TWITTER . . . WHAT ARE YOU FOR???

My sister keeps trying to get me into this twitter thing, which, from what I can see, has absolutely no purpose whatsoever.  It seems like basically updating my facebook status every 23 seconds or so, which I think is a bit obsessive.  I got twitter over three months ago and I think I've updated it three times.  If I did use it as it is intended to be used, here's a little something how it would look.  Just a normal Tuesday morning . . .

9:00 a.m. - Alarm goes off.  F no, bitches, I'm hungover!

9:10 a.m. - Oh fine.  I was having dreams about 9/11 anyway.

9:30 a.m. - Drop Alana off at school.  No, I will not carry your coffee to your class, gimp city.

9:45 a.m. - Get home.  Anyone want half my breakfast sandwich?

9:46 a.m. - Matt wants half my breakfast sandwich.

10:00 a.m. - Cash Cab

10:15 a.m. - Cash Cab

10:30 a.m. - Cash Cab

10:45 a.m. - Cash Cab

11:00 a.m. - Cash Cab is over . . . 

11:10 a.m. - Cry

11:13 a.m. - Poop

11:15 a.m. - The robots have arrived.  

11:16 a.m. - My need to update my twitter as I battle the robots is hindering my performance.

11:18 a.m. - Lazer burn to right eye.  Blinded, in severe pain.  

11:20 a.m. - Left ankle broken, arm severed.  Blood all over laptop.

11:23 a.m. - Light fading.  World growing darker.  Robots win.  I must warn-

See.  Twitter causes death.

I was reading cosmo whilst on the can the other day, and it occurred to me that the horrendous advice that these people dispense might actually be taken seriously by some poor unfortunate souls.  I've taken a year-long hiatus from relationships, so I might be a little rusty, but actually I think it's given me pretty good perspective on the do's, don'ts, and definitely won'ts of dating.  The beginning of a relationship is arguably the most important.  It's the time you can ignore all the little things that will come to be extremely bothersome about the other person due to your hormones raging over the fact that you (Yes YOU!!!) are actually gettin' some.  But what if you just cut to the chase and flat out talked about the things you don't like about each other?  Those hormones will probably still have you gettin' some, it just might be a little less cuddly.  However, there are some things you should never compromise, not even if [insert object of sexual fantasy here] knocks on your door wearing nothing  but a jimmy and a smile.

5) Music

I listen to truly terrible music.  We're talking awful here.  For example, as I type this, my iTunes has just switched from Cartel to Dashboard Confessional.  Yeah, I know, and no, I don't know how I managed to lose my V-card either.  I know it's terrible, but it's what I like.  And I'm not going to ditch my long term lover, shitty indie music, for any guy that wants me to snuggle and listen to Dave Matthews.  Blech.  So, I try to be upfront, and blast Tegan and Sara the entirety of every first date, unless I don't drive, in which case I am forced to sing.

4) How You Like to Do the Diggity

Love is magical, wonderful, fuzzy, and all that shit, but let's be honest here.  If there ain't no kickin' in the kurtanging, then all the goo goo eyes and cuddlefests in the world aren't going to make up for the lack of spark.  You like it rough . . . he's the slow, passionate type.  Or you like it upside down and outside, but he likes it in the refrigerator.  Whatever.  If you can't reach some sort of mutually satisfying agreement about how you do it to it, it ain't gonna work.

3) Friends

We all have those friends.  You know the ones that try and test whatever boy you bring around to make sure that he's good enough for you.  Those roommates who habitually end up sobbing in front of whatever poor bastard you bring home, or who pay for background checks about whatever gentleman who takes you to a movie, who break into his house and go through his personal property.  They can be slightly inappropriate, perhaps embarrassing.  But you've been with them longer than whatever new dude is trying to get in your shiz, so don't become MIA just because someone is interested in your genitalia.

2) Beliefs

As a moderately religious person, I've caught a lot of flack from prospective lovers.  This is a major warning sign that this guy isn't going to respect your opinions on much else, seeing as he can't tolerate the most important views you have on something that effects only you and has NOTHING to do with him.  

