God, You're So Old and Stuff...

Happy Birthday G2!

And this is the part where we recount, for the 79,000th time all the ridiculous shit we've ever said or done back in the "heyday" that only we think is hilarious.

Want some cookies?

Gorgeous cufflaaaaanks.

Oh God, what an ugly baby!

Ryan, Ryan, Ryan?

Is that a dick drawn on that headboard?

One hundred whole dollars (each) -- ours, all ours!

Red, chellow, blue, green -- what is your favorite color today?

Cool fucking rock at my windshield, Kirby.

That fool left his block heel Skechers and you threw them in the utility closet.

Speaking of utility closet. Yes, we just threw that coat in the real live garbage dumpster.

Raw ankle. Said while watching a random music video.

Yup, horse tranquilizers. Black Iago but he's a banker on the side.

I don't care what you say, that skull shirt was cute. Fuck you and fuck Tim.

You left that painting on the plane.

First class all the way back to Coach with the Mormon missionary. He. Won't. Stop. Talking.

Under the Tuck-son Sun.

So, like, what's it like being the ugly twin?

Dude, I don't think you can say that.

"Excuse me, don't you see there's a whole person standing here!"

He hates being picked up. No, for real.

Shortest man alive. He loves you boy. You're the best thing that's ever happened to him. He can't believe this shit!

Cool leg.

Dude, is that Gwyneth Paltrow? CRASH.

Golden cherub.

White.

Chimichangas and bunny slippers. We could have totally had Britney Spears' number, but noooo.

Cool producer.

Number 9 with orange drink.

Going to get sushi. Never came back to the bar.

"You're blonde. Go get us in."

And then she grinded her butt all in the robe and we were like...

Would you go out with him? How about one million dollars? Fine, yes.

Come on in, New York. Come on.

The Civic.

Mexican trinkets.

You just ate a Red Vine! I heard you!

CODE RED. Uh yeah, I'm driving home from the grocery store right now.

She wore brown pumps to the pool. Chime in -- with tassels.

The mother-daughter cleaning team. Bitch left a shirt in the half-made bed. You have to move a couch to clean under it.

Hey baby, I see you look at me.

Why, Greg, why don't they get it?

Why, G2, why? Is it that only we think its funny?

Plucking crunk fruit from a crunk tree.

That was fucking David fucking Schwimmer, asshole.

I know better than to let them go.

I won't be a-fraid to cry.

Even Ron Jeremy said no.

Yes, he ran down the street with the key. Ran. He was running? Run-ning, bitch.

The shower. Uh, that's a fucking billboard. WOW. You're stupid. I kept telling you. But noooo.

All the outfits. All the belts. Those Brazil pants.

We can't have this conversation again.

Ovah and out.

P.S. You're gor-gee-ose.

Almost Famous...

Screw it.

I have to just tell the truth. I know I’m supposed to act like I have this mysterious Nashville halfway famous (as my Granny would say) life. Like I just go to parties, rub elbows with the famous (i.e. get elbowed in the head because tall people refuse to acknowledge that smaller people may be right behind them), cash all my checks. Okay, I do some of that shit although running into Pier1 in flip flops and an anti-poof treatment on my head and getting asked if I’m that kid from That 70s Show is hardly as glamorous as you might not imagine. I was just at Target last night and I saw some famous folks. They’re crazy. Target was playing Chaka Khan and not one of them were grooving to it. What person doesn’t groove to a Chaka Khan song? That’s illegal in some countries. Celebrities. What the fuck? Needless to say, and really actually needless to say (don't you hate when people say that and the thing that they said was actually a necessary thing to say in order to move the conversation along?), I was grooving hard.

Ahh, so speaking of famous, could I get more famous if I made a nasty tape like Paris Hilton and of course, Cameron Diaz! Can you believe that shit? You see, there are small gifts that the one upstairs gives me. She can’t just have 45 bazillion dollars, have the world think she’s the baddest white girl in all of the motion pictures and on top of that she used to be kissing Justin Timberlake all up in my face. That would just be rude. To me! And what have I ever done to her? So long ago (to be sung like Luther) she made a nasty S&M tape that critics have hailed as not that sexy (That’s what they said) and for years she’s been fighting the release of it blah blah blah and now it’s out and available. Dude, what is the problem? What’s a little bad press for someone who has everything?

