Oh, Canada! (Nugs vs. Allison 2013 Edition: I Was Saying Boo-Urns)

The NHL postseason is over, and I have to admit to being wrong.

Allison and I have been recapping the Stanley Cup playoffs for you, going through every round and predicting who will advance. We also did this last year, and despite Allison being born and raised in Hockey Country, I won with so many points that even I felt bad for her. This year Allison got the gold star, so we've both been equally humiliated. 

This is a weird feeling, since I'm right about stuff practically all the time. I don't know what to do about this. 

You can see Allison's gloating on her blog, My Quarter-life Crisis.

NUGS' RECAP:

In calling this series, I definitely wanted Chicago to win. Like, really, really badly. I'm pretty positive that everybody hates the Bruins, unless you live in Boston and are therefore a totally obnoxious sports fan by default (except if you're Ginny- love you), but seeing as how they decimated the Rangers in the Semifinals, I was more than ready to see the Bruins go down. 

However, I had to be logical, and I truly believed that the Stupid Boo-urns were the more able team. I did predict a seven game series, and a lot of OT, but I assumed that the Bruins' massive size and physicality would lead them to their second Cup since 2011. 

Last night it seemed as if Boston would take the series into Game Seven- they dominated the Blackhawks and eventually scored. It remained 1-0 until Allison's boyfriend and Chicago captain Jonathan Toews tied it up in the second. 

FYI, Allison: You may want to let Toews in on the fact that you two are, in fact, together. Then again, I'm waiting to let Baby Goose know. It has to be just the right time- you know, after our second child is born.

Yeah...I don't...arms...I'm sorry, what?

Then the third period happened, and Boston scored again, making it 2-1. I breathed a little easier, thinking that I would have at least one more game to consider what sort of present I would request that Allison send me in the mail. Then came the last minute, and the Hawks scored again- twice. Center Dave Bolland's goal sealed the deal for Chicago and the Stanley Cup was theirs, for the second time in four years. I wish the Conn Smythe had been awarded to him instead of Patrick Kane, who admittedly is a fantastic player but sucks ass as a human being.

I am disappointed in my loss, but this does mean public humiliation for the Stupid Boo-urns. So really, I can't be that upset. Also, remember that Allison failed miserably last year, and she's the one that's Canadian. So you could sort of consider this a victory for America Junior, I guess. 

Also, keeping with the theme of "Nugs Looks Like a Dumbass," Iron Man called this series as well, down to the number of games. I should bring him to Vegas. Lily also said that the Hawks would win, but that's probably only because she's from Chicago and loves them. She's a Cubs fan, too, so I never really listen to her.

Because I apparently haven't learned anything from any of this, I'm calling it now: Rangers 2014. In 4.

ALLISON'S RECAP:

This wasn't easy, and there were a lot of doubters, but sticking by Chicago from the start was a wise move for me. Their series against Minnesota was fairly predictable, but the games against Detroit, LA and Boston weren't easy. I had faith in them because I knew they had the talent. I knew that a team can't have the kind of regular season record they did and go down without a fight. They fought hard and they won. I'll admit to having my doubts about them a few times, but I decided to be loyal to my choice and not flip flop. Throughout the playoffs many people questioned the abilities of some of  the players. Jonathan Toews wasn't scoring enough, Corey Crawford had a weak glove-side, blah blah blah. It seemed like the media just didn't want them to win. I found myself wanting to punch Don Cherry last night because of his bias towards Boston. Of course he wanted Boston to win, as a former coach of the organization, but as a sports reporter you need to talk about both teams' strengths and weaknesses. 

Obviously, I would be 100x more excited if the Habs had won the Cup (I would have called in sick today probably), but I've always had a lot of respect for the Blackhawks  - so I don't consider this a bandwagon jump. Leaf fans are, of course, making this victory all about them. As if Chicago beat Boston on their behalf. Newsflash, Chicago doesn't give a shit about your sad first round loss! This isn't about you!

Editor's Note: Agreed. This was clearly all for the Rangers fans.

For those of you who didn't watch last night's game, I'll give you a quick rundown. So in the first period Boston was all over us - outshooting us and eventually scoring. Cory Crawford played amazingly. With all those shots on net he did an fantastic job keeping it a one-goal game going into the second. 

