The Craigslist Coffee Challenge

I have a recurring problem at work: I want coffee but don't want to get up to get it. First of all, I hate the coffee we have in the office and refuse to drink it. Although I was unemployed for six months, I would say the worst part of the Recession is that my office is forced to cut corners and buy Staples brand coffee. It's disgusting. As Boss #1 infamously said, "it smells like pencil shavings and cooter." To which I say no thank you. Ergo, I'm forced to venture out into the world to get a drinkable cup of coffee.

My office is located equidistant between a Caribou Coffee and a Starbucks, both being about two blocks away. I realize that doesn't sound like that far, but when you're right in the middle of a crucial episode of Dynasty and you're kind of sleepy and it's anyone's guess who stole Crystal's baby, it might as well be a mile away. Normally when I get "coffee lazy," I just complain to a few people via gchat, feel sorry for myself for a little bit and then work up the adrenaline needed to get up and walk the two blocks to Starbucks. And then everything's fine. Yesterday, however, was a horse of a different color.

Not only did I have a vicious case of "coffee lazy," but I couldn't leave my office even if I wanted to. Boss #1 and our VP of sales were headed over to the office between the ambiguous hours of 12 and 4. Obviously, because I'm me, the second I ran out, Boss #1 and VP would inevitably come waltzing in and pee their pants that I left the studio unattended. So I decided not to risk it and stayed put.

As the hours went by, I fell deeper and deeper into caffeine withdrawal. I briefly considered making a pot of Cooter & Shavings coffee, but just couldn't do it. Knowing that Helena had the day off, I offered her $100,000 cash to bring me a latte. She respectfully declined as a.) it was her day off b.) she lives on Capitol Hill and I work in Metro Center and c.) she didn't want to put pants on. I understood completely. So, I did the next logical thing and called my mom to see if she would do it. And she hung up on me.

What was a girl to do? Then I got an idea...what if I posted an ad on Craigslist for someone to bring me coffee? Could I really rely on my fellow man to help me out in my hour of need? Are people really that selfless? I took to gchat to consult Helena:

me: helena, i'm honestly considering posting an ad on craigslist in random gigs for someone to deliver me a latte
Helena: do it
see if it works
what's the worst that can happen?

And that's about all the convincing I needed. Ten minutes later, I had posted this ad in "domestic gigs":

(For those of us without 20/20 vision, it reads "So, I'm at work and desperately need a cup of coffee but I can't leave my office. You can see the predicament I'm in. None of my co-workers are in, none of my friends can do it and my mom refuses to drive in from Maryland. I would really, really appreciate it if you could swing by and help me out. I'd prefer a quad venti skim latte from Starbucks, but I realize that beggars can't be choosers. I can pay you back upon delivery. As a bonus, I can offer you a bevy of free office supplies including, but not limited to, promotional packs of gum and extra-heavy card stock paper. Thanks!"

20 minutes later, I got my first response:

KEEP ON DREAMING HEHEHAHAHEHEhahahehehahahehe

Reading that burned like Chlamydia. Come on asshole! If you're not going to bring me coffee or at least give me advice on how to get coffee, why take the time to email me at all? This was essentially a digital version of pointing and laughing and I did not appreciate one bit.

Luckily a few minutes later, I got another response:

ad was funny.. why not get a coffee pot and lil fridge.. there are pots you can make by the cup when you want em lil coffee packs of diff flavors go in em.. go look in kohls or sears or such pricy but worth it..

'Eh. I guess this one is more constructive than the last, but didn't I explicitly state that I can't leave my office? How do you propose I get to Kohl's or Sears to get a "lil" coffee pot and "lil" mini fridge? Clone myself? And if so, does the clone have her own money to buy kitchen appliances? Because I sure as shit don't. I appreciated the sentiment though.

