Converse With Me at Your Own Risk

Today, my co-worker came to my desk with an apron. Apparently some event company she's involved with gave it to her. She came by to discuss a comment made by another co-worker of ours, who felt that giving an apron as a gift to a woman is sexist. Something to do with our place being in the kitchen or something. Which it is. But anyway, she wasn't offended, because she likes to cook and, hey, free apron.

I had nothing to add on the sexist/not sexist debate. What I did say was, "You know what would be good? A bottle of sangria!" Understandably she looked at me like I had three heads. This is because that comment seems random to anyone not living inside my head. But it made perfect sense to me because this is what was happening inside my head:

An apron as a gift? You could put an apron in a basket with maybe a rolling pin or some cookie cutters or something. That would make a nice gift. One time I got a nice gift in a basket. It had pasta and some sauce and a bottle of sangria in it. Oh, sangria!

But of course, the actual conversation went more like:

"Check out my apron."
"I like sangria!"

This is why I know that if you don't like me, it's not because you think I'm boring.

Ways My Life Will Change With No Mortgage to Pay

• I will be able to afford to buy groceries with a startling degree of regularity, and without borrowing money from Fish. These groceries will also feature things like meat, as opposed to Ramen noodles. (I might still get the Ramen noodles though, cuz I kind of like them.) Likewise, peanut butter will become an accessory rather than an entire meal.
• I will no longer wonder things like "Will they really throw me out if I don't pay the rent this month?" and "Do I really need a phone?" and "Will Kristen die of hypothermia if I set the heat at 60?"
• I will no longer have the option of threatening to move back to Cleveland every time someone in Chicago says something I deem not very nice. (Fish and the bartender's lives will also change by not having to listen to these threats.)
• I can actually order alcohol at dinner instead of "just a water". I fucking hate water.
• CABLE MOTHER FUCKIN TV BITCHES!
• I will visit the dentist every 6 months, just like I used to. (Shadup, I like going to the dentist.)
• I will see all the things in Chicago that I should have gone to check out last year, such as the Field Museum and Shedd Aquarium. I will eat in restaurants and not have to look like a fool anymore when I'm the only person in the room who hasn't eaten somewhere. I will also visit bars that are not called Tai's Til 4. (Maybe.)
• No more giving hand jobs for crack!
• I will pay someone else to do my laundry, instead of spending hours at Bubbleland folding my own t-shirts. As soon as the bartender shows me the proper procedure for this, because heaven knows I'm not going to actually speak to a human I'm unfamiliar with unless someone is there to hold my hand the first time. Money can only solve so many problems.
• I will visit Kelly in Los Angeles, Heather and Amy in D.C., and Ashley in Arizona. Eventually. I swear.
• I will join a gym. Who am I kidding, really? I will be able to afford to join a gym, I won't actually do it.
• I will blog more. Because I will have more adventures. Because I will actually leave the house once in a while. Because I can afford to.
• Hookers. Lots and lots of hookers. Maybe midget hookers. Maybe I'll even get you a hooker.

A Major Announcement

I sold my house today.

Walked Right Into This One

I posted a personal ad on Craigslist this week. I knew, of course, that the freaks would come out the woodwork, but I wasn't exactly prepared for the degree:

"I'm married/have a girlfriend, but it's alright because she's cool with it/doesn't know/wants to join us". I'm sorry, no. Not even so much because you have a wife, but because you can't read. That part where I specifically asked you not to be in a relationship? I believe I even went so far as to say "Separated means you are in a relationship". Kindly get the hell out of my face.

"Hey baby, your sexy! r u available right now? lets get down lol" There are so many reasons why you get no date I don't even know where to begin. First of all, my sexy what? The sexy, that I seem to be in possession of, seems to have done something worthy of an exclamation point, but what? Please clarify. "r" I available right now? No. No I'm not. You know that I don't actually know you right? The odds that I'm going to show up at your house and do you right now? Not nearly as good of your odds of being a psycho with feet in the freezer. Even if you're not, if you're too lazy to actually write out the words "you" and "are", I'm going to guess you're too lazy to be worth my time or effort. I mean, I know they're monumentally long words and everything, but still.