Who cares about bad press when you've got all the cash! So Mary-Kate's possibly a coke-sniffer? Even if so, she's a multi-millionaire coke-sniffer with an insane shoe collection, so snort it up MK. None of this shit will matter when you're lounging in your bungalow in Brazil, getting paper cuts counting that cash. And you'll always have Ashley. People do need to leave those two alone. They've got empires to build.

Shit, I’m about to make a nasty tape with Doogie Howser or something. Then can I have the money? Then can I get on the VIP list? Well Fuck You Leslie. That’s my new thing. Everything is Fuck You Leslie. Monster. Get on the train. Phew! For a moment there, I was feeling like I lost my shazaam.

So yes, I plan on making a nasty tape. Acting like it pains me to have it released. Release it. Get all the checks and then what? Can I buy a house? Or will that be another layer of my own demise? Will no one buy the nasty tape of Greg and Doogie Howser? I mean, it is Doogie Howser. Come on. I wouldn’t say anything bad about his ass. That fool can sing. Little old Doogie Howser. Wait, did I just say I’d hump Doogie Howser? That’s a little sexy, I guess. Well, not nearly as sexy as the dude that tried to lift my arms to smell my "armpit" (a word I don't recognize in the English language) so that he could enjoy my "pheromones..." but that, my cancer-free friend, is another story for another day. Who says armpit and why are you trying to smell me? Craziest comment ever. Another day though. For now, take this and I promise I'll try not to disappear for too long. Website? Update? Who?

Throw Your Hands Up At Me...

This picture doesn't have shit to do with shit, I liked it though!

DISCLAIMER: I am not complaining, I’m merely observing and appreciating the irony of the situation, but I had a post that was about how advice pretty much always sucks and there’s no point in giving it because no one really offers an explanation on how to literally take said advice, and somehow that sparked an influx of people calling me offering advice of that exact nature. I did ask a question and asked for an answer, but still… No, seriously, I thought it was the weirdest thing. I even got calls from people that gave the exact examples that I used of "advice" that totally sucks, like "have fun," and "don’t worry about it," and "don’t think about relationships or meeting anyone." Isn’t that so weird? Maybe my last post sounded like I wanted to hear those things. Did it?

Not all of them. I loved all the calls and e-mails I got, particularly because they were all kind, but also because witnessing the patterns was the absolute best.

Every person I talked to that is going through something similar – break-ups, momentary depression, loneliness, or just plain wanting to get ass, but having a hard time finding any – well, those calls and e-mails were so full of compassion, and never offered one piece of advice. It was all, "I hear you, dude." Then the happy people – the ones who aren’t in relationships because they seem to hate relationships or are in perfect relationships, they’re full of advice. Very much, "Hey, look at me! Chin up!"

So, here’s my question, and you don’t have to answer this, but feel free: Why is it considered pathetic to want a boyfriend/girlfriend? No, seriously. One friend referred to herself as co-dependent just because she found that being excited about another guy would help get over the last one. I think that’s perfectly normal. Another person said that I’m "obsessed" with relationships. (Sidenote: I couldn’t talk about relationships for the first couple years of having a blog/site/journal because I was in a relationship of some sort, and I didn’t want that person reading what I thought about them online. This is my first opportunity to talk openly about everything I never could talk about, and it’s my favorite thing to talk about, so I’m making up for lost time.) An independent man or woman is seen as so strong, so lucky, so to be admired, but is it admirable or is it just one of multiple lifestyle choices that some prefer? Maybe those independent people really suck in relationships, so they’re single because they don’t know how to be sane as a partner, while some partner-types don’t know how to be sane without another half. But I just don’t understand why one is considered better than the other? Why is it okay to suck in a relationship and be awesome single, but not okay to be awesome in a relationship, but suck as a single?

