Die Hipster Scum, yadda yadda

One of my favorite features on gawker.com is Blue States Lose, where they post club/nightlife pictures of, and most importantly, take savage cheap shots at, hipsters and their moronic culture.

Gaze upon the disaffected offspring of revolting rich yet terribly misguided parents as they pose and dance, pose and mate, pose naked on the bathroom floor of Don Hill's.

[sigh]

Deal Breakers

So you've met someone and put them on your dating short list. What quality, quirk, or lifestyle choice will cause you to bolt?

I'll start:

1. Sarcasm/Entrenched cynicism: I read this as weakness and meanness. Hello, instant turn-off.
2. Narcissicism: Flee!
3. Hopeless Indecision: I've no patience for wishy-washiness.
4. Rigid Adherence to Status Quo: There's a whole rainbow--forget beige.
5. Droopy, Mopey, Perpetually Gloomy Sad Sack: Oy, vey. Lifeforce-sucker.

I'm absolutely dying to hear yours--please share!

P.S. Needless to say, really, Superfly ain't none of that.

Sharing is Caring

Totally lifted this theme from TK. That oughta teach her!

1. How old do you wish you were? I enjoyed 30.
2. Where were you when 9/11 happened? Driving a minivan in Colorado.
3. What do you do when vending machines steal your money? Look for sledgehammer.
4. Do you consider yourself kind? Yes.
5. If you had to get a tattoo, where and what would it be? No one is making me get a tattoo!
6. If you could be fluent in any other language, what would it be? Espanol.
7. Do you know your neighbors? Not in a biblical sense.
8. What do you consider a vacation? Leaving the gerbil wheel of routine.
9. Do you follow your horoscope? I'm a leader, not a follower.
10. Would you move for the person you loved? Yes.
11. Are you touchy feely? I suppose.
12. Do you believe that opposites attract? Yes.
13. Dream job? Sniper.
14. Favorite channels? I watch a lot of VH1 and Spike.
15. Favorite place to go on a weekend? Away.
16. Showers or bath? Showers, always.
17. Do you paint your nails? No, I leave that to professionals.
18. Do you trust people easily? If by easily you mean "never".
19. What are your phobias? Clowns and dolls/stuffed animals
20. Do you want kids? Yes, more troublets, definitely.
21. Do you keep a handwritten journal? No.
22. Where would you rather be right now? Collecting a Mega-Millions check.
23. What makes you feel warm and safe? Superfly hugs.
24. Heavy or light sleep? Zombie sleep.
25. Are you paranoid? No.
26. Are you impatient? Ridiculously so.
27. Who can you relate to? Unsure.
28. How do you feel about interracial couples? Whatever fries your burger.
29. Have you been burned by love? Yes, indeed.
30. What's your life motto? "Do as I say and no one gets hurt"
31. What's your main ringtone on your mobile? Theme from "Bewitched"
32. What were you doing at midnight last night? Sleeping
33. Who was your last text message from? Superfly
34. Whose bed did you sleep in last night? Superfly
35. What color shirt are you wearing? black
36. Most recent movie you watched? Pirates of the Caribbean (again)
37. Name five things you have on you at all times? Epi-pen, many lip glosses, kleenex, Listerine Breath Strips (Cinammon), money
38. What color are your bed sheets? maroon
39. How much cash do you have on you right now? $15
40. What is your favorite part of the chicken? Crisp, roasty skin.
41. What is your favorite town/city? New York
42. I can't wait till... revolution reforms our government.
43. Who got you to join MySpace? I'm not on it.
44. What did you have for dinner last night? Delicious fare from Otto
45. How tall are you barefoot? 5'2"
46. Have you ever smoked crack? Nope.
47. Do you own a gun? Working on it!
48. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? Coffee
49. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex? Unnecessary.
50. Do you have A.D.D? No, but I have other acronyms.
51. What time did you wake up today? 7:30-ish. Stupid cat.
52. Current worry? What me, worry?
53. Current hate? Bank overdraft fees.
54. Favorite place to be? Wherever Superfly be.
55. Where would you like to travel? Hawaii.
56. Where do you think you'll be in 10 years? Causing untold grief for my minions.
57. Last thing you ate? Croissant.
58. What songs do you sing in the shower? I sing everywhere but the shower.
59. Last person that made you laugh? Superfly.
60. Worst injury you ever had? Psychic injuries beat all others, in my opinon.
61. Does someone have a crush on you? More than one decrepit barfly at the 'Lodge.
62. What is your favorite candy? Not really a candy person. I do love me some FunYuns, though.

