While driving around in my car recently, I couldn't help but find myself singing along to yet another Bruno Mars hit single. The guy has the voice of smooth caramel, enough so that my cacophonous singing does not seem to disturb my unfortunate passengers at the moment. Luckily, I have a two-seater.
I always believed that music was a form of mind control. We've all been there, admit it. I'll be first to stand up and say that yes, I work out to the Pussycat Doll's "Don't You" to get myself pumped up enough to imagine myself with a svelte boyfriend-stealing body wrapped in clothing tight like saran wrap with a microphone at hand and busting out a few hip swings as I'm riding the elliptical. Yes, when I'm having a bad day, I listen to Kanye West and recall his hatred for the Bush administration, attempting to emulate such negativity in order to hate on the newest thing I have decided to hate on for the moment. Yes, and on the rare instances I am feeling sensual I play a little Sade and lie around fantasizing about... Tom Selleck. Don't ask.
Anyways, it didn't occur to me that Bruno Mars had invaded my brain as if he was some alien that was actually from Mars until I listened to myself singing. It was no wonder I've been so lovelorn lately.
"I'd catch a grenade for ya/ Throw my hand on the blade for ya. I'd jump in front of a train for ya/ You know I'd do anything for ya." How Shakespearean and Gothic at the same time. Anyone that is willing to sacrifice a limb from catching an explosive or to voluntarily cut themselves using a sharp object over the love for a person that clearly doesn't love you back is borderline insanity at the least and I mean least. However, this isn't the most graphic of the lyrics. He goes on to sing that he'd want to "take a bullet straight through his brain." I'd grant good ol' Bruno Mars a little clemency on this line if the word "pain" in the previous line was so difficult to rhyme with, but it's not. Not even close.
But "Grenade" is a catchy tune and maybe the buck stopped there for Bruno and his penchant for graphically violent love songs. He did have that one song about being lazy all day, but who the hell wants to listen to him singing about all the dumb things he does on his days off such as not going to college, doing P90X, and getting laid? I sure didn't.
I thought that maybe this was the end to Bruno Mars and his glory days, retiring his music to the vault of other one-hit-wonders such as The Macarena and Spice Girls. Yet, the guy rose from his lazy ashes with his newest single, starting with the lines "If you ever leave me, baby, leave some morphine at my door. Cause it would take a whole lot of medication..." These lines strike a tune with me. Who doesn't want to become incredibly obsessed with an object of affection enough to want to take prescription painkillers administered through an IV in order to overcome said obsession? Sounds like fun. I'm in.
When I decide to be less dangerously lovelorn, I shall return to listening to hardcore gangster rap that contains lyrics that pertain to womanizing, drinking to excess, and the use of recreational drugs for good old-fashioned recreation. Until then, Bruno Mars it is.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Friday, August 5, 2011
Payback
So I decided to take a class this summer because I realized that the only use I have for society currently is being a student. I wasn't enthusiastic about this at all, mind you, mostly because I'd rather be paid to occupy my time over doing the paying. Anyways, so there I am in class, skipping out on a day or two because it is boring until... I realized I had an exam the next day. I frantically started asking those around me if I could photocopy their notes and I thought my female persuasion could sway some of the young teenage gentlemen that were in my vicinity. Unfortunately, this was not the case and I got excuse after excuse about how they had errands to run or worse, not even acknowledging my request. Yes, I had become that girl. The one that is lazy but tries to get by anyways. Clearly, I can't pull this off for whatever reason.
Still bitter about this, I showed up to the exam wide-eyed from a night of studying. I purchased a scantron packet because I'm guju and realized I'd save $0.10 per pop if I bought in bulk rather than individually. From the corner of my eye, I saw one of the guys that rejected me the day before eying my quarry. He clearly forgot his scantron. Boo hoo. He turned to me asked, "Hey, can I have one of those?"
For a minute, I thought I'd go full guju and ask him to pay me $5 for it, but instead I thought of something funnier to say.
"No." I then turned away and proceeded to take my exam.
Still bitter about this, I showed up to the exam wide-eyed from a night of studying. I purchased a scantron packet because I'm guju and realized I'd save $0.10 per pop if I bought in bulk rather than individually. From the corner of my eye, I saw one of the guys that rejected me the day before eying my quarry. He clearly forgot his scantron. Boo hoo. He turned to me asked, "Hey, can I have one of those?"
