Thanks to my piece of shit malfunctioning fire alarm, I am now working off of oh, let’s say, ZERO hours of sleep. Last night, the stupid thing would not stop beeping every 2 minutes. I don’t even know why and I couldn’t even get the cover off to change the battery! What the hell. It was the worst night ever. On top of that, I had to sleep on my couch in order to be as far away from the alarm as possible, which just wasn’t comfortable at all.

I swear, I’m going to Google the relatives of the person who invented the fire alarm, find the one who lives the closest to me and go egg their house. I’m not kidding, that shit’s just not cool. I just don’t understand why you would make something that is supposed to beep when there is fire still BEEP WITH NO FIRE. That would be like, wearing floaty arms without water. And who does that? NO ONE, because it would be stupid. Utterly, utterly stupid.

Sorry for the rant, just had to get that out.

As many of you know, I have a kind of love-love relationship with alcohol. If it weren’t considered an addictive disease, I’d be drinking right now. Because I mean, like, who wouldn’t want to be doing work with a little happy buzz instead of being cold as shit and feeling half asleep? This girl, that’s who. However, I’m going to have to cut back a little on the happiness, because this is just not good for my waistline. To give you more of an idea of how damaging my practices are, let me outline a typical night on the town–

Step 1: Attempt to get ready as quickly as possible, but take 2 hours due to multiple fashion crises involving outfit, shoes and accessories.

Step 2: Preparty for the bar with the crew, usually with some Jack D or vodka of some sort (I know, right? Who does that?). Hilarity ensues as we watch MTV Jams.

Step 3: Arrive at bar already feeling a little buzzed (i.e. half retarded), forget to count all the drinks I have previously had and act like I’m just starting. Take a shot for luck and obtain a vodka soda with lime.

Step 4: After consuming 2 more drinks, mosey on down to the dance floor, where I saunter up to the DJ and request 5 songs in order of preference–currently starting with “Damaged” by Danity Kane and ending with “Bossy” by Kelis.

Step 5: Obtain an unsuspecting lad to perform my Jezebel dance, which involves a lot of “dropping it like it’s hot” and Carmen Electra booty shakes while “Love in This Club” plays, while continuing to retrieve numerous drinks. He is smitten. When “Don’t Stop Believin’” comes on, attempt a Circle of Friendship dance with my homies; fist pumps and mosh hops ensue.

Step 6: Smile sweetly when unsuspecting lad asks for my phone number, coming up with a “cute” excuse about me hating phones/dating/boys, but tell him he’s nice. However, if a shot of Patron is bought, he may have a chance. Extra boy scout points if he buys shots for my friends too. We toast and everyone is giddy. It is now time to switch to beer for last call.

Step 7: Leave the bar, feeling ravenous and ready to eat whatever is put in front of me. Food choices usually consist of Taco Bell/McDonald’s/7-11/diner food, and most recently, cheesesteaks! Eat 100% of my recommended daily caloric intake, again, adding about 30 extra grams of fat and 2,000 mg of sodium.

Step 8: “Fall asleep” on someone’s couch/floor/aerobed with half a burrito or some other gross food in my hand. Often, I fall asleep with gum in my mouth, which is totally safe for an intoxicated person…**crickets**

Step 9: Wake up the next day, weigh myself, cry. Realize I am still a little drunk, so I have beer for breakfast. Ah, that’s better.

Step 10: Either attempt to gym or just give up for the day since I have a hangover and need greasy food to live. I mean, have you ever gotten over a hangover eating spinach? Didn’t think so.

Step 11: Check in with the crew to make sure everyone is alive and ask where all the bruises on my legs came from. Hear extremely hilarious stories about someone throwing up, passing out or making out at the bar. Giggle and express the true love I hold in my heart for my silly friends.

Step 12: If it’s now Saturday, start over at Step 1.

Yea, that sounds about right. Please feel free to lecture me as necessary.

