Friday, February 27, 2009

The mystery of the butt-licking cat... and MORE!

I don't find myself scanning YouTube that often (unless I'm on a mission to find you, my dear readers, the best video of people falling on their faces ever). But when I do, I find myself watching a lot of the animated clips.

For those of you dog lovers, this is a perfect example of how they don't know what's best for them like a cat does. Just like frat boys, some dogs just don't have a shut off valve.



Somehow I stumbled across this preview to an animation coming out soon.



It's kinda gross.... yet intriguing. You can bet that I'll be posting the full video once it's available... cause we *have* to find out what happens to the little fat man! I wonder if my cats have little fat men with mustaches up their butts? Cause it would explain all of the butt licking...

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Oh, and tomorrow shall yield interesting blog fodder, as I'm attending the 2nd Annual New York Wine Expo. Last year just us girls went and we closed the Expo down by begging the Seven Deadly Zins guys for extra tastes and stuffing our faces with quesadillas and frozen yogurt that we don't remember eating. So, tune in Sunday or Monday, depending on how hungover I am on Sunday, for a full update.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Damn you Blogger--- you've ruined my measly following!!

I don't know what happened, or when, but Blogger is on my shit list. Apparently, they rolled out this new "Follower" gadget and in the meantime some people got bumped from the blogs that they follow. So I went back and started following all of my peeps again (if I forgot you, please just shoot me an email).

But pretty please with extra Fat Free Cool Whip on top check and make sure you're still following me! And if not, why aren't you???

PS - just so this post isn't entirely self promotional, here is a little tidbit about Jerry Seinfeld starting a new reality show about marriage... sounds promising.

The Giving Tree ain't just for losers with only trees for friends

Do you know who Shel Silverstein is?

You may know him as a playwright, screenwriter, songwriter, or illustrator. I guess you could call him a multi-faceted artist.

Did you also know that early on in his career he was a cartoonist for Playboy? And that he was a frequenter to Hugh's Playboy mansion? Well, I did a bit of research and found a book of those Playboy cartoons that is for sale. You *know* I"ll be buying it.

He also wrote A Boy Named Sue as a poem, which turned into Johnny Cash's hit song. Interesting enough, right?

And then he started writing and illustrating children's books. Huh.

I know him best as a poet.

I tell you this because the picture in yesterday's post was the cover of book The Giving Tree, which he wrote. I remember reading this book as a child and actually being brought to tears. It is truly moving.

When I was a child, we had two Shel Silverstein books of poems, A Light in the Attic and Where the Sidewalk Ends. Both books contained dozens of poems with wacky illustrations that you could get lost in for hours. Reading these was one of my favorite pastimes as a child. There were poems about girls who dove crazy dives only to find that there was no water in the pool, a kid with a messy bedroom, and purple people eaters... basically, every kids dream.

I want to share one of my favorite Shel Silverstein poems with you:

One Inch Tall

If you were only one inch tall, you'd ride a worm to school.
The teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool.
A crumb of cake would be a feast
And last you seven days at least,
A flea would be a frightening beast
If you were one inch tall.

If you were only one inch tall, you'd walk beneath the door,
And it would take about a month to get down to the store.
A bit of fluff would be your bed,
You'd swing upon a spider's thread,
And wear a thimble on your head
If you were one inch tall.

You'd surf across the kitchen sink upon a stick of gum.
You couldn't hug your mama, you'd just have to hug her thumb.
You'd run from people's feet in fright,
To move a pen would take all night,
(This poem took fourteen years to write--
'Cause I'm just one inch tall).


Here's another that I just find cute and amusing:


As an adult the first thing that comes to mind is... ORGY??? Since he worked for Playboy, maybe I'm not that far off base?....

(See! I can't keep any of my posts from going there!)

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Giving back {alternate title: how NOT to donate a body part for cash} {alternate alternate title: Why I'm not a cold hearted bitch... all the time}

So after yesterday's post, I thought I would lighten things up with a more positive topic: donating.

I do a lot of it. And mind you, I'm no Money Bags. But I think it's important for everyone, no matter how much money they make or time that have, to do something for their community.

There are many ways to donate: cash, volunteering, organs, blood, bone marrow (ew), resources (e.g. use of space), sponsorship, etc. You should pick something you believe in and that you feel strongly about. I typically pick things that I am passionate about or that are within my community so I can see the effect my donations have on my surroundings.

Here is a list of the charities and organizations that I donate to:

ASPCA
FYI - April is Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Month. I find myself more sensitive to animals than even humans sometimes, possibly due to their innocence and inability to fight for themselves.