I think you are co-dependent or obsessed when you’re the type of person who can't be alone. Let me define "can’t." I mean that the person would rather be with the wrong person, and horribly wrong at that, than be alone. This person who can't be alone won’t go out of the house without someone with them, won’t eat alone at restaurants, would never consider seeing a movie by themselves. This is a person who doesn’t like their self unless guy/girl likes them. This is the person who has no opinion of their own because they adapt to the opinion of whomever they date. This is a person who thinks they’re pathetic and ugly if they’re not having sex with someone. This is a person who fears an empty bed.

I am none of those things. I sleep sprawled across my bed these days. I haven’t done this yet, but I’m sure I’ll go to movies alone by choice. I eat by myself all the time, and I often prefer it. I think I’m plenty attractive even if I don’t have a boyfriend. I pay my own bills, I buy my own shit, I have fun on the weekends, and I have a pretty full life even though I haven’t started singing again yet. So, IF I were to want a boyfriend, why would that make me an asshole? I’m not saying I’d want any old boyfriend. I’d want a good one. Somehow, that makes me a pathetic, weak, obsessive, co-dependent.

So, the advice rolled in – Hey, you’re free, enjoy yourself. Who said I’m not enjoying myself? Trust me, I like going wherever I want without running it by anyone. I love the fact that no one has the power to not call me and have that ruin my day. I love that someone else’s bad mood doesn’t have to become my bad mood. I love that I can flirt with whomever I want, and I never have to feel bad about it. I love that if I get sloppy drunk one night with the roommate, no one is going to give me shit about it or make me feel embarrassed. I love that I have no one to get into a fight with at the end of that drunken night. I love that I don’t have to babysit the feelings of anyone. I love that I don’t have anyone to disappoint me regularly, which a boyfriend kinda tends to do. I love that feeling of spotting a group of single boys and enjoying the moment of wondering if any of them will be attractive up close. I love that I never feel jealousy. That emotion is just monstrous, and I’m not worried about it now as a single. I love that I never have to wonder if I’m being cheated on. I love that I’m not terrified of losing someone. I love that I don’t have to feel that awful aching of the very first moment when you realize the person you’re crazy about is slipping away. I love that I don’t have to apologize to anyone ever. I love feeling when I go out that even though I really don’t think I’m going to meet anyone who excites me…I juuuuust might. I do feel liberated, but that’s because these are all the awful things I’ve experienced in prior relationships that are experiences I hope not to repeat if I’m with the right guy.

The right guy will be fucking awesome. And I can’t wait to meet him because he’s there, out there somewhere looking for some to be awesome with. He’s going to be fun. And he’s going to sound fucking happy to hear from me when I call. He’s going to look forward to seeing me. He’s going to flatter me. He’s going to give me little surprises. He’s going to be spontaneous and think a trip somewhere would be fun, or even better – if I want to go without him, he’ll think that’ll be fun for me and he’ll do his own thing without feeling abandoned or jealous. I won’t ever feel jealous because he won’t give me any reason to because he has the common knowledge of what’s not appropriate when you have a significant other. He won’t annoy the piss out of me. I’ll be attracted to him. I’ll love the way he smells. We’ll be excited about the future together. We’ll make plans, we’ll go on trips. He’ll think all my friends are hilarious. This fucking guy is out there. There might be a couple of them out there like that, and it’s not that I feel like I’m this loser because I’m not independent enough, I’m as independent as they get. I’m just so fucking excited to meet this man. He could be anywhere – in the grocery store, at a wedding, living next door… Ok, maybe not so much the next door thing, but you get the idea. My favorite person in the world exists, and I haven’t met him yet. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with reeeeaaallly looking forward to it.

The rest of my life is in order. I do concentrate on my career. I will start performing again. I have amazing friends. When the majority of your life is in order, you don’t sit around and talk about it – particularly on a blog. You talk about what you don’t have, why you don’t have it, and what you want from it. The one thing I don’t have is my significant other. So I live my life to the fullest every single moment I’m not typing to you people, and then I take this time here to analyze what’s missing. That’s it. That’s all.

I'm Feeling A Little Nostalgic Today...

I’m in the mood to reminisce a little. Let’s talk about Kelly Clarkson. I saw her in concert about a year or so ago. Here’s how it went down.

First, there were three non-ridiculous outfit changes and no lip-syncing. Can’t say the same for Onyx Hotel, Britney. Well, Kelly did come out in an asymmetrical band jacket at one point only to trump that with a G&R blouse. But she’s Kelly Clarkson. She can do that. How cute is she? Go Kelly, you go.

