BugginWord » twilight

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BugginWord — Thu, 05 May 2011 16:45:21 +0000

It’s May. A new month. One that will be sadly devoid of tequila for me, but a new month none the less. Which of course means it’s time to learn more about all the sick little monkeys trolling the internet that occasionally stumble into my little BugginWorld. And as usual, I’m scratching my head like a chimpanzee with dandruff.

“mini ponies sneezing glitter“ Yes please! I wonder if mini pony sneezes are as cute as cat sneezes. Mildred has never sneezed glitter. Yet. Would it be wrong to mix a little saucer of catnip and glitter and leave it unattended but in visual range of my video camera? Has a cat ever suffered health problems as a result of glitter inhalation?

“rod stewart bathing suit“ I just threw up in my mouth. You should be ashamed of yourself. Especially because I’m picturing that Borat/John Mayer neon green swimsuit thing.

“giant hemorrhoid images“ Really? You’re seeking that out? On purpose? This has to be some sort of weird fetish thing, right? Wait, this was a Moooooog search, wasn’t it?

“i want paula deen to hold me like a baby“ Now this is DEFINITELY a weird fetish thing. I mean, there are lots of things I’d like to do with Paula Deen – party, cook, lob sticks of butter off of highway overpasses onto motorcycle gangs – but I don’t want her to hold me like a baby. Especially since I just read this article and I’m still totally disturbed. But to the person that searched for “paula deen butter is everything bitch?” Let’s cuddle.

“bad ass hamsters“ is there a “good” ass hamster? Like is there a particular breed that fur-ballers prefer? Great. Now I’m picturing Richard Gere in one of those neon green swimsuits, too.

“dares of things to put in your vagina“ Well you sound about seventeen kind of special. I think I’d like to dare you to put an IUD up there. That sounds like a win win for you, me, and society.

“is it ok to have blood samples in my fridge“ Blood samples? No. You don’t want your friends and family to know you’re THAT obsessed with Edward Cullen, do you? Now pee samples on the other hand? Hells yes! Preferably in large, orange, unlabeled containers. And if you can fit said container inside a larger, empty box of Franzia, even better.

“do giraffes need special care?“ The miniature ones definitely do. You have to polish their tiny monocles at least twice a week. And they won’t use their tiny treadmills if you don’t spray them down with lavender. And lord knows, there is nothing sadder than a miniature giraffe with no muscle tone.

“what do arm buds do“ Well dear reader, I’m fairly certain they grow into tentacles with talons at the ends that enable parasites to shred the host body’s lady bits as it bursts forth into the hospital and commences world domination by strangling all medical professionals in the room. That or they work like ear buds. Assuming the parasite listens with it’s arms. One of those two things. Probably.

Conveniently it’s Cinco de Mayo since you’re probably going to need a liter of tequila to get those images out of your head. Say, are you done with that margarita? Could I possibly suck on one of those salt-flavored ice cubs slowly melting in the bottom of your otherwise empty glass? Gosh you’re a peach, Interwebz.

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Elly’s Guide to Unemployment

BugginWord — Tue, 05 Oct 2010 16:46:01 +0000

Look. I get it. The economy sucks ass. It’s terrifying to be jobless. Discovering that the world actually CAN revolve without you is a blow to anyone’s ego. Trust me, I know.

And yes, the financial aspects are horrifying. It’s hard to watch the balance on your savings account drop. It sucks to feel guilty about buying a lunch out (or a pitcher of beer if you have your priorities straight).

I have a whole mess o’ loved ones between gigs at the moment, so we’ve been talking about these issues quite a bit (over pitchers of beer – because, as mentioned previously, I have my priorities straight). So far, not a one of them seems able to stop and smell the foam head. (Roses are out of season, after all.)

But here’s the secret, Interwebz. It doesn’t have to be all bad.