1) Your Grosser Side

I drink beer in bed while eating cashews.  I pick my nose unabashedly.  You'll figure it out sometime.  Deal with it now. 

Things to avoid.

In the short span of my 21 years thus far, I have learned quite a bit.  Mostly by way of mistakes.  Here I compile my top five things to avoid in life.  Hopefully they can save some poor soul with poorer judgement than mine.  If that person exists slash is still alive.

5) Cigarettes.

Delicious.  Relaxing.  Pure, tasty, cylindrical evil.  If there is any habit you should strongly consider not ever considering, it is cigarettes.  Even while drunk.  Remember how hard it was to sleep after you stopped sucking your thumb as a teenager?  It's even harder to get through the day without a smoke once you've gotten into the habit.  Trust me.  I'm smoking right now  . . .

4) Abortions.  

Okay.  I've never had one.  But I consider them something to be avoided at all costs.  So, effectually, one should avoid unprotected sex.  Or sex altogether.  Fuck it.  Don't even masturbate.  

3) Minority-based debates.

Whenever a black/asian/jewish/gay person starts talking about how life is hard for them . . . agree.  Your over-privileged, upper-middle class, caucasian plight will NEVER compare, regardless of how long you had your braces on for.

2) Your friends relationships.

ESPECIALLY if both parties are friends of yours.  The last thing you want dropped into a couple's fight is your name.  Like "(Insert name here) agrees with me, you're being totally unreasonable about this."  Think about fights you've had in your own relationships.  If you involve yourself, you are about to be dragged into one much worse.  And you won't even be getting laid.

1) Blogging.

Huge waste of time while you should be studying for midterms.

New Rock of Love Bus tonight!!!

There was a lot of dramz on this show, as per usual, but the best incident had to be when Daddy Brett asked "everyone not named Melissa" to leave so he could talk to her about how she dared to possibly have a boyfriend, and furthermore . . . . INSINUATE THAT HIS LUSCIOUS BLOND LOCKS ARE FAKE!!!  Brett really should have been saying "anyone who isn't a complete retard" leave the room, if he really wanted to get down to the truth about his hair, which looks pretty much identical to a wig I wore for Halloween once when I went as a 'groovy girly' in middle school.  Only mine didn't have sideburns.  Melissa went on to receive the "get the fuck out" when Brett discovered she also had a boyfriend.  I think it was mostly about the hair though.

The true tragedy of the evening was former porn star Brittaney getting the boot.  If there was anything remotely funny about the bi-polarly big-breasted trainwreck being forced to leave the man she had somehow deluded herself into thinking was her soulmate over the course of the previous four days, I did not see it.  In fact, I actually worry over what became of her after the show ended.  Will she come to the reunion special?  Will she still be alive?  We must wait and see. 

Ah, yes. The snow is falling, the cat is purring at my feet, and I am absolutely miserable. And somehow facebook knows it. Why do I believe this, you may ask? Facebook has little ads on the sidebars that cater to your likes and dislikes. For example they told me I should check out the new season of 30 Rock on dvd when it came out. Today I got this link: http://www.everystudent.com/features/source.html

No biggie, I'm all for the JC and being a good person. But it was a bit misleading considering the link was titled I hate my life.  Thanks facebuddy.  I wish I could unfriend myself . . . 

Something very startling occurred in my life this past week.  I found myself not only watching, but ENJOYING an episode of The Real World.  In particular this scene with Chet and Ryan:

This is the only time I've ever been able to relate to anyone on this show, let alone kinda-sorta want to be their friend.  Why did I not audition when they came around UMass?  Other notable highlights included Chet and Ryan debating the gender status of their transroomie (Davey Havok??? is that you????) , a conversation that concluded with Chet (the Mormon one) saying all he knew was that she had boobs and he "almost got to see them".  Classic.  I liked the old fashion pranking going on, until sourpuss J.D. flips his shit because someone put his windsock sized condom on a banana and fed it to the fish.  Chet and Ryan's blank reaction to Sarah and Katelynn's porpoise conversation was amusing as well.  Pretty much if Ryan and Chet had a show, I would watch it and be less embarrassed then to admit I habitually watch the drunk-lust-drama-face show featuring (ordinarily) the most vapid people on the face of the earth.  

