Sarcastic Musings

digging it.

2010-04-25T13:03:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago when The Mister thought he was inconspicuously picking his nose, I abruptly asked him, "Are you digging for my push present?". He got mad. Then laughed.

I'm kind of confused. Isn't a push present called the baby?

dry humping a pillow and such.

2009-12-27T17:18:00.001-08:00

I'm 5 months pregnant. I officially now need a full body pillow to dry hump at night. While wearing full body pastel sateen pajamas. And also, yes I am shallow. I refused this book from a friend because of it's cover. That cartoon woman looks positively trollish and miserable. I refuse.

a cookie and a crotch.

2009-10-23T19:15:00.000-07:00

I cannot believe I just googled the word "crotch" at 7:15 on a Friday night.

I also can't believe I expected to and then found a semi-decent picture entailing a crotch. And only on results page 2, no less.

Ahem. Anyhow.

Our local, and I do mean local (read: local always means crazy) grocery store is called The Cookie Crock.

What the hell is a cookie crock you might ask? Well, I don't know either, that's why I call it The Cookie Crotch. The Cookie Crotch is one of those small town grocery stores that no one told the Cold War has ended and that t.v dinners are no longer a novelty. It's full of everything I should not eat and nothing that I do.

In my best words, taken from describing it once to a friend, the Cookie Crotch, "Makes me feel weird inside".

Is it the yellow lighting? The smudgy checkerboard tiled floor that whispers 'H1N1' into my good ear as I pass it's disorganized aisles and mediocre selection of True Story and Good Housekeeping magazines? Or is it that no item, however humble and unassuming is ever under $5.99 and always of convenience store size? Could it be the confusion the baggers have every fucking time I insist I'll carry my one item out without a plastic or paper bag or the quiet hysteria I seem to cause on the off chance that I need to split and pay separately for my purchases? Or is it how I always leave feeling my immunity's been compromised or that I'd had loved a little eye contact, even if from the one that veers slightly to the left?

My husband lost it after our visit to your store today. As we cocked our little car in reverse and sped out of your crumbling parking lot on two wheels, he looked at me with all the fury of a born and raised Swiss man who's been abused and said:

"I.hate.the.Cookie.Crotch."
"It's gross."
"And full of mutants. And ugly people."

I know, my Philipp. I know.

Yes, Cookie Crotch, you very well may be a beacon of yellow light up there on your little hill for all the Kraft Mac -N- Cheese eating common dwellers of Cambria below, but you will forever be, in my eyes, nothing more than a troll's cupboard.

I most certainly do not have your back,

Kristin

balloon boyz in da haus.

2009-10-23T19:02:00.001-07:00

The resemblance is striking. All I'm sayin'.

PS. Before my husband and I were married + one of the first times I'd been at his place in Switzerland, he had a hot water bottle hung over his bathroom door. These are apparently used quite frequently to warm up a cold bed in Europe. I don't know how long our relationship progressed with me thinking my boyfriend had a douche bag in his bathroom.

waitress woes

2009-09-02T09:15:00.000-07:00

Why, at some nice restaurants, does the waitress (yes, waitress not server) include herself in my dinner date?
******

"How are we doing over here?"

"How are we liking our entrees?"

"Have we decided on dessert?"
*********
"We're doing fine over here. How are YOU doing over there?"

"We are loving our 2 (not 3) entrees. You're probably not. Because you're working, not eating.

"Well, we might have dessert. But that will probably be a decision not involving you."
*****
And I hate how at every bite and switch of a plate they're coming over to assess our digestion. How 'bout I holler real loud if I need anything, m'kay? Otherwise it feels like you're rushing me out the door as fast as you can from water to dessert.

an open letter to Mutated M.C. Hammer pant wearers.

2009-08-02T09:42:00.000-07:00

Dear wearers of so called 'Genie Pants',

You do not look fashionable. You do not look chic. You simply look like you have enormous genitals and a horrible seamstress.

That is all,

Kristin

PS. No you really ~~can't~~ should not touch this.

Observations while watching the local 4th of July fireworks display this year.

