Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Twi-Hard... With A Vengeance

Usually I don't give a shit about "celebrities," unless I'm mocking them or imagining what they look like naked.

I'm easily distracted.
Recently, however, no one can get away from this whole obnoxious deal with Kristen Stewart, who apparently "cheated" on her "boyfriend" Robert Pattinson with some 80-year-old married dude or something. Personally I find this whole situation ridiculous, as I have a tough time believing that this whole "relationship" was even real to begin with. This would probably be where my mom launches into her rant about how I think everything is a bullshit marketing conspiracy, but seriously. If you think about it:

Nine thousand years ago, when the first Twilight movie was released, it didn't take long for the public to assume that the two stars were actually dating, justliketheircharactersomgnoway!!!!!!!! This seemed like a logical jump; most of the self-proclaimed "Twi-hards" (REALLY???) appeared to be unable to separate fiction from reality.


WOW. Holy shit.

Personally, I never got the whole obsession with any of these kids. That three year old that plays the dog or whatever looks like an alpaca and has the acting abilities of a mop tied to a two-by-four, and the other guy looks like an unwashed lesbian, although admittedly he has gotten a little better looking as he's gotten older.

The one I'm really trying to wrap my head around is Kristen Stewart herself. Admittedly, I'm more sexually attracted to waffle fries than I am to women (although I am, strangely, incredibly attracted to waffle fries), but I just don't get her. Supposedly her Twilight alter-ego has two guys ass-to-mouth in love with her; they couldn't cast somebody who at least has a pair of tits? And also more than one facial expression?

She also seems like she'd be a total cunt. I don't know her personally or anything, but I've seen her interviewed, and she always seems to crack out one sparkling gem after another. A couple of years ago she had the proverbial balls to compare being followed by the paparazzi to being violently raped.

What a class act.

Sadly, I got dragged to Breaking Hymen or whatever the fuck it was called and GOOD GOD was that the biggest piece of absolute shit I've ever seen in my life. Sitting in that theater was akin to birthing a malcontent adult sea lion through my ear canal. The one bright spot was when I fell asleep for ten minutes. Oh, and when I bequeathed unto the audience my own Rifftrax. I don't think they appreciated it nearly as much as I did, though.

Also, thanks to the Nip Clique and my brother, who provided me with my very own drinking game. Some highlights included:

Take a drink every time someone glances past the camera longingly at nothing
Take a drink every time someone acts with their nipples and/or hair
Take a drink every time you sense another member of the Nip Clique praying for you
Take a drink every time you think of another way to fake your own death
Fuck it, just take a drink

I don't know how I wasn't dead after five minutes.

Now that we're finally coming up on the last of the Shitlight movies out of what, 712 of them, the cast, despite failing miserably critically and commercially with all of their projects that haven't been part of this shamefully atrocious franchise, is probably desperate to distance themselves from anything having to do with these films. What better way to accomplish this than to "break up" the film series' "actual couple?"

Also, considering the recent announcement that Ho White and the Huntsman is getting the sequel treatment, this is pretty good timing for that franchise as well. Before this story broke, did you know anybody besides his family that could tell you the name of the guy who directed that movie? Well, you do now.

FYI, his wife is an "aspiring" actress. This is probably an awesome PR move for her, too.

Kristen Stewart doesn't give a shit about how she comes off in all this. She's currently the highest-paid actress in Hollywood (sick, I know) with a bunch more projects lined up and already has a rep as a first-class bitch. This will change nothing for her. She could have just let this shit go but with all those stupid "public apologies" and statements this is really her fault that this isn't going away. If this were real at all she would have just focused on repairing her personal life instead of issuing a billionty statements to people who really don't care all that much.

Look, I don't actually know any of these people, nor do I give a fuck about what goes on in their lives. I could be way off base with all of this. But judging from the timing of everything, the whole thing seems a little too fabricated, and kind of makes it seem like the entertainment industry thinks that the general public is a bunch of idiots. This pisses me off, but at least I can take some consolation in the fact that there will definitely not be another Twilight movie ever again. EVER.

Probably. Maybe. Let's hope not.

Monday, July 23, 2012

What Happens In Vegas Should Always, ALWAYS Stay In Vegas: Part The Second

I know, it's been a couple of weeks since I delivered the first part of this Unexpected Journey. Pretend like you give a shit. I would have posted earlier but my computer literally committed suicide and the hard drive decided to crash after less than a year. The external that Apple "provided" me with (for 100 of my hard-earned dollars) didn't work and I lost all my data, so I had to download everything all over again. I still hate you, Apple. So, so much.

At any rate, I fixed everything, and now I'm back, and ready to go. And I apologize for that mid-90's reference. I'm really old.

