Tag Archives: funny

WTF is a Beer Ball?

Every so often I’ll remember this story and have a good chuckle. I had no ideas for today’s post, so I will share:

In January, 2007 (or as I like to call it, Junior year of college, round 1) I transferred schools from That Baptist One to The Music One up in Boston, MA. In an attempt to keep their daughter safe by educating me on the less safe areas of town, my parents accidentally scared me shitless about Boston. At this point in my life, I’d lived in Atlanta, London, São Paulo and Pittsburg, so the idea that I was in any more danger by moving to Boston was absurd. That being said, I never got over it and I’ve never been more constantly terrified in my life than when I lived in Boston.

The best part about this is that my first apartment was here:

In case you don’t know Boston, I annotated the map for you. It’s really all you need to know about this area.

But I felt like I lived here:

Boston was fucking terrifying.

And because I was on a college campus, we’d get these crime report emails every few days. They were always like such-and-such had her Marc Jacobs bag grabbed from her while walking down a dark street. I wasn’t exactly like being on “The Wire.”

So anyway, about three weeks into my life in Boston, a few of my friends came to town for the weekend. They had friends out in Allston, a neighborhood of Boston that’s basically a bunch of rundown apartments and houses that college kids rent out. And some Asian food places, because there’s nothing anyone living on a budget loves more than Asian food. It’s the best.

Allston is ALSO not super dangerous, but when we took a cab out there I was FLIPPING out. My brain was like, “Where the fuck are we? Why are there houses? The sky looks darker here. It’s definitely darker. The T isn’t underground… That only happens in the ghetto, right? Are we on the Orange line? My mom said that’s the bad one? Fuck, I can’t tell if it’s orange! ARE YOU THE ORANGE LINE, TRAINNNN???”

We got to the old house that this group of boys lived in and within two seconds of my meeting them they were all like,

“YOU’RE 21?!?!?!?!?!?!”

Oh, the joys of college. Turning 21 before pretty much everyone else made me the Designated Alcohol Purchaser for about three months of my life until everyone else caught up. And because there is always someone who came before you, there is no way that you can deny the request to purchase alcohol because you need to honor the good that was done by those who came before you. The drunken forefathers. The ones with summer birthdays. You had to pay it forward in drunkenness.

If his use of ‘progeny’ is incorrect, it’s because Benji was drunk… Duh.

So these boys requested that I purchase them a beer ball. Having never gone to real college, I had no idea what the fuck a beer ball was, but it sounded kind of cute and I was like, that’s fine as long as you drive me through this ghetto that you live in. So off we went to the liquor store three blocks down the road in one of the boys’ cars. My two girlfriends sat in the backseat and when we were one block away the dude driving was like, “Yo. You should probably get out here. There’s some law about not being able to have liquor in a car with people who are under 21.” Because I was terrified, I was like, “Aw, hell naw, if I’m getting you drunk you are not getting me murdered, drop me off at the curb.”

They drop me off, and I enter the FORTRESS that was the giant Allston liquor store. Massachusetts has the most fucked liquor laws of any state I’ve ever lived in. I think it has something to do with Red Sox fans getting shitfaced and destroying the city, or bar fights, or whatever, but it is literally easier to buy any illegal drug than it is to purchase alcohol. I’m not talking about if you’re underage either… At all. I never felt confident in the fact that I was going to indeed receive alcohol even when I was 23. Even when I had my passport.

I think that this was the moment I first learned this harsh reality, because as it turns out a beer ball is basically a mini keg. I’m standing in the aisle of the giant liquor store and the clerk comes up to me with a huge box on one of those rolly cart things that I can NEVER remember the name of and Google isn’t being helpful right now. My immediate thought was, “How the fuck am I even supposed to carry this out to the car?” THEN the clerk is like, “Excuse me miss, we’re gonna need you to fill out these papers.” Because in the state of Massachusetts, you have to register yourself when you purchase anything keg-like. I am freaking out, but also thinking of my drunk forefathers and so I persevere.

Rolly cart clerk takes me out to the sidewalk and as my friends pull up he informs me that indeed I am not allowed to get in the car because they’re under 21. I look at the driver, who is wide-eyed when he sees me next to the giant beer ball. I look at the clerk, who is similarly wide-eyed but kind of smirking at my unfortunate situation. I shrug my shoulders and pick up the beer ball. I figure, if I’m walking through the ghetto at least I can swing it at people.

But because Allston was not the ghetto, as I walked down the street, hunched over and wrestling with the beer ball box, tons of college bros were yelling, “BEER BALL!!!!!!!!!!!” at me.

And that’s the story of how I learned that Allston was not the ghetto. I was still freaked the fuck out every time I went there or anywhere I go, anytime I’m in Boston.

Peace, love and beer balls, 


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My Fear of Gangrene is NOT Irrational

I love when I discover a new humor blog. My four favorites (Hyperbole, 27b/6, FIIMT, The Oatmeal) post pretty infrequently… Probably because they’re all famous, so I guess you can do that shit. So when I find a funny blogger who posts on a regular basis, I am insta-hooked. Last week, I discovered Mooselicker. Dude is funny as shit, I can’t wait to have time to actually read all of his posts, but the one I linked to above on bees is awesome.