Central Park Conservancy Imagine having to mow 250 acres of grass each week! The Conservancy provides 85% of the Park's annual budget each year. Any New Yorker will tell you that the Park is the heart of the City. Without it, I wouldn't choose to live here anymore.

Human Rights Campaign Advocate of equality for the GLBT community. Why can't we just all get along?

Plan USA There is some controversy over donating to organizations such as Plan USA because it is uncertain how much of your donation actually goes directly to kids in need. However, I'd rather give something than nothing to help fight poverty.

Youth I.N.C.
They improve the lives of America's youth. What more can you ask for?

Rubin Museum of Art This comprehensive collection of art from the Himalayas is my favorite in NYC. Its beauty is endless.

I also give clothes to Goodwill several times a year.

And Mr. T donates to the MoMa and the New York Public Library.

Because I'm a tad bit selfish about my spare time, I prefer to just give organizations cold hard cash (cha-ching).

Plus, extra bonus, cash and goods donations are tax deductible.

Mostly, I just wish I had more to give.

To what to you donate? Seriously, I'm really interested...

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Lest I remind you why BloggingFusion could not approve my blog due to pornographic and inappropriate material

Ok, people. I'm about to do something extremely risky. It could cause you to shun me forever. But I'm willing to take that risk.

I recently heard an extremely offensive joke, and no matter how hard I tried not to laugh I just couldn't help it. I doubled over, fell to the floor, and had me a good chuckle. I know it's about as un-PC as they come, but I assure you it is not about race, sex or any of the other headline PC issues. But it's still a subject that is sensitive to people and is not a laughing matter. Except in this instance.

Why, you may ask, am willing to put my stellar blogger integrity on the line? Well, one, I would argue that I don't have much blogger integrity, as evidenced by my posts related to teddybears with built-in buttholes, claymation porn, fat ninjas, and perverted sea creatures. And two, I've never been one to hold back. I want to have an open relationship with you all, even if that means horribly offending you. I mean, Christ! people, The Bloggess has built her entire online identity around semen and roasted kittens, and you still love her!!

Now, after this lengthy disclaimer that is teasing you into oblivion, I would like to share it with you.

Q: What is the difference between Sarah Palin's mouth and Sarah Palin's vagina?

A: Only one retarded thing came out of her vagina.

Go ahead, yell at me, mock me, cuss at me, tell me I'm a horrible person. But it doesn't change the fact that this is a darn funny little joke.

Now, because I've posted this offensive (but still hilarious) joke, I am certain I will have to restrict my blog to invites only. I will keep you posted should such a change be required of me. But I assure you that I have a very high tolerance for insults and virtual beatings.

PS - Look at the cans on Palin!

Monday, February 23, 2009

Travel Channel loves this shit

Because of my recent post about Anthony Bourdain, the Travel Channel reached out to me. And no, it's not to ask me to stop posting about whether Anthony Bourdain is gay or not. It was to provide me with information that I may share with you, my dear readers, that is not available to just anyone. Apparently, they are only sharing it with "certain" bloggers. Little do they know about my lack of clout in this digital world. But alas, I share it with you anyway, if only because I love No Reservations and NYC and if you do too, you will love this teaser for tonight's episode:

As a teenager growing up just outside New York City, Manhattan – to Tony – was like living a dream. And there were institutions in that dream, some of which are still going strong, some of which are hanging on by a thread and some luck, and some of which have since disappeared. In an effort to remember 'his' Manhattan, Tony visits some of his favorites while he still can.

In this episode titled DISAPPEARING MANHATTAN, Tony and some notable guests visit some of the oldest, most classic, and undoubtedly-NY restaurants. These cherished landmarks, such as Katz's Deli, Russ & Daughters, Hop Kee, and Sammy's Romanian, have become the heart and soul of this great city and its proud and honorable culinary history rich with cultural and ethnic diversity. Unfortunately, due to the changing times, these establishments are in danger of disappearing off the NYC cultural map. Tony refers to this beautiful episode as his love song to the great city of New York.

Watch Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations Disappearing Manhattan Monday, February 23 at 10pm EST on the Travel Channel.

Here is a video you may post on your blog:
http://www.viddler.com/explore/TravelChannel/videos/89/

Enjoy!

Failing and succeeding with Mom; this week's S2S Award (alternate title: all of my creative brain cells have left the building)

Well, the visit with mom went well. We had a great time just bombing around the city. We did go shopping one afternoon, and I quote, she was "impressed by my self control at Anthropologie." I only got one shirt that totally looked vintage and had ornate pearl beading around the neckline and a pair of pajama pants---*BOTH* were on sale. Score!

I did, however, fail ultimately when I purchased a new handbag that I just fell in love with at first site. I mean, who wouldn't fall for this Kooba bag that is slouchy yet angular at the same time? And it's blue!


