Holiday Gift Guide

While I was on my way to New York last week I decided I would like to get my Christmas shopping done.  But being the sweetheart that I am I’ve taken the liberty of doing YOUR Christmas shopping for YOU… in Sky Mall.

First up is the Wish Wrap.  For a measly $38.99, you too can write stupid shit on a piece of paper and stick it in your “Wish Pocket.”   The Wish Wrap “features a pocket that lets you carry around your fondest wishes wherever you go.”  SkyMall states that you can wear your Wish Wrap at home OR on the town… so if your wish is to look like an asshole then this is the gift for you!  Wish wraps: The Snuggie’s redheaded stepchild. 

Do you have that special man in your life that forgets to take care of himself in the shower and is too lazy to reach under his towel?  Don’t we all?!  Fear not, I’ve got the perfect gift for you, the Men’s Genuine Turkish Wrap.  This is the gift that keeps on giving!  And for only $34.99, you can’t beat that.

Here we have the Ear Spy for $99.99.  Disguised as an innocuous pen holder, the special jackass in your life can now spy on his co-workers from the comfort of his cubicle.  This fine piece of equipment has a 1 year replacement fee of $9.99 or a 2 year of $14.99 just in case it takes you longer than 2 years to figure out that you just dropped a Benjamin on a fucking DIXIECUP pen holder. 

This year a Cabbage Patch Kid just isn’t gonna cut it so I’ve upped the ante for you.  For a whopping $99.99, exclusively from The Ashton-Drake Galleries (they’re so legit) you can have a real fake baby.  And this fake baby is a collectable.  Do you know what that means?  That means one day you can have a whole collection of fake babies!!!  Weeeeeeeeeeee! 

Just take a look at this gorgeous, pink, mouth watering, finger-licking-good, hunk of… oh wait, that’s a ham?  Oh, right, right.  Spiral City Sliced Ham. $34.00.  Sky Mall.  Ham.  Yeah.

Wine Glass Holder Necklace Thingy - $24.99
When you’ve got one hand in your Wish Pocket and the other in your Turkish pocket, how are you gonna hold your booze? Boy do I have the solution for you!  This fancy schmancey wine holder necklace thingy is perfect for those who just need a drink hanging around their neck.

Welp, that about wraps up my holiday gift giving guide. You're welcome.

Hodge-Podge Reality Doo-Wop Compilation Blog Remix: Volume 2.0

-Is it just me or do you drive like a fucking banshee the minute hot French fries enter your car? I refuse to eat a cold fry and I refuse to nuke my delicious, golden friends. So inevitably, it becomes a race against the hot French fry (and I always win.)
-I don’t understand people’s obsession with kitty cats and machine guns. That’s just fucking weird, dude.
-I cannot STAND those idiots who ride their Schwinn’s on the street. There’s a fucking side walk right there, Homie!! And I’ve got hot French fries in my car!
-I’m traveling to NYC this week and I’m excited to get a little action. TSA= Touchin’, Squeezin’, AWwwwESOME! I’m going to hide little love letters in a couple inconspicuous places, that way they don’t feel so cheap about the early onset heavy petting.
“Dear TSA Agent Claudia, I love the way you warm your hands up before having your way with me.  Too bad these little pat downs are so one-sided.”
Or “Dear TSA Agent Rhonda, I love that you have no shame in your game!  Tracing my bra line and telling me to “spread ‘em” …in public …on the first date?  Balls!”
Or maybe, “Dear TSA Agent Louise, Your PDA means the world to me! Let’s hold hands.”
And lastly, “Dear TSA Agent Latex Gloves Guy, if you’re reading this one something has gone terribly wrong and I’d like you to direct all further questions to my attorneys. Rubins Kase Rubins Cambiano and Bryant @ 523-8200."
-What ever happened to Amy Winehouse? Someone should check on her.
-Do you realize that all our lives we grow up with superiors. Starting with Mom and Dad, then kindergarten teachers and hall monitors, principals and vice principals. (For whatever reason, I always viewed the janitors and lunch ladies as equals. What are they gonna do? Nothing, that’s what.) Moving across an array of high school teachers and coaches, police men, college professors and Abercrombie & Fitch managers. Finally, you grow up and get a real job and you have your bosses and managers, and assistant managers, all the while you been paying your cell phone bill; I’m pretty sure Verizon Wireless fucking owns my ass. The question is, when is it going to be my turn?
I guess I could try telling my parents to clean their room and to be home by midnight but they would just think it’s funny and laugh in my cute face. I could try going back to my high school and telling all my old teachers what they used to tell me, "Sit still and to stop talking so fuckin' much," but I can only think of one who would actually do it and that’s just because he’s a hippie and smokes a ton of pot. I wouldn’t dare try to tell a police man what to do again. Last time I did that I was in Mexico, told a Federale to “S my D” and landed myself in a Mexican jail cell for 72 hours. I lost 4 pounds and have been pen pals with my cell mate for going on 8 years now though, so I regret nothing. I would love to call Verizon and say “Can you hear me now? Good, go fuck yourself,” but I won’t, need ‘em too much.
Anyhoo, you get the point. When am I going to be “The Man?” I have got to find a way to boss people around and have them take me seriously. I’m working on it, when I figure it out, I’ll let you know. And hopefully quick, before my desire to be the boss betrays me and lands me back in a 3rd world prison.
-Don’t you have certain words that you think are fun to say? I love onomatopoeias. But more than I love onomatopoeias I love the word ‘onomatopoeia.’ And I just found a way to say it 3 times! Boom! (that’s an onomatopoeia – 4) I also enjoy saying ‘Boise’ and ‘persnickety.’
-I wish I had the authority to ambush makeover people. Go to a Dress Barn in Boise, choose a persnickety lady, throw a pillowcase over her head, toss her in the back of an unmarked car and redirect her to Nordstrom. We’d start with a bra fitting. I’ve had my counsel look into this and apparently this kind of behavior is “frowned upon” even if it is for the greater good of humanity.
-I’ve been thinking of adding a small disclaimer to the blog. This is it, and I’m not apologizing for anything I’ve said, I’m simply coming clean for good JuJu and karmic purposes.