I was in the sixth row on the floor level. I could throw a drink at Kelly and get her a little wet. I wouldn’t throw any drinks though because those bitches cost $31. For two drinks! I was like, this shit better be some magic potion that makes me fly or something. That price is outrageous. I could have javelin-thrown myself on stage though. That’s how close I was. I was in a semi-celebrity section (Some guy from Idol season 1, a TV news anchor, and Taylor Hicks, he wasn’t famous then… I still hated him though!) so that automatically means good seats. Did I mention yet that these tickets were free? Yes, girl. Free tickets to good seats at Kelly Clarkson. The only way this experience could be any better is if Kelly paid my rent.

She sang all the good songs. Since You Been Gone, Miss Independent, Behind These Hazel Eyes complete with an encore with the wedding dress. She just kept dancing around in it, and by the time that song came on, some people in my row left (Why?) and my friend Alex and I used the extra space to really dance. Oh, we were dancing. Dancing as if a man behind was cracking a whip on our backs if we didn’t. We just couldn’t stop. I made love to the seat in front of me more than a few times. 2 Live Crew style, get arrested Bobby Brown style. Kelly Clarkson just brings it out of me.

Now, let’s talk about the part of the show where some folks from the audience get to come on stage. They had to be plants. Like Kelly’s cousin and the drummer’s auntie or something. They simply were not excited enough. Just not excited enough. Kelly got really close to one guy with the microphone and he just took it and sang all the right words. Who really knows all the right words to say to a Kelly Clarkson song? I get my mumble on to most of the songs, so how is he knowing all the words and, and, and! not having a heart attack? I would have sliced Kelly’s neck open with the bracelet I had on that night, grabbed her eye out of her face. I would have to at least take her aside and be like, “What’s up for tonight?” None of that happened and a ten-year-old boy was dancing up there with a band uniform on. Totally had to be somebody important’s nephew. Nepotism. Why is no one in my family in the Kelly Clarkson’s camp? Why do none of the Howards work for the Oscars or the Grammys? What do we Howards do? I don’t even have an in at the post office.

I broke my neck a few times to see what Taylor Hicks was doing. Staring at semi- celebrities at a concert so much easier to pull off. He was messing with his shirt half the time. But he was dressed reasonably. Like his momma picked his clothes out. His face was all washed. Come to think of it he looked good that night. Almost makes me want to give him a call. Not really, but still. My friend he was dating was out of his mind to let him go to Kelly Clarkson by his lonesome. Out of his damn mind. If I were like a couple inches taller, I’d be right over there with my stank face like take one good look at your past (Holding a picture of his ex) and we’re out. I lie! I would never roll up on Taylor Hicks***. Not in this life and surely not at the Kelly Clarkson concert.

If you have an opportunity to go see Kelly Clarkson, you just have to. You’ll lose your voice. Your butt will hurt from all the dancing, but it’s so worth it. She’s the shit. And wear flip flops. Don’t be trying to be cute in your little shoes because bitch you won’t be sitting down the entire time. You will be on your feet like Gloria Estefan told you to do it. I would so be Kelly’s boyfriend. We could share clothes.

*** NOTE: Some of you may or may not believe some of the stuff I have written about Taylor Hicks, but he did date a friend of mine for awhile. I’m not going to go into the drama that went down, but I can’t stand that little two faced bastard. But, girl, I sure had a crush on him back in the day…***

Oh, Before I Forget...

This goes out to my roommate who specifically asked me to make sure this made it into my blog today!

Look Slick, It's Cindereall Cho!

Trying to Live My Life Like It's Golden...