Take it from me, the MASTER of unemployment. You WILL get another job someday. (Don’t you shake that head at me. I believe in you!) And when you get that other job your going to say, “Damn. Where did that time go? That’s the longest vacation I’ve had in years and I spent the whole time fretting and reorganizing my hard drive.”

So here’s my preachy coaching tip for you, my little muffins. (And yes, muffin is totally slang for vagina. Hi Mom!!) Think back to when you were working full time, trapped in your fluorescent-lit cube farm (or execu office, or Mac truck). Now try and remember what it was you used to daydream about while you were trapped to your desk (or backhoe, or operating table). I used to imagine escaping to a sidewalk cafe on a quiet side street with a good book and an ice cold pint of beer. Maybe you pined to see a movie in the middle of the day or spend an afternoon baking chocolate yumminess. (Side bar, if you daydream about baking, call me. I like eating baked good. Win-win.)

Fast forward back to reality where you’re unemployed again. Now how many times have you done that thing you used to daydream about? Mmmmhmmm, that’s what I thought. (I’m looking at you with both stern disapproval and intense compassion, FYI. Also, you can’t tell from my typing, but my hair looks really nice today.)

Well Interwebz, that glass isn’t going to blow itself. (I’m assuming at least one of you always wanted to take a glass blowing class. Also I was worried this post might end up with a paragraph that lacked a parenthetical aside. Crisis averted.) So get out there and drink that pitcher of beer (or start a blog, or crochet your own gimp). You can send out those resumes once Happy Hour is over.

Disclaimer: If your workday fantasy was to sprint to the nearest Porsche dealership, buy the latest model, then cover yourself in gold leaf and vaseline before driving to the country and buying an alpaca farm, you should probably ignore this post entirely because a) whoa, dude and b) I’m talking about an extravagance that costs $20 or less.

As for you lucky stiffs enjoying the spoils of a regular job, there’s nothing to say you can’t knock off early one afternoon and play a little hooky yourselves. I’d even put down my paperback and split a pitcher of beer with you. (Unless the paperback was Twilight. Because that’s a little hard to set down. Not that I’ve read it multiple times. Or, you know, ever. Say, we’re supposed to be talking about you, here. Look a pony!)

But if you’re just playing hooky and still gainfully employed, you should pop for the pitcher. You should also probably buy me an alpaca for my birthday. Or this little tiny gilded giraffe that I want so badly.

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Cold Meds and Comments

BugginWord — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 16:51:02 +0000

By the time this posts, I and my tapioca sinus infection will be halfway to California. I’ll have already used up another box of kleenex. The people on either side of me will be cursing their bad travel karma and ordering orange juice. Really, you guys are missing out.

Also, I will have already insulted another “artist” over at Craftastrophe. Forgive me, I’ve got sparkly vampires on the brain. It happens.

So what happens to an Elly when you combine fun cold meds, Twilight fever, severe exhaustion, an unattended laptop and a week’s worth of blog withdrawal? Well apparently she leaves a string of nonsensical comments around the blogosphere then starts randomly referring to herself in the third person. Lovely.

It’s not my fault. It’s because I read all these adorable witty bitches that just incite me. Really, you should probably read their things instead this week because I am one hot mess. With a cold. Which is kinda ironical and funny and makes me want to order kazoos in bulk.

Sorry, that was the cold meds kicking in. Elly would never write something stream of consciousness that didn’t make any sense. In the third person. Twice.

*sigh*

So it all started when Amanda posted this lovely photo, wrote something witty, then left the meaning of the photo open for interpretation. So Elly I did some med-influenced interpreting.

It’s about each of our individual struggles with infinite defeats and repetitive failures…and our futile belief in different outcomes.

That or it’s about sexy teenage vampires.

Either way, it makes me moist.

Then I wandered over to visit Mrs. Blogalot who seems to also be suffering from blog withdrawal and seems to think there’s a medication to alleviate her symptoms.

You’re looking for strong stuff? I just got some crazy stuff for my sinus infection. Also? Talcum Powder is fun to say. Look! I have walls!

