( a site about the things that drive me crazy on a daily basis)

GOOGLE+ and I am nonplussed

Ok, we love Facebook. 
But it stops there. 
They said it best in The Social Network,  "people wanna see what their friends are up to."

Facebook let's you know what people are doing, Twitter lets you know what people are thinking AT THAT MOMENT. Linkd in lets you know what your dad is doing and email is for correspondence for everyone. 

I don't really get Google+ but it seems as if it's attempting to wrap it's primary colored tentacles around every social media limb of our lives. And I don't see the benefit. You're writing an email and the suggestion pops up "would you like to include Bob and Bib?" Thanks for the suggestion, Google+ but it's not a fucking Evite, it's an email to my mom. I appreciate that you're a computer and you saw that one time I emailed my Mom and CCd Bob and Bib, but it's not a pattern, so unrecognize it you binary fuck.

Google+ Circles? How's this: Google PLUS circles equals me being dizzy. 
I already have my friends on my Facebook page, I don't need to be updated on their lives via email as well. What could possibly so different about the information on Google+ that it's exclusive to Google+ and isn't fit for  Facebook?

Now I've got every person I've ever emailed. Every business contact, every friend from high school- anyone I've ever sent an email to in 15 years...I have them asking to add me to their Google+ Circle...THANK GOD YOU ADDED ME OR I'D NEVER KNOW HOW TO CONTACT YOU! 

Google Events? I don't even wanna know what this entails. Is it like a Facebook invite? OR is it more like real time Evite invite. OH WAIT, IT'S A FUCKING EMAIL. PS- since the invention of TEXTING people are pretty much able to control who they invite to an event as it's happening. There's also phone calls, but no one does that anymore. Fuck you Google+ Events, I watched your little video tutorial- nice try with the Free Starbucks Download Corinne Baily Ray sound-alike song and the multi ethnic invitees on your party list, but this service is so superfluous, I'm thinking of joining Google+ (if it hasn't been mandated by our government already) just so I can tell my circle how much this sucks.

You want us to live our entire lives online? Isn't Second Life just for like, overweight lower middle class kids from like, San Bernadino? You live your entire life online, chances are, hobbies also include CosPlay and driving a shitty Mazda with some sort of Roxy hibiscus bumper sticker.

I don't care how clean your website is. I don't care how many folksongs you set your instructional videos too. I don't care that you pretend not to be racist by showing an event invite list that includes a white woman a smiling black guy and an Arabic girl. 
If I want to find something, invite someone or talk to a person I will simply download the app, restart the device, await a friend request acceptance, write to them, exchange phone numbers and then text!!! IT'S THAT SIMPLE!



PARKING is my nightmare. Parking structures are my nightmare within a nightmare. I will leaving the house all together if leaving entails parking in a structure. I'd rather be a recluse than deal with people in a parking structure ( I can find a free standing Bath&Body Works, can't I?) or park on the street two blocks away just to avoid having to keep tabs on that teeny piece of paper that I HAVE TO REMEMBER to get stamped otherwise it will cost me $800 dollars to have the right to spend money at the mall. PS- I love how they warn you that if you lose it you have to pay for a whole day's worth of parking- and make no exceptions. "Here, I'll show you the receipt, I just ran in to return this Brookstone vibrating-alarm clock-shower cap" NO DICE. Everyone's a prisoner in "The Structure" and all prisoners shall be treated like criminals. 
(Note to self "The Structure" is this year's "LOST" I can already see it...I'll call ABC)

Look, I'm not stupid- I understand parking structures are the only way to allow tons of of people access to a Victorias Secret and a Lids. I get it, you want to visit Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory and Things Remembered in the same trip. And of course someone had to pay for it so of course we have to pay to park there- somebody won the real estate war and got to put in that parking garage- now we pay them. "To the victor go the spoils" - well fuck you, Victor, you greedy bastard.WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE SO PAINFUL? 
I went to the mall yesterday (so I could try this on...
the black socks were my idea)

and it was a 20 minute wait just to get in the lot. Why was there at 20 minute wait? There's over 1000 parking spots. You pull up, you take a ticket from the machine, you drive. Seems simple BUT when you add people into the equation...then it muddies the parking waters. 

BTW this is Hollywood- a city comprised of mostly idiots...and they all have cars. At any given moment, an LA parking lot line is made up of mostly 
-The elderly
-Immigrants coming from a country with lax driving laws or a village that shared one Buick for the past 30 years.
-Moms with every kid ever in their back seat
-Mercedes drivers- the worst drivers on the road. (And since it's LA and we love our striped buttoned downs with dragon prints, you know there's hundreds of Mercedes' drivers flocking to the malls erryday) Yesterday wasn't the first time I head an man I heard a man yell "FUCK ME? FUCK YOU, MY FRIEND" in an Armenian accent.


Ticket Machine- 
I'd rather live in a world where it's 2 bucks to park, whether you're in there 15 min or 15 hours. No one going to a mall needs 2 dollars. No one has ever lost their house because they were short 2 dollars on their mortgage payment. 
2 bucks- no tickets, no validations, no stamps, no stickers. You pay when you leave with cash, no validating at the thing, no stamps at the other thing, no lost tickets with the guy- JUST TWO DOLLARS.CASH in one lane or swipe your card in the other lane. DONE.
I'd pay this luxury tax just to never have to deal with another parking ticket machine breaking, causing an apocalyptical pile up of mid sized sedans. 

(PS- Dear The Grove, it has to be illegal or a fire hazard to keep one hundred cars locked in a parking structure after you're closed because we came to see a late night movie and your ticket machine is broken- a half hour waiting in a line? A half hour of American citizens trapped in a space? You're not an airline, so fuck you.
You can't keep people in a space against their will because your crap doesn't work. Next time, I'm running over your parking cones and putting a brick through your ticket window plexiglass.)

There's always a ticket machine broken and there's always some poor Ethiopian mall guard there, manually taking each ticket and processing it. The ticket machine always breaks. A Los Angeles ticket machine breaks, backing up traffic in the parking lot which holds up the amount of cars that are trying to enter the lot which causes a line out onto the street of waiting cars and, subsequently, cars needing that lane. Those cars back up more cars which back up the intersection and pretty much create traffic for surrounding blocks which feed other streets which back up on and off ramps- now a broken ticket machine in Los Angeles is preventing you from parking at a Starbucks in Cincinnati. 
You'd think with all the money they're prying out of our wallets, they'd be able to afford a machine that doesn't break. The local government has found infallible parking meters so why not unbreakable ticket machines? What's there to break?! A button is pushed a ticket is dispensed. Past pushing a god damned button, there's not a whole lot of machine/human interface going on. 
My theory is that they are designed to break. That way you either give up, go back in the mall and buy more wedges at Aldo.

It's a parking lot, sir. But don't let the name fool you because you're not supposed to actually park your car until you're in a spot. I know, it's misleading. No, totally, I thought it meant you could just stop your car wherever you wanted to- absolutely.
 That's right, you can't just sit there and make a decision about going left or right, you need to keep driving. It's not Sophie's Choice, it's a left turn. If the space says "COMPACT ONLY" it doesn't mean you painstakingly eek your SUV into it leaving the cars flanking you no room to open their doors. And while we're all very impressed with your 2002 peal Escalade, no one is interested in watching you do an 11 point turn to park it. This isn't an auto show. OMG please turn down the Pitbull, it echoes so loud in here.

And PS- to the assholes, in parking structures and in parking spaces in general, who like to get in their cars AND JUST SIT...I hope you die. I hope your car doors lock, the ignition won't turn and you overheat in your car and die.

