Raised in a Barn

It amazes me when I see people do things in public. Maybe I'm just overly sensitive to the things that people do. I'll just mention things I've seen lately and then you can see if I'm just overreacting.

I've gotten used to bastards who fill their water bottles at the fountain at the gym. Please refer to the "Twelve Alligators" post for more infomation. Anyway, I was waiting patiently last night and the guy in front of me starts washing his hair in the water fountain. I'd already had a bad day, so I wasn't going to stand for that shit. I got hella loud and said "QUIT WASHING YOUR HAIR IN THE PUBLIC WATER FOUNTAIN!" Every word got progressively louder. I was clearly upset.

A woman on the train was talking very loudly on her cell phone. Her ass took up one and a half seats and she was munching on a peach (big surprise, she's eating). Then she throws the peach pit on the floor after she was finished. The trains in Chicago aren't the most fragrant, but throwing food remains on the floor certainly isn't going to help the matter. I picked it up and I threw it in her lap and told her that she dropped something. Then I got up and stood by the door looking all ghetto. All she did was roll her eyes. If my chest was a cannon, I would have shot my heart at her.

Are people not aware that they share this earth with other people? I guess it's up to me to remind them that we DRINK from water fountains and that we place our refuse in the appropriate trash receptacles.

Icelandic Fury

This coming February will be the tenth anniversary of the time when Bjork beat the shit out of that reporter in Bangkok. The reporter was like: "Welcome to Bangkok!" and Bjork was like: "It's judgement day, BITCH!" Then she opened up a can of debut post homogenic selmasongs vespertine medulla whoopass on that smug douchebag who had been harassing her. Where'd she learn how to fight like that? I guess she learned to survive in the harsh street life of rural Reykjavik. I don't know. Hey I remember that some of the cage fighters hailed from Iceland. Maybe she learned from watching her fellow countrymen.

I love watching the cage fights and the ultimate fighting. Can you guess why? If you guessed "shortie shorts," then you're right! Sometimes I pretend that the men are fighting to win a night of passion with me. Oooh the thought of two muscular bad boys beating the tar out of each other for a chance to shag little ol' me just sends me into a tidy froth. I can just imagine it now... a huge arena with thousands of spectators (all men) and I come in wearing some kind of chain mail and bleach blond hair. Then I make the announcement: "Two men enter, one man leaves." The crowd of men start to cheer and beat their hard muscular chests. Then I say, "THUNDERDOME!" Ha ha ha. Ah it's good to have such a vivid and ribald imagination.

Monkey Business

When I was a little boy visiting my grandparents in Guam, I saw this cute little animal puppet thingie on the store shelf and I made a huge deal about it. It was brown and fuzzy and it came with its own shoes and a hat and I was so amazed by it that I begged my grandfather to buy it for me. I treasured this puppet thingie for years, until my stupid younger brothers came along and destroyed it. This puppet thingie was called a Monchhichi.

I was poking around on the web yesterday and I did some homework on my little Monchhichi friend. Apparently, they're fuckin HUGE in Japan. It's not hard to see why! They are adorable fuzzy little monkey things with an innocent expression painted on each of their faces. A good vintage Monchhichi goes for about 50 bucks, and a first edition Monchhichi comes with a price tag of 100 to 200 dollars if he's got his shoes and outfit. Isn't that wild? The Monchhichi's had their own cartoon back in the early 90s, but it didn't last long. I guess they went to join Strawberry Shortcake and She-Ra.

Well Blow Me Down!

As hurricane Katrina continues her approach on the Gulf Coast, I am reminded of the time I spent in Guam as a teenager. In 1992, Guam was hit by eight typhoons and one earthquake. The first typhoon, Omar, left 60% of the island without water and electricity. We were one of the fortunate families because our house was untouched and we had emergency generators. We also relied on propane for our cooking needs. And God bless the person who invented SPAM! It's the miracle food for families who hunker down while they wait for the storm to pass.

I know exactly what those coastal cities are experiencing and my thoughts and prayers go out to everyone there. It sucks having to wait out a storm. I passed the time by looking at comic books and porn magazines. It was great. I'm a little bummed because 'Richard' was the name of the next hurricane to hit before the end of 2004 and it never formed. Now I have to wait until the next cycle of names comes around and I think that's in 2007. Hurricane Richie! It would have been nice to have people go on about the fantastic force in which Richard blew and how many homes he wrecked. Hey, wait a tic... people said that about me in high school! Ha ha ha! Ahem.