For a minute, I thought I'd go full guju and ask him to pay me $5 for it, but instead I thought of something funnier to say.
"No." I then turned away and proceeded to take my exam.
Monday, July 25, 2011
How To Bag An Indian Chick
Through my travels, I've always come across the the wonderment that is the Indian girl. She is beautiful, she is smart, she is mystical... she is highly unattainable. Don't get me wrong, this is somewhat true. There are a lot of you mainstream daters that have coveted that brown beauty that helped you pick out a computer at the Best Buy or sat a few rows behind you in engineering class. Except, Indian girls do not generally follow the rules of mainstream dating and you may not know how to approach the problem. Here, I will demystify you in a stepwise fashion.
1. Most Indian girls will not give it up on a first, second, third..... fifteenth date. Wow, what a shocker. Yes, most Indian women were raised in highly unbroken homes in communities that were plagued with a very small divorce rate. Our fathers came from stock that raised them to be honorable to their wives no matter what the circumstances are. This basically means that very few of us have "daddy issues" that you can manipulate into getting her to hop into bed with you. Unless, you are willing to commit, the panties will not be coming off. Sorry.
2. If you make any sexual comments or advances during any of said dates, don't expect you calls to be returned.
3. If you make any comments about your "mommy issues," your past foray into drug/alcohol addiction, or commonly misunderstood elements of Indian culture, don't expect your calls to be returned.
4. This leads to the fact that no, not all Indian women are virgins. We are sexual creatures, but that does not mean that we cannot control our bouts of lonesomeness and end up knocking boots with some creepy guy in a handlebar mustache.
5. We are not submissive or have hopes of an arranged marriage, though the arranged marriage idea is not all that bad of an idea considering how horrid real world dating can be.
6. No, we are not manipulated by our friends and family into not having sex with gentlemen that take us out. That was your fault. See points 1-5 to refresh your memory.
7. As members of a "model minority," we are pressured to do our best to remain in the income bracket that our parents toiled to achieve. If you complain that Indian girls only go for the "rich" and "educated," you clearly are upset because you are not qualified. It is like asking a guy that is used to playing on a Playstation 3 to downgrade to Nintendo. That is not going to happen, for any race including Indian women. Even you have to admit that the pixelation is hard on the eyes.
1. Most Indian girls will not give it up on a first, second, third..... fifteenth date. Wow, what a shocker. Yes, most Indian women were raised in highly unbroken homes in communities that were plagued with a very small divorce rate. Our fathers came from stock that raised them to be honorable to their wives no matter what the circumstances are. This basically means that very few of us have "daddy issues" that you can manipulate into getting her to hop into bed with you. Unless, you are willing to commit, the panties will not be coming off. Sorry.
2. If you make any sexual comments or advances during any of said dates, don't expect you calls to be returned.
3. If you make any comments about your "mommy issues," your past foray into drug/alcohol addiction, or commonly misunderstood elements of Indian culture, don't expect your calls to be returned.
4. This leads to the fact that no, not all Indian women are virgins. We are sexual creatures, but that does not mean that we cannot control our bouts of lonesomeness and end up knocking boots with some creepy guy in a handlebar mustache.
5. We are not submissive or have hopes of an arranged marriage, though the arranged marriage idea is not all that bad of an idea considering how horrid real world dating can be.
6. No, we are not manipulated by our friends and family into not having sex with gentlemen that take us out. That was your fault. See points 1-5 to refresh your memory.
7. As members of a "model minority," we are pressured to do our best to remain in the income bracket that our parents toiled to achieve. If you complain that Indian girls only go for the "rich" and "educated," you clearly are upset because you are not qualified. It is like asking a guy that is used to playing on a Playstation 3 to downgrade to Nintendo. That is not going to happen, for any race including Indian women. Even you have to admit that the pixelation is hard on the eyes.
Friday, July 22, 2011
I Suck
After seeing a major decline in readership since my blog posts have gone on dark jaunts into a world of negativity, I have finally decided to draw my "I hate the world" campaign of 2011 to a close and return to the self-deprecating humor that I am best known for.
