This Totally Didn't Happen While I Was Working Last Night

In my defense, I would like to point out that my eyes are closed.
I saw nothing.

In a further defensive maneuver, I would also like to point out that last night was the last night that David (known to the masses as 'Duder,' or 'shwine') would be getting drunk at our bar--at least for a very long time.

Four and a half years ago, when we first opened our bar, David started working for us--he was only nineteen, and he had so much growing to do.

I can honestly say that we've corrupted him as best we could.
We've put in a solid effort, and I think we can all say we couldn't have done a better job.

Today, David leaves Ann Arbor to search for--I don't know, cute Asian girls?--in Taiwan. He says he's only going to be gone for a year, but one time he told me that he was going to have his cell phone turned on in 2 days, and it was still off 2 months later. So, we'll see. Anyway, if David ever does come back, he won't be returning to Michigan, due to some sort of plan to go to law school, or some other such nonsense.

Anyway, David.
You know how much we'll miss you.



Remember when you had to move in with Jen and I for a while, and you nearly killed us with all your disgusting boy-ness and the tomato sauce finger-prints on the refrigerator door, and the melted sticky popsicles on the floor?
Well, we love you anyway.

So, cheers Duder.



Good luck with the teaching of English and the ladies and all that.

But, stay away from girls who look like they haven't eaten in three months.
If you find yourself attracted to a girl who seems to fit this description, just try to remember all those Friday lunch counseling session we had over the years, and Back Away From The Skinny Crack-Whore Looking Girls.



You know I hate airplanes.
Don't make me come and find you.

A Fairy Tale, Tiffany Style

My Aunt Margaret just emailed this to me:

Once upon a time,
in a land far away,
a beautiful, independent, self-assured princess happened upon a frog as she sat, contemplating ecological issues on the shore of an un-polluted pond in a meadow near her castle.
The frog hopped into the princess' lap, and said:
Elegant lady, I was once a handsome prince, until an evil witch cast a spell on me.
One kiss from you, however, and I will turn back into the dapper young prince that I am.
Then, my sweet, we can marry and set up housekeeping in your castle with my mother, where you can prepare my meals, bear my children, and forever feel grateful, fulfilled, and happy to do so.

Later that night, as the princess dined sumptuously on frog legs sauteed in a white wine and onion cream sauce, she chuckled and thought to herself:
I DON'T FUCKING THINK SO.

The End.

What My Sister Saw

So, yesterday my little sister was on her way to a final exam, when she encountered a curious man.

The man was apparently holding some very huge sign with a picture of an aborted fetus on it.* He was also yelling at passers-by, as if these young ladies were on their way into an abortion clinic, as opposed to on their way to take final exams.

This man pissed my sister off very much, indeed.
Her little skinny self yelled at him as she walked by, and apparently he yelled back and was eventually carted away by some police.

It should be noted that my sister is a very tiny and small skinny little person, who has no business yelling at people, even if they are harassing her with pictures of aborted fetuses on her way into school. She also has no business speeding up to 95 miles an hour on the highway to catch up to people with GWB bumper stickers on their cars, in order to flick them off or yell at them in some way.
I, personally, do not think this is a good idea.
She is not a substantially sized individual.
Are you listening, Baby J?
NO MORE FIGHTING WITH STUPID PEOPLE!!!
If you are mad about something, try getting a blog like me. Then you can call people out from behind the relative safety of your own computer desk. You can even watch the first Red Wings Play-off game while you do it!

Anyhow, after all that, can you believe that I haven't even gotten to the curious part yet? To me, the curious thing in this situation is that the man with the sign was wearing a shirt that said "Got Aids Yet?" And, the 'g', the 'a', and the 'y' were all bigger letters, printed in different colors than the others.
So, I don't know about you, but, to me?
A man who is standing on the street with a dead fetus on a sign, yelling at students about how they need to accept the Lord into their lives while wearing a shirt like that?
Isn't really someone we should accept The Word Of God from.

Because, I can be down with the initial act of carting around the aborted fetus sign to begin with. I don't enjoy it, but it is, in fact, the curious man's right to do so. One could even argue that it's a good tactic--even the most pro-choice pro-choicers can't look at a picture like that without getting an icky feeling. This doesn't speak to the fact that he was protesting to people who DISTINCTLY WERE NOT ON THEIR WAY TO GET AN ABORTION...but, in light of what I'm going to tell you next, we'll just leave that alone.

Later, when I was telling this story to someone on my campus--clear across the state from where my sister goes to school--I found out that the same thing had been going on at my school. And the men were wearing the same t-shirts. So, apparently there is some sort of club of heinous t-shirt wearers developing.

I decided to investigate.

I now come back to you with a very grim report.