Mom and I went to the movies and saw Defiance, with Daniel Craig. In case you've forgotten, he's in my Top 3 Celebrities I Want To Do (along with Tony Bourdain and Shia Labeouf). Defiance was ridiculously sad *and* amazing. It is truly a story worth telling, and I urge you all to see it. What surprised me was Liev Schriber's performance. He truly matched Daniel Craig, and I wouldn't be surprised if either of them were up for an Oscar at next year's awards.

And about those Oscar's... who watched it? My favorite part is always the red carpet. And my favoriate channel to watch the red carpet on is E! Entertainment because they focus on all the materialistic crap that I like to nitpick. Plus, I think Ryan Seacrest is super cute for an in-the-closet-homosexual.

But wasn't Hugh Jackman great?!?! I really liked how the producers of this year's Oscar's went back to basics. They chose a real "entertainer" to host (and not some comedian who just makes fun of everyone in the audience to the point of ackwardness). I honestly think that he's the best host we've seen since Billy Crystal, and perhaps, he's even better than good 'ole Billy! The stage design was gorgeous, and I loved the format of the show–especially how they had past winners of the best supporting and best actor/actress roles present this year's nominees. But what really got me worked up was that I haven't seen even ONE of the movies that was nominated for best film this year! Where have I been? Has my head been in the sand? My new mission: watch all 2008 Oscar nominees for best film. And stat.

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Oh, and this week's S2S Award for Superlative Blogging goes to someone who truly makes me a little more "zen" each time I visit her... someone who creates karmic balance in this blog-eat-blog world, and someone who will soon be one of those bloggers-turned-authors but who will NOT forget us little people when she makes it big. And that someone is...

My dearest Braja from LOST AND FOUND IN INDIA.

She is so engaging with her readers, is a devoted follower, and truly belongs in this blogosphere. If you don't already follower her, you should. Now that's an order. Love y'all!


Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Mummy dearest is coming to visit, get your credit cards ready!






















My mom and I prefer to do one thing when we're together: shop. A lot.

I don't know if it's an excuse to spend quality time together or that we share a passion for fashion (hey, that rhymes). But either way, it's what we do. Problem is, I need to be a little careful these days. One, the economy sucks, my investments (as measly as they are) are in the crapper, and now I have to consider the fact that I have a better half. There's no more going out and spending $800 on a handbag because now there is someone else who will know about it. I don't think Hubs would appreciate a quality handbag like I do. Even more importantly, we want to buy a house someday (preferably soon), when the economy gets better, and frankly, don't have enough money for a down payment at this juncture. (I've been looking for an excuse to use the word 'juncture' recently. There you go.)

So, in a nutshell, the woman who pushed me out from her womb is arriving into NYC tonight, and I need to prepare myself for 3 days of unfulfilled longing while we shop 'til we drop.

I'll keep you all posted as to how I do.

second wifedom has its perks

This is a pic of Mr. T and I on our wedding day. Wait... I didn't tell you that I'm a beefy black man and I married a 400-lb. cross dresser? Too bad. It's a good story.

So everyone keeps asking me "How's married life?"

Well, I'll tell you. It feels the same. It feels like two people living together who are obsessed with their two cats, enjoy cooking exotic meals and dream of traveling the world on someone else's dime. I mean, I do occasionally look down at my wedding band and internally scream, "Sweet baby Jesus, I'm married!" But aside from that, it's the same old same old.

It is interesting how everyone expects you to feel different. People are all, "Well, do you *feel* married?" And I'm all, "Not really." And then the conversation dies off into awkward silence, broken only by random references to A-Fraud or how fabulous my hair looks these days. (By the way, I would discuss either of these topics at length with anyone who would listen to me.)

And I'm not just a wife. It's better than that. I'm a *second* wife. Which I've truly deemed to be a blessing. Being a second wife means that a) he was a big jerk to his first wife, but learned a lesson the first time and will do everything in his power to keep you healthy, happy and buzzed on quality wine, or b) he had his heart broken the first time but loves you enough to take the chance of it happening again, and therefore will do everything in his power to keep you healthy, happy and buzzed on decent wine. Either way, the second wife wins. The only other scenario is c) that he is a big jerk, remains a big jerk and will be a big jerk to you, too, in which case you are totally asking for it and he will soon move onto wife number 3. But then you will get husband number two and will therefore treat him well due to either a) or b). You see, it's an endless circle of potential happiness. Why is divorce getting so much bad press again? Cause without it I wouldn't be the second wife, which would totally suck.

But alas, I am the same Sassy girl who wears Two Socks. It's just that now Mr. T has legal rights to one of those socks.

