Wednesday, December 21, 2011

my only wish this Christmas


Dear Jesus and/or Santa,

If you could make sure the coworker who microwaves fish gets eaten by a polar bear or beaten to death with sticks this weekend, I would consider it a personal favor and a Christmas miracle of the greatest kind! 

Thanks, John.

PS - My second wish would be to meet the person who took this picture and give them a high five.

UPDATE: I just changed my mind. It has become disgustingly apparent that one of the Kardashians has moved to my city. So, if you could kill all of the Kardashians and anyone who has been inside a Kardashian, please do so. I know the second part of that wish is a tall order and possibly genocide, but you know, it would mean a lot to me.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Merry Crystal Methmas*

*This post contains no actual meth. It's just a funny thing my friend says and it got your attention. You tweakers fall for it every time!


Remember when you were a kid and you thought you would have to wait an eternity and a half for that moment you got to unwrap your presents and eat off the nice china? Well, most kids don't care about the china, but you have to remember, I was a very, VERY gay child! Anyway, the obvious aside, ALL kids are impatient, and every year it seemed Christmas got further and further away.

Well those days of counting down in impatient agony are gone! Instead of marking days off the calendar in anticipation, every day closer to Christmas feels like a time bomb of stress ticking away.

I mean, seriously is it about to be Christmas?!? Decorations may have been on stores' shelves since I was still attending pool parties, but it completely snuck up behind me this year! Christmas is basically a serial killer, and I am the girl who lost her virginity at the beginning of the movie. Quick, someone find me a wise-cracking, overly-confident Black guy!

No! That last comment does NOT make me a racist! I was merely pointing a sad truth of trends in the horror movie industry. Read about it here. Send that hate mail to Hollywood, y'all.

Whatever. The point is this: I used to lolly around thinking: "Oh I wish Christmas would finally come so I can eat good food and open up presents. Whimsy!" 

Now, I'm all: "Whoa, b*tch! Slow down! Momma's got a lot of s**t to do!"

It's sad that during this time of year, people are so into the hustle, bustle, and meth of the holiday, that they don't even get to enjoy it. I'm generally speaking about most people who aren't me actually...

Side note: What is up with those anti-meth YouTube advertisements?! A guy going all Girl Interrupted on his room while his little brother watches? Male prostitution in a gross hotel with poor cinematography, really?! Is this the new 2011 whoop-a** version of D.A.R.E?!


Also, why are their airing them before Selena Gomez videos?! Or the real question, why is a twenty something man watching Selena Gomez videos at work!? Answer: Because they're awesome, and this music video is slightly racist!

Anyway, meth is terrible and I'm way off topic...

So...

I don't even have a family or many real responsibilities I have to manage, and I'm stressing out like the aforementioned slut and/or Black guy. I buy all my presents online and other than deciding what to wear to different Christmas parties, I have no reason to be stressed. Honestly, I don't know how any parents with any amount of children anywhere ever stay sober during this time of year.

I tip my very-much-used-this-season wine glass to you!

So, I hope everyone has a boozy and as stress free as possible Christmas this year. I will at least have a boozy one!

Hopefully my first 2012 post will be some BIG news I've been waiting to share with y'all! Keep your pants on though, as it will most likely be a picture of Paula Deen riding the Millennium Falcon.

Monday, November 28, 2011

be kind to your mind.

I've had my body completely give up after high amounts of serious partying. Remember this post? This time my mind decided to hold me hostage at 5 AM in the wake of a whirlwind weekend of drinking and food with friends and family. There are no winners here, just two very desperate, tired, bitchy losers.


Me: Oh, crap! I have to pee, but it is so cold... I should probably just wet the bed. Yeah, I'm just gonna roll over and see how this all plays out. Nothing feels better than these sheets right now.

...

Wait...

....

Why aren't I asleep again?

My Mind: I'm not tired. Let's stay up and chat!

No, I have to be up early for work tomorrow.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you're already late because you overslept!

What?! No! OMG! Where's my phone?!?

Ugh! iPhone light. So bright! Adjust your brightness settings and quit bitching about your battery life.

It's only 5 AM. I didn't oversleep!

BLAAAAAOOW! That's right. Gotcha, A$$-hole!

Is this because of this weekend?!

I don't know, John. Do you think shoveling heap after heap of fattening Thanksgiving food and washing it down with a gallon of sangria and a bottle of wine is a good way to treat your mind?! 

Generally, I'm thinking no...

Hell no! You know we can't drink vodka! And to add insult to injury, you overindulged so heavily you had to crash in your friend's guest bedroom spooning a dog that looks like a wallaby. 

Hey! You and I both know that that bed was SUPER comfortable and neither of us had to make coffee that next morning.

Touché.

Also, in my defense, I spent the next day with my family and didn't even go out on a Friday night! 

Yeah, you stayed home, drank on the couch, and watched three episodes of 'Happy Endings' and 'Revenge.'

Hey now! 'Revenge' is awesome, and as far as that other show... it was... sort of funny...

Mm'okay. It is basically NBCs 'Friends' with a cuter cast, a black guy, a gay, and no laugh track. Groundbreaking stuff, y'all. And, yes, Emily Thorne kicks all kinds of beautiful ass. And seriously, I want to be Victoria Grayson.

Enough of this! Can we go back to sleep?!

Shut up! And don't you dare write about this on your blog. And stop calling me a hero!

OMG! We are so 'Julie & Julia'!

I know, right?

Ahhh. Good times! But seriously, can we sleep now!?

No. I'm in control here, and I've had it! If you're not pumping me full of alcohol that impairs my judgement causing me to pen some very questionable text messages, you're force-feeding me crap entertainment. I mean, when is the last time you picked up a book?! 

OK. Fair enough. If you let me sleep now, tomorrow night I'll read a real book before bed instead of watching 'Gilmore Girls' on DVD.