Toews tied it up in the second and things stabilized for Chicago.

The third period was insane - probably one of the most exciting finals I've seen in a while. Boston came back and scored giving them a 2-1 lead. For most of the third period it seemed that a game 7 was likely,  but then it happened.

With just over a minute left Brian Bickell scored to tie up the game. Overtime seemed to be the most likely scenario. Then it happened again...Bolland scored with less than a minute left on the clock. The Chicago Blackhawks won Lord Stanley's Cup.

Gary Bettman (aka the Devil) presented the cup to Captain Serious (aka my boyfriend)...Jonathan Toews and he kissed the Cup for the second time in his career. But before that Patrick "The Mullet" Kane was awarded the Conn Smythe trophy for MVP of the playoffs. I would have given it to Crawford - but yeah, Kane did get a lot of goals.

POINTS: ALLISON

FINAL POINTS TALLY: 

NUGS 9, ALLISON 11

So that sucked. I don't do well with losing. At any rate, congratulations to Allison, and to the Blackhawks for their awesome and well-deserved conquest. Also congratulations to Chicago goalie Corey Crawford for being super hot. How come I never noticed that before?

Uh, hi.

Did you guys watch any of the Finals? Did you care who won? Do you read my sports posts at all? Or do you really want me to go back to posting pictures of SNAKES THAT CAN OPEN FUCKING DOORS?

Yeah. This is a thing.

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Yesterday at around 3:00pm, there were two explosions in the middle of Boston.

I was in the living room, finishing up some work and answering emails. I had ESPN on in the background, and they had been discussing the impending NFL Draft all day. I was barely paying attention anymore. Suddenly the words "Breaking News" appeared at the bottom of the screen, and the story switched to the Boston Marathon and the two bombs that had gone off.

I'm not sure of the correct words to describe my reaction as I looked up at the TV. I'm not from the city itself, but it's the closest Metro Area to Manhattan, and I've visited multiple times. I went there with my family as a kid, and ever since I met Ginntastic and all her friends, I've made several trips there as a (chronological) adult. I've embarrassed myself at Fenway Park and pronounced all the stops wrong on the T. I've gotten drunk in at least ten different bars and then been molested by Ginny's cat. Boston sports fans are rabid, which is great for me but is also a major fail because they all love the Pats and the Bruins. I have so much respect for Boston, its culture, its people and its history, and yesterday's events hit me hard.

The bombing became ESPN's main story on Monday, probably due to it being sports-related. I remember hearing Ginny talk about this every year- Marathon Monday, a holiday in the Boston area, where everyone basically gets wasted and watches the runners cross the finish line. It's especially fun for her because she works right across the street. As soon as the story splashed across ESPN my first thought was "GINNY." I called her and her phone went to voice mail. Then I sent her a text and when she didn't answer me within five seconds I freaked. Luckily, thirty seconds later, she texted me back to reassure me that she was, in fact, OK, as were the rest of our friends. Ginny was stuck in her office due to closed streets and downed T lines, but she was fine. Maybe this makes me selfish, but that knowledge helped me relax just a little bit. Ginny and the rest of the Nip Clique are such a hugely important part of my life- it's even because of Gin that I started blogging. So you can all blame thank her for that.

Later that night I was on the phone with my brother- ironically, it was also his birthday yesterday- and we were discussing the rash of emotions that we were both experiencing. We were angry, yes, and sad, but my brother brought up an excellent observation: are we still at the point where we as people are shocked when these acts happen? Late night host Craig Ferguson, who usually opens his show with the line "It's a great day for America," chose instead to start the program with this monologue below:


Comedian Patton Oswalt also opted to make a strong statement, posting this on Facebook. Entertainment Weekly... well, they took to Twitter to advertise their new Man of Steel pictures. Not everyone can convey their sympathies in such a moving and poignant manner as one of the top selling magazines in the country.

When 9/11 occurred, I had just started college and my brothers were in high school. My father was in a meeting at the time, and I remember that what was supposed to be a short drive home to his family turned into a 5-hour excursion. Cell phones were down, so we had no idea how to reach him and when or if he was even coming home. My mom came over to sit with us and wait for my dad to walk through the door. I can't recall ever being so elated and relieved to see anybody, before or since.