2009-07-05T08:57:00.000-07:00

1. Hmm, there goes 15,000 dollars.
2. That was a big one.
3. I could have bought a used car with that one.
4. (Via Loudspeaker): "Jose Martinez, please come to the dance floor."
5. I wonder if Jose is illegal?
6. What kind of person films fireworks on a camcorder?
7. Does said person really pop the fireworks recording in his DVD to watch it in subsequent weeks/months/years?
8. If so, why?
9. Did that little ember that fell from the sky get on my new bike?
10. Remember that time Daddy's cigarette cherry flew back from the front seat onto my new (read: hand me down) Hypercolor shirt and burnt a hole in it?
11. Why are these fireworks set to polka music?
12. Are those neon glow-in-the-dark choker necklaces carcinogenic?
13. I bet they are.
14. That kid should probably stop chewing on it.
15. I wonder if that ember is burning its way now through the paint on my new bike?
16. This is really loud.
17. And expensive.
18. Let's go home.

The End.

cinco de mayo.

2009-04-30T10:31:00.000-07:00

Cinco de Mayo. I don't wanna talk about it.

The pig flu's here. Is this not enough?
***
"Hey Kristin, what are you guys doing for Cinco de Mayo?""Nothing. We're waiting 'til July 1st to celebrate it, since we're out of town that Tuesday. But it's cool, we're planning to both wear complete ensembles of denim, outlaw guns for the day, talk a little funny and say cool things like, "Eh?" instead of "Huh?".

"Huh?"

"Canada Day, you know."

{Blank stare}

"Uh, yeah. Where have you been?...July 1st. Fun parties...a sassy new top from Ross...drinking 'til we puke...Participating in a holiday that's neither ours nor remotely pertains to anything to do with this country?"

"Oh. Well, we're going to El Cabana NaNa Rama. They're having Margaritas on special."

"Mmkay. So. Cool? Have fun? I guess? Enjoy your boob-level slow dance with the white shirted, black panted Luigi?"
*********

G.P.S = Go. Park. Somewhere.

2009-04-18T18:26:00.000-07:00

Oh joy of all joys, the husband came home today with a GPS device for our car. Now my ass muscles will be in perpetual clinch-mode while he plays "Where's Ronald McDonald?" as we're going 80 M.P.H. down the freeway. Just kidding, shnukums , doing Scion Judo rolls is all the rage.

Poseurs who probably should be castrated. And Corky.

2009-04-18T12:27:00.000-07:00

1) Anyone using the adjective "rad".

First off, no one really uses this word; not in the 90's when it first appeared in neon on cereal boxes, cartoons and slap bracelets and not now.

You wouldn't use it while stuffing your Build-A-Bear at the mall with Grandma, and Chuck Norris doesn't say it, so this only goes to prove that its being done amongst the correct company and with the purposeful intent to look cool, rather than during the speaker's casual, everyday use.

And everyone knows there is nothing worse than using words to appear cooler, richer, smarter or more thug-gy.I'll never forget the first time as a waitress (yes, waitress, not server) when I was told by a customer (yes, customer, not guest) that the wine was corked. What?! How could they?! Somebody shot the wine?

Oh. You said corked, not capped.

But, hold on. No, wait.

You mean that dude from "Life Goes On" has been meddling in your Merlot? Where do we even go from here? Is he now going to pay for this? Do I add that to his tab? Dubla dee, doobla do...na-na-na-na, life goes on...
This also brings to mind the time in childhood when, once, I accidentally pronounced "church" as "turch" and then began purposefully doing it all the time because of how it enraged my sister. Bonus points only ensued when I realized I could enrage her all the more by claiming I had no idea what she was talking about and that I was indeed saying "church", not "turch" and what? That's how I have always said it. See? Turch.

feeding frenzy

2009-04-12T11:54:00.000-07:00

Um?

Nature vs. You = You lose. Someone apparently failed to reaffirm this woman that she, indeed, bought tickets to the zoo, not the adjacent Wax Musuem.

Thomas Kincun...okay, I won't go there.

2009-04-02T15:08:00.001-07:00

Among the many down-home things we did while in the mountains with my parents in Tennessee (gawking at rednecks in RebelWear gear, admiring the vast array of airbrush t-shirts, eating globulated deep fried, rolled in butter delicacies, etc. etc.), I was able to stroll past the storefront of my most hated watercolor artist of all time, Thomas Kinkade. Yes, only he can set my heart on fire more than that modern day Tolstoy whom I so love to hate that penned, "The Notebook".
This is me Girl Scout promise-ing puke back into my mouth where it belongs.

an open letter to all you "k" and "z" abuzerz:

2009-03-17T13:42:00.000-07:00

Dear owner and/or operators of convenience stores, motor replacement parts dealerships, pawn shops, cash advances, day cares, etc. :

Adding a "k" where the letter "c" should be, or replacing the letter "s" with "z" to pluralize a word is not only grammatically insulting, it's downright annoying. Your place of business seems no more cool or catchy than when it was yet a meager adult superstore in need of fresh pavement, a good pressure washing, and some tender luv and kare (not to mention your business management expertise).

