps on Reality Tv Magazine for the skinny.

For all those of you who have no idea what I’m referring to, it’s time you tuned into what life is really all about.

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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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5 reasons why you shouldn’t date an only child

Christmas is cancelled. 

So my mom called me the other night and told me that my brother is calling a family meeting.  Immediately, I knew what it would be about.  He was trying to cancel Christmas again.   He does this every year when he realizes that he bought so many speed boats and BMW’s and 300 gallon aquariums, that he can’t possibly afford to buy six family members (which is the total number of people in our extended family) a $20 gift.  Then my mom gets all depressed because she never had Christmas as a child (due to her crazy-strict- skroogey dad) and now her and my aunt are trying to make up for their lost childhoods by re-creating Santa’s Village every year for us all.  But my brother is trying to steal their joy and in the meantime forcing me to overcompensate for the excitement that he isn’t showing.  YAY!

Sorry for the personal sidenote.  What I’m really here to talk about is dating a middle child.  I’m not one, but I’m here to tell you that if you are it’s okay.  A middle child is not the one you need to worry about… it’s the only child thats the problem.  For the love of everything peaceful, do not date an only child. 

Take it from me,  a quasi-only child.  Considering that I’m not even a full only child, I’m messed up.   If you’re wondering how it came to be that I’m not a whole only child, well that is too bad because I’m not getting into that tonight kids.  So here are the 5 reasons why you shouldn’t date someone like me:

1.  We all want ginormous families.  You try spending countless summers selling lemonade by yourself and playing house with only a mommy or daddy and see how you feel.  Plus, all the stress of grandkids rides soley on our shoulders.

2. We don’t like to share things.  It’s not so much that we don’t want to share, but we just like the things that are ours, to stay ours.

3.  We are either obsessed with pets or can’t stand them.  There’s no happy medium for an only child.  Growing up, we either learned to console our lonliness by surrounding ourselves with fuzzy woodland creatures, or we were so self-absorbed with ourselves that the thought of taking care of a pet was entirely overwhelming. 

4.  We have a tendency to be control freaks.  Most only children are the center of their parents’ universe, thus are the product of an overprotective and overbearing upbringing.   Which means when we grow up, we freak out and have to be in control of everything.  Everything.

5.  We have ridiculous, impossible to meet expectations.  And unfortunately, we don’t just put these expectations on ourselves, but everyone we meet.  This is because all the focus was on us and we have an inner need to over achieve.   So good luck with that.

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The 8 Days of Christmas Singlehood

I apologize in advance that pretty much all of my blogs from here on out will have something to do with Christmas.  Oh, I’m sorry, I meant to say “the holidays” as not to offend anyone.  It’s okay if you don’t currently like the holidays because unfortunately, you’ll love them by the time I’m done giving you all the reasons why you should.  In fact, the only thing you shouldn’t like about the holidays is people who force you to refer to them as “the holidays”  instead of Christmas, which you shouldn’t tolerate.  This reminds me of my previous boss who forced me to say “the holidays” whenever we were at a work outing.  Keyword: previous.

My first blog among the holiday installments will be about singlehood during the holiday season.  For all of you out there who’ve been recently dumped, it’s time to put away that sad face Macaulay McSulky.  You should be thanking your lucky days of the week underware right about now because this means you will be able to capitalize on the most wonderful hooking up time of the year! 

I will now dispense a list of reasons as to why you will love being single this holiday season, entitled:  the 8 Days of Christmas Singehood.  Why 8?  Because 7 just isn’t enough, and I couldn’t quite think of 9.   By the end of it, you may even love it so much that you might become jealous of yourself.

1.  on the first day of Christmas Singlehood,  just do whatever you want.  I mean, you can.  You’re single.

2.  on the second day of Christmas Singlehood, buy yourself a ridiculously insane gift and then marvel in the fact that you didn’t get chewed out by your shnookums because it was a waste of money, you already have enough of those,  or because you don’t have your priorities straight.