The 9/ll attacks are the first incident that I really remember affecting myself, my family and my friends the way that they did; being so close in proximity and mentality. I can only imagine what Boston must be going through, especially after the third explosion. They're probably in the mindset that their city is a danger zone, set to go off at any moment.

My brother and I are pretty much in agreement with Craig Ferguson- he is not the only one who is sick of this shit. While a fatality number of three may not seem that high, keep in mind that that number still isn't zero. One of those three was an eight-year-old boy. There were families from Newtown in the VIP section who were no doubt still recovering from their own losses. It disturbs me to think that as a society, we are no longer stunned when these things happen. We know that they're horrible, and we cry, and feel disgusted, and devastated, but we're no longer surprised.

When the shootings in Newtown took place, I was in no shape to provide advice, but I did suggest attempting to go back to normalcy as soon as you were able. Spend time with the people you care about- see a movie, watch TV, work on your blog. I'm also going to say the same for this- do whatever you can to regain some sense of convention. I went for a run this morning, which is a natural occurrence for me in this type of Spring weather. However, it also seemed fitting in light of yesterday's tragedy. The burst of energy mixed with the familiarity of my iPod and the warmth of the sun on my back was just what I needed to lose myself, if only for a couple of hours.

I wish I could say that casualties like this won't ever show themselves again, but I can't, because they will. What I can tell everyone is that it helps to talk about these acts of violence, and to try to understand, and to let out our frustrations. We should also all remember that Boston is one of the most resilient cities in the country- they're not called Massholes for nothing. And have you seen those guys drink?

At any rate, we all need to stay safe and stay strong. Remember that we are better than this, and if all else fails, puppies are still adorable.

The More You Know

It's probably not news to anyone that at the time of this post, 26 people were murdered in a Newtown, Connecticut grade school yesterday morning. 20 of those people were little kids. One was a teacher trying to protect her students from the gunman.

http://www.cnn.com/2012/12/15/us/connecticut-school-shooting/index.html?hpt=hp_t1

The shooter, who I will not glorify any further by naming here, had forced his way into the school. He was a 20 year old kid. It was also reported that he killed his mother and, when he was satisfied with his handiwork, himself. His older brother had to disable his Facebook page when he was erroneously identified as the suspect.

News reports say that the gunman suffered from a personality disorder, which calls into question exactly how the fuck this 20-year-old deranged fucking lunatic was able to get his hands on a loaded murder weapon in the first place. There are extensive background checks for minimum wage jobs at McDonald's, yet this douchebag manages to score an assault rifle? I can't be the only one that sees the epic fail in this.

I found out about the events that occurred late yesterday morning when I logged onto Facebook. I was all set to post about how stoked I was to go see The Hobbit, but I was immediately flooded with status updates about Sandy Hook. Some of my friends admittedly went a little overboard- yes, it was a tragedy; yes, it was sick and senseless and disturbing and horrible; yes, it hit close to home for myself, my family and a lot of my friends (I went to high school about 20 minutes away from Newtown)- but posting news updates and photos and angry rants every five minutes is not going to make anything go away, and will only feed into what this nutjob would have wanted.

(I'm also looking at you, news anchors and media shitstorm. Interviewing parents and even worse, terrified and sobbing children, is probably the most disgusting ploy for ratings I can even imagine. No. Go home.)

One of the most awful parts of this is probably that while this asshole will inevitably be rewarded with a Movie of the Week/feature film/countless magazine covers, in a few weeks no one will remember the names of any of the victims, including the teachers that died shielding their students from bullets.

Some have said that it's too bad that the killer turned the gun on himself, since now none of the victims' families will have the chance to take him out themselves. I'm looking at it this way: I hope the worst is over, and as strange as this sounds, we as a country can look at this in a positive way. Call your friends and family and tell them you love them. Spend time with them if they're located in your vicinity. Do unexpected nice things for random strangers.