*Disclaimer: Dear current and future employers, boyfriends, husbands, soccer moms and my unborn love children alike, please be advised that this blog is a bunch a bull shit and about 3% of it’s content is actually true. Unless you love it then, 97% of it is true.

Here’s a list of things I’ve already lied about:
I’m not really a Volunteer Fire Fighter: they pay me, but under the table for tax fraud purposes.
I don’t really think Jamie Lee Curtis’ haircut is stupid. In fact, I love it!
I ate a McRib and didn’t document, record OR report on it… in my defense, it was 2am and I was drunk.
I’m not really 5’2”… I’m 5’2 and-a-half and I still like it down here.


The Rise and Fall of the Ed Hardy Empire

It all started with the ever-popular Ed Hardy rhinestone tucker hat. I will be the first to admit that I purchased one of these ‘gems’ about 5 years ago, right after I tossed my Von Dutch that was rad for about 14 and-a-half minutes. Luckily, that was the extent of my Ed Hardy phase and I think I wore it once to the gym, and by gym I mean the Ab-Roller in my basement. But with the rise of the trucker hat came the uproar of the tattoo T-shirts which snowballed into the gleaming track suits and a fragrance line which pretty much everybody who’s anybody has, right?

Now, any smart person would have sold their stock in Affliction and invested in the monopoly that is Ed Hardy at this point in the game. I, on the other hand, just couldn’t swallow my pride enough to have my name and social security digits tied to the brand. However, these Ed Hardy “products” became a contagious disease; appealing to the masses in New Jersey, and Mexico, then spreading like the Chicken pox across the globe. From Vodka and hookah bongs, to bedding and cars (yes, cars) these mother fuckers will slap a “Love Kills Slowly” sticker on just about anything, overprice the shit out of it and call it a day’s work.

Ed Hardy and Ed Hardy factory inspector numbers1 through 1,000, I beg of you, put down the Bedazzler and close up shop. This is my plea to allow the fine citizens of Mexico, New Jersey, Scottsdale, and beyond to return to their less sparkly apparel. This is me asking you “pretty please,” allow the beautiful women wearing frosted lipstick with dark liner to retire their blinding pink track suits. Come on Ed, I’ll help you come up with an exit strategy. Maybe we can get you in for a job interview with BP. Just put “Overpricing Shit” and “Accidental Catastrophes” under your specialties, you’re a shoe in! But please, stop the madness. It’s become prevalent that your glittery, tattoo-esque accoutrement is making mediocre looking people ugly, it’s bankrupting hard working MMA fighters, and slowly but surely making the whole world compulsively *bling. I have a dream that one day, we will all be free of the Ed Hardy epidemic and we can return to our normal, graphic tee-free, Bedazzless lives.

Fucking Ed Hardy.
A tiny little nod to my dear friend Ali who bravely sold ed hardy at the Scottsdale Fashion Square Mall... we all make mistakes.  I forgive you. 

Double Down?

I can think of a lot of things I like 'double.' Double Bubble, Double Whammies, Double Dates, Double Vodka Sodies. I can also think of a lot of things I like ‘down’, Down the Hatch, Down Town, Down Home with the Neeley’s, Downward Facing Dog. However, I cannot come up with any reason I would like a KFC Double Down. Not one instance where I’d like DOUBLE fried chicken breasts strangling DOUBLE bacon, DOUBLE cheese with a mysterious lard-based ‘Colonel Sauce’ squirted all over, DOWN my throat, not a one.

Whoever the genius, Butterball was that gave birth to the idea of this bun-less wonder is acutely sick in the head. What is this, Grease Fusion cuisine? It seems a bit primitive already that we gnaw our meat right off the bone and suck it directly from the wings that were all snuggled together in a bucket of grease. But slapping together two giant slabs of breast  in place of a bun seems far more barbaric and quite frankly, just fuckin’ grody. On a scale from Coronary to Quadruple Bypass, I give this shameless hunk of meat an “I’m Sorry Ma’am, We Did Everything We Could.” Vom!

This is what’s wrong with America today. We like to figure out what will kill us, and then back it off just a smidge. Eating this “sandwich” is like playing with asbestos. Eventually it WILL kill you. If you’re gonna consume a Double Downer ya may as well pick up a six pack of Four Loko, an Eightball of Cocaine and eat your DD in a dark alley in Tijuana while you’re at it… since you’re such a risk taker. That’s all I got. G' day!


STATUS: Denied

Bilal, its a shame we couldn't make this friendship work because your name is really fun to say.