Basically he talks about how he hates bees and he spent his childhood taking great joy in finding violent ways to end the lives of bees. I appreciate his past efforts, because as a child I was TERRIFIED of bees. When I say child I mean up until like, 11th grade. I once almost ran off of a cliff on a family trip to some canyon because I saw a bee. My dad grabbed my arm and was like “GET IT TOGETHER, MAN.” He was super pissed that my irrational fear almost led to my death, but I think now he thinks it’s a cool story he gets to tell about saving my life.

Another time, in 9th grade I spent about an hour trying to get into my house through the front door, but every time I’d get up the courage to get near the door the carpenter bees that had made their homes in our bay windows would buzz around me. I ended up getting in through the basement door and when my parents got home they found me locked in our basement and sobbing/hyperventilating. I was trying to unhook the latch we had to “secure” the basement, so they thought I was a burglar. I was sobbing from bee trauma but also because I was convinced a murderer lived in the crawlspace in the basement and I made a huge effort to never be down there alone.

Once my parents realized I was not trying to burgle them and instead was their very terrified, incredibly weird child, they hugged me and my mom was like, “You know carpenter bees don’t have stingers… Right?”

The saddest part is that I actually DID know that.

Remembering this story led me to thinking about all of the fears I’ve had, both past and present. I’ll start with those I’ve actually outgrown and in a future post talk about the ones I still have.

Bees! I am not scared of your tiny, tiny stingers anymore, bees. Hornets, however, are another story. Motherfuckers are terrifying.

Rabies! My mom grew up in Iowa, so I’m privy to a lot of what I like to call “farm knowledge.” Because you teach your kids what you grew up learning, a lot of shit I learned was along the lines of, “Don’t skinny dip in quarries. I know they look like fun, but they are so cold that your heart will momentarily stop beating and you will drown. That’s how Diane De Keizer died.” It was a Dutch town in Iowa. All of the kids had weird names like that.

So naturally, as my mom needed to impart all farm knowledge on me, she taught me about rabies.

Because I loved (and still love) all animals so much, learning about rabies was almost as traumatic as learning that Santa Claus didn’t exist but at least that wasn’t until in 5th grade when I’d learned that binge eating was a fantastic coping mechanism. All four-year-old Tiffany wanted was to hug a squirrel. Learning that if a squirrel actually did come up to me it was probably rabid and going to eat my face off and then I’d be rabid and I might eat my mom’s face off was so confusing and terrifying. I have since learned that rabies doesn’t really work like this, but one time I had to run outside to grab something out of our mini van and upon getting outside I realized it was dark, I was alone and there were DEFINITELY some rabid owls out at that time. Rabies is kinda like zombie animals.

Gangrene! Along with farm knowledge, we also didn’t have cable when I was kid, so National Geographic specials were my jam. The day my little brother was born, I was watching one on giraffes, so upon meeting my infant brother I recommended that we name him Camouflage. Sadly, my parents were set on Patrick Claude, but I still think he would have made an awesome Camouflage. He likes to climb rocks and shit, so it’s fitting.

Anyway, one time we were watching this Nat Geo special on people climbing Mt. Everest or something like that. Had anyone ever successfully climbed Mt. Everest in like, 1992? Google is telling me that yes, and that happened in 1953 you dumbass, but whatever. I got confused… The 90’s were a different time. So at some point, one of the people got gangrene and they had to get their leg amputated and I was like HOLY SHIT SNOW CAN DO THAT TO YOU?

I used to get really bad charlie horses in the middle of the night, and I would sleepwalk/talk. I woke my mom up in the middle of the night, sobbing about how I had contracted gangrene and now I was going to have to get my leg amputated. Whenever my mom tells me that I was an easy kid to deal with I think of this moment and am like, really?

Oversleeping! This fear had possibly the shortest lifespan of any of my fears, which makes sense since it was the most rational. The Catholic school I attended for several years considered 7th grade the start of high school, so with that I was forced to experience an extra two years of final exams. This sounds terrible, but I actually preferred test taking to class because I could leave when I was done and I always finished with more than enough time. This isn’t so much a testament to my intelligence as it is the fact that I didn’t check my work and just wanted to go buy snacks from the school snack bar.

My first final exams experience left me scarred because I missed my alarm clock and woke up at 10:30 AM after completely missing my Portuguese final. I was inconsolable and although the teacher let me take the test later, I developed right then and there an obsessive fear that I was definitely going to oversleep and ruin everything always.

Because of the sleep walking/talking thing, I would often wake up in the middle of the night, look at my alarm clock and go running into my parents room. Once I’d get there I would be so upset that I wouldn’t think about how strange it was that my parents were sitting in their pajamas, relaxed and watching television.


They’d always start laughing and my tears would turn to confusion.

“This isn’t funny?? Do you understand that I’ll never get into an Ivy if I keep missing class like this.”

“Tiffany, it is 11 PM. You’ve only been asleep for like, twenty minutes.”

I can’t remember when the fear went away, but I actually did oversleep through a final exam my first semester in college. Luckily, music school understands that its students are musicians who are often lazy, sleepy or disorganized and doesn’t really penalize it. Music college needs students too.

Being randomly slapped in the face! No, no, my parents didn’t beat me. Not even a little bit. In fact, the most violent thing to ever happen in my house is being “Tickled Tortured” by my older brother. Which actually was kinda torturous, but not exactly abusive.

I’m very scared of conflict (still) and I am regularly paranoid that my family/friends are mad at me for some undefined reason, so I guess when I was younger I decided that maybe one day they’d slap me in the face. Also, I was allowed to watch “Melrose Place” and they did that a lot to each other so it seemed within the realm of possibility.