Don't worry, folks. I'm not the hurricane anymore. I'm more of a tropical depression.

Cootiephobia

I'm having trouble posting images onto my blog, but I'll figure it out eventually. There are some fantastic things that I'd like to show everyone, but I don't want to hype it up and make it sound spectacular. If all goes well, I should get this blog pictified in the next few days.

There was this bitch who I sat next to on the train today and she made it seem like I had cooties. When a free seat became available, she went for it so fast that she broke the sound barrier. What the fuck? What a bitch. I gave her the stare-down and I made her feel uncomfortable. It serves her right. What a bitch. She's just jealous because she has bad posture.

When did people get so xenophobic? This is the reason why other countries make fun of the United States. If a slouchy whore with bad fashion sense can't feel comfortable sitting next to a stunningly gorgeous gay man on poorly-funded public transportation, then what hope do we have for the future? In Italy and France, strangers greet each other with kisses and hugs (and the occasional pat on the ass or nipple pinch). I think that's wonderful. People need to be more touchy-feely. Can you imagine how much better things would be if the standard hello was replaced with an ass caress?

The Mo'lympics

I've been a sports fan for as long as I can remember. I used to go to Giants games when baseball was a carefree sport - before the big hulaballoo about salaries and big stadiums. Then I got into other cool sports like soccer and rugby. Can you guess why I'm into rugby? If you said 'shortie shorts,' then you're right! Rugby is one of the few sports that has rough and tumble men in shortie shorts, slamming into each other and grabbing for each others' balls... er, ball.

I wasn't surprised to see that rugby is one of the sports in the 2006 Gay Games. It's one of the gayest things since my cousin Noel. It must be really hard on a gay sports team. Ha ha... hard on. Ahem! I can't imagine trying to concentrate when I'm surrounded by a bunch of sweaty muscle guys getting dirty and piling up on top of each other during a game. You know they're all just thinking about how much fun they'll have showering up in the locker room after the game. Damn, I need to join the rugby team.

How about Rudy Galindo being appointed as one of the Gay Games ambassadors? I can understand having Billy Bean as an ambassador because being gay in Major League Baseball is tough shit. Being a gay figure skater is like being a human who can breathe. It's just not that hard. Struggles? Oh woe is me... I had to sacrifice so much just so I can be a skater and perform for like 4 minutes. I stayed up all night sewing my costume and now I have to wake up really early in the morning so I can practice. Oh boo hoo.

The Botox Brigade

I just saw footage of the living Ken Doll. It's that dude that had all the plastic surgery and who claims to be the first person to have bicep implants. Now I've seen a lot in my twenty six years on this earth, and I can truly say that not many things gross me out. But seeing and hearing this guy flap his surgically altered gums about the wonders of plastic surgery just made me heave. Remember Jocelyn Wildenstein? ::shudders::

I'm not totally opposed to plastic surgery. I'd get restalin or botox if I needed it. But I don't need it right now because I take care of my skin like a madman. I wash with Dove Unscented, I avoid unnecessary exposure to sunlight, I apply a mild sunblock to combat UV rays, and I moisturize, moisturize, MOISTURIZE! I've also attempted an unorthodox method of fighting wrinkles by training myself to not get surprised or angry so my face won't form frown lines or crow's feet. Is that insane, or what? I can withstand hundreds of knock knock jokes and a few dirty limericks without even flinching. So tell Ponce de Leon to stop looking for that fountain! I got this one covered.

I tell my nieces and my nephew that they're fine just the way they are. That way, they can live their lives without the pressure of living up to society's image of perfection. They're army brats so they live in a bubble anyway. They move around so much that they don't have time to eat and be overweight. That's like the perfect diet - the army brat diet. Drop and give me fifty! Ha ha.

Theme Music

If I were to have a theme song, I would want Marianne Faithfull to perform it. I'm thinking something like sad, lonely rock music with deep lyrics. Marianne Faithfull has the kind of voice that makes you want to listen and feel and cry and take your clothes off and fuck. Marianne could narrate something about a day in my life and there could be shots of me walking down the street or waiting for the train as I watch the people pass me by.