Of all the nerve!

She gives me the shout-out for the dumb tagging thing, sure, and almost always approves my comments, but over this I must protest.

TK? My favorite formerly-of-Bushwick Bombshell?

Our fearless fighter of spoiled teens totally ripped off my centipede post (May 25) and ran with it. She's on Gawker!

[sigh] I ain't mad atcha. Go ahead, become even more famous off my material. I still owe you some beer, so if you can find time in your busy celebrity-writer life, give me a call!

In related news: I found a rubber centipede at the toy store and tossed it into Superfly's jam-packed birthday gift bag. He was not amused.

The cat, however, carried it off to his cardboard box lair.

H*A*P*P*Y B*I*R*T*H*D*A*Y SUPERFLY!!

Please join me in wishing the world's greatest boyfriend a fantastic birthday.

Visit his blog, why don't you, and leave a comment!

Fantasy Dates

In which I inquire of you, lovely reader, about the identity of your fantasy date and the itinerary of your time spent with them. Let's keep it within the realm of live celebrities, please.

Me:

Jeremy Bloom and I would talk football over beer and chicken wings. Bets would be offered and 2007/2008 brackets chosen. He is not permitted to talk about himself, except where he discusses being part of the great Philadelphia Eagles.

After this we return to the cabana, where in-between waving giant palm fronds over my Singapore Sling-guzzling self on the chaise he croons romantic standards, flexes his 8-pack, and blows me kisses.

Your turn!

Love This Ad

That Superfly sure knows how to shake a person out of existential depression.

Check out this commercial, it pushes the boundaries of AWESOME!

The Very Definition

mis·er·y
n. pl. mis·er·ies





1. The state of suffering and want as a result of physical circumstances or extreme poverty.

2. Mental or emotional unhappiness or distress: “Our happiness or misery depends on our dispositions, and not on our circumstances” (Martha Washington).

3. A cause or source of suffering.

Informal. A physical ache or ailment.

My New Job

Ok: it's high time Rachel Perry moved on to another job. She's cute, she's a real wiseacre; there's plenty of jobs for a girl on Maxim's list of 100 Hottest Women (whatever it is called) for the petite Canadian.

I want her job. I want to be the disembodied voice on every single VH1 show not voiced-over by that annoying British "Most Fabulous" guy. I want my purry little alto narrating the frolics and foibles of rock stars and other ridiculous celebrities. No disrespect intended, Rachel Perry, but it's my turn now and I will OWN it.

Come on VH1! I live in New York, I'm a freelancer with a lot of time on my hands, whaddya say? Just one shot, Coach, you'll see. Give me one chance and I'll knock it right out of the park.

Bumper Stickers I Enjoy

"Alcohol and calculus don't mix: DON'T DRINK AND DERIVE"

"To err is human, to moo bovine"

"If it's not one thing, it's your mother"

"Help your local Search & Rescue: Get lost"

"Carpe Diem=Seize the day; Carp In Denim=Fish in pants"

"Never believe generalizations"

"I don't think, therefore I am not"

"Veni, Vidi, Velcro. I came, I saw, I got stuck"

"Avoid alliterations always"

"Dyslexics are teople poo"

"Jesus loves you. But I'm his favorite"

"Resistance is futile (if < 1 ohm)"

"Jesus loves you; Everybody else thinks you're a jerk"

"If there is no God, who always pops up that next Kleenex?"