The fact that you're THAT unaware of encroaching cars around you means you're that way in general- and you're obviously too stupid or inconsiderate to exist in society. I'm reminded of the time I was waiting on a spot. It was July in Los Angeles, a breezy 300 degrees outside. The guy got in his car (I'm not unreasonable, you have some time to collect yourself, buckle up, check your phone-no one texted, adjust a mirror, fix your wig etc) and just SAT. He saw us waiting. After two minutes we pulled up and were like "did you have a stroke?" and he was like "I'm just letting the car warm up"...good thing too because those cold LA summer's will git ya. I drove off but I like to think after I drove off, a swarm of bees carried his car away. Or maybe he froze to death. God I hope he did.
Really? In a busy parking area you think it's ok to get in your car and just hang out? I don't know which is worse, taking a long time when you know there's people waiting or taking a long time not noticing that maybe there are other people who want that spot. So either you're stupid or you're a jerk. I hope your leased BMW gets towed.

Anyone who reads my blog knows how I feel about people who 

So that's all inside the parking lot. But this post isn't even about the people inside. It's about the expectation that you need to pass through an Fing obstacle course in order to park.

Nothing will deter me quicker than complicated parking instructions. This happens all the time. I'm not gonna sit here and pretend that I don't take meetings at studios or have auditions at networks- because this is where the majority of complicated parking instructions happen. BUT I've also experienced it at theme parks (Universal City Walk, in particular, that place can eat my shit with their Jurassic Parking) and large scale events in general. I think everyone can relate to complicated parking. If my parking instructions require me to take a shuttle, once parked...I'm out. I can't deal with that. Mostly because I hate listening to directions but too many steps between my parking space and my goal will make me not want that goal (omg I hope I never have to do a 12 step program) Sorry oversized turkey leg at Six Flags- I'll just have to see you at the Renaissance Fair.

Drive onto the lot, stop at the tiny house where the security guard lives- after they try for several minutes to spell your name correctly, they'll eventually say "OH HERE IT IS, it was under ELISA not ILIZA" 

(Sidenote: This is a picture of my name tag from a meeting at E! Networks. 
Good work guys.)

Then the security guard says " 'you're gonna wanna' drive up the main road till you come to a PARKING STRUCTURE- you don't want that one though, you want parking structure B, so make a left and enter B, make sure you take a ticket. You can't park on the first 32 floors, so drive to the top. Once there, Juan will check your ticket and you'll be given a backpack and three days worth of food rations. Proceed from there."

Unless there's a pile of diamonds on the backs of tea cup Pomeranians each holding a plate of smoked turkey while srcolling through the TLC programming line up then I pass. I pass on parking.

CHOCOLATE FOUNTAIN!!!! (my cascading nightmare)

Do you love chocolate? Ya do, don’t ya? You love it so much that you’re willing to make an unblinkered left turn from the right lane to get into the parking lot when you see a sign that says “BUFFET and CHOCOLATE FOUNTAIN!” Fuck lanes, you need a cascading dessert!

 You love chocolate so much, you don’t even care what you eat it with and THAT’S where the brilliance of a chocolate fountain comes in. It's like Vegas in a dessert, anything goes and middle Americans love it.

At a normal restaurant you’re forced to select one form for your chocolate, be it cake, pudding, mouse or mole sauce (for the record, unsweetened cacao powder isn't as satisfying as chocolate, eating that instead of chocolate is like trying to get high off hemp products, so close yet not the same at all)- but with a Chocolate Fountain you don’t have to choose, because you can drape hot chocolate over anything! 

Angel food cake? Sure! 

Pre packaged Rice Krispie Treats that the restaurant manager cut up with the office scissors into lil half squares? Done!

Marshmallows? HELL YEAH! Everyone loves a cold marshmallow with luke warm chocolate over it, it’s like a S’more but safer. 

Fruit? OF COURSE! You’re at a buffet so go ahead and cut up bananas, oranges, even cantaloupe- cloak it! Why not? The disgusting people at EDIBLE ARRANGEMENTS see no issue with it.

 What NASCAR fan doesn't love fresh fruit? 

Also, what's the deal with the back of the car? Does NASCAR have a low-rider truck division?

Get creative with it, go all Chocolat on your food, see what happens when you coat your custom made creation from the buffet's Omelette station in chocolate- see if, when you come to your senses two hours later, if the mere thought of it doesn’t make you dry heave.

Who doesn’t love waiting in line while you watch other people dip their food (and inadvertently their finger tips) in a cascading chocolate waterfall? I’m sure the chocolate is hot enough that it will kill whatever fecal matter is on their hands- oh it doesn’t? No biggie, nothing wrong with eating shit as long as it’s covered in CHOCOLATE!


(Chocolate and grapes? Are you kidding me? Do me a favor, grape- go sit out in the sun and come back when you're a goddamn raisin, then maybe we can talk) And what’s that split open alien egg pod, a papaya? You ever had a raw papaya? It’s disgusting- even your chocolate savior can't make it better. While you’re at it just stick a fucking fern frond under the chocolate, why not- you put everything else in it, you pig.

Everyone loves a chocolate fountain- you can tell by all the crap that’s been dropped into the moat at the bottom. Cake bits that fell off the toothpicks, toothpicks that fell out of cake bits, fruit halves that weren’t sturdy enough to withstand the chocolate’s weight, candy, crackers, bell peppers, taco shells, chicken wings- people love to get creative with a chocolate waterfall!

The other awesome thing about the chocolate fountain is that the hydraulic pump responsible for forcing the chocolate that has collected at the bottom back up through the top of the fountain to be recycled and born anew every few seconds. Like a disgusting chocolate covered Phoenix rising from the…chocolate. This way we make sure that all the flavor of the buffet items that accidentally fell into the chocolate swamp at the bottom are locked in and reused over and over.

What? What’s that you say? It’s not just the chocolate, it’s the experience of using the chocolate fountain that you enjoy? Of course. That's something that you and every eight year old have in common, you love to interact with your food. It’s food in motion! It could be a Children's Museum Exhibit! You can visit the Turtle Petting Tank, The Touching Glass (where you and other people just touch a giant piece of smudgy glass and get everyone's germs all over your hands) then not wash your hands at all and head to The Chocolate Waterfall where you can learn about how gravity effects dripping chocolate! 

Why haven’t they made more food fountains? Why is there no gravy fountain (probably too sexual) or Ketchup fountain (probably because it looks like blood).

If you're the type of person that goes to a buffet AND loves a chocolate waterfall- then you obviously love to eat, so I say, let's skip the middle man. Fuck the fall- let's just have a guy at the end of the buffet that ladles chocolate sauce all over your plate.

The best part is the frenzy- the frenzy it creates at your cousin CHANTELLE'S WEDDING when she had a chocolate waterfall.

A chocolate water fall is the crown jewel of any dessert buffet. And they stick it at the end so you can say “Oh My God! They have a chocolate waterfall, but I’ve already loaded up my trough with inferior desserts. Oh well, maybe I’ll just dip one strawberry in it to get a taste" 


Because chocolate fountains don't use just any chocolate chips for their melting. No, they use genetically engineered super cacao injected with MSG and HGH to ensure that once you eat the chocolate, you'll start to crave more and that grave will GROW.

You go back to your seat and try and eat the other desserts on your plate, but you keep glancing back at that chocolate fountain. It's as if with every falling chocolate wave, "glurp glurp", it says your name "glurp glurp" (Omg, so weird if you're name is Glurp). Sugar coursing through your veins, you get up and head to the buffet. You knock over three children en route but whatever, kids are annoying. 