"Hey, I'm 19! Always wanted to try going out with an older woman!" Hey, I'm 28! Fuck you!

"you better not be a bot/some gay guy." You are in no position to be making demands at this time. Move along.

No text at all, just a photograph of a penis. This, really, was insane. I must have gotten over a hundred of these. I don't understand the compulsion to do this, for one thing. Never in my life have I had the urge to photograph my vag and e-mail it to strangers. It's the anonymity of it that causes it I think. I mean, I'm guessing here based on the fact that I have yet to have a guy walk up to me in a bar and whip his dick out by way of introduction. Maybe I'm just going to the wrong bars. Hard to say. Speaking of hard, you'd think that's the image these gentlemen would like to project, but not all of them apparently. Sending pictures of your limp wee in the shower might not be the best idea kids. Likewise, photographs of it in some girl's mouth. The photograph of it in some guy's ass and the second guy's up some girl, captioned "This would be hot!" definitely did stand out though. Good job on that! Unfortunately, it was not in a good way and I had an uncontrollable urge to hit delete. And then gouge my eyes out with a spoon. A little warning next time, buddy, so I know not to open it? Thanks. 'Pershiate it.

Now With 50% More Amberance!

I found this great website (ok, ok, so I saw it in a MySpace bulletin, I'm a dork, get over it) that generates advertising slogans. Obviously they're not as good as the subtitles I've historically chosen for Bizzybiz, but some are still pretty good:

The good Amber Kids go for!
My doctor says 'Amber'.
Loves the Bizzybiz you hate.
I was a Bizzybiz weakling.
Super douchebagotry is almost here.
Too orangey for douchebagotry.
The appliance of shitpencil.
I'm not gonna pay a lot for this shitpencil.
Promise her anything, but give her rum.
I'm only here for the rum.

Unplugged

JoE: you've gotta try this one night when you're cooking
PGS DenMILF: I'm not cooking naked for you people
JoE: HAHA
JoE: a nice thick juicy chicken breast, BBQ sauce, some thick bacon with melted mozzarella over it
PGS DenMILF: sounds lovely. needs garlic
JoE: that could work
JoE: maybe some seasoning on the chicken while it's cooking
PGS DenMILF: yes. i'll have to think that through
JoE: also...you still need to let a brutha in on the amazing biscuit recipe!
PGS DenMILF: oh yes. i'll try to remember to bring it with tomorrow
PGS DenMILF: i such need internet at home
PGS DenMILF: and, well, a computer too prolly
JoE: unless you've got a port somewhere up your ass...a computer would probably be best

Scenes From A Neighborhood Bar

MrSteve: (after smelling a new blueberry flavored vodka) It's like a demented muffin.
Me: I like demented muffins!
Gene: You ARE a demented muffin.

**************

Pete: Hey, you should go eat sushi with us!
Me: No. Sushi is....no. I'll go to that place where you go eat sushi off the girl, and be the girl, but I won't eat sushi.
(long pause)
Pete: We can get you noodles.

**************

(A bottle of whiskey labeled Paddy's sits on the counter)
The bartender: This is the whiskey all the Irish guys drink.
Me: Huh. "Paddy's." Who knew?

Amberance Reviews the Internet

You may have noticed that my blog has no permanent links in the sidebar. There are several reasons for this. For one thing, I don't understand the etiquette of the linking thing. Do you link to all your friends or just the ones you actually think are funny? What about people who link to your blog that you don't read? Do you have to link them back? If you don't will they get mad and unlink you? The whole thing makes me nervous. Mostly though, I'm just too lazy to go into the template and change the code.

There are, however, a whole bunch of really neato things out on the internet that I'd really like to share. So rather than do the work of adding them all in a sidebar, I'm just going to write a normal, run of the mill post and review them for you here. Aren't you excited? Right. Anyway, in no particular order:

Are you like me and 73%* of the other Americans who are completely addicted to Sudoku? Then for God's sake man, DO NOT CLICK THIS LINK! Billions of free Sudoku puzzles to be solved, all online, all the time. Not only that, but it will keep track of how many games you've played and your average solving time. AND it gives you stats as to how well you stack up in time against the other Sudoku addicts (provided you don't mess up, dummy). For crying out loud, do not do this to yourself.