"Too much Pluribus, not enough Unum"

"People like you are the reason people like me need medication"

"Every time you open your mouth, some idiot starts talking"

"I found Jesus--he was behind the sofa the whole time"

"On the journey of life, I choose the psycho path"

"I am not infantile, you stinky poopyhead"

"Visualize Whirled Peas"

"Frankly, Scallop, I don't give a clam"

"Rehab is for quitters"

"Suburbia: Where they tear out the trees and name streets after them"

"Do they ever shut up on your planet?"

"Gravity: It's not just a good idea--It's the law" (Superfly fave!)

"You--Off my planet"

"Allow me to introduce my selves"

"There's no place like 127.0.0.1"

"I just want revenge. Is that so wrong?"

"You say I'm a bitch like it's a bad thing"

"Nice perfume. Must you marinate in it?"

"Chaos, panic, and disorder--my work here is done"

"Earth is full--Go home"

"Is it time for your medication or mine?"

"I used to be schizophrenic, but we're OK now"

"You're just jealous because the voices only talk to ME"

"Without ME, it's just AWESO"

"Madness takes its toll: Please have exact change"

"What if the hokey pokey is really what it's all about?"

"All I ask is the chance to prove that money can't make me happy"

"Watch out for the idiot behind me"

"Some days it's just not worth gnawing through the restraints"

Your favorite not on the list? Comment, baby!

Tagged by Marty

For those blissfully unaware, a "tag" is like an email forward which is a sometimes Proustian questionnaire about oneself. If you're tagged, you answer and tag others. Non-participation is like refusing to play kickball anymore because you're a big junior high kid now. Don't be that guy/girl.


Five things in my refrigerator:

1. Corona
2. Fiji Water
3. Brie
4. Tapenade
5. Lactaid

Five things in my closet:

1. 50 hot pink hangers
2. All clothes hanging in same direction and organized by color, sleeve-length, and weight
3. A basket of gym clothes
4. A bunch of paper we stuffed in there when visitors came by
5. A devil halloween costume

Five things in my purse:

1. Hot Pink Ipod Mini in cool case I got at Urban Outfitters
2. Hot Red cellphone, embellished with rhinestones
3. Hot pink calculator, embellished with rhinestones
4. 15 lipsticks and 2 Listerine breathstrips
5. Epi-Pen

Five things in my car:

1. Crumpled, empty Fiji water bottles
2. Receipts
3. Loose change
4. Cigarette butts (Trouble Jr.)
5. PA Drivers License Manual (Trouble Jr.)

Five people now tagged by me:

1. Superfly
2. Bobulah
3. K-Money
4. Star
5. Three-Toed Sloth

Prescience

[Definition: Knowledge of actions or events before they occur; foresight]

Ever been spooked by prescience? For example, say you hear a random Barry White song while flipping through the radio dials and stop there, warbling along to "Deeper and Deeper". It's been a decade or so since you thought about Barry White. You get home and, still thinking about Barry White, sift through your records (yes, LPs) until you find the disc; lay it on the turntable and allow the velvet bass to raise up the tiny hairs on your neck. You wonder what old Barry is up to these days. You enthuse about Barry White to your friend/partner/spouse/fellow party-goer that night. You make a crack about his weight and voice, saying he'd end up sounding like Tiny Tim if he lost weight. Someone asks who Barry White is.

It's July 3, 2003. The next day, while rushing to the liquor store for more beer before they close for the Fourth of July, you hear on the radio Barry White just passed away.

Lately, Superfly and I talk a lot about prescience. Superfly is scarily prescient. Well, except when it comes to buying Mega Millions tickets, but he probably is just psyching himself out. He generally knows when important things are going to happen. I'm prescient about really trivial things, like predicting entertainment or fashion trends. Some of our friends mentioned similar visionary moments in passing conversation and Superfly and I looked at each other and said, "Prescience".

It is catching? Is this one of those signs of impending apocalypse, when extremely ordinary people become oracles?

Blogiversary

Oops! I missed (June 8) the anniversary of this blog. I invite you to delve into the archives to a time when I wasn't calling it in.

nyuck.

You Think I'm Cranky?

This guy REALLY hates Paris Hilton

This guy REALLY hates Ann Coulter

I wouldn't have them any other way!