The buzz around town--little is documented of course--is that there is some sort of sect of Pentecostal** flavored people following the ideas of some guy who is calling himself a prophet.
Apparently, This guy thinks he's doing God's work.
If you go ahead and click that link, you will be able to see this "prophet's" ideas/decrees on homosexuals--although, on this particular "prophet's" page, they're referred to as "faggots." So, that's enjoyable.

The rumor is that he is the one that has these people running all over the state in the above-mentioned heinous t-shirts.

Really, you should take some time to check out his ideas. They are very intriguing.
For instance, I had no idea that "for reasons known only to God, He has for centuries ALOUD humans to murder babies by abortions."
I also had no idea that The Word of God does not distinguish between homophones.
Also, apparently, if you subscribe to the vision of this particular prophet, you don't have to use violence to save babies from being aborted unless one of its parents is also Pentecostal. However, if the mother is not Pentecostal, but she is pregnant because SHE WAS RAPED BY A MAN WHO IS Pentecostal, then you should still use any means necessary to keep her from having an abortion.

Who knew?

I think we should all take a moment of silence to reflect on how lucky we are that this man has come to save us.

Ok, the moment of silence is over, and I have determined that I don't feel lucky at all.



*I am very sorry that I had to say 'aborted fetus' to you. But I couldn't think of any way to tell the story without saying it.

**It makes me quite nervous to name the specific flavor of religion that this "prophet" says he is working from. I am by no means trying to make a judgement on Pentecostal people as a whole. I don't even think I know any Pentecostal people, so I would clearly not be in any position to make a judgement of any kind. I will, however, make a judgement on this particular man. And it's not good.

Also, anyone who wants to leave any sort of comment that includes inappropriate name-calling of any kind--not limited to, but especially including the word 'fag'--can expect to have their comment deleted faster than they can spell the word 'c-u-n-t.'
Because this is my blog, bitches.

A Day Late

Hello, good internet people. I come to you with Easter Greetings, Tiffany-style.*



HA! HAAAAA!
I have no idea why I think this is so funny, but I saw this somewhere last week, and I laughed so hard--Pete, this is for you--I nearly peed my pants. Then I was all "hey, i should put this on my blog on Easter..."
And then I woke up today and was all "Shit, I forgot..."

So, here you are. Happy Easter, from someone who apparantly thinks she can get away with using the word 'shit' in her holiday greetings.

*Tiffany-style, in this particular usage, refers to something that is late, and also is probably not as funny as Tiffany thinks it is.

scenes from the bar

setting:
the day before easter.
downtown ann arbor.
a bar.


scene one:
a fabulous red-headed bartender pours a beer for THE ONE BAR GUEST THAT EXISTS AT HER BAR. she leans back against the bar, and wonders when she might be forced to move again.

scene two (also, three, four, and five):
the fabulous red-headed bartender keeps putting money into the jukebox, because she is soooo bored that she may accidently stab herself in the eye, were it not for the jukebox music.
she plays songs like: say it ain't so (weezer), nothingman (pearljam), classic girl (jane's addiction), i stay away (alice in chains), southern cross(csny), and regulate (nate dogg and warren g--yes, i know it doesn't seem right, deal with it). she may have also played a few prince songs, and then denied it to a bar guest who thought the music was lame. although, she may have given herself away with the booty-shaking and whatnot.

scene six; in which it is suddenly very busy:

me (the formerly fabulous red-headed bartender): hheeeeeellllllpppppp!!!!!

justin (manager-on-duty-extrordinaire): what the ffuuuuccckkkkkk is going on?

both of us: look around in disbelief. realize we are totally fucked. bust ass for many hours without ever stopping once, and then...

scene seven:

***a drunk boy sits his yucky frat-boy ass ON my bar.***

me: i'm sorry hun, but you need to get your butt off my bar.

crazy butt-on-bar-guy: i have a medical problem.

me: which requires you to sit up on bars?

crazy butt-on-bar-guy: well, i just need to be sitting down.

me: well, there are four empty bar stools right behind you.

crazy butt-on-bar-guy: i'm from Denmark.

me, inwardly: is there something about people from denmark that i don't know, something that involves sitting in unusual places? oh, wait. this boy sounds like he's from TENNESSEE.

me: you're from Denmark? nice accent.

crazy butt-on-bar-guy: you don't have to be a bitch.*

me: and you don't have to sit yourself on my bar.

crazy butt-on-bar-boy: if you kick me off this bar, i'm going to take a shit on the floor.

me: you know what? i'm pretty sure that would be more embarrassing for you than it would be for me.

crazy butt-on-bar-boy: so, it's ok if i take a shit right here in the middle of the bar?

me: sure, go ahead.

crazy butt-on-bar-boy: ***stare of confusion, probably upset that he couldn't make me scream at him.***

***5 minutes later***

crazy butt-formerly-on-bar-but-now-not-boy: can i get a shot of jager?

me: umm....no.

crazy but-and-all-that-you-know-who-i-mean-boy: why not?

me: because i hate you.

crazy kid whom i hate with my whole self: are you allowed to say that to me?

me, turning to justin: justin, am i allowed to tell this kid i hate him?

justin: yes.

me: ***turn back to annoying kid, giving him a look that says 'would you like me to conitnue to mock you, or are you going to go away now?'***

annoying kid: ***goes away***


THE END

*i should have said 'yes, i do have to be a bitch. it's out of my control. just like you can't seem to help being a douche-bag.'