Having a bad day? Life got you down? Then may I suggest The Daily Kitten. Every day at 10:07 a.m. Eastern, you will find a brand new photograph of someone's sickeningly adorable kitten doing something sickening adorable. It is impossible to not be happy after checking out these kittens. Beware of this site if you feel you are in danger of becoming the crazy cat lady, because this is the site that will push you over the edge. You've been warned.

Speaking of cats, did you know they have their own MySpace thingy? They do. It's called Catster and there are dozens of cute kitties there with pictures and ratings and even their own blogs if they want (and can type). I bring this to your attention because of my addiction to The Travails by Tuesday the Cat. You may know Tuesday from her cameos on Heather's blog, but I bet you didn't know she was a writer herself. Aside from her astute observations about birds and humans, her sage advice can be solicited every Friday in her inspiring advice column. I recommend her latest advice on what a cat would do with a million dollars where she brilliantly equates wisdom with the ability to fit into small spaces.

While we're at it with Heather, you can thank her (profusely) for introducing me to this completely insane story called John Dies at the End by David Wong. Filled with meat monsters, exploding people, talking dogs, Fred Durst, and people gleefully ripping off their own limbs, you will never be so frightened and confused while laughing this hard in your life. If you like it, I recommend buying the paperback as well. We should be supporting David Wong so that he can afford to buy the drugs that will make an equally brilliant sequel possible.

I believe I may have mentioned before my favorite web comic Cyanide and Happiness. But did you know they are now doing Cyanide and Happiness animated shorts? You can laugh your balls off here and here. I think there are other things to do on this website, but I haven't actually checked them out. Sorry about that.

If you enjoy any of the following:

punk rock
supporting new music
swearing
creative insults
British accents and/or people
making fun of emo kids
purple burglar alarms**

alone or in combination, I strongly suggest you check out the world's most hilarious podcast, Punky Radio. It is hosted by Paul B Edwards and Tony Hearn, who also do a show called "Punk and Disorderly" on Mansfield 103.2 FM. That's in England. I've never heard it, because I don't live in England, but I'm sure it's great, though probably has much less swearing and general douchebagotry. You can subscribe to the podcast via Podcast Alley or iTunes or probably however you want really. If you visit Podcast Alley please vote for them, as there are some goofy crybaby emo kids who desperately need to get bitch-slapped. Also leave a comment, because if it doesn't suck they'll read it on the show. The Punky! website has links to everything, including websites for most of the bands they play and their MySpace page. Rock on, smacktards.

A perfect blend of wackiness and sarcasm is a rare thing to find, which is why I was so freakin pleased when I discovered The Sneeze. Steve is a comedy-nerd genius, from his experiments with chocolate breast milk in Steve, Don't Eat It! to his recent assertion that cookies are "the tits of food". I would especially recommend any post involving his son.

So there you have it: everything worth checking out on the Internet (besides porn).

*Statistics courtesy of www.madethefuckup.com.***
**It would make more sense if you downloaded the show. Think of it as added incentive.
***Not a real website.

If You Want Something Done Right...

You know you're turning into a total bitch when you fire someone from painting their own new house. Which is what I did yesterday while trying to help the owner add a little color to his recently purchased condo. Dude can't paint, seriously. I demoted him to moving the ladder around for me. It was all he could be trusted with.

Amberance - Now Available in Stripes

I get bored easily. So even though I loved loved loved my last haircut, I found myself back in Melle's chair last week begging her to cut it all off. Melle loves to cut my hair because I pretty much let her do whatever she wants. My theory is that I don't cut hair for a living. She does. So who am I to be telling her what would look good on my head? I don't know; it's not my job. It's Melle's job and so I just go in there assuming that she knows what she's doing. People don't really get this, I think because people tend to get hyper-sensitive about their hair. When people ask how I'm going to get my haircut I have to tell them I don't know, because I honestly don't. Every time I've thought I knew how it would turn out I was wrong. The most direction I've ever given Melle is "do something asymmetrical". So when I went in last Thursday night on the way to the bar (did I mention how great it is to get your hair cut next door to your bar?), I found Melle rubbing her hands together maniacally. Well, OK, she was really washing some other girl's hair, but trust me, I could see the wheels turning.