Hodge-Podge Reality Doo-Wop Compilation Blog Remix

I haven’t blogged in some time because suddenly my life has gotten crazy busy and by that I mean someone finally let me have a job and I’ve been working instead of waking up, overdosing on coffee with Reg and Kel and blogging. If you’re wondering what I do I’m in the financial industry by day and I moonlight as a volunteer firefighter most nights. Keeps me on my toes. Anyhoo, between managing people’s wealth and being a hero I’ve hardly had the time to squeeze in any writing, plus Christmas is in 46 days so I’ve been working diligently on my wish list. But I’ve had a lot to say so with that, I’ve decided to leave you with the small, profound thoughts that have been rattling around up there the last few weeks.
-First I'd like to have a word with you, Mr. Favre.
The last couple weeks have been the finest display of karma I have ever personally had the opportunity to witness. You’ve been playing like garbage and I am entirely convinced it’s due to your own documentation of yourself WEARING CROCS! Geeezus, get some new shoes, guy! And to make matters worse you rocked socks with the Crocs? Favre, where the fuck was your wife when you were getting dressed? And just when I think it can’t get any worse, I find out that this is your masturbation outfit. Whaaaa?!
Listen, I’m mildly impressed that you have been able to keep your perversion under wraps your entire career and even more impressed that no one has outted you for sporting that ridiculous footwear. However, it takes a special kind of stupid to capture a photograph of yourself committing any one of the three aforementioned offenses let alone all three at the same time. And shit bro, this is the outfit you chose to wear when sending said photograph to a babe?  …Get real old man, no one wants to see your old Crocs OR your old cock… retire already, I’m bored.
-Why is the McRib a limited time only?  How do they run out of fake ribs?  Aren’t those things just mass produced from a little meat cookie cutter anyway?  There’s something strange about a piece of meat that has the illusion of having bones in it but doesn’t actually have bones.  At any rate the McRib marketing ploys and all the hype surrounding this elusive sandwich has got me super intrigued … there’s a possibility I will try one this time around, I mean it is a limited time only and all.  Should this happen, the experience  will be fully documented, recorded and reported on. 
-There are 2 commercials that have been irritating the shit out of me as of late.  First up are the Old Navy commercials which no doubt are notorious for being fuckin’ dumb; but has this two-bit retail conglomerate gotten so cheap and lazy that they don’t even use real humans in their commercials anymore?  Mannequins!? Fuck, that’s annoying.  The second ridiculous commercial is the Disaronno commercial teaching me how to mix a “Drink of the Day” that a fucking monkey could come up with.  “Disaronno and cranberry juice… Ta-da!!!”  Oh how fucking innovative, thanks for nothing. 
-I know that I should probably have some highly controversial, sagacious thoughts on the elections but I don’t. Swing state, swing vote, swing set, stwing cheese… it’s all the same to me. I get my news from the newsfeed on Facebook and I get the weather by sticking my hand out the window so I wouldn’t trust myself to make any kind of an informed commentary. However I do trust myself enough to know when things change… and uh, they haven’t. Just sayin’.
-I'm so excited it's almost glove season!  I love gloves, with fingers, without fingers… gloves are awesome unless they do this… then it's time to get yourself some new gloves.

-Sometimes I forget about some of the shit I write, I have not forgotten how much I can’t stand Jamie Lee Curtis, with her stupid face and her stupid haircut and her fantastical bowels. 

-And lastly, in my music world I've had The Virgins on repeat.  Have a listen!
The Virgins by littlelinds

love you, love your shoes

The Kitty Cat Conspiracy

Six months ago my cat, Socks, was murdered. One, beautiful, spring morning in April, Socks went out to play. Weeks went by, spring turning into summer, Socks yet to return. I just thought he was having a lot of fun until finally I came face to face with reality, he wasn’t coming back. Socks the Cat had in fact been murdered. Socks was a good cat, loyal and loving, soft and furry just a like a cat should be. Socks survived nineteen years on these tough suburban streets. Dodging cyclists and minivans, surviving rabid neighborhood children attacks and fending off ferocious poodles, this cat was no pussy. And it’s no accident that he never came home on that cool April day, a day that will forever live in infamy.

I’ve filed a police report and they’ve done little to nothing to pursue the investigation of my cat’s untimely death stating that they “have bigger fish to fry.” Fuckin’ slackers. So, I’ve decided it’s time I take this serious matter into my own hands. I have every intention of punishing the crime syndicate responsible for the death of my feline friend and I’m going to personally inflict fiery justice on Socks’ assailants.

I realize I have no real experience in pursuing merciless revenge but I have a plan. I will probably start taking some sort of mixed martial arts classes after work.  I got a coupon in the mail from the Dojo up the street from my house so I'll just go there. I’m going to need lots of protein bars and some new sneakers too. And I’m definitely going to get myself a mentor, someone to teach me discipline. I’m thinking a rather small, elderly gentleman, one who possesses the qualities of a wizard. I wonder if I could find one online, like a mail-order Mr. Miyagi of sorts? I’ll try Craig’s List.

Anyhoo, when I am fully trained, primed and ready, equipped with a black leotard and pepper spray, I will go into the night to avenge the death of Socks the Cat. I will fight evil men until I get to the asshole responsible for ordering the hit on that beloved furr factory. Socks will finally be able to rest in an eternity of peace that he so richly deserves and I will be able to rest easy at last knowing that justice was served and sweet, sweet vengeance was mine.