                                       "Aunt Beard, are you okay?" 

(oh, by the way, you're parents named you Beard) You ignore the concern of your family. You approach the chocolate fountain, the chocolate glistens as it gently falls. It's shiny because of the caramelized sugar's in the chocolate but also because the chocolate is made with plastic juice.

You go to grab a plate but they're out of plates!

That's because the dessert buffet has been over for 45 minutes but you never noticed because you've just been standing, in a trance, gazing at the chocolate fountain the whole time. You need to get creative, Beard! So you look for anything you can use as a plate! Grab a used plate? Saucer? None in sight. What's that? A place card? That's what you'll use! You grab your tiny place card, it reads "Aunt Beard- Table 8"- "Eight" how phonetically appropriate for what's about to happen. You take it over to the chocolate fountain. You look around, no one is paying attention to you because the best man is up giving his speech. 


Now is your chance Beard, you can have all the chocolate in that fountain if you just keep calm! You grab a marshmallow, you run it through the fountain. "No point in putting it on your card/plate" you think "because I'm just gonna eat it" so you shove it in your mouth. Chewing fast, you look for more food to cover in chocolate. A wedge of spiky pineapple skin? A piece of apple that feel onto the floor? Yes, all of it! You drench each piece, rationalizing that each should be put directly in your mouth, because why waste the place card, you might wanna scrapbook with it later. (You've also said that about every door menu Semi personalized letter from Discover Card you've ever received. Good thing you keep all your papers in neat little piles all over your house. So what if you have so many you can't even clear a pathway to get to the bathroom anymore so you've been peeing in jars and sleeping in the laundry room?

You're not a hoarder, you're a collector. That's what you keep telling yourself.

You stuff the fruit parts into your mouth while chewing the marshmallow. You're a genius! You've made a pseudo Ambrosia Salad! My god you should be on Top Chef, ugh, if only the electricity company hadn't turned off your power!

  "Aunt Beard? Where's Aunt Beard?" 

You can hear your family calling you to come make a toast, but you ignore them. They didn't come to your house when you tried to legally marry your plants, why should you give a speech at their wedding? They don't see you back there by the buffet you're invincible- just keep eating- maybe they'll think you're in the bathroom. Ah, shit, you dripped chocolate onto your place card...

eat the place card

Do it, Beard. It's just paper and it is, after all, chocolate. Goooood, now swallow it, don't chew, that just further aerates the chocolate and it'll dilute the experience. Ok, now you have no plate, that's fine, you have hands don't you? Big meaty hands that father said were too large to model women's gloves- well they're certainly coming in "handy" now, aren't they? Use your gift, Beard. Use your meaty hands to hold all the food you can- gather it up! We've got watermelon rinds, cold beef fat, scrimp tails, lemon halves, kale- can you believe people just left this stuff on the buffet? Gather it up, quickly!  

"Alright! Everyone to the dance floor for the Electric Slide!" 

Uh oh, Beard, the Electric Slide, the dance that transcends racial dance boundaries. The bulk of the wedding album will be filled with action shots of relatives doing the Slide. For years to come, this will be how the happy couple looks back at memories of their Big Day. They'll say "There Uncle Trob and Aunt Mibb. There's Cousin Allen and his bitch wife Cynthia. Aw, look how thinAunt Ham used to be...Hey...where's Aunt Beard? Oh my gosh, is that her?" And they'll be looking at you, just as you are right now, looking back to the photographer, in the background of the dance floor- chocolate smeared on your face as you glancing over your shoulder, eyes squinting at his flash bulb, like a Mole coming up from the ground into the daylight. 

  But that's the future, and this is now. 

That's a fountain of chocolate, not a fountain of youth- it's not gonna last forever. GET IN THERE! Forget your hands! Why would you use your hands when the chocolate can so easily be directly eaten by your mouth? Your hands are in the way, Aunt Beard, your hands are holding you back! DIVE! DIVE! Face into the fountain- your face is submerged! Augustus Gloop needs to get on your level! 


they shout.

 Yeah, a stroke of good luck! You've enveloped your entire tongue in chocolate, it's even in your tear ducts, why? BECAUSE FOR THE FIRST TIME IN YOUR MISERABLE LIFE, YOUR EYES ARE WIDE OPEN! This! This is what you've been missing.

 "Someone help her! She's drowning in 5 inches of chocolate!" 

You feel the weight of the Securitas guard, tugging on your back- trying to pry you from the chocolate. You Mule-kick him in the shin, he goes down. You're not done eating! Three more guards (why is there so much security at this wedding?) descend upon you. They're just gonna throw it all out, Beard- all this chocolate is gonna go in the garbage unless you save it. Save it Beard, save it! Save it with your mouth! 


they shout, but you've already helped yourself, haven't you? 

That's right, two and a half pounds of HGH Chocolate is now living in your stomach- you bring your face up- on your own accordance, you'll later tell the judge, not because it was physically forced up by three grown men. Except your eyeballs and teeth, your face is covered in chocolate. You look...racist.

 "Aunt Beard, what happened?" 

You can't answer, for two reasons. 

One, you're blissfully unaware of anyone, you're the happiest you've ever been. The reason you're blissfully unaware of anyone is because you can't hear anyone. You ate so much chocolate so fast that diabetes has actually already set in and done long term damage in a short amount of time- basically, you've gone blind and can't hear- also, your left foot fell clean off. 

"Someone get her to a hospital" 

you're told they said. 

You don't remember the ride to the ER or the medical exams. You don't remember the psych exam or your relatives committing you. You don't remember the foreclosure on your house, or the repossession of all your ferns.  You don't remember how you got to this room, or how you got in this state issued hospital gown. All you remember is the chocolate fountain, and the last beautiful sound you ever heard "Glup, glurp". 

Because you love chocolate, don't ya?






Gate Agents and Flight Attendants- my nightmare in the sky

So, anyone that's seen my act knows that I have a serious amount of contempt for airlines, specifically the uniformed flight gestapo that work for them.

I'm not talking to you TSA. 
We all know how you strive to out perform one another in areas such as
"Yellling to your coworkers across the metal detectors"
                  -"AY! AY D'Andre! What time you get off?!"
"Acting like you don't give a fuck in general"
- does it count as multi tasking to roll your eyes back in your head while verbally drooling out the baggage procedure?                                                                
"Put yo liquids in deez bags- anything that can not fit-in-da-bag-is-to-be-placed-in-the-garbage-recpeticle-SIR!-You-can-not-take-that-water-on-da-plane"

Plus, TSA, odds are you aren't reading this. Actually, odds are you don't read.

PS- To the TSA worker's credit, 99% of the people that pass through security are high functioning morons who get confused at the act of taking off their shoes "AND JACKET?" Yes, it's a stupid rule that you can't bring your perfume and lip gloss and yeah, it sucks you have to throw one of them away because they won't fit in the baggy- but it's been this way for like, 10 years. If you haven't figured it out by now then you don't deserve nice things.

And for god's sake guys, NO! NO you don't need your ticket when you walk through the metal detector- why don't people know this already?

And I'm not talking to pilots bc most of you served in the US military have nothing to do with the rules.
(P.S. I've never felt more comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time then I did this morning when the captain got on the PA and started his speech with "I'll be assisted today by co-captain Dwight Schrute and I'm captain Michael Scott"- true story)

I'm talking to YOU the flight attendants and gate agents. 