So lately I've been looking in the mirror and wondering why I am only attractive to middle-aged to elderly white men. Ok, I'm not fugly, frumpy, or fat. So what is the deal? Ok, well my hair needs some serious work, but I always thought my wild and untempered locks to be my signature look. Perhaps my nose is a bit, well out there. My skin could be lighter. Hmmmmm...
It never occurred to me that it could be, well, my personality. I know what you are going to say, but you can stop right there. If you call me aggressive or intimidating, you can go ahead and bitch slap yourself right now. The only time I bring out fists of fury are on the following occasions, listed in order of importance:
1. When you are a douche bag guy that thinks he's hot shit for having gone to some lower tier professional school, all the while bragging for never having done the required reading, that does nothing but bang dumb pussy and brags about it;
2. If you are a scum bag intolerant that has taken a liking to saying dumb, uninformed, judgmental racial/religious epithets about other people based solely on appearance;
3. Crossing paths with one of those leeches of society that complains about the cost of life's necessities (rent, food, water, heat) and makes the state foot their exorbitant medical bills because they whine that they cannot afford medical insurance yet they walk around with an iphone, own several video gaming systems with a vast collection of games, and subscribe to a premium cable service.
I feel like the Robin Hood of Morality, Justice, and Whatever Else You Want To Call It whenever I dish out the haterade in these rare but real occasions. I live life with no regrets.
Filled with all this rage, when I signed up for a free online dating site recently, I seriously thought the men on it would read what I have to say and be like "wow, this woman has SPARK! Wabaaaaaam!" They'd magically be turned into some handsome, princely man of a man that'll want to take me out to such upscale restaurants like Portland City Grill or Ruth's Chris. They'd drool over the bilious comments I have to say about the evil in this world while spooning me tiny crumbs of creme brulee and requesting moist dish towels to rub on my head to bring down the redness that my anger often causes. They would... worship me.
But, nothing. Not even a single taker. "What the hell is wrong with ME!?" I thought. Then I took the site's personality quiz and saw the displeasing results:
... I'm boring. I apparently have the personality of a dimwitted spinster that likes to stay-in to darn socks and pray to the Lord Buddha in between taking naps. I'm saddened by this sudden discovery.
All this time, I thought that I was such an exciting, fun, creative, sexual creature. This goes to show that how we view ourselves is not exactly how the world perceives us. Oh well, fuck the world and fuck my life.
So lately I've been looking in the mirror and wondering why I am only attractive to middle-aged to elderly white men. Ok, I'm not fugly, frumpy, or fat. So what is the deal? Ok, well my hair needs some serious work, but I always thought my wild and untempered locks to be my signature look. Perhaps my nose is a bit, well out there. My skin could be lighter. Hmmmmm...
It never occurred to me that it could be, well, my personality. I know what you are going to say, but you can stop right there. If you call me aggressive or intimidating, you can go ahead and bitch slap yourself right now. The only time I bring out fists of fury are on the following occasions, listed in order of importance:
1. When you are a douche bag guy that thinks he's hot shit for having gone to some lower tier professional school, all the while bragging for never having done the required reading, that does nothing but bang dumb pussy and brags about it;
2. If you are a scum bag intolerant that has taken a liking to saying dumb, uninformed, judgmental racial/religious epithets about other people based solely on appearance;
3. Crossing paths with one of those leeches of society that complains about the cost of life's necessities (rent, food, water, heat) and makes the state foot their exorbitant medical bills because they whine that they cannot afford medical insurance yet they walk around with an iphone, own several video gaming systems with a vast collection of games, and subscribe to a premium cable service.
I feel like the Robin Hood of Morality, Justice, and Whatever Else You Want To Call It whenever I dish out the haterade in these rare but real occasions. I live life with no regrets.
Filled with all this rage, when I signed up for a free online dating site recently, I seriously thought the men on it would read what I have to say and be like "wow, this woman has SPARK! Wabaaaaaam!" They'd magically be turned into some handsome, princely man of a man that'll want to take me out to such upscale restaurants like Portland City Grill or Ruth's Chris. They'd drool over the bilious comments I have to say about the evil in this world while spooning me tiny crumbs of creme brulee and requesting moist dish towels to rub on my head to bring down the redness that my anger often causes. They would... worship me.
