Welcome to Hell

Welcome to hell. Please take a number. Her Evilness will be with you when she damn well feels like it.

Monday, May 30, 2011

memorial day drunks

ladies & gents, don't invite this one to your wedding:

this lady had to try asking me about the photobooth THREE TIMES, before she got out a coherent English sentence.  and no, she is not speaking it as a second language.

slur, slur:  "have you seen mah shooooes?  where are mah shooooeeess!!!"
she has them in her hands.


yeah.  this is the type of crazy and stupid i deal with, every weekend, when i do wedding gigs. 

mommas, don't let your children grow up to be alcoholics. 

cowboys don't hold a candle to this shit.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

MNDC spawns this, among other things.

y'all probably know that my friends and i have Monday Night Drinking Club (MNDC). 

well, i've really wanted to record us in action, but unfortunately i had no batteries for my digital recorder, sooo...  i took to the Twitter.

my friends are fucking strange.  also, awesome.
i swear, i'm going to get out and buy batteries for that digital recorder.  SOON.

...one of the rats has a history of peeing on one of my friends.  never fails to be funny, because he always looks so affronted when it happens...

that's right.  alright everyone, get your hookahs:  lock.  RELOAD!  FIRE!

and the Fantasy person was NOT, in fact, a stripper.  which is why that name is even funnier.

yep.  my chandelier's balls were mouth fondled on monday.

i love my friends.  SO. HARD.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

can't... breathe...

i'm sorry i'm being so spectacularly boring and reblogging/youtubing it lately, for i am The Lazy.

but this is wayaaaayyyy too funny not to be shared.

"THIS GUY doesn’t know how to drive on backroads at-fucking-all. SIXTY-FIVE CROTCHMUNCH.
You know what? If I kept a crate of dildos next to me in the car, it would really send the, “you’re a dick,” message home. I mean, it’s got a natural handle and stick in it and some good heft–I bet if I wanged it hard enough at a car, I would bust up some of that tempered glass. Nothing would say, “FUCK YOU,” like a pink glitter dildo getting whizzed at your windshield. I mean, what would you even say when that happens?
“Hold on Hank, there’s a giant wang stuck under my wipers!”  "

go here.  you will not be disappointed by the humor.  at least if i'm not making you laugh today, someone damn well better, eh???

"I bet if I wanged it hard enough at a car..."


Saturday, May 14, 2011

more adventures in the land of crazy (pets included!)

on monday, at Monday Night Drinking Club, we found a street cat.

(aside:  MNDC is exactly what it sounds like:  a group of my friends get together every monday for drinks and general hanging out, at whoever's house is the current meet-up.  it's an excuse to get together often.  and also to drink.  on monday.)

now this isn't an uncommon occurrence, seeing as how new orleans is overrun with feral cats and dogs.  this time was different though - not only did said cat walk up and be extremely friendly, but she was also in really bad shape.   in a very apparent starving, listless, matted fur state.

well, here's some pictures.

i know she doesn't look terrible from above, but it's also hard to tell without context.  so here's some context.  (note:  her tail is almost as wide as she is...)

this cat is about as wide as one of our hands.  she's sweet and amenable and she wants to be loved, but you can literally count every single bone on her tiny little body.  her breast bone (which you really can't feel on any decent-sized kitty) is sharp.  you could probably learn cat anatomy by petting her.  i'm afraid to pet her too much, because i worry it might hurt her.   but she does seem to love the attention.

but look at that adorable face!  we named her Harvey, because The Matt remarked that she looked like Two-Face from Batman, and he's right.  (that guy's name is Harvey Dent, by the by.)

more context.  she is as wide as my foot under that fur.  she is also a long kitty, longer than our kitties.  and she probably weighs a third as much.  if even.  oh, and she's lying down in this picture.  and you know how cats look much larger when they're all splatted out...

Matt and i agree that we really can't afford to support another cat, sad as that is.  on tuesday we went to see if a shelter (no-kill, of course) could take her in.  we found a good shelter, but they were so backlogged they have a waiting list.  damn.  but they did say if we became her foster parents, then they would be able to pay for the medical stuff.  because it was very obvious that the poor kitty needed to see a vet, STAT. 

Harvey kitty sadface.

we took her to the vet, and learned:
she is hyper-thyroid (which is partly why she's so skinny), and needs meds for that.  twice a day.
she's an old lady, probably 13 or 14.
she also has a raging infection, which they determined was in her mouth, because there was no other place it could be without it being obvious.  so her teeth are all kinds of bad.  it's another reason why she's so small, because it much really hurt to eat/drink when your teeth are killing you.
and she's on antibiotics also now, twice a day.

ha, good luck trying to foist that much medicine on a cat. 

on monday we go back to the vet - and they are gonna chat about pulling out her teeth, possibly that day.  poor darling.  but the vet assures she will feel so much better afterward, so we're really rooting for that.

cute, cute face.