I know you're merely trying to appeal to your clientele, but really, isn't our language phonetically fucked-up enough already as it is? From now on, to lure those unsuspecting customers in, let's stick to metallic window treatments, gigantic cling decals, primary colors bright enough to burn the retina, and promises lacking the wherewithal or intentions to keep them (Where your child is the star! We say "yes" ! Your job is your credit! etc. etc.).

You may just be surprised where this little upgrade may take you. Let's reach for the starz, together.

Your fellow enthusiastic entrepreneur,

Kristin

vidal sasstupid.

2009-03-17T12:53:00.001-07:00

Today The Mister and I picked up a straightening iron from Target but I'm a little disappointed because the operating instructions informed me I'm not to operate the device under water or while sleeping. Dang, I guess I'll have to take the fucker back now, as I was really looking forward to wrapping myself in tin foil, running a long bath, sitting back with a nice bag of delicious Double A batteries while enjoying my travel television set underwater and simultaneously straightening my hair--all without having to wake up to do so.

P.S. Does purchasing a green straightening iron prevent me from being pinched on St. Patrick's Day?

florida gives a multitude of fodder

2009-03-07T06:57:00.001-08:00

First of all, I love how this stock photo is categorized for ease of filing and (quite possibly?) successful internet search results. Ladies and Gentlemen (all 6 of you), I give you:

Sunburnt wet female back and buttocks on a background of the tropical sea.

Uh, yeah.

(On a side note: I want this job. Can you imagine how entertaining it would be for me to be the one labeling & cataloging these random & absurd images? Shutterstock, Call me.)
***************
If you've noticed my absence in posting, I assure you it is not for lack of inspiration. In fact, it's the direct opposite. Since returning to my home country and finally being able to understand all the public drivel in my language again, I have had such an exponentially large increase in would-be misanthropic writing material that I simply do not know where to begin.

Part of the issue here is, I really need to be carrying around a camera. For instance, dear reader, how can I explain to you in exacting detail how two days ago at a 7-Eleven while satisfying The Mister's hankering for a frozen Snickers bar, we saw a man in an ELECTRIC orange sweatshirt whom I SWEAR TO THE GOD I NO LONGER BELIEVE IN, you could absolutely not tell where the sweatshirt ended and his skin began.

He was that freaking orange.

We're not talking some spray tan, a little tanning booth action, a long day on the beach, etc. etc. We are talking an Ooompa Looompa Incarnate Come Down To Earth Orange Extravaganza here.
You will have to let this mistake slide and accept that the above photo is an exact replication of what, on that day, my eyes, unfortunately, beheld.

I'll be better at this in a few days once my initial shock wears down, I promise.

But right now I am like a kid with a fistful of dollars in a completely paved, really run-down candy store in the ghetto, so bear with me.

shit streaks

2009-02-25T07:23:00.001-08:00

Look, while we're on the topic of Victoria Beckham angled bobs, let's go ahead and get this one out in the open: WHAT, for the love of all things holy, is THIS?:Why has any female considered this hairstyle to be, in the past or present, attractive?

I've tried hard to understand. I really have. I've asked myself, "Self, why would one do this? We both know we would never ask this of you, so why would someone else self-inflict this willingly?"

Yes, on numerous occasions I have wondered, did they go voluntarily to the hair salon? Did they lose a bet with enormously high stakes and this is their punishment? Did they go to recreation hour at the local school for the blind?

Actually, the image I really wanted to find was one of a middle aged woman with dark, short & spiky hair, save a gigantic solitary R.E.D. or B.L.O.N.D. streak. Finding one of these pictures on google would have made my day, but alas, my search came up void.

For ease of communication and warning, The Mister and I have dubbed this look, the middle-aged 'shit streak' look. Often times you can find us walking at, say, a mall or something, The Mister will see it coming and warn me, "Shit Streak, coming your way, 12 o'clock."

If anyone has the answer to my query, please email me.

outdated punchlines.