Whoa! Slow down. I love The Hollow as much as the next, girl. Just take it easy or you'll never sleep again. Yeah, all you're gonna get at 4 AM is random Marcel the Shell quotes, random theories on how to make deviled eggs more awesome, and the Hampster Dance on repeat. Yeah you thought it was cute in 7th grade when the Internet was slow and GIFs were all new. But, now you're in your mid-20s and have to be at work in... Wait. You overslept!

CRAP! WHERE'S MY PHONE?!

PSYCHE!

OK. If you let me get just 30 more minutes of uninterrupted sleep, I will limit myself to one box of wine this week, and ask my friend if I can borrow 'The Hunger Games' instead of just watching the preview over and over again wishing I owned a bow and arrow. I'll even take us to a museum or something.

We both know none of those things are going to happen. But I'm tired too now. And yeah, get a bow and arrow.

Deal.

Goodnight.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

trashy thursday

Thanksgiving is upon us. That's right, despite what almost every retailer in the nation thinks, there are other holidays to celebrate between Labor Day and Christmas. But, that's a rant for another day.

Anyway, other than my family's tradition of recreating almost every sappy moment from a sweeps episode of 7th Heaven when we take turns sharing what we're thankful for or my new found tradition of drinking way too much wine with my friends whose families also live too far to travel, Thanksgiving means exactly one thing to me: green bean casserole.

Ever since I was a kid, whether it was actually Turkey Day, a church potluck, or a Wednesday, I have always been obsessed with this dish. I don't know if it is the fried onions or the delicious creamy sauce, but green bean casserole tastes better than sex feels. Seriously.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday because it involves zero materialistic motivations, it is all about family, and, as red-blooded Americans, I think we can all get on board with anything that revolves around food and the decimation of a weaker culture.

For me it is about the food and family. So, when I went away to college and missed the 7th Heaven moments, I called up my mom to get the secret, hush-hush, almost magical recipe for green bean casserole. Like most college freshman, I wasn't very experienced with cooking. I was certain my mom used some sort of dark magic or a puppy's soul to make it taste so good. Turns out, the recipe is on the back of the French's Fried Onions canister!


Nowadays, cooking has become a real passion of mine. So much so, I like to pretend that I have become a food snob and only enjoy haute cuisine.  When the truth is, when it comes to a lot of food, the white trash version is better. Seriously, one time I was so hungover I ate Chef Boyardee Raviolis right of the can.

True story, y'all.
I can't even wrap my mind around the need to have a fancy green been casserole. I don't even want fresh green beans anywhere near that dish. I even put aside my complete and utter disdain for Cream of Mushroom Soup to make this.

I enjoy making flashy things that look pretty because I believe in a former life I was a food stylist, but when it comes to Thanksgiving, I think all the food should be the most white trash versions they can be. Like if my cranberry sauce doesn't have visible lines of the can it was dumped out of, I don't want it on my table. One year, my mom was trying to be all classy and cut it into individual slices. I felt like I was dining at Versailles.


To really class it up, this year we are frying our turkeys. FRYING, I SAY!

Thanksgiving: a day where dreams come true.

Monday, November 14, 2011

wow. just wow.

I can't stop blogging about music. You all hate me. And, rightfully so.

Anyway, if you're still reading. This is me writing yet another post about Kelly Clarkson.


A few weeks ago when I was blowing up facebook about how much I loved Kelly, her new album, and how I was such an avid fan of her I was almost certain our menstrual cycles were in sync.

A friend then promptly added to the fire by posting a fan shot YouTube video of Kelly covering fellow American schmIdol alum, Carrie Underwood. The song was from her 2nd album Carnival Ride and it is a disgustingly depressing ballad about a guy is lying about saying he'll call her back. It's called 'I Know You Won't.' Sidenote: No man, gay, straight, hermaphrodite or otherwise would NOT call Carrie Underwood back.


I don't know who or what convinced Kelly Clarkson to cover it, but God bless them. At first I didn't like the idea of it because they are such different voices and the crappy YouTube version sounded bad and I thought Carrie did a better version.

The versions are in fact very different. Kelly doesn't have long soaring notes that Carrie so effortlessly seems to hit. But I'm guessing there's a lot of auto-tune there, because I have never heard Carrie successfully recreate or outdo the way she sounds on an album during a liver performance.

To sound like a super queer Idol judge, 'Kelly really made the song her own, and I loved her spirit.'

Enjoy below: 


An entire 5 song set VH1 Unplugged airs this Friday, November 18th. Check your local listings or DVR it like anyone who has TV and money after 2006. Coincidentally, this air date is the same as my birthday. That's right folks, you have less than 4 days to get me the perfect present. The perfect present includes but is not limited to anything involving bacon, firearms, Kelly Clarkson, and absolutely anything by Le Creuset. That's French for 'really effing expensive cooking crap.'

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

comeback? shnock it off!

I have been very disappointed lately, on top of the fact that Saturday Night Live has yet to do a Miley Cyrus sketch this season, Madonna and Faith Hill are making their "return" to the music scene. I wish I could say their new songs 'pretty cool', but unfortunately they both need to 'shnock it off!'


Let's start with the one who is starved for more attention. With talks of being the star Superbowl Halftime Show (which has been abysmal ever since Janet Jackson's nipple slip), you would think Madonna would use her insanely gross sinewy arms to deliver. Not so. Not so, my friends.

Her new track titled 'Give Me All Your Love' takes off with a cheerleader inspired sound backed by a drumbeat reminiscent of that horrible Nick Cannon movie, Drumline. It literally sounds like she just heard Avril Lavigne's 2007 EP The Best Damn Thing and decided to go in that direction...

She cheers 'L-U-V! Madonna! Y-O-U! You wanna?!' Really?!

I mean really?!

Newsflash! Madonna, you are almost 54 years old and fake British. Why are you 1) spelling 'love' incorrectly and 2) channeling a 20-something Canadian's already bad music?!

The leaks are being taken down left and right, so I won't even try to find one of the Madonna track, but if you find it, it sounds like this...


but MUCH more desperate!