3. on the third day of Christmas Singlehood, go to your family gathering – not someone else’s crazypants relative’s house where you will inevitably feel obligated to at least try the jello mold and act overly enthusiastic about the dollar store candle or tool kit they bought you.

4 .  on the fourth day of Christmas Singlehood, enjoy relaxing by the fire, drinking some hot chocolate, and not accompanying your beloved to an awkward holiday work party where you will be forced to dress up and “get to know” all of the people that you hear continual griping about.

5.  on the fifth day of Christmas Singlehood, please don’t waste the big, pretty makeout snow.  Nothing screams “i want to make out”  like snow-  and no one has the power to resist a snowy makeout.  so do everyone a favor and bundle up, find yourself a hottie, and spread a little holiday joy.

6.  on the sixth day of Christmas,  watch the Charlie Brown Christmas Special and relish the fact that you aren’t having the following internal dialogue:  “but what if I spend too much …then they’ll feel like crap… but what if I spend too little… then I look like a creep?”

7.  on the seventh day of Christmas, don’t shave.  in fact, don’t shave for any of the days, cus why?   [men: this might be the perfect opportunity for you to grow out that beard you keep talking about, which your girlfriend would never allow.]

8. on the eighth day of Christmas, go see an action film.  not a christmasy piece of crap movie that you’d have to see if you were in a relationship.

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The Kenny Chronicles: A conversation at Starbucks

I shall now introduce to you the newest category here at The Daily Elephant:  The Kenny Chronicles.   What exactly are the Kenny Chronicles?  Well, due to overwhelming feedback on the blog I wrote last week referencing a dating conversation between my best friend “Kenny” and I, I will now be dispensing more blogs of this nature.  I’ve always got your best interest in mind.  If you didn’t get a chance to read the first one, please do so here because the second installment is comin at ya faster than an outta shape asthmatic kid chasing after an ice cream cart.

Kenny and I meet at a bookstore or Starbucks on a quasi-regular basis to discuss our issues.  I think we feel that the bookstore-ish surroundings make us more intellectual than we actually are, which in turn helps us more quickly penetrate to the heart of our problems.  Of course, this isn’t really successful because everyone (except us) acknowledges that merely sitting in a bookstore does not make you more intellectual.

I arrive to find Kenny sitting out on the patio, sipping on an overly-priced mountain of coffee flavored whipped cream and looking rather introspective.  As I park my car, I instantly notice a drastic change upon my friend’s all too familiar face.  I don’t like change.  Before I sit down, I go inside and purchase the ridiculously too-big cookie of the day, which is always some random shape that makes no sense.  That day it was a lemon wedge.   And the following conversation begins: 

me:  seriously?  you got your hair cut.

kenny:   i couldn’t stand it anymore.

me: but Richie’s wedding is next week.

kenny:  I know.  but it’s sooooo hot outside.

me:  sooo hot?  my hair is black and 3 feet long  and you don’t see me buzzing it off do you?

kenny:  relax.  IT’S HAIR.  it’ll grow back.

me:  not in ONE WEEK!   how many months have I been saying that we need to get some good pictures at this wedding?  and you keep it long this entire time and a week before the wedding you get too hot.

kenny:  i know we need some new pictures.  we’ll get some.

me:  no we won’t.  because we cannot possibly have cute pictures with your hair hacked off like that. 

kenny:  it doesn’t look that bad?

me:  well it doesn’t look that good.  you don’t even look like yourself. 

kenny:  Yes i do?  how can i not look like myself.

me:   you know I like your hair longer and spikey.  when was the last time we took a good picture?  like two years ago? 

kenny:  oh, get over it. 

me:   I can’t believe you did this to me.

After we got that out of the way, I brushed the cookie crumbs off my sweatshirt and referenced how I seriously need to start working out.    Kenny talked about another girl that he isn’t dating, but if he was dating anyone right now, it might be her.