What I would really like to know is where the eff are the other roommates???  I mean we saw Baya doin' her white girl dance.  We saw Sarah apparently discover that she left her sense of humor at the airport.  But what happened to Scott and Devyn?  They hardly got any face time.  One of them better turn out to be a closeted gay robot with a huge dick if they want to compete for air time in the Brooklyn house.  

All in all it looks like this season is going to be the religious right/military folk vs. the liberal and sexually alternative left.  

 Man I wish I was there.

Students returning from winter break to UMass will be thrilled to find . . .

More red signs! That's right, now nearly every building has a giant red and white sign. They're not in the way or anything. Oh yeah, and the new rec center . . . forgedda'boudit. Yes, indeed, UMass is forging ahead in giving itself a new makeover after being pretty much unceremoniously dumped by the state when they cut millions of dollars in funding. Like a desperate woman, trying to convince herself that she is in fact worthwhile after her good-for-nothing loser boyfriend ran off with some other chick, UMass is painting itself up like a whore, ignoring the various weakness within its infastructure. But ya, know. We got big red signs at least.

Have you ever felt like fate was listening? I should have when a commercial for New Zealand played "forever Young" as their theme song. I mean, is their anything more fateful than "Forever Young"???
Fate caught me again during the night when I was out with a friend and started mentioning the Oasis song "Wonderwall" in humorous context (it was really very funny I swear), and then the SONG STARTED PLAYING. Now I could chalk it up to someone overhearing my impeckable music choice and relaying it to the jukebox. But I refuse. This was an act of fate people, and only two of us were there to witness it. I know no one reads this, but if so, leave your fateful moments in the comments.

jenn
&
gentry

51% Compatible

♥ jenn and gentry have never gotten together romantically, but perhaps some day they will. They both drink, so there is no incompatibility there. The fact that gentry is a big sports fan could be divisive, in terms of how the couple spends their time. gentry may complain that jenn is too sloppy. And then there is the fact that their styles mismatch, although that isn't too big a deal. Furthermore, their astrological signs are not in harmony. But their views on children are similar. Both are sexually-uninhibited. Overall, there are a number of compatibility weak spots between jenn and gentry. These will cause friction in a relationship and will be difficult to overcome. ♥

Test Your Dating Compatibility

How I like to play with Gentry:

gentry:  she never cut ties with me because she likes the attention

probably did the same thing with him

You left the chat by logging out or being disconnected.

me: hmmm

you should have sex with a relative of hers

gentry:so here's what i liked about it...we were both autonomous

completely

me: do you ever wonder about my love life

gentry:haha i was actually thinking of you yesterday yes

me: i think ive been rendered completely incapable of loving another person

gentry:i think that's sort of where ashley might possibly be at

she seems to love being loved, but wont love anyone back

at least not completely

i think legit she went back with her ex because it was comfortable and convenient

me: holy shit

i just saw a ghost

gentry: hahahaa what?

sure it wasnt that cat/

me: cats dont float

gentry: lol

me: oh wait it was the cat

hang on a second, she's crying

gentry: i just dont understand how u can have such ridiculous chemistry with someone and run away to an ex?

me: okay back

sorry about that

cat was upset . . . some shit about her ex boyfriend, she's cool now though

Liveblogging at its best:

So tonight I have decided I would pull an all-nighter in an attempt to finish my film project.  Things did not go as I planned.

8:00 - I arrive at the home of a certain Adderall-induced friend.  12 dollars later, I leave, equipped to handle the night ahead.

8:20 - I pick up an 18 pack of Coors Light to split between Mike and I.  I am wearing my excessively furry hat, hoping that this will not compromise my I.D.,  but the guy does not seem to give two shits either way.

8:35 - I pick up Mike, forcing him to be my company for the evening ahead.  Promising him we will be free to drink and do whatever at the station, we head out.