I could take the bubble gum pop route and have my theme song sung by Hilary Duff. Then I could get away with wearing younger clothes and we can throw a few gym scenes into the montage.

Bootylicious

The ongoing saga of my expanding body reached a milestone this morning as I was getting ready for work. I managed to get into my favorite pair of Gap jeans and I accidentally dropped my phone, so I bent over to pick it up. Then I heard a frightful sound. It was the sound of my pants ripping. My ass is so big now that I'm splitting pants. How scary is that? I guess it's a good thing because these are quantitative results of my intense workouts. I want to have one of those bubble butts that make peoples' heads turn. I want a ghetto booty. I want the full badonkadonk that people can set their drinks on.

There's a machine at the gym called the butt blaster that isolates the glutes. It's like the perfect machine for bottoms to use because it targets the ass muscles. I've maxed out that machine because I use the whole weight stack now. What's a boy to do? I guess I could go back to squats, but I hate the red mark that the bar leaves on my shoulders. It's ok though. It's either that or have no ass at all and I am not going back to THAT lifestyle. It's like being in junior high all over again, but with less porn on the internet.

Cemetary Stories

Every morning on my way to work, the train passes by a huge cemetary. I've always wanted to write an amusing story about people who work at a cemetary. It would be a hilarious little gem about three gay boys who keep grounds at the local cemetary, encountering many zany situations that enable them to explore their sexuality and the problems that gay boys have to face in the ever-changing world. They'd have to deal with their creepy boss, who they think is a zombie or a nazi (I haven't decided which would be more interesting). They'll also come face to face with grave robbers and they'll have to scare away goth kids who have parties at the crypts.

I've been thinking of this particular story ever since I saw that there's always a Jaguar and a Pontiac Aztec parked in the cemetary. I just find it so fascinating. I wonder who drives the Jaguar?

Random Thought of the Day

Things that hurt my eyes:

1. Pepper Spray
2. The Pontiac Aztec
3. Semen that I couldn't dodge

Yeagermesiter

The Air and Water show is this weekend and the pilots are using this time to hone their loop de loop skills in the Chicago sky. All that flying got me to thinking about Wonder Woman and her invisible plane. How do you think she was able to know how much fuel she had left? I mean, all the controls and instruments were invisible, so how could she possibly manage to get that hunk of invisible junk around so well?

I personally don't care much for air shows. It's a big waste of time for me. Oooh, look up at the sky with then thousand people crowding around you in the blazing sun! The nearest port-o-let would be halfway across the beach and I'd have to maneuver past overweight and badly dressed suburbanites. No thank you! After Chuck Yeager broke the sound barrier and Howard Hughes flew that ginormous plane, there really isn't anything interesting when it comes to aero shows. I'd rather be sitting in a bar somewhere, tying one on. Yee ha!

Blahbalah

The deli on Bryn Mawr and Broadway just had a plasma tv screen and an internet station installed. I'm thinking they should have used the money to make the place more sanitary. But that's just my opinion.

I'm in a bit of a foul mood, so this post will be short. I will write more when my emotions are back on track. No it's not the gay menses. That's just a myth. Or is it?

No, There Ain't No Julio Here!

When I got my new cell phone two months ago, the young man at the Sprint Store told me that I could get a bigger discount if I changed my phone number. I really hoped that I'd get a phone number that could spell something like 555-JUGS or 555-LICK. Unfortunately, my new phone number has zeros in it, so I can't spell anything. Damn.

Everything was fine until I started getting phone calls from people I've never even heard of. They've started to leave voicemail and I get a big kick out of what I'm hearing. Here are some of the ones I've gotten recently:

"Hi Jenny. Look, I know it's been a long time since we've spoken and I just want to say that I forgive you. I'm getting married in December and I really want you to be my maid of honor. Please call me back. I need to know as soon as possible. Bye."

"Where you at, fool? You told me to call you and I'm calling you but you ain't pickin up the phone! Is you goin to church today? Well call me cause we finna go eat."

