This blog has moved to www.bluntdelivery.com
For all the reasons, please visit Why I Hate Women: Oh Let Me Count The Ways.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Posted in the Kenny Chronicles, tagged blogging, blogging contest, chicago, contests, friends, funny, how to get more traffic, humor, life, men, random, relationships, want more blog traffic, women on February 19, 2009| 30 Comments »
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
Posted in self discovery, the younger years, tagged blogging, david letterman, funny, humor, joaquin phoenix, joaquin phoenix interview with david letterman, joaquin phoenix on letterman, life, random, realization, self discovery, women on February 18, 2009| 72 Comments »
Ok, hop in your DeLorean. Anytime I’m writing at 3am you must expect some sort of introspecion. A little glimpse into the past. So strap in kids.
Waaaay back when I first started writing blogs on Myspace, (uuuggh, dad, do we have to bring that up?) I called myself: “The Davey Crocket of Blogging –blazing trails of truth.” For what reason, I have no clue. Kind of like I have no clue why this is named The Daily Elephant.
Back then, I was different. You know all of the crazy events that I casually mention on this blog from time to time? The ones where you leave me comments and you’re all: “what the crap. that’s bs… that didn’t happen.” And then I tell you, yes it did. And then you still don’t believe me? Well, the myspace days were when they happened. And that is their official title in the rolodex of my life: the myspace days. [Definition] Myspace days = a period of 3-4 years where I lost my damned mind.
After I recovered from my trip to crazytown, I started this blog, to chronicle my extended stay there. And can I just say, that if you are planning a trip to crazytown anytime soon – invest in some deep conditioner – cus something is up with their soft water.
So here I am, back from crazytown and my blog still has no point. It’s like the Seinfeld of blogging. And again, I’m stuck with a retarded name that I’m not even sure how I came up with, yet I can’t even buy the domain for it cus some other idiot already did, who also has no idea what he’s gonna do with it. I mean, if some portly guy in a ski mask held a gun to my head and asked me what my blog was about, WHAT THE HECK would I say? I mean, after spewing the obvious immediate response of- “holy crap you need to get up off my grill cus I can’t concentrate like this…and seriously, I don’t know where that gun’s been.” But after that, then what?
I got nothing. But speaking of losing your mind… have you all see this clip of Joaquin Phoenix on Letterman because OH MY GAH is it nutty?!? Apparently, he is giving up acting to pursue a career in Rap music. I thought this was a publicity stunt at first, but then after closer analyzation it’s pretty clear that he’s just high. It’s HILARIOUS!
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!