For years I would be in conversations and suddenly have the overwhelming desire to run and hide lest someone up and slap me in the fast, but I guess learning about things like whiskey slaps and 50 shades of Grey made getting slapped seem not so bad.

Retinal detachment! This one sort of goes with a general hypochondria thing, but I have pretty much kicked it, unlike my fear of instantaneous cancer, which I am certain I have at least five forms of right now. Sometime around my senior year of college I noticed all of the floaters in my eyes and became obsessed with them as they are a sign that your retinas can detach. Because I am (still) scared of doctors, I put off going until I have so convinced myself that I have every disease ever and have spent countless nights laying awake in fear. Or in this case, countless hours just looking back and forth at a light bulb, watching the floaters and freaking out.

Even after the eye doctor told me I was ok, I still was pretty convinced he was wrong. He was old so I thought maybe he’d become senile or something. The way I finally overcame the fear was by naming every last floater. My favorite was Freckles, the one that sort of looked like a patch of freckles, obvi.

So, I think that’s all of them that I can think of right now. Next up, a list of stuff I’m STILL terrified of, which is basically a list of the different types of serial killers there are. What? There are different types of serial killers?

Oh yeah, you better believe it.

Peace, love and zombie woodland creatures,


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Go Sweep the Buttway

In case you haven’t noticed, I’m insecure about a lot of things. I’d liken living in my head to hanging out in a room with a bunch of people who spend all their time pointing out my inadequacies and then one person who every so often creepily whispers, “That person walking behind you on the street is about to MURDER you.”

So when I was 20, the voice that tells me I’m a loser who’s never going to achieve anything was like, “You’ve never had a job, you fucking loser… Who is ever going to hire a 20 year old who’s never had a job?” And I was like, “YOU’RE RIGHT, VOICE,” so I went to the Waffle House and applied for a job.

I was pretty sure no one would hire someone whose only line on her resume was Dad’s Home Office Secretary, Age 12. Much to my excitement, immediately after filling out the application the manager was like, “Ok, you start Saturday.” It turns out they were in the market for a Door Corps, which is an under-glorified Hostess. Under-glorified is definitely not a term, but it applies here. It was like Hostessing lite.

You guys, they didn’t even PHONE SCREEN me!

I proceeded to work as a Door Corps for about two months, and I took it incredibly seriously. I even turned in a written two week’s notice when I quit. It was the worst job ever. ANYWAY, I have pieced together my memories of what training day was like and written it down for you. This is about 99.9% true and please do read it with an accent in your head.

JK, it was a normal Waffle House. But there were definitely days that it felt like this.

“We here are real dang proud to have y’all here as the newest members of our team and we jus’ gotta run through a quick training so you can give our customers the same Southern Hospitality we’ve been servin’ up since 1955. Now, first things first… I know it don’t sound like much, but being a Door Corps is a time honored position. Sure, you might not get tips or nuthin’ but you get the satisfaction of knowing that you opened the door for every single smilin’ face that comes in these doors lookin’ for a good meal after their huntin’ trip or Sunday service. I don’t know ’bout all y’all, but every time my Preacher gets ‘ta preachin’ ’bout hellfire and brimstone I get a crazy hankerin’ for some hashbrowns smothered, covered and chunked… Ooo wee!

Anyway, y’all are the ones that make sure people want ‘ta come into the Waffle House even when it’s at its busiest. Here are your key responsibilities:

  • Open the door for anybody and everybody who’s comin’ in or leavin’ the Waffle House.
  • Smile real big at ’em all.
  • When you notice it’s gettin’ a little busy, make sure to close the blinds so people don’t get scared away or nothin’.
  • Keep the toilets nice and clean. Now, I know this ain’t the most glamorous but it’s gosh dang important, ya hear? Like the Bible says, cleanliness is next to godliness and that sure as heck applies to our commodes!
  • Ok, time to come outside with me so I can show you a little something. Come on out now and don’t you be shy! See this little area right here? In between the curb and the cars? We call this “The Buttway.” Why? Well, because it’s where all them cigarette butts fall and we don’t want ‘ta make a bad impression so you gotta’ sweep it oh ’bout, every thirty-five minutes.

Well, I think that about wraps it up. You get two breaks a day and if you want ‘ta have yerself a smoke, you can hop on round back and take a seat on the milk cartons next to the dumpster. I’d recommend that you don’t take breaks with Leslie for the first couple months as she can be real mean to strangers. Once she warms up to you though, she’s a real darlin’ and she’ll tell you all ’bout her five granbabies and her three great granbabies and that time she unhooked Brenda’s bra while she had about five plates of Bert’s Chili in her hands. Oh boy, that was a hoot!

Ok, y’all, all that’s left is I gotta let you watch this video on our sexual harassment policies. Now, some folks have complained to our corporate office that they felt as if watching this video was sexual harassment itself, but we looked into it and it turns out they were just from Atlanta. Those city folk can be real dramatic sometimes, ya’ hear?”

In my memory, Leslie looks like this. The day before I left, she finally told me she liked me by saying, “Now, there are Door Corps and then there are DOOR CORPS, and you, you’re a DOOR CORPS.”

Peace, love, and if you work at Waffle House even your bras smell like waffles, 


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Next Step: Buy horn glasses

When I was younger and I’d talk about why I wanted to move to New York I had all these lofty reasons like how it was the cultural center of the world and I’d become a better person as a result.