I’m not going to tell you what Holly was writing about, because I believe this comment to be self explanatory.

Isn’t it always about bestiality or necrophilia? Well, that and glitter.

Poor Libby was venting very real emotions on this post. Being the sensitive gal that Elly is I am, I tried to offer a little insight and comfort.

For some reason I can’t stop thinking about Zamfir. And fellatio jokes with the phrase “playing the flute.” And corn dog vibrators.

By the time I hit Vapid’s place, I felt it necessary to point out the reason for my random-ness. Because I’m never, ever random without medication. Ever.

The fuck!?!? There’s no wine here!!! Did you drink it all again? Just for that, I’m not sharing my cold meds with you.

I’m all talk – have a shot of Tussin. Don’t mind the phlegm on the rim.

Ry? I don’t know what to say. You’re always so polished and erudite. I seriously don’t know why you haven’t blocked my ability to comment yet. If you cross your eyes, it’s kinda flattering that I feel comfortable enough to come to you for help, right? RIGHT?!?

I’m pretty sure you need to make a vacuity award just so you can say the word vacuity 917 times. Va. KEW. itty.

Did I mention the doc put me on some fun meds for my sinus infection?

Also? Tartar control sounds like a line of hose for your teeth.

Seriously, stop me.

Buffy’s post started out about melons that look like vaginas…I think. It was getting pretty hard to pay attention by this point. Eventually I figured out she’d written a recipe for a new cocktail.

Sadness. My current cocktail?

7 parts dayquil
2 parts antibiotics
4 parts honey
1 part menthol
9 parts mucinex

combine in neti-pot and pour into your nose

But you know who got the worst of it? Sarah P. Based on her writing and her well documented history of sex with dragons, she always gets the worst of it. Then again, you can’t write a post containing the phrase “labia face” and think that you won’t get at least one or two weird comments, right?

LABIA FACE. labia face. Labia. Face. LABIAFACE. la-la-la-laBIA Faaaay-ssss.

ps cold meds

and labia faces

giggle

pps I can’t feel my labia face

pms Please tell me Weird Al is going to record la-la-la-la-la-la my la-labia face

But did I stop there? In a word – no. Cold Med Elly was not to be deterred. I don’t remember what Sarah P’s post was about but I was convinced it ought to be a sequel to something. I remember stopping in the middle of reading the post when it dawned on me that if I had a third cat I could braid their tails.

You’re starting to understand why I don’t do drugs, right?

THAT was the lesson in sexy talk? I think my kayak just shriveled up and fell off.

In other news, my captcha is “ellionaut” which is now my new favorite word and bound to be my next blog post.

Especially since I’m having such a hard time with that Vulvatini recipe thing. Yes, I’ve thought about it every day since you made that comment. And also? It makes me think of the Vulvanati which is obviously an ancient secret society founded to protect the secrets of my vulva.

Seriously, do you want to try some of these meds?

Yeah. About those meds. Imagine my surprise when I noticed a new word doc on my desktop entitled “Ellionaut.” I had to google it to figure out where I stole it from. Who knew that Cold Med Elly would dig on a site with the heading Math Words, pg7?

Astronaut The first root of astronaut is aster from the Greek word for star. It still appears in many scientific words such as Asteroid (star like). The naut is from the Greek word for a sailor, and retains this connection to the sea today in the word nautical. An astronaut, then, is literally a “sailor on the stars”. The word seems to have been created around 1929 but did not become popular until 1961 according to one source.

So obviously the word ellionaut means “sailor on the elly.” Wait until I whip out that little factoid during the next Fleet Week.

And that’s just the comments I found. There’s no telling what else I did in my Tussin induced stupor. I apologize to anyone else I may have scarred for life.

