tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43942009852238535712024-02-07T20:42:36.168-08:00Who Did What To WhoChelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.comBlogger76125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-87443322741086569592010-06-01T07:23:00.000-07:002010-06-01T16:58:27.154-07:00Uncashable ChecksHi, dudes! Sorry I haven't posted in so long (Umm, over a year? Oops!). I've been super busy making a baby and then keeping said baby alive and not crying. Also, I personally find it really hard to think of blog posts when all I've done all day is stare at the kid. But, you guys, I've had something on my mind for a while now and I need to discuss it with y'alls. You see, I've been listening to a lot of R&B for the last few months. This is related to motherhood in the sense that I no longer get paid for my work and that makes it difficult to listen to rap music, as rappers talk about getting money A LOT. Some of them actually never talk about anything else (I'm looking at you, Baby the Birdman). R&B artists address cashflow issues significantly less, but they use the same producers so there are a lot of sonic similarities. I should be happy. But as I listen to these songs, something keeps bugging me oh so much, which is that these R&B peeps are always making INSANE sexual promises that no one could ever, ever keep. Let's take a closer look:<br /><br />1. Robin Thicke<br />Robin Thicke (son of Alan Thicke) actually isn't too overpromisey. I mean, he totally is for a normal human being, but in the world of R&B his hyperbole is pretty average.<br /><br /><object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/8s2_QLjF2Vs&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/8s2_QLjF2Vs&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="385" width="640"></embed></object><br /><br />Now, in case you didn't catch all the lyrics, Rob here just promised to solve ALL OF YOUR PROBLEMS with his penis. We will accept that as our median for the purposes of this post, and that level of overpromising pales in comparison to our next offender. That's right, dudes, I'm talking about the King of Sexual Overpromise,<br /><br />2. R. Kelly<br />Hoo, boy. You're gonna want to hold onto your hat for this one.<br /><br /><object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/95ZkLIluh1M&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/95ZkLIluh1M&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="385" width="640"></embed></object><br /><br />To recap: Kells is proposing an entire 24 hours of sex. There will be a round TEN, after which he will get a second wind, resulting in more sex, which is going to make you yodel. Not, as I would think, give you all kindsa chafe, but yodel. Oh, and he probably got you fired.<br /><br />But that's not unusual for R. Kelly, a man who has sung of sex that takes place in <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Na5h3XkWjsc">outer space</a>, for Pete's sake. I know better than to take him even remotely seriously. The thing that makes this so bothersome to me, so egregious, is that what we know of R. Kelly's actual sex life tells us that not only is he NOT going to make you yodel, but he's probably going to put on a Zorro mask and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W4M3sOth4Xs&feature=related">pee on you</a>. It's like if I told you to come over to my house to watch the secret 6th season of The Wire and eat free pizza FROM THE FUTURE, and then when you got there, I put on a Zorro mask and peed on you.<br /><br />3. Ciara<br /><br /><object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Lp6W4aK1sbs&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Lp6W4aK1sbs&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="385" width="640"></embed></object><br /><br />CIARA IS GOING TO <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Daggering">DAGGER</a> YOU.<br /><br />4. The-Dream<br /><br /><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/p9GbfR_VJVY&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/p9GbfR_VJVY&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="385" width="480"></embed></object><br /><br />Now that is more like it! For those of you not familiar with the vernacular, to "put it down" is to do a pretty good job. Way to keep expectations somewhere reasonable, The-Dream! The craziest promise here is that he'll make you sleepy. Sounds great! I hereby name you my boyfriend for the duration of this blog post!*<br /><br />Well, that was fun! I'll try to be here more often, but no promises. I seriously don't understand how those Mommy Blogger people do it.<br /><br /><br />*Actually, who am I kidding, I totally pick Robin Thicke. I have an inexplicable weakness for white dudes with gross facial hair. See also KFed and my husband when we first met.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-13776567016860858262009-04-22T08:21:00.000-07:002009-04-22T09:57:52.358-07:00PDXcuse MeI owe Portland an apology.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMxvfXmZKmqFi4VufFEmwGAqAaFh5-LtzcrmE8_QqRXGAMfLOJHuMF0Ucheocv-u9S5dd_v4ybykZORWwCjv6RA4RrItJaTzZ2O7P7rYB7-LMHA3WsD-8a23m1ovC5FHkePj-LhjsW7s/s1600-h/sorry.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 399px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMxvfXmZKmqFi4VufFEmwGAqAaFh5-LtzcrmE8_QqRXGAMfLOJHuMF0Ucheocv-u9S5dd_v4ybykZORWwCjv6RA4RrItJaTzZ2O7P7rYB7-LMHA3WsD-8a23m1ovC5FHkePj-LhjsW7s/s400/sorry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327537757674576098" border="0" /></a><br />In retrospect, I never had any real anger towards Portland itself. I'm pretty sure I was only mad because Portland kept luring away people I really like. And nothing makes me saltier than people I like moving away. Ugh. I'm sorry, okay, Portland? I was being a hater, and I apologize for talking shit. For, like, years.<br /><br />I guess this change of heart has been in the works for a while. Me and the dude had a mini-vacay in P-Town (I can call it that now, right?) a couple years ago, and it was just lovely. Granted, we spent pretty much the entire time in strip clubs, smoking, drinking and carousing, and really, who wouldn't enjoy that? But I wasn't sold on Portland just yet. Until this morning, that is, when I found out about their food cart situation.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqM-Dp-lLAiO8qhO6TNa2doiMHCN8_5CowF4p6VSQpfzC3fsDCDQi0J1B9i_etIzUMCzXmcSqBdBvrl_KRjBhlNLbLWyX18QDlQ2e6LjyZscj9DmBLRH_VmVsQSWDIWgAxVNjZQShmHZ0/s1600-h/its-sold-typo.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqM-Dp-lLAiO8qhO6TNa2doiMHCN8_5CowF4p6VSQpfzC3fsDCDQi0J1B9i_etIzUMCzXmcSqBdBvrl_KRjBhlNLbLWyX18QDlQ2e6LjyZscj9DmBLRH_VmVsQSWDIWgAxVNjZQShmHZ0/s400/its-sold-typo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327547950394924642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Apparently, Portland is awash with food carts, and nobody bothered to tell me about it.<br /><br /><iframe marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" src="http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&hl=en&source=embed&msa=0&msid=117565148957344197743.00044ded53397e9e9afc1&ll=45.519172,-122.625256&spn=0.191719,0.313377&output=embed" frameborder="0" height="350" scrolling="no" width="425"></iframe><br /><small>View <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&hl=en&source=embed&msa=0&msid=117565148957344197743.00044ded53397e9e9afc1&ll=45.519172,-122.625256&spn=0.191719,0.313377" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 255); text-align: left;">Portland Food Carts</a> in a larger map</small><br /><br />If that map were of Seattle there'd be, like, eight of those dot things. We are woefully lacking in food carts, which was much more of an actual problem back when I used to leave the house, but is still a blow to my hometown pride. What hurts the most, though, is that <a href="http://www.juniorambassadors.com/">Junior Ambassadors</a> cart exists and I have never been there. These guys specialize in weird ice cream flavors that make our ice cream "mavericks" look like a bunch of snivelling M.O.R. pussies (smoked salmon and cream cheese, you guys. Shit!), "panwiches" whatever that means, and being super fucking whimsical and adorable. Essentially, they are killing my life right now, and I will pretty much feel like half a person until I can convince someone (i.e. Landon) to drive me there. Look. This is how they choose to represent themselves:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcveoZzPsYFG8mef4YcAh0vh-6u1tc0g-ZnglNwCkt-cKIcfCb4OVrkGhhrx4Gy2sgNGGK2ufXFy4vO_bNEqzpNp_Zh7vtuvHJLCjbAOZQQtqVH-sCWgNzxY9eBE2_UAFxYWdjNjxPyI/s1600-h/art_food_cart_land.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 304px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcveoZzPsYFG8mef4YcAh0vh-6u1tc0g-ZnglNwCkt-cKIcfCb4OVrkGhhrx4Gy2sgNGGK2ufXFy4vO_bNEqzpNp_Zh7vtuvHJLCjbAOZQQtqVH-sCWgNzxY9eBE2_UAFxYWdjNjxPyI/s400/art_food_cart_land.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327553014190221634" border="0" /></a><br />AAAAAGH, why are they doing this to me?! You can read all about it at the <a href="http://foodcartsportland.com/2009/03/13/junior-ambassadors/#more-97">Food Carts Portland </a>blog. And while you're there, you might as well click around and start planning your food cart tour of Portland.<br /><br />I feel good, you guys. I've never apologized to an entire city before (though there have been times when I certainly should have), and it's kind of delightfully cathartic. Maybe this will become a series. I have talked shit about a lot of places.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6EYKNqb9abpem6xw2ymwxPPLbjPrcn3tALyLnoNlWGJD_pl4bSGHxC-LzCA0scfURLkdhpS6v84hJLuuUfDqfX3Qv-e-0tVfAP9k4RG0aaCd-qt-uPF7hR1KOSgUhlExxiDE07WUMe9E/s1600-h/oopsEraser.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6EYKNqb9abpem6xw2ymwxPPLbjPrcn3tALyLnoNlWGJD_pl4bSGHxC-LzCA0scfURLkdhpS6v84hJLuuUfDqfX3Qv-e-0tVfAP9k4RG0aaCd-qt-uPF7hR1KOSgUhlExxiDE07WUMe9E/s400/oopsEraser.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327558773514661218" border="0" /></a> *<br /><br />What it breaks down to is this: I kind of hate everywhere that isn't Seattle, just for not being Seattle. But what I am starting to realize is that just because I love my wife (Seattle), that doesn't mean I can't occasionally enjoy the charms of other women (cities). And maybe, just maybe, it's time to get me some strange. (Don't worry, this logic does not apply to my actual wife, by which I mean my actual husband, who, thank little baby Jesus, does not read this blog.)<br /><br />* Did you know that if you Google image search "oops", you will see about a billion nip/labe slips? Neither did I, until about 3 minutes ago. Yowza.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-19226071058909300462009-04-11T09:47:00.000-07:002009-04-11T10:58:11.215-07:00I was gonna write about how I don't think Lil Wayne gets enough credit for being a really good dancer, but in the course of my research (read: watching YouTube videos with no real structure or purpose for, like, an hour) I ended up watching <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A5U7RhPiyzk">this video</a> and realized that I had a couple things I'd like to say about it. But then when I tried to post it here it turned out embedding was disabled. So! Being the dedicated blogger that I am, I then spent way too much time trying to loophole the bitch. As you can see, since there is no video embedded in the middle of all this text, it didn't work. And now I can't really remember what I wanted to say about <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A5U7RhPiyzk">this video</a> (same video, just linked it again to double the chances that you'll actually watch it so we're on the same page, dedicated reader that you are), except for that I like the part at 3:17 where Weezy says, "I hope your vagina's tight." I appreciate his candor/optimism!<br /><br />Update: I worked it out!<br /><br /><object height="300" width="400"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=3593286&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1"><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=3593286&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="300" width="400"></embed></object><br /><a href="http://vimeo.com/3593286">Keri Hilson ft. LIL Wayne "Turn On"</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/triggerhappy">triggerhappy</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br /><br />Oh yeah, I remember what I wanted to say: Conceptually, I really like this using jewelry to signal sexual probabilities idea. It's succinct, non-confrontational, and rad-looking. Unfortunately, it would never ever work because it's always the dudes you want absolutely nothing to do with <span style="font-style: italic;">ever</span> that think they can cajole/harrass/call you a lesbian into changing your mind and putting their genitals in your mouth. Like a damn hobo Andy Bernard trying to beer me his gonorrhea.