Then this response rolled in:

how about you suck my dick,,, and we call it even

Now, I like coffee. And I also happen to like dick. However, I'd prefer to keep my interactions with coffee and dick separate. And by the way, I don't really think exchanging a blow job for a cup of coffee really is "calling it even." How much does a cup of coffee cost? $5 max? I'd like to think a Meg McBlogger blow job could fetch more than that, thank you very much. I'd expect a biscotti too, at the very least.

Just when I was giving up hope, I got this:

hey do you still need coffee? - phillip

SCORE! An offer that didn't involve laughing at my misfortune or sucking dick! I jumped on it. But before officially accepting the offer, I quickly looked this Phillip character up on Facebook to make sure his picture wasn't him holding a giant butcher knife, wearing a t-shirt that says, "IMMA CUT YOU!" Luckily for me, not only was he not wielding a knife or menacing t-shirt, he used to work with Alex and is currently the assistant manager of American Apparel in Chinatown. How crazy is that? I briefly considered asking him to bring me a romper and leggings with my coffee, but decided not to press my luck.

10 minutes later, Phillip the delightful hipster delivered me my delicious quad venti skim latte. When Boss #1 and VP showed up a few minutes later, they were none the wiser.

Score:
Murphy's Law: 0
Craigslist: 1

"I'm a psychiatrist, not one of your football players"

I would like to share with you my all-time favorite five minutes of television, ever. It's from an episode of Dynasty called "Alexis' Secret" from Season 2. In this clip, Claudia Blaisdel (upset that her husband Mathew took their daughter and skipped town to Brazil) tries to take her own life by overdosing on pills. At around the 1 minute 40 second mark, Blake Carrington and his staff psychiatrist Dr. Nicholas Toscanni (brilliantly played by James Farentino) show up and try to save Claudia. Accidental comedic genius was born:


Here is an itemized list of why I love this scene quite possibly more than I'll ever love another human being:
1.) If they gave Emmy's for overacting, James Farentino would would have 'em coming out his ass.
2.) Dr. Toscanni rolls up in a Delorian. Because of course he does.
3.) The overly dramatic violin music.
4.) The fervor with which Dr. Toscanni takes off Claudia's shoes.
5.) At 2 minutes and 30 seconds, Dr. Toscanni tries to hug the overdose out of her.
6.) Now, I'm not a doctor. But if I were, I miiiiiight try pumping Claudia's stomach before I try dragging her around the room, regaling her with charming, yet racially stereotypical anecdotes about growing up as an Italian-American on the Lower East Side. But then again, I'm not a doctor. Nor am I Italian.
7.) Dr. Toscanni's monologue at the 2 minute 50 second mark is what dreams are made of. If you only do one thing today; watch it.
8.) RE: Dr. Toscanni's childhood apartment: "We had a John in the hall!" Genius.
9.) The story of Dr. Toscanni's childhood is basically just extremely condensed version of the Fievel movie An American Tale. I'm always dissapointed when he doesn't bust out with "There are no cats in America and the streets are paved with cheese!" while he dances Claudia around the room like a rag doll.
10.) At one point Dr. Toscanni's dramatic monologue disintegrates into random cliché Italian phrases. It's now one of my life goals to burst into a room where someone is overdosing on pills and be like, "EVERY STEP ASIDE, I GOT THIS!" Then pick said person up and drag them around the room while shouting things like, "MANGIA! BERTOLLI! MI SCUSI! RAVIOLLI! Someone get me a cold towel, damnit! VESPA! PREGO! MARIO AND LUIGI! A-PIZZA-PIE!
11.) I understand whoever wrote this scene was thinking, "Dr. Toscanni will ramble on about anything and everything for a while to keep Claudia conscious." That makes sense. But sir, self-editing is important. Because this shitshow of a monologue could have been about a minute shorter and still have been just as effective. For example, maybe it's time to end the scene when the character is awkwardly telling failed inside jokes about the Statue of Liberty's flat ass that ends with, "'eh...maybe you had to be there."
12.) You just know that John Farentino went home at the end of the day and was like "God. I fucking nailed that."