Yesterday, inspired by these events, I gave two dollars to a homeless guy and he acted like it was a check for a million bucks. Then, on the way to the movies, I stopped at a pharmacy to get snacks, and paid for the woman behind me since she only had two items in her hand. I didn't even tell her; just let the cashier know that the "next girl was taken care of" and left. I didn't say anything to my brother, either. Was it a huge gesture? No. Her total was like five dollars. However, I felt that with my actions I had just said a massive "fuck you" to a guy that had just murdered a bunch of little kids.

Also, maybe this will help improve the US as a whole, and force a tighter rein on gun control and a better healthcare system which recognizes mental disabilities. I'm not saying this could have been prevented with Healthcare- clearly this dude was severely unhinged- but at least steps could have been taken and at least he could have seen a shrink or something. Apparently there were "warning signs," although emailing people and saying "yo, I'm thinking of shooting up an elementary school tomorrow; don't tell anyone" probably doesn't count as a harbinger so much as a massive fucking RED FLAG. I'm not placing immediate blame on anyone but him; however, maybe if someone had paid closer attention to his distress calls this would never have occurred.

Basically what we have to do right now is pull through this together. Attempt to stay positive and not dwell on the past. Try to return to your normal lives. Eat, sleep, watch TV, go see The Hobbit. Let out your frustrations in any way you can, if you so choose- I've obviously done this in my writing, like so many of us (two excellent examples I've found in the blogosphere of people affected by this tragedy are Christopher from Mixed Drinks & Mixed Feelings and Rainey from A Rainey Day with a Chance of Sunshine- especially poignant because Sandy Hook was her elementary school). Be thankful for what and who you have with you right now, because honestly, they may not be there when you come home tonight.

And to make us feel (marginally) better, here is a basket of tiny puppies.

Dead Space Vol. 1- All Dawgs Go To Heaven

I usually don't do reviews of things I actually enjoy because then I can't make fun of them. However, this week's episode of The Walking Dead, "Killer Within," was such a major sack-punch (if I had a sack) that I HAVE to discuss it. All my friends are talking about it so I would feel kind of left out if I didn't. So here's a new thing that I'm trying out. If it turns out to be wildly popular, this is Volume 1. If it doesn't, eh, I tried.

If you watch the show and/or are a fan of the books but haven't gotten this far yet, I would recommend that you not read this post, because then you'll know what happened and might think I'm a bitch, even more than you probably already do. If, like me, you witnessed the emotional fallout in real time, then cool. All systems go.

Being on the West Coast, I should really know to avoid Facebook on Sundays and Tuesdays, when my friends will unfailingly post about that night's respective episodes of TWD and/or Sons of Anarchy. I had shut off my laptop but unfortunately was too stupid to remember to turn off my phone, so while I was eating my dinner this alert popped up from Booyabobby:

Our wish finally came true! But damn that was heart breaking.

As an avid reader of the comics, I could only assume that he was referring to the anticipated and celebrated death of Lori Grimes, one of the worst and most reviled characters in the history of network television, although I was surprised that this was the episode that the event took place. Lilly, the character that shoots Lori in the books, hadn't even been introduced on the show, and Lori's baby had yet to be born (Also, fans of the show, is that the worst pregnant stomach ever, or what? What did they put in there, a NERF ball?).

Zombie Baby? Or BOOBIES?!?!?!

Then again, Carol was still around, so that whole Sophia deal was completely out of whack with the timeline as well.

BTW, thanks for forgetting that I'm three hours behind you, Bobby.

I decided to quit with the neurotic, Jew-y psychoanalysis and just watch the damn episode, already. It started out hilariously with Glenn and Maggie being caught boning in the tower and getting "yeah, man" looks from Rick and Daryl. That scene easily goes into my Top 20 Walking Dead moments. Everyone's reactions were totally realistic- Maggie was mortified; Glenn was like, "check me out- I just got laid"; the men were all up in that shit.



That, of course, was short-lived because the generators all started blaring and the walkers began to pour in. The Atlanta Gang immediately commenced with the killing, slicing heads and stabbing all over the place.

Meanwhile, back in Mayberry- sorry, I meant Woodbury- Andrea continued to skank it up and try to get into the pants of both Merle and The Governor. He's who this election really needed, IMO. Imagine how awesome that would be.

This dude for President of Everything.