Check out more of the Kenny Chronicles:

How to talk yourself out of dating almost anyone

Black Friday, depression, and a Salvation army chair

A Bad Gordita and Some Classy Water

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The Science of Dating: Finding The One

Lately, I’ve received alot of questions to the effect of “how do I find the one?”  Well, it just so happens that I have more than a few answers up my very svelte sleeve.  I’ve spent weeks, possibly even months [if I were to have logged all my time] researching and compiling data for what I am about reveal to you.  As per usual, you can expect to pay not a single PENNY for the knowledge that I am about to impart upon you!  It is but merely the beginning of a lifetime of benefits that you will reap by reading this blog.  How shall I be compensated, you ask?  The smile on your face.

For many of you, it’s not that you’re unlucky, you’re just looking in all the wrong places.  As I’ve repeatedly said, you’re never going to find creme brulee on the Taco Bell menu, and unfortunately, you never will  [because it would be awesome to be able to get a Chalupa and creme brulee all in one stop].  I will further demonstrate my point in the following chart.  Please study it with ravenous desire.  memorize it.  picturize it.  dream about it at night.  frame it on your wall.  tape it to your fridge.  fold it up into a teeny tiny piece and carry it next to your heart… for contained therein you will find the answer to one of life’s most perplexing questions. 

 

 

Now, if you look carefully, you will observe that you have equal chances of meeting your future mate in: rehab, space camp, a safari, solitary confinement, or your mailbox.  But now I want you all to take out your microscopes because we’re going to delve into this and chizzle away to find out how this affects your dating life.  With closer analyzation, you will discover that you actually have a greater chance of meeting your future mate in solitary confinement, than you do at the bar.

staggering?  perhaps groundbreaking?

  something to think about.

For more on this popular dating series, please read: The Science of Dating: Know who you are.

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The Science of Dating: Know who you are

[Please be advised that the following case study is not only FDA approved, but it is the result of YEARS of research and should not be questioned]

 

I find that the whole dating process is nothing but a huge waste of time [and his money].  You may or may not agree with me, and as you could have guessed, I don’t care.  Here’s the problem:  you meet; you flirt; you have ridiculous, surfacey, nervous conversations that don’t make any sense; you date; you think you might have found “the one;” and a year later – BAM! You’re dating Psycho McBipolarPants.  But then it’s too late because you either feel sorry for them and can’t break it off or you’re too overwhelmed at the thought of starting over, so you just stick with the loser until three years have come and gone.

 

“So,” you ask, “how does one ever solve this age-old dilemma?”

 

Well, as usual, you’ve come to the right place.  By now, I’m sure some of you have realized that I am a savvy expert on several topics… but what you may not have realized is that I am also a scientist.  A scientist of love.  And I welcome you to the coolest, most color- coordinated laboratory you’ve ever been to.

 

It’s simple.  All you have to do when you meet someone is tell them what movie character you are.  As soon as you mention that, they will understand everything about your personality and life so that they can make an educated decision whether or not you’re meant to be.  If not, peace out sucka!  If you don’t know how to figure out what character you are, I’ll get you started with the following quiz of the most popular pesonality types [answers are written below]: 

 

1.  You’re one of those super nice-guy dormats.  You’re not materialistic, but you occasionally wear spandex and perhaps a Van Halen tshirt.  Your friend resembles Boy George.  You have a curly, Jewish mullet.  You like the Cure [and God love you for that].  Who are you?

 

2. You attended etiquette school, although you now pose nekkid for a mere $0.10.  You like long boat rides and dresses that cut off your air supply.  You were rescued from plumeting to a watery death by a strapping young gentleman.   You repaid him by not so much as sharing the slightest piece of your raft when he was dying of hypothermia in an abyss of blustery water.  Who are you?

 

3. You love reeses pieces, and you pick them up with your very long fingers.  No matter where you are, you love to call home.  Your very long fingers light up on occasion.  Who are you?