Tonight, pour one for my homie, Socks the Cat.

My Totties Are Hotter Than Your Totties

As the autumn leaves begin to turn and fall rapidly approaches, the only thing that gets me more excited than zipping up my new boots up are my piping Hot Totties. I love a Hot Tottie in my hand on a brisk fall day. I love waking up to a nice Hot Tottie on a Saturday’s morn. A Hot Tottie can be enjoyed on a cool day at a football game. Nothing’s more masculine than the testosterone buffet that is football and Hot Totties in your hand. A Hot Tottie partners up nicely with breakfast in bed. A Hot Tottie can be enjoyed snuggled up under a blanket, even with your girlfriend’s parents in the room. Best of all, a Hot Tottie can really put a pep in your step if you’re feeling under the weather. And hey, grab a date! Totties are always best enjoyed in pairs.

If you’d like to try my Hot Totties:

1 half shot Spiced Rum
1 tbsp Honey
1 tbsp Lemon Juice
1 cups Boiling Hot Water
1 Tea Bag

What’s that? My Tottie’s are too hot? Well I’ve never heard that before. Just blow on my Hot Totties, it’ll be fine.

Enjoy my Totties! Cheers!

The Birthday Experiment

My birthday is next week (September 30th) which is good because it means I haven’t done anything stupid enough to stop the birthdays from happening. It’s also good because I happen to love birthdays, what’s not to love? There are usually pancakes involved, I like that the mail I open that day is probably not going to ask me for money but rather give me a little and birthdays are a sure-fire excuse to get hopped up on champagne on your lunch break and proclaim you’re not going to do anything productive for the rest of the day. I always try to do something a little interesting on my birthday each year. This year I think I’m going to get a few dozen prints made, go to Target and put my picture in all of their picture frames, really shake things up in the 5x7 department. We’ll see…

Every year starting on October 2nd I begin thinking about what I’m going to ask for the following year. I think it’s quite considerate of me to provide my loved ones with a list and I deem it necessary to think outside the box a little so that they don’t have to. I’ve provided for you a glimpse at some of the items from my otherwise extensive list for Birthday 2010… here it is in all its glory.

A Monkey: Your choice, including but not limited to a Chimpanzee, a Finger Monkey, a Spider Monkey, a Sea Monkey… as long as it’s alive. Please refrain from Monkey’s in a Barrel, Monkey Bread, a Monkeys CD, or a stuffed animal Monkey with Velcro hands (I already have 3 of them.)
You Should Probably Click HERE

A Zorb Ball: I’m trying to watch my carbon footprint.  Plus I’m pretty sure you can’t get a DUI in a Zorb; I’m doubtful that Zorbing under the influence is frowned upon especially since whomever invented this gem was clearly under the influence of some pretty heavy shit themselves.  However, my counsel is looking into this.

A Venus Fly Trap and a Pack of Bubble Yum: you do the math.

Dinner: I would like to be taken to dinner at The French Laundry which means you need to book a flight to Cali as well. I have Southwest Drink Coupons to share plus I’ll throw in my 100 calorie pack, everyone wins.
The French Laundry

Sparklers: I became a statistic this past 4th of July and blew up my thumb with a Sparkler so I never really got to enjoy it. I just want a do-over.

A Live-In Sushi Chef: I'd like to be able to name him whatever I want and he should be taller than me because adults that are any shorter than me freak me out a little and I can’t have that kind of energy around my sushi.
Should Look Something Like This

Crocodile Mile: There’s only one reason you shouldn’t know what this is and that’s if you’re an Eskimo.
You Run, You Slide, Hit the Bump and Take a Dive!

A Cotton Candy Machine:  Cotton candy has been a mystery to me since my Leawood Elementary Carnival days.  I’m sure you could write this gift off as an educational grant and perhaps I could get paid by the government for an independent study as I plan to devote the latter part of my twenties to solving the great mysteries of cotton candy (as well as find a cure to the Hang Over but that’s another story.)
Cotton Candy Machine

Just a glimpse.

Ell Oh Well

LOL- Lets talk about this. Certainly I’m not the only one here who believes that this is the most overused, most misused, most heinous abbreviation between here and Uranus.

The overuse of the LOL has become an epidemic. It’s like people’s fingertips are stuck on repeat, after every absurd sentence they type or text they have to follow up with an LOL as if it were a period. The only people that LOL as much as you claim to, are Tickle Me Elmo and a live studio audience. It’s unnatural and you’re crying wolf, you Ding Dong! If it’s all LOL’s with you, how’s someone going to know when you really think something’s funny. C’mon man, break the mold, say “Ha Ha!” or “That’s funny.” The fact that there’s more than 3 letters in there might make you stop and think if it’s really that funny, if it even deserves a reactive response. 

More than the overuse of the LOL, it’s the misuse that gets me. Perhaps the most perturbing part is that I know that you are not fucking LOLing. Nope, you are not laughing out loud all by your lonesome. Don’t try to play me for a fool, fool! I know that you are not sitting in your cubicle, or standing in line at Arby’s or doing your court-ordered community service laughing out loud. There’s just no fucking way! You are a LIAR! I don’t like liars.