Why wanting a subscription to GQ doesn't make me a lesbian.

I love my mom. A lot. One thing I don't love about my mom, however, is that I'm 99.9% sure she thinks I'm gay. I know this because she has explicitly told me she thinks I'm gay on numerous occasions. This is upsetting to me because I am very much not a lesbian. Not like there's anything wrong with lesbianism. Hell, the original second bird on this blog was a big 'ole lezzie! I'm hip! I'm cool with it! I'm just not a lesbian myself.

The primary reason my mom thinks I'm gay is because I have a lot of gay friends. Now, believe it or not, this isn't the result of me going to local charter meetings of the "I'M A RAGING HOMO AND YOU ARE TOO! Club" (IARHAYATC, for short). It's because I went to an extremely gay-friendly college, where you can't swing a dead cat without hitting a few 'mos in the face. And I befriended those 'mos and consider myself lucky to have them. To me, having gay friends is the weakest possible argument for thinking someone's gay. I've got some black friends mom, does that make me any less painfully white? No. To my great, great dismay, it does not.

The second most ridiculous reason my mom thinks I'm gay is because I have visible tattoos. When I told my mom that I got tattoos #2 and #3 on my wrists, she nonchalantly told me that I had made a poor decision because from now on people will assume certain things about me. "Like what?" I asked her. Her answer? "That you're a prison dyke." I swear to all that is good and holy in this world, that was her answer. That people are going to assume that I am a prison dyke. Because I have two wrist tattoos. I suppose I could understand this if my tattoos said "INMATE" and "I HEART PUSSY", but they're just of a harp and a crown. To this day, it is completely beyond me why my tattoos insinuate not only that I've been incarcerated, but also that I'm the gayest kid on the block. And yet according to my mom, I should keep this in mind when meeting people for the first time, every time, for the rest of my life. I think if she had her way, one wrist would say "CLEAN RECORD" and the other "COCK-MASTER", respectively.

Her third reason for thinking I'm gay is slightly more legitimate, but still ridiculous. You see, for being such a bitter and spiteful bitch, I love to cuddle. But cuddling is a platonic act. Apparently my mom doesn't understand that two people can come into physical contact with each other without having sex (the brazen hussy!) So, when she came home one night to find me and Anna on the couch watching Troy and having a cuddle-fest, she acted like she had walked in on us in the middle of making hardcore lesbian porn. Grecian-themed, hardcore lesbian porn. Later at dinner, my mom interrupted the stony silence with the following conversation:Mom: "So...that Anna was all over you like a cheap suit. Anything you'd like to tell me?"Me: "WHAT?! We were just cuddling! I'm not gay, mom! And even if I were, I don't think I could get a girl as hot as Anna."Dad: "That's not true sweetie, I think you could definitely get a girl as hot as Anna."Me: "Awww Dad! That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me!....WAIT, but you know I'm not gay, right?? RIGHT?!"

No amount of "we were just cuddling!" could reverse the damage done. This misunderstanding planted a seed of hate in my mother's heart for Anna that has only recently removed itself. If I had friends over to our house, it wasn't uncommon for my mom to say hello to everyone but Anna. One winter break, I had a bunch of people over to the house for a pot-luck dinner and my mom said, and I quote, "It's just so good to see all of you girls! EVEN YOU ANNA!"

I guess it didn't really help when my mom was browsing through my photos from backpacking through Europe and found a picture of me and Anna kissing on the beach. I can see where that looks slightly gay and romantic. I guess. I really have no excuses for that except that it was just a peck! Show me a person who wouldn't give their BFF a peck while boozin' it up on an Italian beach and I'll show you a lair.