I wonder if I should call these people and tell them that they've got the wrong number. I feel like Nell Carter on Gimme a Break! whenever that person would call looking for Julio. I really want to call that bride and mess with her mind. "HELP ME! Jenny kidnapped me and she's using me as a human sacrifice!" Ha ha.

The Talented Mrs. Ritchie

This is a special shout out to Madonna, who fell off of a horse on her birthday today. I wish her a speedy recovery. That sucks, falling off a horse. That's the kind of crazy bad luck shit that would happen to ME on my birthday. Yeah... I get dumped on year, wake up at a gas station with one shoe and no underwear another year, get into a car accident another year, and get sick at a county fair another year. I can't imagine falling off a horse.

Grocery Store Galavanting

I went to a spinning class last night at the gym and I was a little disappointed. Not only was I the only guy there, but everyone was cheating. What's the point of taking up the space and stinking up the room with cheap perfume (and why the hell would you wear that much perfume at a gym?) if you're not going to work hard? I was looking fantastic in my short little shorts and my dri-fit tank top. The instructor was a substitue and she didn't work it as intensely as our normal instructor. But I must say that she spoke very clearly and did her best to motivate everyone. By the end of the class, I was drenched in sweat and my muscles tingled with fulfillment... the same way I feel in post-coital bliss.

Before going home, I went to the grocery store to pick up something to eat because my cupboards were as bare as my skin on a beach in Mykonos. I have been craving meatloaf all week, but I opted for pasta instead. I didn't realize how cruisy my grocery store was. There were all sorts of sexually-charged glances being exchanged by the shoppers and store clerks. I was still wearing my shortie shorts and I got my fair share of hungry glances from the stocker boys. But I'm more into men. Right, Joe? ::wink::

I'm a power shopper, so it only took me a few minutes to get what I came for. I refuse to use the self-checkout kiosks because those things are evil. They never work and the person who watches over them is always a cunt. I went straight to the express lane and I bagged my own items. Then the two guys in line behind me made a comment that sounded like "when do we get to bag YOU?" If I had a canister of Spam in my hand, I would have thrown it. But all I had was this week's Soap Opera Digest. Hey shut up. Anyway, it amazes me that people are still lacking in manners these days. I didn't even get a compliment about my fast bagging skills.

The Universal Constant

There's a line from the Broadway show, "Avenue Q," that I find very amusing:

"Don't stress. Relax. Let life roll off your back. Except for death and paying taxes, everything in life is only for now."

It talks about the notion of change being the only constant in this world. Today while I was getting lunch for my boss, I noticed that all of the employees at the Subway on Clark Street are completely new. I didn't recognize any of them and it was a very disconcerting experience. I was so shocked that I neglected to order my usual oatmeal raisin cookie.

I'm all for change, but I hate when it happens so fast. Three new employees at Subway? That's like recasting all the characters on a soap opera. I think this is the perfect time to mention GENERAL HOSPITAL. In just three months, they recast the roles of Maxie, Felicia, and Carly. I didn't even have time to get used to the original characters! The new actresses are so not doing it for me. Oh yeah, and they changed the food menu at Caribou Coffee! No more croissants, no more black cherry oatmeal muffins, and no more TUNA SALAD! It's such a hit or miss when it comes to pre-made tuna salads. You just never know if it's going to be good. Caribou had some kickass tuna salad and now it's gone. Forever.

If they discontinue my favorite fragrance, "Reserve" by Perry Ellis, then I will go nuts.

Invincible Summer

"In the midst of winter, I finally realized that deep within me lay an invincible summer." - Albert Camus

I never fully understood the meaning of this quote. I think it's supposed to suggest that things will get better when I'm feeling crappy. You know, one of those "silver lining" inspirational quotes. But then I thought... hey I really hate summer. I get all sweaty and nasty and my electric bill is insanely high because I use the air conditioner so much in the summer. It's also baseball season and that means that the trains are full of crazy drunk straight sports fans whose bodies take up two seats. I hate riding the train after a Cubs game. There's always a loud, drunk, overtanned straight girl wearing an ugly Abercrombie shirt and flip flops that don't go with the outfit.