Then there are three types of LOLers that really ruffle my feathers. The people that say LOL after something they wrote that they think is funny. Well pat yourself on the back why don’t ya, you big egotistical bastard! Don’t you know you’re not supposed to laugh at your own jokes, it totally takes the funny out, dummy! LOL becomes particularly ridiculous verbiage if you are of the male gender. For you, a simple “Ha” will suffice. What’s masculine about “I’m walking into the gym LOL. Arms and back today LOL. Call ya later babe LOL.” Ummm… NOTHING! Nothing bro, there’s absolutely NOTHING manly or masculine about LOL. Now I picture you in the locker room all giggly giggling with a bunch of naked men. Just don’t.  Lastly there's these people, "LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL."  Oh... my... GAWD, control your frantic fingers you fucking spaz!  You are seriously freaking me out, it's like digital tourettes and it has to stop.  Thank you.

OMG, you ask? Oh, OMG away! OMG to your little hearts content. Just keep your LOL’s away from me!


Seeeeeee???  Ludicrous.
*note: my apologies for any offended LOLers, tough love.

Being A Chick Is Cool

I love being a girl, I really do. Over the years I’ve discovered an abundance of incredible perks to being a chick. Don’t fret, this is not about to be several feministic paragraphs that make you want to barf all over your new shoes. I just like my chromosomes for some magnificently petty reasons and I would like to share a couple, no big.
I’d have to say one of the biggest perks about being a broad is the opportunity to carry a purse, by far one of the greatest things that a girl can have. I’m almost positive the purse was invented by a really hungry gal because I’m certain the purse’s original function was to serve as a convenient hiding place for snacks. The size of my purse is directly related to how hungry I am. A purse is also a powerful weapon. I’ve been in a few impervious street fights in my day where I have had to punish some pretty hard core ninjas and my bag was the sole reason for my victories. The purse also serves as a magical “in case of emergency” goody bag. I have things in my purse that could turn me into MacGyver in two shakes of a little lamb’s tail. You just never know when a monocle, a Thigh Master, Mexican Jumping Beans and a stick of dynamite are gonna come in handy.
Another stupendous thing about being a lady is the option to change your entire fucking identity with make up. I could literally go into the witness protection program in an hour without changing anything but my name and my eyeshadow, literally. And when a dude gets a zit, his only option is to commit himself to solitary confinement and splatter Noxema all over his face; when I get a blemish, that is a confidentiality agreement between me and my concealer that has never been breached. See? Fucking rocks being a chick!
Know what else is great about having a hoo ha?  It means I have options. I can choose to be the 5’ 2” short stack that I am (and I like it down here,) or be anywhere between 1 to 6 inches higher up. You catch a bro with options like that you better hope you’re at Barnum and Baily’s.
Really, the only thing I think dudes have that are cooler then girls are those short cut underwear, ya know the one’s with a slide to the side that allows for quicker urination. Not that I would choose to wear underwear like that if they made them for females, but just knowing I have the option would be nice.

Deep thoughts today. lylys

Neighborly Advice

I'm sitting on my deck in the heart of suburbia on a warm Saturday, coffee in hand, book in my lap, taking in some morning sun. My elusive neighbor, whom I've never seen before, finally makes her debut with her maaah-jorly annoying bush whacker, or weed cutter, or noise maker… whatever, I'm not a fucking gardner. Fine, Mystery Neighbor, trim your bushes if you must. But that's not all she's doing. She's screaming at her lackluster, annoying voiced children. I'm no mother and I'm sure I lack any profound motherly advice yet I know this for sure. If you're going to furrow your brow under that stupid visor you're wearing and yell at your kids, take it inside, lady! I say this on behalf of the entire neighborhood and probably your husband, you already look crazy enough in that ridiculous hat, waving around that power tool! Now you're screaming at your kids? You look like a suburban version of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre and if you haven't noticed your little monsters don't take you seriously at all. Who would, with those ill-fitting pleated shorts and that RIDICULOS pink visor you probably got from your sorority in '92. I'm sure I'd be pissed off too if that ugly visor had my temples in a vice grip and my husband was making me do yard work but that's when you take your cue and dust of your margarita machine, grab your headphones and lock yourself in the bathroom like any respectable mother would do. Get a grip desperate housewife, that or a new wardrobe and some Xanax. And judging by your outfit, maybe when your husband asked you to trim the bushes, he wasn't talking about the ones in front of your house. Just some neighborly advice, that's all.

Are You Ticklish?

I hope so because I think I’d like to tickle your ears with a little noise this morning. An eclectic mix tape, this one, each track has been chosen carefully and each one equal to (if not better than) breakfast in bed, specifically pancakes. Goochie goochie goo…
Are You Ticklish? by littlelindsb
Click to Download This Mix Tape