I'm 1,000% certain that gay fans across the world will eat this up as if it were being spoon fed from Madge herself, but I'm not one of them. This, like your face, Madonna, is sad, tired, and lack luster.

I'm not a giant Madonna fan, so I really don't care what she does or what I'll be dancing drunk to for the next six months, but something I do care about is country music superstar Faith Hill.

After 6 years without a studio album of new music and an almost hermit celebrity status, Faith Hill has decided to return to the music scene... with a One Republic cover. I'm sure Ryan Tedder is a nice guy and all, but can we all just agree that he's a douche?!

She quietly released it to iTunes last night and is premiering it at the Country Music Association awards tonight. It's called 'Come Home.'

I mean, One Republic tried to release a few years ago and even did a reworked version with Sara Bareilles. It did not do great. Here's the original:


So Faith and her musical team decided to take it, barely rework it, throw an acoustic guitar on there and decided to make it her 'comeback single.'

Here's her version:


This track is not a lot of things.

It is NOT the worst thing ever,

it is NOT special in any way, and

it is also NOT country! 

Just as much as Madonna is dying to cater to her gay fans and burn up the dance charts, Faith Hill is trying to tug at the heartstrings of Adult Contemporary radio with this ballad about her husband at war.

However, I see where she might be going. Her last album, Fireflies, was an attempted return to country music form following her blatant attempts at a pop-crossover with 2002's Cry. This sounds like she is trying to land somewhere in the middle of those two sounds. Which wouldn't be the worst.

So, in conclusion, Madonna just needs to stop. Stop everything. Retire now, take it easy with the pilates, and try not to continue to tarnish your glory days of the 80s and 90s. And Faith, TRY HARDER!

Thursday, November 3, 2011

feeling old... again.

*knock, knock*

Death, is that you?!

No. It's Pizza Hut.

Well it turns out, I'm not dying. But it has become brutally apparent that I am growing up. My life used to be punctuated by semesters, graduations, and those age milestones (driving, voting, tobacco-ing, drinking, etc).

Lately, it seems like I am nearing the days where my life will be full of meaningful events like my first prostate exam, first grey pubic hair, or being called sir on a regular basis (without the 'step away from the police horse' immediately following it.)

I know I am not OLD, but I'm starting to feel it... all thanks to Kelly Clarkson and Beyoncé.

This coming year marks the ten year anniversary of Kelly Clarkson's inaugural win of American Idol. Ten years. I mean, that's almost half of my life of seeing loser after loser fly through the revolving door of that skid-mark of a reality show. Anyway, I can clearly remember her competing and winning. Not, "I remember where I was when 9-11 happened" remember, but it is a strong memory.

Now and then. Dang, y'all.
There was a time in my life where memories from ten years ago completely eluded me. I was too young to remember who was carrying me, changing my diaper, and locking me out of the house. Those memories had a solid haze around them. Now decade old memories are as clean and clear as a face wash commercial.

Also, the other day I was jamming my face off to some old school Destiny's Child. Remember them? That girl group that spawned the worldwide careers of Beyoncé Knowles, Kelly Rowland, and... that... other girl...

Most people today think Destiny's Child is Beyoncé's current unborn baby. No, that thing is called "Sasha Fetus."

Anyway, I'm jamming in my car to one of their first hits: Bug A Boo. I mean, This song came out in the 1900s! I remember rocking this song while smoking Kamel Red Lights in my busted Jeep Cherokee like there was no tomorrow. That made me nostalgic... which I think is fruity gibberish speak for "feel old."


Then I started listening to the lyrics... If a kid heard this song today, it might as well be sung in Mandarin (or I guess English if a Mandarin child was listening to it...)

Pagers?

AOL?!

MCI?!?!

I mean, were these ever real things? I sort of think I lived through their periods of relevance, but I'm not even sure. Part of me thinks they are real and another, more certain part of me thinks they are fake words Beyoncé made up. Like that time she made "whoa-oh-oh" into a full 3 minute song.


I find it baffling that an entire generation or generations of little gay boys and girls have no idea what any of these things are. I mean do they even know who Destiny's Child is?! Gasp.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

UPDATED: halloween + the age of innocence.

If you are related to me, knew me as a small child, or might be a prospective employer (outside of the carnival circuit), you might want to not read this. Seriously. You've been warned.

Remember when Halloween was all about putting on a cute, G-rated costume of your favorite Disney character, Saturday morning cartoon, or superhero and walking door to door with a pillowcase to get free stuff?

Yeah... I don't either.

The great Tina Fey wrote it best: "In Girl World, Halloween is the one day a year when a girl can dress up like a total slut and no other girls can say anything else about it."

In my life, and if the last 3 or 4 years have taught me anything, this also applies to Gay World.

Nowadays, if you are a young, beautiful adjacent, and have an affinity for heavy drinking and attention, the super hero capes and princess dresses have been traded in for costumes that consist of as little material as possible that only slightly allude to what the actual costume really is. Seriously, I'm 99% certain firemen, football players, and other uniformed archetypes of masculinity Village People wear shirts when they're on the job.

I may be wrong... Can someone please start a fire and see if a shirtless man in nothing but yellow hot shorts and a $1.99 plastic fireman's hat shows up, and get back to me?!

Anyway, I never really dressed up as a child, and if and when I did, it was pretty half-assed. I mean, in elementary school, I wore my older brother's Letterman jacket and went as a 'high-schooler.' I was pretty lame. Enter my 20s, my own disposable income, and again, my constant need for attention, and I have all but mastered the art of Halloween in Gay World.

Two years ago, I had two parties, and like any good celebrity, I refused to show up in the same thing twice. For the annual Cedar Springs Block Party, I decided to go all out for it. I love sodium, constantly over-salt my food, and have the high cholesterol to prove it. So, naturally, I went as my idol: The Morton Salt Girl.


For the second party, I decided to go old school. Remember when your parents were lazy and made you go as 'cute' bag of leaves or candy or whatever they had on hand?!


This is pretty much nothing like that.