of course, we went to the vet in a spectacular fashion, like we do:

we don't have a cat carrier, so we just brought her in a box.  not only did we have by far the saddest-looking animal there, but we just grabbed the first box we saw.  so it wasn't until we showed up at the vet that we realized we were not only toting a cat who looks like she was starved and abused, but we brought her in a Tanqueray box.  

yeah.  we looked like alcoholic pet abusers.
who were there on charity from the shelter.
at least they didn't accuse us of either alcoholism or animal cruelty.

as soon as she gets better and puts on some weight, hopefully the shelter will be able to take her.  and hopefully someone will really want to adopt Geriatric Kitty.  who needs daily meds, and who knows how expensive those are.  although the vet said it was reasonably common, so hopefully not too expensive?

i have the sneaking suspicion we've just kinda adopted another pet, if she can't find a loving owner.  sigh.  hello, Harvey.  welcome to the menagerie.  and for fuck's sake, eat some more food!

Saturday, May 7, 2011

wherein i am not funny, but i AM awesome nonetheless. along with other Very Awesome folk.

i have gotten, and probably will continue for the rest of my life, to get a TON of flack for being a superhuge fan of the band Bright Eyes.  i can't even remotely begin to relate to people how much i don't give a motherfucking flying fuck about their opinion about the bands i choose to love - and this one, in particular.  (and do go give them a listen on youtube.  please.)

in fact:  one of my fav songs & videos, here:

i don't mean to be all adolescent-y and stupid here, but i'm serious - if there was a band that has literally saved my life, this is it.  and the beauty of it all is that Conor Oberst, a founding member of said band, is only 4 years older than me - so the same time he was singing about high school, & college angst (and recording it, of course) - i was in those very time periods.  and as i continue to grow into being an adult (ahahahhaha!!!!), so does the music that this band puts out.  which rocks.

of course, it's not for everyone.  no band is for everyone.  but this band is definitely for me.
(and i must be all asshole-y here, and claim that I WAS TOTALLY INTO THEM FAR BEFORE EVERYFUCKINGONE KNEW WHO THEY WERE.  mostly because it actually is true, in this case.)

there are no really specific reasons why this is coming up now, but also many, many unspecified reasons.

i have had a few very good friends that have shared my obsession with this band.  and we're still reasonably close.  but the person i'm about to talk about isn't one of those people, at least as far as i know.  she was more of a DeadHead than a Bright Eyes person, unless i'm mistaken. 

my friend Amy, she is/was a wonderful person.  she is also very dead.  dead at 22, in fact.  and that was fuck, a few years ago.  i feel awful for not knowing exactly when.
i remember.   it's december.  2008.  it's gotta be.  right after she graduated.

she had mesothelioma.  and she was the most positive, funny person - and she didn't really let anyone know just how bad it was.  not until she was dead, all of a sudden - i mean, within a year of us learning anything about her lungs, the tumor, mesothelioma - and we were completely taken aback.  my whole social scene. 

it rocked us all.  because, really, no one is supposed to die right after they graduate from college.  certainly not anyone you know.

we went to school at the same time, for the same degree:  B.A. in Creative Writing.

we all sat around after her memorial, talking about her.  someone mentioned maybe getting some of her tattoos - they were certainly distinctive, and also awesome.
the idea stuck with me.  i don't know at this point, if anyone else ever did copy any of her tattoos.

but i did this.
it's one stanza from one of her poems.

"This is what it comes down to:
you and me, whoever
you are, our arches planted
on the crust of the earth
the same thing rising through us."
- Amy Young

the quote is in my handwriting.
but the signature is in her handwriting. 

this thoroughly freaked out my tattoo artist.
i told her, if Amy could see all this, she would be laughing her ass off.  and she would be.

yes, those are my tears in the picture.
and i'm not even remotely ashamed.

Amy, we miss you.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

tonight, i went to dinner with my dad. and that is NEVER boring.

my father is a wonderful and strange individual.

for example, he comes to new orleans at least once or twice a week for business, and every week his routine is exactly the same.
he leaves his house in pensacola, drives through alabama, making sure not to buy anything (pay attention to that, it's important), and goes through mississippi into louisiana, where he stops at slidell.
what does he stop for?  a daiquiri.  (of course!)

 then he drives around town, with his daiquiri, doing business (buying/selling antiques).
as he leaves and goes back through slidell, he gets another daiquiri.  and by "another," i mean, he buys one to drink, and three or four to pop those suckers in a cooler.  because they are oh-so-nice to enjoy at home - or on the beach, since he lives so damn close.  (shakes fist)
these are large daiquiris, mind you.  32 ounces. one will make you feel quite nice.  (so far, we're up to two daiquiris - no, my dad doesn't care about driving while intoxicated, why do you ask?)

on the way back, he stops in biloxi to get gas, and eat at mcdonald's (gets the same thing every time).  then he scoots through alabama (because he got a couple of tickets there once, YEARS ago, and "won't give them another red cent" and refuses to buy ANYTHING there), and goes back home.

