Sleep Talkin' Man

This is worth it's own post.  I'm sure I'm the only one living under the rock who hasn't seen this blog/heard of it until today, but in case I'm not, you MUST add this blog:

http://sleeptalkinman.blogspot.com

This blog is managed by this English man's wife, Karen, who records her husband throughout the night because he says the most ridiculous, hilarious things in his sleep.

Git R Done

Sign on my friend Mike's fence. Motivating.

Why NYC Scares Me: Reason 586 of 2750284038

This story is a little old, but I was reminded of it a minute ago as I received a Tweet from Zak Bagans saying,

"In a cab with the driver he's 80 years old and is driving like mario andrettie and keeps cursing... this dude rocks"

Please keep in mind I wrote it verbatim, sans punctuation, proper spelling and the like. Anyway, I was brought back to this past New Years.


When the Jersey Shore took over the bar we were at, we decided to call it a night. The walk from the bar to Grand Central wasn't that bad, but after being on our feet in our stilettos, it seemed almost unbearable. Allie quickly made it known that the girls were NOT walking, and although the men of the group were insisting that there would be no way we could hail a cab on New Years, Allie almost immediately proved them wrong.


I don't want to say I was a non-believer but I did secure my own ride, and when I heard her calling me to get in the cab, I quickly jumped off The Rag's back and ran over to the yellow slice 'o heaven. 


The driver... was a creeper. Some form of Middle Eastern and clearly had no issues with letting us know exactly what was on his mind. About us, about the girl in the little blue piece of fabric (blue was his favorite color - he slowed down to offer her a ride), about how much he likes boobies and let's not forget the deal - if we flashed boobies, our ride was discounted. Not free, but discounted. Classy.


When there were no more, "oh my God, look at HER"'s he asked, "so you guys are all already drunk, huh?" - I'm paraphrasing here, I can't quite remember the exact creepy question he asked, but Allie didn't think twice before answering, "YUP!" NO, ALLISON! NO! Why would you ever admit that?! I had to try and save it, "not me! Totally sober." And I was, I wasn't lying, but he also had to know that there was no way he was going to see/touch/lick/whatever any type of boobie in that disgusting cab.


Before we reached our destination, Allie told him to stop by a bank so we could get cash out of the ATM. When he pulled up along the cub outside of the bank, Allie jumped out, leaving Maggie and I in the cab so that he'd be rest assured that we weren't going to bail without paying (which we completely should've done). What does Maggie do? She closes the cab door. NO, MAGGIE! NO! Why would you DO that?! What if this creeper wanted to drive us off and do awful, disgusting things? You'd be okay because you're wasted, but me? I'd be conscious of the whole debacle! 


Allie runs back to the cab, gets in and a few blocks later we were at the glorious train station and we're not sure how it happened, but the guys were already there, half-eaten wraps in-hand. At least we didn't have to walk.

Old-en Cartoons-enberg

I have this friend who's going to be shipped off to boot camp come August for the U.S. Navy. I don't know how/why he found these, but I can't stop watching them. He posted a link to a very old Donald Duck WWII propaganda cartoon called "The Spirit of 43." It was barely 6 minutes long, but I can only imagine how many children ran to mother and father upon its ending credits saying, "save for taxes!" 

Then of course, there's link after link after link of more. I watched the Three Little Pigs next.

And of course, you can't forget Donald Duck as a Nazi. 

Can't... stop... watching.

Ellen DeGeneres Has it Right

Along with my short blog about dating younger men, this one, too, is going to seem juvenile.  Maybe it's because my hormones are raging due to Mother Nature saying hello, or maybe it has a little something to do with not having any form of sexual contact with a man since early July of last year (maybe), but I digress. 

Since Comcast decided to butt-bang everyone with no lube and I only get channels 1 through 20, my TiVo has pretty much gone to waste.  There's the occasional House M.D., LOST even though I've given up on it seasons ago, COPS, AMW, The Steve Wilkos Show (and proudly), and now: Ellen DeGeneres.  I've always thought she was hilarious, why not record her show so I can get the giggles when there's nothing else on? 