Opening Day is the Devil, and He's Come for My Liver

Hey, remember how I said I was going to write about something 'real' once in a while, in order to appease my mother?
This is not that post.

Also, be warned...



These are not the faces of sober people.

So, here's what happened.
Sunday night, I went to bed at 4:30am, because I was trying to get a paper done. That wasn't the best idea, because not only did I hardly get any of the paper done, but I also had to wake up at 6:30am to get ready for....




...opening day.

And, yes. I know that would have been oh-so-much more dramatic and interesting if only I had taken a picture in or near the actual baseball stadium.

But, I didn't, and there's nothing we can do about it now.

Feel free to notice, though, that in the second picture people are drinking beer.
In order to fully appreciate this, I should probably tell you that this picture was taken at 8:30am.

Sigh.

Anyway, the really good thing about opening day is that Amber and I drink a lot and then we think we are very pretty...




you may go ahead and agree with us now.



we think we also look pretty with David.



Gordon doesn't look so bad, either.



I'm not really sure what's goin on here, but whatever it is, it sure looks like VInny and I are having fun. David looks a bit confused, but...if you knew David, you wouldn't be alarmed, at all.

Meanwhile, Amber decides to give me a big opening day kiss...




And then she decides to taunt you about it...



Oh, I and think there was also some baseball played at some point.

I'm Sick, and Also Things I Am Sick Of.

Well, here we are. Just another Friday night. Except, not just another Friday night.
The fact that I am blogging at 1am should have everyone immediately alarmed. Because, I think we all know that Tiffany does not belong in front of her computer at 1am on a Friday night.
Oh, no.

But, sadly, it's true.
I am at home, for I am sick.
My roommate is also home, and we both just slept through what might have been a very good movie. It was called Prime, and I'm pretty sure it had some people in it and some things happened to them--there was definitely some kind of psychiatry being practiced--but don't take my word for it.

Anyhow, the point is, I will now take advantage of my sick-at-homeness to present to you a list of things that I am very sick of.*
That's right, people.
The Bitch is back.

*As always, this list is not presented in any sort of heirarchical order--too much thinking, but you all know the drill by now.
So, lets get this party started...

I Am Sick Of:
1. Previews on DVD's that show you a trailor for some film and at the end tell you that the film is 'now in theaters.' Because, really? Don't they know that the DVD is going to physically exist for a long time--so long, in fact, that the majority of the people who ever watch said DVD will watch it at a time when the previewed movie is no longer in theaters? I mean, this endeavor is doomed to failure. It is a stupid thing to do, and I hate it.

2. Ordering delivery from the place down the street, which arrives with an extra bonus quesadilla that we didn't even order--which is good--but then discovering AFTER HAVING ALREADY TAKEN A BITE that the quesadilla is half eaten, and clearly had been brought back into the kitchen to be boxed up for a guest who was dining in. I cannot allow myself to wander into the dangerous territory of trying to imagine what the people were like...it is simply too much to bear.

3.Teri Hatcher. Now, I really hate to call people ugly. So, I'll just say that this woman's face looks freakishly skeletal to me, and I don't understand how anyone can not see how much her nose resembles Michael Jackson's nose. It insults me on a very deep level that someone with this face can try to claim that they have never had plastic surgery. Lets move on before I vomit on myself.

4. Unintentionally bad grammar. I clearly could not look into the deep abyss of blogland and claim to hate all bad grammar. Because I obviously enjoy creating new rules of sentence construction, punctuation, and other such things.
But, the thing is, I feel pretty strongly that this is ok--if for no other reason than the fact that I am not the president of the United States. George Bush's bad grammar offends the shit out of me, and it also frequently frightens me.
And, yes...I come to you with examples. Please see the all-new list-within-a-list...
List Within-A-List; or, Bad Grammar by George W.*
ONE
GWB: "Rarely is the question asked: is our children learning?"(Jan. 2000)
Me: I'm guessing you're right about that. Because most people are capable of phrasing simple questions properly.
TWO
GWB:"See, in my line of work you got to keep repeating things over and over and over again for the truth to sink in, to kinda catapult the propaganda."(May, 2005)
Me inwardly: Cripes, where to begin?
Me:I think in this case the bad grammar is actually less interesting than the fact that the president is stupid enough to tell us his methods of manipulation. Also, isn't the term 'propaganda' pretty much universally recognized as being extremely negative? Sigh. Someone better tell this man he 'got to' think a little before he speaks.
THREE
GWB:"They misunderestimated me."(November 2000)
Me: Now, this one just hurts my feelings, because I think 'misunderestimated' is a fantastic word--kind of like 'eleventy,' or 'delurkofy.' I sincerely wish this was my word. But, since I'm pretty sure George isn't trying to sound silly, this example still serves it's purpose