Sometimes I catch myself thinking about how sad it makes me that if I were gay, my mom wouldn't accept my partner. I've dated some real asshole dudes in my day and I feel like my mom would take one of them over a chick any day of the week. How messed up is that?...And then I have to stop and remind myself that this is a non-issue because I am straight, and I need to stop mourning my hypothetical homosexuality. And when you have to remind yourself that you're straight, you know you've lost.

This leads to my current conundrum. My birthday is coming up, and I really want to ask for a subscription to GQ, as it has become one of my favorite magazines. I was first introduced to GQ when I lived with Chris and he had a subscription. He'd leave them in the bathroom after he was done reading and I'd sneak in and gank 'em. His subscription to GQ is without a doubt what I miss most about living with Chris. Well, besides his friendship and advice and love and stuff..............................................................(but mostly the subscription).

First, GQ is designed by Fred Woodward, one of my all-time favorite graphic designers. His work at Rolling Stone is what inspired me to go into magazine design in the first place and I think he's a genius. Second, the articles are genuinely more interesting than those in any woman's magazine out there. Take Cosmopolitan, for example. I fucking hate Cosmopolitan with every fiber of my being. I have a theory about Cosmo that I call "The Ball Theory." The Ball Theory states that every article in Cosmo is inevitably about the same thing: remembering to give your man's balls attention. Every single article, every single sex tip—play with his balls. I get that it's important sister, but move on! 50 GREAT SEX TIPS! 1-49? Play with his balls. THE NEWEST SEX MOVE THAT'LL DRIVE HIM WILD! Play with his balls. THE SECRET SPOT THAT'LL REVIVE YOUR SEX LIFE! Starts with a B and rhymes with "schmalls." I get it! Balls! Now move the fuck on.

On the other hand, the articles in GQ are all incredibly interesting, well-written and for the most part gender-neutral. They have provocative interviews, a fabulous cocktail-of-the-month feature, the best food and wine articles since Martha, and humor articles that beat the hell out of Cosmo's shitty "Embarrassing Stories" section. (All of which are just variations of "OOOPS I FORGOT TO PLAY WITH MY MAN'S BALLS!" anyway.) Not to mention it's full of hundreds of glossy photos of sexy, handsome, well-dressed men! I'm sorry mom! I'm sorry I want to look at 140 pages of hot men! That's so queer of me! Meanwhile my W magazine has more exposed tits than spring break on the Jersey Shore, but she doesn't mind paying for that subscription, now does she?!

I just can't see anyway that I can ask for a subscription without having another "something you wanna tell me?" talk. And I don't know if I can take another one. If I snap and start to wear flannel and march in the Gay Pride Parade, it's just not my fault. Therefore, I think GQ should hire me to be a staff writer so I can get free copies and preserve my heterosexuality. It just seems like the logical thing to do. Right?

Sigh...I'll be in my office listening to the Indigo Girls and cutting off the sleeves to my t-shirts if anyone needs me.

Recrap Tuesdays!

The City
Episode 6: Recapped by Chris
Remember 10 years ago how idealistically you thought about what your adult life would be like? How you’d be living in the fabulous city of your choosing, with an amazing job, a hot boyfriend/girlfriend who loved you and you had amazing sex with, and a social life that never stopped? Unfortunately, as anyone reading this blog is well aware, life post-college is hardly ever what you expected. That’s why God created “the twenty-something years,” a time for us all to figure out how to get from awkward teenagers to well-adjusted thirty-somethings who can function in society.

Normally, when I recap The City for you, I think “Wow, that’s what my life in The City is supposed to be like? Man, I am doing this all wrong.” But last night’s was refreshing, because it seemed to me as though our cast of beautiful people was having some growing pains of their own. So in order to help them, and by proxy, help you, I’ve come up with this incredibly complex and intelligent formula to determine precisely what age Leggy McBlonde and friends are at in their lives currently.
The City is So High School It Makes The Breakfast Club Look Like a Knitting Circle

• Allie Eyebrows and Adam’s fight in the street reeks of a fight you would have with your boyfriend/girlfriend in the hallway outside of the gym at your Spring Fling because he/she found out you circled “Maybe” on the “Do you like me?” note that cute guy/girl passed you in Alegbra.