She had nearly completed the haircut when she got this "Eureka!" look on her face and asked me "Can I put lines in it?" I explained to her my theory of haircuts, and so she set to work on carving stripes into my head, giggling to herself "Teehee! You're an investment analyst!" the entire time. Here is the result:

It's a little different as you can see. I am in love with my head now, except that I can't get used to the fact that it looks really cool. Because I am not really cool. My hair is much much cooler than I am, in my opinion.

Though not everyone's opinion, as evidence by my brother's reaction upon my arrival at Tai's:


He's not drunk, just exasperated.

Thanks Melle!

More From Amber's Deranged Slumbers

The bartender called at midnight last night. I'm sure he had a reason, but I don't know what it was because I wasn't listening to him. Noticing my unresponsiveness, he asked if he'd woken me up (he had).

"I'm sorry. I'm trying to process this dream I just had. I dreamed I was at a midget wedding." Actually, a little person wedding, as I was corrected in the dream. I also remember one normal sized person talking about her midget son who was not in attendance. "He has a huge head," she was telling us. "He always has. When he was young all the other kids on the soccer team made fun of him for it and it was hard for him to hold it up because it was so heavy. But he's used to it now."

I've determined I need to stop eating whole blocks of cheese just before I go to bed.

Night of the Living Douchebags

Happy Easter y'all. How was it this year? Mine sucked rancid eggs.

The plan was for me, the bartender and the bartender's roommate to drive out to Galena in my car for Easter dinner. A fine plan to be sure, except that the bartender's roommate is a complete smacktard. I hereby christen him with the blog name Fuckwit.

About a week ago, Fuckwit got it into his head that it would be a much better idea for him to drive instead. Fuckwit's driving record is less than perfect. He's had himself a motorcycle accident, had his license suspended for three years, and last Wednesday received a speeding ticket that probably should have also included a bonus DUI. Needless to say, I was loathe to get in a car with him behind the wheel and the bartender shared my opinion. Fuckwit wouldn't budge, and so it was decided we would take separate vehicles for the three hour trip. This appears even more stupid when you know that part of Fuckwit's reasoning for not wanting to ride with us is because he wasn't sure how much money he should bring for gas and tolls. So clearly since he doesn't know, he should drive by himself and pay three times as much.

We got off to a weak start almost immediately. Because, you know, it NEVER EVER rains in Illinois so no one knows how to drive when it does. Really people, why is this such a difficult skill? You are FROM here, you should be used to this by now. Combine that with your typical holiday traffic in Chicago and it took us an hour and a half to get out of the city. It continued to rain on us for the entire trip. Fuckwit got, we thought, pretty far ahead of us since we ended up stopping twice. So we were a little surprised when we got a call from Fuckwit who had missed an exit, blown right through Rockford, and was now lost. Only a little surprised though, because it's Fuckwit and he's not known for being the sharpest knife in the drawer. It would not be the last time I said "He just HAD to drive himself, didn't he?" on this trip.

The bartender and I arrived at the restaurant in Galena, and to prove he has a sick sense of humor, God allowed the heavens to open and turn regular rain into a torrential downpour just as we got out of the car. Ha ha God. You're hilarious.

We wetly entered the restaurant where the bartender's family was already waiting, and then proceeded to wait another 45 minutes for Fuckwit's lost ass to show up. After all that, dinner turned out to be pretty good. I had king crab legs, which were delicious, and I traded the bartender one leg for one of his ribs, which was also delicious. Meanwhile, Fuckwit ordered what seemed to be an entire cow and had himself a few cold beers. We'd predicted that would be his beverage of choice; yet another reason why we didn't want him driving us.

After dinner, we drove to the bartender's mother's house, where we had cake and ice cream in honor of his sister's birthday. It was here that I experienced the highlight of my day - tiny little kittens! Really tiny. A month old and they squeak like mice when you pick them up. So cute.