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz4P0Otib-ZkE3PI93ZvWy0HDD16JVglhXs5ftHRwMEqRAlNeShXRi7mK2-KimJ5b7mfDDIzFoeQgFVtt8PoLO9gcDFiCWxtdv8sfVlV9r8LzhFQgT8_DT-5veDfqW7ttNz2ffQq_Gks0/s1600-h/andy.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz4P0Otib-ZkE3PI93ZvWy0HDD16JVglhXs5ftHRwMEqRAlNeShXRi7mK2-KimJ5b7mfDDIzFoeQgFVtt8PoLO9gcDFiCWxtdv8sfVlV9r8LzhFQgT8_DT-5veDfqW7ttNz2ffQq_Gks0/s400/andy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323494407545105042" border="0" /></a>Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-42355063515403477552009-03-10T08:55:00.000-07:002009-03-10T10:26:07.214-07:00But Wait!! There's More!!This morning I was chatting with <a href="http://2thewalls.tumblr.com/">Keehnan</a> when the topic of infomercials came up. This, of course, led to a discussion of the beef between Billy Mays and Vince Offer (or, as I prefer to call him, That Young Upstart Tryna Usurp the Throne). Where do you stand on this very important issue?<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/iWRGRZCvLmg&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/iWRGRZCvLmg&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />Keehny is pro-Vince Offer. When I asked him to defend this stance, he cited Vince's delightful ridiculousness (exemplified by this statement-<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rUbWjIKxrrs"> "Stop having a boring tuna, stop having a boring life!"</a>), That he <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bZxyqMrb0uU">does his own commercials in Spanish</a> (but clearly does not speak Spanish), and that he, unlike Billy Mays, does not yell.<br /><br />I, on the other hand, am the fucking Captain of Team Billy Mays. First off, I am a creature of habit, y'all. I'm comfortable with Billy Mays. I <span style="font-style: italic;">know</span> Billy Mays. Who the fuck is Vince Offer? What, he thinks he can just show up out of nowhere and sell me a highly absorbent towel, just like that? My head isn't turned that easily, I'm afraid. Also, he sounds like he's from New Jersey, which is probably the fastest way to get me to not trust you.<br /><br />Billy Mays is great! He gets me all fired up! People complain about his constant yelling, calling it "abrasive" and "super fucking annoying", but I love it. I listen to a lot of mainstream rap music, you guys. I get uncomfortable if someone <span style="font-style: italic;">isn't</span> yelling at me about their product preferences.<br /><br /><div><object width="480" height="381"><param name="movie" value="http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/k3MXb4irtPcfYBGuXV&related=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/k3MXb4irtPcfYBGuXV&related=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="480" height="381"></embed></object><br /><b><a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x613fv_jim-jones-byrdgang-splash_music">Jim Jones & ByrdGang - Splash</a></b><br /><i>Uploaded by <a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/jeewhite94">jeewhite94</a></i></div><br /><br />Also I am excited about <a href="http://www.tvsquad.com/2009/01/08/billy-mays-gets-his-own-reality-show/">this</a>.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLJJHlC_tygtt0baFhWsmNq-Wcsm8p6q6MzDy3OT-pPJD9UhvypCKAHevu1WFXb1MHkbH7jRORwpRG0Ktlc_W_4eCCeyiTl0FezF_mrytn04J22plLYZQOC01Xgn6nVVn8fRKfWwSX6ns/s1600-h/billy-mays.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLJJHlC_tygtt0baFhWsmNq-Wcsm8p6q6MzDy3OT-pPJD9UhvypCKAHevu1WFXb1MHkbH7jRORwpRG0Ktlc_W_4eCCeyiTl0FezF_mrytn04J22plLYZQOC01Xgn6nVVn8fRKfWwSX6ns/s400/billy-mays.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311611376164785090" border="0" /></a>Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-28183635654618403562009-02-06T09:09:00.000-08:002009-02-06T09:58:37.787-08:00A Vagina MonologueLast night I saw a vagina on the Travel Channel. Straight up. VA...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhODLCPA6Tp1z6qHPd6W47ME1Uzwlp7DVu0mSJUdXvVh40oICtCixcRfTaJ57Zx7troDGE223USdmlU8Kp_ojaQE7xqDkm51yHWqEqdyTyt2WplU97J80NE3rc6aazFPlX0yh-Xm_11Zqw/s1600-h/newyork_vagina_monologues.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhODLCPA6Tp1z6qHPd6W47ME1Uzwlp7DVu0mSJUdXvVh40oICtCixcRfTaJ57Zx7troDGE223USdmlU8Kp_ojaQE7xqDkm51yHWqEqdyTyt2WplU97J80NE3rc6aazFPlX0yh-Xm_11Zqw/s400/newyork_vagina_monologues.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299736802971422498" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />I should clarify. It wasn't, like, on display or anything. It wasn't the focal point. It was just this naked-ass Indian lady who, by merit of being totally nude, happened to have visible lady bits. Somewhat jarring, but I got over it pretty quickly. And I get the whole National Geographic nudity clause, where indigenous tribes get a nudity pass because it's non-sexual and cultural and whatnot. Cool. I'm down. But I would like to argue that those standards should be applied to other peoples who have a culture of nudity. Specifically, I think these rules should apply to strippers and stripper-y ladies who go on reality shows in search of love. Or money. Or whatever. The kind of women who, when asked to "dress to impress", show up looking like this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4bq_ylAeCaJtoZIpAZ05OcwKgwvBE1wBzPIZQKE4dAOeHfDsqnrkqVqnUU1_6j0rJzkntMdAAKl38yvl20Rw1pVG6T3Fd4cuo9bi7zUYfA7TL73vVKQ08HMvxX6jJtTs1dJd31_eeYAc/s1600-h/stripper+bus.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4bq_ylAeCaJtoZIpAZ05OcwKgwvBE1wBzPIZQKE4dAOeHfDsqnrkqVqnUU1_6j0rJzkntMdAAKl38yvl20Rw1pVG6T3Fd4cuo9bi7zUYfA7TL73vVKQ08HMvxX6jJtTs1dJd31_eeYAc/s400/stripper+bus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299740642970484130" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I watch a lot of VH1 reality programming, and I can tell you from experience, the nudity on these shows (which is always blurred, if not black-barred) is very rarely sexual. Usually, it is simply what has come to be known as a wardrobe malfunction. If you wear something that barely covers your nipples, at some point it will fail to do even that. Thusly:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPv3fftSkQ-JDDqhBfY4bv8SDW07HO3k6fe_kZEXWzCxO2m-LMWugQ4u54b16ZeslNTsozwRVAtGhZH2bwOSSua4SgN5wuBXcTmXu4gb9jM4QjhVryA7PRjiZzqGeKksfgrhG9QLGhs8/s1600-h/rol3_4_defe_11.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPv3fftSkQ-JDDqhBfY4bv8SDW07HO3k6fe_kZEXWzCxO2m-LMWugQ4u54b16ZeslNTsozwRVAtGhZH2bwOSSua4SgN5wuBXcTmXu4gb9jM4QjhVryA7PRjiZzqGeKksfgrhG9QLGhs8/s400/rol3_4_defe_11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299742887400905634" border="0" /></a><br /><br />See?! She's just wrappin' up some cords, and bam! Tit overboard. Non-sexual nudity.<br /><br />What's more important, though, is that these women come from a nude culture, by which I mean they are strippers. Nudity is what they know. It is their way of life, and should not be blurred out.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd1msPNrVgxlzgSYr63pm4DqAM3RTZ23TI_YXNAQ9X9Fm5B5_fGbgzPSPtx-V_s_FKoMZMwI9xSMGmGhhcYR2tqWotiiZK1Yk2_XlUGpxSDM8KLWAzjYXM7J9hJnLo7lArM7LffY_TS3g/s1600-h/frenchie+boobs.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd1msPNrVgxlzgSYr63pm4DqAM3RTZ23TI_YXNAQ9X9Fm5B5_fGbgzPSPtx-V_s_FKoMZMwI9xSMGmGhhcYR2tqWotiiZK1Yk2_XlUGpxSDM8KLWAzjYXM7J9hJnLo7lArM7LffY_TS3g/s400/frenchie+boobs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299744107591179890" border="0" /></a><br /><br />They're just people, doing what they do, the way they customarily do it. Which is naked.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB0p4tj-WH90MjzO2nhBO5M8J1YBIafNoK7SpShOITlX6p-wBQnegiUSNROxzEXaHukfJn97eWCLyDD1KhJ2DAQeju0fuKPxbwP0OXGgZQ6bQ3RRBuEgIJ4jn6rlJ1NsVZk6zcgiJeNOQ/s1600-h/naked+indians.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB0p4tj-WH90MjzO2nhBO5M8J1YBIafNoK7SpShOITlX6p-wBQnegiUSNROxzEXaHukfJn97eWCLyDD1KhJ2DAQeju0fuKPxbwP0OXGgZQ6bQ3RRBuEgIJ4jn6rlJ1NsVZk6zcgiJeNOQ/s400/naked+indians.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299744279000799122" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I just don't see the difference. Do you?Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-15035349499347338262009-01-14T09:00:00.000-08:002009-01-14T17:06:55.407-08:00I was listening to Rick James this morning, and I couldn't stop wondering why he was never as big as Prince. I think I have an Idea:<br /><br />Sex sells, and they were both pretty sexual dudes, both in content and packaging, right? But while Prince's lyrics were far, far filthier (compare <a href="http://www.imeem.com/people/Pg2-Nhl/music/JD5vyRkA/rick_james_super_freak_12_mix/">Superfreak</a> to <a href="http://www.imeem.com/mavicious/music/p050FPsa/prince_erotic_city_unedited/">Erotic City</a>), he had a leg up on Rick as far as accessibility goes, and there was nothing to be done about it. Why, you ask?<br /><br />Because Rick James was a big, man-ass dude:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKH7NgdbmlMx90MENifLcMTJrYs_JSlhNtGavDN_ITxqBOMf9KqoB1-rsF_oX5LXoFStJRwzYJkWfd8chNm8w0PT1ZSoco4AZnSw1SSTPMWcZm-d9r8w4YsCLnyv7wG52Uh5UiKcwgJq8/s1600-h/rick_james-2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 325px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKH7NgdbmlMx90MENifLcMTJrYs_JSlhNtGavDN_ITxqBOMf9KqoB1-rsF_oX5LXoFStJRwzYJkWfd8chNm8w0PT1ZSoco4AZnSw1SSTPMWcZm-d9r8w4YsCLnyv7wG52Uh5UiKcwgJq8/s400/rick_james-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291199816191749490" border="0" /></a><br /><br />who looks like he may actually <a href="http://www.ew.com/ew/article/0,,169483,00.html">do something real crazy</a> to you, whereas Prince is an elf:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo3lwwXihH83z7spM7HtE2M25OOOcTaskwkdj6rVXPnynS8IQiwZwgv0o-7ZtgU88hRCpo0gw1aam7dmhqCGseB7nNfk5qZ_uSD9vXT58ZBnAbZs8FHVgFI-2rnumD-YHWgAVL47GQ9Jg/s1600-h/Prince-elf.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo3lwwXihH83z7spM7HtE2M25OOOcTaskwkdj6rVXPnynS8IQiwZwgv0o-7ZtgU88hRCpo0gw1aam7dmhqCGseB7nNfk5qZ_uSD9vXT58ZBnAbZs8FHVgFI-2rnumD-YHWgAVL47GQ9Jg/s400/Prince-elf.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291200178604840610" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />And if I've learned anything since Peter Jackson's Lord Of the Rings trilogy came out, it's that bitches love elves.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqMPTsYapuucxKhbj_L6QepvGaz5e8JxsdGXmmYKvW-krmbC0cWWwVTs_BcAPBJkKy6ani5-98zR6C6xymV00fdyVMB3hVK9aFOl1eoJWQCpolWYfbFQRW0p-dKR4lkm4mn-a97Ui6gGU/s1600-h/legolas.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqMPTsYapuucxKhbj_L6QepvGaz5e8JxsdGXmmYKvW-krmbC0cWWwVTs_BcAPBJkKy6ani5-98zR6C6xymV00fdyVMB3hVK9aFOl1eoJWQCpolWYfbFQRW0p-dKR4lkm4mn-a97Ui6gGU/s400/legolas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291201974095352418" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Also, <a href="http://ainarian.deviantart.com/art/Aragorn-and-Legolas-54057558">this</a>.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-47595752025561628302008-12-23T11:43:00.000-08:002008-12-23T15:13:10.894-08:00Baby, It's Cold OutsideAbout three days into Snowpocalypse '08: Nanook's Revenge, I was called out into the weather for a social engagement. By which I mean Ryann had me come meet her for coffee four blocks away from my house. It didn't seem that far, so I just threw on a sweater dress with leggings and legwarmers, tossed my coat and a scarf on top and headed out the door. Within two minutes of leaving my apartment I was miserable.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyInn7Uds7kD1ZeEI3nm-UATAkDtRrih6ExJuOqtQXXydHKIhF_iGpXhQvhCircEIyF0uGLLxZyJmX2qjMPwaqezHsgV483mDUEXN_LoDuyKSaIK_Eq3IV6JQ0wisjD414X95EY2HCnzQ/s1600-h/miserable-wet-cat.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyInn7Uds7kD1ZeEI3nm-UATAkDtRrih6ExJuOqtQXXydHKIhF_iGpXhQvhCircEIyF0uGLLxZyJmX2qjMPwaqezHsgV483mDUEXN_LoDuyKSaIK_Eq3IV6JQ0wisjD414X95EY2HCnzQ/s400/miserable-wet-cat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283090236866836546" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I warmed up pretty well in the coffee shop, but never to the point where I was totally comfortable. And then, in walked an object lesson.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ6k1e8gZN8G0N8lMRq9eZMNnDvFdXbk27ReYKD0wg7FZdBuaal09G1rUv71P8LTLwZMnzSY0mBoy16K2zV5T-wHlZ0gNsd3zTpAgyHYwg0fGDZ4UfrGt3N3ZPksGBGIcb0_i_qJ1gyOk/s1600-h/bundled+up.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 389px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ6k1e8gZN8G0N8lMRq9eZMNnDvFdXbk27ReYKD0wg7FZdBuaal09G1rUv71P8LTLwZMnzSY0mBoy16K2zV5T-wHlZ0gNsd3zTpAgyHYwg0fGDZ4UfrGt3N3ZPksGBGIcb0_i_qJ1gyOk/s400/bundled+up.