One of these days I need to write something nice and loving about Mr. T since he constantly badgers me about the fact that my blog is an outlet for me to bash him and share those little secrets of his that only I know with the world (Por ejemplo, his man-crush on Tony Bourdain.)

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Please Mr. may I have another?

This is an excerpt from a 1943 issue of Transportation Magazine. In light of the manpower shortage, due to World War II, male supervisors were concerned as to how to get quality work out of women.

My favorite is Number 2:

"When you have to use older women, try to get ones who have worked outside the home at some other time in their lives. Older women who have never contacted the public have a hard time adapting themselves and are inclined to be cantankerous and fussy. It's always well to impress upon older women the importance of friendliness and courtesy."

I don't even know what to say....

Monday, February 16, 2009

S2S is back again

I like this award because there is no tagging, no lists, and no vague descriptions about what the award stands for. It's pure and simple: it's from me to you, saying you rock and I love you just a little too much.

I try to mix up the award recipients with bloggers you know and love and ones that you may not have heard of or follow. But this week's superlative blogger is someone you're sure to already be following. I'm not just giving this award to her because she's got a great blog that makes me laugh every day, or because I wholeheartedly agree with her straight-up philosophy (and on the rocks), but because she is a good person and it shows through her blog. She's kind, honest, funny and cares about her readers. Now, all this sappy sentimental crap aside, let's congratulate:

VodkaMom from I Need A Martini Mom!

Plus, even her profile pic makes my sides hurt! (And yes, I think this may really be her in all of her flexible glory.)

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Friday, February 13, 2009

If I could become Anthony Bourdain's gay lover, I would

I know that sounds kind of intriguing. Or weird. It's kinda both.

Anthony Bourdain is not actually gay. (That I know of). And I'm not a man. But I just thought I'd throw that out there. Because it's how I feel.

Despite his grit, vulgarity and his chain smoking habit, there is something that just says "Do me" about this guy. And anybody who can consume ridiculous amounts or pork and alcohol over a long period of time and *STILL* look this good deserves some props. Boy, is he cut. I didn't expect that at all. Which makes find him all the more appealing in a I-don't-know-if-he's-gay-or-straight-but-I-don't-really-care way.

I haven't read any of his books yet, but I intend to. Though I fear that in doing so it will drive his "do me" claws deeper into me, thus making it harder to shake him.

I mean, him and I have so much in common: we both love food (though I wouldn't eat a seal eyeball for anything less than $573,642.29), we both love wine and alcohol in general, we both are brutally honest to the point of turning others off, we both overuse profanities, we both love to travel the globe and immerse ourselves in new cultures, and we both live in NYC. I mean, are we perfect or what?!

When asked if he thinks his show has a positive impact by TIME, he responded, "If I'm an advocate of anything, it's the virtue of curiosity." Great answer, Tony, great answer.

If you haven't seen his show yet, No Reservations, on the Travel Channel, you should (Mondays at 10PM ET). And no, I'm not getting any sort of kickback for this plug. I think Mr. T may even have a man-crush on him, as he watches all the shows with me. His show definitely kicks the Food Network's ass---their network star is Rachel I-want-to-punch-her-in-the-face Ray. I still don't get why 53% of America loves this woman so much?! If you know the answer, please enlighten me.

I'll leave you with Tony's take on Rachel Ray:

"She's incredibly powerful and far more loved than I am. But she genuinely offends me. Julia Child, for example, raised people's expectations of food. When Rachael tells you that it's perfectly O.K. to buy prechopped onion from the supermarket... I mean, how hard is it to chop an onion? The takeaway is, I could cook, but [instead] I'll finish this bag of Cheetos and that gallon of Diet Pepsi before dying of diabetes."

PS - I totally just read that Bourdain kicked his smoking habit. I.e. He's no longer a giant, smelly ashtray. Woo!

PPS - Lastly, did this guy totally steal my blog post about handshakes and turn it into a real article or what --- he just published the article today! Two days after my post went up! What a douche!

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Who wants a piece of sh*t!?!? Oooh, I do, I do!

This may be one of the best things I've seen in a long time. Make sure to watch the stream of headlines across the bottom of the screen as well.


Sony Releases New Stupid Piece Of Shit That Doesn't Fucking Work

Is *jumping the shark* like riding the baloney poney?

So you might be wondering where the phrase *jumped the shark* comes from?

Well, if you must know, it comes from one of the final episodes of Happy Days, where Fonzi (supposed 'coolest man on TV'... at the time) was waterskiing and had to jump an actual shark. UrbanDictionary states that when a TV show *jumps the shark* it marks the point at which the show reaches its creative peak and is all downhill from there. So there you have it. Onto my recent *jump the shark* moment.