8:45- There are an excessive number of people at the station.  Mike and I fearfully chug beers in the back closet, hoping others will think that we are having sex.

9:00 - FOOD TIME.  I order a taco bowl with my surplus of YCMP swipes.  It's not very good, as I presumed.  I pick up some chips and several pieces of candy to compliment my order slash fill up my swipe alotment of $7.25.

10:00 - Back at the station, a few beers in, I begin to make some headway on the task at hand, piecing together clips that incriminate my partner, thus rendering my film irrelevant and (hopefully) more amusing than his.

11:00 - Hamms forces me to look at the wedding video he is making for his cousin.  I drink more beer.

12:00 - Mike leaves to go buy "sleeping aids" after our excessive studying.

12:30 - Mike returns, glassy eyed and slow-moving.

1:00 - Cigarette time!  I convince Hamms he will find his perfect girl provided he does not compromise his necessities.  

1:30 - Fuck this.

2:00 -  Another cigarette!  Mike leaves, considering he had very little work to do at all this evening.

2:30 - Hamms leaves.

3:00 - I go out to have a cigarette.

3:05 - I realize I have been locked out of the student union.

3:07 - I realize that I have left my laptop blaring music and a beer can on the desk.

3:08 - 3:15 - Crying.  Drive home.

3:20 - Call Christina.  Thank God the insomniac has the campus security number.

3:25 - Race back to campus while calling security.

3:35 - Security lets me in, chastising me for my idiocy.  

3:40 - Retrieve possessions.  Wipe sweat from brow.  Drive home.

So, it's been a rough day.  I got a parking ticket, hit a curb, and have a ton of homework with no end in sight.  So, Alana and I decided to do what never fails to make us chuckle:  we watched the Aristocats.  As I was watching, I realized the movie is both adorable, yet also disturbing in many ways.

- The lady wants to leave her fortune to her cats.  That's right.  Not to the people who would take care of her cats.  The cats themselves.  This brings loneliness to a whole new level.  I know people who love their pets a lot, but I don't know anyone who would leave their life's fortune to kittens.  One can only imagine the story of this unmarried, childless woman's life.  

-Thomas O'Malley the alley cat.  Thomas starts trying to woo Duchess when he meets her, but gets freaked when he finds out she has kittens.  It's similar to watching flirting take place in a trailer park.   

-Toulousse - While the other two kittens are clever and resourceful, their pudgy tan sibling seems to be a certain degree of retarded, plunking himself on the piano and splattering paint on the others during "Scales and Arpegios".  While Marie and Berlios are performing music, Toulousse is left to finger paint obscure artwork of the butler, Edgar.

-Roofies - Speaking of Edgar, he fucking roofies the cats, placing sleeping pills in their milk and then transporting their unconscious bodies to an undisclosed location.  While fucking Jafar is at least a magical enough villain to date-rape Jasmine, Edgar has to roofie animals.  What a loser.

I'll give more upon another viewing.

In light of recent personal events, I am offering advice to countless girls and boys everywhere.  Behold, Jenn's top five reasons of why to not get back with an ex:

5)  Awkward interim hookups:

- In the rare event that things will be going well when you and your ex reconnect, there is one thing that will always come up, and will always (most likely) start a cycle of shit with you and your ex.  That is, of course, the dreaded discussion of who, how many, and to what extent did you hook up with people while the two of you were separated.  In this conversation there are two options, neither of which are very palatable:  be honest, or lie.  If you lie, your new/old relationship will be founded on a base of distrust, and most likely crumble.  If you tell the truth, you will both be forced to confront the unappealing mental image of each other banging random people.  Either way, it's not a good prelude to a loving situation.

4)  Friend fall-out:

- After the initial breakup, all your friends/pets had to listen to you sob and/or bitch about your ex.  They most likely helped convince you that you're better off, more attractive, and possibly even more skillful sexually.  When you give them the good news that the two of you are back together, don't be surprised to see rolling eyes and possibly thrown objects.  Don't put your nearest and dearest through the same torment.  Find someone new.