2009-02-25T06:54:00.000-08:00

Jokes about crack are, like, so '2001'. I silently cringe inside when I hear them.

Okay, not always inside and not always silently. But whatever.

The fact is, it's just not cutting edge and/or funny anymore.

And why is the perpetrator usually a male, polo shirt wearing college student who listens to Dave Matthews or something as equally abominable?

"Yeah, he looks like, ha-ha, he is on crack, ha-ha."
"Are you like, huh-huh, on crack, or something?"

See? Not funny.

Let's move past this, folks, like we should have moved past UGG boots, cargo pants outside of camping trips, peasant skirts & all the Victoria Beckham angled bob atrocities.

my latest international flight in 8 words or less.

2009-02-23T16:18:00.000-08:00

Dookie. Barf bag. Panic attack.
Kill. Mister. Bean.
***
The unabridged edition here.

the blog of a boy genius

2009-02-11T00:23:00.001-08:00

He had to go to a family funeral the next day with a tribal choker band tattoo around his neck & I am pretty sure this is from the time period where he took scissors to his own hair.

So this is one of the less incriminating photos of my 10 year old brother getting a temp tattoo set from my sister in the summer & where he decided to put them. Yes, those are Magic 8 balls on his nipples. Apparently he just started a blog of his own. Check it out here. Its the work of a true genius, stuped!

**PS** If ever there were a Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes come to life, he would be it.

bring back the drive-in, for the love of god.

2009-02-08T02:27:00.000-08:00

As if big heads, snickerers, munch & crunchers, gigglers at inappropriate moment-ers, I've-seen-this-before-so-I-am-going-to-impress-my-girlfriend-by-telling-her-what-comes-next-ers were not bad enough, in Europe we have what is called the "short pause", a 10 minute break right in the middle of the bloody movie where the scene is ripped from the screen (most assuredly at the most climatic point of the film) to reveal a cute, bouncing fun character encouraging us all to make our way to the concession stand; successfully convincing everyone of their sudden, intense & immediate craving for an ice cream, cigarette and/or potty break.

I have not experienced something this annoying since group imposed nap time in kindergarten.
By the time this momentous event happens, I've only just begun to calm down from the infuriating experience of watching all these asshats shuffle in to find their assigned seats noted by their tickets stubs. Yes, my friends, we European dwellers are also subjected to denoted seating at the movie theater.

And you know these people. These so called asshats. They're the ones having the same degree of difficulty in finding their seat location on airplanes, trains, & other moving vehicles. Locating these two numerals and promptly placing one's ass in the coordinating seat is no small task.

No. They must first find the row. Then the seat number. Then decide which amongst them will volunteer to occupy said seat number. Will it be Hans, or will it be Gunter? Or perhaps Gunter's wife, Gerda, with her enormously sized overcoat containing what surely must be 900 buttons and snaps, accompanied by a 6 meter long scarf which must be unwrapped and unwrapped and unwrapped before taking her seat.

Last night we watched two forty-something women relocate an elderly couple after the lights had gone down because they were sitting in their seats. Which weren't even good seats. They made two old people gather their things, in the dark, stumble through other rows to find somewhere else to watch the movie, only to park their carcasses in two shitty seats behind two other people who were surely blocking their view. Because their tickets said so. Not to mention there were hoards of seats on either side available to them.

Honey, where'd I put my "If I were dictator list"?

search bar problems

2009-02-06T14:11:00.001-08:00

Fuck you, Mozilla. When I type in www.dictionary.crm on my search bar, you should know what I'm aiming at, if not achieving. Grow a set and quit being so smug.

concert going problems

2009-02-05T03:16:00.001-08:00

I have a problem. Yes, I'm aware that should be plural. Shut it.Whatever. The problem I'd like to draw attention to here is one of going to concerts. I am an avid music lover, but growing up in rural NC I never really got to go to any live shows; I think the first show I ever saw was age 9 at Dollywood, and if you know the place, you know that connotates a whole motherload of contemporary country music flashbacks that I'd rather not get into with strangers on the interwebz. When I think back to the music I was listening to in say, 1998, compared to what my insanely cool husband was rocking out to at such time, I get motivated to hang myself.
****
That being said, during my teenage years I survived on a steady diet of 70's rock and roll from FM radio along with my dad's rather meager & narrow cd collection. To be fair to him, his record collection is much more impressive; I guess cds only coming out in the 80's did not give him a running start, so to speak (um, Zeppelin guys going solo, anyone?). I thought (and still do) that The Allman Brothers were the living end and that no one could make you hang on a word like Neil Young's shaky voice singing Helpless on that CSNY disc that I first discovered in 7th grade.