As with many things, there’s a disconnect between the expectation and the reality.

Expectation: Going out in new neighborhoods all the time.
Reality: Going to the same bar four nights a week because you’re 100% certain you’ll be able to hang up your jacket.

Expectation: Going to tons of Broadway shows on the cheap.
Reality: Broadway too expensive, a friend of a friend gives you his Netflix login.

Expectation: Surrounding yourself with new and fabulous people who wear horn glasses and go to readings.
Reality: Stay friends with the first people you met when you moved here (or coworkers) because it turns out it doesn’t matter where you live, you hate new people… Especially if they’re wearing some type of quirky eye wear.

Expectation: Major Career successes.
Reality: Developing long, elaborate fantasies about winning the lottery or becoming a full-time student on the train ride to work

Expectation: Getting to be really fashionable and test your limits, because in New York you can do whatever you want and no one will judge you.
Reality: Getting out-hipstered by 21-year-olds whose dads pay their rent.

Expectation: Overall fabulousness as depicted by “Sex and the City” and every New York romcom ever. Standing under the Empire State Building and spinning while looking up and smiling. 
 Becoming ok with the way you smell not being 100% fresh because laundry is too expensive and who has time for that anyway? So you douse yourself in a little bit of perfume and comfort yourself by mentally referring to it “my musk.” No twirling space underneath the Empire State Building, but you do get offered to skip the line by those ticket sellers outside.

The most shameful of these is the missing out on cultural shit. Over Christmas my Grandfather asked me how often I go to shows or museums and I gave serious thought to replying, “Sometimes I go to bars in Koreatown.”

It’s not for lack of trying, but I really have to work to get myself off my ass and outside to experience the loveliness that is New York . On Sunday a huge group of my friends and I ventured all the way to an art installation in Long Island City.

I love this type of art because of all the ways I can think to act like a douchebag when I tell other people about it. I totally love bringing up the type of pretentious, stoner stuff I talked about for hours on end in college. You know, shit like, “what if we all see colors differently but we learn the names for what we’re seeing and just assume that we’re all seeing the same color? Like, my blue is actually your green but we can never know. Let’s go watch Requiem for a Dream again.”

I took a bunch of photos of the installation and I’m excited to use this new photo collage app I have, so below I have tried to explain what we saw in the douchiest way possible. I dare you to try and out pretentious me in the comments.

“Headscapes appealed to the most basic human emotions that we experience in the 21st century. Isolation. Overstimulation. And confusion over the which organic products are organic enough.”

“The neon-blacklight room was definitely a statement on today’s youth. We are vibrant, hopeful and neon is really in right now, but we don’t shine unless we are in the darkness, because we are all in the darkness.”

“The speaker cave is reminiscent of a time before file-sharing. The act of physically selecting music is one we’ve lost in the digital age. We’ve become disconnected from generations of great musicians.”

“Open umbrellas strategically placed in an area where they will never be needed is just like our National Security policies. We’ve been at threat level Orange for almost ten years, you know.”

I got bored on the train and made this picture of three different Asian places I’ve eaten in the past few weeks.

Oh, and yes, we did wander through Queens and find a shit bar afterwards. You can really only expect so much of me.

Peace, love and this post was a statement on government, duh,


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Because Everyone Wants that Effortless “Oh, I Just Tied This Button Down Around My Waist Because It’s Hot in Here” look.

So, I have a ton of stuff that I could be writing right now. Seriously, I have like five half-written posts, at least one video I want to make and also a bunch of Gchat conversations with people that could inspire a posts… But goshdarnit, I just don’t want to do ANY of that. Why, Tiffany, you ask? You’ve had such a good two weeks between getting on Thought Catalog (3 times, mo’fuckas!) and Seamless Web actually reading your open letter to them and as a result sending you goodies AND featuring you in their newsletter or something. You have every reason to excitedly blog!

Yes, you are right conscience/reader. You are so right. But you know what? I’m SO FUCKING EXCITED about all of this stuff that it’s been really difficult for me to concentrate on anything other than refreshing my (a) blog stats, (b) facebook page, (c) multiple Thought Catalog posts so I can read the comments. This week has felt like the longest week ever because I’m just waiting for Saturday when I can camp out in a Starbucks and do all this blog shit that’s on my mind.

Sometimes being so ambitious really gets in my way… JK, but I think that’s possibly the douchiest thing I’ve ever come up with before. I’m gonna say it some time and then sigh and look away and see if anyone slaps me in the face.

Anyway, because I can’t get my brain to function, I’m just going to let you in on how I’m spending my Wednesday night: Drinking bourbon and examining Rihanna’s foray into fashion and trying to figure out specific use cases for various articles of clothing.

“This navy zip front skirt with tied denim shirt is a cool ready-styled look – no effort needed!”

This is definitely something that people born after 1990 are purchasing, right? Like, the rest of us remember how not difficult it is to do this. Also, we never want to do it again. No matter how cool I found her in the 4th grade, I never want to look like I stepped out The Secret World of Alex Mack again.

“We’re seeing double with this cool take on mixing denim! With a huge spring trend ready-made, these double top jeans have an innovative spin on casual dressing.”

Ok, this is the image that every blog/site ever is talking about, but I MUST address it. I’m assuming this is for when you’re like, “UGH. I really don’t know if I should go for a hipster high waist thing or a casual, low rise skinny jeans thing. I also feel like wearing capris. OH WAIT I HAVE PANTS THAT ARE ALL THREE.”