3)  No first time excitements:

- You know the butterflies you get the first time you kiss someone?  Or sex somebody?  Forget all that when you get back together with an ex.  The sex will be the same, more or less, unless they scored some new moves/diseases from topic number 5.  Yucky.

2)  Past precedents:

- The most exciting thing about a new relationship is all the new things the two of you will find to fight about.  With a rekindled flame, you will most likely fight about old times, reminiscing about reasons the two of you still have to resent each other.  It's even more frustrating and less invigorating than the fiery fight of new lovebirds.

1)  You broke up for a reason:

- When you see your ex and they lost weight, or got a nice haircut, or have become otherwise more attractive, it might be easy to forget the things that are still the same about them.  Like their personality.  Obviously it didn't work out for you guys before.  Unless you've gone through some major life changes (like a lobotomy), most likely your personalities will come to the same clash that they have before.  Do yourself a favor and think long and hard not only about the breakup, but the month preceding it.  The (most likely) sexless span of 30 days or so that you spent glaring at each other or responding sarcastically to anything the other said.  

When all is said and done, sometimes love just isn't enough, people.  If the timing isn't right, or too much is going on, then sometimes you just have to cut your losses and learn from your mistakes.  It might sound harsh, but it's better than wasting your time and getting your hopes up.

Though I'm not much of a fan of commenting on my personal life via internet (at least since I stopped shopping at hot topic and spending hours on myspace) today is a big day for me. Today is the last day that I will ever be able to indulge in underage drinking. While most people would be celebrating the fact that they will now be able to legally go out to establishments, spend entire paychecks on overpriced booze and get sweat on by strangers, I am, I must say a bit sad. As of midnight tonight, I will no longer have to sketchily sit in cars while I wait for my roommates to buy me cheap beer. So, as a birthday present to myself, I am allowing an entirely self-absorbed, completely personal post: My Top Five Underage Drinking Experiences.

5) The first time I blacked out: This was not by any means one of my favorite experiences, but it was important in my history of alcoholism nonetheless. I was but a mere child of sixteen, foolish and free, coming off of an ill-advised straight edge phase. In attempts to impress an older boy in a ska band (Dear God, what WAS I thinking????) I arrived with him at a college drop-out's house and began emptying shots of spiced rum down my virgin throat. Cut to the next morning. I am in the basement, lying on the cement, with two slices of wheat bread and a glass of water beside me. Ska boy made out with my friend Becca when I was passed out in the bath tub, after puking my small intestine up all over the bathroom.

4) When I met my friend Christina: My freshman year of college was filled with a lot of irresponsible-at-best rendezvous with underage drinking. But this one was relatively harmless and both entertaining and beneficial towards the rest of my college career. Freshman Jenn is not very happy with college; her roommates are vapid bitches, her dorm is full of bleach-blonde sluts, and every boy that she talks to seems to think she wants to have sex with him. And none of them are cute. Sitting outside, smoking a Marlboro Light outside of her Pierpont dormitory, she strikes up a conversation with a girl she overhears trash-talking the residents of the building. This is Christina.

Christina: They're just all catty sluts and whores. I really can't stand it. Like we're in college now, we're not supposed to act like middle school bitches to each other.

Jenn: You're a bitch.

Christina looks at Jenn, eyes wide, taken aback by her assessment.

Jenn: I love it.

The two then traverse into the building flanked by two random guys that latched on to Christina when they saw the 30 rack that she was carrying around like a friggin' purse. Inside, the rack is emptied, then subsequently made into a bull-shaped pinata and filled with gummy bears.