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283091205621422690" border="0" /></a><br /><br />A child!! (Not those specific children. I had to Google image search "bundled up", which is hella fun, by the way. But you get the point.) "Why," I asked myself, "did I not dress up like that?" The kid was covered from head to toe. Sweater, heavy coat, tough jeans, weather-appropraite boots, goofy little hat, gloves. The whole shebang! And it hit me! I need to bundle myself up as though I were my own mother! I don't know why this never occurred to me before. I am constantly momming everyone around me, offering them multivitamins and telling them they should get more sleep and when are they gonna bring me some grandbabies, etc. But momming myself! This is new.<br /><br />Yesterday I made my first attempt at actualizing this concept. I donned thick tights, two pairs of tall socks, one pair of footie socks, jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, two sweaters, coat, scarf, gloves, hat, and huge rubber rainboots. And somehow the outfit even looked kind of chic, in a no visible flesh, New England-y kind of way. I was into it. So off I went, into this world of ice and snow, full of optimism.<br /><br />And then came the heartbreak.<br /><br />Seriously, you guys, I had barely made it across the street before I realized that my so-called "rain boots" had totally sprung a fucking leak and my feet were so wet and so cold and I had to go back home and try again.<br /><br />I'm still a little upset. Give me a second.<br /><br />Ugh.<br /><br />Okay. So, now I'm thinking, "Wait a fucking second, I live in Seattle. How can I not have a functioning pair of rain boots? Because <span style="font-weight: bold;">nothing else matters if my feet are wet</span>, I don't care how warm the rest of me is. I need rain boots." But! I am still totally housebound, dudes!! Consequently, for the time being I am limited to internet shopping. I found some really great boots, though. Check 'em out.<br /><br />1. Kind of Expensive, but Probably Worth It.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vtLS21GBjfuShiB41G6V8243h6y3EdAf_R9IWQSn2ZgBjSf09PD6vi97Y4MQeN5ngMuhep5cNNfjgIib1Ou3CUUNr-eRfz59BDuANMX08ZO14EDrow3WUQb2xkILPZy3-IHwZP_eqkM/s1600-h/hunter+wellies.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 390px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vtLS21GBjfuShiB41G6V8243h6y3EdAf_R9IWQSn2ZgBjSf09PD6vi97Y4MQeN5ngMuhep5cNNfjgIib1Ou3CUUNr-eRfz59BDuANMX08ZO14EDrow3WUQb2xkILPZy3-IHwZP_eqkM/s400/hunter+wellies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283111828582839426" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I could see myself wearing these boots pretty much every day until the weather clears up in like, mid-July. But I could also see myself getting bored because they are a little staid. So I found some more adventurous models.<br /><br />2. Pucci!! Pucci!! Pucci!!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkHH3vRcuD3sc_b5fsQ5M8kp-gyUSpjpqAhaqGwvgxyJBQTIyzpqXJl04Nw1p37KJAzZreL3ldw7CmLs54kXz0n2prAM2pC3U1SwxzmLVSWst5bQRyIegQhHIaX7g4p8H3nNh3vYiIEQg/s1600-h/pucci+boots.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkHH3vRcuD3sc_b5fsQ5M8kp-gyUSpjpqAhaqGwvgxyJBQTIyzpqXJl04Nw1p37KJAzZreL3ldw7CmLs54kXz0n2prAM2pC3U1SwxzmLVSWst5bQRyIegQhHIaX7g4p8H3nNh3vYiIEQg/s400/pucci+boots.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283113416849159266" border="0" /></a><br />These boots are ridiculous and I love it. Plus I feel like they go really well with my imaginary dog, Miss J. Alexander.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFy08NDlna62LGgRMVmIfAIhT10i2bSEwwB8X-NNpGQ7kPCTF9VL_hTwTBgS73mLSes6QiBbdcRU26ldt-qbRCoPUuWBnXGpit4qEYYKvBAQjo589vW5UcxRMdxqx5ptwzSq6Oee-JblQ/s1600-h/fester+dumbledore.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 249px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFy08NDlna62LGgRMVmIfAIhT10i2bSEwwB8X-NNpGQ7kPCTF9VL_hTwTBgS73mLSes6QiBbdcRU26ldt-qbRCoPUuWBnXGpit4qEYYKvBAQjo589vW5UcxRMdxqx5ptwzSq6Oee-JblQ/s400/fester+dumbledore.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283114151878158066" border="0" /></a><br />Cute together, right?<br /><br />3.I Am Not Sure If I Like These At All<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5c4TtexNrgjocxb27zl8X8PPZrXMzb52JuFHOumRq0SwunGAr5dmqFNbKDsuLBlFNHKgRk4E_WPvQkTbNRz9oBRbMsE4lwbTWbKdy9r_7jwWke2hG9FYdKpP8-Nt88ChAEpvwJBQCSPY/s1600-h/herringbone+rain+boots.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5c4TtexNrgjocxb27zl8X8PPZrXMzb52JuFHOumRq0SwunGAr5dmqFNbKDsuLBlFNHKgRk4E_WPvQkTbNRz9oBRbMsE4lwbTWbKdy9r_7jwWke2hG9FYdKpP8-Nt88ChAEpvwJBQCSPY/s400/herringbone+rain+boots.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283118264034073346" border="0" /></a><br />But they seem sensible, or something. Y'know what? Fuck these boots. They remind me of a lady I used to work with at Starbucks that was really into those "Shopaholic" books. Gag me, right?<br /><br />4. Yes, Please!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlbyaMTST5hKQDT1ITr0nOwmcm0fJC8Ycdp5YSYhIX6KKxxcsF2N-Y32F-3m0mJx4P00TT1TE6fO_A97CMMFpXLzkXcaEgXcK4F4fIjZ_FhyphenhypheneuEPIjdmIJfflQChHSkebh6_7GoEnZgTc/s1600-h/hello+kitty+rain+boots.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 390px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlbyaMTST5hKQDT1ITr0nOwmcm0fJC8Ycdp5YSYhIX6KKxxcsF2N-Y32F-3m0mJx4P00TT1TE6fO_A97CMMFpXLzkXcaEgXcK4F4fIjZ_FhyphenhypheneuEPIjdmIJfflQChHSkebh6_7GoEnZgTc/s400/hello+kitty+rain+boots.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283120725469737266" border="0" /></a><br />I was going to say that these are for when my inner eight year old girl comes out, and that you'd be surprised how frequently that occurs, but then I realized that if you are reading this you probably have a pretty good handle on that, in all actuality.<br /><br />5. Also For The Eight-Year-Old<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMM7Uuk93qwSIpzG4njRR_GNrzDZVOY5GWcBIVCSOhZC4iotq-wz9MYTjfkPGr3yLjhSPEQIlSC7If_j1OkebdYcPG8YMiPDTQXLGp0Rk12Rpc5jmFW7cS03lcUB01VZ3neijozDl2eTE/s1600-h/heart+rain+boots.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMM7Uuk93qwSIpzG4njRR_GNrzDZVOY5GWcBIVCSOhZC4iotq-wz9MYTjfkPGr3yLjhSPEQIlSC7If_j1OkebdYcPG8YMiPDTQXLGp0Rk12Rpc5jmFW7cS03lcUB01VZ3neijozDl2eTE/s400/heart+rain+boots.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283124895023181458" border="0" /></a><br />F! U! N! Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!! Don't you wanna eat them? It's like a bag of jelly beans decided to band together to protect your feet from the elements.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-60074758417599239692008-12-19T14:59:00.000-08:002008-12-19T15:18:21.113-08:00Then He Should Have Armed HimselfI just watched <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JIBAFf2YYVY">The Strangers</a> and I have a theory. People talk about how black folks yell at the screen during horror movies. I think I might know why: When one lives in a crap neighborhood, and has to get used to the idea that someone may attack you for one reason or another at any given time, one starts figuring out ways to deal with this and behaves accordingly. So then, when that person is watching a movie where the main characters keep doing everything the opposite way one should in order to stay alive, it gets frustrating. Thus the yelling.<br /><br />Because horror movie protagonists are usually middle class whites who do not live under constant threat, it would seem that they have not developed these skills. I would like to offer them some tips.<br />For example:<br />1. If you think someone is even possibly trying to kill you, DO NOT put down your weapon. EVER.<br />2. The person who is trying to kill you might not come from the direction you are facing. So LOOK IN OTHER DIRECTIONS. If it is dark out and I am walking even just from the end of the block to my apartment building, I do a quick spin to see what is going on IN ALL DIRECTIONS at least every five seconds. I probably look crazy, but I am crazy and alive, so fuck it.<br />3. If you have the option of not being alone, DO NOT BE ALONE. In other words, don't split up. You will die, I promise.<br />4. If you find a gun, start shooting. Don't wait for something crazy to happen, just start shooting. Jesus.<br /><br />Okay. I feel better now. That movie really tried my patience.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLa4cOVbK8MQtj4BR-4awZhodFDi0LBFZrzql90dEybu1wslTSnvDDa3eUqCJzAxyCoQpgIhQw8uts1d2MoU8jauAgkW7uF6c1Qd8vhO280xRV1Zd9h7tvtxdASBfVty2BqRk8cpvS7Zk/s1600-h/the_strangers_010.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLa4cOVbK8MQtj4BR-4awZhodFDi0LBFZrzql90dEybu1wslTSnvDDa3eUqCJzAxyCoQpgIhQw8uts1d2MoU8jauAgkW7uF6c1Qd8vhO280xRV1Zd9h7tvtxdASBfVty2BqRk8cpvS7Zk/s400/the_strangers_010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281643848107630498" border="0" /></a><br /><br />UR DOING IT WRONGChelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-76118477496953589262008-12-16T08:08:00.000-08:002008-12-16T09:47:49.195-08:00All Creatures Great and Small (are totally fucking crazy)The Museum of Natural History is basically the best place I have ever been in my life. It's full of wonder and learning and taxidermy. Beat that. When we visited it last month I learned more in that 2 hours than I had in months. It was amazing. I also had an important revelation, which was this:<br /><br />Fuck a Unicorn.<br /><br />I see no reason to get excited over some mythical-ass bullshit, when there are so many unbelievable creatures that actually exist. Below, I share some of my favorites.<br /><br /><br />1. Platypus<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDhOP0dtoSHt1hpFf0oKFsAqT7xAJkSObEAoZJiGETOpK9ic58LkzQQh82PhiKYjeTlNJx6Fwu_hFOe41JV11WYorfjdm53dfHdBEG1rlOfPCoeMKxkW8ho6OjFX8X-8j_xHUMaOa3_xo/s1600-h/platy.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDhOP0dtoSHt1hpFf0oKFsAqT7xAJkSObEAoZJiGETOpK9ic58LkzQQh82PhiKYjeTlNJx6Fwu_hFOe41JV11WYorfjdm53dfHdBEG1rlOfPCoeMKxkW8ho6OjFX8X-8j_xHUMaOa3_xo/s400/platy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280428565769947154" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I already knew platypus were cool, what with the webbed feet and crazy nose. And it's pretty sweet that they're they only egg-laying mammals. But did you know that these little weirdos were <span style="font-style: italic;">venomous</span>? That is just crazy. They can't kill a human, but they will fuck your ass up for weeks, if not months. Also!! (and this is where my mind was thoroughly and irreparably blown) they hunt by electroreception, which means that they sense electric fields caused by muscle contractions!! Whoooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaa!!!<br /><br />What is up with Australia? That island is fraught with difficulties and super-weirdness. Hey, while we're on the subject of Australia's endless bananas-ness, let's talk about<br /><br />2. Koalas!!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIndxNPwInyB_mDWzfbu_-8IdDnOtT1TLA-AJeHaCbiR1Lr6UEP1xFHkQBHfkYsNQkkrV9j-rqvg82mEIybmuEAO18vjeiW1ekcNrOes9MyyRszVGepRpZd05e-jV28mI9Rwbv6jMD5oI/s1600-h/koala.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 366px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIndxNPwInyB_mDWzfbu_-8IdDnOtT1TLA-AJeHaCbiR1Lr6UEP1xFHkQBHfkYsNQkkrV9j-rqvg82mEIybmuEAO18vjeiW1ekcNrOes9MyyRszVGepRpZd05e-jV28mI9Rwbv6jMD5oI/s400/koala.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280428255195967314" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I have long thought of the koala as my spirit animal. We have a lot in common. Slow metabolism, penchant for long naps, beloved of children, and we both harbor really bad tempers behind our fuzzy exteriors. But I, unlike a koala, only have one vagina.<br /><br />From Wikipedia: Females have two <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vagina" title="Vagina">vaginas</a>, both of which open externally through one orifice but lead to different compartments within the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uterus" title="Uterus">uterus</a>. Males generally have a two-pronged <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Penis" title="Penis">penis</a>, which corresponds to the females' two vaginae.<sup id="cite_ref-DaMR_2-0" class="reference"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marsupial#cite_note-DaMR-2" title=""><span>[</span>3<span>]</span></a></sup> The penis is used only for discharging <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Semen" title="Semen">semen</a> into females, and is separate from the urinary tract.<sup class="noprint Template-Fact"><span title="This claim needs references to reliable sources since June 2008" style="white-space: nowrap;">[<i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:Citation_needed" title="Wikipedia:Citation needed">citation needed</a></i>]</span></sup> Both sexes possess a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cloaca" title="Cloaca">cloaca</a>,<sup id="cite_ref-DaMR_2-1" class="reference"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marsupial#cite_note-DaMR-2" title=""><span>[</span>3<span>]</span></a></sup> which is connected to a urogenital sac used to store waste before expulsion.