• Whitney and Jay fighting because of Adam and Allie’s fight. Because your friends actions are a direct reflection of your own? Only in high school pregnancy pacts, Whitney.

• Adam’s forgiveness plea to Allie? “I’ll never lie to you” is something you say when you’re naive and don’t realize how long never actually is.

• As much as I hate agreeing with Olivia, did Whitney really need to fill her in on her friends’ drama before H.Waldorf actually meets them?

• Deciding to tell Eyebrows “the truth.” This does not make things better. Everyone ideally “would want to know” if it happened to them, but in practice, ignorance is bliss.

• Then the way shit went down. Cat slowly gravitated over, then stood with her back to Allie, until Brows got the balls (read: booze) enough to talk. Meanwhile, every other girl who knows what’s up is studying their shoes in silence.

• Also, could MTV’s editors be more gossipy without actually saying anything? For instance, the cutting of Bro-Talk with Adam and Jay where Jay asks Adam if anything actually happened. Instead of a yes or no response, we get 10 seconds of silence and Adam and Jay avoiding each other’s eyes.

Who Said Graduation Meant College Was Over?

• Best exchange of the episode:


Erin: “Wait..Sammy and Cat and then Adam and Allie are gonna be there?”
Whit: “Yup.”
Erin: “Is it open bar?”

• Erin, I love you more each episode.

• I don’t think tequila is the preferred beverage at a gallery opening, Jay.

• Cat and Sam, who are giving Jay a run for his money on the I’m-only-semi-attractive-when-the-sun-goes-down front, thinking that Cat’s gigantic nose is going to come between the power couple. I think these two are in that special period of their life before you realize what beer goggles are.

If I Am Drinking Wine at a Bar, That Means I’m an Adult, Right?

• Seriously, Adam is always ordering wine at bars. Is this a quirk that all male models have?

• Adam’s hair also deserves mention. First, he’s an 80s powerbroker, then a sleazy car salesman. How about you keep a haircut that’s age-appropriate?

• When Olivia shows her true colors (finally!!) and flat out tells Whitney she doesn’t want to hear about her friends’ bullshit. Nothing like some honesty about who you are as a person.

• Nevan also had a special moment when he exposes the yellowed underarm of his T-shirt to the world. I believe he represents that point in your life where you just stop caring what you look like.

• On a personal note, Nevia reminded me of Statler and Waldorf of the Muppets fame. They always have shit to say, none of which is positive, on stuff they barely participate in.

Based on highly intensive calculations and logic, Whit and friends are in their first semester, where you can’t quite shake those old high school habits, but you desperately want more Busch Lite, even if you hooked up with a cave creature whilst under the influence last week. Except for Adam, who could very well be Benjamin Button, a 75-year-old man with the body of a 23-year old.


Bromance
Episode 5: "Little Jeans, Big Hearts"
I'm going to put something out there. You can pick it up and take it with you, or you can leave it on the table and walk away. It really doesn't matter to me. Tonight's episode of Bromance was...legitimately funny television. And I say that without a hint of irony. Not even a teaspoon of snark. I laughed out loud numerous times and didn't write any show notes while watching because I was honest-to-God too busy enjoying myself. Hell! I might watch this episode online again sometime in the near future should I need a good laugh.

Mr. Jenner; hats off to you sir. I was unsure about this show in the beginning, but your masterpiece approaches the fine line between moronic, vapid, self-promotion and substantive comedic television and dances on it. And that dance is a beautiful Viennese Waltz, sir. You are a King among men, Samuel Brody Jenner.