If you remember what happened in my last entry, good for you! Or, I'm sorry. If not, you can refer to Part the First through this handy link. Basically the story begins with me meeting a guy in Vegas, actually thinking that he might not be a complete tool, and turning out to be very, very wrong, as usual. Enjoy.

Part the Second picks up on my couch, where I was actually dumb enough to sit, on my ass, on a SATURDAY NIGHT, and wait for this asshole to show up at my apartment after his friends informed me that he would like to plead his case. I can't believe that I did this myself, so don't bother telling me what a complete idiot I was.

At least I had the good sense to exchange hate texts with Coyote Tits. My favorite was the one about how she would get her dogs to bite him repeatedly.

Look at these little faces! 
The next morning, after my roommate came home and went down a list of various detailed humiliation techniques that somehow all ended in ice cream, I realized that it was definitely time to cut this douchebag and everyone associated with him out of my life for good. At this rate, the only way that The Bug could get me to even entertain the notion of being in the same room with him (without a tire iron) would be to:

1) Purchase a private island for myself and three friends of my choosing (the lottery draw begins now);

B) Become Superman and use his powers of time travel to erase the last few months and therefore all remnants of his dumbass behavioral tactics;

SNOW LEOPARD) Learn the lost art of calligraphy, hand-write a detailed, formal letter of apology and have it delivered via adorable puppy (bonus if this letter arrives tied to a Nestle's Crunch bar);

I accept.

DD) Sit through every Ryan Gosling movie ever made and allow me to point out exactly what all the characters are doing correctly and how he himself has, in fact, managed to fuck himself over time and again. This includes stomping some dude in an elevator.

God, that's hot. Again, I question my own moral fiber.

I was also getting really irritated with the way his friends would constantly text me asking to crash at my place when they went out near my apartment, even when I wasn't with them. This was made even more obnoxious when I received another phone message from The Bug, using someone else's phone, not even acknowledging the fact that he stood me up and suggesting we meet up for sex later. In his defense, he did suggest dinner first. Probably at Chick-Fil-A or some other romantic four-star eatery with paper wine cups and vomit on the tables.

I'd had enough of this bullshit. I called the number back and demanded an explanation for the week prior, and I was informed, by another party, naturally, because The Bug is a total pussy and afraid to talk to me in person, that we don't have a "relationship."

What a complete load of fucking crap. I don't care if you're my boyfriend, my friend or my brother- if you make plans with me, I expect you to show up. And if you have to break them, there's this new invention called a phone. Here's a picture, in case you're unfamiliar:

Also, here's the definition of courtesy, since you've clearly never heard of that either:

This is where he reached the winning trifecta of having my roommate, my two best friends and my mother all detest him, which is a feat not accomplished since The Supervillain. Congratulations; that's like, the Lottery of Hate!

I really, REALLY wanted to tell this asshat to go fuck himself in person, so I told whoever was on the phone that I would speak to him if he would talk to me, himself, while sober. The reply I received?

"He says OK."

HAHAHAHAHA! Seriously, all you can do is laugh. Anyway, I haven't heard from him since, not like I would answer if he called. I canceled plans with his friends, who were pretty mad that they had lost their crash pad and parking spot, and they haven't gotten in touch with me since then, either. My girls all offered to be a bitch for me, but they're all really not worth my energy. I'd much rather focus my efforts on much more important things, like blogging, or the new season of Breaking Bad, or calling out sick to work.


Anyway, so there's the end of that. I wish I could tell you guys that I told him straight-up to go drive off a bridge, but seeing as how I deleted his number months ago, sadly, I never got that opportunity. I will say, however, that this entire spectacle has finally inspired Tits and myself to start that dating blog that we've going back and forth on Facebook chat about for the last six months. It's in Blogger Drafts right now, so we've actually taken that first small step for (wo)mankind. Look for it really soon- I promise it will be as horrifying yet hilarious as you imagine.

Saturday, July 07, 2012

What Happens In Vegas Should Always, ALWAYS Stay In Vegas: Part The First

I know I don't usually post about dating in That Ain't Kosher, but to be honest, that's because I've pretty much forgotten what dating is. All my female friends are appalled by the lack of penis in my social life, but that's nice for them because they're not the ones who actually have to hit on me. I never know when I'm being flirted with and basically have the romantic skills of a frustrated fourteen year old boy- when I went to NOLA with Sara she let me know that when it came to dudes checking me out I was "borderline retarded." She's married, so she must know what she's talking about.

