I wrote this because my psychic told me to June 16, 2007

Saturday, April 28, 2007

I’m not a superstitious or religious person. Granted, I’ve had some very odd and coincidental things happen to me that some people might attribute to some kind of paranormal power. Who hasn’t?  Seriously though, just because my magic 8 ball told me that I could “without a doubt” expect to have a great day yesterday – and it happened  -doesn’t mean that it can predict the future. Who comes up with the phrases that go into the magic 8 ball anyway? Instead of telling me to “ask again later” when I question whether or not my brother will grow up to be a train-hopping hobo, it should say something like, “I don’t have time for your questions – go away.” Alternately, instead of the generic, “Outlook good,” when I ask it whether or not I can expect to be honked at this week as I walk to the bus stop from my house, it should read, “Booyah!” or my new favorite, “Wawaweewa!” I’ll admit that, at times, the magic 8 ball has amazing predicitve powers (especially when it comes to helping me decide on what outfit to wear in the morning), but it’s not something that people can actually believe in. That’s why I rely on Dionne Warwick and her psychic friends for personal advice on life’s most difficult matters. Who else but a washed-up diva could I turn to? Maybe a palm reader. I’m partial to the daily horoscopes you find in the paper, actually. They never say anything horrible and you can interpret them however you like. For example, today’s horoscope started out, “There are certain laws of the universe that must be obeyed, and one of them is that anything worth having is worth working for. ” Well, obviously since I have been craving a lovely bottle of my calorie-free strawberry water, it means that I should get my ass off the couch and go get one from the fridge. It could also mean that anything that’s free is not worth having. I don’t know if I would agree with this or not. That would mean that my free internet right now (not really free… just borrowed from the neighbors) isn’t worth having. It would also mean that the free drinks I get when I go out aren’t good and that the samples I’ve come to love so much from Panera’s and the Teeter are worthless as well. If you’ve ever had the Teeter’s gamut of samples in their produce/bakery section, I’m sure you would understand. Something to think about. Maybe I should consult my magic 8 ball…

Point and laugh June 16, 2007

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

I sometimes have been heard to say that I was a genius child who turned into an average adult. I don’t know if that’s as true as I used to think it was. People nowadays constantly astound me with their stupidity. For lack of better writing material at the moment, and because I’m tired of writing sophomoric essays for my brother, I will regale you with some tales from the distant and not-so-distant past. I was at a grocery store with a friend once and we overheard a lady make a remark to her son who had thrown some frozen french fries in the cart. The mother exclaimed, “Why you put those in there? We ain’t gettin’ no frozen food. You think I want radiation poisenin’ from all those micro-waves?” Clearly she lived in the amish ghetto. I was watching a movie this weekend. In the movie a man had been shot and his psychiatrist, who he had kidnapped, was trying to stop for medical supplies. He didn’t want to let her out, for fear she would try to escape. She said, “You’ve been shot. I can help fix you. I’m a doctor.” Bravo to the screenwriter who came up with that line. Way to put that DeVry education to work. Listening to a local radio show the other morning, there was talk about legal issues involving children. One listener called in a gave a lengthy speech about the subject. When asked by the radio personality whether he was a lawyer or not, the dude replied, “Nah, man. I saw that shit on Law & Order the other night.” I wonder if his name was Alberto Gonzales. The President, until just recently, denied the human impact on climate change. ‘Nuf said. This one time, at a Nature Day Camp I taught at, one of the little girls came up to me and asked if I knew her brother. I replied that I didn’t and then she said, “He got AIDS.” I was a little shocked and I told her that wasn’t something appropriate to talk about at camp. She went on to elaborate, “You don’t know. Just listen. My brother was outside playing in the driveway yesterday and he stepped on a nail and now he got AIDS.” No child may be getting left behind anymore, but that girl most definitely fell off the bus long ago. Sad, but true.   Last one. Not really a story, but more of a saying to keep in mind. “Quitters never win, and winners never quit. But those who never win and never quit are idiots.”