If you didn't already get the hint from my "baloney poney" reference in the title, the show that recently jumped the shark was Bones. I really like this show because it incorporates crime investigation with a flirty wittiness that occurs between Bones (Temperance Brennan) and agent Seeley Booth (yes, his character's name is actually Seeley... I know, lame-o). They really do have great chemistry and the show is your typical I-just-want-them-to-get-it-over-with-and-fuck-already scenario.

So Temperance is called "Bones" by everyone because her specialty is forensic anthropology, or in English, she solves crimes by looking at the bones of murder victims. The show has had all of your typical plot lines: family members being murderers, co-workers falling in love, characters being abducted and being buried alive, and so on. But last week, they took the show to a whole new level of ridiculousness, like 5 levels higher.


The premise of last week's show was this: Bones and Booth are forced to go undercover as a Russian knife-throwing circus act in order to catch the killer of conjoined twins. Even though the conjoined twins performed as jugglers in the circus, there was absolutely NO evidence that someone within the circus killed them. Yet Bones and Booth HAD to go undercover. The psychologist, Dr. Sweets (another realistic name) who works in their office (why would a psychologist work in a forensic anthropology lab you ask? Just one of the mysteries of Bones) tells them that no one in the circus will talk to them because it is a tight community. How does Dr. Sweets know this, you might ask? Well, apparently his mother was in the circus and Dr. Sweets grew up in the circus world. Coincidence, huh? And Booth is ex-military and therefore has the ability to throw a knife with precise accuracy, so they convince the ringmaster (in horrible, over dramatized Russian accents) to let them perform for one show, to see if he likes them. Booth is all dressed up in a fur coat, tight black pants and a fuzzy Russian hat (what are those called again?), and Bones is in a leotard and wears an eye patch because Booth accidentally hit her in the eye with a giant clown mallet. Seriously folks, could it get any more ridiculous? Not only that, but they rig a Webcam to the ropes of the circus tent so their co-workers back at the lab can watch their knife throwing performance. So we watch their co-workers cheer them along as Booth chops fruit in half as it precariously sits on Bones' head.

Here is the entire episode if you feel that you MUST watch this brick of an episode.

For your enjoyment, here is an actual clip of Fonzi jumping the shark in his leather jacket and 70's swimming trunks that look like tightie-whities.



PS - how would that dinky little life preserver around his waist save him? It's like he's wearing an arm-floatie around his waist?

I've kinda always wished I was a circus performer. But only if it were centuries ago, like in the 1700 or 1800's. I would probably be a tightrope walker. I have flat feet, so they would be good to grasp the ropes with. Either that or I would be relegated to standing at the entrance with my skirt pulled up to my waist, trying to entice sleazy drunk men to buy a ticket to the show. Which would also be kinda cool.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Your hand feels like a wet papertowel in my palm

As a woman, I find the common handshake to be somewhat daunting and frustrating.

I am a confident, forward person, and therefore my handshake is too. However, more often than not, I meet men in the business arena who offer me a limp hand to shake. It's like they're offering me a 'finger shake', which defeats the whole purpose of it being called a *HAND*shake, does it not?

It takes everything in me to not return their patronizing offer with a "Nice to meet you and your limp hand... what else is limp, dickhead?" or "It's a pleasure to meet a sexist ass like yourself."

I strongly believe that women should not be offered a handshake any different from that of her male colleagues. Why should I be expected to daintily grasp your hand? Am I too weak? Is this a subtle hint that he sees me as a weaker professional than his male counterparts? That I'm fragile? Frankly, it's insulting. Recently, I've taken to using an even firmer handshake than usual. If I crush the recipients hand in the process, so be it. He deserves it if he isn't prepared to offer me a sturdy, reciprocating handshake.

I think we should start a movement. All of us women should call men out when they don't apply proper pressure during a handshake. We could call ourselves Handshakes for Equality and start a non-for-profit organization associated with it. With my blog's popularity (NOT!) we could start a global campaign, with clubs of women (and gay men) all across the world fighting back again limp hands. It could be a revolution! The next step towards equality! But once people realize that I'll do just about anything to become rich, they'll probably lose interest. I mean, I would whore myself out for $10,000 a night. Who wouldn't?

The irony is that I expect men to hold the door for me and let me off the elevator first. What's wrong with that???

PS - I promise that the Aztec wedding ceremony post is coming. I'm still waiting for pics. And well... you just wouldn't believe me if I didn't have pictures to back it up.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

How many SWM serial killers do you think appear on the inside of book jackets?

Every once in a while I accumulate several random topics that I just want to get out there into the open. Typically, these are complaints or observations of mine that I can no longer keep to myself, and must share with you. Today is one of those days.

