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Posts Tagged ‘random’

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

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

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

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

blunt-delivery-2

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

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

A Post-it Would Have Been Better

Middle School Misfortune

Nitemare on Ex Street

I Dated A Slumdog Millionaire

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

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

See ya around kids.

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chicken-soup-for-the-soul-campus-chroniclesAlas, 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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ghosttown

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

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

Me:  [picking up my phone]   Yup.

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

Me:  What?  Are you forreal?

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

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

Kenny:  I’m just saying… don’t.

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

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

Me:  I’m offended.

Kenny:  No you’re not.

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

Kenny:  Ok… so the other night….

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

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

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

Kenny:  NO.  Just leave it alone.

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

kenny:  homeless guys wander around. 

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

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

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

kenny:   Everything looks the same here.

 

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

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

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

delorean-back-to-the-future1

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo courtesy of  thesun.co.uk

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This blog has officially moved to: bluntdelivery.com

Who’s the Elephant?

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

me:  Yea.  Just same old.  same old…

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

me:   Yea.  nothing to report here.  You?

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

me:  Oh, really?  thanks

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

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

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

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

Skeezy ‘R Us

I’m just not that into him

What not to buy for Valentine’s day

Want more traffic?  Let me feature your blog

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

 

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

Please reply to me at this address.

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

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when-harry-met-sally-billy-crystal

 

 

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

Sally:  “A journalist.”

Harry: “Right, that’s what I said.”

 

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  [ Cut to conversation at my house]:

Kenny walks in…

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

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

me:  it looks weird.

kenny:  like, weird different or weird ugly?

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

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

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

kenny:  yea, they’re a baseball team.

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

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

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

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

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

kenny:  yea. 

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

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

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

For more in the Kenny Chronicles:

How to talk yourself out of dating almost anyone

A Conversation at Starbucks 

Black Friday, depression, and a Salvation army chair

A Bad Gordita and Some Classy Water

 

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Superbowl Sunday.  Afternoon.  Conversation:

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

me:  We’re going to a superbowl party?

him:  Yea, I told you that.

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

him:  I did.  You don’t remember.

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

him:  It’s February 1st.

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

him: So I have to get pop.

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

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

me:  But what if I’m suuuuper tired? 

him:   ….

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

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

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

Steelers Cardinals Football

 me:  so who’s playing anyway?

him:   Steelers and the Cardinals.

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

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

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

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

groundhog-day-movie-bill-murray

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

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

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

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

How do I qualify to be the featured blog?  

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

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[OR The Secret to Financial Freedom]

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

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

 

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

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

snuggy-blanket

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fools-gold-movie-poster1BREAKING NEWS:  2009 Oscar Nominations have been released. 

I was really, I mean REALLY shocked that Fool’s Gold didn’t get an Oscar nod  (or at least a handshake) for best picture.  The sheer realism alone of that movie was something to behold.  The cinematography, the writing… just everything.   And in a twist of romantic comedy fate, Kate Hudson and Matthew McConaughey were reunited in yet another seat-of-your-pants thriller that involves a divorced couple searching for hidden treasure.  

And if you think you can guess the ending to this movie, you are sorely mistaken.  This is no Vanilla Sky. 

If you haven’t seen it yet, then I urge you to run – not walk – to your local movie rental store where it’s on clearance, loitering somewhere near the bottom shelf, next to the Milk Duds and ungoldly overpriced tubs of microwave popcorn. 

When you can finally get over the shocking disappointment of this breaking news, you can see the full list of 2009 Oscar nominees  by going here.

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Aretha Franklin definately commanded some respect for her hat and for her performance of the national anthem at the Presidential Inauguration. 

 

aretha-franklins-hat-inauguration

 

Unfortunately, it commanded so much respect that Obama had to bring some of the attention back on himself.

 aretha-franklins-hat-inauguration-obama2

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its not quite this bad

its not quite this bad

Let me start by saying that I currently drive a plum-colored Saturn with duct tape on the hood.  The reason for the duct tape is to cover an actual hole in my hood that was created by veering off the road and crashing into a road sign, which fell on my car and poked a hole straight through it. 

So heed my advice at your own discretion.

So back to this whole matter of me being in a beauty pageant.  Typing that very sentence makes my skin crawl, but you brought it up.  Let me first say, that I hate pageants and all the creepy girls and moms associated with them.  Okay.

