Like black on a chalkboard.

One of my goals for 2009 was to “stop fabricating the truth”  so that means that what you are about to witness is actually forreal.

Again, I am sorry for the GIANT space between blogs here… all good things come to those who wait.  Or have money.  Whichever.  So, those of you who know my parents will understand that this blog is absolutely true.  Those of you who don’t know my parents, might now understand how I became the freak that I am today.   My family is hilarious.  We’re like the token Italian family they always showcase in movies, who talk over eachother and have 8 different conversations happening at once.  Except, my mom isn’t even Italian.  And I don’t have 7 siblings named after famous Italian statues.

First, there’s a couple of things you must know about my parents to fully appreciate this story.  My dad is quite possibly the funniest person alive – to everyone except my mother, who never gets any of his jokes.   On the other hand, no one on earth ever laughs at my mother’s jokes, except my mother, because they are just horrendous.   My dad and I often challenge each other to see who can ignore her jokes the best, because if we give her even the slightest bit of encouragement she will keep repeating them. over. and. over.   In a nutshell, they are on completely different wavelengths.  In fact, the only thing they might have in common is their confusion over anything related to pop culture.

We’re watching American Idol, some nerdy kid sings, and my mom loves it.

mom: you know who he reminds me of?  that kid on King of the Lords.

me:  what?

dad:  King of the Lords?!?  you mean, Ring of the Lords?

mom:  oh, IM SORRY.  that’s right, I meant Ring of the Lords.

me:  no. no.  it’s Lord of the Rings.

mom:  well, I like him.  he reminded me of Clay Aiken.

me:  I guess.  I like Clay Aiken.  Can’t believe he had a kid.

mom:  a kid????   he got married?

me: not exactly.  he artifically inseminated his 40 yr old roommate and then he came out of the closet.

mom:  WHAT?!?!  since when?

me:  like, a year ago?

dad:  [randomnly changing the subject]  you know, if you need get those pictures off my camera I’ve got a SUB cord and you can hook it up.

me:  SUB?  what?  It’s not a car we’re talking about here.  you mean a USB cord?

dad:  Oh gosh, I’m sorry.  I  don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.  Sometimes I transpose my numbers.

me: …… sigh… you mean letters?   [going to grab some paper so I can write all of this down]

[Nathaniel, the annoying emo kid sings…]

mom:  he looks like he has a booger in his nose.

me:  it’s a nose ring.

mom:  so tell me more about this Clay Adkins?

me:  it’s AIKEN. 

mom:  so does he have a boyfriend then?

dad:  well that’s usually how it goes.

[then Jose, the Puerto Rican sings his song and gets emotional afterwards]

dad:  [all annoyed]  well you know he’ll make it now

me:  cus he cried?

dad:  of course.  but you know who I liked was that little brunette.  She was the best one with the best voice that messed up the worst.

[meanwhile, “‘Lil Rounds” (which is where I got my inspiration for ‘Lil Phant)  sings her R&B song….]

mom:  well that was just terrible.  She’d of been better off singing Mary Had A Little Lamb than that crap.  it was like black on a chalkboard.

dad:  well that’s cus you just don’t get it.  That girl’s gotta lot of class.

me:  you said black on a chalkboard.

 

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 Kenny Chronicles: The Beginning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

kenny:  no, no it’s not.  they’re like on every corner here.

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

kenny:  homeless guys wander around. 

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

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

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

kenny:   Everything looks the same here.

 

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

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

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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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Please address me by my rapper name

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

me:  Yea.  Just same old.  same old…

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

me:   Yea.  nothing to report here.  You?

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

me:  Oh, really?  thanks

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

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

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

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

Skeezy ‘R Us

I’m just not that into him

What not to buy for Valentine’s day

Want more traffic?  Let me feature your blog

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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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Skeezy ‘R Us

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

 

_____________________________

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

‘Write’ on!!……………………………

Please reply to me at this address.

Phillip

legman1947@yahoo.com

____________________________

So, I thought given the extreme intelligence of this person to email me in attempt to lure me into some kind of perverted cyber relationship, when he was reading a listing for a freelance WRITER,  I thought I’d post it here for everyone to enjoy.  Along with his real email. 

 

On that note, I’d like to say a big “thank you” to Phillip over at Skeezy ‘R US, because I was totally at a loss of what to write about tonight.

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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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The Kenny Chronicles: A metrosexual in a Yankees hat

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

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

  [ Cut to conversation at my house]:

Kenny walks in…

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

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

me:  it looks weird.

kenny:  like, weird different or weird ugly?

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

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

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

kenny:  yea, they’re a baseball team.

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

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

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

kenny:  well I like this one, it looks good on me. 

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

kenny:  yea. 

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

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

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

For more in the Kenny Chronicles:

How to talk yourself out of dating almost anyone

A Conversation at Starbucks 

Black Friday, depression, and a Salvation army chair

A Bad Gordita and Some Classy Water

 

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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.