After about 8.2 seconds of being at the house, Fuckwit started pestering us to head back to Chicago. Now, he'd driven himself, so why he couldn't just leave without us any time he felt like it is beyond me. But he insisted and so we headed out with him following behind us. He had mentioned he was kind of tired (maybe because he came home at 7:30 in the morning?) and might stop for a Red Bull, so when we lost sight of him behind us we figured he'd pulled into the gas station. We drove along companionably, mooing at the cows we saw and singing along with the NoFX cover of Gin and Juice. Traffic was light and the rain had even stopped. All was right with the world.

Forty minutes out of Galena, the bartender's phone rings and I hear the following half of a conversation: "Yeah._____Wait, you WHAT?______By the look out tower?________Fuck.________HOW DID YOU DRIVE YOUR CAR INTO A DITCH?__________Well, it's going to be a while, we're a half hour past that._________FINE." As it turns out, Fuckwit hadn't gone after a Red Bull. Instead he'd relied on the beer he had at dinner and his fabulous driving skills to lose control of his car, run off the road, down a hill and smash his car into a fence. Correction, make that smash his FATHER'S car into a fence. Additionally, he had $30 in his wallet which was obviously not enough for a tow truck, and so could we turn around and come ALL THE WAY BACK and give him some more money?

As the bartender turned around, an uncomfortable silence filled the car. A minute later I couldn't hold it in any longer: "He just HAD to FUCKING DRIVE, didn't he?!?!?" As I heard earlier in the week on my favorite podcast, Punky Radio, saying we were angry is like saying that Hitler was mildly annoyed by the Jews. We now found ourselves parked on the side of the road behind a police car watching the sky get dark and the rain start falling again, staring down an embankment at Fuckwit's car, wondering how the hell it didn't roll over, seething, and waiting for the tow truck. The bartender briefly got out to speak with his roommate; I did not as I was afraid I might invert his nutsack. The tow truck took 45 minutes to arrive and then cleaned the bartender and I out of an additional $100 with Fuckwit's $30. I can't really blame the guy, if some complete fuck up interrupted my Easter dinner, I'd make him wait and rape his wallet too.

An hour and a half after we left the first time, we got back on the road. It was now pitch black, raining like a monsoon and we had about $1.37 in loose change left over from an episode that 1) was not our fault and 2) SHOULD NEVER HAVE FUCKING HAPPENED IN THE FIRST PLACE. Additionally, we had waited just long enough for the milk trucks to leave the farms and head to where ever they take the milk, so we were stuck behind a convoy of them with no passing lane. It's so much fun to drive in the dark when it's raining, but oh, it's even MORE fun to drive in the dark when it's raining and the spray from the trucks in front of you cuts what little visibility you do have in half. We could not cut a break the whole trip. When the road briefly opened up into two lanes so we could pass the trucks, we got cut off by a truck trying to pass the other ones and ended up passing nobody. Some shithead thought it would be a good idea to pull over to the side, half on the shoulder and half still in the road and shut off all his lights. We were repeatedly blinded by people going the other way who didn't have the courtesy to turn off their brights when they passed.

When we finally got to my house, I turned to the bartender and we hugged each other for a long time. "Happy Easter," he said to my neck.

"Happy Easter to you," I said pleasantly. "This was terrible. Let's never do this again, as long as we live."

Heather and Amber Have Finally Cracked

PGS DenMILF: i made a gay Easter egg last week
PGS DenMILF: it's a rainbow
VelociHeather: did it go clubbing?
VelociHeather: :-)
PGS DenMILF: yeah, in the fridge. all the straight eggs went with it because everyone knows that gay eggs are the most fun
VelociHeather: hahaha
VelociHeather: it woke up the next morning in the butter tray, hungover
VelociHeather: "Shit - what did I DO last night?"
PGS DenMILF: throwing up yolk
VelociHeather: covered in ketchup
VelociHeather: shell slightly cracked
PGS DenMILF: "i'm never going to The Scramble again!"
VelociHeather: then he looks over and sees his friends fried
VelociHeather: "NOOOOOOOO!!!!!"
PGS DenMILF: shouldn't have given them that mayonnaise. he knows they can't handle the hard stuff
VelociHeather: AAHH!! SOMEONE DEVILED CHARLIE!!! NOOOO!!!
VelociHeather: THE PAPRIKA - IT'S EVERYWHERE!!!
PGS DenMILF: quick! get the tabasco sauce!
PGS DenMILF: but it's too late. the tragedy is he was so young
VelociHeather: and delicious

Expensive Taste

Last night I dreamed that I tried on a little black strapless dress at Abercrombie when I was out shopping with Kelly. The price tag said it was $3600.