Tonight's episode is all about finding out which Bro can cut through the bullshit of Hollywood and be a true friend to Brody. In order to do this, the Bros will have to rock the red carpet "all up in his" new line of "ugly ass jeans" that Brody has told them is part of the new Jenner Jeans collection. (I like how I'm using quotation marks so liberally to make myself feel intellectually superior to Brody Jenner, when in reality this is exactly how I talk everyday.)

Of course this whole Jenner Jeans nonsense is just a big prank to see if anyone will have the balls to tell Brody that he looks like a flaming jackass and should ditch the Jenner Jeans. It's pretty hilarious. The jeans themselves look like a sixth grade girl's Lisa Frank binder threw up all over them. They're heavily bedazzled, ultra-lowrise, insanely tight and feature a glittery "BJ" prominently on the butt. But before they can hit the red carpet, the Bros go to a spa for some manscaping. Alex gets his chest waxed because, well, as Brody points out, it's just really funny to watch a guy get his chest waxed.

Later, Femi is the only Bro to confront Brody about how horrible his jeans are, but then decides to be there for his homie and wear them on the red carpet anyway. The Bros whore out the jeans pretty well, striking kung-fu poses and talking to the press about how much they just lahhv their BJ's! At one point, E!'s Ted Casablanca asks to see Femi's butt to which Femi swivels around, sticks out his booty and shouts to Ted, "CRACK ISN'T WHACK, SON!" Seriously...amazing.

The next night's challenge is to have a one-on-one chat with Playmate of the Year, Jayde Nicole (who Brody is actually dating). I like this challenge because it's basically Brody Jenner being like, "let's see who can talk to my girlfriend for five minutes without busting a load in his pants." Little Chris, the Token Asian, ends up winning the challenge and gets to hang in a hot tub with Jayde and Playboy's Miss October. Remember that scene in Sixteen Candles when Ted gets to drive Jake Ryan's dad's Rolls Royce around with the Homecoming Queen passed out in the front seat? It was kind of like that, but in water.

Later over a sushi dinner, Brody has to decide between eliminating Alex or Luke. I don't know why this is such a big deal because they're basically the same person, one's Boston accent is just slightly thicker than the other. Brody likes them both a lot (thus proposing that Pip should come back just to kick him off again,) but has to choose between them because Alex and Luke have a very strong Bromance going on themselves. Brody decides to eliminate Alex (with the less offensive Boston accent) and the show closes with a montage of Alex and Luke's most bromantic moments. ACES TEN!

This totally beats a conjugal visit.

I am addicted to meet-an-inmate.com.

A-ddicted. If I could boil it down, mix it with Ny-Quil, Windex, and battery acid and inject it into my veins, frankly I would. Meet-an-inmate.com is pretty much exactly what it sounds like; photo personals of female and male inmates. You can search inmates by sex, age, or by newest members. Whoever wrote the homepage description deserves a Pulitzer because they sort of make it sound like a good idea for about .5 seconds:

Can you imagine what it must be like for attractive men and women to be without companionship? These incarcerated female and male inmates are paying a price for crimes they have committed. These inmates are very real and are seeking you! Why not give it a try? Make the day of a lonely inmate! He/She will get excited when his/her name is called to receive a letter from you. Just think how lonely it must feel at mail call to never hear your name, especially after being locked up for several years and family and friends have deserted you. All of these prisoners behind bars have written me a letter requesting to be listed. It can be a lot of fun communicating with these individuals. Don't be shy, give it a try!

The inmate profile pics are hilarioussss! Most of them were taken in prison, so just imagine all of the classic lame Facebook poses but add a jumpsuit and one helluva child molester-y vibe. How hard must the ass-raping in the shower be after asking someone in the yard to take a picture of your good side from a flattering angle for your personals ad? Answer: so hard.