3) The time I broke my wrist: While the splint was annoying, the story was hilarious. At least to me. Alana, Allison, and I got tickets to see a concert at the Mullins Center, a large venue on my school's campus. As college students, we felt obligated to get shitfaced prior to the show, and ended up downing homemade apple schnapps and Wild Turkey with visiting Kate in the room of some boys we were friends with upstairs. We got sufficiently drunk, then headed out, leaving Kate in the trusted hands of our friends and their alcohol. Kristen worked at the Mullins Center, and scored us wristbands so that we could get down to the floor instead of being confined to our balcony seats. Unfortunately, the floor crowd was a little too rowdy for my drunken state and I got pushed down, landing hard on my wrist. All 100 pounds of Allison sailed through the air at the assailant, punching the 15-year-old high schooler as hard as she could. I only realized my wrist hurt when my adrenaline died down and I sobered up a bit. I then called my roommate insisting that she come get me because I couldn't walk back to the dorm with my wrist injured (???). She was a chump, so she obliged and came and got us. Back at the dorm, we ventured upstairs to find Kate belligerently drunk, the Wild Turkey gone, and our friends very annoyed. One of the boys played rugby so I asked him to wrap my rapidly-swelling forearm, as he was used to caring for injuries. He must have done this three or four times that night, because each time he did, Kate decided I was fine and removed the bandage and yanked my wrist around. Two days later I finally went to the hospital and yeah, it was broken.

There are two linch pins that make this story funny. One is that as we arrived back at the dorm we told my roommate she could park in a lot nearer the building than her usual one. We promised she wouldn't get a ticket. She got a ticket. We promised we'd pay. We didn't. She sucked. The other is that I broke my wrist at a Taking Back Sunday concert.

2) Brush with the law: Junior year I dated a boy named Bryan from Northeastern who didn't drink at all. However, I still did. One of the weekends he came up to visit me, I took him to a big house party. The entire way there Bryan was nervous, certain that the cops were gonna come and we would all be arrested. His assumptions wavered on the side of reasonable seeing as the owner of the house had been arrested earlier that day for underage possession of alcohol. But he got bailed out, so we though it was cool. When we got there, the house was packed, and Bryan got even more freaked out. The whole time I assured him that the cops wouldn't come. The cops came. Perhaps in part due to the fact that my friend Brandon ordered chicken wings to the house the party was at. So, like mature, integrity-filled college students, we ran like hell. Brandon managed to intercept his chicken wings en route to the house, and none of us got arrested. Alana through up mid-step while walking back to her dorm. It was awesome.

1) Kristen's 20th Birthday: Kristen turned 20 our sophomore year on a Friday. So, we obviously began drinking after class, which was at around ten in the morning. The drinking continued at the dining hall, and was punctuated only by naps throughout the rest of the day. The girl was nearly moved to tears when we presented her with her touching gift: a cigarette disposal container Klaiber and I had stolen and had all of our friends draw on. Night fell, and for some reason the entire dorm seemed to have spilled out on the lawn outside. It was there that we noticed SOMEONE HAD STOLEN OUR PICNIC TABLE. Our eyes all immediately flashed to Butterfield, the freshman dorm at the top of the hill. Alana and I headed up to retrieve it. Unfortunately it was very heavy. We sat on the table, kicking and hissing as the freshmen encircled us. But luck was with us that night. A horde of boys from our dorm came to our rescue and helped us carry the table back down the hill, during which I ate shit a few times. The night only ended when the lighting sky reminded us it was nearly morning.

So that's it. The most memorable (or unable to be remembered) experiences of my time as an underage drinker. There were many things I could have included, like the time a boy chased me out of a party shoeless, or when I woke up in protective custody after being spotted drunk upon my first step out of a club. But these 5 are the ones that I cherish, that I wish I had pictures of. So, kiddies, enjoy your time as an underage drinker. You'll feel a lot less badass when it's gone.

So all them youngsters have been screaming and squealing over the upcoming Twilight movie.  Me being extremely pompous and enjoying being able to say "the book was so much better than the movie", I was forced to read the series, so I could sound smart and cool and stuff with the under 21 crowd.  Here is my twilight timeline.  Twimeline:

Twilight:

- first three chapters:  I immediately realize that this book is very poorly written.  Unfortunately at this point I have already injected this 498 page rock of literary crack into my veins and CANNOT STOP READING.  I'm mainlining vampires and suddenly . . .

three hours later . . .

