Wednesday before the Phillies game

Q: Dude, what happened between June '05 and May '06?
A: Let's see, I carried Prince's illegitimate child, I moved for a brief stint to Communist China and I converted to Scientology, where they don't allow computers or logical thought. No, I was just really busy.

Q: Why do you have time now?
A: This is my ONE week of summer vacay and I don't want the posts about farts to be left on the screen for perpetuity.

Q: Is the person asking the questions real?
A: I wish they weren't.

Q: Where do you come up with this shit?
A: That's one of those unanswerable questions like, why did MTV give Wilmer Valderama a television show?
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It's time for "Who Can Kick Who's Ass": Rappers Edition.

Busta could DEFINITELY kick 50 cent's ass.

Bubba Sparxx could kick Paul Wall's ass (sparking another rash of White on White violence w/in the rap community)

Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five could kick Dem Franchise Boys and Three Six Mafia's ass.

Simultaneously.

Trick Daddy could kick Mike Jones' ass.

Anyone could kick Cameron's ass.

Ludicrous could kick....

Nick Cannon's ass?

Aw, folks, that's a close one.

Disclaimer**I am not an advocate of violence. I am, in fact, a pacifist. Hence the irony.**

Musings

Q: Is it hard to be that cynical and sarcastic all the time?
A: No, not really. During the day I shit sunshine. Trust me.
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Mush mouth, (she's my friend--she knows I call her that!) asked for a recap of Grey's and proceeded to ignore me while I waited outside before I went in to order my food. No good deed goes unpunished, or friends don't go by without screwing friends over, as the saying goes... according to the Great Book of Suck. But as I was walking to Wawa I saw the infamous bearded lady. I swear to Buddah, I think she was lucid for .2 seconds today. She looked at me and asked me a question, her eyes were clear, her hands not shaking as much, and in her gibberish, I'm sure she made sense. I thought we shared a moment. Look for wedding invites in the mail!

Headbangers Ball

Secret passion of mine: getting on an El train filled with nuthin but black folks, turning up my ipod and playing... Green Day! It's thrilling. Exciting. It's Fantasmic (that little piece of heaven between fantastic and orgasmic).
ipod: $150 on ebay
Green Day cd: $9 on itunes
Having a girl with a magenta hair weave and her first name written out on the inside of her gold hoop earrings roll her eyes at me: Priceless.
'Cause lord knows, I'M trifflin'.
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So I'm traveling back to NYC for my second week in a row and I'm as exhausted as a three dollar whore running a half-off sale. I don't even want to talk about the unholy hour I had to wake up and catch my c-town bus or the fact that I missed it by three minutes... and apparently three minutes is the difference between the Ben Franklin Bridge and Madagascar. That bus was gone so fast, it was almost like the people on it could actually drive. Anyways, I catch the next one and lucky for me I get seated in front of a man whose lung he is trying to make exit through his mouth.
**Side note, I'm not a germaphobe by any circumstance, but the one thing I can't stand, is people coughing on planes and busses because we are all essentially breathing recycled air, and they may be fifteen feet ahead of me but eventually that cough is landing in my mouth (No need to thank me for the visual there).**
So, directly, and I mean DIRECTLY, in back of me Hackey McHackerson is giving me all he's got. I turn around as if that would silence him. He looked at me as if I had a dick growing on my forehead. And we continued our ride in mutual discontent. Once we arrived in New York, he cut me off as we exited the bus, such a gentlemen.
First stop, Tribeca Film Festival's Family Parade. Never mind the fact that I felt as uncomfortable as Michael Jackson at a pajama party, without a child of my own--that is, I also bought a cheesesteak and now I remember that New York is known for their cheeseCAKE. Yeah, silly mistake.
I met up with Tiff and Bryan and her Mom to catch a screening of The One Percent and director Jamie Johnson came in for a Q&A session. Which turned a teensy bit ugly, we were on the UPPER WEST SIDE for krishna's sake. P.S. Rich people suck.......until you're one of them, that is.
I went to see my brother's play "Bloody Mary" on the lower east side--GREAT show! Anything that opens with a shot of King Henry VIII getting down doggie style with Catherine of Aragon, is somewhat brilliant in my book. Best scene ever: Philip, Queen Mary I's husband, dressed as a barrio boy dancing to reggaeton and bursting out in song with Maria from West Side Story. Good stuff.