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So I love watching crime shows. Not just the CSI's but also the ones based on real-life crimes, like City Confidential or THS Investigates. But sometimes these shows are hard to watch because they show actual photos or videos of bodies that have been brutally murdered.

So my random thought on this subject is this:

Why are serial killers always white men who are seemingly normal?

Seriously. How many Asian serial killers are there? Or women? Or black dudes? The answer is few to none. There must be something sick and twisted about the mind of the white male that causes 1 in every so-many-thousands to be capable of this. Serial killers don't just gun people down and drive away. They like to overpower, torture and slowly draw life out of their victims. There is evidence that shows that serial killers have something unique going on in their brains, and I think we're going to start to see this researched more and more. And as much as I want to prevent serial killers from ever having an opportunity to kill anyone, would it be fair to incarcerate someone just because they have the 'serial killer brain defect'? What would that mean about other forms of predictive criminalization? It's a scary thought.

You may be wondering why I voluntarily subject myself to such shows. Clearly I am not the only one fascinated by this dark world of crime, as there are many shows of this nature on television these days, and they are getting more and more graphic each day. I don't know why actually. But there is something raw and real about this. I think it's easy to live in our little bubble of middle- or upper- class comfort and forget that these things are continuously going on around us. It's a reminder of what we have and how good we have it. But in truth, it's always been something that interested me. I remember taking a Criminology class in high school and just being completely fascinated by it. It's probably one of those careers that if I knew then what I know now, I may have chosen it as a career path. But for now, I merely indulge my crime-scene-investigator-obsession with hours and hours of mind numbing TV.

One last serial killer thought... why are repeated gang killers not considered serial killers? I mean, some gang members kill multiple people in the same manner, right? Perhaps, the reason that serial killers tend to be while males is because of the definition of 'serial killer'...

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Onto rant No. 2. This is a short one. Did you ever notice that so many people say "for all intensive purposes"? Well, it's not 'intensive" people. It's "for all intents and purposes". I never knew this until relatively recently when Mr. T went off on a rant of his own about how stupid some people are. Though I don't think that misusing this particular phrase indicates stupidity (mainly because I was not aware of it), I do agree with his general sentiment.

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Have you ever been reading a great book and when you get to the middle half of the book, when the pages start to want to close in on themselves, and you see someone's face peeking out at you from behind the pages? Do you find it hard to continue to concentrate on the great plot line because this author's creepy face is staring at you? Well, I personally am not a fan of the author bio pic. I get it. I really do. If I wrote a book, I'd probably want a glamor shot pic of me looking my best in there, too. But it's very distracting. And more often than not, they are very unattractive and have that creepy gleam in their eye. I mean, take Steven King: oober-creepy. And Dean Koontz (above -- yup, that's him -- not an actual serial killer.... that we know of), who looks like he could be Steven King's long-lost younger brother. Ick. Just my two cents. And since several of you readers will probably become famous bloggers-turned-autobiographical-novelists, don't take this rant of mine to heart. You're gorgeous. [wink wink]

Monday, February 9, 2009

Getting back to basics... people falling, insults and strange felines

When I started this blog, it was meant to be a forum for me to post all the funny shit that goes on in and around my life. But lately, I have been failing you in that respect. In honor of the original intention of my little corner of the Web, here are some good laughs for today:

Ever wondered about "How 'douchebag' became everyone's favorite insult"?

When Cats Attack


How To Insult Everyone


Every Mans Dream


Motorcycle Fail


And lastly,

Twitter, Circa 1649

This week's schmuck is....

It's Monday! And you know what that means people???! It's S2S: For Superlative Blogging Award day.

This week's winner is someone who cracks me up every time I visit her blog (and not only because of that silly little astronaut cat licking his bubble helmet). Even her product pitches are hysterical. She's worth every word read.

Congrats, Dana, from LIFE IS GOOD.

PS - Can I get a sock animation for my blog now? Tee hee hee.

PPS - Be weary of her Australian job posting today... I think it's her attempt at producing a reality version of LOST....

Saturday, February 7, 2009

Money shot is my middle name (alternate title: Yes, I really took the pictures myself. They are THAT good.)


Being photography junkies when we travel, Mr. T and I bought a new SLR camera before the trip. It is absolutely amazing, and makes me feel like I'm a professional just snapping away at everything I see. One thing I love to photograph is flowers. Flowers are powerful yet delicate at the same time, and exude a peacefulness that only exists in nature.