<br /><br />Okay!<br /><br />3. Giant Squid<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">HELL.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXTZK-IVLcMyLojieX1q9XDYDPb9i9RbP2Iq_UCSDgn4mq-qqO4o3xPg7qaWCUYblMPdslvpV9gylsndVu6YaJ0NzdpQ7vXUJi9JEjM2vJBC0Ow3jPjGnKl4_G3z-6TGXXTJjzec3Wn4w/s1600-h/giant-squid.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 305px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXTZK-IVLcMyLojieX1q9XDYDPb9i9RbP2Iq_UCSDgn4mq-qqO4o3xPg7qaWCUYblMPdslvpV9gylsndVu6YaJ0NzdpQ7vXUJi9JEjM2vJBC0Ow3jPjGnKl4_G3z-6TGXXTJjzec3Wn4w/s400/giant-squid.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280430269053691874" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">TO.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf9tpxmhnr-10TJy6fBcNpESsv9qze14-qufjALztAWWmYEMtry_Aw_ca0Ic9u0anMkHdRDnJRouhuFlcP84v_TbBKmi_HNPL8GZhRb2NBsxvJ-LkGodROqm_YNETkI91bzHFZXvuIjtY/s1600-h/giant_squid_1861.png"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf9tpxmhnr-10TJy6fBcNpESsv9qze14-qufjALztAWWmYEMtry_Aw_ca0Ic9u0anMkHdRDnJRouhuFlcP84v_TbBKmi_HNPL8GZhRb2NBsxvJ-LkGodROqm_YNETkI91bzHFZXvuIjtY/s400/giant_squid_1861.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280430587687776146" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">THE</span>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheTvgDtsc_J5eyG1vBhbiNUDS6GLA9V40LKIFlJfdjlYdyAd7Z1g76yFz0L72lceU9yYfK-ZI9IcRtZtP8deCJtmpqrrsTQeKWEfZli8-TGeU_Zdi94kjnyDc1JBA3KPXG3LyyVtbIRqY/s1600-h/squid+and+man.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 281px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheTvgDtsc_J5eyG1vBhbiNUDS6GLA9V40LKIFlJfdjlYdyAd7Z1g76yFz0L72lceU9yYfK-ZI9IcRtZtP8deCJtmpqrrsTQeKWEfZli8-TGeU_Zdi94kjnyDc1JBA3KPXG3LyyVtbIRqY/s400/squid+and+man.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280431101747818466" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx5wTjGzhtqTDh67PmA0cSktYryY3S7U3b-anBbkBAIyNTGPUIdc4s0zVwBKWif-eKIkXPH9urvlUh8v92_BJyYZp2z5OErUlRKFvjy6eMUorLNqqHm5NHSTb08T3wdAWWMwbp9eqFY9k/s1600-h/giantsquid.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 282px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx5wTjGzhtqTDh67PmA0cSktYryY3S7U3b-anBbkBAIyNTGPUIdc4s0zVwBKWif-eKIkXPH9urvlUh8v92_BJyYZp2z5OErUlRKFvjy6eMUorLNqqHm5NHSTb08T3wdAWWMwbp9eqFY9k/s400/giantsquid.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280431888322044786" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Oh my god, you guys. I hate the ocean so much. And y'know what? Clearly the ocean hates us, too. As <a href="http://www.theworstpeople.blogspot.com">Lindsay</a> put it, "Waves are there to physically push you <span style="font-style: italic;">out </span>of the ocean." And that is just fine by me. I know where I'm not welcome.<br /><br />4. Cuttlefish<br /><br />Best animal ever. Just watch the damn-ass video.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/N5tDH-jpDt8&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/N5tDH-jpDt8&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Can you do that? I can't do that.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-69436047814622892532008-12-12T08:07:00.000-08:002008-12-12T08:17:01.210-08:00Kanye, So BlueLast night, while watching the video for <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UERBH6vPP-E">Kanye West's Heartless</a> I had a realization-<br /><br />If you could cook down an album the same way you do a liquid, Kanye's latest album "808s and Heartbreaks" could be, after simmering in a pot for an hour or so, reduced to this:<br /><br />real talk.<br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/H25lz7gchaw&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/H25lz7gchaw&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object>Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-35444170086084704672008-12-11T13:35:00.001-08:002008-12-12T08:16:08.696-08:00Gucci!?Frida Giannini, I am calling you out.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjMurzy6TS70JQn65D6WcDbN_sn5QKBTgD4nTpgr9tpSAn1BS5vKBR-vQ5kPxTKxY8upwqEsnMNUV8Zl2uqq-cVLovOIfP18j22ghKA4Hp0Vasc-DraVnWdm504wCYu7CFqOnMsolG4D8/s1600-h/gucci+bad.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 348px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjMurzy6TS70JQn65D6WcDbN_sn5QKBTgD4nTpgr9tpSAn1BS5vKBR-vQ5kPxTKxY8upwqEsnMNUV8Zl2uqq-cVLovOIfP18j22ghKA4Hp0Vasc-DraVnWdm504wCYu7CFqOnMsolG4D8/s400/gucci+bad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278649973773681010" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Pull. It. Together.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg89raybXrPFujMCqxq02CDPcWFxn-Xvmx6Dzg2Jj5vaY4A1kTAv5nk6waYzpXkMo1qjt9K9hlQg_f2N1tl7aat6PogGApnJ3c79zI_8UE7yhShdNqEQo_1J-Yk21RAxW1ZkCOGtU8o5XI/s1600-h/gucciunicef08_tattooheart.gif"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 244px; height: 339px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg89raybXrPFujMCqxq02CDPcWFxn-Xvmx6Dzg2Jj5vaY4A1kTAv5nk6waYzpXkMo1qjt9K9hlQg_f2N1tl7aat6PogGApnJ3c79zI_8UE7yhShdNqEQo_1J-Yk21RAxW1ZkCOGtU8o5XI/s400/gucciunicef08_tattooheart.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278651063081126274" border="0" /></a><br /><br />What is going on over there?<br /><br />I don't care if this is for charity, it is still shit. We're in straight-up Ed Hardy territory here, and that is just gross.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsCjlrqBCSCw2F1UbScNvzlovM9dW5oTrUrEaSQ_aiAYuW6F5Q67lS_rCSHfEcMux-Mb6xBuc-egbKRmLAiZFwid9liSCOnTHGigqoKwEzz3W2n48XS68NtphPD37G3nO1Z37eUjRYS7o/s1600-h/Ed_Hardy_Clothing.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 385px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsCjlrqBCSCw2F1UbScNvzlovM9dW5oTrUrEaSQ_aiAYuW6F5Q67lS_rCSHfEcMux-Mb6xBuc-egbKRmLAiZFwid9liSCOnTHGigqoKwEzz3W2n48XS68NtphPD37G3nO1Z37eUjRYS7o/s400/Ed_Hardy_Clothing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278652091612512162" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Blech!!Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-89035819195006023462008-12-10T08:37:00.000-08:002008-12-10T10:21:06.088-08:00What I'm Into Right Now, pt. 6You know the drill. Let's do this!<br /><br />1.GroBall<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ6iaTrP0PoQh_ShqY5yX8h77fOqGnxCCJhgSdTauao0sSIu0c74xc_dLOk-GcTy6UOtLCG2VgdwKLG4oaru6aLLsi5IwfGC4TU_uQCpd-xcj0Ld-KWtgv2BJ9QUiEhXd-JQYpWhcRepE/s1600-h/BlackThumb(2).jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ6iaTrP0PoQh_ShqY5yX8h77fOqGnxCCJhgSdTauao0sSIu0c74xc_dLOk-GcTy6UOtLCG2VgdwKLG4oaru6aLLsi5IwfGC4TU_uQCpd-xcj0Ld-KWtgv2BJ9QUiEhXd-JQYpWhcRepE/s400/BlackThumb(2).jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278206009964372114" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I am an infamous killer of plants. In the last few years, I have killed a coleus plant (his name was Ebenezer), a rosemary (Buddy), some other plants I didn't bother to name, and even seriously endangered a Jade plant, which is basically impossible. I've tried everything, from plant food to singing the inanimate little fuckers showtunes, but to no avail. The only exception is my tiny mint plant, Minty, who has seemed to die and then come back tinier than ever no less than four times. That dude is a phoenix.<br /><br />My mom says I am a terrible gardener because I'm too self-absorbed to keep plants alive, to which I say:<br />1. That's cold, Mom. Cold.<br />2. You're probably right.<br />3. The real problem here is that plants are silent. If they would just make a noise when they want something, I would be more than happy to help them. Help me help you, is what I'm saying.<br /><br />I give up. But maybe there is a technology that can help me!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy8kJIYrQpHZyLtjIvvGoClkZbNIB1FeiQsnKZreLzRFE4ftdm5d-euGeUrFJtBEEF-Y-TMPDvxCooEKYLZESyiQVIJe6tmLYQu2OEn2hd730fpvW0BWVNKGHQMuCvhkaDjZ6w0DhNr8c/s1600-h/gro+ball.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 76px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy8kJIYrQpHZyLtjIvvGoClkZbNIB1FeiQsnKZreLzRFE4ftdm5d-euGeUrFJtBEEF-Y-TMPDvxCooEKYLZESyiQVIJe6tmLYQu2OEn2hd730fpvW0BWVNKGHQMuCvhkaDjZ6w0DhNr8c/s400/gro+ball.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278210043983779634" border="0" /></a><br />GroBalls!<br /><br />Wow, I just realized how funny that name is. That explains why they haven't really taken off the way they should. Carrying on.<br /><br />GroBalls are pots that water the plant for you. And they come in cute colors. Okay? I can't think of anything else to say right now, that name is way too distracting.<br /><br />2. Lunchbox Laboratory<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwBgNVs2L0d17ZFcAuSts4SOKQ4sIS-35z9q1Uo1BZ6Kdg5fhtmXUjhJe9yYZZ_9u_rIkPYDhMjIkrSBec6l-6H8DBI9HsBuihTrHiD9aclP-z7c-ql2SNQoNArCh472Oet69idhnQnRg/s1600-h/lunchbox+lab+meal.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwBgNVs2L0d17ZFcAuSts4SOKQ4sIS-35z9q1Uo1BZ6Kdg5fhtmXUjhJe9yYZZ_9u_rIkPYDhMjIkrSBec6l-6H8DBI9HsBuihTrHiD9aclP-z7c-ql2SNQoNArCh472Oet69idhnQnRg/s400/lunchbox+lab+meal.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278213676155665314" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Holy shit, you guys. This place is so serious. Me and the dude went there last night. They close at 5, and we got there at 5:02, but lucky for us, the owner/chef, Scott Simpson is totally dedicated to getting a burger into your mouth and let us order for take-out. The menu is totally overwhelming. Observe:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdJVxK5-neKqDj5KQF4uvkr3g_gS7VNAzu9nyf4mPjPWb1thsYVfypGnka7LAlwSElfB4ZeFuzHyFi_GjpeFoKAmo5giJSHxExIgTLafSU2ymXoRaMI8OcNLqDNnx0TBznbIgDE9zKUrg/s1600-h/lunchbox+lab+menu.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdJVxK5-neKqDj5KQF4uvkr3g_gS7VNAzu9nyf4mPjPWb1thsYVfypGnka7LAlwSElfB4ZeFuzHyFi_GjpeFoKAmo5giJSHxExIgTLafSU2ymXoRaMI8OcNLqDNnx0TBznbIgDE9zKUrg/s400/lunchbox+lab+menu.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278219664814524162" border="0" /></a><br /><br />If you choose to build your own burger, that is the mess you have to tangle with. Not wanting to try our luck, we ordered one of the "experiments", or pre-designed burgers. It happened so fast, I can't remember what it was called, but it was their beef patty, which is like 5 different meats mixed together, goat cheese, and carmelized balsamic onions.<br /><br />IT. WAS. INCREDIBLE. Words can't even come close.<br /><br />As the dude put it, "This burger tastes how blowjobs feel."<br /><br />3.My new headphones<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCR8FxSOWsyF49vKJzPADVSS2dkn4tNwqCdnmItKN5gWPiio0hhMpgHrm-c2K7L3qG_H3SU2iDoh-H4nFGknjm_0cOeXVdv5fK7bVwQpPoLHHcm-27WxMUqEau5yousnTtqN2CqWn-zKE/s1600-h/headphones.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCR8FxSOWsyF49vKJzPADVSS2dkn4tNwqCdnmItKN5gWPiio0hhMpgHrm-c2K7L3qG_H3SU2iDoh-H4nFGknjm_0cOeXVdv5fK7bVwQpPoLHHcm-27WxMUqEau5yousnTtqN2CqWn-zKE/s400/headphones.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278222633232249330" border="0" /></a><br />With these headphones I can hear things I've never heard before in music I've listened to a thousand times. I feel like any other headphones I've used in the past were disrespectful to the people who make my favorite music. Don't worry, I already sent the RZA a letter of apology.<br /><br />4.Girl Talk's Feed The Animals<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2aGNff_8Kns3gOsV7anGG-ihn-0XHx2RS3QHXZvbi3iEl5Fhlap9tNUQF3rFfdSj8nTsKw3jueTYMY_o8hlGJ9Vpp2nCgnJ5dwAr_LT42tDIndArO9owYZUQiYdwlBfzEpeP8GvB_d54/s1600-h/girl+talk.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2aGNff_8Kns3gOsV7anGG-ihn-0XHx2RS3QHXZvbi3iEl5Fhlap9tNUQF3rFfdSj8nTsKw3jueTYMY_o8hlGJ9Vpp2nCgnJ5dwAr_LT42tDIndArO9owYZUQiYdwlBfzEpeP8GvB_d54/s400/girl+talk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278223362371443314" border="0" /></a><br /><br />So, I knew I would have <a href="http://whodidwhattowho.blogspot.com/2008/11/brain-candy-semi-liveblog.html">problems getting my ass to New York</a> in the first place, but I didn't realize that once I got there, brand new problems would present themselves in the form of the Subway System. Them shits were like an anxiety supergroup! It's above ground! It's below ground! It goes under a fucking river! Dudes. All it needed was some snakes and an Ebola outbreak and it would have encompassed every single irrational fear I have ever had. But I had a secret weapon. Girl Talk.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9GvlLvxvYxg6IBubXmVnJk-pO0J94IuKqhbMY2QL3EstOeoaArSBr2Xg7ot328eQyMbmHfFZn9aexw-2Rr3LCm0dcqTSsvUIL1N01HrBQRh8H-xIL9hTJuL9Vd5SX9Z71O4BzvEBMyTQ/s1600-h/girltalk.