Okay, to be truly candid here for all you complete strangers, there were also my years from 17 to 20 when I was a religious crazy and listened to horrid, horrid music. Aside from religion being a poison, I also mourn the loss of about 3 good years where I could have been busy with more important things, namely discovering more music instead of saving the world with my steely fists.

Anyhow. Back to the discussion at hand.

The problem of most concerts, aside from when they happen in Europe where everyone and their dickhead cousin is smoking like an '84 Subaru climbing the Tetons, is this whole standing thing.

First of all, there is a lot of good music out there that would be far more interesting to listen to sitting down, especially the slower, drone-y (is that a word?) or more acoustic stuff. Furthermore, what does one do with one's self while vertical? Standing there like a fucktard I always get the image of cattle in a holding pin. Except the cattle, in these cases, are usually trying to be part of a scene and paying $7 for a lukewarm Michelob that they don't even like.

If you're not an idiot cashing out on drinks, there's always the problem of where to put your hands. Do you put them in your pockets, make sure to have something to fiddle with (a gum wrapper? a ticket stub? that 10 dollar bill the guy at the bar accidentally dropped which you ninja-ed into your pocket?) or (god forbid!) make some kind of drumming motion on your thighs to the beat? For someone who is completely and utterly ryhthmically challenged, this is a problem. What to do with them? Where do they go? Tell me, dammit!

Moving onward to the topic of ryhthm, I really cannot move while watching a show. Even if it's the most ball breaking beat and I am totally into it, I ain't moving. I am like the Rock of Gibraltar, the Sphinx, the giant Sequoia, the mighty oak rooted by the river...you get the point. Although, to be fair, once at a Bonnaroo concert with my sister and one fabulously fat dubie, there was a considerable amount of movement coming from me, but only from my head. And my sister never let me live that one down. She said I looked like one of those bobble headed thingies you put on your dashboard.Another considerable problem is that seeing a band live can totally ruin it for you if they have some kind of unforgiveable weirdness going on. Like if the singer moves their mouth funny, like talks from one side of their mouth or has giant sweat rings, or is trying too hard to be that cool, enigmatic singer, or is trying to be the opposite; like too humble (aww, shucks. I'm really not deserving to be up here, I am not that talented).

Don't be a hater. I am not judgemental on purpose, I am just easily distracted. All you holier-than-thou, it's-all-about-the music-so why-should-I-care-or-take-notice types can all go suck it, you know damn well if this
were up there, you'd be distracted as hell.

Moving on: the people around me. Oh, the people. The people. You know in the movie Amelie, where she goes to the movies to look at other people's reactions while watching the film? That's me except I do it without really wanting to and feel nary a warm & fuzzy.
I really have on several occasions wanted to bust out laughing looking around at everyone else who is facing the whole standing/hands issue but is overcompensating to the point of hilarity. You can always tell the people who genuinely love to move, because they don't look around while doing it.

But the ones who's eyes are always darting back and forth and taking serious sips of beer in between being righteously cool make me wanna walk up to 'em and scream "Ah-Ha! You don't know what to do with your hands, either! Busted!" But of course I don't do this, I just get distracted and miss out on a lick or two.

god, the redundancy.

2009-01-30T03:10:00.000-08:00

Seriously. If I see one more of these freaking posters on design blogs I am gonna go apeshit. Here's one I designed:

If I were dictator...

2009-01-07T04:25:00.001-08:00

...the first people to go would be those using the phrase:

"Me likey" to reference something they enjoy.

6 things

2008-12-22T00:46:00.001-08:00

Several weeks back I was tagged by Corin to list 6 things about me that have not been revealed on this blog thus far. I thought this blog was a more appropriate place to put it, so here goes:

1) I am often paranoid that people I meet in the street could be murderers. You never know.

2) I really don't like stuff touching me. I mean clothing, bras, etc. This makes it difficult to get dressed in the morning. I'd much rather be in a giant t-shirt or naked. I think I get this from my dad. Most of his clothes are so old you can see through them. Thats the way he rolls---20 years and a shirt has reached perfection. I do like fashionable clothes, however, so this is a bit of an inner battle.