{Take a closer look above and you'll see a hummingbird headed for the flower of the palm tree.}




{I just loved these flowers. They look like little lanterns that you'd expect to glow in the dark. But each one produces a bright red flower that emerges from the bottom and hangs there until it falls off.}


Thursday, February 5, 2009

Vegetable peeler man dies at 75

I know you were expecting an entry about my traditional Aztec wedding ceremony today, but I'm postponing it for two reasons: One, I didn't get the pics yet from Verana (who had a professional photographer there). And two, it has just come to my attention that the Vegetable Peeler Man has died, and this man was an institution people!

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Legendary NYC Vegetable Peeler Salesman Joe Ades, 75

If you live in New York or have visited as a tourist, it's more than likely you've seen the compelling salesmanship of Joe Ades, vegetable-peeler extraordinaire. Mr. Ades died on Sunday. He was 75.

Mr. Ades' five-minute pitch was hypnotic, and whenever I saw him on a corner—in Midtown, at Union Square (he had various favorite locations)—I'd always stop to watch, even though I'd seen his spiel countless times and even though I had already bought a couple of his peelers. (They really do work well and, as he claimed, mine has never needed sharpening.)

With bins full of vegetables, Ades would demonstrate the utility of the stainless steel Swiss peeler that made him a wealthy man ("one for $5, two for $10, five for $20"). He'd deftly remove the eyes from potatoes and show how easy it was to julienne carrots or to slice them into stars ("you do that for the kids and they'll eat their veggies"). [A video of Mr. Ades in action appears after the jump.]

Always nattily dressed in a suit and tie, no matter the weather, Ades was the subject of numerous magazine and newspaper articles that recounted his almost Dickensian trajectory from Manchester, England, to the streets of New York City.

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Mr. T and I like to go to Union Square on Saturday's to get fresh produce, potted plants and cider when it is in season. Each time we go, we stop and watch the Vegetable Peeler Man for a few minutes. No matter how many time we've heard his pitch, and it was always exactly the same. There was something about his british accent, his full suit, and the obvious joy he found in his work that made him hard to turn away from. I never bought a vegetable peeler. But I wish I had.

R.I.P. Mr. Vegetable Peeler Man.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Mexico or bust, Part II

After a night of too much food and copious amounts of Argentinian wine, we were off to Verana, the whole reason for this trip to the Southern Pacific coast of Mexico in the first place.

After a 45 minute ride in Sonia's car, and a 30 minute boat ride, we arrived at Verana. Well, sort of. We had to hike 15 minutes straight up the jungled mountain to get there.


{A welcoming sign to Yelapa tourists, and Verana guests.}

When we arrived at the top we were breathless, not just because of the hike, but because of the unparalleled view. We had a direct view of the Bay as it meets the endless Pacific. This view, that caused us to inhale just a little deeper, was what we woke up to each morning we were there.


{A view of the Bay and the Pacific from under the umbrella of our lunchtime dining spot.}

One of the things that makes Verana distinct is that it's so much more than a hotel. There are only 10 houses that are occupied at any given time, each uniquely designed with its own theme. We stayed in La Palapa, an open-air structure that housed two beds with mosquito netting under a giant palm roof, an outdoor shower, and plenty of space to relax and take in the scenery. Despite the rusticity and raw nature of the jungle, we had hot water, flushing toilets, privacy, and breakfast brought to our doorstep each morning (well, we didn't have a door, so it was brought to our Palapa step.)



{One of the beds in our Palapa, where we slept at night with the mosquito netting down.}


{The second bed in our Palapa. Both had an incredible view of the water and surrounding jungle.}


{At night, light dances in our Palapa.}


{The dining area at night, which was enclosed by a bar, a lounge area, and the stars.}


{Steps like these were everywhere, and were the only way to get from one place to another at Verana.}


{The infinity pool that looks towards the Bay. Just behind the pool is a lone deck chair–this is where we practiced yoga in the mornings, on a floating platform surrounded by pure jungle.}

Each morning we awoke peacefully, letting the parrots and mockingbirds naturally wake us up at our own pace. We would drink our coffee and tea and decide what to do that day: go on an adventure, chill by the pool, fill up our spiritual tank by taking a yoga class, or rejuvenate at the spa. It was really all one could do to decide between these options.


{Morning sunrise from our Palapa.}


{Huge flocks of these parrots swarmed from tree to tree all day long.}

Our first full day there, we went to the Marietas Islands. We were joined by another couple that we had quickly befriended and a guide. During the Winter it is whale season in this part of Mexico, so we could not have had better timing if we wanted to see a whale up close.

On the way to the islands, we happened upon a pod of more than 200 Spinner dolphins. It goes without saying that this is rare site, and even our guide was elated. For more than 20 minutes, the boat frolicked with the dolphins, playfully speeding up and slowing down. Everywhere we looked they were jumping out of the water, cutting in front of the bow of the boat, and playing games with one another.