Even before I get to the plane, the airline workers get to me. It's as if they all take aptitude tests and whichever worker scores the lowest gets put in charge of ticketing. They want their top morons to be the first people you have an encounter with, that way your spirit is broken the rest of the time and you just accept whatever they do to you. 

($3000 dollars for five inches of extra leg room, what a bargain! do you take a check? No? How about bone marrow?)

This next thing doesn't happen every time but it's happened enough that I have anxiety about it now. 
When I get to the ticketing counter I just want to:
1-Pay for my dog, 
2-Get my ticket 
(and no, you can't check in online when you have a dog. There's no real reason. They've never once weighed my dog or checked to see if she has had her rabies shots or her dog polio vaccinations- they just want to make your flight is as inconvenient as possible. My dog sits quietly in her bag for five hours without a peep- I can't say the same for you, woman behind me, and your baby that you insist on fucking with all flight, ensuring that he cries as much as possible) 

Anyway, all I want to do is that simple, three pronged action- and it's never that easy. I have enough to worry about with facing the ever growing security line without having to deal with speaking to ticketing agents. 

TIME: 7:00 am PLACE: LAX

Me: Hi, I'm checking in for the 9am flight to Boston
Agent: ...
Me: ...What's the problem?
Agent: Did you mean the 7:00am to Phoenix? Cuz that flight already left.
Me: Yeah, I did- I often get Boston and Phoenix confused- oh and all the clocks in my house are off by two hours.
Agent: (looking at computer) Oh, here it is, Boston- 9am. 
Me: Yeah. 
Agent: Okay and what are you trying to do?
Me: Rent property. I'm trying to check in! Here's my ID and credit card to pay for my dog.
Agent: We don't have a reservation for your pet on the flight.
Me: Yeah, yeah you do, that's why I couldn't check in at home and I have a confirmation number for her.
Agent: Oh, here it is.
Me: Amazing...Here's my ID and credit card to pay for my pet.
Agent: You're gonna have to pay for your pet
Agent: It's gonna be $150 for the pet
Me: It's $125 on the other airline, but fine.
Agent: K, this is the pet tag, I have to attach it to the pet's bag for the gate agent.
Me: Can I just hold the tag? It gets in the way when I carry her bag and sometimes it can get crumpled or fall off-
Agent: I really need to put it on the bag...
(PS- no gate agent has ever asked me to see the pet tag on her bag)
Me: I can't just hold it?
Agent: "opinion" option in circuit board...
Me: Ok. Fine.
Agent: Here's your ticket, I circled the gate number for you- I just learned how to draw circles.
Me: Ok, thanks....woa, Boarding Zone 4. Why? I'm here two hours early and I got this ticket three months ago.
Agent: Because we hate you and your pet
Me: First thing that's made sense all day.

PS- For my stand up bit about BOARDING ZONE 4 CLICK HERE

And now I turn my rage toward you, flight attendants. Oh, but you're so much more than an in flight nuisance, you say? You don't just serve tiny plastic cups of ice and ginger ale and overcharge for snack boxes? You're also in charge of our safety? 
Then why do you make me sign a contract, in blood, saying that I'll help to lift the emergency exit door in the event of an emergency? I don't work here! If you're keeping us safe, then why do I have to participate? I don't come to the galley and ask you to write my blogs! 
Why do I have to watch you with your pale, flabby, beefy arms, demonstrate how the fuck an oxygen mask works. If someone's not smart enough to figure it out, then perhaps they shouldn't have any oxygen.
Who doesn't know it goes on their face? Is there anyone grabbing the oxygen mask and putting it on their crotch?

If the plane's going down, it's goin down- and no amount of inflight preparation is gonna mitigate the feel of gasoline flames as they engulf our bodies. 

BTW you're not turning anyone on with that aggressive jerking body motion you do when you forcefully try and push that extra piece of carry on luggage into the overhead. I love how you do that right over me when I'm in an aisle seat. Love having your polyester clad stomach pouch slammed against my head over and over as you try and get some jerk off's LL Bean bag to fit into a 1X1 cubby hole.
 CHECK IT AT THE GATE! Oh, you got it to fit? Awesome, you just played a life sized game of luggage jigsaw puzzle- way to problem solve. Your online school would be proud, you really are a Phoenix.

YES there are some flight attendants who are cool- I get it, but on the whole, you are bad people with a beastly agenda.

I guess I wouldn't have as much of an issue with them if there were any uniformity to the rules and regulations. But it really just seems like every flight attendant takes it upon herself to interpret/enforce the rules as they please and THAT'S what frsutrating. You each put your own lil fun twist on the rules. 
I need structure when I fly! 

We can't have one set of rules going and a different set returning! That's chaos! We need order. This isn't Woodstock.

My favorite is when you bring a bag onboard, on a return flight, and they tell you it won't fit in the overhead compartment. This is my return flight on the same aircraft, how do you think I got this bag here? "Sorry, it's just not gonna fit" YEAH, YEAH IT WILL BECAUSE IT DID YESTERDAY! Then they get all apathetic and direct you to the STEEL CAGE LUGGAGE GAUGE 

and, like a carnival game, you have to show her that your bag in fact fits within the confines of their luggage iron maiden if it is ever to be let aboard the aircraft.
You put the bag in, it fits, of course, and you're happy. But there is no glory in your victory because by that time the flight attendant, upon that sign of defeat, has turned her attention elsewhere and began...I don't know, doing something else useless like, micromanaging ants or putting pens in height order.

Today I boarded a plane, just like I have done almost every week for the last three years- with Blanche and her little dog head sticking out of her pet bag. 

(I tell people she has to have her head sticking out to calm her down and acclimate her to her surroundings but if you've met my dog you know that anymore calm and she'd be dead- I really do it for the glory of the attention. For the strangers who see her and comment "OH MY GOD what a sweet dog, he or she? What kind?" Then I get to give my hilarious stock answer of "It's a girl and and she's part long hair chihuahua, part long hair dachshund, part princess"(no one ever laughs) ) 

     "Please don't zip me up"

So I'm walking to the gate with her when this hooker gate agent stops me and informs me that Blanche's head has to be zipped into the bag... In my entire career as a passenger, no one has ever told me to zip her into the bag before I even make it to the jet bridge. 
I comply because I know she'd love nothing more than to get into an argument with me, all the while calling me "ma'am" in a backhanded way of showing insubordination while seemingly showing respect. I'M FUCKING YOUNGER THAN YOU! I'm "miss" you're "ma'am"...
(However, if I were a sassy gay black fashion designer, I might go by                    "Miss Ma'am"...Miss Ma'am if ya nasty)

"Ma'am" I'll "ma'am" you right off the jet bridge. 

So I comply. And I fully zip Blanche into the pet carrier bag...But the woman keeps talking to me...which I don't get, because the faster we board this plane the faster she can scuttle off to the airport break room and compare airline issued apparel with the other heifers who work there.

 (Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon)

She feels the need to support her order by telling me the fake reason my dog has to be fully in the bag 

"The dog has to be totally in the bag and zipped up because passengers might have allergies" 

She's lucky I had already taken my melatonin and was too tired to argue- but, despite my fatigue, my blood was still boiling. 
ALLERGIES? It's a fucking pet carrier, half of it's mesh so the animal can breath! You don't think allergen spores  can travel through thing plastic with holes cut in it? People have allergy attacks indoors, woman! If fucking 3 foot thick house walls can't stop allergies, then chances are this bag isn't gonna be much of a barrier as we all sit breathing the SAME air for the next 5 hours.
Don't you think if all allergy sufferers had to do to be sneeze free was shroud their faces with a millimeter thin piece of cloth, that would be an easy solution? You think a bag with holes in it is an impermeable barrier? WHY NOT USE DOG BAGS TO FILL IN THAT PESKY HOLE IN THE OZONE LAYER? If a passenger has sensitive enough allergies that my dog's head sticking out of her bag on the jet bridge, not even ON the plane, is going force them to break out in hives, then I probably shouldn't have a dog on the plane at all right? Oh, but then your airline wouldn't make an extra $150, which by the way is such blatant skyway robbery because I can't even board early even though I'm carrying a 13 pound being with me. You're THAT afraid of passengers with allergies having an allergic reaction on the plane? THEN WHY DO YOU HAND OUT PEANUTS!?