Last year, I decided to butch it up and also adopt a group costume (a practice also very popular among gays), and decided to go military. This was a vintage flight suit I bought that someone actually in the military probably wore... If he or she only knew...


As you can see, I'm pretty good at this. And this year will be no exception. Honestly, I think I spent more on this year's costume than I have on actual clothes in the last 6 months. But, I'll be in New Orleans and I hear it is quite the hot mess. So the bar has been raised. After Halloween, I'll post an update with what will be greatest costume EVER. 

I hope this serves as inspiration for anyone still working on your costume OR a warning to any straight, conservative people to NEVER go to a gay Halloween event.

Now, go forth and ruin your future political careers as I have!

UPDATE: So, I just got back today from New Orleans where my nine of my friends and I went as The Black Swan and back up dancers. Some say 'corps de ballet' but I say back up dancers. My friends got to show off their sexy bodies, crash diets, and man cleavage, and I got to be the center of attention. Everyone wins! Except for us...

Halloween NOLA has a costume contest we entered. We had the look down, a large enough group, and choreography. If there is one thing that gay men love, it is other gay men. If there is another, it is choreography!

We got 2nd place. So yes, in addition to my wig in a box, I got to carry a trophy through airport security on the return flight. Anyway here are some pics:

The transformation begins.

I'm 99% certain I'm going to start wearing foundation.
My skin looks amazing.
The final group. That feeling you are feeling is called 'jealousy.'

If and when I get a video of our much talked about performance, I will upload it. Note: when I say 'talked about' I mean 'whispered about in reverent hushed tones.'

I still haven't found a video. Sad face. But I was just tagged in this little gem of a perfect picture of my less than perfect fuete.


Also, the true highlight of the entire weekend was another chance to do some 'wigging'. Haven't heard of it? It's all here, losers.

She's talking. I'm taking over the Internet.

Friday, October 21, 2011

this post is imaginary.

This is pretty much a non-post. But, hey, I blogged about reality TV and you still came back. The joke's on you, chump! But seriously, this isn't real at all. It's imaginary and you probably should just come back next week when I have a some hilarious story about drinking, being hungover, yelling at people at the grocery, or when I bake something...


Well, if that little disclaimer or YouTube video didn't drive you away, you're a lot more bored than most days you read this blog. 

Anyway, on to the imaginary non-post post.

I'm a borderline terrible person. I'm a huge fan of Kelly Clarkson. Like obsessed, but in a healthy way. I do NOT consider myself a fan of American Idol, and with the exception of a handful of really excellent past contestants, I think this show is absolute monkey vomit.

Kelly Clarkson's much anticipated 5th studio album, Stronger, is coming out Monday, October 24th. But, this is the Internet folks... Like Beyonce, Lady Gaga, and pretty much anyone else whose crazy loyal fans love them so much they risk federal prison, her album leaked...

My new dream: Be photo-shopped THIS well!

Like the child who digs under his parents' bed and that creepy crawl space next to the laundry room in search of Christmas presents in November, I sought out and found the album. For shame, John. However, in my defense, I'm totally going to act surprised when I legally download the album I've had pre-ordered for weeks on iTunes because

1) I believe in supporting underrated artists whom I love, and
2) the Eric Hutchinson penned track Why Don't You Try is a amazing and "iTunes only."

The following is a completely biased, but still honest review of Stronger.

Let Me Down, I Forgive You, What Doesn't Kill You (Stronger), and Einstein in their demo form all leaked earlier this summer and for the most part sound exactly the same in fully engineered album form. Einstein (that leaked as Dumb + Dumb = U) is, well, kind of dumb. 

However, the first three fully encompass the classic pop-rocker Kelly sound that are best compared to her earlier work of Since U Been Gone and My Life Would Suck Without You. They aren't groundbreaking in any enormous way and don't show much artistic development. But they are all extremely radio friendly, like "if I hear that Adele song that is on every station one more time I'm going to drive my car off an overpass" kind of radio friendly. 

Like these three tracks, Stronger has other pop-rock gems whose remixed choruses will have you jumping on a dance floor surrounded by glitter-covered twinks and more glow sticks than Time Square on New Year's Eve include: Dark Side, You Love Me, Don't Be A Girl About It, and You Can't Win.

You Can't Win is the Kelly Clarkson version of Lady Gaga's Born This Way. It's supposed to be empowering for the underdog, embrace who you are no matter what people think song. But it is lyrically weak and seems to be trying too hard. The melody, chorus, and vocals are all amazing, the lyrics are just dumb and too straightforward.

Don't Be A Girl About It is marginally as stupid lyrically, and even more so conceptually. However, the hook on the chorus has a whistle like quality that is pure pop music meth. But, I firmly believe ANY song with a whistle is catchy. Case in point: Britney Spears's I Wanna Go, this summer's #1 Moves Like Jagger, and of course the theme song from The Andy Griffin Show.

Now, onto the reason I love Kelly Clarkson more than anyone else currently on the pop scene: the ballads. Oh sweet, melted butter the ballads!!! As much as I love the glow stick, glitter dance remixes of her empowering break up songs, I've always been a Kelly ballad fan.

Found on the Deluxe edition of Stronger, is one of my favorite songs on the entire EP, The Sun Will Rise. It is a girl on girl duet featuring former American Idol judge, Kara Dioguardi. Before (and after) AI, Kara has written hits for Kelly (Walk Away, I Do Not Hook Up) and tons of other artists (Celine Dion, Christina Aguilera, and P!nk). She also has some recordings of her own that I have never heard of... Anyway, this girl can sing, and almost keeps up with Kelly on this amazing track.

The War Is Over and Breaking Your Own Heart (the last track on the standard edition) are also amazing.

Finally as of this morning's commute to work Standing In Front Of You is my favorite ballad on the album. It features NONE of the traditional Kelly giant, chesty Chewbacca notes. It is extremely slow. The chorus has this fascinating whisper-like, eerily syncopated quality that really delivers. It's almost haunting. I've never heard Kelly use such a delicate vocal on any record before.