As far as the "about me" section goes, remember when I said there's nothing funnier than a Bro trying to sound introspective and sexy on a personals site? J/K, there is something funnier: inmates trying to sound introspective and sexy on a personals site. This shit is LOLZ. The best is that there's a fair amount of inmates who write something to the effect of "I never thought about going on an Internet dating site before..." or "Normally I wouldn't do this but..." Really? You're a part-time DJ who just got 7-10 for marijuana possession with intent to sell, at this point I think the fact that you're on an Internet dating website is the least embarrassing thing about yourself.

The most functional part of the website has to be the very faint chain link fence background image on all of the user profiles. That way when you think you're connecting with someones description and start to feel sorry for them being so lonely and think "I had a pen-pal in Girl Scouts and it was totally fun! I should do that again and brighten this poor person's day!" you'll see the chain-link fence and be like, "Oh, right! Criminal..."

Now before you think I've managed to become some Latina mami's prison bitch even before being sent to prison, let me explain why I'm so into this. I have created a game called "GuEsS tHe CrImE!" in conjunction with Meet-an-Inmate and if I do say so myself, it is some fine holiday family fun! It might be my new favorite weapon in The War Against Office Boredom. I say might only because I don't know if you want www.meet-an-inmate.com to be in your work computer's history. If you do--enjoy and you're welcome! However, if you get fired as a result of my blog (which I deem a worthy reason to get fired,) you're in luck because I am in desperate need of an intern to do a few administrative tasks around the bedroom office because my parent's cat current intern doesn't cuddle with me enough is going back to school. I pay in boxes of Kashi Go Lean cereal money.

How to play GuEsS tHe CrImE!

• Go to www.meet-an-inmate.com

• Pick an inmate

• Guess what crime they committed to end up in jail (some clues to pay attention to are: location, age, release date, occupation before prison and activities in prison)
  

• Google them to find out the answer

• Guess correctly to win points. Points values are as follows:

Solicitation: 1 pt.
Failure to pay child support: 2pts.
Fire-arm possession related: 3pts.
Battery/Assault/Attempted anything: 4pts.
Marijuana related: 5pts.
Cocaine related: 5pts.
Meth related: 6 pts.
Bank robbery: 7pts.
Arson: 8pts.
Kidnapping: 9pts.
Attempted Murder: 10pts.
Murder/Lifer/Death Row: YAHTZEE!

Let's do one together:

$un$hine Th0rt0n (excuse the dollar signs and zeros. I've learned the hard way that people like to google themselves and don't love it when I talk about them on my blog. And Lord knows I'm not fuckin' around with this chick.)
OK, so let's look at some important clues about Ms. Th0rt0n:
1.) She was pre-determined to be white trash at birth with a name like that.
2.) She's got a shape to her, dark red lipstick and 90's pageant hair.
3.) "I very much enjoy my mischievous side, having learned to take each opportunity to instigate a good laugh."
4.) Incarcerated in Texas
5.) Being released in 2012
6.) Was in sales and now likes to workout and play sports in the slammer

Hmm...1,2 and 3 suggest a healthy dose of white trash suggesting a meth charge or assault and battery on a a babby daddy. However, 6 tells us she was in "sales" before jail which could indicate solicitation. Her release date isn't too far away and 3 tells us she hasn't fully learned her lesson which makes me think what she did wasn't too embarrassing or horrible. This is a doozy...I'm going to go with possession of meth but not with intent to sell.

Survey says!
+3 points! GAHH! I had the meth part right, but looks like someone didn't learn their lesson from the movie Traffic. Ergo, I gave myself only half of the full 6 points a meth related charge carries.

Oh well, so close. Until next time, I'm your host Meg McBlogger asking you to help control the convict population; have your hookers and meth addicts spayed or neutered. So long everyone!

