Oh hi.

Happy Schlubby Wednesday everybody!

In case you have no powers of deduction, Schlubby Wednesday is when you dress schlubby (i.e. junky) and also probably don't do your hair either. Like maybe after your shower you see your dude's dirty old t-shirt that doesn't fit you crumpled into a ball in the corner, so you put it on and then you put on your oversized hoodie because they have one of the same color and then you put a hat on while your hair's still wet so it dries sticking out at odd angles. And then you forget to shave. That's Schlubby Wednesday.

Anyway I haven't blogged in two weeks, so I'm behind on some very important Fuck Yous.

• Fuck you, Subway, for taking tuna off of the $5 footlong menu. That was so mean, and you only did it because it was the best one! So for every extra dollar I spend on a footlong tuna, you get another million years in HELL. And fyi hell is not some namby-pamby 15-second flash toasting in the oven. In hell, you are bread burnt to charcoal by the flames of unending torment and then painfully reconstituted and burned again but before that Rachael Ray makes a sandwich out of you! That's what happens in sandwich franchise hell. Read the bible.
• Fuck you, Citibank, for cancelling my card and not telling me so I was stranded today with no cash or ability to do ANYTHING NOT EVEN CHECK MY BALANCE OR ESPECIALLY EAT! Apparently if you shop at a store whose something something is compromised, they cancel your card as a precaution. Yeah, thanks for looking out for me and almost making me starve to death, Citibank!
• Lastly, fuck you children and the elderly, obviously. Same reasons as last time.

Oh as to your question "What have I been doing for the past two weeks?", the answer is "I have no idea, they just kinda disappeared."

Can I Get a Witness?

I'm too tired to work so I just read my last 9 months worth of blog entries in response to the same masturbatory impulse that makes me love staring at good pictures of myself and laughing at my old repeated jokes time and again. Wow do I have nothing worthwhile to say ever!

Anyway the only thing I need to talk about right now is that my favorite Jehovah's Witness is back and she got a BRAND NEW WIG! It's just as unconvincing as her old wig, but it has highlights.

Maybe I'm wrong, but if the point of covering your hair is to curb vanity, doesn't buying a wig with highlights TOTALLY DEFEAT THE PURPOSE?!? But whatever, maybe they don't wear wigs for that reason, maybe they have eyes growing out the backs of their heads, who even knows with Jehovah's Witnesses? Can they use the Internet? I hope not.

Anyway the SADNESS OF MY LIFE is that I saw her from down the street, so as usual, I mentally prepared myself to smile and say hello and made sure I had no offensive books in my hand this time, and I was extra excited to see her after her winter-long sabbatical from my life, and then I got to her and SHE DIDN'T EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE ME! It hurt. After all we've shared! All the good times.

It hurt only until I realized the truth: Not only do Jehovah's Witnesses live in caves with no Internet and wear nothing but Laura Ashley, but every few months they go to a secret facility in the Nevada desert and have their memories wiped clean of everything but their love for... whatever it is they believe in. The lighthouse or whatever. I'd call it a conspiracy, but it already WAS a conspiracy so big fucking deal right?

Right.

Praise Jesus.

B

Hi ok so I'm going to tell you about the boy I am dating due to the ungodly amount of pressure he is putting on me (i.e. asking once while we were drunk when he makes it into my blog.)

Usually people don't ever make it into my blog (at least not early on) until something funny happens in which they are a major player, and I suppose one such occasion has presented itself. Basically the first night I came back to his place, his temp roommate was there sleeping in his bed and so we woke him up and then fast forward 3 minutes and my boy goes into the bathroom and I try to impress his dog with my charisma and spunk and wind up flat on my stomach on the floor with a major headache and bleeding from the chin right in front of the temp roommate, who makes no offer to help and just kinda stands there. It was embarassing and horrible. I didn't tell you about it for that reason.

But right, back to it, basically I don't talk about love life stuff here but... well he's nice and I like him and his face smelled really good today for some reason. Also I kinda owe it to him since in the space of like 2 weeks, I've gotten over $50 of free delicious chocolate products, not to mention lunch today, the promise of many home-cooked meals, a ticket to the Tony's, and a possible future almost free vacation to the British Isles barring swine flu, uncomfortable personal revelations, or the unlikely event of severe sexual incompatibility. So even though I have a long history of collecting free swag from even the most insignificant liaisons, the amount of sugar I have consumed makes me think the least I can do is tell you his name, which is B. Sweet B.

Ok so obviously his name is B only as much as The Architect's name is The Architect, which is not at all, but that's what you get.

Sweet B because his job is pretty much "culinary tour guide", or more specifically "guy who gives chocolate tours of New York and teaches people stuff about the history of the places and how everything is made and blahdee blah blah blah." I imagine people eat a lot of chocolate on these tours too. Maybe I should call him Dia-B-tes.

Anyway here he is with his walleyed dog Vernon, the one I failed to impress:

His walleyed dog Vernon is named Vernon like Vernon Dursley from Harry Potter so we like that. Also, B wants to learn things from me, and the things he wants to learn about are opera and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which are the only things I know how to talk about anyway.

Right and he's from the south and kinda short and kinda smiley and he has awesome friends (so far) except for that one and he'll do stuff like make homemade dumplings for no reason at all, just to eat them it's so weird.

Right so there you have it: your incoherent and entirely uninformative character profile of Sweet B. The moral of the story is we're dating the end.

Like, a lot. The end.

Stuff White People Do Not Like

#1 - YOUR SHITTY HOMEMADE HIP-HOP ALBUM!

Failed artists of New York, harken to my words! No, I do not like hip-hop! Do I look like I like hip-hop?? Does ANYBODY wearing Marc Jacob look like he likes hip-hop??? If so, I stand corrected, but it does not change the fact that I do not like hip-hop!

Furthermore, if anything is going to change the way I look at hip-hop, the album you made in your basement with your cousin Londell is not that thing! SO LEAVE ME ALONE BECAUSE ALL I WANT TO DO IS NOT BE BOTHERED AS I WALK OUT OF THE VIRGIN MEGASTORE WITH MY GILMORE GIRLS DVD!!!

Seriously, what is it with those guys? Why do they think everyone including elderly white women like hip-hop? Why do they even ask people if they like hip-hop if they aren't going to listen when they hear "no"? Why do they do things like that one time when they surrounded me on the street like FIVE of them and asked me why I don't like hip-hop and where I live and harrassed me when I was clearly in a hurry to get back to my job working with recordings by musicians who actually matter? OMG that was so embarassing, when they asked where I live I thought they asked where I as going so I was all "The Library!" and they were all "You live at the library?" and I felt like I was in the 7th grade again until I remembered at least I had somewhere to go at 2:00 on a Thursday afternoon.

For reals, though, is 5th Ave. and 48th really the best place to give out your album? Is that your demographic? Businessmen and sandwich artists? None of us moonlight as club promoters. And if we did WE STILL WOULDN'T WANT YOUR MUSIC!

Next time I hear "Hey, do you like hip-hop?" I'm responding with "No, do you like herpes?"