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Best Movie Idea Ever

BugginWord — Wed, 21 Apr 2010 16:53:27 +0000

On a rare evening when both Rocco and I were at home, we stumbled upon Analyze That on the boob tube. Every time De Niro made a snarky comment about bumping someone off, Rocco would turn to me, grinning widely as if to say, “Aren’t gangsters just the BEST?!?” Then he’d bounce in his seat a little as he eagerly turned his attention back to the screen. Somewhere around the fifteenth time, he actually smacked the arm of the chair as if to say, “Dag nabit I wish I could see a real life whacking just once!”

(Ok I might be exaggerating a bit, but only slightly. At least once a week the guy asks me which Godfather movie I want to watch over dinner. Mind you, we have dinner together once, maybe twice a week. I think you get the picture.)

“Boys really love gangsters, don’t they,” I wondered aloud, more of an observation than a question.

“What’s not to love?” he responded, eager to watch a snitch get dropped off of a rooftop.

“As much as girls love vampires?” I persisted.

“At least as much, Fredo.”

How else did the Munsters afford that house?

So there you have it folks. Somebody get me James Cameron’s phone number because I have found the greatest idea for a movie ever – Vampire Gangsters. Mark my words, it will be the highest grossing movie in the history of movies. There’s something for everyone. Ok maybe I’ll throw in a cartoon dragon for the kids and THEN it will have something for everyone.

Go ahead. Smack your head in frustration that you didn’t see this obvious bridge of the movie subject gender divide. I call dibs. Seriously James – CALL ME.

Really, vampires go together like peanut butter and chocolate, AC and DC, rum and tiny umbrellas. Dig it – both gangsters and vampires do the bulk of their work at night. They both wear a lot of suits. (If you belong to the sparkly Twilight vampire camp, just remember that gangsters where those slick, shiny suits so no one would notice their glitter sheen.) Maybe a vampire gangster couldn’t wear a gold cross, but there’s nothing that says they can’t pile on loads of gold chains and medallions featuring old school bad ass vampires like Nosferatu, Dracula, Lestat, and Sesame Street’s own – The Count.

(Shit, the garlic thing might be an issue. I’ll need to consult with Stephanie for ways to ignore generally accepted vampire facts that directly conflict with my story.)

Both groups kill loads of people, but vampire gangsters would be less wasteful. Instead of slapping some concrete shoes on a small time bookie and dropping him in the Hudson, the vangsters (gampires?) can simply have him over for dinner (with gravy and plasma filled cannolis) – 2 birds, one stone. Odds of that type of hit going bad seem pretty low.

Rocco would have tolerated sitting through Twilight much better had Carmine and his gang been the other kind of family. Let’s just move the Cullen family here to New Jersey. Those wolves can live in Brooklyn and obviously Bella will live on the west side where she’ll sing “I Feel Pretty” in a dress shop. Wait, I think I’m starting to mix my movie metaphors.

I think I’ve got the title already – Twiharded: The Cullens versus the Gambinos.

They’ll be a tender love story as well as some intense action scenes when the vampires of Staten Island move into Cullen territory to knock over a Blood Bank. Maybe I’ll even write in a stripper faced with a terminal case of VD that can only be saved from certain death by becoming DUM, DUM, DUUUM (that was supposed to be ominous music, btw) one of the vangsters. Eat your heart out Stephanie Meyer/ Shakespeare/ Anne Rice/ Bram Stoker.

I wonder if Demi would consider being a consultant on the project…

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Taking the Easy Way Out

BugginWord — Wed, 14 Apr 2010 16:52:44 +0000

As I mentioned, I (and my gravity defying boobs) have suddenly been thrust (good boob verb, right?) into the whole I-really-have-to-dig-in-and-get-some-shit-done-and-fast world…and it’s kicking my ass. Hard. As exhibited by that incredibly well constructed paragraph and the brain sludge that is leaking out of my ears and pooling within these lace edged demi cups.

I love you, Interwebz. You know that. But I have to save a little of my brain for the people that pay me (especially if Wicked Shawn makes good on her threat to take my shopping for panties). So I’m going to cheat today. Good thing I know how to embed videos, eh?