Also, their copywriters are killing me. “A huge spring trend??” The first time I see a pair of these walking down Broadway I’m gonna have a massive bouncing/clapping fit and you guys are all going to hear about it.

Remember like three posts ago when I made fun of the overall shorts I was wearing?

The *genius* copywriters recommend that you wear it with the double pants. I KIND OF LIKE IT SOMETHING IS DEFINITELY HAPPENING TO ME AND WHATEVER IT IS, IT’S NO GOOD.

Now my brain just wants to know what it would look like if she put her right hand in the upper pocket but left the other where it is……

Onto my two favorite runway looks:

“I’m going to this theme party. Yeah, it’s Baywatch meets V.I.P.”

Ohhhh yeah, you see what I did there with my useless Pam Anderson knowledge?

I don’t really have a comment on this one, except that I’m desperately awaiting the Lady Gaga-RiRi feud when Gaga sees this and is like, “Wait? Why is RiRi copying what I wear all the time??”


Ok, so the best part of all of this is DID YOU GUYS KNOW ALL OF THIS SHIT IS SOLD OUT?

I don’t know. I can’t. I’m dying.

Is this what getting old is like?

Do I simply not understand?

Are the youths wearing this?

I am having a third quarter-life crisis over here. AM I TOO OLD TO HAVE A QUARTER LIFE CRISIS BECAUSE I DON’T GET RIHANNA’S FASHION LINE?

Ok, I’m going to go hyperventilate in a corner until the bourbon kicks in, then try to put one pair of pants of the other.

Peace, love and I’ll get back to normal blogging next Tuesday, 


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Don’t Movie Theaters Have Bedbugs Anyway?

I know they’re supposed to be fun or whatever, but I really don’t like movies. The last time I went to a movie theater it was to see “Contagion”, which only reminded me of why I hate movies. Seriously, “Contagion” was so boring that I wished it was a zombie movie, even though I once had to leave a movie theater while watching “I Am Legend” because I didn’t realize it was a zombie movie and I got so scared that I started sobbing. Yeah, I was 23 when this happened and my mom totally took me out of the theater and hugged me to calm me down. So what?

Anyway, whenever Oscar time comes around it serves as a reminder that I have seen none of the movies. This year is the second year in a row that I have seen not a single nominated film. Luckily, my boyfriend also hates movies, so we live in this magical land where nothing we watch lasts more than 42 minutes unless it’s a stand up comedy special or a documentary on serial killers. We love serial killers.

It’s a strange thing to realize that there’s this whole portion of culture from which you’ve excluded yourself. My roommates will be talking about some movie I’ve never heard of and I realize this is probably what it’s like for people who don’t have Facebook profiles because they have some pretentious view on it being the Panopticon. Despite knowing nothing about these movies, I’ve formed my opinions on what I think the movies are about based upon the following criteria:

1. The title
2. The subway poster (if it exists)
3. What I’ve heard people say about it
4. Jon Stewart’s interview with the lead actor

So the other night, my boyfriend was showing me the trailer to “Silver Linings Playbook” to point out that the movie was DEFINITELY shot where he grew up and I was like WHAT I THOUGHT THAT THIS WAS A MOVIE ABOUT FOOTBALL. I thought Bradley Cooper was like, a football coach and Jennifer Lawrence was his wife or maybe a cheerleader and together they brought together white and African American youths through the great American sport. We had to watch “Remember the Titans” a lot on the church bus and I think it’s the only football movie I’ve ever seen so I assume they’re all about this. This realization led me to think about all the Oscar nominees this year… Here’s a list of what I think these movies are about. You can correct me if I’m wrong. I don’t care about spoilers because I’m never gonna see it.

Pixar’s newest film. Something about Iran and Canada. I’m guessing a Persian cat befriends a moose that has accidentally wandered into Toronto and they start a hair salon or fly a plane. Whatever it is, it’s probably adorable and Ben Affleck is all over the news for his debut as a voice actor.

“The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey” 
They’re still making these? As a quick aside. I know you think epic adventures are awesome. “Lord of the Rings,” “Star Wars,” “Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle,” are instant classics… Blah blah blah.

Epic adventures stress me the fuck out. You guys realize that these characters are having the WORST DAYS EVER… Right? Like, if you Luke Skywalker you’d be all, “WTF. I’m crashed on this ice planet and I have to sleep inside the carcass of this bear thing. Oh, yay, someone saved me but now I’m in this swamp and the dude that’s supposed to teach me shit is clearly deranged or at least from Central Florida, guessing by his accent, and at least there’s this hot chick – oh wait, she’s my sister. Fuck. This has not been my week.”

I only want two types of epic in my life – epically funny and epically drunk.

Oh! I know this one. It’s definitely about Nebraska.

Nailed it.

“Beasts of the Southern Wild”
Most recent adaptation of Where the Wild Things Are. The Dave Eggers/ Spike Jonez one was too weird so they went with Jonathan Franzen / Wes Anderson this time. Instead of the Yeahyeahyeahs, FUN. Did the soundtrack.

“Life of Pi” 
Another documentary about fast food and corporate farming? Are you kidding me? Look, I saw Food Inc., I even liked it, but I get it already… Everything is evil and killing me. All I care about is how sad the chickens looked.