 

4.  You’re an avid collector… of skin, mostly.  You might have played hockey as a child, but now you wear a mouth guard for a different reason.  You can’t resist the Bath and Body Works 2 for $5 lotion special.  You’re voice is a bit creepy.  You’ve contemplated eating a few of your friends.  Who are you?

 

5.  You’ve been robbed, more than once.  You enjoy high risk sports – often inside the house.  Growing up, you hated your parents and your cousin often wetted the bed.  You’re scared of spiders, but are willing to touch a tarantula if need be.  You’re quite the ecape artist.  You have abandonment issues due to your parents leaving the country without you a couple times.  Who are you?

 

6.  You have a lucky streak.  You volunteered for the army.  You’re an entrepreneur who loves his mom.   You loved one girl your whole life, but she never paid attention to you until she was dying of AIDS.  You and your offspring are named after a large clump of trees.  Who are you?

 

7.  You believe in love at first sight.  You can think up some pretty sneaky plans… but when it comes to follow through you really suck.  You talk in Old English, and let’s face it, you aren’t that pretty.  You kill yourself at inconvenient times.  Who are you?

 

8.  You’re pretty, I’ll give ya that.  You think black boots go with everything.  If you get short on cash, you sell your body.  Who are you?

 

9.  You are pretty gullible.  You’re a loner.  You’ve spent most of your life hiding from love, but when you finally discover your dream girl – you find that she is actually an ogre, much like yourself.  Who are you?

 

1.  Robbie Heart [Wedding Singer]  2. Rose [Titanic]  3.  ET  4. Hannibal Lector [Silence of the Lambs] 5. Kevin [Home Alone]  6. Forrest Gump  7. Juliet  8. Pretty Woman  9. Shrek

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Daily Dilemmas: “But You Left Spit on My Spoon”

[DISCLAIMER:  I take the issues discussed in the following blog very, very seriously]

 

I have had a longstanding issue with dairy products.  My contempt for said products may be the result of some deep-rooted childhood suppression that my shrink has yet to pry out, I’m not so sure.  Lactose intolerance?  No.  Vegan? Over my dead, very carnivorous body.  Alas, I wish the answer were that easy.

 

My taste buds do not discriminate against all dairy products, only a large majority.  Products currently on the black list: eggs, cottage cheese, yogurt, and milk.  Don’t even get me started on milk.  The reason why I despise the forementioned food items is because they possess one of the following qualities: slimy-ness, creaminess, or both.  But here’s the real thorn in my side– ice cream.  Love it, when it’s actually frozen [as God intended]; hate it when it starts to melt; and can’t DEAL with sharing it in any capacity or watching someone consume it.   I used to have a friend that microwaved his ice cream into a sort of soup.  Keyword “used to.”

 

Now, to me it seems pretty simple.  Certain foods make me gag = I don’t eat them.   Apparently, the individuals of the male gender cannot accept this as you will see displayed in the following dialogue.

 

Me: [sitting down on the couch with a huge bowl full of delectable oreo ice cream]

 

Him: dang. That looks good. Gimme a bite.

Me: no.  I can’t do that.  sorry.

Him:  why? I bought it.  I just want a bite.

Me:  I know, thanks.  You can go get your own, but I can’t give you a bite.

Him: i don’t wanna whole bowl.  what’s your problem?

Me:  I don’t share dairy products.

Him: I don’t want to share it, I just want one bite.

Me: i understand. but you know how when someone takes a bite and there is some melty residue left on the spoon? 

 

Him: yea?

Me: well so do i.  and I can’t deal with it.

Him: ok. I won’t leave any residue then.

Me:  but yes, yes you will.  It is an impossible feat to not leave residue.

Him: what the heck? why does it bother you so much?  You need to get over that.

Me:  because it’s gross and I hate it.

Him: but why? That makes no sense.

Me:  it makes no sense why you care.

Him: because it’s annoying.

Me: it’s annoying that you’re trying to psychoanalyze my paranoia of melty ice cream.  

Him: [walks over to get his own spoon, comes over and sticks it in my bowl]

Me:  what are you doing?!?