Overall, this is probably one of Kelly's best works to date. It isn't personal and raw like her commercially unsuccessful but amazing album My December, but it seems much more Kelly than her previous All I Ever Wanted. Unlike that album that seemed completely label driven, she actually sounds like she believes what she's singing in her vocal delivery.

If you are still reading at this point, you are either a huge Kelly Clarkson fan too, or *EXTREMELY* bored and just wasted 5 minutes of your day on something you care nothing about... Take a look at your life dammit! 

Monday, October 17, 2011

in a (disjointed) pickle.

This could possibly be the most disjointed, ADD post I've ever written. It probably could have been multiple posts or scrapped altogether, but it's Monday... I debated on blogging about TV (again) or the Taylor Swift concert I went to a few weeks ago. Just be grateful I did not.

Pickled things and I have a complicated, delicious relationship. Whether it is the mildly perverted, over-sized dills you get at movie theaters or me coming home drunk and eating an entire jar of green olives in my underwear alone in my room, I can't get enough.

So, the other day I was overwhelmed with the uncontrollable urge to pickle something... particularly okra. I made a facebook post inquiring if any of my friends had good recipes and/or experience with pickling, because I had no experience and online recipes freak me out.

You never know who submitted these recipes, and most of the comments/reviews are super lame food trolls. I mean people might say 'This was the best thing ever. I am blind now it was so delicious.'  But, the reviewer's hyperbolic enthusiasm does not a believer out of me make. 

Also, all of the recipes I was reading made it sound really complicated. I'm not sure this is actual math but: glass jars + boiling hot water + my aforementioned uncontrollable urge + excitement to leave my simple 9-5 life and build a pickling emporium = an almost certain disaster full of vinegar tears, severe burns, and zero bathtubs full of pickled okra. 

After about 348 text messages to my foodie friends and a few online recipes later, I built up the courage to trust a woman who has never not provided me with disgustingly delicious food. That being said, I'm pretty sure you could put melted butter on Biohazard waste, and I would eat it...

That's right, y'all. I used Paula Deen's recipe for pickled okra.

I made this! You can make your own at the best website ever:
PaulaDeenridingthings.com

Once I recovered from the shock of the exclusion of butter and my heart started beating again, I was ready to conquer this, my vinegary Everest.

In response to my post, my work-wife was nice enough to give me some canning jars she had on hand in the promises that I return one full of pickled okra goodness. So, I was set... ish. 

My only experience with jars like these is drinking sweet tea
out of them until my bladder needs its own zip code.

Although I was still terrified at the idea of handling a giant vat of boiling water, the ingredients were simple, and even though canning talks a lot about 'sanitization' I didn't sweat it. I mean, if these things last one week, it will be a miracle of Biblical proportions so  I wasn't extremely anal about making sure they were crazy sanitized.


Here they are boiling in their water bath that seals them. Is it just me or does it look like I'm growing little aliens or velociraptor fetuses. (Or is it "feti"?? No, that sounds like bad cheese or a foot disorder). Anyway, that picture is weird.

OK here, my friends, are the finished products!

That white thing is garlic, not an undeveloped raptor fetus. 
I *totally* would have taken more pictures of the actual process, but in my defense, I was trying to find the best way to avoid third degree burns.

Turns out, these are AMAZING. It was ridiculously simple and I sustained little to no burns on my arms. This was one of my proudest moments ever. This rarely ever happens to me when it comes to trying new things.

You know? You want to do something, you have a task in front of you with multiple steps and a clear goal, and for once, the final outcome is almost exactly as you pictured it!

This doesn't even happen to me when it comes to the most simple things. For instance, Saturday evening, I was planning on having a little 'me' time before my usual weekend craziness. So, I decided a glass of wine, a little snack, and some DVR would be just the ticket.

Turns out, when you drink wine out of a box and said box is almost empty, aggressively tilting it and forcibly removing the bag from the box can sometimes lead to knocking the almost full glass you were trying to fill off the counter...


My 'me' time quickly turned into fighting back tears while mopping up wine off the floor and debating to suck the remaining wine directly out of the spout.

Speaking of really, really sad things. As Saturday night came to an end, I found myself limping home. Two of my middle toes on my left foot were throbbing, but I don't remember stubbing my toes or getting stepped on.

The next day, there were no cuts, bruises or visible swelling and they still hurt. Does anyone know what might be wrong with me? It's not unbearable pain and I still maintain full range of motion in my toes. I'm too terrified lazy to actually go to a doctor and going to WebMD and typing in 'toe pain' will most likely generate a diagnosis of some terrible combination of  gout, parvo, and possible feline AIDS.

Side note / PS - Who the hell came up with the phrase 'in a pickle' anyway? I mean, if I could literally be IN a pickle, I would simply eat my way out, very slowly. That saying should change. 

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

this is why people don't want 'us' to get married

I haven't blogged in a while, and unfortunately for you, this one is about TV again.

Remember when I was mentally raped a few weeks ago when I was at a birthday party that ended up being a filming of LOGO's new reality show, The A-List: Dallas. No? Well, consider yourself lucky.


Anyway, the very first episode aired last night... For shame gays. For. Shame.

I was a bottle and a half of wine into my night, so at this point you probably could have made me watch Dora The Explorer and for the first time, I wouldn't have violently refused to 'flap my arms like a bird' or 'jump in the air' when that bossy little Mexican barks her orders.

This buzz mixed with my dramatically low expectations probably had all the makings of some excellent guilty pleasure television. However, I found myself physically offended by their depiction of Dallas and gay men. I felt exactly like the Orcs after The Lord Of The Rings came out...

So, much of the cast is easily forgettable, not very attractive, and bloated stereotypes of materialistic, bitchy homos. I've spent about as much time researching the minutiae of this show as I have spent pursuing my career in women's basketball, so I may not be 100% correct in saying that not all of these fags are even from Dallas... thankfully.