So Hot, Roaches Kicking Back

I absolutely loathe poetry. Most of it is either tooth filling-shatteringly precious or stupefyingly obscure; I've always considered it the loony cousin of literature made to sit at the kid's table during holiday dinners and pull petals off a daisy.

That said, it's 90 degrees in New York City today, I'm melting, I'd knock over an Atlantic City-bound bus full of gloved grannies to get a Slurpee. My dazed, humidity-deadened brain can come up with nothing else to say but, "Shit, it's hot!", so I'll let this wonderfully evocative poem (gasp!) that I found by accident on the internet do the talking:

ODE TO SUMMER

Summer, red violin,bright cloud,
a buzzing of saw and cicada precedes you,
your sky is vaulted,
smooth and shining as an eye,
and beneath its gaze, summer,
fish of the infinite sky,
pleasing elytron, lazy, lethargic,
rounded bee's belly,
fiendish sun,
terrible, paternal sun,
sweaty as a laboring ox,
parched sun pounding on your head
like an unexpected clubbing,
thirsty sun trudging across the sand,
summer desert sea.

The sulphur miner drips yellow sweat;
ray by ray the pilot flies the celestial sun;
black sweat slides down a forehead
into eyes in the mine at Lota,
the miner wipes his black forehead,
sowed fields blaze,
wheat rustles,
blue insects seek shade,
touch coolness,
dip their heads in a diamond.

Abundant summer,
wagon of ripe apples,
strawberry mouth in the greenness,
lips of wild plums,
roads of soft dust
layered on dust,
midday, red copper drum,
and in the afternoon
the fire relents,
the air makes clover dance,
invades the desert furnace,
a cool star rises in the somber sky,
in the crackling though unscorched summer night.

--Dr. Douglas H. Sandberg

In Superhero World Redheads are Bad Girls

Except, I guess, for Brenda Starr.

If I had a dollar for every time someone heard my nickname, looked at my red hair and big boobs, and said, "That figures," I would have enough to fund my tuition at sniper school.

In the words of another redheaded bad girl, "I'm not bad--I'm just drawn that way."

Ai Chihuahua!

So I sauntered up 3rd Ave towards a taqueria recommended to me by our waiter at a Mexican restaurant. A hankering for chilaquiles prompted this query of Bay Ridge taquerias, coupled with a longing for the autentico comida Mexicana I enjoyed as a Colorado resident.

I found it, appreciated how clean and organized it was, and ordered up some Chilaquiles Pollo Asado to go and watched World Cup Soccer en espanol as I waited, happily inhaling the gorgeous chile and cilantro aroma wafting from the kitchen.

I chatted with the cook about finding good Mexican food in New York or even the right ingredients to make it at home. He promised I'd love the chilaquiles and reminded me they deliver for free. I paid and ran back down 3rd Ave towards our happy home. "What," I wondered, "would be better with my dinner than some cold Corona cerveza?"

I be-bopped into the corner store and grabbed a sixer. To my horror, I had only $3. I paid $20 for my $7 dinner and got back the wrong change. GAAAAAAH! I briefly considered schlepping the 10 blocks back to the taqueria right then and there, but decided that eating first and calling them would be better.

Except they WON'T ANSWER THEIR !%!$#$%!$t%!%t$$ PHONE!!!!

UPDATE: I arrived at the taqueria sweaty from the hike and ready to kick some ass. The senora who took my order earlier looked at me curiously and went to get someone to translate. The cook turned up, heard my story, told me the lady didn't speak english or converted currency well (good idea to have her work the counter!)and proceeded to yell at her in spanish. She tearfully handed me my lousy $10 and apologized profusely.

I AM an asshole! Next time I go--and I will soon: the food is awesome--I will give her a massive tip for nothing. A guilt-assuaging tip. Even though I did nothing wrong. [sigh]

Back to Corona and the "So You Think You Can Dance" elimination show!

Thanks, Rackie!

You are Supergirl


Lean, muscular and feminine.
Honest and a defender of the innocent.



Click here to take the "Which Superhero am I?" quiz...