First – I give you my hero and mentor Sue Sylvester. I lurv her – almost as much as I love cheesecake, Twilight, and miniature unicorns wearing tiny sneakers. In case you live under a rock and didn’t watch Glee last night (we should probably break up), here’s her Vogue video. All hail Sue.

Second – Earth Day is fast approaching, so I’m dusting off my fair-trade-certified-paraben-and-phalate-free soap box. Rocco does many things that annoy me (SHOCKER!), but the one that makes me the absolute craziest is his need to leave the car engine running as he listens to the end of a news piece on the radio. The radio works without the engine running. I’ve checked. For reals. This video sums up my opinions on car idling.

Lastly, you know how I’ve been in the market for a new kitten? Poor Lucy misses the love of my life almost as much as I do, and she’s just starving for some company. This little nugget is too young to leave her mama yet, but look at this furry wad of cuteness. In other news, I’m pretty sure her name is Mildred.

She’s so cute I’m doing one more. After she bats at the glass, you have to hang on a little longer and watch her bow-legged walk. I dare you to not coo and giggle out loud.

I’m going to lose twenty readers after this ridiculous kitty fest, aren’t I? Ah well. I guess it’s a good thing I scored a day job, eh?

This may be a good time for you to visit one of the beauties on my freshly updated blogroll. They doubtlessly have something profound and witty to share in my brain dead absence.

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Vampires Are Real (I Have Proof)

BugginWord — Thu, 08 Apr 2010 15:29:32 +0000

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I Need to Stop Drinking Mouthwash

BugginWord — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 17:48:35 +0000

Last night was another strange voyage of dreams. Maybe I need to rethink my bedtime rituals. Maybe I should try chamomile tea. Maybe I need to walk away from my computer earlier in the evening instead of looking to Twitter for a lullaby. Maybe I should just stop swallowing the mouthwash.

Regardless, after what felt like seventeen hours of trying to convince my dad not to keep live rats in his mouth during cross country road trips and watching cruise ships spew the black and white headshots from the cast of HAIR from their smoke stacks, I am again tired this morning. Fortunately, Gwen performed an apology ballet on the hood of our station wagon as we barreled down some rural road lined with corn fields. Her dance was quite moving (Get it? On a moving vehicle? Moving performance? Sigh, somebody find me a pillow…). I could tell the apology was sincere even though I was consistently distracted by Mom yelling at Dad as he stretched precariously out the car’s back window to feed the orange kangaroos that were chasing us.

The moral of the story? Gwen and I are on speaking terms again.

I hope to celebrate our renewed bonds of friendship with a nap. In the meantime, I leave you with a video that I simply can’t stop watching. Can’t. Stop. Seriously, somebody help me stop. I need an intervention.

Surprisingly, there are no vampires involved…or drag queens…or creepy old swingers from South Carolina. There’s nothing even mildly inappropriate in here. In fact, this might be the cleanest video I’ve ever posted. Hell, I’m a little disappointed in me.

By the by, I know what I want to be when I grow up. I want to be the person that makes weird noises with their mouth to accompany stop-motion music videos. I practiced for hours last night while I was trying to fall asleep. I’m pretty darn good at it, if I do say so myself (making noises, not falling asleep). Sometimes I even flail about to add more authenticity to the sounds.

I’m particularly adept at recreating squealing tires and explosions. Ask Rocco if you don’t believe me. I’d ask him myself but he’s not speaking to me. He’s a little crabby from sleep deprivation. Apparently he’s having trouble sleeping, too. Maybe we have the thermostat set too high. It’s so strange that we would BOTH have trouble sleeping.

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I’ll Miss You, Ron

BugginWord — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 17:53:35 +0000

After nine long and expensive months, I am pleased to say we now have a clean title on our apartment. Also, as an added bonus, THEY (ya know, the MAN and his goons) can no longer seize my apartment if the guy across the hall defaults on his mortgage. Who would have ever thought it would be so expensive and exhausting to just stay in the same apartment?