Once upon a time, I was dating a charming young Italian gentleman, who I thought at the time was my long awaited knight in shining armor.  Ok.  Let’s start over.  Once upon a time, before developing my completely pessimistic realistic views on the ways of the world and men, I happened to get the wool pulled over my eyes by an Italian nutjob in preppy clothing who sang in a band.

As most young women who pay their way through private college, I was broke beyond my wildest dreams.  My brilliant nutjob was friends with the director of the local Miss America pageant sector, and they came to the ridiculous conclusion that I should be in a pageant.  My immediate protest was stiffled by the mention of  “but you can win alot of money.”    I have a habit of doing things spur of the moment, without much thought or consideration to what said thing will entail, so after a couple weeks I said, “fine. what do I have to do?”   Let me interrupt this story to comment on the time line for a moment.   Pageant = August.  When I was informed of said pageant = July.

four-inch-clear-heelsAfter having said yes, but then realizing the pageant was one month away, I recanted my admission.  Then I was further coerced by the boyfriend and director that it would be no big deal to prepare for.  Lies so big even Satan was shocked.   In one month I had to:  find a pageant gown [um, haven’t seen any of those around town lately] and 4 inch clear  heels [am I a stripper?], figure out a “talent” [I can’t sing, dance, or do anything requiring hand-eye coordination], get a professional picture for the program, learn how to walk in 4 inch clear heels [again. can’t do this], learn the group dance routine [there’s a what?],  get a swimsuit that I’d be comfortable wearing in front of thousands of people, freak out, and actually stop eating enough food for a small lacrosse team so that I could not embarass myself while wearing the swimsuit.  

My first problem is that I make impulsive decisions, my second problem is backing out of them.  I can’t do it.   So after one month of freaking out, chewing the Italian a new one, and eating nothing but apples – I competed in the pageant.

My talent?  A comedic monologue about my teenage acne.  Yes.     And you are correct if you are thinking that you’ve never seen anyone do a comedic monologue at a pageant before.  I don’t believe anyone ever has.  Probably because they can sing and dance like all the other pageant freaks.  Did they love it?   Does Geraldo Rivera love his mustache?

Swimsuit competition?  You know I rocked that.

Who’s the Elephant?

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 [a telephone conversation between Kenny and I]  Again, if you don’t know who Kenny is, please do some research, get your life together, and then return back to this post.

Me:  [yawn….]  so are we looking for paint colors for your room today or what?

Kenny:  [several seconds, but what feels like hours of groaning, sighing, and cover rustling]  well, I don’t feel so good.  I have food poisoning. I’ve been up all night vomiting.

Me:  Oh thank God, because I have waaay too much stuff to do today.   food poisoning?  what did you eat?

Kenny:  some kind of Gordita-nacho-something or other at Taco Bell at 3 am.

Me: Well, did you ever think that wasn’t going to give you food poisoning?  Oh, wait! I almost forgot to tell you the good news, World Market is going out of business.  I’m going to go see if I can find some cheap stuff.

voss-water2Kenny:  When you’re there can you check and see if the Voss Water is on sale?

Me: Seriously?  I really doubt that water will be on sale. 

Kenny:  Well, can you just check because I need some.

 

Me: You only like it because of the cool glass bottle.

Kenny:  No I don’t.  I like the taste of the water.

 Me: It can NOT taste that much better than the other waters of the world that you can justify paying 3.49 a bottle.

Kenny:  Yes it does.

Me:  Ok.  Well, I’ll going to level with you.  I’m going to World Market today.   While I’m there, I’m going to wander aimlessly and manhandle a a large amount of useless nic-nacs and large African vases that I have no intention of buying.  But chances are, I probably won’t have time to check on the price of the water.

For more of the Kenny Chronicles check out:

How to talk yourself out of dating almost anyone

A Conversation at Starbucks

Black Friday, depression, and a Salvation army chair

A Metrosexual in a Yankees hat

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

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

al-gore-internet

 

By the way, Who’s the elephant?

www.wordsbybrit.com

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

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

lemonade-stand

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

 dead-end-street

 

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

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

dead end street in the middle of the absolute nowhere.  

 By the way, Who’s the elephant?

www.wordsbybrit.com

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