I’ve noticed a lot of my entries here are depressing as shit. I’m aware of this. Why? Because it’s pretty much only when I’m feeling darker, reflective, introspective, and sad when I feel in the mood to really express myself instead of telling some random ass story or something. Personally, I find it obnoxious when I’m reading about how happy another person is. Why? Not because that person is obnoxious, but just because I’m jealous of people who walk around happy and thankful. I know it’s a good way to live. I wish I could be that way. I know it’s an active decision I make on a daily basis to not feel that way. I’m not sure why I decide to be so unhappy or unfulfilled. Maybe it’s the same reason why I don’t always eat healthy, why I have a beer when I hate drinking, why I skip working out when working out feels so great. It’s because I’m a wallower. It sucks. It’s not very nice to be around. I’m choosing to be that person, and what will it take for me to chose otherwise? Well, though I would love to write something really depressing right now because I can and because I’m feeling sad about 8 million things that all have to do with just myself, I’ve decided to compose a list here of little and big things that make me happy. Maybe not dancing-on-the-ceiling happy, but the kind of happy that passes by you in the moment, temporarily lifting whatever pain you’ve been causing yourself. So, here goes:

* Being in the middle of a phenomenal book that you can’t put down.
* Looking around my clean apartment and knowing that it’s finally CLEAN.
* Crawling under my covers when I’m exhausted and knowing I can sleep as late as I want the next day.
* Watching a movie for the first time that is way better than I actually thought it would be when I bought the ticket, and knowing I’m only partly through it and so much more is to come.
* Receiving my paycheck.
* Remembering something or someone fondly.
* Being remembered fondly.
* Buying a new CD.
* A perfect piece of beef jerky
* That first cigarette of the day.
* Having a deep and fascinating conversation without someone who knows me and loves me as much as I know and love them
* Rediscovering an old song I used to love more than anything that I somehow had forgotten
* Telling a story well and making people around me laugh
* Getting dressed for a night out that I’ve been looking forward to for a while
* A spontaneous plan to do something fun on a night I thought would sure to be boring
* Staying in a hotel
* A relaxing manicure and pedicure
* Knowing I can afford that particular day to get that relaxing manicure and pedicure without worrying about the next bill
* A much needed hug
* A much needed kiss
* Receiving or giving good and thoughtful surprises

Have a nice day.

Microwave It Jack Ass...

I’m a total asshole when it comes to doing anything in the kitchen. I’m going to be one of those people who lies to the spouse about the meal “I” prepared. How long will I be able to keep up the masquerade? I’ve proven that I am just not meant to be alone with an oven. Some people aren’t cut out for cooking you know. Am I a disgrace to my mother’s womb? Yes, of course. But I’m not good at computers either so there might be something there. I just suck at kitchen shit.

Put it this way. About six months or so ago, I was trying to prepare a nice hot marshmallowey cup of hot chocolate so that I can get a long quiet night’s sleep. Um, yeah, I nearly burnt up the whole fucking house. It was all going down in flames right before my eyes. I was watching TV like a jackass trying to figure out that National Treasure reality show thing.

Anyway, I thought I smelled something funny. I thought, wow, maybe the heater just kicked in. Smells like fire. I just kept doing what I’m doing because I’m fucking insane. Well, a minute later I remembered the milk on the stove! The milk on the stove! Why am I boiling milk? The microwave is an appliance that is friendly to someone on my skill level and I should look into that option more often.

I ran to the kitchen and there it was. My entire life flashing before me. The first thing I remembered was the time guy butchered my hair saying that I’d love it. I hated it, those rotten ass crooked bangs, and I hated him for an entire summer. And then I saw the light and as I started walking toward it like Carol Anne, I came to and realized I had better fight for this life. This fabulous life in Birmingham where I could go on a date with a great someone only to find myself uncomfortably having the "Cool it now... We’ve got to slow it down... Ooh... Watch out," talk because he just inappropriately asked me to – get ready -- return his rental car the next morning. That should be read aloud, screaming actually. It really blows my mind. Such a shame. I really liked him. Does anybody else think that's weird?

But hello, you can’t really talk about your dating life on the Internet and then expect to date some more. Even if you do speak glowingly of a person and I can speak quite glowingly of Rental Car. He was cool. I can’t talk about this. Well, shit, all that shit I just mentioned above happened to a friend of mine. That crazy friend of mine. Dating is off the chain, and my friends all suggest I keep doing it specifically to write a book about my luck, or lack of, with it. Fuck, I should ghostwrite that. Oh yes I am. For my friend as I said earlier. My friend.

Shall I attempt to make another cup of hot chocolate?