Sunday, August 31, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Thank Goodness
I didn't even know you could GET eye cancer.
great, now I have something else to worry about.
Thank goodness for the internet, though.
What?
great, now I have something else to worry about.
Thank goodness for the internet, though.
What?
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Michelle Obama is one hot snatch
Move over, Kate Winslet! Mama's got me a new girl crush.
Oh man, did you guys SEE her at the DNC last night?
She's poised, confident, brilliant, and she's got flawless skin, man.
When she said that bit about, "In a country where a girl from the wrong side of the tracks can go on to become a lawyer...", my nipples jumped to attention. My mouth went a little slack and I think I drooled onto my "Flirt" pajama top.
We have to get Obama into office if only so I can enjoy that hot piece of ass for four years.
Bring it.
Oh man, did you guys SEE her at the DNC last night?
She's poised, confident, brilliant, and she's got flawless skin, man.
When she said that bit about, "In a country where a girl from the wrong side of the tracks can go on to become a lawyer...", my nipples jumped to attention. My mouth went a little slack and I think I drooled onto my "Flirt" pajama top.
We have to get Obama into office if only so I can enjoy that hot piece of ass for four years.
Bring it.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
let's all vote mccain: another haiku
let's all vote mccain!
because that obama guy
stutters a bit much.
because that obama guy
stutters a bit much.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Land of confusion
So I'm reading this stuff about the Russia/Georgia conflict this morning and a shiver runs up my spine, remembering what it was like to grow up in the 80's when "Nuclear Winter" was a regular part of my ten year old vocabulary.
I would sit in the backseat of my parents' car on family trips and make under-the-table deals with God, promising I would stop picking my nose and being mean to my sister if only He would please please let me grow up. I spent sleepless nights obsessing over "The Day After" and almost got hit by a car once walking to school, because my eyes were constantly scanning the flat Long Island horizon for mushroom clouds.
So, yay! I grew up! And America is now safely in the hands of a competent, level-headed leader who would never, ever hit the wrong button and blow up the planet accidentally.
Whew for that.
Wait, what?
I would sit in the backseat of my parents' car on family trips and make under-the-table deals with God, promising I would stop picking my nose and being mean to my sister if only He would please please let me grow up. I spent sleepless nights obsessing over "The Day After" and almost got hit by a car once walking to school, because my eyes were constantly scanning the flat Long Island horizon for mushroom clouds.
So, yay! I grew up! And America is now safely in the hands of a competent, level-headed leader who would never, ever hit the wrong button and blow up the planet accidentally.
Whew for that.
Wait, what?
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Monday, August 4, 2008
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Friday, August 1, 2008
Pre-weekend Bitchassery
Well, it's Friday, folks. And you know what that means. It's time for Kristin to get whiny.
I'd like to start this pre-weekend post with an open message to the street musicians of New York City. Hello, Hi. Yes, I'm talking to you, sir. You. Listen up.
And when I call you a "musician", note that I use the term very loosely.
It's important you bear in mind that just because you have an instrument(say, for instance, a dirty set of bongos you pulled out of someone's trash heap on your way to the Virgin Megastore in Manhattan to get the new Coldplay album), and you decide Hey, it sure would be cool to hop a crowded subway to "entertain" people with your newfound toy, doing so does not necessarily make you musical.
In fact, standing with your back against the subway doors, drumming wildly and without any discernable rhythm, does little more than piss off your fellow riders. They just want to get on and off the goddamned train, man. Give it a rest.
Oh, and an even less bright idea? Walking up and down the aisle of aforementioned crowded subway car with your hat in your hand, expecting people to drop you some dollah bills as a way of saying "Thanks" for the "entertainment". Not gonna happen. No.
See, here's the thing. I have had a longstanding policy about giving money to strangers in New York city and you are no exception: if you want a quarter from me, you've got to earn it. That means, gather up your pals and sing some Ben E. King in 3-part harmony. Do some breakdancing. Hell, I've even given money to that kook in Times Square who dances the cha-cha with the life-sized dolly in the flouncy dress.
I will not, however, dole out my hard-earned coins to some talentless schmuck who does nothing for me on a Friday morning but add to my already pounding headache and bleary-eyed irritation with the world. So, no, sir. You will get no tip from me.
So, Billy Bongos, I suggest you take a look around you and rip some pages out of the books of some already well-established street musicians.
Take the Saw Lady, for instance.
Hey, now that's not something you see every day. I tend to, since she lives around the corner from me. But heck, you gotta start somewhere. Am I right?
I'd like to start this pre-weekend post with an open message to the street musicians of New York City. Hello, Hi. Yes, I'm talking to you, sir. You. Listen up.
And when I call you a "musician", note that I use the term very loosely.
It's important you bear in mind that just because you have an instrument(say, for instance, a dirty set of bongos you pulled out of someone's trash heap on your way to the Virgin Megastore in Manhattan to get the new Coldplay album), and you decide Hey, it sure would be cool to hop a crowded subway to "entertain" people with your newfound toy, doing so does not necessarily make you musical.
In fact, standing with your back against the subway doors, drumming wildly and without any discernable rhythm, does little more than piss off your fellow riders. They just want to get on and off the goddamned train, man. Give it a rest.
Oh, and an even less bright idea? Walking up and down the aisle of aforementioned crowded subway car with your hat in your hand, expecting people to drop you some dollah bills as a way of saying "Thanks" for the "entertainment". Not gonna happen. No.
See, here's the thing. I have had a longstanding policy about giving money to strangers in New York city and you are no exception: if you want a quarter from me, you've got to earn it. That means, gather up your pals and sing some Ben E. King in 3-part harmony. Do some breakdancing. Hell, I've even given money to that kook in Times Square who dances the cha-cha with the life-sized dolly in the flouncy dress.
I will not, however, dole out my hard-earned coins to some talentless schmuck who does nothing for me on a Friday morning but add to my already pounding headache and bleary-eyed irritation with the world. So, no, sir. You will get no tip from me.
So, Billy Bongos, I suggest you take a look around you and rip some pages out of the books of some already well-established street musicians.
Take the Saw Lady, for instance.
Hey, now that's not something you see every day. I tend to, since she lives around the corner from me. But heck, you gotta start somewhere. Am I right?
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