Look, airline workers, even if you can't help, you can at least exercise some feigning of customer service and say things like "Lemme try" or "I'm so sorry, I can't help you" versus always coming from a place of "NO"
PS- you can ALWAYS help. On rare occasions I've had gate agents who just didn't give a fuck and waived the pet fees. Last week I got a free first class upgrade on an airline I never fly. So don't tell me you can't do anything for me, you fascist fucking drone. If you don't watch it I'll...I'll...I'll tweet about it! 

(They aren't fascists but there's something about the phonetics of that word that just cuts right to the core and puts people on the defense)

TLC programming (my nightmare- but also kind of my dream)

Dear Potential Client,

Thank you for your interest in advertising with TLC!

 Let me tell you a little bit about our programming.

TLC stands for THE LEARNING CHANNEL but lately we've thought about just renaming it The "Remember that weird kid in your class? Well, now they have a show" Channel because that's pretty much what our programming is made up of.

Our network is specifically geared toward women. Our programming reflects that mission because it either makes you feel better about yourself 
-or it's about cake.
Cake Boss, The Next Great Baker, DC Cupcakes, Fabulous Cakes and Kitchen Boss- that's FIVE FUCKING SHOWS ABOUT CAKE! Are you excited yet!?

We have all kinds of shows designed to make you feel better about your life. 
For those of you who want to stare but don't wanna be rude and kind of wanna get an idea of how midgets have sex, we have not one, but two shows about little people. We have our hit Little People, Big World 

which chronicles the everyday lives of a "little" married couple who live on a farm with their family. We get to watch while they do things like open jars, drive cars and climb up on chairs. The dad's an alcoholic, so it'll be interesting to see how that pans out. But, if that show becomes overwhelming and you just want to see little people doing stuff not on a farm, then we have The Little Couple 

which focuses on another "little" couple who live in a city- pretty much doing the same stuff as the other couple only with higher education, one of them's a doctor. That's right, we want to show you that if a little person can become a doctor, then there's no excuse for you to not finish your online nursing degree.

We also have A LOT of shows about sex designed to make you feel better about your sex life. 

We have 19 Kids and Counting which we air to make you feel less stressed out by your three children because Michelle Duggar has 20. We ask her and her husband everything there is to know about raising 20 kids except how huge her vagina is. We're never gonna ask her that, so please stop writing to us.

We have A Conception Story so that whatever weirdness you're going through on your road to pregnancy, you don't have to feel alone because our re-en-actors are top of the line. We have tons of wigs to simulate women in all types of fertility-challenging situations.

We have I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant which is pretty much produced to make viewers angry at fat people who give birth on toilets.
(Actual cast member in her delivery room)

Then we have Strange Sex to make you feel better about the fact that your husband sometimes prefers dudes (actually for that we have Say Yes To The Dress  

Sometimes we'll do a follow up piece with couples from Strange Sex for A Conception Story.

Whatever, sometimes weird shit leads to having a baby.

And for the happily married couple, we have Sister Wives- this show is here solely to make you feel better about your choice in marital partner. The idea being that even if you hate your husband, at least you can feel "Holier Than Thou" as you judge these women for their choice to share a husband. No they don't have foursomes, yes we've asked. 
And no, we don't know how often Cody has sex with the big one.

We also have Kate Plus 8. This show was originally John and Kate plus 8 but one day Kate tried to eat John after sex. 
Now we just focus on Kate. 
It's one of those shows where, as stressed as you are, at least you can watch her and be glad you don't have 8 kids whom you're contractually obligated to take on a shitty vacation twice a year.

Then we have our "M H" department of programming. "M H" stands for Mentally Handicapped, as the subjects of these shows tend to be absolutely insane. You'd have to be, otherwise you wouldn't allow yourself to be filmed while eating couch stuffing. Yes, that was an episode of Freaky Eaters. (Dr. Dow and JJ Virgin had to bring in the entire inventory of a Living Spaces to demonstrate to the subject just how much furniture she had eaten in a lifetime)
 Other possible titles for Freaky Eaters included Oh my God, please...Please Don't Eat That , Poor White People Eat the Darndest Things and Black Girls Be Eatin' Toilet Tissue.

For the viewer whose weirdness reaches beyond the dinner table, we have a hardcore version of Freaky Eaters called My Strange Addiction which we're thinking of selling to A&E as a series of episodic sequals to Intervention because people are gonna need some kind of vice after they get sober and we'd prefer to see you addicted to squeezing loaves of stale Rye bread rather than shooting heroine. (Legal Note: As of five seconds ago we're officially in production for Rock of Loaf where women compete against each other for a date with a fresh baked Zucchini bread)

Here at TLC we want to make our viewer feel good about their life choices and we accomplish that by airing a nightly parade of women who enjoy making love to dryer lint and eating used coffee filters.

BUT, if your self esteem still isn't where it should be after viewing midgets, people who sleep with cleaning supplies, women who eat frozen cell phones and fat chicks who give birth on toilets then we have something very special for you.

*not to be confused with A&Es Hoarders- which is nothing like our show. HUGE difference.

HORDING:                                                           HOARDERS:

Remember that woman who lived down the block for you that used to give out bags of pennies for Halloween? Well now she's on TV!
We air Hoarding: Buried Alive not to warn you about the effects of hoarding (because lets face it, if you're gonna hoard, you're gonna hoard) but really to show you that no matter how many dirty dishes you have piled up, it can't compare to drowning in a house full of your own unopened Tuesday Morning purchases and dead cat heads. Oh and rat feces, there's always plenty of rat feces.

A new addition to our line up is Extreme Couponing- which profiles a series of anal retentive mothers on a mission to see who can load up their carts with the most bottles of Pepto Bismol without their ankles snapping. 

We follow them on their mission to stock up on everything in the world and squirrel it away in their Y2K bunker in preparation for The Rapture. 
Extreme Couponing is like Hoarders, but with shelves...and more packets of Taco Seasoning.

For our lesbian audience we have Police Women of Broward County. Obviously.

And, in an effort to further serve our ever expanding spinster audience we have three versions of Say Yes to the Dress. We have the original Say Yes to the Dress which takes place at Kleinfeld's in New York City and for our audience who is uncomfortable with Jewish people, we have Say Yes To The Dress: Atlanta. Sometimes we use women from I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant for our third variation 
Say Yes to the Dress: Big Bliss. 
Then, for your bitchy gay best friend friend who's sick of watching you watch wedding dresses and cry, we have What Not To Wear where we award someone a brand new wardrobe but only after our style experts publicly castigate and verbally flog them for their initial clothing choices. Whatever you like to wear, our answer for a make over here at TLC is:

"...chestnut highlights, knee length skirt, draped neckline, lots of  ruching and remember, toe cleavage is huge. Men won't be attracted to you in a tight shirt, but peep toe shoes? WATCH OUT! Oh, and a cropped jacket- cover that shit up."