I put it back on the rack.

Dresden Dolls

A week ago, if you'd told me I was going to see a rock show that was stranger than Hank III, I would have laughed in your face. Even though you didn't, and I didn't, I take it back.

The bartender bought me tickets to see the Dresden Dolls on Friday night for no apparent reason other than he knew I wanted to go. I say tickets because he bought me two, but I ended up going alone because there's been a rash of douchebagotry going around.

The first thing I noticed was that I didn't get the memo about the dress code. Apparently at Dolls shows you're meant to show up dressed as a creepy doll. Even if you're a dude. Also, there was a couple dressed up as a doctor and a nurse handing out vials of something I was pretty sure I didn't want to drink.

I also had not been expecting the strippers. The first thing I saw when I walked in was a girl wearing nothing but panties and pasties prancing around onstage. Turns out the opening act was a burlesque show. It also turns out they got in a little bit of trouble for it, because they found out after the fact that it's illegal to have women in pasties where alcohol is being served in Chicago. Though less trouble than they got in for the same thing in Salt Lake City, they pointed out. Oops.

The next act was a band called Reverend Glasseye, which sounded sort of like folk music mixed with carnival music. Except much louder and they were very angry about something. Possibly religion. But it was very interesting.

The next act was something called Buried Alive, which consisted of a girl and a boy doing some kind of interpretive dance/performance art thingy. I can't be sure, but I think it was about two dead people having sex, or possibly two people trying to kill each other through having sex. I could be wrong. I do know there was definitely sex, flowers and a grave. This performance prompted my favorite moment of the night. There was a girl standing near me who was pierced all the way down both sides of her neck and her chest. She had a series of rings in the holes and a red satin ribbon woven through them like she was some kind of human corset. It was this girl who, after the performance, turned around and said "That was weird."

Finally at about 1:15 in the morning the Dresden Dolls took the stage. Holy crap. Allow me to bow down before all that is awesome about the Dresden Dolls.


Thank you. They played a great mix of songs from their upcoming album and songs off their old one. Coin Operated Boy was particularly awesome. I was originally drawn to this band by Amanda Palmer's lyrics, but let me tell you: Brian Viglione steals the live show. Their recordings don't do his drumming justice at all. Additionally, recordings don't capture his hilarious mime-like stage antics. What an incredibly talented performer.

Besides their own stuff, they also covered "Amsterdam" by Jacques Brel (who I love) and, bizarrely, Black Sabbath's War Pigs which turned surprisingly awesome with nothing but a piano and drums.

I hate to admit this, but I left before the encore. Because it was already past 3 a.m. and so 6 hours past my bedtime. Also I figured if I left a little early I had a better chance of not get trampled by an army of creepy dolls. You should totally check out the Dresden Dolls if this tour is coming through your town. Now with more boobies!

That's A Parent

I'm having a kid.

Don't panic, I'm not actually pregnant or anything. It's just that I decided last week that I'm having a kid sometime in the next four years or so, even if I have to go out and buy the sperm. Because kids rock.

I was walking home from work last week. As I was walking past a house on my street about a block up from mine, out popped the cutest kid ever. He was one of those super white kids. You know the kind, with the white blonde hair and pale skin and you just know they glow in the dark? He jumped out on the porch as I walked by his house. "Hi!" he said.

I assumed he was talking to the kids a couple houses down and not to me, because I was a stranger, but no. When I didn't answer him he tried again.

"HI!" he shouted.

"Hi!" I said.

"Do you like my NEW SHOES?"