Shit Happens

If you've ever asked yourself why I cuss like a fuckin’ sailor, today is your lucky day! I have always had a dirty mouth of sorts due in part to HBO. We had it ever since it was available on Time Warner which was when I was at the highly impressionable, ripe old age of 8. I used to put my karaoke machine up in my open bedroom window, duck down and yell cuss words that I had learned into the microphone. They would echo throughout our conservative neighborhood and no one knew where the booming blasphemy was coming from, it was fucking awesome! But my "trash mouth," as my mom calls it, started well before HBO had flourished.
I was not brought up by four older brothers, nope not me, but Katy my best friend since Kindergarten Round Up was. Not that she was "brought up" by them, they were not a pack of wolves. But she was the youngest of five and the first four were dudes. Anyhoo, I think that's where I was first exposed to the vocabulary I have grown accustom to and quite found of. I find that my foul langauge pretty much work it's way into any sentence except, "And that's why I'd be the best candidate for this position" and "Forgive me Father for I have sinned" (I'm not Catholic so I have never said that anyway.)
I specifically recall an early happenstance in which I learned the power and freedom of my untapped arsenal of curse words. Let me take you back to the first grade... where I was robbed of my innocence (displayed above.) It was Field Day, that in and of itself is reason enough for any level-headed 6 year old to awake and scream "Shit yeah" before they leggo their Eggo, but it wasn't until after I had tightened the drawstring on my Umbros and tucked in my adult medium, Mini Mouse t-shirt that I pulled out the big guns that day.
My best friend Katy and I had been chosen to hold the big giant double doors in the first grade pod so the other kids could shuffle their little Reebok Pumps on through with ease. Why I felt it was better to hold the door for people rather than have it held for me is absolutely astonishing to me now, but I wasn’t the only one that vied for this righteous door-holding position at that point in life. Katy and I proudly sauntered out the classroom door and through the coat wracks to take our powerful positions, each of us propping our tiny bodies against the honorable, heavy wooden doors. We waited, and waited and there was no pitter patter of annoying first grader feet in the distance. We waited for like 10 minutes which is an hour in kid time. I deemed it necessary to take this time to have a very serious discussion with my best friend. I asked Katy if she ever cusses when she’s by herself to which she answered “yes” with a guilt stricken look on her little freckled face.
“Do you ever use the S-H word? That’s my favorite,” I whispered.
"You mean shit?” she whispered back.
“Shit.” I reply as my vocals come up to a three-inch voice, verifying the meaning of ‘S-H’ with a nod.
Katy looks both ways down the long hallway for oncoming midget traffic “Shit,” she says matching my decibels.
“Shit,” I reply, hoisting my Umbros. “Shit,” the volume of my voice getting progressively louder, in cahoots with my confidence.
“Shit,” Katy competes, throwing her hands over her pie hole in an effort to control her loud, contagious laughter. Katy was a competitor and I knew this, and I knew what I was up against since she had the four older brothers and was two-and-a-half months my senior.
At this point my laughter was out of control yet I manage to get another lob over the net, “SHIT!” I belt out down the long, empty hallway with impressive acoustics, the echo driving me into a frenzy. “Oh shit!” I said, it was evident I was no longer playing the game. “Oh shit, Katy! I just peed a little.”
“Me too!” Katy managed to get out between bouts of laughter “Shit, me too!”
Game over. Slowly we walk away from our posts towards the nurses office, our Umbros dampened, confidence a blazin’, large doors slowly and theatrically closing behind us. Laughing all the way to the nurses office, I turn to Katy just before we enter, shrug my shoulders and say, “At least we didn’t fuckin' shit ourselves.”


I Want Candy

I have very few regrets in my life. I’ve learned from most if not all of my mistakes and I can laugh at the one’s I didn’t learn shit from. However, there is one regret that I just can’t shake. I’ve learned and laughed from it, yet it lingers. It haunts me on a reoccurring basis. I wish I could go back and do it all over again.

I forever regret hijacking Jonny Palmer’s gummy worms and hiding them in my crayon box in Mrs. Rufa’s afternoon Kindergarten class. I have zero regrets of the actual theft of those delicious wormies at all (sorry, Jonny.) It’s the choosing of my crayon box as my hiding place that I regret and I regret this for two reasons. First and foremost, it got me caught! Mrs. Rufa was no dummy, she knew exactly where a young, rookie candy thief would conceal her stolen treasures. Duh, Kid Lindsey! Secondly, I regret this choice because we all know how terrible Crayola’s taste. You get some of that waxy residue on a gummy worm and it’s all over, the entire heist was for nothin’! Minutes of cold, calculative plotting fueled by sugar out the window!

I’ve tried to tell myself it’s not my fault. I mean clearly my judgment was clouded by the multiple highs I was on. Between the high-speed joyride I had just taken on the tire swing, the sugar rush I was on from my own gummy worms and the success of the worm-knapping that had just taken place, what five year old wouldn’t crack under pressure when it came to the stashing? Yet still, I am so disappointed in myself. I lost my cool, and that would never happen again.

I’ve replayed that fateful day over and over again and although I cannot go back and change it, I can prevent it from happening again.  I have come up with some useful tips for a great candy heist, tips that any dedicated, candy-loving kindergartener can follow should he or she wish to pull off the ultimate in confection thievery without getting busted.
*To all the five to six year old candy stealers who read my blog, this is for you:
  1. Keep Your Eye On the Prize: It’s good to have goals at such a young age. Never lose sight of your numero uno… CANDY!
  2. Love Thy Neighbor: Make friends with the kid(s) next to you, whether that’s at your desk, your cubby hole or the coat wrack. Get close, but don’t get too close (revert to step 1.) If they trust you, they’ll let you in. This in turn makes the nabbing much easier.
  3. Statutory Pockets: Always wear clothing with multiple pockets. Stashing the candy on your person is a fool-proof way to NEVER get caught.  The multiple pockets are critical as you don’t want bulging candy pockets (dead giveaway!)  Distribute evenly. Also, due to the weirdo teachers who touched kids in “no-no places,” (i.e. teachers with mustaches, minivans, wrinkle-free dockers or velcro shoes) I’m almost 100% positive that teachers aren’t allowed to pat you down.
  4. Eat the Evidence: Eat it right away or savor the flavor and save it for later, totally up to you, Kid. Whatever you do, DO NOT leave the candy in your pockets and let your mom wash your clothes. You’ll be mad, your mom will be mad and the Maytag Man will be really mad.
My little angels, the moral of the story is, don't take candy from strangers, just steal it from your friends.
Happy Hunting, don't fuck up! 