But, nothing. Not even a single taker. "What the hell is wrong with ME!?" I thought. Then I took the site's personality quiz and saw the displeasing results:
... I'm boring. I apparently have the personality of a dimwitted spinster that likes to stay-in to darn socks and pray to the Lord Buddha in between taking naps. I'm saddened by this sudden discovery.
All this time, I thought that I was such an exciting, fun, creative, sexual creature. This goes to show that how we view ourselves is not exactly how the world perceives us. Oh well, fuck the world and fuck my life.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
ATTENTION, Vegans on Facebook! The food you advertise makes me want to eat meat!
Friday, June 24, 2011
Pooches Over Smooches
Realizing that I've posted sexually-charged entries 3 times in a row this month, I've realized that I'm in desperate need for a distraction. Since this need for distraction has not been fulfilled by a beastly hunky man, I've decided to fill this void with a beast itself.
However, deciding on a dog to take home is a challenge especially in the 21st century. On top of considering breed, temperament, and gender of the dog, I now have to consider coat color, eye color, and size for fashion purposes. I really do not want to pull off a puppy faux pas. That would be a really expensive mistake to make!
I have since boiled everything down to five potential candidates. Here, I will present to you the dog and the look I'd like to pull off with the dog and YOU, my trusty readers can help me decide which one I should commit to for an approximate 10-15, the average lifespan of a lovable pooch.
The Oedipus Rex
Loyal and protective, but prone towards violence close to a blinding rage. Has a regal air about him though not necessarily purebred due to inbreeding.
The Paddington
Dye job not included though recommended as black and white matches with everything. Loveable but dimwitted. Tends to attract children and women that like "cutesy" things so not advisable for straight single keeping-it-real type of women.
The Butch
Extremely slow and lazy. The Butch's aggressive look would tell onlookers that owner means business. Fat so doubles as a sidewalk clearing machine for runners that enjoy personal space.
The Madonna
High maintenance though at first sight does not appear to be so. Curly hairs have dual functionality. Not only aesthetically displeasing but can also work as a mop. Fits easily in purses for portability.
The Anthony Weiner
Douchey yet dignified with a touch of neanderthal-like sexual urges. More useful for males having trouble controlling their boners so can use the dog as a means to cover crotch area while running, eating, walking, working, and sleeping.
However, deciding on a dog to take home is a challenge especially in the 21st century. On top of considering breed, temperament, and gender of the dog, I now have to consider coat color, eye color, and size for fashion purposes. I really do not want to pull off a puppy faux pas. That would be a really expensive mistake to make!
I have since boiled everything down to five potential candidates. Here, I will present to you the dog and the look I'd like to pull off with the dog and YOU, my trusty readers can help me decide which one I should commit to for an approximate 10-15, the average lifespan of a lovable pooch.
The Oedipus Rex
The Paddington
The Butch
The Madonna
The Anthony Weiner
Sex Jokes: The Ultimate First Date Blunder
Men have their fantasies about women's locker rooms so it's no surprise that I have a few myself about the men's. I always pictured men homo-erotically whipping each other with wet towels in between the exchanging of the "newest" quarry of sex jokes. This, I imagine, is not a huge leap from what really happens since sex jokes tend to captivate the male mind easily in addition to not requiring much brain juice to create to begin with.
In fact, all sex jokes are formulated as follows:
1. Pick an everyday setting, such as a hotel lobby or bar.
2. Describe a "hot" woman, preferably one that is realistically unattainable.
3. End with a sexual act.
So a sex joke is basically a dramatic reading version of pornography, masked in comedic undertones so that they can be said in public.
I always thought it was strange that being as funny as I am, I could only return a sex joke with a cold stare back and possibly a shudder. Probably because the endings, the supposed punchlines, are so predictable. Just like porn. Ok, and sex.
In fact, all sex jokes are formulated as follows:
1. Pick an everyday setting, such as a hotel lobby or bar.
2. Describe a "hot" woman, preferably one that is realistically unattainable.
3. End with a sexual act.
So a sex joke is basically a dramatic reading version of pornography, masked in comedic undertones so that they can be said in public.
I always thought it was strange that being as funny as I am, I could only return a sex joke with a cold stare back and possibly a shudder. Probably because the endings, the supposed punchlines, are so predictable. Just like porn. Ok, and sex.
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