For our female viewers who actually think they might make it to the alter we have Four Weddings (We thought about adding "And a funeral" but the TLC producers thought literally adding a funeral segment would only further depress our audience) 
This is a show where four women attend each other's weddings, eat cold Beef Wellington, judge each one anoother's dresses, centerpieces and dessert options and give a rating. The winner gets a honeymoon. We like to remind our female audience that a wedding isn't about love, it's about being better than that other bitch who didn't even have a gluten free option at her pasta bar. Tacky.

There's also our newest show, I Cloned My Pet- which profiles 3 complete maniacs in their quest to clone their dead pets. 
We have the Asian guy who used to be in a gang and almost committed suicide then found his puppy and changed his life. 
The New York woman who wasn't stable enough to be in an adult relationship and still depends on her father for all of her emotional support
And a woman serving 10 years of jail time for transporting fire arms across state lines. 
The highlight of the show is when the Asian guy spends a hundred fucking thousand dollars on cloning his dog and travels to South Korea to see it be born (our viewers in poorer areas really love seeing money well spent). After the puppy is born it starts to have heart problems and the vets race to save him. Our lead character looks on with trepidation and says to the camera "I just want my baby back. Nothing in life can prepare you for this" And he's right, nothing in life can prepare you for being addicted to drugs in an all Asian gang, almost killing yourself, finding a stray dog- falling in love with it- having it die, harvesting it for scraps of DNA, mailing that DNA to scientists in South Korea, starting a business solely for the purpose of making enough money so you can pay a hundred fucking thousand dollars over the course of three years so you can fly to South Korea to see a clone of your dog be born and almost die. NOTHING can prepare you for that. Except our show.

And of course, for the pedophiles, we have Toddlers & Tiaras- this is a show where the women from A Conception Story, I didn't Know I was Pregnant and My Strange Addiction all get together and make their little girls dress like mini versions of the 
girls from our other new show, My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding and blow kisses at grown men. And before you tell us that we're exploiting children, remember- we have a personality portion of the pageant- it's not just about looks. 
The judges really wanna know if Kait-Lynne's favorite snack is cut up hot dogs and if she likes riding her four wheeler as a hobby. It's these details that determine which child is better.
                    .........What the hell is that supposed to be?

We also have NY Ink. Not sure why.

So that's our line up. We pride ourselves in reaching a diverse audience of stay at home moms and bored women on tuesday nights and we look forward to doing business with you.



"Shut up! Oh my god, for real, like, she is such a crack whore"
                            "Mom! Stop freaking out, ugh, you are such a crack whore"
Lacey? No, she's, like, a crazy crack whore, don't invite her to the party"
                                                 "You got the same shoes as me? Crack whore!"

Can we talk about this? It's an epidemic, this constant hyperbolic vomit people spew forth for lack desire to be more specific in their generalizations. It's lazy. And what's worse? It starts to take the sting out of calling someone a "crack whore". If I were upset and my friend said "you're acting like a crack whore" I wouldn't even take offense- no, not because I get called a crack whore often, but because it's a phrase we say a lot. So much so that there's nothing provocative about it anymore. 
"Crack whore" has totally jumped the shark. 
It's the same thing that primetime network comedies did to
the term "douche bag"- it used to be a phrase for the comedy elite, now you find it in every new sitcom about "quirky 20 somethings figuring out relationships".
The severity of the what being a crack whore implies is not something that even phases us because, as a culture, we don't flinch at violence. We play Call of Duty, are able to watch the news and eat at the same time, we love violet rap lyrics we and we let the cast of Real Housewives of New Jersey roam the streets without leashes. Face it folks, we're desensitized.
Most of us have never met a crackhead.  Honestly. I mean I've seen crazy homeless people but I just assume, because I was raised in an upper middle class drug free environment, that they're just bad people who are being lazy (it's a joke, don't write me a fbook message about how your whole family is homeless)          The closest I've ever come to crack is cocaine- and even then I can't say I've been that close to it. I knew this one kid in college who didn't come from money but had a really nice apartment and a really erratic attitude in general- he was definitely on cocaine. But had I gone up to him and been like "Bobby, can you get me some crack?" He would have looked at me like I was...a crack head...and been like "What? No. What is wrong with you?"

Look, I know that there are enough crazy people in this world that, sometimes, we run out of ways to describe how crazy they are but we need to give the over usage of "crack whore" a rest because it's become meaningless.

So the next time you're out shopping with your girlfriend and you ask her
 "Do you wanna split a Pinkberry?" 
and she says yes and she go to pick out the toppings and can't decide because, gosh, she'd never thought about putting "organic fruity bears" on yogurt and she's taking forever and you blurt out "Omg, Candyce, just pick one, you're such a crackwhore"

...consider this:

A crack whore is literally a woman who has lost hope/total control of her life due to her crippling addiction to crack. Her addiction, most likely, is steeped in a deep psychological desire to feel numb/safe- perhaps the emotional ramification of being raped by either a stranger or worse, a loved one (most likely her mother's boyfriend who crawled into her bed on a nightly basis to violate her, all the while threatening that if she told anyone, he'd kill her entire family) at some point in her life. Her being raped/violated/abandoned/abused has manifested itself in a chemical desire so strong that it supersedes everything else in her life including the want to feed herself/sleep/love and function normally. She is so desperate to feed her addiction to this drug that she only engages in activities that will lead her to more crack- she literally goes and finds any man that will give her twenty dollars to let them put their penis wherever they need in her so she can then take that money and go buy crack off of anyone who will sell it to her and smoke it and try and numb the pain of being raped when she was eight.  Then, in an hour, she'll do it all over again.
You can just chill out while she gets the organic fruity bears.

Streetwalkers (not hookers, pedestrians)