“Django Unchained”
Something about racism. I think Jamie Foxx is in it but I’m not sure if he’s playing the serious actor role or crazy action hero role.
Or was that “Beasts of the Southern Wil” and Django is a Tyler Perry and/or Quentin Tarantino movie?

“Les Misérables”
Anne Hathaway is in it and she has some new haircut, so it’s definitely another movie where she plays an ugly duckling and gets a makeover. She’s the new Sandra Bullock, I called it when I saw “Devil Wears Prada.”

Sure, she looks busted now, but wait til 22 minutes in when she gets a makeover at Versailles!

“Zero Dark Thirty”
Ooooo! Definitely an alien movie. Probably based on a video game.

I know, I know… I’m surprisingly good at guessing exactly what these movies are about. It’s a talent, really. Maybe that’s why I’m so bored by them… I already know exactly what’s going to happen.

Peace, love and that’s enough thinking about movies for this year, 


PS – Romcoms are exempt from my hatred, obvi.

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I am not usually one to follow celebrity things – I’m much more likely to stalk people that I kinda sorta know on Facebook and secretly know everything about them. Oh yeah, FB acquaintances  I’ve looked at all of those photos of your dog. BUT, the other day I was thinking about the absurdity of the Kimye baby and I realized I had to write this post.

Fabies (my word for “famous babies”) are such a huge thing now. Do you know how much money celebrities get paid for pictures of their babies? FACEBOOK MOMS, YOU ARE BEING CHEATED OUT OF MONEY… APPARENTLY. Like, don’t they look all the same? In my mind there are only five type of babies:

  • Bald babies – I can’t say I love these
  • Babies with “so much hair!!” – These remind me of me as a baby, so I’m like, “Aw, aren’t they cute” so then I can tell you about how I was also cute as a baby which leads into the story about how I couldn’t eat my first two weeks of life and my mom had to feed me with an eyedropper. #babyrexic #thin
  • Ethnic babies– I’m chill with these because they don’t look like something I could birth (at least with my current boyfriend, maybe these will freak me out one day too).
  • Crying babies – They are my cue to leave the room/ kill myself.
  • My niece – The best baby in the whole wide world. Seriously. I have so many pictures of her on my phone.

Well, my friends, I declare 2013 “The Year of the Fabies”. Sure, last year was Blue Ivy’s year, but this year two monumentally famous babies are going to enter the world.

The Royal Baby and Whatever Is Going to Come Out of Kim Kardashian. 

At first, they may seem unrelated to you, but as you may know, I’m a big ol’ fan of battles. It’s time for a Faby-off. In true BWCE style (that I never, ever use) I will determine the winner at the end of this post using my entirely made up rating scale.

First, let’s talk about the parents: 

If asked what F.A.B.I.E.S. stands for, what do we think they’d say? 

The Royal Lovebirds: 5 points for keeping it classy

Kimye: 3 points for keeping it real

The Royal Lovebirds: 0 points. I hate inspirational things.

Kimye: 2 points because I love that song and another 5 points because, social media, duh. (7 points)

I’m gonna be honest… I don’t really know what’s supposed to be a good baby bump. To me, it looks like Kate’s is in her pocket and Kim’s is in her butt. I’m giving them both 1 point for effort.

Ok, onto the Fabies: 

Morning sickness: What do we think it means? 

Kate was royally ill. According to Kim she didn’t have morning sickness, but according to the news (Perez Hilton. He counts, right?) she had a secret doctor or something. Sorry, I need to move on. I just got SO BORED trying to research this point that I zoned out for like 15 minutes.

– 5 points for both teams and also -1 million points for the news because HOW MUCH CAN YOU TALK ABOUT MORNING SICKNESS? Ew.

What will they look like? 

It’s been rumored that Kate’s going to have twins…

I know… Terrifying. But, are they AS terrifying as a Kanye’s face on Kim’s body?

Probably not… I’m giving the Royal Lovebirds 1 point here.

And what about the name? 

You could name Kimye’s baby something totally average, like Steve, and it would still be Illuminati. 10 points to Kimye.

Ok. The time has come to determine the best Faby:

Ok, so I didn’t plan on having Kimye win by so many points, but then “N*ggas in Paris” started playing while I was totaling everything up and that line happened. Either way, Kanye was gonna win because there have generations of British royals, but there’s only ONE KANYE.

I’m surprised that fetus doesn’t have a twitter in utero…

Peace, love and Ffetuses (famous fetuses), 


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Bad Rap for Good People

My love affair with rap began at a pretty young age; it started the first time I heard TLC’s “Waterfalls.” On the album version of the song, there’s a rap that Left Eye does that I immediately became obsessed with. I’d recite the lyrics off the tape cassette insert along with her rap until I’d learned the entire thing. I listened to every TLC song I could get my hands on at eight years old and paid particular attention to any of the rap-py bits.

I bought the TLC CrazySexyCool video tape and tried to learn all the dances and for Halloween of 1996, I dressed up like Left Eye. When I look back at my childhood, I can’t decide if my parents let me run with these type of ideas because they were trying to “encourage my individuality and self-confidence,” or if they knew that the shit I came up with would be hilarious later in my life. While I’m pretty sure it was the former, 90’s touchy-feely stuff, I am appreciative of it for the latter and will forever be indebted to them for the photo evidence.

Denim floppy hat + mom’s overall shorts + bandage over my split chin stitches = Left Eye? It really all came down to the black under-eye paint, that I decided to put under my RIGHT EYE.

The socks and sandals are another story entirely.