Either he was never taught the lesson about not talking to strangers or else he just wasn't down with that, because the kid had no fear.

"I do like your shoes," I said. "They're very nice."

"WATCH ME!" he shouted with glee. "They make me go FAST!" and with that he took off running down the street to when the other kids were playing.

I was completely charmed right out of my shoes. Two seconds later I became very afraid for him, because what if I'd been a kidnapper or something?

And that was when I decided I wanted a kid just like him. Except that doesn't talk to strangers.

Not Your (Grand)Father's Country Music

PGS DenMILF: holy crap i am so tired today
VelociHeather: yeah?
PGS DenMILF: you know hank williams?
VelociHeather: the singer?
VelociHeather: not personally, but i've heard his music
PGS DenMILF: i saw his grandson play last night
PGS DenMILF: hank III
VelociHeather: ooh, neat
PGS DenMILF: probably the most bizarre concert i'll ever get to see
VelociHeather: Hank III: Revenge of Country
PGS DenMILF: and how
PGS DenMILF: set 1: total country music. hillbilly twangy stuff with slide guitar and steel guitar and violin etc.
PGS DenMILF: except all the words were about drugs
PGS DenMILF: set 2:
PGS DenMILF: and mind you, they actually CHANGED CLOTHES for this right onstage
PGS DenMILF: psycobilly/hellbilly supercharged punk/country
VelociHeather: wow, now that's weird
PGS DenMILF: violin slide guitar still included
PGS DenMILF: no wait, it gets better
PGS DenMILF: 10 minute break
VelociHeather: haha
PGS DenMILF: they come back out
PGS DenMILF: regular instruments now except still with the stand up bass they've had the whole time (played by a dude with a raging mohawk)
PGS DenMILF: and they play screaming death metal
VelociHeather: ha!
PGS DenMILF: not even kidding you
VelociHeather: did you expect this at all?
PGS DenMILF: no
VelociHeather: I mean, did you know it'd be a weird show?
VelociHeather: Why did you go?
PGS DenMILF: i had no idea what i was getting myself into
PGS DenMILF: the bartender asked me to
PGS DenMILF: he had an extra ticket
PGS DenMILF: strangest crowd of people i've ever seen at a concert
VelociHeather: sounds hilarious
PGS DenMILF: hicks in boots and cowboy hats with large belt buckles mixed with mohawk/spikey haired tattooed punks with spiked belts mixed with hardcore metalheads in platform boots with their ears gauged so big you could pass a loaf of french bread through them and their goth chick "i'll kill you by looking at you" leather clad girlfriends
PGS DenMILF: i wish i would have had a camera
VelociHeather: i wish you'd had one too

More Female Insanity

Anyone who has Hotmail knows that on the left hand side of your screen there's a bunch of links to recent fluff pieces on MSN. I tend to click on these pretty frequently because it's not work. Today I came across an article from the "Dating and Relationships" section of MSN about what to do if your man checks out other women. In it I discovered that part of the reason why women are crazy is because it is encouraged by the vast media conspiracy through the art of misinformation.

Here are a couple of lying paragraphs with my comments and corrections in parentheses (for the full article, click here):

Can you live with it?
Some feel that if you trust your mate, appreciating another’s beauty shouldn’t be a problem. (Because some people are rational.) “Trust is really important,” Lavinthal says. “If you know your man isn’t a cheater, then let him have a little fun by looking at other people. (Excuse me? "Let" him have his fun? I'm sorry, is he your boyfriend or your dog?) It comes down to the old ‘look but don't touch’ adage. As long as he keeps his hands to himself, I don’t see a problem. (Because as long as he keeps his hands to himself, there isn't one.) If this issue really bugs you, then it’s best to be honest and let your boyfriend know that his fascination with others is not appreciated or acceptable. If he continues to behave badly and it’s making you crazy, then it’s probably best to break up, (before he breaks up with your psycho ass first)” advises Lavinthal, adding with a laugh, “or if you really love him, invest in one of those cone-shaped plastic head things that dogs wear.” (Yes, because that isn't insulting at all. Apparently he is your dog. Tip: If you really love him, this joke won't seem funny to you.)