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 354px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9GvlLvxvYxg6IBubXmVnJk-pO0J94IuKqhbMY2QL3EstOeoaArSBr2Xg7ot328eQyMbmHfFZn9aexw-2Rr3LCm0dcqTSsvUIL1N01HrBQRh8H-xIL9hTJuL9Vd5SX9Z71O4BzvEBMyTQ/s400/girltalk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278226087276075570" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Thanks, buddy!!<br /><br />When I listen to Girl Talk, my brain is too busy following all the samples (300 on this particular album) to freak out about some nonsense. So now I just listen to it all the time. I'm listening to it right now.<br /><br />5. This picture<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tArorzjf5Jkc5elXU-WQ4UQkCjKo6vLafb52mVvJrKtqOwS38s76IhFrL9i4Aq5IEOmjzb9k_0g3Y1DW2ZnAszTKsJ_D5eQMBUr9xBXKKqGxFoN8D8t3p-W5PK-T3aypmpQVCBCHwnI/s1600-h/dirty+dog.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tArorzjf5Jkc5elXU-WQ4UQkCjKo6vLafb52mVvJrKtqOwS38s76IhFrL9i4Aq5IEOmjzb9k_0g3Y1DW2ZnAszTKsJ_D5eQMBUr9xBXKKqGxFoN8D8t3p-W5PK-T3aypmpQVCBCHwnI/s400/dirty+dog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278227620213649106" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Ha! Have fun dudes!!Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-62088590575164002672008-12-08T10:24:00.000-08:002008-12-09T09:20:08.035-08:00Radio, RadioNo matter how much I tweak my <a href="http://www.pandora.com/">Pandora</a> Bell Biv Devoe station, they keep trying to sneak in some Taylor Dayne, who I have hated relentlessly since I was eight. I give her songs a thumbs down every time, and it just keeps happening. "Are you sure you hate Taylor Dayne?" they seem to ask. "What about this song?" That they won't let you ban an artist's entire catalog from a station is not the only problem I have with Pandora, but you see my point.<br /><br />Pandora is not without its charms. It's fun to see the elements they've broken a song into. Like this:<br /><br />Artist: Make-Up<br />Song: Black Wire Pt. 1<br />electric rock instrumentation<br />punk influences<br />repetitive melodic phrasing<br />extensive vamping<br /><br />One thing I have learned from the program is that I apparently love a lot of music that contains "extensive vamping" (how do they decide whether it is extensive or not? who makes that call?). Either that, or they are just way too liberal with the term "extensive vamping."<br /><br />Y'know what it is? it's the same kind of thinking that leads to shit like The Pick-up Artist. With something as human as music (or, um, humans) it simply can't be broken down into a formula. Also I hate robots.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg8W6-S3iSDcB5cRmDrdaQm2SRpH5vr32f84Qzef3OddvBq6lNAoC8_sA54hucfbIqeIoB_67k0YMy0b5bgRpmEVqoKgKYBWeFXYtscxjOygtwR8Iv8zCm7fuKOmcs0PlvO78m9_0XJWQ/s1600-h/no+robots.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg8W6-S3iSDcB5cRmDrdaQm2SRpH5vr32f84Qzef3OddvBq6lNAoC8_sA54hucfbIqeIoB_67k0YMy0b5bgRpmEVqoKgKYBWeFXYtscxjOygtwR8Iv8zCm7fuKOmcs0PlvO78m9_0XJWQ/s400/no+robots.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277839389270666130" border="0" /></a><br /><br />So this got me thinking about music I really, really love, which got me thinking about songs that are so good I am bummed out that I didn't write them because then I would never feel pressure to do anything ever again. This led to me making a playlist of such songs, which I have shared a link to below. It's not complete, but it's most of them. Give it a listen, and tell me what songs you wish you had written in the comments.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://play.rhapsody.com/playlistcentral/playlistdetail?tracks=Tra.2038401+Tra.20732921+Tra.2053789+Tra.790979+Tra.10445026+Tra.2548159+Tra.14152638+Tra.3609203+Tra.4978270+Tra.2550484+Tra.17936516+Tra.7579533+Tra.20437482&title=Rhapsody+User+Playlist&lsrc=RN_htm"><img src="http://static.realone.com/rotw/images/buttons/playsm.gif" border="0" height="20" width="20" /> My Rhapsody Playlist</a>Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-41888697915448644322008-12-05T15:11:00.000-08:002008-12-08T09:48:29.505-08:00Is it just me, or is this video extraordinarily homoerotic?<br /><br /><br /><object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7jZmntdzFBY&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7jZmntdzFBY&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object><br /><br />I just feel like if I were kickin' it with these dudes, presumably all tarted up, and they were ignoring me in favor of spraying each other with champagne, I would just get up and go home. It is starting to make more and more sense that these are the dudes behind "<a href="http://www.illdoctrine.com/2008/08/a_beginners_guide_to_no_homo.html">No Homo</a>". *<br /><br />While we're on the subject of Dipset, (which, honestly, I wish we weren't, but I gotta get this out)were you aware that they had released another** Christmas album? Technically, it's "Jim Jones and Skull Gang present", but that's still Dipset to me. And this one doesn't even have a "We Fly High" so people will maybe buy it. Straight Christmas raps, for like an hour.<br /><br />One! Last! Thing! Have you ever noticed that Jim Jones bears a striking resemblance to Sir Mix-A-Lot?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58yvAIA_etDKSCxj2IsMCsgkpKyQ2nGq79WV7ZjNSVbbhdf3XN-0fXvCf08yeADgL9d2bQrA3Pcr6qeDiNunSCZyZ8Ij7myPeEYwCl1VU9W3mF9IkpxgrwKKI0JHi2sDkS-M_mM_rZtM/s1600-h/mixjones.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58yvAIA_etDKSCxj2IsMCsgkpKyQ2nGq79WV7ZjNSVbbhdf3XN-0fXvCf08yeADgL9d2bQrA3Pcr6qeDiNunSCZyZ8Ij7myPeEYwCl1VU9W3mF9IkpxgrwKKI0JHi2sDkS-M_mM_rZtM/s400/mixjones.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276703107590071714" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Mgh1RQJjAX1FDUPmYl2QvdQeJKBsSd4gYwo3sVugF4hkQQgPs4SVNBvizL_DG_jNrckMUMV8Qhd0Kj_Ep_iJ1ImpYj-MymhMmwLCU6SGNmFmOldPXyyPC72Z4dyUs9KWyLkHLZP0KZ8/s1600-h/jonesmix.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 232px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Mgh1RQJjAX1FDUPmYl2QvdQeJKBsSd4gYwo3sVugF4hkQQgPs4SVNBvizL_DG_jNrckMUMV8Qhd0Kj_Ep_iJ1ImpYj-MymhMmwLCU6SGNmFmOldPXyyPC72Z4dyUs9KWyLkHLZP0KZ8/s400/jonesmix.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276703243521765586" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I just want you to know that getting that picture of J. Jones was not easy for me. I know Cam's the one with IBS, but looking at Jim Jones makes my gastrointestinal tract feel <span style="font-weight: bold;">weird</span>. That Halfrican is greazy.<br /><br /><br />*Personally, I am big fan of "Yes Homo", which is what I say when I definitely mean something in a homosexual manner. Like, "Amy, your tits look awesome today, yes homo." Try it, it's fun and promotes acceptance.<br /><br />** That's right. There are multiple Dipset Christmas albums in this world.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-2322399494497226072008-12-05T08:25:00.000-08:002008-12-05T09:18:29.110-08:00Cornel West, Style Icon<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVdjgWoZGUSJZV6WYkuGQbAC_ZFyK5vQ9JQ2uY_HDc_CowOO9MHfGDXhU9N6iYiR2_qjnnHSL-gtVg9JEDcgXbsOmXgLde8O7PGcJIb8C5a3wVMFsEajj3Gkx8TJEN8UdLpJQ7zUxXPt0/s1600-h/cornel+teaching.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 275px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVdjgWoZGUSJZV6WYkuGQbAC_ZFyK5vQ9JQ2uY_HDc_CowOO9MHfGDXhU9N6iYiR2_qjnnHSL-gtVg9JEDcgXbsOmXgLde8O7PGcJIb8C5a3wVMFsEajj3Gkx8TJEN8UdLpJQ7zUxXPt0/s400/cornel+teaching.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276345787917172626" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Cornel West, philosopher, scholar, pastor, all-around really busy person, has something to teach you that has nothing to do with race, religion or politics. Observe:<br /><br />Here he is being adorable before dinner<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIRdxKPohoUalxUARabKblJCqT0SVoKCKZzTdXAz_vqH4LtxjP_j27g5VDZic698U_kRcnlfWDCVicF_-r-VBxDYvKDWI_4jS-M70-nF648sYBgROMziF-Wt_lH34Y8ykEiBgXXm2bxTM/s1600-h/cornel+smiling.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIRdxKPohoUalxUARabKblJCqT0SVoKCKZzTdXAz_vqH4LtxjP_j27g5VDZic698U_kRcnlfWDCVicF_-r-VBxDYvKDWI_4jS-M70-nF648sYBgROMziF-Wt_lH34Y8ykEiBgXXm2bxTM/s400/cornel+smiling.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276345542963404418" border="0" /></a><br /><br />With some lovely peeps at some sort of mixer:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FaEJuVmbVa4SmeCTBNk8mGXRMuF_zbGbronrnP7FgkonLqhU_axo1AIh6CGBZiBgTdtyogG68z5GYfsV0tSBnpP9Eb1GvNA10Z0QnDuxd3u0INdkv76roNZdmMpMY8wNOF-Lova6pHU/s1600-h/cornel+with+peeps.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FaEJuVmbVa4SmeCTBNk8mGXRMuF_zbGbronrnP7FgkonLqhU_axo1AIh6CGBZiBgTdtyogG68z5GYfsV0tSBnpP9Eb1GvNA10Z0QnDuxd3u0INdkv76roNZdmMpMY8wNOF-Lova6pHU/s400/cornel+with+peeps.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276346717759958962" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Gesticulating.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-yipEiLE15vz241UGMQgiYcN9ssIkHJLH_qb2p46IuDxQUnCT-aWKO_N91rasSWuaVXSJtQRIxhtQhzf3H7_c66hTPHVMEeL2zbooXAwh5QlrVCppFyydooGxqt65-xnSKP78iLfUQTU/s1600-h/cornel-west-200x185.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 185px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-yipEiLE15vz241UGMQgiYcN9ssIkHJLH_qb2p46IuDxQUnCT-aWKO_N91rasSWuaVXSJtQRIxhtQhzf3H7_c66hTPHVMEeL2zbooXAwh5QlrVCppFyydooGxqt65-xnSKP78iLfUQTU/s400/cornel-west-200x185.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276347024582447298" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Thinking...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLaRPu0vrdu4PUpun1koKWXwzEbcl-gPtJBrJdKOvlROAfBuaEYcWsy88FWPE6pTr3jQ2xZK1ZMxbXYwp4lyxgJGv5zGRe56dNQhx74TFvn2zXb12YjagkvVzrwKOkm_IsTsW3hYDMm9Y/s1600-h/cornel+thinking.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 314px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLaRPu0vrdu4PUpun1koKWXwzEbcl-gPtJBrJdKOvlROAfBuaEYcWsy88FWPE6pTr3jQ2xZK1ZMxbXYwp4lyxgJGv5zGRe56dNQhx74TFvn2zXb12YjagkvVzrwKOkm_IsTsW3hYDMm9Y/s400/cornel+thinking.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276346602566881938" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Thinking really hard...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHW6M8j-zfwpidiVIt9JEuyRqU-B5IyCAmq89nIePdKjgWTMgTcGFtm2lhK5KtJkmFoiM1DrzW__TW945eEtHC8xVY-X_MviWK8iMzOe84jO4fzukTrseZZF6O2CcLjyGS4x5FtOwOTG0/s1600-h/cornel+thinking+again.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHW6M8j-zfwpidiVIt9JEuyRqU-B5IyCAmq89nIePdKjgWTMgTcGFtm2lhK5KtJkmFoiM1DrzW__TW945eEtHC8xVY-X_MviWK8iMzOe84jO4fzukTrseZZF6O2CcLjyGS4x5FtOwOTG0/s400/cornel+thinking+again.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276346489075352818" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Y'know what he's not thinking about? What to wear. Because he wears the exact same thing every day. If it's cold, he wears a scarf.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDnCZVmziOLlKQW47uK_DMIcHnqRNR0FC4wpvEPY_RrNUqu4KEMguK32aelcM7ve_JAf9-NH4ML-LtTdkVLay8ml3rn8uBJYnzaLp7s1eW9eWsexfrFM22IsFww7WvuTkQqqcP-CXCZ1c/s1600-h/Cornel_West+snow.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDnCZVmziOLlKQW47uK_DMIcHnqRNR0FC4wpvEPY_RrNUqu4KEMguK32aelcM7ve_JAf9-NH4ML-LtTdkVLay8ml3rn8uBJYnzaLp7s1eW9eWsexfrFM22IsFww7WvuTkQqqcP-CXCZ1c/s400/Cornel_West+snow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276346897201168050" border="0" /></a><br /><br />If it's warm, he takes it off.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1KgtjEm6DcbW4U4C2R9xYuwhHyEMUPQJInFC4R1RGrWNLph8wiX5wdkV9I-PD3ZkrW0JpQkrdrMl7qhqPY52u8WVvO1_j2PdS2nM6Ja3x_6Dn-QCveGk2Vu34OPyX_hf4fY0CtibQL94/s1600-h/cornel+in+studio.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 170px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1KgtjEm6DcbW4U4C2R9xYuwhHyEMUPQJInFC4R1RGrWNLph8wiX5wdkV9I-PD3ZkrW0JpQkrdrMl7qhqPY52u8WVvO1_j2PdS2nM6Ja3x_6Dn-QCveGk2Vu34OPyX_hf4fY0CtibQL94/s400/cornel+in+studio.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276345450964816594" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Especially if he is spitting hot fire. (Perhaps for <a href="http://www.pampelmoose.com/mspeaks/2007/09/prince-and-cornel-west-huh">this</a>? Trust me, buddy, you really wanna check out that link.)<br /><br />This has inspired me! I'm saying, fuck a wardrobe. I want a uniform. Do you have any idea how long it takes me to get dressed every day? Sometimes it takes, like, 45 minutes! It is fucked up. Too much of my mental real estate is taken up by this daily struggle.<br /><br />So. With some help from Polyvore, I have created a mock-up of my new uniform.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/uniform/set?.mid=embed&id=5015649"><img width="400" src="http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-set/BQcDAAAAAwoDanBnAAAABC5vdXQKFjdCeTRwXy1DM1JHWnF5WGxvTFFQa0EAAAACaWQKAWUAAAAEc2l6ZQ.jpg" title="uniform" height="400" border="0" /></a><br/><small><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/uniform/set?.mid=embed&id=5015649">uniform</a> by <a href="http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/profile?.mid=embed&id=118939">roxy5moxy</a></small><br /><br />I will be wearing this (or at least something that closely resembles this outfit) from here on out, or until I get bored. I'm wearing it right now! We'll see if I get me any smarter as a result.