Friday, August 31, 2007

your favorite version of Madonna


so my theory is this...everyone has a favorite version of Madonna. either you love her or hate her, but at some point in your life, you've dug her. plain and simple.


my favorite version had to be the ethereal Madonna...the ol' ray of light days. this is when she was extra spiritual, into many things such as kabbalah, indian culture, doshas, buddism...and the list goes on. i admit that my favorite of her albums is ray of light. the music is just so fuckin' good. lots of electric guitar, blips and beeps, icy strings and of course her voice. bitch ATE the microphone on this record...for rizzle. she had made this album just after the birth of her daughter and the making of the movie evita. i feel as if this is when she truly became comfortable in her own skin and abandoned much of her self driven ambition; her ego. don't get me wrong, i have more than enjoyed her after this album. i'm still into the ol' girl.


if you haven't had a listen yet, i suggest you give it a go. ray of light...brilliant album.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Dale Chihuly...one of my favorite artists.


bask in the greatness.

brilliant.

sheer brilliance.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

too funny..omg.


1. At lunch time, sit in your parked car with sunglasses on and point a hair dryer at passing cars. See if they slow down.

2. Page yourself over the intercom. Don't disguise your voice.

3. Every time someone asks you to do something, ask if they want fries with that.

4. Put your garbage can on your desk and label it "IN".

5. Put decaf in the coffee maker for 3 weeks. Once everyone has gotten over their caffeine addictions, switch to espresso.

6. In the memo field of all your checks, write "for smuggling diamonds".

7. Finish all your sentences with "in accordance with the prophecy".

8. Don't use any punctuation.

9. As often as possible, skip rather than walk.

10. Order a Diet Water whenever you go out to eat - with a serious face.

11. Specify that your drive-through order is "to go".

12. Sing along at the opera.

13. Put mosquito netting around your work area and play tropical sounds all day at work.

14. Go to a poetry recital and ask why the poems don't rhyme.

15. Five days in advance, tell your friends you can't attend their party because you're not in the mood.

16. Have your co-workers address you by your wrestling name, Rock Bottom.

17. When the money comes out the ATM, scream "I won! I won!"

18. When leaving the zoo, start running towards the parking lot yelling, "Run for your lives, they're loose!!"

19. Tell your children over dinner "due to the economy, we are going to have to let one of you go."

20. And the final way to keep a healthy level of insanity . . . e-mailthis to someone to make them smile and laugh. Its called THERAPY!

unresolved issues with a certain mrs. fields...setting the record str8. i'd like to see you step to this.


My life isn't good, it's great!
I have a family that loves me.
I have a husband who loves me unconditionally.
I have been freed from a job full of lying, backstabbing cock suckers.
I have travelled the world and seen places that few would get to see.
I have experienced people.
I have friends that are irreplacable.
I couldn't ask for anything more.
I am fortunate...I have seen beauty and basked in it.
I am happy.
You know who you are and you know WHY this is directed to you, you abortion lovin, poverty strickin, non working, ghetto, slutty hooker, unemployment check cashing, orange soda drinking, bird clucking, chicken eating, food stamp saving, wic card carrying, poor excuse for a
woman. YOU, will never have ANYTHING close to this. You will NEVER amount to ANYTHING. You WILL live in the ghetto for the rest of your life. Your hate only equates your jealousy. It kills you and consumes you. You're pathetic...a loser. An education reject, a drop out. A cum receptical for every sad excuse of a man that dumps his seed into
and then leaves you. Keep on, keepin on. I pity you...you sad fuck. I should have my lawyer knocking at your door right now suing you over defemation of character, but you're too sad for words and I actually feel bad for you. Besides, you have nothing I would want to sue you for...you have NOTHING to take. Oh, maybe an old chicken bone, but I'll leave you with that.




ps...Thanks for contributing to my paycheck for so long.

Monday, August 27, 2007

too sore for my own good.


i normally goto the gym three times a week. mon, wed, fri. this past week i went twice and then on friday went for a bike ride in prospect park. saturday i went to a gym near home with a friend. now, i normally like to do the illiptical for 3.5 miles, however, i did not like this gym's particular equipment. i joined my friend and decided to do his workout with him. i enjoyed it and it definitely was challenging, but i didn't expect to feel the way i do two days later. i am so sore...i feel like someone beat me up with a metal bat...no joke. i can't unfold my arms all the way or reach over my head. i really noticed how immobile i am this morning when i had to wipe my ass. you know it's bad when you have a hard time reaching around to do the dirty work. i took an aleve this morning and it hasn't done anything to aleviate the pain and soreness. the husband was nice enough to rub my arms throughout dinner last night...that is the only relief i have had since i woke up sunday morning like this. i don't understand how you can feel this way after you've done something good for your body. now, i'm super pissed off today because it's monday and it's my day to goto the gym, however i can't go because i can barely move, let alone do anything. fuckers. my chest hurts, my shoulders are sore, my arms feel like they could fall off and whenever i would move in my sleep last night i'd be in some sort of pain. fuck, fuck, fuck...this sucks. for real. even my armpits hurt. i long for 5:30pm when i can jump on the train and go home and lay down. maybe i'll rub some ben gay over my poorly shaped body. i sit here and i can't even get comfortable. torture. at what point can i expect to work out and not feel like this? no wonder people become fat and stay that way. fat is easy. fat doesn't make you sore. i don't want to be fat. i don't want to be sore.

vicodin anyone?

