Tuesday, April 28, 2009

An Open Letter to Kris Allen


I'm really sorry about making fun of your crooked mouth and calling you a mormon robot.

You won me over tonight with your boring charm.

A salute of the Swiffer Duster to you, Sir.

again, really sorry,

zits...so over it

I'm in a really emo kind of mood. And I just used "emo" as a word. So there you go.

Typically the best blog posts (in my opinion, which is really the only one that matters) seem to come out of when I'm feeling...less than love and sunshine about things.

Welcome to one of those times.

I held it back for as long as I could, but my true and deep-seated (seeded?)exhibitionist personality needs to make it public knowlegde.


I'm back on Match.com

Some of your reactions are as follows: Good for her! Get back on that horse! (well maybe if you're my 88 year old grandmother, but only after I have to spend an hour screaming at you what the internet is all about)

Others: But! I don't know think...well...I mean...if you think it will help, sure I'll support your decision.

Yet others: Slut!

More others: Rock it, girl. Fuck yah, you DO your thing.

So, to you "more others," thank you! You know, I think maybe this time, something will stick and...I don't know if I don't try and...he's out there somehwere and...you don't want to die alone.

Then I start to think about, in my emo state...

...Idol is on in about 6 minutes. I mean, don't even get me started. I think you ALL KNOW what I will say if you even bring it up. Anoop was robbed, Pianos needs to take his corn teeth and PACK IT UP, and just because you wear a traditional suit, GLAM-BERT, does...not...mean...you are any less gay...

But I digress.

Dating online has once again already proved to be exhausting and not something I really even want to care about right now. Am I really doing this again? And why?

Well, Idol is on...and while I think this show is obscene and disgusting, I bend to its will.

Begin Shame Spiral!

Two words: Jamie Fox?!?!??!

Sunday, April 19, 2009

"I think he's on heroin"

I went to my local gym for the first time in a week and a half today, and one of the trainers, who has been consistently trying to get me to do personal sessions with him, struck up a conversation with me.

It went something like this:

Hot Trainer, if he only had a brain:
Hey, haven't seen you in a while. You been slackin' or are we just on different schedules?

Me (on the bike for about 2 minutes, and already short of breath and sweaty):
I've been slacking, for sure.

When are you gonna take some sessions with me?

Uhm, I don't know. I'm really lazy and unmotivated. I just come here because it keeps me from getting out of my car during road rage black outs.

(laughing uncomfortably) Well, it's all about feeling good. I do this job because I love how people feel when they finally get where they want to be, physically. They get out of the shower and look in the mirror when they're naked and say to themselves "Wow, I look great!"

Uh yeah. I just put my robe on real fast.

(more uncomfortable laughter)
Well, I used to weigh 104 pounds and I'm up to 211 today. My goal is 230...I feel great! I'm going to Iraq in a few months and I'm going to spend my time there really focusing on my body. And when I get back, I'm going to enter my first body building competition, and I'm going to win.

(knowing for sure he wants me to ask why he's going to Iraq, but I really don't care)
Wow, good for you, that's awesome. Then you'll be able to tell everyone where the gun show is.

(real laughter, I think)
Yeah, huh. Something like that.

(trying to think about what else to talk about, I remember who he was with the last time I saw him in the gym)
Are you training that old guy with the cane?

Yeah, I am. I think he's on heroin, or maybe Oxy. Something is off about him.

(struggling to breath and talk at the same time)
Hmm, that's a very big claim you just made. How can you be sure?

Call it instinct.

(awkward pause)

Alright well, I'll let you get back to your workout. Keep up the good work!

(various mumbles under my breath how he's so cute, and it's just too bad)

Thursday, April 16, 2009

The jugdes save makes me unhappy


I knew last season was the last decent season of Idol. The show has been going down hill for years, getting more and more outrageous and decadent with every passing. The addition of the fourth judge this year, and all these crazy production changes, the producers are obviously desperate to keep this semi good thing going. It's like being on a date with a guy who keeps rubbing and grabbing at you in hopes of coping a boob feel. It makes me feel dirty, and I can't wait for him to leave.

I pray that Snoops will not pull faces during disco week, and I also pray that everyone will stop voting for Mormon Robot. I fall asleep every time he comes across the screen, and not into a restfull sleep, but a violent, alcohol and rage induced sleep.

My hope is that Robot and forehead center zit pianos guy will suck next week and American will agree with me. Fingers crossed.

Tuesday, April 07, 2009

An open letter to Lady Lambert

Dear Glambert,

I know everyone loves you and thinks you're amazing and you are constantly getting your ass kissed. I know Simon gave you a standing ovation tonight. I know you really love not wearing chapstick, and having super straight hair, not to mention that sick foundation that no one can seem to get the shade right on. I know that you just love to scream until all the dogs in American go deaf. I know that, while I'm not a Moron Robot fan, I actually feel bad that he is so completely in your shadow.

At this point, I've come to the realization that I have to watch you for many weeks to come, as it's clear America, and the producers of Idol, is, and are, smitten.

All I ask is that you stop being SUCH a god damn kiss ass. Really? It makes me throw up in my mouth everytime you mouth "Thank you" so lovingly to the judges and the audience. Just...shhhh.

I love a fabulous gay men who embraces his sexuality just as much as anyone possibly could, but one thing I can't stand is a gay man who rubs his sexuality, and his black fingernails, in my face. I've had enough. Take your costumes and your zip crotch pants and go tell someone who cares.

So I will bide my time and just wait for that homemade movie of you to surface, one where I imagine you are in questional positions with other, eh ehm, ladies.