Don't Get Too Comfy

I never get too comfortable with my Ipod, to me that's the equivalent of getting into a relationship and letting myself go, (gasp) I would never. Every week or so she (my Ipod) needs a little refreshing, not an entire facelift, but a little Botox for my playlists if you will. Here’re a handful of the tracks that rejuvenated me and my girl morning, consider it a mini mix to stimulate your swagger. Enjoy!

*Noteworthy: Cudder’s new song featuring Kanye West, Erase Me, was leaked from his new album due September 14th and its downright amazeballs. Also, be on the lookout for Rich Kid Sound System, newbie up and comers from So Flo, they’re pretty rad.
Especially for T-Bag
Mini Mix by littlelindsb
Click to Download This Mini Mix

Live From... The Road

As I drive across the country overdosed on coffee, South Beach bars and bubble yum while simultaneously going bananas from ipod withdraws which I think is directly related to my buns falling asleep, I can't help but notice the amount of time on my hot little hands. So in between trying to find a decent radio station with slight reception, stopping at beef jerky infested truck stops where I fear becoming a human trafficking victim and trying to maintain a mild form of sanity, I am live... from the road! My only form of entertainment has been my little brother, who has gotten himself in way over his head what with a 20 hour drive with yours truly, in a Uhaul nonetheless, and the absolutely ridiculous signage I encounter along the way. Let me paint the picture...

Every city in New Mexico seems to think they are the bee's knees. One called Tucumcari claiming they are the "Gateway to New Mexico." That's a little cocky for a town of 5,989 (nod to Google) and nothing to brag about if you ask me.

About 7 hours outside of Amarillo, TX they begin billboard advertisements for a free 70 oz steak at a place appropriately named The Big Texan (I will try not to go on a rampage about this.) The rules for this are like that of The Great Outdoors' Old 96er circa 1988. You must finish the entire steak, a baked potato and a nice little side salad. If you're successful, your $100 meal fit for a fucking family of grizzlies is free. If you're even considering this, you're probably due for your annual triple bypass and you deserve a swift kick in your giant carnivorous ass!

There's a town called Shamrock, TX who's sign asked me to "Stay and Play Awhile." Well, I stopped there and all they had were two competitive gas stations and a Sonic. What the hell am I supposed to play with, Shamrockians? Unless you've got some sidewalk chalk hidden away somewhere, it looks like I'm playin with myself... so, I stayed for an hour or so.

9 hours to go... Stay tuned.

For My Dear Lacey

To a man I hardly knew, Bill Broyles. Whether you know it or not you have touched my life in a way for which I am eternally grateful. I want to thank you for raising a daughter that I am truly lucky and unequivocally proud to call a best friend. The virtues you have instilled in my friend, Lacey, are nothing less than admirable, nothing short of extraordinary. The amount of love that one tiny girl can give is insatiable and that is no doubt learned by having such an immensely loving father. Bill, you’re a big man, with a huge heart and you have enormous shoes to fill, literally and figuratively. Although Lacey will never be able to literally fill your footwear, she is following in your eminent footsteps. Thank you, Bill Broyles, you have given me a gift that I will forever cherish. You will truly be missed.
To Lacey, I will hold your hand, I will sit in silence, I will listen, I will laugh, I will cry, I will be the friend that you have been to me. I love you with all of my heart. This song is for you and your Daddy.
Gregory and the Hawk-Boats and Birds(Protohype Remix) by littlelindsb
Boats and Birds Download

American Peace

I certainly don’t have the answers to world peace or even American peace, but I do have a few ideas that I think could help this country take a step in the right direction. Take it for what its worth:
  • If Americans would stop chewing Stride gum and start chewing Juicy Fruit, it might just stimulate the economy and allow us to start paying off the national deficit, feed our children and teach them how to read and write.
  • Limit the media to 2 sad stories a day. This ought to help the Law of Positive Attraction pick up momentum. I’ve had enough of these depressing broadcasts. Show me people that have won Publishers Clearing House, or miracle babies, or how you got out of a speeding ticket… I don’t care, just tell me something positive!
  • Each literate American should be required by law to invest in a Bitch Book (stimulus.) Anything you would like to bitch about should be written in this book and kept to yourself! *Note: If you are illiterate, those are grounds to bitch out loud and my Stride gum theory should take care of this unfortunate problem.
  • We should have a 12 year old Chinese exchange student as President. Those kids knew all the answers to everything and they could play a mean violin to boot… and they were TWELVE!
  • If the American government is SO concerned with controlling who can and cannot get married, make an even trade. Legalize Gay marriage and make it illegal for obese people to marry. This takes care of the childhood obesity epidemic as well. That seems fair… two birds!
  • The government should open a drive thru sushi chain. I’d stimulate that place every day!
  • Stop stroking Big Oil’s Johnson all day long. Don’t let those assholes drill in the ocean! We’ve fought other countries over oil… now we are fighting our OWN!?! For real, those fish don’t set up shop on land and shit all over our oxygen just for a buck. Get real BP!
  • Randy Moss and Dante Culpepper were the best pair since peanut butter met jelly and Jared Allen is the sliced bread. Send that Heavenly sandwich to the Kansas City Chiefs. This is my answer to WORLD peace.
  • Pull Nickleback and Justin Bieber off the shelves… nothing good has ever come of either one. All Americans should just stick to the music on my blog. It’s generally happy, upbeat music and everyone needs a little piece of that pie.
American Peace by littlelindsb
Skybox - In a Dream (Hood Rmx) --->Click to DL
Two Door Cinema Club - Something Good Can Work (Ted and Francis Remix) --->Click to DL

Bathroom Confessions?