Want more traffic dahling?  Let me feature your blog

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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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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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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 Kenny Chronicles: How to talk yourself out of dating almost anyone

Well, the election is over.  And although the world might be coming to an end, I will now be blogging more often.  So there’s always a rainbow, my friends, always.

 

So my best guy friend and I were discussing dating.  Not dating each other, but dating in general.  He shall remain nameless, but then again, I have remained nameless so the mere naming of my friend would have no meaning to you.  So I could technically name him, but I’m still not going to on the off chance you do know who I am and then you might figure it out.  But then again, if you do know who I am then you  already know who I’m talking about…  Well whatever!  Can you just stop being so difficult for one second of your life, and let me tell the freakin story! 

 

 

 

We often times find ourselves having these kind of conversations in hopes of figuring ourselves out and better understanding our issues so that we may become a beacon of light, a shining example for our gender.  Or we do it because we are the only ones who will not judge us for the ridiculous and terribly honest things we say.

 

First, there’s something you’ve got to understand about my friend.  Let’s call him Kenny.  Happy now?  Well, Kenny once broke up with a girl because of her elbows.  And I rejected a guy one time because he was too Italian.  And I love Italians, so as you can imagine, this was a tragedy of mass proportion.   The point is, we are relationally challenged.  We’re very good at talking ourselves out of things using any justification at our disposal, and if there isn’t one available then we just make it up.  Most of our conversations resemble reruns of Seinfeld or something of that nature.  Get the picture?  Of course you do.  You’re bright.

 

So we’re sitting there, discussing our problems and an exchange to the following effect takes place:

 

me: ok.  so, again, why can’t you like her?

 

ken:  well, the personality is great.  face is great.  everything is great.  and I might even say it’d be the real deal if…

 

me: ….if what?

 

ken:  it weren’t for the gap.

 

me: what gap?

 

ken: the teeth gap.  can’t get passed it.

 

me: Ok, so to recap: you’re not going to date this girl, who otherwise might be the one because you can’t get passed the gap?

 

ken: no, its not just the gap.  but thats a big part of it. 

 

me: well that’s good to know.  I’m glad it’s not just the gap, but that it’s a whole slew of frivilous things.  you’re growing.

 

ken:  i mean, if i could just close it somehow. [holds up his first finger and thumb to form a gap]

 

me:  close it?  not gonna happen.  and you can’t suggest that.  no.  NO.

 

ken:  no?  but what if….

 

me: no. 

 

 

Check out more of the Kenny Chronicles:

 

A Conversation at Starbucks 

 

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: Porn for Women?

Ladies, I feel that there is so much good material out there for the boys… we need a little something to look at once in a while, know what I mean?

See boys, women aren’t really that complicated. It’s the simple things that we desire in life… why is that so hard to understand?  Why, oh why do we always get pegged as mysterious, never satisfied, and impossible to please nags?  Watch and learn.

 

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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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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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Daily Dilemmas: “Can You Trim My Hair?”

disclaimer:  dialogues featured on this blog may or may not be influenced by occurrences in my daily life, and they may or may not be exaggerated.

 

Him: can you trim my hair?  its getting kinda bushy on the sides.

Her:  yea, i can do it real quick before i leave.

Him: sweet.  thanks (puts towel around his shoulders and sits on the toilet)

Her:  (grabs the scissors, picks up the bathroom garbage can, and hands it to him)  here. can you hold this please so i can put the hair in it?

Him: not really.  its dirty.

Her: its dirty?

Him: yea.  dirty.

Her:  (ties the trash bag and sets it on the floor, then places the can back in his hands)  there. now its not dirty.

Him:  yes it is.  its been on the floor.

Her:  the floor? my floor is not dirty.  i’m a painfully tidy perfectionist, remember?

Him:  (begrudgingly places the can between his legs)

Her:  no.  (puts it back in his hands) i need you to hold it up higher so i can reach it.  otherwise, it defeats the purpose of having it there in the first place.

Him: i’m not holding it (hands it back to her)

Her:  you’re taking a shower after this, so what does it matter?  (hands it back)

Him:  (hands it back)  it matters because i don’t want to. thats why.

Her:  well you know what?  i  don’t really want to cut your hair when i’m running late but i am.  it’s not always about what you want.  i actually need you to hold the garbage can so it will be easier for me. 

don’t you think you’re acting a bit childish?

Him: so you’re calling me a child because i don’t want to hold a dusty, nasty crap bathroom garbage can that has pieces of your hair and chunks of gooey hair products and fiber bars stuck all over the bottom of it?

Her: oh, i’m sorry.  i’m sooooooo sorry that i have long hair and it gets all over everything.  last time i checked, you loved my hair.  would you like me to chop it all off?

Him: uuuuugh. 

Her: what?

Him: yes.  yes.  that is what i would prefer.  please cut your hair all off like a man so the garbage can won’t be gooey and hairy. 

then i can hold it.  then you can cut my hair.  then everything will be perfect and the stars will align,  hilary clinton go home, and evil dictators will acquire a soft spot and people everywhere will be free.

Moral of the story?

 

 

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