A 54-year-old gay man is my Prozac

Um, I don’t really know how to say this, but…I think I love Tim Gunn more than anything in my entire life. And I don’t know how to deal with the seriousness of that statement. I just finished watching tonight’s Project Runway, which (thankfully) was very Tim Gunn heavy (although Michael Kors said “boobs” way too many times for my liking) and I’m so giddy I can barely contain myself. I have all of this girlish energy built up from the past hour, and the only way I can think to expel it properly is to have a good old-fashioned skip. I have no idea the last time I honest-to-God skipped somewhere, but I want to get my fucking skip on. In a posy field. And I want to twirl around. And giggle. And I want to wear a puffy pink party dress with a bow in my hair. What’s wrong with me? Who am I? For Christ’ sake, I’ve been prancing around my house like Jack McFarland for a good 15 minutes now.

It's just that Tim Gunn makes me so genuinely happy. He has this soothing presence that makes me believe everything going badly in my life will fix itself and it’s going to be ok. My life goal is to hug him. Just a hug! No more, no less. I mean he's like a kitten; everything he does is so fucking adorable. I don’t really gush or prattle that much, but when I see Tim Gunn, even in still photographs, I just have to squeal and giggle like a school girl. I don’t think it’s likely I’ll find my own child as adorable as I find Tim Gunn, and that makes me intensely worried. If I took a wrong turn and stumbled into a dark alley just in time to see Tim Gunn kill a hooker (“make THIS work!”—stab, stab!…or at least that’s how I see it playing out…) I think I would just get the giggles, jump up and down a few times and ask if he wants to cuddle in a trash pile. That’s not a normal reaction.

And for someone who is so beloved, revered, influential and fabulous, he’s so humble! He says that after work he goes straight home, gets into his PJs, makes dinner and hunkers down to watch a good night of TV! The mental picture of Tim Gunn in his jammies watching Gilmore Girls is so adorable I might pee my pants. And speaking of Tim’s Pjs! Did you know that at the age of 54, he just bought his first Queen size bed and got rid of his old twin. HEHEHEHAAHHAOMGLOLZ, now I’m thinking about Tim in a onesie curled up in a twin bed with Winnie the Pooh sheets. And I just peed my pants. Oh, you should also know that I’m totally getting a tattoo of me and Tim Gunn riding a bicycle built for two after tonight’s episode. Did you see his little blue helmet?! HEHEHEEhhheee…

I love the way he speaks. He’s the most concise and articulate man in the entire world. Plus, he uses rull big ass words like consternation, placated, precipitous and Sturm und Drang. One time in my info graphics class senior year, I had to give a presentation on short notice that I hadn’t prepared a speech for. When I got up to the podium, I pretended I was Tim Gunn addressing the workroom and delivered an eloquent and thoughtful presentation successfully, no lie. People complimented my speaking skills afterwards. I did not reveal I was pretending I was Tim Gunn in my head, however.

Speaking of words, caucus is the most fun word in the English language and I say it 98% more thanks to Tim Gunn. It’s like cock and cactus. Tim also introduced me to the phrase “that’s a lot of look,” and for that, I’m eternally grateful.

I can’t handle it when Tim gets emotional on the show though. When Tim hurts, I hurt. I cried my face off tonight when he got choked up and cried when it was time to say goodbye to the designers. I was able to keep it together until he reached up to wipe his little tears away and I saw that limp little wrist of his shaking like a leaf. I just lost it. He’s just such a genuine, good person and it warms this jaded heart of mine. I get so angry and frustrated everyday surrounded by asshole white caps, shitty drivers, Sarah Palin, evil bosses etc. and then I see Tim Gunn and my faith in humanity is fully restored. Some people have religion to keep them grounded and happy, I have Tim Gunn.

I didn’t know how to express my emotions earlier, so I wrote Tim a poem. I call it, “Hey, Thanks!”

My teas gone cold, I’m wondering why I got out of bed at all
The morning rain clouds up my window and I cant see at all
And even if I could itd all be grey, but your picture on my wall
It reminds me that it’s not so bad
It’s not so bad

I want to thank you for giving me the best day of my life
Oh just to be with you is having the best day of my life