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-66244623400400775852008-12-04T12:53:00.000-08:002008-12-04T13:30:50.539-08:00Do You Really Wanna Hurt Me?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEd7X7ngzphO3WGPw8E_3uVz5u1lNrXJppznpNQLEeumAuk6-V7bylm484zV3tzMwO-VXbXl9J8LjUpS0CPqc4UdOsssNJVHaeYR_8c6YRiaPs_5K0uxhFmUlnZdjgFHIdPmcAu77Al4w/s1600-h/tjcowgill2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEd7X7ngzphO3WGPw8E_3uVz5u1lNrXJppznpNQLEeumAuk6-V7bylm484zV3tzMwO-VXbXl9J8LjUpS0CPqc4UdOsssNJVHaeYR_8c6YRiaPs_5K0uxhFmUlnZdjgFHIdPmcAu77Al4w/s400/tjcowgill2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276046343986606882" border="0" /></a><br /><br />T.J. Cowgill is the father of some of my all-time favorite brain-babies.<br /><br /><object width="300" height="110"><param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/ntgBtSNZnD/aus=false/"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><param name="FlashVars" value="backColor=666666&primaryColor=cccccc&secondaryColor=333333&linkColor=cccccc"><embed src="http://media.imeem.com/m/ntgBtSNZnD/aus=false/" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" flashvars="backColor=666666&primaryColor=cccccc&secondaryColor=333333&linkColor=cccccc" width="300" height="110"></embed><a href="http://www.imeem.com/raos/music/FFIlzBwj/teen_cthulhu_black_metal_hardcore_punk_hydroencephaloid/">Hydroencephaloid - Teen Cthulhu (Black Metal, Hardcore punk)</a></object><br /><br />Not only did he front one of my favorite bands (Teen Cthulhu, R.I.P.), and another band I really like (<a href="http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewProfile&friendID=1639173">Book Of Black Earth</a>, still alive), but he is also the dude behind Actual Pain, makers of rad t-shirts and apparel.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTCVNFQSU2VaGCUvRERIMrwPdNb6v9kNb7e-HuYpmaZoAOsZjWVuAE_W7ZN0YatjWTcBuDQ0RzBdtJx784Bzn8L88jr1PVU1BJV8I10GrVgX5jXbc9oJZocCKakGeYzwnebUqtP66L3eE/s1600-h/HOLY_SHIT_WHITE_CREW_large.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 337px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTCVNFQSU2VaGCUvRERIMrwPdNb6v9kNb7e-HuYpmaZoAOsZjWVuAE_W7ZN0YatjWTcBuDQ0RzBdtJx784Bzn8L88jr1PVU1BJV8I10GrVgX5jXbc9oJZocCKakGeYzwnebUqtP66L3eE/s400/HOLY_SHIT_WHITE_CREW_large.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276046170318821266" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoSN-UkQrerYsag5h1LEtShTd9D2ky77nvCITDMtMgmpckir5ShvqxSAAik-DqewZWVVQBCm4VeyuXeF-oQj2lHWySbVjzU1KqLRNtEIt-sL81oXxet37djtFeyi1KSeklm2ZX4IQjwyw/s1600-h/EYES_OF_HORUS_GREY_TEE_large.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 337px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoSN-UkQrerYsag5h1LEtShTd9D2ky77nvCITDMtMgmpckir5ShvqxSAAik-DqewZWVVQBCm4VeyuXeF-oQj2lHWySbVjzU1KqLRNtEIt-sL81oXxet37djtFeyi1KSeklm2ZX4IQjwyw/s400/EYES_OF_HORUS_GREY_TEE_large.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276047187110026290" border="0" /></a><br />I am not sure what is going on in that second one but I like it.<br /><br />And if that isn't enough for you, the Actual Pain website has excellent <a href="http://store.actualpain.org/pages/mixtapes">mixtapes</a> that you can download for free. It's like a one-stop awesome shop. He should sponsor me. Hey T.J.! Are you reading this? Give me t-shirts.<br /><br />Or, I guess I could just go to this and buy stuff for cheap.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip13mIEM6k9Tl9m6uG8GOXwP4jazpaGO_p3aM50WnLgWB6U_WYYoifO_3nzuZdOHi9S9Spp_9o4okWLgHCEqdYBCCieKHIwsjUGoVH8cUb6NiyTUu_vqEffxMhqiNxkkRPKgRZ9GsqaW8/s1600-h/LUX.gif"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip13mIEM6k9Tl9m6uG8GOXwP4jazpaGO_p3aM50WnLgWB6U_WYYoifO_3nzuZdOHi9S9Spp_9o4okWLgHCEqdYBCCieKHIwsjUGoVH8cUb6NiyTUu_vqEffxMhqiNxkkRPKgRZ9GsqaW8/s400/LUX.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276048697247689986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tidbit:</span> One time, like four years ago, I ran into T.J. at a bar and he told me he was interested in rapping. Then he rapped at me for like 5 minutes about witches and wolves and shit. That dude is nothing if not consistent.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-54112806002991764872008-12-04T08:39:00.000-08:002008-12-04T13:33:09.067-08:00Magic PotionSeason changes are the worst, man. Yeah, there's the whole <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XWUDMSSIt6U">promise-of-a-new-day, Paula Abdul-y thing.</a> And, sure, the leaves are all beautiful and shit. But it is really hard to enjoy all of that when I feel like a turd on a cracker.<br /><br />(I considered including an image of fake poop here, but that would be super gross and I like you too much to put you through that. So, you're welcome, I guess.)<br /><br />I felt bad, dudes. Just sluggish and forgetful and gross. Plus, I had developed one giant zit right on top of my cheekbone. I normally have devastatingly clear skin, so this was quite a blow to my self-image. I felt like I had been eating pizza every day for weeks without the actual fun of eating pizza. God, I love pizza.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyqypRcaOLfAuBQUheCBDN7dhLoPYKpMb7VHxSCqK7jwoWHvPVLURHM3kcFquqrT0gbuLmWG1sAjjnMy32NnPWUbrKsiN5cxj64RxtymKJP7FOXfnrL-9WJIvDmazmhtR1JYiNta7r7X8/s1600-h/Pizza-Hut.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 303px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyqypRcaOLfAuBQUheCBDN7dhLoPYKpMb7VHxSCqK7jwoWHvPVLURHM3kcFquqrT0gbuLmWG1sAjjnMy32NnPWUbrKsiN5cxj64RxtymKJP7FOXfnrL-9WJIvDmazmhtR1JYiNta7r7X8/s400/Pizza-Hut.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275989846507058674" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And then I remembered that I had decided to <a href="http://whodidwhattowho.blogspot.com/2008/11/okay-dudes.html">attempt some health-nutting</a>. This created an awesome convergence of motivators (vanity, internet promises, distaste for physical exertion) that happened to coincide with a paycheck, leading me to this solution.<br /><iframe src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=whdiwhtowh-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=B000E9QSU8&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=FFFFFF&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="width: 120px; height: 240px;" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" frameborder="0"></iframe><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoZOq8yozhX78S8ueyD5VT8FurkGosoVQm4M7jd-gGxRnaJjn9XZTlBdUwao7K3j_iR0hK1aqtjmga7R9DJUjhNM6s0bafq2MYVGdxC86AmbtuztPY3aqKoHKMQfcRi9jKxNpHuR_n3vw/s1600-h/anti-ox+water+booster.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 292px; height: 292px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoZOq8yozhX78S8ueyD5VT8FurkGosoVQm4M7jd-gGxRnaJjn9XZTlBdUwao7K3j_iR0hK1aqtjmga7R9DJUjhNM6s0bafq2MYVGdxC86AmbtuztPY3aqKoHKMQfcRi9jKxNpHuR_n3vw/s400/anti-ox+water+booster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275993052152367202" border="0" /></a><br />This shit got me high, y'all. I knew anti-oxidants were good for you, but I had no idea they would make me feel like I just got back from a yoga retreat where I won a Nobel Prize and married Rahm Emanuel. I felt so good it was weirding people out. Sometimes you really can buy your way out of a problem!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQDGU5JtlrGXwe9v93AeIqZ-rdSowk31s7Z31GK7AZCwYnNVwDpeNNk5CYKYzRhscRIKZ6pCWMEfQ7RLFxEaHg2Cfi5rT7KhCEcpfDl7GELpVvo3bZ06Ko6O-rX5wKZBoXjGr3BUlHXu4/s1600-h/shoppingmakesmefeelgood.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 375px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQDGU5JtlrGXwe9v93AeIqZ-rdSowk31s7Z31GK7AZCwYnNVwDpeNNk5CYKYzRhscRIKZ6pCWMEfQ7RLFxEaHg2Cfi5rT7KhCEcpfDl7GELpVvo3bZ06Ko6O-rX5wKZBoXjGr3BUlHXu4/s400/shoppingmakesmefeelgood.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275995416635234226" border="0" /></a><br /><br />True dat!Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-33702268498508680782008-11-25T10:18:00.001-08:002008-11-25T11:00:05.125-08:00Remember when I said I didn't want to <a href="http://whodidwhattowho.blogspot.com/2008/09/remember-when-i-decided-i-would-only.html">smell like Erykah Badu</a>? Well, apparently I spoke too soon.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHzcwP6P-oqfEz8_H-JdR4YCeNIo2gum3FZUwOEoQ3gxbNAlK3T8lJJ7pbALNFP4c6R8Vz2BwgefDdTwnY0g-5ttH4mYj1HFotvZ5j6IDqHjOd8u2x5-dIUvQcrOiYesCdv0-reyaX91Y/s1600-h/Erykah-White-Patchouli.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHzcwP6P-oqfEz8_H-JdR4YCeNIo2gum3FZUwOEoQ3gxbNAlK3T8lJJ7pbALNFP4c6R8Vz2BwgefDdTwnY0g-5ttH4mYj1HFotvZ5j6IDqHjOd8u2x5-dIUvQcrOiYesCdv0-reyaX91Y/s400/Erykah-White-Patchouli.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272662265571856322" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I am in love with Tom Ford White Patchouli. Now, I already hear your questions, and I will address them immediately.<br /><br />Q-Doesn't Tom Ford make perfume that smells <a href="http://nymag.com/news/features/32120/index2.html">like a man's nether-regions</a>?<br />A- Tom Ford only makes one perfume that smells like balls and this is not it. So there. He also has a fragrance that supposedly smells like cocaine. Tom Ford is a weird dude. In order to find the link used above I had to google "tom ford balls." It turned up 535,000 hits.<br /><br />Before I committed to buying this perfume, I was talking to Keehnan about my concerns. "Tom Ford is tricky," I said. "What if it secretly smells like vagina?"<br /><br />"Don't worry," he replied. "Tom Ford does not know what a vagina smells like."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsHneVt2GC-fGDYAkeNKWRK-bpvPRcMV-uqxx_zZw0QD153gSDrdLWUyeB7xNkBFswwHvWKfPi-aKGocah0HeHGMnCffAbGcSINOoVpwZdwrkIxV4QgdV9rv0O7xlHuRO8SBMVERX6cJE/s1600-h/tom-ford-movies.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 397px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsHneVt2GC-fGDYAkeNKWRK-bpvPRcMV-uqxx_zZw0QD153gSDrdLWUyeB7xNkBFswwHvWKfPi-aKGocah0HeHGMnCffAbGcSINOoVpwZdwrkIxV4QgdV9rv0O7xlHuRO8SBMVERX6cJE/s400/tom-ford-movies.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272666279956307874" border="0" /></a><br /><br />He's probably right.<br /><br />Q- Patchouli??? Really??<br />A- I know. I know. But, you guys, it only smells a little like patchouli. It's not gross, I promise.<br /><br />Q- So, what does it smell like, then?<br />A- When I was buying it, I got into a conversation with the perfume lady at Nordstrom about why most perfumes start out smelling great on me, but by the end of the day I smell super-sweet. Like a walking Pixi Stick. It's gross. The lady said it's just a matter of personal chemistry. So as much as I might love a scent it may simply be incompatible with my body, and there's nothing I can do about it. White Patchouli, on the other hand, gets more spicy and woodsy as it combines with my chemistry. I had a coworker sniff me about it yesterday and she said I smelled like a sexy man. She's right, but that assessment is incomplete. I don't just smell like any old Sexy Man. I smell like Don Draper.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSR2figC-jsSWEAUNxPlmzyJLq8DXlb97-Qf78hqEbXJY3n5qUWgVdcK57n7fiFnlqE3f-7lVImPDI_w2FHaGGD5MpkrIn2k36vJJjnUsXG-qBIiGyPAyKSxr7ZlPS2SW-9mrbFRyvsAU/s1600-h/don+draper1.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSR2figC-jsSWEAUNxPlmzyJLq8DXlb97-Qf78hqEbXJY3n5qUWgVdcK57n7fiFnlqE3f-7lVImPDI_w2FHaGGD5MpkrIn2k36vJJjnUsXG-qBIiGyPAyKSxr7ZlPS2SW-9mrbFRyvsAU/s400/don+draper1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272668903254324610" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And it is awesome.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-44822938758882583072008-11-20T08:45:00.000-08:002008-11-20T10:16:18.600-08:00All I Want for ChristmasWhile I was in New York last week I was made aware (via the soundsystem in a Dunkin Donuts in Alphabet City (it's a long story)) that Christmas is lurking around the corner. So I figured we should talk about my favorite part of Christmas: you buying me stuff. Here we go!<br /><br />1. Kindle<br />When I was a kid I was really into Star Trek: The Next Generation for, like, a billion reasons, but I hated Wesley Crusher so much that sometimes I couldn't watch.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFRAz4KlQBR7NOeZoUw6B8wcGpGOT8YgXYAV0Pogsv43yUG3T3vS0DyvqM6C9jJO05WkDDyzHkaXEom2HSJTFuqWSrHDPaNrsMRSukNNVK1hNOBt7GEGH2RL3cjPVEg9iketSLgz3xpU0/s1600-h/WesleyCrusher2366.