Yes, it’s a long story. Its extra annoying when coupled with the tale of how the guy buying our apartment was laid off the day before our move. But now, nine long months later, we can start afresh and try it all over again.

All, the fuck, over again.

Call me Persephone (I get tired of Kooky), but I’m not real excited about finding a new real estate agent, remembering to put the discarded condom wrappers in the trash, hiding in the hallway while an endless parade of strangers pokes at my belongings, storing my pajamas somewhere other than next to the toilet, or trying to arrange the book shelves so the seven different copies of The Joy Of Sex aren’t visible. All that could drastically cut into a girl’s hectic schedule of writing, lurking, painting, and Twilight watching.

Plus, if I was serious about putting this place back on the market, I’d probably have to face things like this:

Fridge Friends

8 Month Old Cabbage

I Think These Were Limes

Yup. That’s in my fridge at this very moment. Coincidentally, I bought that cabbage less than a month after the whole guess-we-aren’t-moving-after-all debacle. I think she’s holding up surprisingly well. Obviously the same can’t be said for those limes…or rather the organic matter formerly known as limes (PS Purple Rain might be the best album of ALL TIME).

It’s cool. It’s all in the name of research. Last week, one of my old containers of yogurt actually exploded inside the fridge. It takes dedication to sacrifice so much fridge space to my scientific experiments, people. I’m going to have my own movie some day, just like good ‘ol Charlie D.

I don’t limit my hobby of growing things just to my fridge either. I’ve got an entirely new species of mold developing underneath the rubber fish suction cupped to the bottom of my shower. I’ve grown particularly attached to the black little bugger near the soap dish. I call him Ron. He often sings harmony during our shower sing-a-thons. With our latest “Les Mis” kick, he’s proven a fantastic Javier to my Jean Val Jean. I’m know I need to murder him in cold blood (or rather, warm water) before putting the apartment on the market. I just don’t think I’m ready.

Rocco thinks I’m taking this whole only-cleaning-with-vinegar-and-baking-soda thing a little too far. He even ran out and bought a bottle of some bleach based tile cleaner. Fortunately I was able to intercede before the mold-icide. There’s still a lot of tension in the house. Rocco’s been gunning for poor Ron for months.

I had originally decided that my love for Ron was too great, that I should give it a little more time and see where this love affair goes before flushing it all down the drain (get it, get it?!?!). But out of the blue I got a message from Jessica over at Left Over Candy. (She’s got a way of making you sing, skip, and weep all at once. You should probably make sure you’re well hydrated before you visit her site.) “So I was stalking your blog yesterday and read something about you liking Maplewood. That’s where my 90 year old grandmother lives. She’s selling her house when she moves up to MA, which will be within a year, give or take a few months. I’ll keep you posted if you’d like!”

Well damn.

So then I started looking at real estate listings again and day dreaming about all my pottery equipment wasting away in my parents’ garage in Virginia. Ron started fussing about always having to be the bad guy and trying to sing the Val Jean parts. I lost an earring down the bathroom sink. (To be fair, that could probably happen in any apartment but it didn’t exactly make me write love ballads about this one.) Now I’m starting to wonder if it’s time to throw away last summers cabbage and nuke the mold.

You’re right. I should probably do those last two things whether I put this joint on the market or not. Don’t tell Ron, k? You’ll just scare him. I want to make it as quick and painless as possible.

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Assuming We Don’t Count Fictional Vampires

BugginWord — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 17:41:27 +0000

I’m mildly obsessed with Neil Patrick Harris. The term “mildly obsessed” in that previous sentence could also be replaced with “consumed by an intense need to host a slumber party where he and I stay up all night giggling and singing show tunes after which I will chain him up in my basement where I will feed him peeled grapes and curry paste so that I can force him to do his Barney Stinson any time I need a little pick-me-up.” I really like me some NPH.