-it's four o'clock in the fucking morning.  I have to get up at seven, but I'm engaged in the vicious cycle of addiction.  I read a chapter.  Then I try to sleep.  But as I try to sleep I wonder what's going to happen to that bitch, Bella, and more importantly, my entirely imagined mental image of her fictionally over-attractive vampire boyfriend.  I become restless with anxiety over the fate of someone that doesn't exist, whose species doesn't even exist, so I do what an addict does, dusting the imaginary bugs off my arms and cook up another hotrail of twilight.

another three hours later . . .

-fuck my life.  I have three chapters left, and got at best a half hour of sleep.  I don't even enjoy reading this anymore.  I've never managed to be simultaneously bored and riveted before, except for maybe the first time I saw the Blair Witch Project.  

that night . . .

-i finished the book.  strange.  I should feel satisfied, but I feel empty.  What would have satiated my Vampire lust before no longer fills the fang-sized void in my soul.  I seem to have built up a tolerance to Twilight.  I must switch to hard-covered books now.  Longer books.  Like New Moon . . . and Eclipse . . . and someday, maybe . . . Breaking Dawn.

Ladies and gentlemen . . . the Oscars.

So, apparently this year's Academy Awards were the least watched in Oscar history or something like that. Coincidentally, this was the only year that I watched the awards in their entirety, except for trips into the kitchen to make instant cake. I must say, I don't think I missed much, besides Rock of Love.

The 80th Academy Awards, or as I will be referring to it until it ceases to be relevant, OscarsMG: Montage Madness was kind of . . . lame.

It may have been the rainy, overcast weather, or the lasting effects of the demoralizing writer's strike, but this past Sunday evening, it seems as though nobody, not even the people attending the ceremony, gave a shit about the Oscars. A permeating haze seemed to linger over Hollywood as everyone emerged from their underground burroughs and realized they had to start working again. The profuse use of girtles on female stars who had anticipated watching Rock of Love also while continuing to binge, as opposed to being, you know, hot like they get paid to be, was noticeable, particularly in Katherine Heigl's disoriented presentation. Collapsed lungs aside, even the usually gregarious stars seemed a bit sullen. Particularly Jack Nicholson, whose lackluster introduction of an even more lackluster montage of previous "best picture" winners, can best be described as "slightly bummed". Silver Lining: J-Nix' inability to get pumped must mean he's no longer blowing nose candy. Good for him; bad for us.

Indeed, it seems that Hollywood had way too much time during the writer's strike, and while most apparently used the time off to become boring and pudgy, others took a different route, presumably abusing hallucinogens and going completely batshit insane. Example: John Travolta and his drag-queen-accompanied twirling entrance which brought to mind horrific childhood memories of the emergency-recalled Skydancer toys. Also, see Daniel Day Lewis's acceptance speech, in which he thanks the academy for wailing him with "the handsomest bludgeon in town". Lewis then proceeded to thank his fictional son from the movie, before - WHOOPS - mentioning his actual wife (whom he addressed as Mrs. Plainview) and kids. I so don't get the British. Also, apparently, There Will Be Blood was a "golden sappling", in addition to being the most secretestly hilarious movie released all year. Go ahead and laugh, kids. It doesn't matter if it's supposed to be serious drama; at least you sound smart when you say that's how you spent your Friday night, when all you really got out of it was mad chucklez and a bed sore from sitting in one spot too long.

Now, come on, who wants a milkshake?

There's been a lot said lately about one of my former childhood heroes. You may have heard of her, but probably not. In any case, Britney Spears, my def fav indie musician seems to be going rather insane. Everyone is spending their time ragging on the shattered pop star/ failed actress, but here is my list of reasons why her impending nervous breakdown is not only acceptable, but furthermore, appealing.

1. She was in the frickin' Mickey Mouse Club.
   If there is any acceptable reason to be bat shit crazy it's the fact that your overbearing momager made you diet and tweeze your eyebrows before you learned cursive. The fact that Britters was forced to parade around on the weekends doing mall tours and child talent competitions when all I wanted to do was go look at the bunnies at the pet store is a valid excuse for crazy.
   