Saturday, August 25, 2007

kylie minogue, and then i can die. the throughline through out; blond accented musical genius's.


as far back as i can remember, i have had a common thread throughout my musical interests. as a small child, i LOVED olivia newton john. my mom said she had to go out and buy all the albums that olivia put out (hello, should have know then...ha). soon blondie and madonna followed in the early 80's. cyndi lauper also caught my ear and my eye. she's probably the most musically talented out of all of the blond women music genius's that i've followed. kylie minogue is another one too. i've seen all of these women in concert except kylie, hence once i do, i can die. most recently i saw the true colors tour with cyndi lauper. let me tell ya, this chick has her shit together. talk about smarts...this bitch is tappin' into the gays. the show was basically a gay circus that would travel from city to city all through out the gay pride month of june. the tour performed at radio city in nyc. honey, that place couldn't be packed with more fags if judy and barbra were headlining with liza as the opening act. i was walking in line to get in (ya know, crowd control stuff) and saw this lady with purple hair and glasses lookin a bit worn; she was gettin outta a car. it was none other that cyndi herself. i spoke up and said, "omg, cyndi, i love you...thank you for this tour"...to which cyndi responds...with a very long and drawn out/straight outta queens, "awwwww, thank you, hooooooneeeeeey". i could have died. she proceeded in the side door of the venue and disappeared. and get this, no one else talked to her or really paid her any attention. dumbasses. another thing too that all these blonds have in common, they all have accents. olivia and kylie have their aussie accents, blondie has a nj-ish/ny accent, madonna with her midwest/british whatever you wanna call it accent and then of course you have cyndi with her queens/new yorker classic accent. so what does all of this mean? i have no idea. but, hey, i thought i'd share. i guess it gives some insight into my head? who knows.

Friday, August 24, 2007

TGIF for rizzle...sugar free red bull can be a guy's best friend.


tgif...i can't even tell you how happy i am it's friday.


i hardly slept last night. mel was in from d.c. and we ended up doing late night drinks and i didn't get to sleep until 2am. horrible. i'm super duper groggy this morning and can't wait to bust outta here at 3pm...only 2 summer fridays left, i think. sugar free red bull is the answer though. i'm also happy it's friday, because, honey, let me tell you, i'm gettin' crunk tonight. i'm talkin' page six newsworthy. this should not be that hard since i haven't been drinking during the week (except for last night)...and when i did have a few last night, i was pretty blitzed in a matter of an hour...fuckin' lightweight...what is that shit.


i'm sitting here this morning, groggy, red bull to the mouth and i have to write about the office...yes, THE office. on this particular morning, NO ONE is doing ANYTHING. it's really funny, yet annoying. it's annoying because i fell like i'm at recess on the playground, and everyone is playing catch, but no one ever throws to me. (literally, there is a game of "catch" going on right now as i type, i shit you not). so here's where my insecurity comes in to play...all the boys are playing catch (as they so often do around here; odd) and not once do they ever throw to me. not just with the present game occurring, but with every game of catch that is played since the day i started here. so, my insecure fucked up head translates this as them not liking me because i'm gay. i know, completely dumb and stupid and probably not true, but i swear that is partially the reason. (hence the playground memories and the games of catch). there's something about straight guys, their sports/games, and the way they automatically ASSume that gay guys can't throw a ball, watch a yankee game, or slug a pint. ummm, no fellas...i don't even wanna play your stupid game of toss...tempting, but, no thanks. someone please let the str8's know that there are athletic gay guy's out there and we're not just talking about the fags that wear jock straps or throw on a&f gear to "look the part". here's a bit of a secret for all you manly men and your games of catch...if you have ever been to yankee stadium (and if your a manly str8 it's mandatory, right?) and you look around at all those "guys" there...i'm here to tell you that at least HALF, if not MORE are big old pig bottom, cock suckin', ass bandits homosexuals. so next time you're off playing your game of catch, give some thought as to who you're throwing to. you may be surprised to know who your partner is on the playground.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

don't lie lynn, you drank while brit brit was in the womb...




For those of you that know me...I've always got the story. This one involves my brief meeting and conversing with none other than Lynn Spears. Yes, you can touch me later.

A few years back at my old shitty job at slush, I had the pleasure (and I do mean, pleasure) of meeting the woman responsible for bringing our favorite curb side trash check girl into this world. While there is truth in jest, I am serious when I say that Lynn Spears was a very sweet, polite and very well taken care of individual. She chatted with me for quite some time. Her OTHER daughter, Jamie Lynn was doing a photo shoot for Elle Girl magazine in my shop. While the photogs shot away, Lynn and I chatted it up. She asked me where I came from, how I spelled my name (with an I, thank you) and that her son and I shared the same name. I'm standing there and all I can think about is the size of Brit-Brit's head and how it must have hurt coming outta poor Lynn. Like, tell me that bitch didn't scream when that melon was rippin through the vajay-jay. You have to admit, Brit's got a noggin on her. But my personal opinion is this. Lynn Spears has to be or had to be an alcohol (or at this point is hittin the bottle again)...drinking and kickin her heels up while poor Britney was just a fetus...(Ya see where I'm going with this kids?) Let me tell you, there's no way that Brit-Brit got that ginormous head from mother nature...oh, no, Lynn had to be boozin during pregnancy. That's the only excuse for a dome peice that size. It's fuckin disgusting...the size of Brit's head...I just can't get over it...for real-real, not play-play. I'll spell it out...FETAL-ALCOHOL-SYNDROME baby.

So while people might be blaming poor Britney's behaviour on post partum (sp?) or K-Fed's cheating skeetin' ways...I'd like to point partial blame on Mama Lynn. Blood might be thicker than water, but liquor always run's deeper into the veins.

Brit, blame Mama for the head and for your partying ways.