Also, I read a really interesting article in which Mark Crispin Miller points out that George "has no trouble speaking off the cuff when he's speaking punitively, when he's talking about violence, when he's talking about revenge. It's only when he leaps into the wild blue yonder of compassion, or idealism, or altruism, that he makes these hilarious mistakes." The article was pretty frightening, actually.
---end list-within-a-list----

5. Chapped Lips.

6. People who wear their hats just a little bit sideways. In my humble opinion, forward=good, backward=usually better, and sideways=an idiot that i probably don't want to talk to. But perhaps I'm being a bit harsh, because I'm not feeling well. I say lets all agree to pretend that this is the case.

7. Coughing. I am Very, Very, Very, Very, Very sick of coughing. And that's five VERY'S, which means I really mean it.

8. This entry. So, I think I'll stop now.

*Pete, if I do get sent to Gitmo, make sure you send at least 2 bottles a week...

FYI

just so everyone knows, there is a girl named amber who reads this blog all the time.
i'm just telling you because, otherwise, you would have no way of knowing, since she never leaves a comment.
i real life, amber is my friend. she is very tall and is a lovely person to go to the bar with. you can also call her the next day, when you are feeling like an idiot and are sure that everyone you know hates you because of how stupid you got at the bar the night before. unless she calls you first, that is.
anyhow, the point is that despite all this, amber reads my blog and then hides in the corner and lurks.
i imagine her sitting at her computer chair, smirking, as she moves on to other internet-related things without leaving me a comment.

which is funny, because she gives me comments in real life about the things i write here. and yet...no comments on the actual blog. she denies me, people.

so...amber, you have been called out.
you have been served.
now comment, tall girl...

In Which an Old Dog Learns New Tricks*

~ When Harry Met Sally Interlude...
Is someone supposed to be a dog in this scenario?~


Hello, friends!
I have learned how to do some new things with my blog!
It's true, I am now capable of more than just typing and posting.
And I can prove it.
Example 1 of my new-found blogging talents:
Please look to your right, where you will witness...
A picture of my eye! A picture in the picture spot! Of...my eye!
It is watching you.
Beware the watchfull fury of my eye. Laugh in appropriate places, or the eye will tell on you. The eye, it sees all.

(edited to add: the eye is no longer there, obviously. it has been replaced by my whole face, much to your misfortune.)

Example 2 of my amazing bloggerness:
Please scroll down beneath the eye (faster, it's watching you), where you will find...
Links! Linkslinkslinkslinks! Links to the blogs of other people that read this blog!*
And, more importantly, links that actually link you to stuff--unlike other non-linking links that may or may not have appeared in this blog before. Go ahead, click on one, and witness the amazingness.
We're all linkofied up in here!
No, for real. Click on one. The eye is watching. The eye, it never sleeps.

And finally, example 3:
Please take a moment to scroll down below the previous posts and archive and you will find 2 amazingly wonderous things.
Thing 1: A ticker thinger that will count how many people visit this blog from this moment until the end of time as we know it. What does this mean to you? I'm so glad you asked. This means that you must now visit my blog very, VERY often, so that I can feel special and important. You do want me to feel special and important, don't you?
Thing 2--also known as my favorite thing:
A searcher thing!
A searcher thing which will search all of my old bloggings for any word or phrase you can think of! It is very, very fun! (for me...)
However, I do not recommend searching the words 'fuck' or 'shit.' Because pretty much every damn post I've ever written will come up. Oh, maybe don't search 'damn,' either. Unless you want a good laugh...

~edited to add: um, yeah. the original ticker thing disappeared when i switched to the new blogger, which kind of made me want to die a little, but eventually got over it. the new ticker-thing--you know, the one that only works 40% of the time--is located at the bottom of the page. similarly, my searcher thing disappeared, and the one i replaced it with has never worked. so, really it's just decoration. and now i'm kind-of depressed.~

Anyhow...
I'm feeling pretty tired now.
From all the New Trick-ness, and whatnot.

*if you read this blog and your link isn't there yet, it's only because I'm waiting to get your permission.

and p.s.
my mother has requested that I write about something 'real' once in a while.
i'm not sure what that means, but i think it means something that doesn't totally revolve around me. so, i know it will be hard for you, but i'm going to try to do that--say, once every other week.
prepare yourselves...