Something borrowed, something blue: Old things that I still find hilarious despite their dying political significance.

The Hipster Olympics

Bill Clinton and I are bestest buddies, doncha know?

Mike Huckabee's AIDS-less family says Hi!

My encounter in the streets of a tourist-laden Chicago (from 6/29/2007):
So I was in Chicago for a concert and we decided to do the tourist thing, including H&M, blah blah blah, Swatch store etc (and although I begged, we could not go into American Girl Place). At any rate, as I was walking by the water tower (the old one, that drips water and is a museum), this mostly normal looking guy stops me with a stiff arm. I was by myself and looking for my dad and brother who had graciously left me inside a store, so I'm freaked out.

"Hey. Stop."
In my head: I don't want another flyer about some obscure rap show downtown
"Are you a model?"
Hey me again: I'm going to get raped.
"Because you walk like one"
Me: I'm 5 feet 2 inches, slightly overweight and I have acne. What do you think, Rico?
What I actually said: Uhhhhhhhhhh, no?

I wish I could have said something clever. My internal dialog is a much funnier person than me. Bitch.

Later that night, as we were being plagued by the infernal chatting coming from the girl behind us, I wished again that I could actually turn myself around and tell her to shut the fuck up about how she wanted some song to be played. She didn't even get that we were making fun of her, while talking very loudly in the row right in front of her. I don't get how she can talk for three hours straight through a concert literally just talking about nothing interesting, to her boyfriend, and yet I'm single.

Which leads me to the conclusion that those girls must put out often and well. So I told my brother that while he may never date a girl like that, he may hook up with her, because she must be a good lay.

My thoughts on puppies and answering the telephone (from 3/29/2007):
Having puppies in the house is a lot like having a new baby, only not as prolonged and you don’t have to change as many diapers. You get to clean the shit right up off of the floor without the intermediary fabric.
Needless to say, things that were once easy have now become a little harder and those things that you used to do without consequence now have results. Of course, some things make me laugh. Today, upon my father’s return from work, my parents were sitting at the kitchen table talking about the fire in a Chicago high-rise building. My mother, always quick to point out other people’s lack of body-consciousness, says, “Can you believe it? Some people were treated for exhaustion for running down 47 flights of stairs! Down!” Both dogs stir from their corner of the kitchen and come up to her, and then lay down. It seems that we’ve been training them a little too much. They are starting to eavesdrop. The unfunny part about the puppies came at about nine thirty this morning when the phone rang. For some reason, I will do anything to answer the phone. Something genetically programmed in me runs down the stairs with a towel and wet feet just to tell someone that my mother is not home. Inexplicably, I will run inside the house if I’m outside to get the phone just to tell someone that I’m busy. We have an answering machine, I just hate using it. So when the phone rang, I jumped over the improvised puppy gate to get it. The puppy gates are made of two adjustable curtain rods with wire mesh. The ends are covered in duct tape to avoid bloody puppy paws, and they come up a little higher than my knee. My dad, who thinks everyone is five feet, ten inches tall made them higher, but the two shortest people in my house protested.
Apparently, still not short enough. I jumped over the gate and tried not to land on an overly excited corgi. So I caught my back foot and misplaced my front foot. Luckily, another large part of my body caught my fall: my face. But I answered the phone. It was my dad, looking for my mom, who was not home.