I'm still your fag

I thought it would be fun to share some hilarious "fag" stories. There's something about the word "fag" that makes a joke that much funnier. Examples:

Customer: Pack of fags please.
Clerk: You're a fag.
Customer: No fags are cigarettes, mate.
Clerk: I'm not your mate, you fag.

Luke: There's no seat belt back here. What do you recommend I do?
Cab driver: I recommend you stop being such a faggot, you're in the backseat.

David: Is this the line for the beer or the line for the beer tickets?
Sweet dude: I don't know, faggot.


Those are just a few of my favorites. Now I have a story to share...
About a year ago I was at my cousin's house. Her dog was outside probably taking a dump (that's all dogs really do) and we went out to call him back into the house. We stepped onto the front porch and yelled for the dog: "Toby! Justin!" (ok, I don't remember what his name is, but we were yelling the correct name...) and some little kid, probably about eight years old, was cruising down the street on his skateboard and yelled "You talking to me fag?!" (Please envision him saying that in a really high pitched, young boy voice.) HA! That kid was so cool!
Now it's your turn...

On a completely unrelated topic, I know everyone is sort of bummed that summer's over. Soon we won't be able to sit outside anymore and softball is probably coming to an end...I'll miss summer too. But I am glad it's fall for two reasons:
1. I don't like to sweat.
2. Maybe now girls will stop wearing those stupid flip flops that are like 4 inches thick. Why do they wear those? It looks like they're walking around with kleenex boxes on their feet.

I wanted to share a portion of Vice with you all. Most of you have probably read it, but it's too damn hysterical to not put on the blog. So for those of you who haven't picked it up yet, you better get on it.
"Something's Gotta Give: When you watch this movie you can't help but think, 'I bet this bitch has some rich Hollywood husband who paid for this because they both think she's so special.' Then you go to imdb and you realize, 'Holy shit, I'm right. They also did the movie Baby Boom together.' Something's Gotta Give is nothing more than an autobiography about a middle-aged writer who is smart (why, because she writes plays about herself?), funny (she doesn't say one funny thing the entire movie), and attractive (you're 50 years old you fat cow!) so why does she not have men beating down her door? 'I mean, Something's Gotta Give, right?' No. Nothing has to give bitch. Old ladies are not supposed to be out there in the singles scene. Has it occurred to these people that the divorce experiment isn't all it's cracked up to be? Eventually something does give and Keanu Reeves and Jack Nicholson stumble over each other trying to marry her. Yeah right. Hey, can I make a movie where women masterbate thinking about my bag?"

Doppelgangers #2

For the OC fans out there:

Those of you keeping up with your OC viewing know about Dean Hess.

He's the tough new disciplinarian at Harbor, and Ruby's boyfriend Brett's doppelganger, with less squinty eyes.

Batteries not included

Technology.

I don't even know how to begin this post. I hate to sound so cliche as to cover a topic such as technology, but it really has been running/ruining my life lately. It's totally inescapeable...obviously. Don't get me wrong, I love my iPod and my laptop, digital cable, skip its (they have a counter on them!), and so on. But jesus, my life is completely dependent on these things. Let me explain my frustration with technological advancement right now...

Saturday night: crazy drunken hipster fest at KB's new place. I won't even touch on that subject, aside that it was fun but really hot, and Boomsma, much to my surprise, really does still exist. So J.P. and I cruise home around 3:00 a.m. or so, and walking up our front stoop, I drop my piece of garbage phone down the entire concrete flight of stairs. Totally busts. I wanted to cry. I CANNOT live without a cell phone...not only because they're a lifeline kind of like breathing nowadays, but also because it's my only phone. And I don't see J.P. except in the morning around 6:00 and then when I get home from class around 9:00 or so...so it's the only way I can keep in contact with him. Anyway, on to the annoying part about it...

I go into the U.S. Cellular store hoping to get a new phone yada yada yada. I ask them to look up my account to see if I have insurance on my phone (so I won't have to buy a new one). The girl asks me for my phone number, and giving her the area code of 309 was like telling her I was a leper. "Oh, we can't access that number, we're on different networks and I'm a huge homo." What the fuck? Isn't U.S. Cellular a chain? What the fuck is the difference between Chicago and Peoria when it comes to cell phones? My cell phone worked in both places. Agh, whatever you bitch. So I go home and call customer service and they tell me I'll have to buy a new phone at RETAIL FUCKING PRICE but that they can program it at that store I was JUST at...so not only does that company suck, but they hire mongoloid retards. So I go back to the store and shoot the girl some dirty looks and some huge guy named Scott starts helping me. And of course, no refurbished phones for sale. And half of the phones aren't "in inventory" whatever the fuck that means. So I end up spending $300 on a new phone. Yes. $300. For a phone. Is this fucking absurd to anyone else? Ok fine U.S. Cellular...I can't go without a phone, so I'll hand over my loan money so I can connect with the 3 people who actually call my phone. Jesus fucking christ.