If there's one thing I've taken from my high school basketball coach and from Rick Ross, it's that, everyday I'm hustlin'.  Not just everyday, but erryday. I hustle at work, I hustle in life and I always, ALWAYS hustle across a street. There is no reason to take a leisurely stroll across a street, ever. Unless you're old. In which case debilitating pain and relentless effort to carry out even the simples of activities might be misconstrued for leisure. 
No one likes deliberately slow pedestrians. What you didn't see on the cover of Abbey Road is the Mini that sped right behind George three seconds after the pic was taken, the driver yelling later "GET OUT OF THE ROAD YOU BLOODY HIPPIES"
What's there for you in the middle of the street that requires such indolent movement? You find a penny? See a rainbow? Discover a tear in The Matrix? There's nothing for you there in the middle of the street, I assure you- but there's a land of opportunity just a few steps away on the other side, so hurry up and get there because I'm just barely holding onto the idea that running you over wouldn't solve all my problems.
No need to take a casual extra slow stroll across the street, ever- ESPECIALLY when you stepping onto the curb is the thing the cars in the right lane are waiting on before they can make their turn. Remember, pedestrian, soon you'll be the driver. And don't think that there isn't a butterfly effect. You wanna hold up traffic with your slow walking? Fine. But just know that the traffic you're holding up is, subsequently, holding up traffic down the block which is preventing Derek from merging into the right lane that he needs in order to turn into the parking lot of the Verizon store that you're headed to to ask why your Android has the shittiest speakerphone ever and when you get there you're gonna be made to wait behind the 83 year old Russian woman who doesn't understand phones (in general) and the crazy bored 62 year old burnt out hippie woman who uses her trip to the Verizon store as more of a chance to socialize with the workers than to get her Jitterbug fixed- and yeah, you would have been helped quicker but they are short handed today because Derek, their best sales associate is late coming in because of traffic that started about five minutes ago. PS- Derek didn't end up making it into work that day because he got shot- a bullet that wasn't intended for him and,had he just been able to turn into that parking lot 30 seconds earlier, it would have missed him. Oh well, good thing you got your stroll on before you came into the store. Oh well, enjoy waiting in line at The Verizon Store- try threatening to drop their network if they don't assist you quicker, because they totally care.
So who are the offenders? Again, we're not counting the elderly or the sickly or the children or the elderly sickly children.So here they are:
(For the sensitive: NO IT'S NOT ALL BLACK CHICKS but if comedy made exceptions for everyone then there would be no generalizations and there'd be no jokes that bond us culturally)
They do this far more than most people. I think it's an exercise in power. Like, sort of a last ditch "F U" to society. I might mistake their meandering across the street for ambivalence except for the fact that, on more than several occasions, it's been accompanied by a death stare directed at me. The stare that implies "And what?! I'm gonna take my mothafuckin time and you ain't gonna do shit because you're in a car and I may or may not be crazy...or armed" Now, especially in Los Angeles, 5 times out of 10 the black girl is, in fact, a black transvestite. You don't wanna mess with them. 
This is a wo(man) whose earthly possession (condoms, strawberry lube and a hot comb) all fit into one fake Coach bag- this is someone that has very little to lose and probably carries razor blades in their mouths- so don't challenged them.
Truth is, as much power as you, as the pedestrian (and in the case of Hollywood black chicks, your name might actually be P'destrian) feel you are wiedling over the driver, you're actually giving the driver the power because you are, in fact, placing your trust in them that they, as the operators of a one ton vehicle, won't hit you because really, aside from an intangible law requiring them to stop at a stop sign, there's nothing physically preventing them from running you THE FUCK OVER. The same thin barrier of sanity that prevents you from running out into oncoming traffic is the same barrier that prevents the driver from pressing down on the gas peddle when you cross, so have some respect for traffic and get out of the way. And before you get all up in arms about how that's racist- just relax your sphincter. My black friend Erin agreed with me on this.
YOU ARE BRATS. White girls, we're gonna go with age 15-30, are totally oblivious to anyone around them- in general but particularly when on their phones. They take their time crossing and it's not deliberate. They aren't doing it to intentionally upset you. And I actually can't tell which is worse, going out of your way to be annoying or just being innately annoying by virtue of the fact that you're so self absorbed that you fail to notice others. It defies nature that you wouldn't even acknowledge an oncoming object (my car)- you just have faith that I'll stop and everything will work out in your favor because, well, it always has, thanks dad!

BECKY, it's amazing that you just got the results of your online nursing exam and yes, I'm sure your boyfriend really wants to hear about your morning and that totally gross homeless guy who stared at you. 
ALLIE, yes it's annoying that dad won't buy you a brand new 3 Series until you finish your first semester at Cal State Barstow. 
KAITLYNNNE, yes it's annoying that you can't get your boyfriend to pick his son up from daycare so you can make your shift at Saddle Ranch- BUT DEAL WITH IT ON THE GODDAMN SIDEWALK. It's great that all your life you've been cute and the world just kind of revolved around you but, now you're older...and not so cute and no one cares. So move (bitch, get out the way)
Not just any teenagers, city dwelling teenagers. You can tell because their clothes are cooler than yours yet they always have a thin layer of city filth covering them. Kids who grow up in suburbs have been taught to fear streets and rarely have to cross them anyway, so when they are in a big city they get it over with as fast as possible. I'm talking about the kids who live in cities and have no healthy fear of traffic.
Look, it's great that your high school lets you go off campus for lunch (oh, it doesn't? Oh, you dropped out? Sweet!) and you've chosen to use that time to wander the streets aimlessly. And it's awesome that your fitted hat obstructs your view just enough that no one can see your eyes, which will totally work for you when the business owner whose building you tagged can't identify you because he couldn't see your face. BTW, cool rosary beads- you pray with those often or were they just on sale at PacSun?
And that's cool that you and your friends really wanna focus on your music careers despite the fact that none of you can read music but yeah, fuck school, get a rap career, it's super easy and it's not a saturated market at all. And it's awesome that you're able to download the new LMFAO video right to your phone despite the fact that you haven't read Grapes of Wrath, The Great Gatsby or have any idea what happened in WWII. No, WWII isn't a skateboard apparel line.
And good job having unprotected sex with your girlfriend/American Apparel model/underaged prostitute- it's great how affectionate you guys are when crossing the street- I really love watching you make out. Oh and tell your buddy that all of us here at the stop light are super impressed with your friend who's scaling the street light pole in an effort to tear down a street sign in broad daylight- me and all the other tax payers are loving watching this- and we're gonna love EVEN MORE when he falls off the post, breaks his goddamn collar bone and has to be rushed to the hospital because we'll be the ones who get to pay for it because his hardworking parents who came to this country to give him a better life probably don't have any insurance. Way to do your part. Pull up your pants, go back to class and do something with your life. But first, cross the street.
I kind of don't think Mexican mothers are aware of where they are because they are overstimulated by the herd they travel with. They may, in fact, be hustling across the street but it's hard to hustle when you have four babies, your cousin, her kids and a baby carriage full of groceries from The 99 Cent Store weighing you down. I can also imagine it's hard to move your legs fast when you're in the tightest jeans ever. 
I think I'm bothered least by this one because they seem to have too many real problems to deal with to worry about crossing the street quickly. Also, they always smile- I kind of don't mind you holding up traffic if you smile. A smile says "I don't mean to take forever" and that, somehow, makes it okay. Makes it bueno.
The people who we, as a society, allow to cross the street at their leisure are usually insane homeless people, the elderly and children. As a fully functioning adult, if you want to be given the same consideration that we give to the criminally insane, retarded and mentally insufficient, then fine- just don't expect to be treated normally the rest of the time.

I'm gonna say it- I don't like SUNNY DAYS

First of all, I'll admit, "Sunny Days" sounds like a soft core porn actress. 
Sunny Days
I do not like you. I know that, living in Southern California, most residents to have a predilection for sunny days but it's those same people who will, later in life, have a proclivity for melanoma.

"It's such a gorgeous day!" Awesome! Now what!? You can go sit outside for lunch and complain to the watier/actor that the sun is in your face and could he please adjust the giant awning umbrella, effectively prolonging the ever-ongoing the game of shadow tug of war your playing with the table of moms next to you? 
If you're just gonna sit in the shade, why bother going outside? Just sit inside and look out a window. Like I do. All day.
Sun, you speckle me. If I were more hood, I'd say "Damn, sun, you speckle me". I spent five minutes staring at, what I thought was, a blackhead on my chin only to finally realize that it was a new freckle.

I don't like putting on sunscreen at 9am just so I can take Blanche for a fifteen minute walk so she can go piddles (I really like saying "go piddles"). A sunny day means one thing to me: more idiots out and about and I'll be sweating trying to navigate my way through them. Oh, you know what else the sun does? It's heats up all the dog pee and poop that people leave outside- bakes it right into the cement and grass. So yeah, you can go for a walk- a walk through Ho Dog Pee Land, it's like Candy Land but with dog pee. HOT dog pee. Okay, I'm doing writing "hot dog pee"....HOT DOG PEE!