Also, the girl... That girl. I'm sure she is lovely as sure as I hope that her hair is a bad wig. I've been in enough douchey straight bars to know what a hot, trendy, Dallas girl looks like, and NONE of them would be caught dead with that huge, over the top curly hair. It is is exactly how I imagine all the little girls on Toddlers & Tiaras to look like when they grow up... with serious Daddy issues and very little personality.

To anyone who might think the Southern charm star is a dreamboat, I hate to be the iceberg to your Titanic, but I've seen him in person and the camera lies. I mean, watching I caught myself getting moderately Bambi-eyed, but then my memory kicked in and reminded me of his face-to-face appearance. Thanks, brain. You rock!

The ONLY character I can probably find myself in the same room with without the aid of mind-altering prescription drugs is the same character I'm pretty sure tweeted me last night during my drunken Twitter rant on how bad this show was.


James, heavy drinking, tears, and a drag queen bestie? Yes, schma'am.

Finally, I'm sure these people are all adequate human beings, but the camera changes you. Sometimes it makes you look more attractive than you actually are. Other times it makes you look like the epitome of a bad gay stereotype that makes most middle-Americans not want dudes to marry other dudes.

But that's Reality TV for you, I guess. I find anytime someone even mentions ANY of the Real Housewives of Any City, I want to repeal the 19th amendment. I just hope the public basic cable actions of the few doesn't alter the already close-minded view of the many.

In other words: not all gay men act like this. I mean if they did, what options would I be left with? I couldn't turn straight... So... I'd probably just become a lesbian... or find a really tall bridge.

Monday, September 26, 2011

blame tv

A lot of y'all have been asking why I haven't blogged in a while. By 'a lot' I mean, like two of my close friends.

The culprit is TV. In case you are unlike me and have hobbies that actually get you out of your house, you might be unaware that the new fall seasons of TV have returned.

Just like the first day of school, I wore my best outfit, was prepared  to greet (and judge) the newbies, and developed a near anxiety attack over seeing my old friends after a long summer.

In the realm of old friends, can someone please go all Travis on Glee and just put it down. I was a huge advocate for the homo-explosion that was the first teaser trailer of this show two years ago. I was a Gleek. I may or may not have cried to multiple episodes back when the show had heart. Now, it is a repetition of the same jokes and little to zero development of the most two dimensional, stereotypical characters on television. Seriously, Dot on The Animaniacs, had more depth.

For a show whose third season's marketing campaign is centered around dodge ball, Glee once again, misses the mark. Puns are so fun!

The truly sad thing about this whole situation is that like a victim of domestic violence, I will probably continue to come back every Tuesday night, dinner will be cold, and I will die a little bit inside.

But speaking of housewives, the ladies of Wisteria Lane are back for a final season of over-the-top story lines, beyond the grave narration, and the best endorsements for Botox of EVER.


So far, I'm pleased. The secret is compelling enough, the women look better than ever (again, thank you, Botox), and with a planned final season, hopefully the writers thoughtfully tie up story lines and give a fitting end to Sunday night's biggest guilty pleasure.

My only qualm is Vanessa Williams. Like, other than Ugly Betty's cancellation, why are you here?! You're basically a Black Edie, and they killed her years ago.

Smart move for Dana Delaney leaving the lane and is now absolutely destroying it on ABC's Body Of Proof. This is quickly turning into my favorite show of ever because,


1) Delaney is a ridiculously subtle and powerful actress, and

2) Nerd Alert! I've had a lady crush on Jeri Ryan ever since she played Seven of Nine on Star Trek: Voyager. 


Anyway... Modern Family continues to be the gold standard of scripted comedy. 

30 Rock won't be back until 2012 because of Tina Fey's pregnancy. This only validates my belief that children ruin just about everything. 

And in the category of newcomers...

The overly hyped return of Simon and Paula in the form of the train wreck that has been two episodes of The X Factor literally made me want to Syliva Plath myself. Had there not been a cake in the oven, I probably would have. I anxiously awaited for a singer to blow me away or at the very least, for Paula to do something crazy, like mix up her uppers and downers and dance with MC Skat Cat 'Opposites Attract' style. 

Sadly, neither of these things happened.

ABC's Revenge is promising enough. Even though, I feel this would have been a more successful story line as a mini-series than a full blown series...

Finally, ABC's Charlie's Angels reboot has all the makings of a great cancelled series. Poor acting, heavy and expensive production, and poor casting choices. However, just like the two movies that were ridiculously terrible and near and dear to my heart, I will watch it with a bowl of popcorn and fish bowl full of boxed wine.


I promise I'll blog about something more interesting next week...

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

and then i was mentally raped.

If I haven't explicitly said it in a previous blog, let me make it clear that I love TV more than some of my real life friends. It is always there for me, doesn't talk back, and everyone is so attractive.

That being said, my entire world view (TV) was changed forever last Saturday night...

I am from Dallas, and if you are a reality TV junkie, you know there are multiple shows on various networks that were filmed or are being filmed here right now. I'm pretty indifferent to all of them, because the ONLY reality shows I watch are The Voice, Project Runway, and Top Chef (because I'm gonna start stalking Adam Levine, I want Tim Gunn to adopt me, and I have a lady boner for Padma Lakshmi.)

I mean, look at this:


Seriously. 

Anyway, I don't watch any 'real' housewives, toddlers, or shows where cameras just film people acting out the drama of their semi-scripted lives. I am not bashing them or those that watch them, I just would rather sit on a knife than watch beautiful people drunkenly yell at one another for absolutely no reason.

Meanwhile, back on the part of this post that is actually relevant...

A birthday party Saturday for a few friends of mine turned out to also be a shooting for The LOGO Network's newest show: The A-List: Dallas.


For starters, there is zero.zero audible music in this cute little bar, there are a few camera people and lighting staff and what not, and a bunch of gay guys standing around awkwardly holding expensive cocktails. I find the more someone tells you to "act naturally", the more you look like you've just lost control of your bowels.

Mind you, even though I was totally prepared to throw a drink in someone's face, rip out a queen's weave, or streak past the camera, they were little interested in my need for attention. They were however concerned with setting up the most awkward and fake looking situations I've ever seen.