So I get home and when I call other phones, my number comes up as 0000000000. Ummm...could this more of an overcomplicated process with no climactic resolution? Oh my god I have already expended so much effort into this, I don't even care about the number showing up as though a telemarketer is calling you. Then my phone somehow figures it out and my number is back to normal. But next time I'm in Peoria, I have to press *226 or some bullshit like that to reset my phone to a tower down there. "What are you speaking Greece?" (I hope someone knows where that quote is from.)

Then this morning, I was taking my iPod off the charger, and I dropped the end that plugs into the actual iPod into a week-old cup of old coffee. So now that doesn't work. Fucking great.

Is there a reason that we can't live without this technology yet it's so fucking feeble that it can't withstand any sort of trauma?? I mean, I have spent hundreds, nay thousands, on technology and about half that on repairing it or fixing something or batteries or film or songs etc etc. Ok ok, maybe I should keep a better environment for them, but shit, since when do I have to look out for THEM? Those fucking little small wonders should really be able to take a little hardship. I mean, my grandma could be laying naked in the street after just being stabbed and I would say "hey man, we'll take care of it in the a.m." and she would be able to hack it. I just hope my kids are a little more durable than these expensive little technological devices that run my life, because I'm sure as hell not going to walk on eggshells around those assholes.

The true American Idol

Yes, it's Kelly Clarkson. But aside from the show, we all have our idols, right? Mine used to be Sienna Miller...she's almost TOO beautiful, great clothes, dating Jude Law...just the all around American dream. I should say my idols are Rosa Parks, Abraham Lincoln, Sandra Day O'Connor, etc...but I'm too superficial to look up to people who made great strides in history. I prefer to admire beautiful people with great fashion senses. But forget Sienna Miller, I have a new idol!

I'm at Barnes and Noble, studying, reading, briefing blah blah blah. I went outside to make a phone call and saw him...the epitome of class, sophistication, style, and intelligence. Some old black guy was sitting by himself, listening to his CD player, and rocking out all by his lonesome. Ok, as if that's not cool enough, he was smoking TWO cigarettes at the same time...while rocking out by himself! And it doesn't stop there. He finished one cigarette and continued to finish the second one while he pulled out another cigarette, lit it with his remaining nicotine stick and kept on keepin' on with the two at once style! This guy gives new meaning to the time and motion study in order to improve efficiency. And he didn't burn himself either. I should have gotten his digits.

He has abolished all that I thought I knew. The moral of my post is that we all need to appreciate greatness when it sits in front of us, possibly rocking out to some awesome jazz record.

I think we're going to Bloc Party tonight if anyone is interested. Goodbye my loves.

Deductive reasoning is my forte

I figured out who "Restricted" Joe was and why he called me...

It was Joe Camel! He wanted to call and talk Turkish delight with me. Obvious. Here's how I came to my conclusion:
Yesterday I got a pretty little present in the mail from Camel. Finally, they noticed my dire need for smokes! So I shake the present, size it up...try to figure out what's in this little box. It's gotta be more free smokes, right? NO! I open it up and there are two shitty, little, plastic shot glasses in there. What? But where are the smokes? There wasn't even a cute picture of that little camel on them. I need two plastic shot glasses about as much as I need to be constipated.

You see, a few weeks back, we were at Beachwood and were asked to take a survey for Camel in order to get free packs of cigarettes. Ok, I'd let Hulk Hogan punch me in the face and crotch to get free smokes. So that's how Camel got my address to send me the shittiest present ever...and that's why "Joe" (who I didn't know when he called) had my number. Joe Camel, thanks for calling! Sorry I told you to fuck off!

My daily trips on the el are soooo different compared to the Metra route I used to take everyday. The Metra is like the uppity version of public transportation or something. It was all working fools (like myself), in their suits, sippin' on coffee and reading the newspaper. But the el...that's a different story. Why is it that the vast majority of passengers are crazy or homeless? And I'm not the only one who has noticed this. Last night, while waiting to get on the train to go home, some girl came and stood up my ass. Ok, not really up my ass, but she stood so close to me that I could smell her shampoo. Total invasion of my personal box (both personal boxes if you know what I mean). But seriously, I hate when people get that close to me. Then, we get on the train, and I sit down, and she sits down right next to me...there were open seats galore mind you. She wasn't a creepy hobo though, and she didn't SEEM crazy. I mean, I may be cute, and I know every thug need a lady...but jesus, this skirt was wierding me out. She must have noticed my shocked expression (which was actually me giving her the Steph standard "What the fuck?" stare) and she says: "I'm afraid of who might sit by me if I don't sit by you." I thought about knifing her or stealing her wallet. Didn't your mom ever teach you to not judge a book by its cover? As I've said to Will before, NO ONE IS SAFE! TO EVIL!