Sometimes I wish I had another gay brother just so NPH could marry into the family.

I also have a special place in my evil body-snatching heart for Jason Segel. He’s funny, freakishly tall, and infatuated with muppets – remind you of anyone else you know? (No, the answer is not Tim Robbins. Sheesh.) I would play that breakup scene from Forgetting Sarah Marshall on endless loop if I could find time in my busy Twilight watching schedule.

All that talk of Forgetting Sarah Marshall has me craving Russell Brand for lunch. Damn you, Katy Perry. Fortunately for all of us, Russell if off topic. Plus my basement dungeon really only has room for NPH. Plus I don’t have a basement. Sigh.

Last night I got a call from the little brother.

I was nervous to answer as I had just read the flurry of comments on my Facebook post announcing his colon irrigation. I assumed he was not amused. Fortunately residual anesthesia and brown liquor put him in the mood for watching YouTube videos rather than social networking. I was saved.

Thom: “Are you near your computer?”

Me: “I could be. Why?”

Thom: “I have to show you something.”

Me: “Does it involve Facebook?”

Thom: “No. It’s on YouTube. Wait, why do you ask?”

Me: “No reason. I’m ready.”

Thom: “Search How I Met Your Mother and Confrontation.”

Me: “I’m intrigued.”

Thom: “You’re welcome. I figured this video would cement Rocco in third place of the men in your life list…assuming we don’t count fictional vampires.”

Me: “It’s…absolutely beautiful.”

Thom: “What the hell is this?”

Me: “What?”

Thom: “You’ve got Magillicutty pimping your blog, too?”

Me: “That tramp has got to earn her keep. Say, why don’t you look at YouTube some more?”

Thom: “Seriously? Next item: call and check on my brother’s colon?”

Me: *click*

And Interwebz? It was all that I dreamed it would be and more. I must share it now. I must also share that Thom has not fully regained control of his bowel. I find both of these things incredibly amusing. You’re welcome.

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Convergence

BugginWord — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 17:47:24 +0000

I’m still spending way too much time online, surfing the dregs of the Interwebz, and finding some seriously disturbing things…but at least I’m getting paid for it, right? Last night my dreams were a terrifying mashup of I Can Has Cheezburger and freaky German shot-in-a-bunker porn (no link for you – I have standards). Suffice it to say I am not well rested this morning.

Who's A Pretty....Um...

Because I’m all about the multi-tasking, I figured I might as well get some blogging material out of the experience in addition to the paycheck and some lovely new malware installed on my machine. Besides, it would be just plain wrong if I didn’t share the beautiful images (like the one to the left) and links to vampire inspired dildos (they sparkle in the sunlight! seriously you must read the product description) that I’ve found in my virtual expeditions.

They say if you stand on a street corner in New York City long enough, you’ll see yourself walk by. Apparently if you surf the web long enough, you’re likely to stumble upon yourself as well. Yesterday I saw myself…and it was not pretty.

Let’s review my employment history for a moment, shall we? When I moved to town, I scored a gig at a booking agency where I helped my boss download porn via his dial up connection to aol. Then I spent a few years working at various other music companies, conducting meetings at strip clubs, making sure there were enough “girls” on guest lists, defending my office equipment from sheep – typical music industry stuff. Then I took a normal, corporate-style gig all about the online publishing platform, surprisingly devoid of hookers and blow.

If you were to take all those work experiences, glob them into the metal bowl of one of those shiny fancy stand mixers, beat on high for fifteen minutes, bake it into a jump drive, then upload it to the Interwebz, I’m pretty sure this is what you’d end up with. Oh go ahead. I’ll still be here when you’ve finished downloading and installing the program so you can “get a new girl every morning for free.”

Is there an emoticon for son-of-a-bitch-why-didn’t-I-think-of-that-slash-hanging-my-head-in-shame-for-wishing-I’d-thought-of-that? What jewels of the Interwebz will I find today?