Lofty Educational Goals

My business degree is fine and all, and I narrowly avoided following it up with law school by sheer prescience. Other grad school options seemed a terrible waste of time and money. After all, I would have a good, solid day job and work on my writing in the off-hours. Brilliant!

A notable symptom among those of us with bipolar disorder is our tendency to go overboard with temporary enthusiasms. Think: distracted by shiny objects, then buying a roomful of said shiny objects to stare at until they begin loudly plotting against you, at which point you cry your eyes out and sell the damn things on Ebay. Or take them out back and shoot them.

Luckily, it only took two years for me to figure out the treatment was superior to the disease. Now that I am well medicated, I can still get excited about strange and wonderful things, but I forget about them a few days later.

Which brings me to my new, lofty educational goal: sniper training. If I raise enough money, I can go here and learn the finer points of stealth marksmanship. Fundraising: Maybe a bikini car wash? A charity (me) golf outing?

I've always been fascinated by guns, and not in a gangsta rap way or other felonious scenarios. More of a Wild West Show thing. A friend of mine in Colorado is in law enforcement, he took me to the range one day after I bugged him about it a billion times.

The people (mostly men) in the range were pretty shifty looking, and they looked at us (he, 6'7" and me, short and female) with extreme suspicion. Good times. After instructions were repeated to me five times, I finally slipped on the huge earphones and picked up the Glock. It's a bit heavier than it looks, sleek and cold to the touch. I held it as instructed, my friend Lurch's (not his real name) giant paws holding me steady. I fired at the target. Between the kick-back and the noise, I thought for sure I'd shot myself. But it was exhilirating!

Before you start running in circles, shouting "Trouble's a gun nut! Trouble's a gun nut," remember the momentary enthusiasm thing. Going to the shooting range cured my violent obsessions at the time, with one noisy, off-target shot. Do I advocate handing a gun to mentally ill people with violent obsessions? No, stupid, I don't.

It was a safe environment, and I was surrounded by people with a healthy appreciation for gun safety and a love for life. It's a skill. I want to master this skill. By this I do NOT mean I want to become a gun for hire. Rather, I just want to show off my mastery at some point, Annie Oakley style.

I mean, really: if I want to take out my enemies, I'd just train to be a ninja. Duh!

Funny and Shit!

This guy is very talented and I'm glad I found his blog. I absolutely order you to read his post for today!

I added him to the handy-dandy "Links" section of this here blog, along with my good friend K-Money, who finally sat down and created a blog that's sure to be a hit with all lovers of karaoke and all former W/Ws.

Happy blogging!

Catering Overload

Two all-day catered events in one weekend? No sweat for your intrepid Trouble and the unstoppable Superfly!

The first was a non-working event for both of us, which is nice. Superfly's lovely cousin got married on Long Island in what I've decided was the best Interfaith ceremony ever witnessed. Wonderful, and the whole wedding went off without a hitch.

Then there was the food. An array of breakfast items during the interminable photo session. A cocktail hour sumptious buffet on which to nosh. Then, a plated 3-course dinner, followed by a "Vienna" dessert...ROOM: A bakery, a coffee shop, ice cream store, and yes, a fucking chocolate fountain, all in one room. It was amazing, delicious, and way over the top. No wedding cake, no line dancing, no bouquet or garter throwing--a refined wedding to remember.

Our second catered affair was a charity golf outing: smiling foursomes and happy awards recipients photographed by the one-and-only Superfly. My role was limited to printing those pictures and stuffing them into frames. Oh, and availing myself of the delectable pastries and coffee at breakfast, phenomenal burgers at lunch, and more damn prime rib for dinner. Guess what? Another fucking chocolate fountain for me to complain about.

My event planning career in cold storage, it was nice to simply be a guest at these events and celebrate with the hosts. Normally I would go on for days about how I'd do things differently; this time I smiled and had another cannoli.

Superfly is an amazing photographer, yo. Hook a brother up!

Cuckoo Coulternut

Skeletor’s appearance on the Today show, facing off against mega-smirky Matt Lauer, was awesomely bad to behold. Stringy, over-processed, whore-blonde hair hanging from her gaunt skull, Ann Coulter grimaced her way through a ridiculous defense for her outrageous remarks about 9/11 widows being “publicity whores”. She looked like some third-rate stripper’s crazy aunt and sounded like an escaped mental patient.