I know there is always some level of set-up with these types of shows, but the staging of the conversations and character's entrances was baffling. After being around one another for a good hour, they filmed a scene where one character waited for his cue behind camera to walk into view and act so excited to see the other people you could have sworn he just took 18 Valium on a roller coaster.

While standing with my real friends (who had ZERO Valium), we talked about how shockingly staged it was. Then one of my friend's said that he once volunteered at an Extreme Makeover: Home Edition build once.

That's right. FAKEover. See what I did there?!
He went into detail about how the houses are practically pre-made and assembled on site, the stars don't do jack sh!t work or designing, and how they have to fake the 'MOVE THAT BUS!' scene over and over until they get the 'best' reaction' from the family.

I was beside myself, and again, on ZERO Valium.

I never had Santa growing up, because my parents didn't care enough to put effort into something so stupid, but this is probably EXACTLY how I would have reacted to this revelation: mental rape.

To think of all the tears I've wasted on that damn show.

PS - If you do watch the show and see me, my mouth is probably gaping wide open or I'm making some terrible face where it looks like I have Bell's palsy because I do NOT photograph well in the candid. 

See what I mean?
Now, go forth and feel immediately better about yourself.

Friday, September 9, 2011

file under: worst thing ever

Along with paper cuts and pretty much anything Howie Mandel has done post Bobby's World, I'm talking about reading... benefits packages.

My company is going through some changes which include new benefits packages (health, dental, vision, and accidental death and dismemberment). We've had some of the most mind-numbing presentations about our benefits, and I'm still lost, confused, and upset. Mainly upset with my coworkers who insist on asking stupid questions. Ethel, we dont' care if your gout is covered under the new plan! 

Anyway... What is it about reading benefits information that makes me want to bludgeon myself to death with a sack of dead pigeons? Answer: EVERYTHING.

There are numbers, charts, words, and acronyms that make no sense. What the deuce is a PPO?

In search of more information (AKA a pleasant video presentation since we were handed packets full of paper to read and fill out by hand like commoners), I went to the web and found this:


First of all, the site had no videos and was no help. Secondly, I don't know why this little boy is so happy. Kid, if you have two nurses and a doctor smiling creepily at you, you are most likely about to be told you are dying, they are out of lollipops, about to get a spinal tap, or a terrifying combination of the three.

I left the provider's website because I was bored and 99% sure there was a kitten doing something more bad ass somewhere on the Internet.


Turns out, I was right!

Anyway, I don't know a thing about HMOs, deductibles, or anytime in the near future I planned on being dismembered, but I do know that I just wanna be able to go to a doctor if and when I bust my tailbone in a dance off. Is that too much to ask? Seriously, where do I check off the 'if I go to the ER, everybody be cool because I'm covered' box? No where? Which plan covers mental disorders like 'I can't stop crying when I'm hungover and listen to Taylor Swift and Adele'? None of them?! 

Whatever, like almost ALL of my life decisions, I'm going to ask the most attractive and healthy-looking person around me what plan they are going with and just do the same...

Thursday, September 8, 2011

how to *not* have a conversation

I have been labeled by enough people as loud, childish, and many other adjectives that also describe Rachel Ray. But I would like to think that I can express my opinions in a tactful way that encourages faux-intellectual discussion. If I have been drinking, all bets are off and I'll probably just slap you in the face for no reason.

So... why is the act of artful self-expression lost on so many people who seem FAR less annoying than me in almost all other social situations?

There are multiple people in my life that I just can't talk to... about anything! I'm not even just talking the important "hot button" issues like religion, politics, or the amount of herpes on ABC's Bachelor Pad.

I can't even talk about the most trite and superficial things with these ass hats.

The conversation almost always goes like this:


Me: I really like [apples, wallabies, snow, salt water taffy, etc].

Them: [Apples, wallabies, snow, salt water taffy, etc] are F**KING STUPID.

[Here ends the conversation.]

A few things...

1) Thank you for using such foul language in casual conversation. Now, I can quickly and safely assume that your stupidity is not only restricted to your inability to express yourself.

2) It is always about something stupid. It could be a new music video or a restaurant I went to recently. I didn't say that the Holocaust didn't happen or that a Sonic Route 44 is 'too much Dr. Pepper.'

3) I'm actually starting my period as I type this next part. It's not just what you said, it's how you said it. Your tone immediately conveys that because you think "[Apples, wallabies, snow, salt water taffy, etc] are F**KING STUPID", and I said I liked them, I am F**KING STUPID too. (This is why I can't talk to you).

4) I can safely label you as a 'non-person who doesn't deserve my attention or oxygen' when you express opinions of politics like this: 'Rick Perry/Obama/Caesar is a F**KING moron!' This does not validate your personal beliefs in any way. Why don't you say what you LOVE about your political party instead or at the very least cite something on his/her record that you disagree with and why? That way you sound intellectual and justified in the way you vote.

5) Successfully expressing one's opinion is not the same as disparaging another's.

If you don't happen to agree with what I said, say so, and for the love of bacon, say why. Then we can have what civilized people call a conversation. But so crassly saying that they're stupid is beyond offensive and immediately kills the pointless conversation we were about to have about Nicki Minaj or that time I egged a car at Whole Foods.

I would love to have a pointless conversation about the minutia of 30 Rock or even an intense debate about something currently trending on Twitter (AKA Justin Bieber). I mean, these are opinions. No one is going to be right or win. Get over it! Not everything is a debate. I mean, this is coming from a guy who would rather hear the words 'you're right' more than 'I love you.'

So, everybody be cool and let me talk about how reading books that have been made into movies is for over-achievers, because reading is F**KING STUPID!

Monday, August 29, 2011

the terminal: where class goes to die

Airing on this fall and cancelled before winter.
This fall, ABC is rebooting the classic TV show Pan AM. This period piece shows flying as God intended: beautiful rich people, skinny female flight attendants, and smoking is allowed everywhere.