I prefer the winter because people won't be outside unless they absolutely have to be outside. It also allows people to wear really trendy coats, hats, gloves, and scarves. The city gets blanketed with beautiful white snow, and there are fewer panhandlers out on the streets. The cold never bothered me. Perhaps it's my icy demeanor. Whatever it is, I don't much care for having an invincible summer inside of me. Did I completely miss the point of that quote, or what?

Sidewalk Shenanigans

As I walked to my yoga class this morning, I had a hell of a time navigating the sidewalks of Chicago with all the people who don't know how to walk blocking my way. There are people who walk slowly, people who don't walk in a straight line, and people who bogart the whole sidewalk. But the one type of walker I especially love is the nervous racist walker.

The nervous racist walker constantly looks back at the person walking behind him or her, afraid that they're going to be mugged or mouth raped. Just for kicks, I like to jiggle my keys or drag my feet to make them turn around. Then when they start to walk faster, I walk faster to match their speed - all the while jiggling my keys or dragging my feet. As the nervous racist walker looks and finds that I'm ethnic, I give them a piercing gaze and I walk faster still. Once I reach an alley, I quickly duck into it and wait there until they get freaked out when they don't see me anymore.

It serves them right. I hate openly racist, homophobic, nervous walkers. And I have serious issues.

Trainspotting

I was on the train this morning and I swear that I saw Summer Glau from tv's "Firefly" and the upcoming film, "Serenity." She was sitting next to that creepy guy with the brown trombone case and she was reading the red eye. Before I could get up and ask her if she was really Summer, two women boarded the train and one of them was wearing a pearl necklace and flip flops. Now there's a fashion faux pas if I ever saw one. Or maybe it's a faux pearl faux pas. Ha ha. When I turned to look at Summer, she was gone. This is going to bug me for years. I should have been a crazy fan and asked her straight up. Or gay up.

Speaking of pearl necklaces, I was watching porn last night and I noticed that I own a lot of porn. You know you've got a problem when the number of porn DVDs outnumbers the non-porn DVDs. I've got an 80 gig hard drive and porn takes up 64 gigs. I can identify every one of them, too. Straight porn, gay porn, bisexual porn, mormon porn, 70s porn... the list goes on. Honk if you love porn!

My mother sent me an e-mail that had a bible passage number in the subject line. When did she get so religious? I think she and my grandmother are the cause of my Satan dreams. For those of you who are interested, I've had recurring Satan/demon dreams since I was a child. I've been interested in the occult and religious myths for a long time, partially because I need to know how to combat the demons if they do exist. There's even a college in Pennsylvania that specializes in demonology. I bet they're all vampire slayers when the sun goes down. How many vampires have you seen in Pennsylvania? I rest my case.

No, I'm Not Compensating!

Today was a very rainy day in Chicago. I live on the third floor in my apartment building and I had to walk back up the friggin stairs when I realized that it was raining harder than I thought. That was a big deal because I did some heavy squats at the gym yesterday and my legs were a little sore. Anyway, I've got this huge golf umbrella that I like to use because it doesn't flip up in the wind. It's huge. Imagine a little filipino boy and a huge umbrella walking down the street. It's like something out of a japanese animation. Someone jokingly told me that I was subconsciously compensating for small genitals.

Ok, I know that there's a myth about asian men, but I'm not the typical asian man. I don't drive a Honda with a big racing stripe and a huge spoiler, I don't have spiky hair with highlights, I don't play the violin, I didn't score unbelievably high on the SAT, I don't use chopsticks very well, and I don't have a small penis.

It's not massive. It's not microscopic. Let's just say that no one who has been to RichieWorld ever left with a frown. Everyone is always pleasantly surprised. People leave RichieWorld with a season pass and souveniers for their friends. It's that good. Ha ha! But seriously, I'm sick of that stereotype of asian men and small penises. It's just not true. Just ask my college Anthropology professor.

Mama's Home Cookin'

When I was a kid, my mother made all of her meals from scratch. That's why I was so surprised to see ready-made meals in the grocery store. Being away from home really made me appreciate how good of a cook my mother is. I called her recently to ask how she made her homemade spaghetti sauce and she used very vague measuring terms. It boggled my mind how she never made exact measurements. She just threw ingredients in a pot and it magically came out tasting like heaven. I tried to recreate the sauce and it tasted very bland. How did she get it to taste the same way every time without measuring the ingredients?