I took this advice to heart when my friends and I went to Vegas for the Superbowl and I actually noticed when some Van Wilder, Alpha-Kappa-Whatever-looking motherfucker glanced in my general direction. After about twenty minutes of intoxicated conversation I found out that he lived about an hour away from me in SoCal and that he was with a bunch of dudes. We wound up watching the game with said friends and I managed to get him to change his bet from the Pats to the Giants. HAHA! Sad Tom Brady FTW! Also, score one for my bank account.

I hung out with Van Wilder (shortened to "VW," or simply, "The Bug") and his boys for a couple of days, and by "hanging out" I mean, um, stuff hung out. Of our clothes. There was a lot of tequila, yo. And a taxi, if I remember correctly. A taxi in which we did things. And after these things I got dropped off at my hotel, and invited him up to my room, and I don't think he got the gist of what I was implying, because The Bug went back to his room alone and I wound up back in mine. With more tequila.

Later I was informed that the cab driver had called him a "fucking idiot." I mean, The Bug was ridiculously hammered (which I soon learned is pretty much his natural state), but when a girl is practically doing a striptease in your lap and invites you up to her hotel room, you fucking do it. Hell, when a girl is practically doing a striptease in your lap and invites you to discuss the Higgs boson with her, you fucking do it. You can admit that you don't know what that is later, when you're manhandling her boobs like you're controlling the Enterprise.

Actually, a lot of men have gone here before.
And not that boldly, either.
In my defense, I never actually expected this to go anywhere past the slot machines. When was the last time anyone ever said, "I met my husband/wife/future deductible in Vegas?"

Oh. Except for those times that people get wasted in chapels and shit.

Anyway, about a week after we were both settled in our respective living spaces, The Bug actually texted me. He and his friends, who were cool as shit BTW, were going to the Laker game about twenty minutes from me that weekend, and if I was free, were down to hang out. Yeah. I bet. They also wanted to stay over, since the drive back was really far, but hey, I was feeling generous. And tequila-y.

So basically, we all got pretty smashed again, and uh, yeah. Shit happens. They left the next day, and I figured that was that, but we actually corresponded pretty steadily. Yeah. "Corresponded." I also hung with his friends a lot, too. Like I said, cool as shit.

So this went on for a few weeks until one night when I got a call from him. He was already an hour late and when I picked up the phone he was in jail. JAIL. He had been biking to my place, too drunk to drive, and gotten a BUI. Classy. There were some muffled sounds and then he hung up, and I spent the next few days trying to get in touch with him. I even got sent to voice mail.

Oh, fuck no. FUCK NO. Delete.

I immediately called everyone I've ever met since I was ten years old to bitch to them, and spent the rest of the night on my lesbian neighbor's couch watching shitty re-runs of American Idol.

Also, did I mention that this assclown is 25 years old? Throughout this entire hilarious (?) chronicle, the Nipclique kept sending me emails that looked like this:

About a week passed of me completely losing my shit, and then I got a text from his friend. He informed me that a few days ago, The Bug had had a family emergency (he sent me photographic evidence, lest I thought this was a classic case of dudes sucking each other's dicks to cover for each other), and that eventually, I will get a phone call and to hang tight. I'm not supposed to know anything though, so "keep this on the DL."

So, armed with this new information, I waited. For about a month. His friends were still awesome, so we kept hitting up bars and such. I also received periodic information on this clown- such as, "he really likes you, but he's dealing with a bunch of bullshit right now." Meaning, "he's a pussy and he's too scared to call you." Then, one evening I was home, probably watching the SyFy Channel or some crap, and I got a text. From his friend. Saying that The Bug is now "feeling better and 'down to fuck.'"

People like this actually exist. Like, in reality. I could not make this up if I tried. I responded that that was eloquent as fuck, and I would be right over. Then I called like, eight of my friends.

I'm aware that I should have cut this entire group out of my life by now. Just go with the story.

Another week passed, and his group was in town for a birthday party. The Bug, of course, did not accompany them. However, I did get an apology from the guy who Cyrano'd that romantic proposition from before, claiming that The Bug, is, in fact, an idiot. FYI, girls: when the members of a guy's own crew use the word "idiot" to describe him, that is WAY MORE than a red flag- you have now hit Defcon 1.

I received a request- through a third party, of course- for a meet-up that weekend. Supposedly The Bug would be coming back from the airport and wanted to discuss how badly he had fucked up. He didn't even plan on staying over (right), and he said that even if I hated him, he would settle for "being friends."

So of course, being the stunning, dynamic intellectual that I am, I SAID YES, and you can probably all guess how that turned out.

This is getting super long and possibly very annoying, so I'll divide this into Parts 1 and 2. If it's seriously that suspenseful, I guess you can read the next half of this thrilling saga when I post it in a couple of days. Or whenever I stop being lazy and finish writing it.

SPOILER: I'm currently still single.