She and Michonne were, in fact, planning on taking Merle to find Daryl, but because The Governor spoke more than two words to her, Andrea wants to stay now. What the fuck happened to Andrea? She used to be cool, kind of. Then she jumped on Shane's dick and became a sniveling little twelve year old with floopy hands and whiny facial expressions.

I've also been expecting a lot more from Michonne this season. She's one of the most popular characters in the comics, and save for a bad-ass entrance at the end of last season, she hasn't done jack except stroll mopily around the house and tell Andrea why they can't trust people. I guess she did off her zombie pets, and that was kind of cool, but dude, if I had access to a katana blade I would use it to hand things to people. But anyway.

As Andrea attempted to slut it out in Mayberry, the Atlanta Gang was busy taking names in the prison. Fucking Andrew from episode 2 showed up while Rick was busy trying to save his friends. God, Andrew. Good timing. Fortunately Rick didn't have time for any of that shit and killed him.

PS- I found out at Comic-Con that Andrew Lincoln is actually super, super British. As if the weapon carrying and the copious ass-kicking weren't enough, he just got exponentially hotter, oh haaaai.




Wow, I am really fucked up.

Of course, as much I'd been reveling in how great this episode had been so far, I still remembered the spoiler (!!!!!!) Bobby had posted on my Facebook wall earlier and couldn't escape that nagging lump in my throat (that's what she said). TWD did not skimp on the brutal deaths this week. Carol is missing and we're not entirely sure whether she made it out. She never really had a clear purpose but still, that kind of sucks. The first gut-wrencher, however, came in the form of the episode's MVP, T-Dawg, who pushed Carol out of the way when the walkers had them cornered and ran directly into the line of fire, giving Carol a chance to escape or at least get a solid head start. I'd heard that T-Dawg would have a bigger role this season, having more than two lines and maybe even some character development. Guess not. RIP, T-Dawg. From what we could tell from your four syllables, you were pretty awesome.

Here's a clip of IronE Singleton on this week's Talking Dead. You can tell he's just as nice a guy as everyone says and I hope he books a ton more acting gigs after this.



Next up we had what Entertainment Weekly is referring is to as "that scene." Now, I've been on the Whore-y Grimes train ever since I discovered the books in 2010, but DAMN, Walking Dead.

Lori had the distinct attribute of being one of those characters that I absolutely despised up until the very minute that I realized they were a total goner. This is impressive considering that it's only been accomplished by very few others- Jack Shepard, Marissa Cooper, Daffy Duck.



I detested Lori the entire time and I had the same reaction to her passing that I had when Opie got killed off on Sons of Anarchy or when Jin and Sun drowned together on Lost, and those were all beloved television icons that I may never recover from.

While running from the walkers, Lori chose that exact moment to go into labor and ushered Maggie and Carl into the boiler room (finally! Carl "stays in the fucking house!"). Maggie was forced to play midwife until Lori started excessively bleeding, because she would of course probably have a zombie baby. Meanwhile Carl is off to the side like, "oh great, the first vagina I ever see and it's my mom's."

Lori realized that something was up with her kid and told Maggie she would have to cut her open and extract the baby from her stomach, most likely killing her in the process. The world went "YAY!" but then we had to watch her say goodbye to Carl. The scene is below, and it's heartbreaking.



The speech Lori gave to Carl when she told him he would have to take care of everyone, including his father, was handled with grace, sincerity and real emotion. It was one of the most realistic scenes I've watched on television since I can remember, and it was made even more difficult when Carl volunteered to shoot his own mother in the head so she wouldn't turn. Maggie left the room, we heard a gunshot and then Carl emerged, all stoic and Child of the Corn like. He's not an annoying, useless little shit anymore, and I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes.

Both Sarah Wayne Callies (who played Lori) and writer Robert Kirkman claim that Lori is dead, gone and off the show completely, but Callies totally lied about her character's fate this season so as not to spoil fans, and we never actually witnessed Carl shooting her in the head, so you never know. I really hope we get to see Zombie Lori. That would be sweet.

Also, now that Lori is gone, we'll probably never find out whose baby it actually is, either, since the comics never tell us. My theories are as follows:

If the baby ever jumps directly into Andrea, it's Shane's. (Chris Hardwick suggested this on an episode of Talking Dead once. I think that was genius.)