She tried “no-no-no-ing” whenever Matt tried to make a point, and, in a desperate (not to mention failed) gamble, blamed liberals for her vocal diarrhea. Because it’s the widows own fault for trying to profit from their terrible losses. It’s also thanks to something called “liberal infallibility”, a Coulterism if ever there was one. Nothing, I’m sure, to do with shilling for her new book—a thin volume of blustery bullshit positing the idea that anyone (especially libbrals) who isn’t a loudmouth conservative Republican is a godless heathen.

Dainty cross around her taut adam’s apple or no, Coulternut is pretty far from an ideal Christian. I say she isn’t an ideal anything, but she has managed to publish several Buffounery for Dummies books and got herself a fancy law degree. That has to count for something, to someone. I especially love it when she calls another woman “harridan”. Hello, kettle? You’re black. In fact, no woman alive or dead better personifies the term than Ms. Ann Coulter.

It is with tremendous glee that I report reading in newspapers and magazines, and hearing on political shows of all sort on TV and radio, that Conservative Republicans and NeoCons are divesting themselves of Skeletor as fast as they can, like rats from a sinking battleaxe, in the wake of her attack on 9/11 widows. She is an untouchable for all intents and purposes. Going on wholesome daytime talk shows with her diatribe just served to make Tom Cruise look a little saner.

Whatever her point —and I’m sure it was a stupid one—it was lost in the shock, fury, and disgust all Americans felt at witnessing her reprehensible attempt to use 9/11 widows grief and their quest for justice in a stunt to move her piece of shit book and get her more face time on TV.

Believe it or not, there are very good Conservative writers/pundits out there--some of them are even women. The devil only knows how Skeletor rose to her formerly lofty position, seeing she’s a terrible writer and a worse public speaker, but her days are obviously numbered. Let a learned and socially acceptable Conservative woman take her place, please.

Poor Coulternut. Let’s think of alternative careers for her, shall we?

How about:

1. Decrepit model on The Price is Right
2. Rush Limbaugh’s nurse
3. Star of Transamerica II

Contest: Think of more post-punditry career ideas for Ann Coulter. Winning idea will garner you an awesomely bad liquor promo item!

UPDATE: A casual internet snoop on our friend Ann Coulter turns up some interesting tidbits!

1. She's a plagiarist

2. Palm Beach Florida charged her with voter fraud. Her Cuckooness told a guest at her speaking engagement he should stop reading "retarded news" when he asked her about it. The voter fraud charge involves further accusations of tax evasions, since She lives in New York but claims residency in income tax-free Florida.

3. More problems in Connecticut, with two different birth certificates and age disparity on several drivers license applications. Is she trying to cover her advancing age or her sex-change?

4. In an interview, Ann stated it was ok if she slept around with men because she's single. Forgetting the gag factor of this quote, how Christian is this?

5. Conservative magazine National Review canned her as a writer because she sucks at it. I mean, she sucks farts out of dead cats, she's that bad.

Reader Poll

Click on this post's title and VOTE!

Update

1. My broken back is healing nicely, thanks to copious pain and sleep medications, physical therapy, and plenty of rest. I should be back in the big city in a couple of weeks, barring any re-injury.

2. Still waiting for the tribbly Superfly to make up his mind about my HS reunion. I may have to go without him (sob!).

3. Because I let him have the last word, Jonah won the comment war under "Loose Change". What's that? You never read it? For shame. Nuts to you ostriches--he'll hopefully be back around next politics post to pick up your slack. Anyway, Hurrah for Jonah!

4. Some asshat stole my pimped-out cellphone. Of all the nerve! It took me forever to find just the right wallpaper and ringtone. The new one is pretty cool, maybe with a few well-placed rhinestones I'll be comforted from my loss.

1986

My 20-year high school reunion is coming up. Should I go?

photo courtesy B. Larson, who had it folded up in his wallet for many years-- with my lovely friend Cassie's picture front, naturally.