And now, a foray into the depths of my own neurosis:
To me a sunny day represents activity- activity that I'm not part of nor could fully enjoy if I were part of it. 
Iliza! We're going out on a boat!
TRANSLATION: Maritime vomit! Iliza! Come get mildly sea sick and burnt on a boat! After the rocking of the boat has made you sufficiently nauseous, we're all gonna get in the water and then hang out on the deck of the boat! Won't that be fun?! Won't that be fun to splay yourself out on a hot deck and let the salt of the ocean bake right into your skin like a piece of Cod?! Your hair? Yeah, it's gonna look frizzy and weird, but don't worry, no one will be paying attention to you because we've invited some other girls who have perfect stick straight hair that slicks back easily because they literally just stepped off the set of an Aqua di Gio commercial- so no one cares how horrible you look. What? Oh, we know you work out too- too bad no one can tell because you're as white as sails so no one can see your muscle definition. Just go vomit in the hull you big piece of Cod.
(PS- and this has happened before, nothing worse than being on a boat and they have bad drinks. I was on a boat one time and all they had was Diet Pepsi and that weird Caffeine Free Coke in the bronze can- oh and there was also like a Big Red. Which I'm pretty sure in some states you have to special order- so...not sure what kind of head game they were playing there and yes, I do think there is always a head game being played.

Iliza! We're having a BBQ!
TRANSLATION: Now you can get a sunburn and smell like charcoal! Nothing asserts a young male's independence more than being the leader of a BBQ! It says to the world "I have a home. I have land. I have a grille. I am a man."
Iliza, come to our BBQ- me and my girlfriend are having an impromptu BBQ because we just moved into an apartment that has a little patch of green attached to it. Everyone is bringing something (translation- everyone is bringing the same six pack of beer from Trader Joe's) and the burgers are gonna be dry. Why? Because my friend Charles is doing the BBQING:
SIDENOTE: Every guy has this friend that does the grill work at a BBQ. Don't even try to usurp his position because you'll be met with "Ah, sorry buddy, Charles is always the grill master" this friend is one of two men.
He's either the friend that actually loves to cook and is good at it and he makes the burgers and you're like "oh wow, this is actually really good- wow you do have a knack for cooking" He's usually an editor at a post house or something that's very far removed from cooking. He's never a cook by trade.
He's the friend that you think is kind of a jerk off/funny guy who is always joking around but for some reason becomes really serious when he puts himself in charge of grillin' burgers and you walk up to him and try to make a conversation but he's like sweating and waaaay to focused on burning the fuck out of the food to really talk, so he kind of comes off like a dick and you're like...chill out dude, as creative has it is that you put veggies on a grille (burnt veggies on a grille) you could lighten up a bit, this isn't Top Chef. Oh, you want me to "grab you a beer" cool...I'll grab a bottle...and crack it over your head. Ok that was too much, I need to not watch Mob Wives while I write.

OH AND BY THE WAY?! FUCK YOU to the guy who randomly decided to bring steak to the party but only brought enough for like, 2 people. Who does that? Who brings their own meat? You're a tease, a meat tease. Fuck yeah I'd rather eat carne asada instead of a hockey puck with cheese on it (thanks Charles)

I like cloudy days, I love rain. My life is hectic enough, cloudy days represent tranquility. I know that the world spins with or without me, but on a rainy day- it feels like it slows down just a little bit, just enough where I don't feel so crazed. I like staying home and I like when I stay home on a rainy day I don't feel like I'm missing out on whatever I was supposed to attend, because I feel like other people stayed home too. #truth

I know it's cool to be tan. But I'm not and I never will be. Italian Vogue will just have to do without me for now. 


Flare Tank Tops

I hate you. You make me look like a bat. 
To the insecure designer that invented these; how bad is your body that you feel the need to not only cover your middle with a flowy tank top (which is totally normal, every girl loves a flowy top) , but buttress it with fabric wings? Do you have scoliosis and a hernia?
You're not hiding anything! You know we can still see your arms right? And shoulders and beefy neck so, the world's gonna know you're chubby. 
I just don't need THAT much material when I'm wearing a tank top. No one does, most Middle Eastern women would be annoyed at the amount of fabric here. 
You wear a tank top because it's light weight- you don't want to be flanked by a pound of extra cotton. Oddly, I don't even see a lot of bigger girls wearing these. No, you know who wears them? Those lady girls (the girls who look 15 but are really 21 or who are 21 but look 15 or don't wash their hair for 15 days and only have 21 dollars) that troll around hollywood in 8 inch BOOTIE WEDGES and ripped jean shorts and somehow they make ripped jean shorts look fashionable and not trashy because their thighs don't actually touch the inner perimeter of the shorts. 

(Black guys talk to me more when I wear jean shorts, that's how I know my thighs are too big- this poor girl, no black guys talk to her. Then again, with thighs like that, she might be Asian- so maybe I'm wrong.)

(What is your maternity tank so violent looking? Oh, your not pregnant? Oh that's cool, hey, where's your bra? Oh you don't need one? No, you do- it's part of that whole walking upright/eating with utensils/being part of civilized society thing.)

Even weirder about these tanks is the way they flow. Imagine walking fast or even running in this- if you move your arms, which I'm assuming since you're not a robot, you will, the flaps will get wind under them and quasi take flight and flow behind you- ridiculous. You'll always look like your falling...only it will be horizontally and you'll look stupid.

Ask any guy, any guy who likes vagina (snooch), and not one will say "yeah, those flappy tanks with the extra flaps? I love those- the more material between me and a girl, the better"
Just like a black winged dove...sings a song sounds like she's singing...ew...ew...ew...


People calling themselves "NINJAS"

You don't need a picture. HI-YA!

It's not fucking funny (if it ever was) and, even worse, it's run it's course. "I'm like a robot ninja!" "I'm like a comedy ninja!""I'm like a sandwich making ninja!" fuck off dude- what does that even mean? Really, what are you saying? Your parents were raped and killed in front of you when you were 10 so you went to live in a martial arts training village in rural Japan for like 10 years where you learned how to disguise yourself, dress like Sub Zero and kill people? No, the only formal training you've ever had was your two month stint at Subway (and no, your summer at Culinary camp that you attended because the judge said it was that or a Scared Straight program doesn't count as formal training. Awesome, cooking kept you off the streets, now you're a pastry chef with tattoos- we get it, you're edgy- sweet 00 gauge spacers, good thing you work in the back because no one eating wants to look at that) 
You're a sandwich artist, not a ninja. Nothing stealth about making a sandwich. In fact, nothing about what you just did resembles a ninja in any capacity (ok, so you held a knife, but it was a butter knife- and I guess since you worked at Subway and you consider yourself a ninja- your name tag could ostensibly say SUB-ZERO). 

If you don't like America or a good argument, don't keep reading.
Also, on a very thinly drawn conclusionary tangent, to compare oneself to a ninja, is to suggest you revere a ninja for their skill at being a ninja- so, in effect, you admire their aptitude for all things war: espionage, murder, their skill with that stick thing Donatello uses etc. So basically, you think ninjas are bad ass because they are a feared/respected adversary in a war. Well so are Navy Seals, but you never hear someone say "I'm like like a Dog Walking Navy Seal" "I'm like a sexual Navy Seal". I hate to say it but, in essence, you're inadvertently suggesting that you have a healthier fear of the Japanese than you do of your own country's army (I said it was a thinly drawn tangent), which I could understand saying if you were a citizen of Norway or Canada, but come on guys, we're still a threat. We're still in the game, we're still tough. Just don't let anyone over 60 hear you say anything about ninjas- they might get emotional considering who they might have spent their time fighting between the ages of 16 and 24.

P.S. If you wanna get a weird look from a Subway sandwich artist when ordering a foot long, phrase it like "I'll take all twelve inches" and when they ask you what you want on it just say "all lettuce" and that's it. 


April 2014

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