My flight this past weekend surely shows what a diaper full of tiger vomit that concept is. I was debating on live blogging this, but 1) my two year old BlackBerry most likely does NOT have an app for that, and 2) I don't know exactly what 'live blogging' is.


Either, way it is/was written from the perspective of me waiting in a terminal. Also I was too lazy to go back and change all the tenses. Furthermore, I have blogged about this before, but now with more awesome.

People really are terrible. This statement never feels truer than when I fly.

If everyone is complaining about the rising costs of airline travel, why am I surrounded by so many poor, ugly people? Oh, that's right. I'm flying Southwest.

To my right is a semi-balding man whose mouth hasn't closed for the last 30 minutes. He is either having the world's most relaxing stroke or he is definitely missing all kinds of important chromosomes.

To my left is a 60 year old man wearing a fedora. I mean, really? You are too old to be going through a mid-life crisis or even appropriately know who Justin Timberlake is. Also, no one should ever where a fedora. Ever. They are the epitome of douchebaggery. You might as well a sign that says "I bro-hug my fraternity pledges and secretly make out with them when we're drunk... And a lot when we're sober!"

Behind me is a woman whose child has been screaming since I sat down. We aren't even on the plane yet. "Ma'am, I've only had one beer and in a short while a middle-aged homosexual is going to make me turn off this iPod. I hate to impose, but may I smother your child?!"

Across the terminal that meth built, there is a small kid-oriented area. Kids and airplanes are like dating and sobriety, the two just don't work together. The TV is showing Pok
émon which is basically an old anime cartoon that pretty much destroys any useful information a child learned from watching Jurassic Park.

Of course the one moderately attactive guy here is talking to a girl who looks about as interesting as low-fat yogurt but clearly doesn't eat it. 


I'm boarding now.

Monday, August 22, 2011

i am *probably* not a serial killer.

But if you asked Diane at the Kroger I frequently shop at, she might tell you differently.

So, after returning from yet another weekend spent in at a trashy casino, I decided to head to the grocery store to get my little ducks in a row for the coming work week.

Other than the fact that I did not have to yell at any patrons who feel it is their right to cut in front of me in the Express Lane (with more than 15 items), it was a pretty standard trip: milk, eggs, salt & vinegar Pringles, and a box of wine. You know, the usual.

Anyway, if you've kept up with my blog, you probably know I am in a feud with Ellen Paige by starting a national craze called "wigging." By 'national', I mean me. And by 'craze', I mean I'm crazy.

If efforts to keep this ball rolling, I once again went 'wigging' with one of my new most favorite people of all time. The results were once again flawless:


Well, almost flawless.


My friend may or may not have come out of the entire incident with a small bald spot because I never warned anyone (or myself) that when 'wigging' one should be extra careful when dealing with expensive and beautiful artificial hair.

I knew what I had to do: take this fallen hair extension as a relic from an incredible adventure. Like a movie stub from a great first date... or your first date's watch.

I tucked the little lovely into my back pocket and began thinking of names. Name deciding quickly turned into more drinking, so I pretty much forgot about it...

Cut to a week later and I'm where this story began: at the Kroger, standing in front of Diane, searching for the nearest emergency exit.

As I reached into my back pocket for my wallet, the hair extension fell out onto the counter. Only, my relic (along with my jean shorts they were in) had been through the washer and dryer a few times. It now resembled something a cat would throw up or something you would find in the drain at a trucker stop.


Diane and I looked at each other, and I swiped my Visa and grabbed the hair faster than a tranny on a crack pipe. I avoided any further eye contact and ran to my car.

Also, when I got carded for my wine, I mistakenly handed her my hotel room key. I'm fairly certain Diane has alerted the local authorities as well as the hotel staff of the Holiday Inn Express of Durant, Oklahoma.

In conclusion, my next blog post might be coming from prison... I'll let you know if it is anything like Oz.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

UPDATED: First World Problems

People all over the world are suffering from natural disasters, starvation, and oppressive governments... Here in my neck of the woods and among some of my too fabulous gay for words friends, our problems are what we like to call "First World Problems."

I'm not writing this to make people feel bad about the fabulous lives they live or to donate your hard earned money to some charity whose commercial's soundtrack features Sarah McLachlan. I just think these situations are hilarious and everyone can use a little perspective on their lives from time to time...

For instance, one day my friend and I were talking about baking. We proceeded to spend 8-10 minutes talking about how annoying it is that cute ceramic pie plates are usually deep dish and normal pie crusts don't fit in them, but standard Pyrex pie plates are ugly to display at dinner parties. This can also be filed under: "Extremely gay problems."
Left: really cute. Right: What am I a farmer?

The other day, I was a friend's house and he asked me to look at his back because he was afraid he was breaking out after his most recent laser hair removal treatment.

Another friend updated facebook saying, "I'm at the dermatologist. Every time I leave this place I look like an extra from a Wes Craven movie. Urgh."*

Or like when I am driving, get stuck in traffic, and almost pee my pants. I feel wronged, upset, and full of pee. Then I look to my right and see someone waiting for the bus stop... in 106 degree heat... in Dallas.

Here are some other quick First World Problems that continually ruin my life and make me feel like a selfish child who has a temper tantrum at Disney World:

"Crap, I'm at the gym and left my iPod at home... I can't workout without Kelly Clarkson blaring in my head."

Spending 20 minutes at dinner expressing one's disdain "valet only" establishments.

Using valet at said establishments.

Being outside a 4G network.




Absolutely ANYTHING that has to do with rebooting, buffering, or upgrading. ANYTHING.

And, finally, the status update that got this idea in my head and inspired this whole blog post:



As you can easily assume, I love my friends...

*I teasingly commented "#FirstWorldProblems" on what I assumed was some sort of cosmetic trip to the dermatologist. Later, my friend provided another update: "Two ice packs, a fan, eight stitches, & almost passed out, but now my chest is cancer free." #ifeellikeanasshole 

Anything I missed?! What First World Problems destroy your daily life?