Walking the Dog

I was walking to the bus stop the day before yesterday on the way from the gym and just one block away, I see the funniest thing I have possibly seen in weeks: a guy was walking what he thought was his dog. But it was not his dog. It could not have possibly been a dog. He took what his real dog shit out that morning, strapped a leash on it, and walked it out the door. He was essentially walking his dog's shit. The dog was so tiny and quivering I laughed out loud and scared the stoner sitting on the steps at the park. Moral of the story: Don't smoke weed. It's bad for you.

Nightmare on 42nd St

Oh, I almost forgot freaky friday!
So I live down the street from 7-11 (my neighborhood's very glam) and I go there because I'm too lazy to walk the 2 extra blocks to the decent grocery store (and we won't even get into the bourgeois people who frequent that joint). The only thing about this particular 7-11 is that-- even though I go there in my pajama's on weekends, there is this guy who keeps hitting on me. He looks Eritrean but has an island-esque accent, don't ask. So, usually I try to wait the 2 extra hours to go the Rite Aid that's a block in the other direction. Well, on Friday night I got home and it's too late to go to the Rite Aid because it's closed and I have to drag myself to the 7-11.
'Why did I *have* to go?', you ask?
Well, I was out of, um...hygiene products. So I go to 7-11, and he's there.
Yeah.
Me.
Well I try to go to the guy at the other counter but he's not open so I go to my *wonderful* friends counter. And he has the nerve to start hitting on me WHILE he's ringing me up for...hygiene products! WTF?!! I laugh because it's so absurd. Anyways I make my way out of the store still giggling to myself when this Armenian-lookin guy comes up beside me (yes folks, I am the United Nations for psychos) and asks "Where are you going"? And I reply, "Home". And he asks again, and again like he has touretts or a profound stuttering habit (probably seeded in childhood abuse. Why are you laughing? SICKO! :). So I proceed to get freaked out and start walking away quickly. He walks beside me and starts asking more questions. I tell him I don't want to talk to him because I don't know him. He walks a bit farther looks at me with the stare of a fire of a thousand suns, then cuts across me and walks down a side-street. I run home. Fast. Lock the door. Call my friend. And lament the fact that I live in philly, by myself, without a dog, named Rambo, or Kujo, or Kill Him Fast, Doggie.

Months at a time

La di Da. I have gotten into a graduate program which allows me to now defer any big decisions for another two years.
Yeah me.
I am also pleased to report that upon my acceptance, I have traveled back to California for some much needed R&R. Except...I HAVE NO CAR! Not only that, this new-founded east-coaster doesn't have a license either. Well, lookie here.
Still haven't answered any of my existential questions. But....then again, who cares? I've got time!

Greetings from the Future.

I am no longer ashamed to fart in public restrooms.
That is precisely where you should do it.
I am so annoyed at the gasps and giggles people produce when someone farts in a restroom. Contrary to popular belief, women's loo's are not for conjugating, discussion, prolonged primping, date-ditching, drunken crying or phone calls. They are for FARTING! And it is a shame that we are so scared to do that now-a-days' for fear of being stigmatized as the public-farter. In yesteryear we may have been forced to adorn a scarlet F, for flatulence, but I should not have to endure that fear today.
Now, if I were walking down a hall, this sort of behavior would be deemed inappropriate, and rightly so, but I am sitting on a freakin' toilet, how much more do I have to do to be entitled to produce a couple of butt-burbles?

Oh Crap!

On the sly I applied to one graduate program on the off chance I might get in. I didn't. Now, this strange warm sort of panic has filled my body. I may actually have to decided what I want to do with my life. I got no place to start. I can't think of a city, state, occupation....nothing. I don't know what I'm gonna do.

Gotta love those Monday's.