Him: I’m not sharing your spoon.

Me: but you’re eating from my bowl!

Him: I thought it was the spoon that bothered you?

Me:  it is.  But now you have your own spoon with your own melty residue and are scooping across the ice cream that I’m eating.  That’s still going to be a problem. 

Him: you have issues.

Me: yes.

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BREAKING NEWS: Prince Charming Leaves Suicide Note Under Tear Stained Pillow

 

WARNING:   I’m going to have to ask that no matter how innocent and beautifully honest this blog may be, that you don’t fondle, grope, caress, or touch it inappropriately in any way – even if it is the blog of your dreams

 

BREAKING NEWS:  Prince Charming was NOT spotted today [or ever for that matter]  galloping upon a snow white steed, harboring a large shield for warding off dragons or scary people with guns, while traveling  through the enchanted forest to rescue a long- haired, bottle -blond damsel with daddy issues.  Sources have revealed that the reason he was not spotted was because he actually does not exist!

 

[ Cinderella’s response to the shocking news: “You mean I’ve been sweeping up all this soot and ironing my evil stepsisters’ button down shirts and there’s no fricken prince at the end of the tunnel?  What kind of CRAP is that?!” ]

Ladies: let’s just get something straight.  Prince Charming isn’t around.  He jumped the border and he’s headed for Atlantis.  To my knowledge he hasn’t even left a close relative or body double to be your shoulder to cry on.  He didn’t even leave his snow white stallion around the stables for you to pet.  His mother, the Queen of Nonexistent Men, found this note under his pillow:

 

 Dear Completely Delusional Yet Surprisingly Hopeful Women of the Land, 

 

“I feel like a classic fool.  [the imaginary Prince is British, of course]  I could no longer keep up this silly charade.  Blessed Respite! I am nothing but a fake.  I’m a big, fat (but very trim), dodgy  phony. I don’t have a steed, or a stallion, all I’ve got is an ‘88 Ford Fiesta.  I don’t ward off dragons, I run in the face of danger.  I run! I am nothing but a yellow- bellied coward, a coward I say!  My entire life is a farce, and I am the only one to blame.  Except for my mum who is partly to blame.”

 Cheers,   Prince C.

 

 

 

MORE BREAKING NEWS:  We are getting reports of a supposed uproar in Disney World.  Snow White has strapped a bomb to her up-do and is threatening to blow up her Happily Ever After Castle (which was to be her wedding gift from King Charming)  The Gingerbread man has plummeted head first off Humpty Dumpty’s wall, and Tinkerbell has joined forces with the fairy godmother coalition to spread raging pixie dust wildfires all across the land!

 

 

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Anatomy of a Creeptown Part 2: Conversion Vans

 

 

 

In Anatomy of a Creeptown, Part 1, I brokedown the definition of a creeptown, and rolled out the number one indication that you might be involved with one – the molestache. [pronounced molest-ache]

 

 

 

 

(note: there is a very distinct difference between the mustache and the molestache, please refer to my previous post so that you are completely clear on this matter)

 

Once again, life as a banker exposes me to hundreds of America’s finest each and every day.  This not only provides me with much concern about the general intelligence levels of our society, but also allows me to have a heightened sense of creeptown detection.  I will now dispense the second installment of my knowledge.

 

Although there are hundreds of indicators that you might be dealing with a creeptown such as:

*long fingernails

*lazy eyes

*names like Chester

*profuse sweating

 

the main issue I’d like to address is conversion vans.  If anyone rolls up in a conversion van, remember the words i am saying to you: you betta run.  and run like you’re life depends on it.  cus maybe, just maybe, it does.

 

Conversion vans can allude to a plethera of creeptown activities including:

 

1. kidnapping

2. molesting

3. robbing

4. carnies

5. lonely retired men who live inside

 

 

 

Thought to ponder:  if the back of a vehicle is large enough to contain a meth lab, its certainly large enough to contain you.

 

 

 “come on in, i’ve got some candy in the back”

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