2. She's southern.
   Southern people are crazy. I base this assumption solely on my experience at a gas station somewhere in Tennessee on my way to Bonnaroo.
3. Crazy people are more interesting.
   Remember when Angelina Jolie was fucking Billy Bob Thornton in the backs of limos, wearing viles of blood around her neck, and getting Buddhist monks to chisel tattoos into her back. I do. And she sucks now that she's a "good mother" and "humanitarian".
4. She's more relatable now.
   I'm tired of skinny bitches. When I used to watch the "Baby One More Time" video repeatedly while wearing my Catholic school girl uniform, I was overcome with inadequacy due to the fact that this girl was in fact four years older than me and was already more successful than I would ever become in my lifetime. Now that she's a "frequent and habitual drug-user", bi-polar, unfit parent, well, now I think that's something we can all relate to.
5. She's chunktastickly zexy.
   Britney's chubbers. I'm chubbers. But I didn't lose custody of my kids, so I'm one up on a celebrity.
   

SPOILER

I just saw 28 Weeks later.
Hey, France. Britain's totally calling you out. They're gonna fuck you up . . . with zombies. At least that's how I interpreted it.

This is a rant I've been working on for quite some time, so get ready. It may be a doozie.

It has come to my attention that everyone and their mother now plays guitar. It seems everywhere I go, people are strumming away; dorms, street corners, subways, even the homeless guy outside my apartment has a guitar. Now, I think everyone agrees music is a wonderful thing, and for the most part makes the world a better, happier place. However, there is one issue I have with the ever-growing, pick-wielding crowd: what most of you are producing is not by any means, in any context, actually considered music. You might be able to do some impressive scales, you may even be putting some chords together in some form or pattern. But this is not music. And this non-music that you are making, contrary to popular belief, does not sound better louder. And it does not make you seem cool.
In fact, what you musican'ts are doing is severely dismantling the time honored truth that took decades to engineer, and that is the fact that playing, or even holding a guitar makes one at least 30% more attractive. Case and point: John Mayer. John Mayer isn't currently at the height of his attractiveness, but let's examine him in his hey day, 2001-2003 ish. His Maye Day, if you will. On the cover of Room For Squares he appears to be decent looking at best, goofily smiling, sitting next to a guitar. Fast forward to 2003's Heavier Things. Here, the cover is a smoldering Mayer is holding the guitar. This album debuted at #1. Room for Squares did not. See the correlation. Guitar = Hot. Hot = Sales. Or at least it used to.
What was once a tool for the un-hot to become hot is now a hackneyed hobby for slacker college students. This overabundance of people who think they can play guitar has severely affected the hotness that once accompanied the skill. Guitar related hotness has plummeted from a formerly substantial 30% to a measely 15%. That's a decline of half the hotness associated with the instrument.
These startling figures, however, have not deterred the guitar-massacring crowds. They still play on, seemingly unaware that as they make a sham out of "Stairway to Heaven", Bob Dylan's last chances of hotness are fast fading because of them. But Bob needn't worry. Because fortunately he still has a chance, because he plays another instrument: the harmonica.
The Harmonica's hotness is subtle, but should not be ignored. I once knew a kid with a case full of them, all in different pitches and keys. You can imagine how hot that was. Whew.
So maybe not the harmonica. Definitely not the basoon. But there must be some other instrument that could bring hotness to the hotless for years to come. Whether it be tuba, trumpet, or triangle. We must all do our parts to stop misguided guitarism. Cause honestly, if we don't give it a rest and try something new, the guitar could lose its hotness forever. And I just can't see myself living in a world where the guitar is the new accordion.

It has been two years since I last glanced at this thing, and all I have to say is I'm sorry. I'm sorry to the teacher who assigned this to me, and I mistook for a livejournal, what people did before "blogging". I'm sorry to any person(s) who happened upon it accidentally, unaware of the shitstorm of irrelevant and self-indulgent thought they were about to endure. I'm sorry that it's pink. What is striking is that a lot of my opinions haven't changed. I still think ipods are best if used to ignore people. I still think the choices you make in life will always be of some importance, no matter how minute they may seem. But I don't listen to yellowcard anymore. And if I write poetry, it's not usually about my latest break up. So I think I will take up this shiz again. Minus the bullshit. Minus the bear.