i have ridden on this trip with my father many times.  many, many times.  and not once have i seen him deviate from this pattern.  NOT ONCE.

now, this exact pattern started right after i graduated from high school.  i mean, he's been doing business in new orleans since i was a child, long before i moved here.  but i think he got fed up about being "good" (ie not drinking around the kids) right about the time his marriage to my mom disintegrated, and this pattern emerged.  and since i turned eighteen, he has had no qualms whatsoever about boozing it up in front of me.  or buying me whatever i wanted - be it wine, daiquiris, or a handle.

i tell people regularly that my dad is not a great father.  and it's true, he's not.  if you want all that parental stuff, he's the pits.  he has his own life, and he's not terribly invested in knowing all about yours.  he's asked me more than once if i'm "still dating that guy" that i LIVE with.  The Matt and i had a good laugh over that one.  and this IS the man who, when he first met him, asked Matt if he smoked pot.  and when Matt said no, then said, "then why the hell are you dating my daughter?"

but as a friend?  he's hilarious, and fun.  he likes to do drinks and dinner, and he hangs out with all these funny older ladies, who think he's the shit.  (i wonder if they know he's gay???  probably, but who knows.)  he's the type to go listen to the free music in the park - and bring with him an entire cooler of booze, and two very large silver candelabras, which will drip wax everywhere, including the food.  and then he will want to dance on the sidewalk.  there is no chance of blending in, in public - but who the fuck cares?  i'm the bitch with the silver candelabras.

and as you might be able to tell from this here blog, i'm not exactly the most subtle person, myself.

the reason i mention all this is that it's relevant to my day.  i often go at least a month at a time without seeing my dad, despite his weekly presence in my city.  mostly because he's doing business and wants to get out of the city by 4:30 to beat traffic, and i usually wake up at 2pm or later.  but also just because we're not the type to hang out all the time.  but when we do.... whoo!

we went out for dinner tonight, which was yummy and all, but who cares.  what was interesting was the conversation:  "is that a mariachi band?  wait, what is the saxophone doing in there?"  (answer:  yes it was a mariachi band, and the sax player was busking across the street)
other discussion topics:  the (completely separate, and until now unbeknown to be something we shared) times both of us had chipped teeth, and used a nail file to even out the sharp edges...  "how vulgah!"   "well, i get that from you, obviously."
the latest rescue my dad's taken in...  "where did you put him, the floor?"  "well no, he was in the bed - but you know it's a queen size, and i barely noticed he was there"  (yeah the fuck right)
and - my dad selling weed to facilitating the procurement of medicine to the man who i've known since i was a small child - one of the many antique dealers i've known over a large portion of my life.  also the man who made me want to play the piano as a kid, by playing Fur Elise every time he came over.  i still love that song.

blah blah blah, read from bottom up:

"unless i'm by myself or with someone."  snort.  this is not only true, but it's an old family saying - used whenever we're accusing one another of doing something nefarious, or hilarious.
i really don't know where that came from, whether it was part of my dad's family from way back, or whether they coined that in our household.  either way, it has stuck for a long, long time.

so yeah.  that's a typical dinner with my dad.
i have this sneaking suspicion that people will never believe any of this shit unless i write it down.
because a lot of my friends give me the "yeah the fuck right" looks, when i'm talking about my family. i just want to bring a tape recorder, sometimes.
speaking of which...
i do have one.
(oh thank you, Matt... thank you.)

for dinner (besides the food, obviously) i had two strawberry daiquiris, and he had two margaritas.  (hellooo, happy hour.)  but naturally, he wasn't done yet.

on his way out of town, heading off to buy his daiquiris, dad offered to stop by the purple daiquiri shop on St. Charles, but i said no - the taste is far inferior to our favorite shops (which are only in metairie, and slidell, far as i know).  "you know i like booze, but you can just taste it TOO much in those," i said.  (plus, a medium will put a really, really severe wobble into your step.)

of course, dad agreed.
he would.  after all, he found the best daiquiri place i know.

speaking of.  don't suppose anyone would give me a ride to metairie?  and about $12?  i have a few daiquiris to buy.

Monday, May 2, 2011

because I HAD TO

stolen from Jen for she is AWESOME:

Sunday, May 1, 2011

it's waaayyy too early in the morning to be dealing with this shit.

so, this just happened:  (read bottom to top, yadda yadda)

i'm not even exaggerating or making this up.

the really shitty part is that this is the Professional Laptop, the one on which the photobooth things happen, and it crashed at a really, really bad time.  like "whoops, there goes my job, maybe" kind of epic bad timing.


do yourself a favor:  don't ever, ever let me near your beloved electronics again.  hell, i'm afraid to touch my damn computer.  please don't crash, mr. mac.

aw, DAG!!!

so before i smoke this pot and go to bed, here is a little something that Regretsy has gifted us with:

oh, yes.  i went there.

"you're welcome.  internet."

i HAD to let you guys know this exists.


oh Jenny, i love you.