No tiny gay men for you June 16, 2007

Monday, February 26, 2007

More drama than Anna Nicole More crazy stories than the National Enquirer And more eagerly anticipated than Britney Spears’ next faux pas in life (poor girl)… No, I’m not talking about your mom. I’m talking about my return to blogging. I know, I know. I was gone for awhile, but now I’m back. Over a week in SF and then another week to catch up with everything. Unfortunately, keeping up with the ol’ myspace ranks right up there with watering the fake plants and combing out the fringe on the rug – just not at the top of my list at the moment. So sorry to deprive you. But, since I now have been hit with a whopping case of insomnia and I’ve already done everything I can think of short of any actual physical activity to try to tire myself, a-blogging a shall do. So, San-Francisco. Where do I begin. Needless to say, it was wonderful. The last night of the trip I hit up the PunchLine comedy club. Pretty well-known place and now I know why. Their people are more hilarious than watching George Bush try to say something intelligible. Here’s a joke that I totally stole from one of the guys: “Hey, good to be here. Thanks. Yeah… so my birthday was last week and my roomie gave me a really gay gift. (long pause)  Yeah… it was a blowjob. You know, that’s not really my thing. I’m not gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I just don’t swing that wat. But, ya know, now that I think about it – it was the perfect present. It’s one that I’m sure to NEVER regift.” Much better told in real life. Hilarity, and oh-so-appropriate for SF. No, while I was in the city I did not eat any rice, nor did I confiscate any cute gay guys to come back and be my personal stylist (as if I need any help). I did however, do some amazing things: 1) I went on a helicopter ride for the first time ever. It was amazing. We flew out over the city, the bay, Sausalito, etc. for over 45 min. Absolutely breath-taking scenery and it was beautiful weather. The pilot even swooped down under the Golden Gate Bridge. Talk about amazing. Photos on Snapfish coming soon. 2) I jogged from Chinatown down to the Wharf one morning (easier going down than coming back up – whew!). The streets were pracitcally deserted because everything was closed so early in the morning. It was breathtaking. That same day, I walked to the Fine Arts Palace which is further down by the bridge. I  got there and was literally sitting on a bench in shorts and a t-shirt sunning myself in February. Doesn’t get any better than that. 3) Did the tour cruise thing. Fed some seagulls from the back of the boat and one almost bit my hand off. I’m a wuss, so no rabid birds for me – after that I was done. My dad (who came out to visit while I was there),  still fed them though and I got some cool pics. 4) I saw a necklace that was selling for over a million dollars in one of the stores down by Union Station. The necklace that I ended up getting was only $89. Not quite as glamorous, but I like it. It’s made from 2,000 yr-old Roman glass. Neat-o 5) Being in SF, I missed the huge winter storm back in DC. All the more reason to love it there. 6) Oh… and the conference. Yeah – I almost forgot that I was there for work. The conference was really good. I went to a lot of workshops, did a lot of networking, and even judged the AAAS poster competition. The catering was amazing, as were some of the research projects I heard about. It was one of the best work-related experiences I’ve ever had and I think I got a lot out of it. All-in-all it was a damn good excuse to go to SF. 7) And the most unbelievable thing ever – I didn’t miss a flight and none were delayed long enough to screw up my schedule. How awesome is that?! Yes, much much more that I haven’t mentioned, but it will have to wait ’til some other time. Lots of drama upon my return. Seriously, things just fall apart when I’m not around, huh? No worries. Most of the drama revolves around other people than myself. Some just like to make things seem like a bigger deal than they actually are. I mean, c’mon – paper plates?  (A story for another time) And facebook trashing? Who does that? I won’t even go into some of the other things that have been popping up, but I can guarentee that I will have none of it. I stick with my girl, Missy, on this one and proudly proclaim, “No more drama.” Peace out, my people.

Cake fairies June 16, 2007

Saturday, February 03, 2007

Material. I’d like to write a book, but I lack material. ”But, Liz, ” you argue. “You’re hilarious. All your stories are full of depth and wit. I read your blog religiously because it’s the highlight of my week.” Yes, yes. I know. But it’s a lot more difficult to come up with a long, cohesive storyline than these short blurbs on the day-to-day hilarity. Nonetheless, if I were going to write a book, I think it would most definitely have to be an autobiography or a memior of sorts. Some of this shit is just too good not to make known. Like that one time a few weeks ago when I was propositioned for a four-some. Or the more recent versions of my “dating at its finest” (read version 1.0 from 9/1/06)  series which I’m currently working on. Even some of  the shenanigans at the office are worthy of writing about. Only in government would you start off a meeting by discussing the order of discussion. (Pass out the agenda and get on with it, please.) So, while I may lack the creativity to come up with something completely ficticious to entertain the masses, I don’t really need to because – as you may have noticed -  my life really is this awesome. A recent case in point: Every first Friday of the month I and about a hundred of my closest pals (okay… maybe only 20-30 are close) get together for a monthly happy hour in the city which lasts well into the evening. It’s always a good time and last night was no exception. Though it lacks the energy of the kickball flipcup mania and the molestering that accompanies, there’s no lack of good drinks and good times. Usually after the HH, a few of the crew head out to go dancing at a nearby club/bar. They play awesome 80’s music mixed in with some of the more recent club tunes. It’s jammin’. Last night we got there a little early, so I ended up chatting around the bar and having various beverages bought for me. Buzzing, I noticed a perfectly good cake left sitting on the railing behind my companion. My eyes lit up and I mouthed, “Cake!” It was like the little cake fairies had noticed that I hadn’t eaten much that day, realized my imbibing was getting the best of me, and floated down a big-ass confetti cake with white frosting just for me. Thank-you cake fairies. So, I go for the cake, right? And the people I’m chatting with are like, “What’re you doing?”  Well, I thought it was pretty obvious what I was doing, especially since by the time they asked the question, I already had a little bit of frosting on the side of my mouth from scooping some of the deliciousness. Someone referred to it as heroine cake because it was so damn good.  Well… after I had a few bites I took a break from my cake thievery just in time. Some dude (I guess it was his birthday?) walked by, saw his half-eaten cake, and declared, “Someone’s been eating my cake.” No shit, Goldilocks. He moved it across the bar to a table, and later that night, after a bit of dancing and some more imbibing, I went on a reconaissance mission and reclaimed the heroine cake. I pilfered it some more at the bar and offered some to my pals. There’s a lot to be said about a girl at a bar with a cake. I was even more popular than usual and it  was awesome. The evening ended with a frantic search for my coat (because someone had moved it all the way across the bar)  a free ride back to the Metro with a cool guy (though I doubt he’ll call), and a couple of great stories for my book. Peace out, my party people.