BUT THE BEST THING, YOU GUYS, was that I had a lisp as a little kid.

Me: “Trisck or Treat!!”
Old lady neighbor: “Aw! How cute! Are you Blossom?”
Me: “No! I’m Lissssa Left Eye Lopetss from TLTSEE. I like their album CrazyTsssetssky Cool!”
Old lady: (hands me candy, looks cautiously at my mother) …And what are you little boy?
Little brother: I’m Spidewuh-man!

We both had speech impediments as kids. My poor mother.


My lifelong love for rap solidified the summer after 8th grade, around the time rap infiltrated Top 40s radio. My family was living outside of the country, but we’d come back to Georgia every summer and I’d hang out with my friends and re-Americanize myself. I’d go back to Brazil each fall with new music and more sparkly hair clips shaped like butterflies. The summer after 8th grade, the top 40 included “The Real Slim Shady,” “Forgot About Dre,” “Party Up,” and “Country Grammer,” among so many other gems. Our Youth Pastors warned us about the perils of listening to “the rap,” and how sexual lyrics and dirty words were the perfect way for Satan to gain a foothold in our mind. A lot of kids used the excuse that they didn’t listen to the lyrics, but I felt extra guilty – I wasn’t just listen to the lyrics… I was studying them. I memorized them line by line so I could rap along with Mystikal and DMX. Luckily, I’d gotten rid of the lisp by then.

In spite of my guilt, I taped every rap song off the radio and brought the casette back with me to Brazil. I’d listen to it late at night when I was sure my parents (who probably couldn’t have cared less) were asleep. When it comes down to it, rap was my first rebellion. I was a really lame teenager.

I do not judge my rap. I am not some 90’s hip hop lover, and I’d like to think that by now all of you understand how much I love shitty things more than good things. I like some of the worst rap ever, and I’m damn proud of it. So after much ado, here’s a list of some old favorites I’ve been revisiting today.

The “White Tee“/ “Black Tee” song combo, by Dem Franchize Boyz/Crime Mob/ Gucci Man… It’s really unclear who wrote these songs. 

I have several things I need to mention:

  • The low-fi awesomeness of the “White Tee” video and its intro.
  • The slight change in the beat of “Black Tee,” so that it sounds more menacing.
  • Can we talk for a second about how amazing the premise of these songs is? These songs are basically just lists of things you can do while wearing a certain color of extra large t-shirt.

Holidae Inn” by Chingy.

In one of my music business courses, we read this article about the downfall of  the recording industry and how a lot of it had to do with labels trying to recreate existing artists rather than developing new, individual talent. Chingy is the rap version of that. Someone in the rap industry was like, “Hey, you know who people really like? Nelly. He’s definitely gonna be around forever. Let’s get another Nelly.”

They lyrics to this song are some of the most recycled rap lyrics ever… And yet, I can’t stop listening. It’s delightful. Also, if you need any more proof that Chingy was forced to emulate Nelly, check out his 2006 lesser-known hit with JD, “Dem Jeans.” The only remaining Nellyisms come at 1:44 when he yells, “Ohhhh! Hayyyyy!” from a car.

Wait” by the Ying Yang Twins. 

Does this actually fall under the umbrella of bad songs? I’m not sure. I love this song and pretty much everything Ying Yang has ever done, but I think one of the best awesomely bad parts of this song is how sexual the song is versus how disgusting both members of Ying Yang are, and YET, they decide to be the featured quite prominently in the music video. At the very least, the chicks in this video aren’t super hot either, so it seems a little more realistic that one of them (is it Ying or Yang?) can get away with getting his terrifying lips that close to her ears.

I think they look better with the bucket hats.

Unleash the Dragon” by Sisqo 

“It’s a new millenium, it’s a brand new day.” Enough said.

LOL Smiley Face” by Trey Songz.

This is the song that inspired this post, because I’m ashamed of how much I love this song. IT’S SO BAD. LIKE, SO BAD. Let’s talk about the lyrics for a second:

Shorty just text me,
Says she want to sex me
Lol smiley face, lol smiley face
Shorty sent a twitpic,
Saying come and get this
Lol smiley face, lol smiley face

Actually, I’ve been staring at this block of lyrics trying to think of some astute observation for about 30 minutes now and I’ve got nothing. I have listened to “LOL Smiley Face” at least five times, and have watched fan dances (which all claim to be “official”) and read a YouTube commenter fight about what it means to be African. I think I just lost the will to live. Like right now. Anyway, I’d highly recommend reading the lyrics to “LOL Smiley Face” and if you have some jokes please make them in my comments section.

After listening to this song on repeat this is the only thing happening in my brain right now –

He does not have an “LOL :)” look on his face.

“LOL Smiley Face” broke my brain, I’m going to go lie down now.

Peace, love and I also love everything Soulja Boy has ever done, 


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Post-Valentine’s Day Recovery tips

It’s over! No more cupids or roses for a year! Still, I have a sneaking suspicion that some of you are still suffering today from Vday-related ailments. Here’s a list of recovery tips for every situation I can imagine you getting yourself into last night:

You sat on the couch drinking (listening to the playlist I made for you, of course)
Congrats! You probably don’t have that bad of a hangover from getting to bed at a reasonable hour. If you’re feeling a little iffy, those sweethearts in your office will totally serve as replacement Tums. Celebrate the end of the romantic holiday season with a glass of champagne. You deserve it.