Another time, some random crazy motherfuckin hobo told me my fly was down. I looked down and it totally wasn't. Then he laughed and said "I was just playin' beautiful!" What? Are you my wierd hypnotist uncle with shitty jokes (I really do have an uncle who is a hypnotist...he's not my uncle by blood though, he married into the family)? Next are you going to pull a quarter out of my ear or grab my nose and threaten to not give it back?

So I guess Kelly is having her first loft party next weekend? There's nothing like demolishing your new place before you're even settled in. And we all need to sit down and discuss this flippie cup tournament/trivial pursuit game. I'm really not a fan of the 3 teams in trivial...but Jeff is right, it makes sense in the flippies game.

Will - do you need help moving this weekend? I'm not offering, just wondering. I'm curious like a cat. Some of my friends call me Whiskers.

I'm gonna go watch Roseanne. And I'm totally serious.

Trial and error: An experiment gone awry

You know how you can feel a cold coming on? Your throat kind of starts to feel uneasy and it's harder and harder to swallow. Your head starts getting kind of groggy and congested and you just KNOW that these feelings are foreshadowing a much worse condition. (Hopefully I'm not the only one who feels this way before the onset of a cold, or maybe I'm just Dionne Warwick reincarnated as a skinny white girl.) Anyway, I started feeling this way on Friday afternoon and, seeing as though I don't have all that much spare time, I really wanted to beat this cold before it hit me head on. So the afternoon turned to evening and I felt worse...then it was time to go to Gary's show and I was feeling worse still. So my experiment started:

Maybe, just MAYBE, alcohol really IS the answer (and cause!) of all life's problems, as Homer said. So I thought I'd try to get really drunk and see how that affected my cold situation. So Friday night I drank a lot, but still my nose was stuffed up and I was uber tired at the end of the night. I thought, Time will tell in the morning.
(Side note here: Did someone (KB?) give my number to some guy named Joe on Friday night? I got this call on Saturday night from a "Restricted" number and Joe proceeded to tell me that he met me Friday night, I gave him my phone number, and I told him to call me. I told him that I don't give my number to fucking wierdos, but thanks for calling now fuck off and then hung up the phone. Then he called me back and left a voicemail saying that he didn't think he was being a wierdo for calling me because I told him to call me and that I can fuck off too. Who is this guy and why did you give him my number? Joe Doran, why are you hitting on me when I'm drunk and sick anyway?)

Anyway, so I woke up Saturday, not feeling much worse, but definitely not feeling any better. Drove home to G-town, went shopping with my mom, had dinner with the family at some Irish bar where they had the "traditional Irish 7 course meal: 6 beers and a potato" (no lie). I felt shittier still, my nose was chapped and red from all the cheap kleenex that my mom buys. Then J.P. and I had to go to some local dive bar to see some kid from my high school play country song covers. It was wierd. And everyone from my high school is either fat or balding or just plain uglier than when I left them. Went back to my friend's house, talked about her dog having a boner, asked questions of my pregnant friend, and wanted to die because my cold was even worse. So apparently beer had not helped Saturday night either.

Sunday I woke up completely paralyzed by germs. I seriously felt like hell. My parents wanted to go to a baseball game, so we went and I actually fell asleep in the stands. Despite how hot it was and that people were cheering, loud music was playing, and a threat of foul balls SHOULD have kept me awake, I was one of those gross, fat slobs sleeping with their mouths open and drooling in the most uncomfortable seats ever. Then I went home, slept, got up and had dinner, tried to watch the Simpsons at 7:00, fell asleep, got up at 8:45, went into my room and slept until 9:00 the next morning. Come Monday morning, I felt like a million bucks.

My hypothesis was incorrect. Booze is not a cure-all. Who knew? Turns out that all you really need is about 15 hours of sleep. Not that this newfound knowledge will keep me from trying this experiment again the next time I get sick. Maybe vodka will be more efficient? Or Absinthe? Ehh? Maybe drinking my own pee would do the trick.

Boring post, yes I know...but I am all about furthering our scientific knowledge. Tommy, stop spelling out dirty words with cells and figure out what alcohol kills cold viruses. Jesus, DO something with your time. Fo' sho'.