time-travelling craziness June 16, 2007

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

15 years from now… I’ve had a hell of a week… and it’s only Wednesday. Since I have nothing to say that you’d want to hear, feel free to read this story that I wrote for my brother’s English class. Presto05: Whaddup, dawg? J-Lo123idb: Your mom Presto05: Hey, we don’t talk about that, k? J-Lo123idb: My bad, dude. I forgot. That’s how it all began. With one innocent Instant Messenger conversation, it all came flooding back to me. Ever since Mom got locked away in the loony bin, I’ve tried to avoid talking about her. I’d pretend that I didn’t have a mother, or that she was just away on vacation. This is one vacation that she’s not coming back from though. It all began about fifteen years ago, before I was born. Mom had been in the business practically her entire life. As a kid, she was on some old-school television show and had a few choice parts here and there in other things. I think there’s an old clip of her extolling the virtues of Crest toothpaste at age nine somewhere out there. It seems somewhat ironic considering she took up smoking right around that time. She dropped out of the picture for a bit before she hit it big with the old routine. The famous life can change a person though. She went from teenybopper princess to two-cent tramp in the eyes of the media in no time at all. Some people blamed my dad, but it really wasn’t his fault. He was just in it for the fame and the money. She should have known better. A lot of people blame me. I even blame myself sometimes. People speculate that I was an accident, that if I hadn’t been born, she could have made a comeback. Instead, she got knocked up with me and it was all downhill from there. My two brothers and my sister followed shortly thereafter before a freak plastic surgery accident left her sterile. After the divorce finally got settled a few years ago, she was left with practically nothing. Dad took most of her money and spent it on hookers and his failed studio launch before he died from an ecstasy overdose. His Will left what little money remained to his other seven kids. I guess he figured since Mom slept around during their marriage, I didn’t deserve to be included. Even after the paternity test proved that I was his, he still treated me like a second-class son. My neurosis after his death and my varied stints in rehab rivaled those of even the most seasoned celebrity children. What brought me out of it was Mom. I saw a tabloid cover of her one day while waiting for my group therapy to begin and realized that I had to do something. The paparazzi had caught her singing karaoke in one of her old costumes at a bar in Chinatown. It was sad. Her hair in pigtails, her ass popping out of a too-tight plaid skirt, and her poorly-applied makeup was just to much to take. I checked myself out of rehab and made my way home. By the time I got there, it was too late. Apparently the hag-mag I had picked up in the clinic was a few weeks old. When I arrived home, I found my mother’s underwear hanging from the ceiling fan, the floor covered with strands of hair from weave left in too long, and my dear mother lounging on the pool table, mumbling incoherently about hitting something one more time. That’s my last memory of her before they put her away. Now all I have left to remember her by is a couple of tarnished Teen Choice Awards and a stretched-out plaid skirt. Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Preston Federline-Spears and this is my  E! True Hollywood Story.

My christmas present to you June 16, 2007

Friday, December 22, 2006

This is old news, but in light of the holiday season, I thought you could use some good news. According to a Washington Post article published Wednesday, based upon a study done in 2002, 95% of the American public admits to having premarital sex.(http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/12/19/AR2006121901274.html) That’s compared to a 1970’s study of women only which reported only 76% admitting to having played the sideways hokey-pokey prior to donning the white dress. At this rate, in a little less than 8 years everyone will be getting it on and having a grand ol’ time. Due to the increasing sexual freedom and ease of finding other ho-bags to partake of, people won’t focus as much on superficialties. Orthodontics will be a thing of the past and women will shave their legs and underarms less frequently. We may even inexpilicably begin talking in British accents and having tea in the afternoon. So, if you’re not getting any now, rest assured, your time will come. Merry Christmas!

Liz to the rescue June 16, 2007

Thursday, December 07, 2006

I get home last night and there’s a bird in the apartment. Unlike the roomie, who vacated and refused to come back until it was gone (she left a message on voicemail about it), I don’t have any qualms about dealing with undomesticated animals. Hell, I used to date one. That’s beside the point though. After entertaining a brief fantasy involving the bird terrorizing the roomie for hours on end, somewhat mirroring Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds, I decided to handle the situation in the best way I could think of. I got out a broom, opened the apartment door, and proceeded to have the best 5 minutes of the day. I chased that little feathery bastard around until it finally decided that our place was, perhaps, not the best place to crap in and flew out the door. Mission accomplished. Liz saves the day yet once again.