So, in my few days of recording her show I've noticed that she always has the most current, hottest stars as guests and boy does she own them.  Everyone loves The Ellen.  I've also noticed that every time a hunky actor or musician or athlete comes out for their interview Ellen gets a nice little peck on the lips.  This is regardless of marital status (Drew Brees, Eric Dane, Michael Buble').  Being that she's a married lesbian, these hunky piece of hiney's wives couldn't possibly care, right? 

"*KISS* Hi Ellen, the wife says hello *ASS SMACK*"

 I think you see where I'm going with this.  Pretend you're a lesbian so you can kiss any farking man you want and not get in trouble.  Sign me up.

NYE, En Why Eeek!

Well, at least now I know what it's like to live like a rock star... minus the uh, booze and sex, but everything else is pretty much spot-on including the lack of sleep and showering.

I stepped off the plane thinking about how I was going to pull off walking outside without busting my butt on some form of iced surface. Success (although I can't say the same for a certain native, but I won't mention any names, Allie). After walking what seemed like miles to my ride, I felt like I was living the life of a Charlie's Angel while Bosley gave me my orders. "We're on a mission. We have to pick up Allie." Roger that.
Note: It was a some point after that and before the next section that Miss Congeniality busted her butt in her own driveway.

Al and Mags brought the entire dress section of their closet with them to try on before choosing their weapon for the evening. Me? I had a black thing. No, seriously. It was a one-size fits all... thing. Oh, and it was black.

After hauling hiney in the parking lot of the train station (I never signed up for the running part), we managed to catch our train no thanks to the cabbie who forgot to come pick us up. Oh, and I can't forget to mention the conspiracy where the lovely town of Poughkeepsie only had one working ticket machine on New Years Eve, so everyone had to pay an extra $5 on the train for a ticket. Nice job, I almost wish I had thought of that.

What's that, you say? Now we have to walk to the bar? I don't want to say, "lucky me," but in this case, I suppose I had one-up on the gals. I at least had boots on. Mags and Al were bare legged and in platforms and strappy-heels. Win!

 Now, here comes the good part. Due to what I'm going to call an "overexertion of alcoholic consumption" on Christmas Eve (that's a whole other blog I spared you of), I didn't even want to look at liquor (or a toilet bowl) on NYE. I nursed a beer the entire night. Sadly, I was the only one.

At least my sobriety gave me a chance to actually look around and see where I was. I felt like I was in the middle of an episode of The Jersey Shore. There was a douche with a horn the whole night who Rag and I endearingly dubbed, "The Horn." His brother with a noise-maker was "The Clicka (clicker)," and let's not forget the greasy Rico Suave who was dubbed, "The Problem." And what's up with the ladies being fall-down drunk? Please tell me I don't look like that. I mean literally fall-down drunk. So drunk they don't even realize they're sitting on the floor in front of the bathroom... or care to get up.

After the classy bar did the countdown to the ball dropping a whopping 2 times, we got our (their) sloppy selves together and bailed for the evening. Us ladies refused to walk at this point being that our feet felt like they were walking on knives with every step. Some non-believer in the group insisted,

"you're not going to get a cab, it's New Years. Just walk."

We sent in the secret weapon: Al in a hot pink piece of fabric. I hopped off of Rag's back with the quickness (yes, I was having him carry me) and ran over to our cab. Now, this is a whole other problem: Our pervy cabbie talking about boobs and favorite colored dresses and drunk girls, but I don't care to relive that moment.

I was anxiously waiting to see how many idiots couldn't hold their liquor and would make the train their own personal vomit bag, but alas, we were the only group with an idiot. 3 times worth the idiot, but I digress. It was great to spend the start of another year with those I love.

The next evening I practiced my artistic abilities and gathered all of the snow I could to build a snowman. Behold my "snowchild":

I think I slept a total of maybe 10 hours and I showered approximately once the entire trip. By the next morning not only was I spent, but I was out and on my way back to South Florida where I was greeted by 50° weather. What am I, the Pied Piper? It was okay, though. I was ready for my fork - I was done.

2009 Christmas List

I'm Jewish and non-religious, so without further ado, here is my Christmas wish-list:

Pleo by Ugobe

That's right, we all know this. I want a "life form" that won't crap on my carpet. Or eat. And has an OFF button if necessary. Besides, who doesn't want a pet dino? Hopefully we get Christmas bonuses at work 'cause this is where it's going. Mommy's coming, Pleo!