You went out drinking with your friends.
I do not envy you, friend. Last night started innocently enough; a glass of wine over a nice dinner with some friends, then you figured what the hell? It’s Valentines Day, lets get a bottle! Before you know it it’s 3 am and you’re ripping shots of – oh god you can’t even think the word shots without wanting to die in the bathroom at your office. Can anyone else hear the computers buzzing? It’s like earth-shatteringly loud, right?

Ok, probably a lot. I never update Flash and I’m sorry.

I have five words for you: breakfast sandwich and a Rockstar.

Wait 30 mins for them to digest while you think about throwing up on the coworker who sits across from you and you will be golden. You’ll be totally ready to repeat last night.

You had a crazy Valentine’s Day one night stand.
Those exist in real life, right? They’re all over the movies and TV and I really want to believe there are people awesome enough to do this, but to date I’ve only ever heard on V-day sex scandal.

If you’re reading this proudly (or shamefully) because you are this years one night stand unicorn, you win at life. Call in sick to work – who cares what they think? Walk of shame your hot mess of a self over to Soho and buy yourself something sexy. You officially won Valentine’s Day 2013. Damn, you’re cool.

Your romantic date turned into a teary, bitter fight with your significant other.
The evening started out so nicely, but before you knew it the pressure of a holiday invented for you and your significant other to prove to one another that your love is the Best Love caused you to crack. A romantic Italian dinner turned into you sobbing while stuffing hunks of bread in your mouth so as to shoo away the accordion players with your utter disgustingness.

Now you’re sitting at work, poofy-eyed, having to swallow back tears when your coworkers ask you how your fairy tale evening with Mr. Perfect went. Why didn’t you decide to skip Valentine’s all together instead of subjecting yourselves to the torture of flower arrangements and overpriced Pre Fixe?

So, last night sucked. Sometimes the worst times come when we’ve built up our expectations so high that we have nowhere to go but down.

Facts: Your boyfriend didn’t propose; that Pesto wasn’t fresh; and at the end of the night your cab driver took the worst route home ever. Valentine’s Day may have sucked, but now it’s over and all of those giant, unclaimed heart boxes full of chocolate are on sale for at least 50% off! Go get yourself some and feel better.

You skipped Valentine’s Day altogether?

You didn’t wallow, drink or cry? Yesterday was just another day and you’re sitting there at your desk watching the fallout around you?

Good for you! Rub it in everyone else’s faces by eating a fruit salad for breakfast and telling all the hungover people about your favorite types of tequila… Get really detailed with it. If there were more people like you, we could forget this whole day ever existed in the first place.

All, the week is over so I will return to my usual Tuesday/Thursday posting schedule. Thank you so much for reading, sharing and commenting!

Peace, love and I’m still listening to “Wide Awake”,

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Floral Arrangements for Getting it On

We all have those random skill sets we’ve acquired from our past – whether it’s this stuff you learned from the job you had in high school, or what you majored in during college. I can talk your ear off about music copyright law and varieties of carnations. It was only a year or so ago that I was coming up with the occasional floral ‘Recipes,’ so I’ve decided to share my expertise with all the gentlemen who read my blog.

Fact: Valentine’s Day is the number two busiest day in the floral industry, losing out to Mother’s Day only because everyone has a mother.

That being said, Valentine’s buyers are the most desperate and clueless. Men know that women want flowers, and they want them on Valentine’s day, but they’re utterly clueless as to what to order or what to write on the gift message.

I can’t tell you how many gift messages I’ve written for grown men.

Men, are you concerned your ladies are a little less traditional? Do you want to wow them with something more creative than roses.  Do you need to write something more creative than “love you babe?”

I could give you some really great advice on all of the above, but instead I’m going to show you the wonderful world of flowers that send one very direct message: I wanna do you, bitch. 

My friend Toni, floral buyer extraordinaire, inspired this post by sending me a comic that was so dirty I wrote back, “I can’t put that on my blog. My grandma reads it sometimes!” Anyway, Toni also taught me the wonderful world of dirty flowers… Throw a couple of these in your traditional red rose bouquet, include the message I’ve attached and you are bound to get your message across. Whether or not this actually gets you laid… I have no idea.

Calla Lilies – The classy way to say “take your pants off.”

Gift message: Baby, you’re beautiful just the way you are… And you’re even more beautiful when you’re naked.

Callas are famously known as a symbol for lady parts, just ask Georgia O’Keeffe.

Anthirium – An exotic way to ask, “Do you wanna see it?” 

Gift Message: “Girl, I feel so close to you. I just want to show you my soul, or something like that.”

As an aside, in searching for anthirium, Toni came across this:


Ok, next.

Hooker Lips – For the lady who’s a little cheap and likes it that way. 

Gift Message: “Bitch, this flower ain’t got nothing on you. You my #1 ho.”

I’m pretty sure that flower had some work done.

Banksia – For those who feel the need to over-compensate.

Gift Message: “How you doin’?”

This is a personal favorite among flower people. One of my favorite complaints ever received was in regards to some bright red banksia in an arrangement: “What are those penis-looking things? They’re terrible!”

Black roses and Thistle – If you’re into some weird shit.

After last year’s 50 Shades craze, I couldn’t leave it out. Buy her some black roses, spiny thistle and maybe some Devil’s Poker.

Gift Message: “Slave, the only safe words I need are “I love you.””


Anyway, we have arrived! Happy Valentine’s Day! Good luck on any and all of your endeavors today.



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