If the baby won't stay in the fucking womb, it's Rick's. ("Baby! Stay in the fucking womb." "NO!" "Yup, it's mine.")

I think if you take an informal poll, you'll find that the scene where most people lost it is where Rick sees his daughter (not mentioned in the episode, but if you read the comics, you know) and figures out that his wife is dead. Andrew Lincoln deserves all the fucking awards. Just all of them. Emmy, Golden Globe, American Kennel Club, Award for Obscure Abbreviations, Jamy Toaster, whatever. Hell, just elect him President.



The moment was borderline "what's-in-the-box," but the dude's wife was just killed. Seriously. BTW, this marks a turning point in the books where Rick begins a spiral into becoming a complete fucking mental patient.

There's a reason The Walking Dead  is one of my favorite television shows, and it's episodes like "Killer Within" that I would probably force my friends to watch to prove my point. This show does not fuck around, and although "Killer Within" was a terrible idea when I am PMS'ing and the leftover Halloween candy was not within arms' length, I am so grateful for quality programming and not more crap like Honey Boo Boo.

SUCKtober and Other Life Fails

So it's October now, which usually gets me super excited because it's my favorite time of the year. Both my mom's birthday and Halloween are at the end of the month, and everyone that meets me for five seconds knows that I go totally jazz hands for Halloween.

The weather is perfect- that consummate temperature that's just in between cold and hot, with no humidity, so I can bust out my chunky boots and adorable accessories at night but still have free reign to slip on what might be considered "less than subtle" attire during the day (read: I think you know).

October is also the best sports month- football is just heating up, hockey begins and the MLB postseason gets underway. It's also the NBA pre-season, but being a casual Knicks fan I don't care enough about that to actually pay attention.

This year, however, October has pretty much brought on a massive raindown of Epic Fail. While my friends and family back in NYC have been playing up this country-wide heatwave to their full advantage, LA seems to have missed the memo that hi, it's Fall now. For the past month or so Southern California residents have been "enjoying" insane temperatures in the 90's and 100's. I tried to go outside for a run this weekend and as soon as I walked out of my apartment I immediately was like FUCK NO. It was like those scenes in the SyFy Channel movies where the editing is sped up and backwards.

Dear Los Angeles:
NO.
Sincerely, Everyone.

This has also been an incredibly depressing year in sports for me. The Mets are absolutely fucking terrible- I mean, terrible to the point that I didn't watch more than five full baseball games on TV. I think they're something like 7,000 games under .500. At least I learned my lesson from last season and didn't put money down on the Sox. R.A. Dickey may win the Cy Young this year, though, so that's a small consolation prize.

The Jets aren't much better, and now with the acquisition of Tim Tebow we get to boast two quarterbacks that can't throw the ball! Awesome! And even though this wasn't technically in October, we're currently the joke of the NFL and most sports programming thanks to this game:

Every time I relive this I die a little.

Note: NBC Sports actually laughed when recapping this.

Which brings me to hockey: I may have taken some comfort in the fact that the Rangers had a shot to go really far this year, but oh wait! Hockey's been canceled. The NHL and the NHL Player's Association failed to reach a monetary agreement and therefore shut down the 2012-2013 season, for now anyway. A lot of the NHL players are dealing with the lockout by playing in Europe, which resulted in new Ranger Rick Nash injuring his shoulder (of course).

I've discussed this with my brother and a few of my Canadian friends, and they all run the gamut from devastated to suicidal. I wonder what people do in Canada when there's no hockey. Chug Molson? Play Rush albums? Moose hunt?



PS- find out here and here, for starters.

As if this weren't enough, I think I remember telling you guys that a couple of months ago, the hard drive on my brand new MacBook crashed. Well, if I didn't, it did. So that happened, and I lost half of my music files, which I've been fighting with Apple to get back for a good two weeks now.

At least my grief has been somewhat assuaged by the fact that it's impossible to cancel Halloween, although I still haven't decided on my costume yet. Ginny and I were discussing this over on her blog yesterday, and so far she has helped me narrow it down to three distinct possibilities:

1) The Uhura costume from Star Trek.