Dear Jamie Lee Curtis,

I applaud your ability and appreciate your candor to speak freely about your bowel movements (or lack thereof.) However, with all due respect, you do get paid to do so. I have a hard time understanding your audacity to ask other members of the general public to “film themselves taking the Activia Challenge,” especially for no compensation whatsoever, not even a year's supply of the probiotic miracle you endorse.

I would find it a personal struggle to do a commercial for a feminine hygiene product, even more so an embarrassing Valtrex ad, or perhaps an awkward KY commercial; but for the right price, I could most likely be convinced. But Jamie Lee, you are asking innocent, constipated commoners to document their stifling fecal problems for the benefit of a YOGURT company? And for FREE? Really Jamie, really?

And to those few willing participants, if you’re really that impressed with your new-found “freedom,” write a fucking letter for crying out loud!  You're probably irregular because you're stressed out about being a MORON all the time.  Stop taping yourselves in the bathroom!  The toilet is not a confessional, people!  If you think this is your five minutes of fame you're sadly mistaken. Your "five minutes of fame" just made you the laughing stock of the entire, "regular" free world!  I'm embarrassed for you!  Listen, no one gives a shit that you eat some "tasty" yogurt on the daily and now you’re taking deuces left and right… and when I say nobody, I mean NOBODY!   Think about it!

Personally, I prefer my yogurt not to be engineered in a laboratory, probably somewhere in Stockholm, that was most likely tested on animals. Just give me a fucking parfait and call it a day. I’ll go when I have to go and I sure as shit ain’t telling YOU all about it!

Click here to view the REAL clowns who documented their REAL stories


Something Old, Something New

You know how you can look at something a hundred times and it’s always the same, and then one day you look at it and you go “Gee whiz Mister, how did I miss that?” That’s how I feel about this track. About a year ago I rocked it over and over because on its own it’s just freaking good. But just today it played on my Ipod and I got something entirely different out of it. So, it may or may not be new to you, but it’s new to me (again.)

It’s sort of like when you switch from a turkey sandwich to a turkey wrap… the insides are still just as delicious, there’s just something a little different wrapped around it.

Morjac & Fred Falke feat Sarah Tyler - When We're Together

My Soundtrack

As much as I’d like to believe in talking purple cats; however much I’d like to think that hot, sweaty men always walk away from gnarly explosions untouched and in slow motion, that the boy always gets the girl and that Kevin Bacon will somehow be my friend, lover or hair stylist someday, the sad truth is, that’s all the magic of cinema.

There are days in my life where I’d like think that I’ll open my front door and some heart throb will be standing there in the rain with diamonds and chocolate-covered gummi bears waiting to "Hollywood Kiss" me, but that hasn’t happened (yet.) I have walked into a sliding glass door on numerous occasions and not once has it even been kind of funny!  That stuff only happens in the movies. 

There are days when Zippity-freaking-Do-Da should be playing in my background, others when it should be Bitter Sweet Symphony, and a few could probably use a little Teen Spirit. The good news is the vast majority of my days are somewhere between Hakuna Matata and Mr. Blue Bird sitting on my shoulder. The better news is, however my life plays out, I am in complete control of it’s soundtrack and I'll take that over Kevin Bacon any day.

This track is currently playing in my background… on repeat. Before you listen, I should warn you, this song (and its lyrics) are completely amazeballs!


Ellie Goulding - This Love

Hug a Stranger Today

Bob is back and he brought Shaggy along with him! I haven't heard a peep out of Shaggy since he was naked on a bathroom floor and honestly, I haven't missed him. But there's something about this track... Shaggy's not too shabby, and Sahara is beautiful.  I will never tire of Bob Sinclar's inevitably upbeat, cheerful melodies. His music makes me want to hug a perfect stranger. 

Tommy Boy

When I hear the name Tom Ford one word comes to mind, GENIUS! This man deserves a Nobel for what he's done with his Spring/Summer 2010 Menswear Collection. The cuts are not for just any guy, they're for a narrow and daring young man. The length of his swim trunks are not for the bashful boys and his prints are not for the pointdexters. He makes a popped collar look elegant and a bowtie, smashing. Metro-sexual has never looked so good.

I'm anxiously awaiting the former Gucci Womenswear Designer and Creative Director's launch for us girls. Last fall Mr. Ford told Women’s Wear Daily that he was still seeking financiers for his women's wardrobe but a little European birdie has chirped that Ford has begun recruiting designers for his forthcoming launch. Although Ford's garb can easily cost an arm and a leg... at least your other arm and leg look fabulous once you're dressed.

Tom, love you, love your SUITS.