When you can’t stand his roving eye
If you’re not the kind who can make light of this situation, then heed this advice. Says Dr. Gilda, “Gawking is a put-down to the person in your presence. If a woman continues to stand for a guy doing it and hopes it will change, she’s in fantasyland. (Likewise, if a woman is annoying and whines about it all the time and hopes it will change, she's in fantasyland.)” So here’s her advice: Don’t confront him with “you” language, as in, “You are doing this,” “You are not a good boyfriend,” “You are embarrassing me...” Instead, communicate your feelings: “I feel insignificant when you flirt with other women in front of me.” This will allow for a conversation you can both learn and grow from, rather than a major screeching match. (This is not a "conversation". This is called a "guilt-trip" and it's not very nice.) Also, try to get your guy to think and talk about why he constantly needs to check out other women. (I'll just tell you. It's because other women keep walking by.) Perhaps this is a habit leftover from hanging out with his buddies or brothers during his high-school or college days. Maybe he’s insecure and is hoping to get some positive acknowledgment from the women he’s drooling over. (He's not looking for acknowledgement. He looking at her ass. That's it.) Whatever the case, if you both become more aware of his actions and their impact, you’ve got a great chance of getting past this and onto happier terrain... where he’s making total eye contact with you. (Want to know how to get him to make total eye contact with you? Next time he's checking out a girl, just say "Wow, those are some damn fine tits! I'd love to tap that ass." He'll turn around to look at you so fast he'll get whiplash. Problem solved!)

Pay attention now, because here's how it works: This is what guys do. It's a natural body function, like peeing. Would you ask your man not to pee anymore? No, because that's stupid. Also, he can't. A better thing to do is get a grip on yourself, grow some self esteem, realize that you're the only one he's fucking and get over it.

Besides which, that chick does have a great rack.

A Smashing Good Time

I believe I posted something yesterday to the effect of "Aw poop, nothing is happening to me." I would like to revise that sentiment to "Yay! Nothing is happening to me!" This is because I am very happy today due to the fact that nobody hit my car yesterday.

It was a typical Thursday evening at Tai's. I had eaten Chinese and been told I looked like a double amputee because I like to sit on my feet. MrSteve, who is annoyingly on the wagon, showed up and drank tap water because he is a traitor. He was followed by Pothead Pete. I don't remember anything Pete said to me and he probably doesn't either.* I had a delicious glass of Strongbow in front of me and all was right with my world.

From outside we heard the unmistakable sound of metal hitting metal at a high rate of speed indicating that, oh shit, there's been an accident. 911 calls commenced and the bar patrons poured out into the street like the nosy people we are. We surveyed the carnage: a blue car with its passenger side in some disarray was in the middle of the street. A white car had its entire front end smashed in including a broken front axle. In front of that was a white van that had been slammed into so hard that it jumped the curb and wrapped its back end around a parking meter, but not before it slammed into the car in front of it and buried its hood in the car's trunk.

Directly behind and a foot away from this insurance nightmare sat Alistair. I hadn’t seen Alistair all week. He was on loan to the bartender because his car is totally lame. He was being returned to me that night, and just in time because I have exactly no food in my house, not even cheese, and it’s time to buy some groceries. He was the last car in line parked on the very corner. He was also the only car on that side of the street that hadn’t been touched.

The bartender returned from checking on Alistair and looked at me. “Boy,” he said, “I was going to move your car to that spot in front of the bar earlier and I never got around to it. Good thing I didn’t.” Because if he had moved it Alistair would be a very large accordion right now. But he’s not, there’s not a scratch on him. Nothing happened to him.

Yay for nothing!


*Last week, MrSteve invented a great new game called "Let's See How Long". The way you play is to start a game of pool with Pothead Pete, accidentally knock the 8 ball in at the beginning of the game, and then wait and see how long it takes Pete to notice. Sadly, we learned it's possible to play this game more than once per night. Pete is not known for his attention span.

I Have Nothing to Say

You may have noticed I am incredibly boring lately. This is because nothing is happening to me.

Instead I offer this: Which is the more offensive word and why? Friggin or frikkin?

Discuss.