Now while this may seem like a waste of money, you all know me, and what are the odds that I will actually wear this again, frequently, in public, for no other reason than I HAVE A STAR TREK DRESS?

B) A TARDIS dress. BTW, I recently came across a video of Matt Smith citing his love for Breaking Bad and Radiohead. Dude. I'm in.

What is the plural of TARDIS, by the way? TARDI? TARDISes?

BABY MARMOSET) Either Mileena or Kitana from Mortal Kombat. I would do this because I loved the game as a kid, as did most of my friends; however, wearing either one of these would probably require starving myself until the 31st. I'll also be in New York, where it could possibly be pretty cold.

What do you guys think?

Also while you're at it, and if you have the time and aren't worried about the remainder of your sanity, cruise over to the sidebar and check out my newest feature, Tits From Last Night (or just click this handy link). It's not porn (unless you want it to be- oh haaaai), but rather a compilation of some of the most hilarious exchanges between myself and Coyote Tits. Basically what it comes down to is that I'm a demented, inconsiderate asshole and it's a wonder she puts up with me or even that I have any friends at all, but read this anyway. It's kind of funny sometimes.

Nature Can Suck It

At 3:30 this morning my night table started rattling. I had been sleeping and did not appreciate being jolted awake by anything other than Ryan Gosling carrying a Costco-size crate of coffee ice cream. Combined with the fact that I had spent the entire holiday weekend (Labor Day, for those of you not in the US) fighting off an incredibly annoying sinus infection, this was not how I had planned to end the summer of 2012. I mean, it's not like my phone was ringing off the hook anyway, but still. No, Richter scale. NO.

Growing up in New York City, I've been through a bunch of Nor'Easters and more than a few huge storms. Usually what those meant were a couple of days off from school. I remember one instance in high school where they prematurely cancelled classes due to a "hurricane warning," and then the next day turned out to be bright, sunny and like 70 degrees. It was awesome and my friends and I went to the park and hung out all day. Before moving to California, I'd become pretty desensitized to natural disasters, although I sympathized with other areas and always worried about my friends. The only time I'd really been directly affected by a "natural disaster" is when I got up every morning and looked at myself in the mirror.

I'm going to ask you nicely to stop taking pictures of me and
posting them on the internet. Thank you.

Then I moved to Los Angeles. I knew, when I relocated, that earthquakes were a Thing. That kind of freaked me out, but I had also heard that they were very infrequent. My dad had already lived in LA for a few years and had yet to experience one, so I figured I was OK. LA was never my first (or even my eighth) choice of residence, but I got offered a job here, and besides, nothing in Los Angeles is natural anyway, so I thought that maybe the only "disaster" would be like, a dye job or something. 

PS- despite what we all thought we learned from Clueless, the "Pismo Beach" event was entirely made up.

The thought of the ground vibrating and opening up under my feet absolutely fucking terrifies me. I'll admit that most of my fears are pretty irrational adorable, but when something's main characteristics also sound like the coming of the apocalypse, that's enough to make me run far the fuck away. Forever.

That was definitely one of the four signs of the apocalypse.
Earthquakes, Pestilence, Famine, and uh, Bieber.

Free-falling into a black hole of nothing isn't exactly on my bucket list, thanks. What makes it worse is that you never know when one is going to hit- earthquakes sneak up on you, like the stomach flu, or midgets. 

This fun surprise from last night is just the latest in a string of Southern California shake-ups in the last two months. Depending on which news report you read, there have been between thirty to four hundred mini-quakes, all between the magnitude of 3.0-4.5. Maybe it's because I'm so paranoid, but I've felt a lot of them, and they all scare the shit out of me. If yesterday's quake was only a 3.3, I never want to feel anything above a 5. I have no idea why there have been so many in such a short amount of time, but I don't like it, and I can't believe anybody would choose to live an area where the ground could crack open with no prior warning. 

Add this to one more reason why I've booked my flight back home. I still have to wait until my lease is up- right before Halloween- but I do get to leave, and I will never, ever, have to live in constant fear of being swallowed into the Earth ever again. 

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.

EXHIBITS A, B and C:



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.

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.

YEEEEEES.

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.

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.