{Notice the beautiful Marietas Islands in the background.}

Moments later we saw our first of many whales. We ended up seeing about 15-20 whales per day just from the Verana vista. We saw them gently blow the water from their blowholes, as well as fully breaching before slamming back into the water for a deep dive to the ocean floor.


A 45 minute boat ride and we found ourselves at Marietas, where we spent a few hours sunning on the beach, cooling off in the surf, and eating freshly chopped ceviche for lunch. It was truly a pleasurable day in ever sense of the word.


On day two, we relaxed at the spa in preparation for our nuptials, which were scheduled for the following day. Mr. T and I each had three treatments, which lasted the entire afternoon. That day, we left the spa exfoliated, scrubbed, rubbed, relaxed and pretty much sparkly.

On day three we had our wedding ceremony in the late afternoon, just when the sun would start to set and the light would be perfect. We had no idea, until we got to Verana, that we would be experiencing a traditional Aztec wedding ceremony to be performed by a shaman in the old ways. It was pretty amazing. I'll tell you all about it...

...tomorrow....

Let me just leave you with this warm place for today's daydreams...

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Mexico or bust, Part I

I don't even know where to begin. Though we had to cut our "weddingmoon" short, the trip was amazing for the days we were there.

The day after our civil ceremony at City Hall, we had to wake us up at 2:45 in the morning and head to the airport. We only had one night in Puerto Vallarta before heading to our final *destination* and wanted to get there as early as possible. I say *destination* because to call where we stayed, Verana, a resort is an insult. It's more like "an experience."

After a 3-hour layover in Houston (where we drank mimosas and ate cheeseburgers at 8:30 in the morning) and an overpriced cab ride, we arrived at the apartment in Puerto Vallarta where we planned to stay the one night.

Nestled in between stucco houses with worn shudders, along a cobblestone street at the top of a hill, was Casa Sin Tiempo. Literally, a "home without time". The apartment is owned and run by Verana. Casa Sin Tiempo was amazingly beautiful, with old wooden doors with creaky latches, wrought iron windows that opened outward to let in the fresh air, and a bathroom that was filled with century-old hand-painted tiles and a Roman-like tub that you had to walk down into. Upstairs from our room was a large, open-air living space with a balcony that overlooked the city, and an old kitchen covered with the same butter-colored tiles. The chairs on the balcony made you feel as if you could sit there all day and listen to the dogs bark, the construction workers drill and the cars honk. Yet it was peaceful in its own way.


{Braja will love this shot of ghostly curtains in the morning sun against battered shutters, with her shutter fetish and all}


{The deck chairs just outside the main living area and kitchen were calling me to have a glass of wine and watch the sun go down. But a cooking lesson awaited.}


{The rustic kitchen, and it's out-of-commission traditional oven half shown on the right.}


{A view of the living area and deck from behind a hand-carved wooden panel.}


{A view of the neighboring roofs. The terracotta tiling was endless.}

We had scheduled a cooking class ahead of time for the one night we had in Puerto Vallarta. Sonia, the manager of Casa Sin Tiempo, would take us to a local market to shop and then would walk us through 4 traditional Mexican dishes. We had no idea that we were about to embark on a 5-hour food fest that left us writhing with full bellies and dreaming of ancho chiles.

At the market:


{Spices, legumes, and grains filled bins to the brim.}


{Baskets of citrus looked more like decorative arrangements than a shopper's paradise.}


{Mr. T drooled over these habaneros and couldn't wait to eat them.}

Despite Mr. T's and my affection for cooking, we opted to observe this class rather than participate so we could take notes and not miss a thing. Throughout the class, Sonia told us stories from her childhood in central Mexico, and about the recipes she was teaching us. For example, the Gorditas recipe is a 500-year old recipe that remains unchanged. Something about the tradition and her willingness to share family secrets passed down from generation to generation made everything taste even better.

The dishes we cooked were:


{Tuna ceviche: freshly sliced tuna, scallions, serrano chiles, cilantro, and a lime vineagrette.}


{Classic Gorditas: Pan-fried pork cooked until crispy and simmered with tomatillos, garlic, and ancho chiles; served in homemade gordita pockets made from fresh masa and Manchego cheese; a spoonful of cooked beans topped each little pocket of goodness off, making it just perfect.}


{Chile relleno: A poblano pepper roasted on the stove top and stuffed with mozzarella cheese; cooked with an egg white coating and topped with leftover Gordita sauce.}

We were so stuffed by dessert that we failed to take a picture. Dessert was homemade chocolate caliente (hot chocolate made with Mexican chocolate), served with churros (crispy cinnamon covered sticks of fried dough).

Are you hungry yet? I am.

More to report tomorrow.