 

Philips Sonicare mack-daddy electric toothbrush

What?! I like clean teeth. Besides, I have dental floss in my purse, desk at work and my house, so why don't I own this? Exactly - it would only make sense. 

 

(via)

Clydesdale

I've wanted one of these bad boys since I was a kid. I want the animal, not the bills that come with it. These things are massive. That is all.

Micro pave diamond ring

Okay, so, obviously it doesn't have to be emerald cut, but I'd like a diamond ring that has diamonds surrounded by diamonds. Platinum or white gold, size 3.5.

Ryan Buell

I've also wanted this for a while now. I'm pretty sure he comes as a combo deal with the ring above, no? My mother says he's creepy-looking like Malakai from Children of the Corn. I say NAY! Ah, crap - I missed the season 4 premiere of Paranormal State last night, didn't I? CRAP!

Wife

I miss her. She loves me unconditionally and I love her the same. She's the one person who can do the most dumb things (which she doesn't really do) and I still don't get frustrated with her. Plus she takes wicked good care of me. I wouldn't mind her moving down.

This concludes my wish-list for this year. Thank you in advance.

Ode to John Mayer

Dearest John Mayer,

How your youthful, naive awkwarness captured our hearts. Your excellent hair and grimace guitar faces sucked us in like a vortex.

(via)

You caught a lucky break, dearest John Mayer, and nailed yourself a former attractive actress. So what if her weight fluctuated up and down like the temperature of a Florida winter? Several tattoos and fat supermodels later, you're still the man. 

A Berklee attendee who gets off on making others wonder. Did you ever graduate? You write songs about smoking pot and being in love, yet you do not love. Are you sad, John Mayer?

A future legend, you are, John Mayer. Your douchebaggery is something I can overlook. And I do.

Come Back to Bed.

Myspace: Creeper McCreepalman

I used to be completely into Myspace and I hated Facebook. That may partly be because I wasn't in college and I couldn't join Facebook at the time, but I found Myspace to be colorful and fun. Oh, and I don't like change, but I digress.

Myspace was easy. Put your page on private (if you wish), add and deny friends as you please, keep comments public or private via messages -- easy and fun to use. You could even go into stalker-mode and browse around for people in your area or search for people by name. I had a lot of fun with that and if you say you didn't do it you're a liar and I don't like liars.

I was a faithful Myspace user for years. I never got into Facebook or Hi5 or even Twitter (now). Trust you me, my life is not interesting enough for Twitter. The only time I've ever strayed away from my beloved 'Space was when Facebook became open for anyone to join. I was finding that more people I knew liked Facebook better, so I took the plunge and created my account. Slowly but surely, Facebook overruled Myspace.

Granted, there are still a few friends who don't use Facebook and they only have Myspace accounts, so I kept my profile active checking it only when I received notifications that I had a message or a friend request. I've had the same page content for at least 3 years and although my tastes may have slightly changed, the Myspace world is not aware.

Then it happened.

A few weeks ago I was shopping with my mother for a Thanksgiving platter dish to bring to my uncle's house for dinner. There's clearly no other place to do that aside from The Tower Shops for obvious reasons. We looked diligently in Old Navy, DSW shoes, Bath and Body Works and the pet store, but no dish. After a while, we made our way over to TJ Maxx and scanned the purse section, but to no avail. We figured it couldn't hurt to check the home goods section, so we walked up and down the aisles checking all of the plates and dishes for something festive.

I glanced up and I saw him. Dexter Morgan. In TJ Maxx. Okay, not really, but I saw an old friend whom I haven't talked to in years. I recognized him instantly, and even though I know he saw me, I could tell he didn't recognize me. Marme and I left the shops empty-handed (well, platterless, anyway) and headed home.

I'm not impulsive at all, so I immediately fired-up my laptop and searched for him on Myspace (I guess we deleted each other in the past after we lost touch). I shot him a simple message saying, "Was that you?! It was, wasn't it." He replied minutes later, but he had no idea what I was talking about. Or at least he pretended he didn't. No matter - the next few days were spent exchanging messages and catching up a bit.