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 292px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFRAz4KlQBR7NOeZoUw6B8wcGpGOT8YgXYAV0Pogsv43yUG3T3vS0DyvqM6C9jJO05WkDDyzHkaXEom2HSJTFuqWSrHDPaNrsMRSukNNVK1hNOBt7GEGH2RL3cjPVEg9iketSLgz3xpU0/s400/WesleyCrusher2366.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270785925104938914" border="0" /></a><br /><br />That smug little fucker. I've recently realized, though, that while Wesley Crusher is annoying (he is to ST:TNG what Dawn is to Buffy The Vampire Slayer), I was mostly just jealous. Not because he lived in space or because he was within touching distance of Commander Riker (I know, I know. My grossness knows no bounds), but because he had a Kindle.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5JZviOhB5kswc5FWOVJ62Aj50Vbj6OGEYPqbcV6NxejLf0iMk46O_mHky_B6Zib-8C6EF-q9p6bRuYnzWx8kEgXIGKbLBFsqyCvgTrz92x9ceuuoXiSGCri1y4W1PfifvyZvgPtd7JCI/s1600-h/PADD_2370s.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 195px; height: 149px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5JZviOhB5kswc5FWOVJ62Aj50Vbj6OGEYPqbcV6NxejLf0iMk46O_mHky_B6Zib-8C6EF-q9p6bRuYnzWx8kEgXIGKbLBFsqyCvgTrz92x9ceuuoXiSGCri1y4W1PfifvyZvgPtd7JCI/s400/PADD_2370s.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270786993527939650" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Rgdo5_FMdUlbFfsxfOWiiXOyFlSqsi0sd3ylFZJloDdTrVx0PLV2Jnv4RCkdaCwlSUBU44UkQu56olyzNGC3XB5Aj8ayaejZGAY47os9a4F1g2Adv33_u7akwzjOMtlxlRZFVjLSUDQ/s1600-h/kindle.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 228px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Rgdo5_FMdUlbFfsxfOWiiXOyFlSqsi0sd3ylFZJloDdTrVx0PLV2Jnv4RCkdaCwlSUBU44UkQu56olyzNGC3XB5Aj8ayaejZGAY47os9a4F1g2Adv33_u7akwzjOMtlxlRZFVjLSUDQ/s400/kindle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270787570573919666" border="0" /></a><br /><br />See? Same shit. Admittedly, Wesley's is flashier, but that's fine by me. I'm not trying to compensate for anything.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBN2F2Q3Jf-CrzxJIB6bZQGgb2BFUVjXd9POnhUi1w0wRrknHx7oKG58AfHyFxm773QEVoNJc_ktFFzaply9o95n1LE17zjk4CWkqveqgotA-arqLx1YRFH7jwNMlZwxqQ2RREgosHNNI/s1600-h/wesley2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 368px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBN2F2Q3Jf-CrzxJIB6bZQGgb2BFUVjXd9POnhUi1w0wRrknHx7oKG58AfHyFxm773QEVoNJc_ktFFzaply9o95n1LE17zjk4CWkqveqgotA-arqLx1YRFH7jwNMlZwxqQ2RREgosHNNI/s400/wesley2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270788310305511426" border="0" /></a><br /><br />That's right, space bitch, I called you out.<br /><br />There's a dude who rides my bus in the morning that has a Kindle and it's all I can do to keep from snatching it out of his hands, I want one so bad. Because seriously, I will wreck the shit out of a book. You should see my copy of Anna Karenina. It is shameful, what I did to that volume. So buy me a Kindle. Make me as happy as this guy.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ojmAmOZoG0rJCJC8gcToSYQ-7D3hykYZzal-265iEequ0DLcpvSRZche4b0HPsYu3QLRhske7ooNlJEHKNEtXGBy19uImuOL4UUfG1kWF5a_Mr1w1ZpNLDIi5vKkgwbmtJQjV5F3_6w/s1600-h/kindlehappyguy.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ojmAmOZoG0rJCJC8gcToSYQ-7D3hykYZzal-265iEequ0DLcpvSRZche4b0HPsYu3QLRhske7ooNlJEHKNEtXGBy19uImuOL4UUfG1kWF5a_Mr1w1ZpNLDIi5vKkgwbmtJQjV5F3_6w/s400/kindlehappyguy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270789320352652658" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />2. Muppets<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6wMwHwm2j0qIm3Snr6HJRICJ6ccUrv0La94Dfb3n6TBhRmiH-Anl5M7_ZGyghQGtlYfe-np9CeFaUwLNhXfV35n9SM_lhgB_sAE9Wzw_KcCL8_tLgOS2eHjqWjRe7PGkkwHAD5mD-awg/s1600-h/mupwhatnot2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6wMwHwm2j0qIm3Snr6HJRICJ6ccUrv0La94Dfb3n6TBhRmiH-Anl5M7_ZGyghQGtlYfe-np9CeFaUwLNhXfV35n9SM_lhgB_sAE9Wzw_KcCL8_tLgOS2eHjqWjRe7PGkkwHAD5mD-awg/s400/mupwhatnot2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270789905430710962" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This is probably old news to you, but <a href="http://www.fao.com/custsvc/custsvc.jsp?sectionId=608">FAO Schwartz will make you a Muppet</a>. Or at least they would, until everyone ordered them at the same time, because it is the best idea ever. So keep refreshing that page until they are making them again and get me a Muppet. Please.<br /><br />3. Karl Lagerfeld Coffee Mug<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN5OlhrF1raAHXPAHHCtdiFsLAj622yT8TWwA27wII6m6FR9Ydb2JpF5k21XaR5yZ-dmb49y88vmjKadHZMiUtHkGfaOZ3bxnOgQecISWuUjRCKuKwSMJYZnuwmSXWngBDP9TIWCcVurQ/s1600-h/karlmug100308.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN5OlhrF1raAHXPAHHCtdiFsLAj622yT8TWwA27wII6m6FR9Ydb2JpF5k21XaR5yZ-dmb49y88vmjKadHZMiUtHkGfaOZ3bxnOgQecISWuUjRCKuKwSMJYZnuwmSXWngBDP9TIWCcVurQ/s400/karlmug100308.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270795969252815922" border="0" /></a><br />I'm pretty sure Uncle Karl cease-and-desisted the shit out of this little gem, but you're creative. You can find me one, can't you?<br /><br />4. Missbehave Magazine<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVzZ-JUVNPkhQtCVagetgOIU4sNojYt2dBvFDNQmFCOFpi_TNyqcpMSzmk4Eh0OTltZTBJ7Sa3cxHc46DJjuSjdbFZebtcI-Xci7cngKlbgjR-1SVSPGAOvUIkI6FDAYiODyRe9SnGl8k/s1600-h/missbehave.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 276px; height: 350px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVzZ-JUVNPkhQtCVagetgOIU4sNojYt2dBvFDNQmFCOFpi_TNyqcpMSzmk4Eh0OTltZTBJ7Sa3cxHc46DJjuSjdbFZebtcI-Xci7cngKlbgjR-1SVSPGAOvUIkI6FDAYiODyRe9SnGl8k/s400/missbehave.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270802619844394850" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I picked up this issue on my way to work because I was bored and I like bright colors. Then I opened it up and there was a big ol' feature on Mindy Kaling. That is all I need. I'm sold. I want a <a href="https://www.sunbeltfs.com/forms/mh/subscribe.asp?eid=E99999">subscription</a>.<br /><br /><br />5. 15 minutes<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYk4lErfICaSy8E61ruKazDPOGQJ1BdSkJcNb4x8A-iGrUw7LDMkFUOS6j3PEbn2kzGzThqDKXalZ2F4S09ckLxNwt7EdjqVSyuI_fG4fny98QGg0Iq3_L-vOYBiFbqVf78NdvkdcEnJI/s1600-h/rahmpleasestopyouarekillingme.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYk4lErfICaSy8E61ruKazDPOGQJ1BdSkJcNb4x8A-iGrUw7LDMkFUOS6j3PEbn2kzGzThqDKXalZ2F4S09ckLxNwt7EdjqVSyuI_fG4fny98QGg0Iq3_L-vOYBiFbqVf78NdvkdcEnJI/s400/rahmpleasestopyouarekillingme.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270798510637235874" border="0" /></a><br /><br />That is all.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-71107936229496623642008-11-12T12:59:00.001-08:002008-11-12T15:34:03.633-08:00Brain Candy! A Semi-LiveblogHave we ever talked about my fear of transportation? Basically, any mode of transport that is not the feet I came from the womb in possession of makes me nervous. That nervousness increases exponentionally in relation to the speed at which that mode of transportation travels. like this:<br /><br />Feet---->skateboard--->Bus--->car--->train--->airplane<br /><br />Feet being totally fine, airplanes being screaming hysterical abject terror.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQXhKo8LdtAh-O2i2WvBoqkE2smlLPgKwFnhCKstOpsV9ilmRjfxQnqkh_ZXOIFXdG2O7r2Y3kKl4dj7IvFWAiTt5ibmd2GYiAnFFzcCAxN6pO8qY0Z-VcCzGMfsrBZdDTX5SRjENh_RU/s1600-h/judgment_day_terror.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 315px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQXhKo8LdtAh-O2i2WvBoqkE2smlLPgKwFnhCKstOpsV9ilmRjfxQnqkh_ZXOIFXdG2O7r2Y3kKl4dj7IvFWAiTt5ibmd2GYiAnFFzcCAxN6pO8qY0Z-VcCzGMfsrBZdDTX5SRjENh_RU/s400/judgment_day_terror.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267880627310471410" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I am flying to New York City tomorrow, so like any responsible American who is lucky enough to have health insurance, I schlepped my ass to the doctor and asked for some anti-anxiety meds. She obliged. I took one 20 minutes ago as a test run. Let's see what happens!<br /><br />1:10- I feel pretty good. I don't like to think about my actual, physical brain too much, but I think it feels slightly different. But nothing is stressing me out. I should do something about that, in order to truly test my response to the drugs.<br /><br />1:14- I just turned the TV on in an attempt to let Fox News have its way with me, but that particular channel is not coming in today. Turned it to Headline News. They were talking about Dems possibly booting Lieberman, and instead of the wave of glee I was expecting, I just felt okay with it.<br /><br />1:16- Oooooh, Palin's on CNN!! this oughta do it!!<br /><br />1:17- All I feel is confusion as to why people are still asking this woman questions.<br /><br />1:20- Seriously. Why? I'm gonna go google image search something<br /><br />results for "funnest thing ever"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyqLyjip4tkIf0ujiPejeY7U9GmUUE-9scVU8p-M7IztOrUFksjTPSszvuk9ggOMKn5i3VFUsIksHrzHeSwtkesbvRce81CFkigkqqR3NON6bpOR0Hio_EgbfHIZSSqysrVgOBDzdB_QE/s1600-h/Jared1.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyqLyjip4tkIf0ujiPejeY7U9GmUUE-9scVU8p-M7IztOrUFksjTPSszvuk9ggOMKn5i3VFUsIksHrzHeSwtkesbvRce81CFkigkqqR3NON6bpOR0Hio_EgbfHIZSSqysrVgOBDzdB_QE/s400/Jared1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267884463878632946" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Jared Padalecki?!?! I could not possibly disagree more. Jess Mariano FTW<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygjGymFTe6GXus_igK_8KmW1sAGLuPOvYu3G5woJS58D_Iu1MNvm9UoZSkYQHR204Sb2Jbj5TnzmlgHr01X8NwaUYK506P81qVi3LX905YQTgC9vXZkYxv2V7tylRaPaC1HRTYoSD6gw/s1600-h/fun.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygjGymFTe6GXus_igK_8KmW1sAGLuPOvYu3G5woJS58D_Iu1MNvm9UoZSkYQHR204Sb2Jbj5TnzmlgHr01X8NwaUYK506P81qVi3LX905YQTgC9vXZkYxv2V7tylRaPaC1HRTYoSD6gw/s400/fun.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267884804992282930" border="0" /></a><br /><br />That thing looks pretty fun, kid, but I've got two words for you: Parachute Day.<br /><br />results from "what should I have for lunch?"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFXZVXnFYQvDh0BZRqfGytCOy6Y67PDPhO9soNFtR_2k4TiXSMonHIeBDVUXKhfoRPH4AAhvfeQbhCJTnEdtQhaTQ2iN6K6akhSWNvmepVF1cE0yvH4brRTB64xa-I7nqVaZFsK31bM3k/s1600-h/2124015-Hmmm---Should-I-Have-Eggs-for-Lunch-Or-a-Baguette-0.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFXZVXnFYQvDh0BZRqfGytCOy6Y67PDPhO9soNFtR_2k4TiXSMonHIeBDVUXKhfoRPH4AAhvfeQbhCJTnEdtQhaTQ2iN6K6akhSWNvmepVF1cE0yvH4brRTB64xa-I7nqVaZFsK31bM3k/s400/2124015-Hmmm---Should-I-Have-Eggs-for-Lunch-Or-a-Baguette-0.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267885868242493938" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Dude, it's not that hard.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKBs_FXWPkpb8mNWVREQdCmIC7lB2xrb0kJzrNrhrlDNsuY0MVdtStvqbvqLq6vvYPLswM-ROzR76Ct-y8pX4yVAwPv0z42xmqhPOYaTX2cyfbXLuq4PO9RVh0XgjNf6YWs-7F-7GY18k/s1600-h/gyro.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKBs_FXWPkpb8mNWVREQdCmIC7lB2xrb0kJzrNrhrlDNsuY0MVdtStvqbvqLq6vvYPLswM-ROzR76Ct-y8pX4yVAwPv0z42xmqhPOYaTX2cyfbXLuq4PO9RVh0XgjNf6YWs-7F-7GY18k/s400/gyro.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267886146071364658" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I would very much like to.<br /><br />1:30- I feel nothing inside. Mission accomplished!!<br /><br />I'll add more today as the need strikes me.<br /><br />2:51- Landon just told me I looked dull eyed. I want a pizza.<br /><br />3:32- How do medicated people get anything done? I just moved the cursor around and stared at it like I wasn't the one controlling it for a full three minutes.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-56743460186356453282008-11-08T07:30:00.000-08:002008-11-10T08:14:59.507-08:00A Serious QueryMayor C. Ray Nuggets and I have a question to ask you: Which is weirder, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q35PZ8_uFnI">this video</a> (embedding disabled, which is straight up cold blooded. But please bear with us and click through. We want this issue settled.) or this one?*<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/P2asIbbS9aQ&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/P2asIbbS9aQ&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />I really want you all to leave your opinion in the comments. (That includes you, Ms. Williams. I would like you to share with the class today.)<br /><br />Also, we thought about including the following in the runnings towards becoming America's Next Top Super Weird Music Video, but decided it was in a solar system of its own.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/_XOY7lsBVpo&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/_XOY7lsBVpo&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />* Remember when Busta Rhymes presented a VMA with Martha Stewart while wearing a crazy red Man-frock? I miss that dude. I feel like he was the Samson of weirdness and when he cut off his dreads his powers disappeared.