Mama also makes a great casserole. She puts peas in her casseroles and I used to pick them out when I was a kid. Now I'm really into veggies and I miss the casserole. I hate how I used to take stuff for granted as a kid. I had a home cooked meal every day and now I eat fast food and ramen noodles with the occasional protein shake. I am astounded at how mothers find the time to cook fantastic meals and support their families. Hmm.

Give me sight beyond sight

Today the sky rained fire, pigs flew, and hell froze over. The first season of Thundercats was released on DVD today. How cool is that? That's like Latchkey paradise. Now when She-Ra comes out, you can just clutch my pearls for me because I'll be in shock.

Peanut Brittle Whore

Everyone has a guilty pleasure. One of my famous guilty pleasures is Fundraiser Peanut Brittle. I just fuckin INHALE Fundraiser Peanut Brittle. My niece's school is selling holiday stuff really early this year and my sister sent me a link to the fundraiser's website. Website? Yeah it turns out that schools are getting really Y2K with the selling. I remember when we had to go door to door, selling crap like beef jerky, gift wrap, chocolate bars, and other holiday junk. It trips me out that fundraising has gone so high tech. I bet they'll be accepting paypal really soon.

I was never really good at selling fundraiser stuff. One year, the teachers decided to reward the big sellers by giving them an ice cream party. How fuckin lame is that? You had to sell at least 7 items on the fundraiser list to go to the ice cream party. I didn't sell anything because my mom's co-workers were smart enough to know that the stuff was crap and I didn't mind. What I did mind was that the teachers hyped up the ice cream party and made half of the class feel like shit because they didn't sell stupid gift wrap fast enough. The kids who didn't sell enough items had to go outside to play dodgeball in the blazing sun while everyone else ate ice cream in the air-conditioned classroom. Luckily I was an agile youth, so I kicked ass in dodgeball. I just hope that schools aren't still doing that stuff. That kind of alienation will cost parents thousands of dollars in therapy.

Now that I'm an adult, I am free to indulge my guilty pleasure of FUNDRAISER PEANUT BRITTLE. Yeah baby! This will hold me over until Girl Scout Cookie season.

Latchkey Kids Unite!

I met a fantastic man this weekend at Market Days and his name is Joe. I think Joe is one of the few people who has seen just about as much television as I have. I was making very obscure references to television shows and movies and Joe was able to identify all of them... from Heathers to The Brady Bunch. We'll have to keep an eye on Joe. Someone as charming and pop-cultured as him is sure to be the harbinger of many sexy adventures!

Discussing all of those rare television moments made me remember my days as a latchkey kid. My mother worked to support five children, so we were pretty much on our own when we came home from school. My sisters went out with their friends and I turned on the television. I learned many important life lessons through situations that appeared on television. The Days of Our Lives taught me how to react when I get kidnapped and thrown in a golden cage under the streets of Paris by a man who faked his death several times, only to return because he has fallen in love with me as a result of a botched surgical procedure involving three prisms that operated a laser aimed at his brain.

Busting Out

I've been working out like crazy for the past few months and my body has changed from "emaciated tweaker" to "do I get some fries with that shake?" The good thing is that I feel a lot healthier than I did during THE DARK TIME. The bad thing is that my clothes are starting to get a lot tighter and I'm literally busting out of my clothes. All of my shirts are starting to bunch up around the chest area and I feel like Annette Funicello when she was blossoming on the Mickey Mouse Club. If I continue to work out like I do now, I'll need a "hey, my eyes are up here!" t-shirt by the end of the month.

My pants are so tight that people can see how much money I have in my wallet just by looking at my ass. No joke! I'm wearing jeans I bought last Christmas and they're fitting like nut-cutters now. And with me being half portuguese... you can imagine how my package needs all the room it can get! *COUGH COUGH!* Size eleven shoe. Ahem. Sorry, just a little chest cold. I'm fine.

Dairy Dilemma

I've decided that being lactose intolerant really bites. I looked in my refrigerator and noticed that 80% of the things in it are dairy. There's milk, yogurt, pizza with a ton of cheese, and mozzarella sticks. In my cabinets, I have cheese puffs and cheese-its. I've got ice cream in the freezer. Those are all my favorite foods and they come with a tacit warning label: Eat me at your own risk!