3) Every night before I go to bed, I think about dying. Can't help it.

4) When I lived in California I became semi-obsessed with the story of the Manson family, only to not be able to sleep at night. Also I would make my husband lock me in the house to go several yards to the jacuzzi at such time.

5) I never ever sit down on public toilets. And I have to use a paper towel to turn off faucets and open door handles in them. If the paper slips, this ritual must begin from the beginning.

6) I lived in the former USSR for a few years in my late teens/early 20's. The place fascinated me. I liked the bleak feeling.

ausfahrt-ing

2008-12-22T00:38:00.000-08:00

Quick: whats the 1st association that comes to mind with the German word, "Ausfahrt"?

I thought so.

Recently its occurred to me that I may not be the only dumb non-German speaker who finds this word funny. I give you album artwork from No Means No:And I will be careful not to Ausfahrt in public.

novi god

2008-12-21T01:17:00.000-08:00

I do realize this video clip becomes significantly more awesome if you:

a) Have lived in a former Soviet country
b) Have attended a disco-tech in said former Soviet country
c) Know anyone Slavic, especially one straight off the boat & preferably male
d) Have a highly attuned cringe-o-meter and love sending it over the edge

Enjoy.

sloggi-ness

2008-12-21T01:09:00.001-08:00

File this one under "Eww." or "Not even remotely hot." or "Waxed Mannequin Alien Asses." They're all over the city. And large. And I know a hot advertisement when I see one. This ain't it.

Enough.

I'm off to polish my ass cheeks.

stupid color associations

2008-12-20T05:08:00.000-08:00

How lame is this tip from an article on how to eat healthily during the holidays?:

Avoid fast-food places that emphasize red in their color schemes. Red has been shown to stimulate the appetite more than many other colors, and many restaurants add it to their decor, in everything from the flowers on the table to the squiggles on the plates.

Here guys, go fucking nuts:
How about this tip for starters:

1). Avoid fast food.

innappropriate laughing on public transport

2008-12-20T00:35:00.000-08:00

Quite often and usually when I am by myself I get an intense urge to bust out laughing while riding on the tram to and from the city (on a slight side note: I can't believe I found a picture of our exact tram online--# 11-- wuh-wuh).

It usually starts with me describing to myself in my mind the various smells I am smelling. These usually include but are not limited to: mustard, unwashed head, a foot, someone's belly button after taking a hike for 3 weeks in the Andes mountains, yogurt that has gone unnoticed in the back of a fridge for over 7 days, really expensive musky cologne, a full diaper, etc.

Then these descriptions begin to make me smile to myself. Then I tell myself, "Self, you mustn't begin to laugh for you are alone and no one has said anything humorous to you nor has anything amusing happened for all to see and partake of." Then trying really hard not to laugh makes me want to laugh all the more. Then I reason with myself again, that if I don't want to look like a complete douche-bag it would be best for me to just sit back and enjoy the ride without so much as a peep. Then me chastising myself makes me want to laugh all the more.

Its a vicious cycle, really.

Last night coming home from the city late, I told Philipp, "It smells like head on here." And he dryly remarked, "There are a lot of those on here."

Looking around at the backs of all these heads with everyone trying not to look at one another, and the hilarity of all these strangers sitting in a box going somewhere struck me as completely and utterly hilarious. And I did it. I couldn't help it. I busted out laughing the most deep and satisfying "my-ass-is-totally-going-to-detention-for-this-one" guffaw. But at least I was not alone this time. And at least everyone here is far too polite to turn around and give me the stink eye.

starbucks ice sculptures

2008-12-19T07:55:00.000-08:00

Highlight of my week? Walking downtown in 30- degree weather seeing douche bags like these
having to huddle outside Starbucks, the only non-smoking place in the whole of Switzerland, to get their cancer on. Their suffering felt most delightful to me, especially since I can hardly go anywhere in this city to enjoy a drink or meal smoke-free.

Newness

2008-12-19T07:46:00.000-08:00

So, hear ye all:

This here is my newest blog, an attempt to somewhat balance out my other blog which mainly features things I find beautiful and/or delightful. I do realize I may not be the most delightful person and other said blog may be leading the masses on to a conclusion all too unlikely. In other words, in real life I'm an asshole.

So consider this blog its evil twin. Most things here will be things I really, really do not like or find annoying or awesome in some twisted way. Let the games begin.