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-25591590378552108992008-11-07T09:05:00.000-08:002008-11-07T09:17:37.753-08:00I Forgot!Another pastime I am considering is learning how to dance like Beyonce in the "Single Ladies" video. I figure it'll take me about three years.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/koP3GOIPUyc&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/koP3GOIPUyc&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />I am most intrigued by what she does with her pelvis around the 52 second mark. What is that?!<br /><br />Hey, Rahm, do you think it's a good idea?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcAE3TqhyZNPqD616XGrWkDCQfCQsubBjXq66eykvSoc590pDThPnwQEoKnDG0gIQhijTTWjjevFqcN03zh7uFUIqaROTQQLwvjFgqdkUvnTZv_wG4xjxAnJDpgfrMPZ0sHrQ8cMsBoxA/s1600-h/rahm+thumb.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 170px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcAE3TqhyZNPqD616XGrWkDCQfCQsubBjXq66eykvSoc590pDThPnwQEoKnDG0gIQhijTTWjjevFqcN03zh7uFUIqaROTQQLwvjFgqdkUvnTZv_wG4xjxAnJDpgfrMPZ0sHrQ8cMsBoxA/s400/rahm+thumb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265965224124184706" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I think so too. Do you wanna make out later?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfkadXyqerD3SqF-S3zGb2GV3nCo9WRpAaix5EHwZebSIZaJ747l8tl0y4IrQBbH0vF1qZGUAX0xV4wwC6YLuhv2u2zJZXay8Np20wxh4ncuQJvVk69YA3rtdL23QAQEF994z3tXpUyyc/s1600-h/rahm+shrug.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 126px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfkadXyqerD3SqF-S3zGb2GV3nCo9WRpAaix5EHwZebSIZaJ747l8tl0y4IrQBbH0vF1qZGUAX0xV4wwC6YLuhv2u2zJZXay8Np20wxh4ncuQJvVk69YA3rtdL23QAQEF994z3tXpUyyc/s400/rahm+shrug.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265965769422083570" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I'll take that as a maybe.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-30729838406320393692008-11-06T13:25:00.000-08:002008-11-06T14:34:00.700-08:00Okay, dudes. The election is over and I don't know what to do. For the last few months I have immersed myself in political news for up to five hours a day, which was not the healthiest behavior, but God, was it fun. But it's over! Barack Obama is President-Elect of the Galaxy, Joey Buttons is busy getting his mane refurbished for Inauguration Day, Sarah Palin took her kooky ass back to the tundra, and Walnuts McCain was last seen yelling at kids to get off his lawn somewhere in Real America. Ugh, I miss the campaign already.<br /><br />I need a hobby!! I've been working on a list of possible ways to spend my time. Here's what I've got so far:<br /><br />1. Charcuterie<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEileQl53Ailfsn3uMzJl5t0xKvcudcCNi5bOqBDFyqIy5hOMd6AoMbaWMJREBbZuiAGU6IwRprgPQNaQoNKlHw8eYJlvdnZSxsWaLMkyruFtM6Gv05yb6-kRKjhgFjzGLruy0_WZa3tZXI/s1600-h/pork+cuts.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 253px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEileQl53Ailfsn3uMzJl5t0xKvcudcCNi5bOqBDFyqIy5hOMd6AoMbaWMJREBbZuiAGU6IwRprgPQNaQoNKlHw8eYJlvdnZSxsWaLMkyruFtM6Gv05yb6-kRKjhgFjzGLruy0_WZa3tZXI/s400/pork+cuts.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265662376165311794" border="0" /></a><br />Have I ever told you how much I love cured meats? If it wasn't so expensive, I would snack on salami slices like chips. My Death Row meal would be prosciutto lasagna. One time I saw David Allen Grier on the Martha Stewart Show talking about how he made his own prosciutto. It was inspiring. I think it's time I got around to curin' some meats!!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.culinarycommunion.com/">Culinary Communion</a> in Beacon Hill has a monthly 5-hour class that just might fit the bill. They have a bunch of other classes that sound great, like Handmade Pasta, Stocks and Sauces, and Truffles (oh my god yes).<br /><br />2.Let's Learn Spanish!!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidUgpsl1o-lz8CaDQXE_73mPggVmJ8Gg9d7VussCvQt9CDzXWoiqdjCOC3bDrPLz0CEyFfCWql17E-iUCW11PfHsvasQlvNpf2CNdGlj0Jhc_GBU08PYiMiFRpy4KY-pmXpBXNvC-YfGU/s1600-h/sombrero.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidUgpsl1o-lz8CaDQXE_73mPggVmJ8Gg9d7VussCvQt9CDzXWoiqdjCOC3bDrPLz0CEyFfCWql17E-iUCW11PfHsvasQlvNpf2CNdGlj0Jhc_GBU08PYiMiFRpy4KY-pmXpBXNvC-YfGU/s400/sombrero.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265666697442660082" border="0" /></a><br /><br />When I was eight, me and my mom lived in Mexico City for 6 months. I arrived fluent in swear words (thanks Grandma!), but unable to speak the language in any functional way. I left straight-up fluent, but I was so mad at Mexico that I refused to speak Spanish once we got back to the states, and I lost the language completely. I think it's time to forgive (I already forgot) and relearn the language of my people (on Mom's side). Or not. Now that I think about it, it sounds kind of boring.<br /><br />3. Getting Wonky With It<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJLIq6ga0GITTbNJ69DVC02KtV3Ajj7i1PNKfktUb6mp-FbXon56acHqXHiSs-YrAf68SG36-4sI7wV_kfszN0HJoWE2cZvF6rnXG-CUFAY9G-Z6d4-0OlUTBSem9-P3cphyV_uDggPU4/s1600-h/rahmobama.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 312px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJLIq6ga0GITTbNJ69DVC02KtV3Ajj7i1PNKfktUb6mp-FbXon56acHqXHiSs-YrAf68SG36-4sI7wV_kfszN0HJoWE2cZvF6rnXG-CUFAY9G-Z6d4-0OlUTBSem9-P3cphyV_uDggPU4/s400/rahmobama.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265669679048780578" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I've decided to keep my head in the game and stay up to date on policy. I probably would have been doing a better job of this all along had I not been suffering through an administration that made me want to stab myself in the head for the last eight years. I'm looking forward to getting really dorky about it, now that I won't be distracted by skyrocketing blood pressure every time I try to read up on politics. But I will also try to moderate my intake.<br /><br />4. Health-Nuttery<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFbkx2GedvfXaKg0UqTDcZ0oo6mj3gdaPPBLD7_DYUN7rbeUjHE5-LE1qadt8mggbUsb2BAo42Q9Gsro4NXocvCBTAfb0S4GAYKea_DJqhiwZ9XlZSL87kslEfC7ROm6bjx6cUylnab8o/s1600-h/tee_health_nut_lg.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 330px; height: 330px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFbkx2GedvfXaKg0UqTDcZ0oo6mj3gdaPPBLD7_DYUN7rbeUjHE5-LE1qadt8mggbUsb2BAo42Q9Gsro4NXocvCBTAfb0S4GAYKea_DJqhiwZ9XlZSL87kslEfC7ROm6bjx6cUylnab8o/s400/tee_health_nut_lg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265673772596875938" border="0" /></a><br />This one is kind of a challenge for me, since I am allergic to raw fruits and vegetables. No, really. So I have to get really creative to eat healthy, and I have to count on a lot of supplements. Fortunately, shopping for supplements is my idea of a good time. The more expensive and frivolous, the better. Maybe I'll start drinking Borba Skin Care Water. That sounds fun. But I draw the line at actually working out.<br /><br />Is there anything else I should consider? What do you do for fun? I really want to know.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-70735503682095878612008-11-06T09:46:00.000-08:002008-11-06T09:51:31.612-08:00Unexpected Bonus to Obama Presidency:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh64YhVr6XXYaBfO6sN3Jhl7coCy44pX5cXlejp6_YYhKk2MpvslNMKjqp3Z9f8ErdEcgF1yAh6gj3WJyWbn66_offyb3oR34dHmtZFwrlVsvfgu8xtuR36m5DmiIs8ZQX3dMm4JehyphenhyphenIME/s1600-h/rahm1.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh64YhVr6XXYaBfO6sN3Jhl7coCy44pX5cXlejp6_YYhKk2MpvslNMKjqp3Z9f8ErdEcgF1yAh6gj3WJyWbn66_offyb3oR34dHmtZFwrlVsvfgu8xtuR36m5DmiIs8ZQX3dMm4JehyphenhyphenIME/s400/rahm1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265602817767117474" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Sexy, sexy Congressman Rahm Emanuel as Chief Of Staff? Does this mean he'll be on Meet The Press a lot? Because that is exactly the change I need. Way to hold my interest, Barry.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPyB48jKPcw7RjH81-GOglo3HuqbxmM4GUS9uCT3zfiYLHQShkMMLUKqg7qkXwnngZXlYi6SJ2MaCz9Zzg4mtYWPIFb2M5jILajyOaXbAInCAOwbdgmdFgENk4o8k6x2Nvz5nxQOyPxsE/s1600-h/obama-rahm-460_1108409c.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPyB48jKPcw7RjH81-GOglo3HuqbxmM4GUS9uCT3zfiYLHQShkMMLUKqg7qkXwnngZXlYi6SJ2MaCz9Zzg4mtYWPIFb2M5jILajyOaXbAInCAOwbdgmdFgENk4o8k6x2Nvz5nxQOyPxsE/s400/obama-rahm-460_1108409c.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265603481885281762" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I can't handle it.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4394200985223853571.post-40557582618393703162008-09-04T10:42:00.000-07:002008-09-05T18:01:33.694-07:00Carol's DaughterRemember when I decided I would only use <a href="http://whodidwhattowho.blogspot.com/2008/04/all-one.html">two beauty products</a> for my entire body? Well, it did not work out, you guys. My scalp itched, like, constantly, and my hair was limp and tired. It had no body at the crown, which I've been told is very (very) important. My skin was, to put it mildly, sub-ethereal. Oh, I was sad. While I am still fully freaked out by unregulated chemicals in the shit that I put on my face (!!!), I am simply too vain to stay the course. So, off to Sephora I went. (For the record, I fucking hate Sephora, but their particular brand of awfulness has been <a href="http://jezebel.com/353879/meet-jasmine-our-new-sephora-undercover-agent">well-documented</a>, so I'll stick to the story.)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhte00VpHZ18GL3FqRklD99GxQqLtZcoEU_F2zBNyGqgt1_7-U9RvXvfRK92cjr3erYgKX1gvv3rsbkrmqaZeeNB-dLS6maan1BXd7lb0npDTHuOvBhcvohnXvh4klfX-QjDkpBB-xF4lY/s1600-h/carolhair.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhte00VpHZ18GL3FqRklD99GxQqLtZcoEU_F2zBNyGqgt1_7-U9RvXvfRK92cjr3erYgKX1gvv3rsbkrmqaZeeNB-dLS6maan1BXd7lb0npDTHuOvBhcvohnXvh4klfX-QjDkpBB-xF4lY/s400/carolhair.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242636896864549954" border="0" /></a><br />Now, I was already aware of Carol's Daughter products, thanks to the lovely <a href="http://thingsiboughtthatilove.com/2008/03/carols-daughter-candy-paint.html">Mindy Kaling</a>, but had never come across them in person. And while I normally defer to Mindy Kaling in all matters, Carol's Daughter is also endorsed by Jada Pinkett Smith, a women whose tastes I find questionable at best (<a href="http://www.myspace.com/wickedwisdomband">Wicked Wisdom</a>, anyone?). Sephora carries their hair and body products, and I was excited to check them out. One thing though: how exactly am I supposed to assess a hair product without actually using it? Do you know what I mean? I tried rubbing something on the back of my hand, but all it did was make me feel like a girl with hair stuff on the back of her hand. It also made me smell like Erykah Badu.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5usCjx1e8ucPpeDGqNsDcTNAMcVTDfSvS0h1sGUrYtWHPZp5ZxA5MVUomW2DOlT2ftLNS1NdcXPWMj9cWC225sSn2AtYXAKl-pNq-KB03y0TzpYmDNRMCFyPvwAV3xpoNvmtUWK23l1Q/s1600-h/erykah+apt..jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5usCjx1e8ucPpeDGqNsDcTNAMcVTDfSvS0h1sGUrYtWHPZp5ZxA5MVUomW2DOlT2ftLNS1NdcXPWMj9cWC225sSn2AtYXAKl-pNq-KB03y0TzpYmDNRMCFyPvwAV3xpoNvmtUWK23l1Q/s400/erykah+apt..jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242638801058433346" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Not that smelling like Ms. Badu is a terrible thing, but I am a busy woman, and I don't need strangers stopping me to ask where the nearest slam poetry reading is every time I leave the house. And anyway, Black Hippie-ness is a slippery fucking slope. One moment you're just trying to find a paraben-free moisturizer and the next thing you know you're at Waid's Haitian Lounge talking to some dude in a Dead Prez t-shirt about Frantz Fanon, and you're totally okay with the word "punani." Or so I'm told. (BTW, just typing out "punani" almost made me yak.)<br /><br />But I persevered, dudes. I waded through the whole product line until I found one that seemed geared toward my needs; a curl product that has lots of moisturizers and offers control, but does not shellac, and is free of scary baddie chemicals! Plus, it smells like lemongrass and roses, which doesn't evoke any goofy sub-cultures that I am aware of. It's called Hair Milk and I am into it. Apparently it won some Best of Sephora award, which is kind of impressive considering how many products they carry, but whatever. All I know is that I used it and now I look purty. Happy ending!!<br /><br /><br />Quick Programming Note: Sorry I haven't written in so long, but I got a day job this summer, so now I'm rich but I'm low on time. So it goes! I'll try to be here more, whatever that means.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13873284111870910061noreply@blogger.com6