I decided I would also update my profile page. I changed my layout to the new style, which apparently means you have to update all of your privacy settings as you go along. I failed to note that. The friend requests and messages from random people began pouring in.

Weirdos from all over South Florida were sending me messages. Some of them, repeats. "Your beautiful." You can't spell, sir, and I don't know you. I quickly figured out that my profile was no longer completely private and addressed the issue. Did it help? No! "Your beautiful." I still don't know you. "MiAmI hOtT bOii wants to be your friend." Who?! At least 20 different people and messages flooded my inbox.

Random guy: How come you didn't respond to my message? Do you have something against me?!
Lee: I don't know you, sorry.
Random guy: So you have something against getting to know new people?
Lee: Yes.

Next message.

"Your beautiful."
Sir, this is the third time. I didn't reply the other two and this is obviously not going to be the charm. *BLOCK*

Myspace, you are officially the most creepy website ever and my love for you has completely deminished. People of Myspace, you are even more creepy for utilizing the website as an excuse to harrass. I am not impressed.

Nick, it was nice running into you. Please start using AIM.

Tiger Woods, You Scumbag

Tiger Woods crashed. Tiger Woods cheated... with multiple women. Tiger, Tiger, Tiger.

W H O    G I V E S    A    R A T S   A S S ? !

I hate the news. I find it depressing and it bores me to tears, but I have to believe that there's something more important in this ridiculous world than how Tiger Woods decides to live his personal life.

Dear Media,

Are you that desperate for stories? Tiger Woods plays a great round of golf, he's not the spokesperson for fidelity. When the drama of his personal life overshadows any other story on CNN, or every single magazine or gossip website posts the same story with a few different words, not only are you being redundantly boring and unoriginal, but you're showing how idiotic you really are when you're depicting this to be the most important piece of news since Thanksgiving.

Get your heads out of your asses and talk about something that matters. I have friends in Afghanistan.

Sincerely,

Lee

Silly Dream: Let This Be A Lesson To Ya

I'm a huge fan of dreaming. I do it every night and I remember most of the details of every one. I also dream in color, so whoever said people don't dream in color is a moron. Moving on.

I don't share most of my dreams, there would be too many and they usually make more sense in our heads than they do when we try and verbalize them. This one, however, is a true gem. Feast your eyes:

I found a way to get Ryan Buell in Ft. Lauderdale, more specifically, my house. The details of how I did this are the part I can't remember, but I'm going to assume that I somehow used Alan as an excuse, as he's a skeptic and Ryan hunts ghosts. Friggen perfect, because now I can turn on my charm and get a few dates, or at least a run in the sack. The only problem? I failed to remove the hand-made mobile dangling from my bedroom ceiling that boldly displayed "Alicia <3 Ryan." (note: said mobile does NOT exist, there is no Ryan merch anywhere in my room unless you count his face on my desktop, cell phone and that dumb face-in-a-hole picture I created for fun located on my Facebook).
How could I have not taken that down?! Of course it ruined me, Ryan now knows that I'm a super fan (not to be confused with Sarafan) and he was angry! Before I knew it, he was kanoodling with another girl! Fury!

Moral of the story: Take down your Backstreet Boys, Hanson, Michael Phelps, Zac Efron, Michael Bublé (you get the point) pictures, posters and pathetic-grams because you never know when they'll end up in your bedroom. That goes for you, Allison.

Not now, I'm busy!

The time has come! It seems the devil himself has finally called upon me. Does he not see the time!? I have to go to work!

There goes my life (some more).

So, my coworker downloaded this game and he would play it in the office sometimes when nothing was going on. I watched. I giggled. It's so ridiculous, but alas. I caved late Sunday night and downloaded it. It's addicting. How addicting, you ask?

I woke up Monday morning at 10 AM. Computer was on with coffee in hand by 10:30 AM, game loaded by 10:31 AM.

Here we are, 10 PM. I just shut it. *Sigh*


http://www.popcap.com/


Yes, it has a trailer. Nice knowing you.

Beware of kidnapped tigers
(saw this on my way home from work. Poor kitty)