Sure, I can get lactaid, but it gets expensive after a while. And the lactaid brand milk is like highway robbery in liquid form. All of the really good protein products on the market are whey-based and it makes my stomach turn. What's a boy to do in this situation? There's soy... blah.

Market Days is this weekend. I remember trying to go to Market Days during my first year in Chicago, two years ago. I was dating a guy who was this crazy Cubs fan. He was really jealous and he wanted me to stay home because "the street isn't safe for boys like you during Market Days." What the hell? If anything, the street isn't safe BECAUSE of boys like me. He didn't realize it, but I can be quite the troublemaker. I move through crowds just so I can step on everybody's feet. Muah ha ha ha! ::evil laugh::

But this year I plan to wear something that will draw attention to my badonkadonk. I've been working so hard on it lately. Ha ha, I just typed 'hard on.' I just know it's gonna be hella hot so I have to keep hydrated and sunblocked. Wish me luck!

Twelve Alligators

I really hate it when people at the gym fill their water bottles at the water fountains. It never fails! I am always waiting behind someone who is filling their fuckin water bottle and it pisses me off. I'm "estomping" my last season Pradas at the whore in front of me who is totally NOT sweating or about to collapse from dehydration. This one tramp in particular filled her bottle, then took a long sip from the fountain. I had my watch and saw that it took her two minutes and she didn't even apologize or look apologetic. I yelled at her as she walked away: "That was like 12 alligators, bitch!"

Confused? You won't be after this episode of Soap. Ha ha. No seriously, I wasn't feeling the effects of water-loss. That statement did make sense. When I was in kindergarten, our teacher devised a method of keeping time for each kid at the water fountain. We'd all be in a line we'd count out loud as the kid at the fountain drank: "One alligator, two alligator, three alligator..." Each kid would be allowed five alligators worth of water. So when that gym whore took an extra sip, I counted to myself and realized that she took twelve alligators. People can be so greedy.

Pineapple Pandemonium

Last night I had dinner with my friend, Jack. Our server mistakenly brought him a martini made with something called "Stoli Doli." Intrigued by this clever rhyming name, I decided to try it... and I was not disappointed. It had just the right amount of pineapple to make you go "hmm" and just enough vodka taste to make you take your shirt off and do a softcore exotic dance on the table like a catholic schoolgirl on spring break. Ah, spring break. Anyway, it was like blowing a Hawaiian man or a Jewish boy who drinks a lot of pineapple juice. Yes I'm talking about you, Joel!

I had trouble sleeping again last night. I have this recurring nightmare where I'm laying in bed wearing nothing but my tightie whities, all helpless and supple, ready to be devoured like a ripening strawberry on a vine in the hot sun. Suddenly, I am unable to move and I regret falling asleep with my hand touching my no-no region in the unfortunate event that I die in my sleep. That would be so embarrassing. The coroner would have a plethora of water cooler conversation topics. So I'm laying there, motionless and doing my best to get my hand off my crotch, when I see a face forming from the shadows. I try to scream, but I can't. Then I wake up.

My grandmother used to tell me that it was Satan trying to take my soul. Then I thought, what the hell would Satan want with me? I suck at everything. I can just imagine being forced to do Satan's bidding because he was successful one night when I fell asleep playing with myself again. So I'm beckoned to destroy a small country with a massive plague with a wave of my free hand and yes I'm still wearing my tightie whities. With my luck, I'd end up finding the cure for cancer and winning a Nobel Prize. Then Satan would go up to God and say "Here, I give up. Take him!"

I want to be a carney

When I was young, I dreamed of joining the circus. It was the perfect dream. I'd be surrounded by people who wouldn't judge me for being different, I'd get to travel, and I could ride the elephants whenever I felt like it.

Speaking of freaks, I thought about my ex boyfriend today. I was emptying my voicemail at work and I came across one of his lame-ass messages: "Hey babe, what are you doing? I'm at work and I just woke up from my nap. Call me."

How fuckin sheisty is that? Who sleeps at work? Wait I know, HE does. That's what you get when you're coming down off of the drugs you did over the weekend. Drugs are bad.