Lately, I’ve been getting a little fed up with people being “thrown under the bus” for no good reason. In the past two weeks, I’ve seen it many times personally and in the news. The latest spectacle with Reverend Wright is the most blatant and utter display of hating and childish revenge I have ever seen. Although I write a little crazy sometimes, I do not feel as if it would be enough to simply type, “Wright, I’m comin’ for that ass.” Because am I, really? Of course not, but I sure do want to. However, I don’t even think that Wright is worth me going to jail for, because he’s a piece of crap human.

Look, Wright, I don’t know what c**t Hillary is paying you or offered you, but this shit has got to stop. You are about to ruin the campaign of the person that is most likely the most influential and inspiring presidential candidate of my lifetime, either out of spite, for financial gain/fame or because you feel like he didn’t have your back. But really, should he? Initially, I understood your comments and what you were trying to say, sort of. But now, it’d be a great time for you to STFU. I don’t appreciate this shit. What are you, a closet Republican? Because I’ll tell you one thing–if you ruin this for Obama, I WILL NOT VOTE FOR CLINTON. Will not. So, if you’d like to get your rocks off by keeping our troops in Iraq and screwing everyone over, whatever. Just know, that no matter how holy a person you think you are, I’m pretty sure this little stunt will land you in Hell. You definitely have no morals and I am glad that Obama now sees the person his “uncle” truly is. Nothing but a lying piece of crap trying to screw the country and person you want revenge on for petty gain. Do not like. Do not want.

P.S. Get a tan, you asshole.

Alright, so as most of you know, I have a bit of a late night fetish with Taco Bell. And so what?!?!? It’s delicious. Anyway, I mosey on over across the border while I’m on the phone with my friend and am trying to figure out what I want. Wait–what’s that??? Some blinking lights behind me!? Why…so I initially ignore and and continue to contemplate my order. Oh–blinking lights again?! So I lean out my window to the car behind me and I’m like, “What’s the problem?”

At this point, I become introduced to the HONGRY fat chick behind me, who starts yelling about how the order speaker is the next stop. I’m like, “Uhh…I don’t know what I want yet.” To which she responds, “HURRY THE FUCK UP!!! GET OFF THE PHONE AND ORDER!” Now, this would be a REASONABLE request if being on the phone with my friend was actually holding up my order, but it was not. I had STOPPED talking to him so I could order fatty, sodium filled food. At this moment, something inside me snaps. So I’m like, “Bitch, why don’t you get out your car and MAKE ME ORDER?!” Fat ass bitch. I told her ass she didn’t need any fucking Taco Bell anyway. Fuck her. She starts honking at me, I ignore her bacon-laden human and decide what I want to eat. After 2 minutes I decide what I want (omg 2 min is so long for a fucking obese idiot, didn’t you know?!?! YOU NEED BOOTCAMP), and when the dude asks me if I want anything else, I simply reply, “You can tell the fat ass bitch behind me to shut the fuck up and let me order because her ass doesn’t need any Taco Bell anyway.”

BY THE WAY–I ordered my burrito fresco style (w/o all the cheese and fatty sauce) and my Mexican pizza w/o meat, because really, what the fuck is that meat made of!?!?!? My fave part of the whole situation–he replies, “Ma’am, uh, I can’t do that.” while cracking the fuck up. Because NO ONE FEELS SORRY FOR FAT PEOPLE AT TACO BELL. NO ONE. Trust me on that shit. I hear her making her order behind me, so I yell, “Get a fucking salad, bitch!!! You do NOT need Taco Bell!!!!” What a stupid, fat fuck. I hate fat people. Seriously. Get your chubby ass in the gym or get the FUCK out of my face. I have no sympathy or time for you. This is all while fatty mcfatterson is still honking at me.

I leave the Bell and fatty mcfat is still behind me honking. At this point, I am cracking up because at the end of the day, she is still fat and probably HONGRY and I am the shit. Will I stop my car mid-motion to fight a fat chick? ABSOLUTELY NOT. I’m not trying to go to jail. I’m just trying to help people make healthier decisions in life. And with that, I am going to bed. Because did you know that sleep helps with weight loss too? I’m sure that bijiggity fat ho didn’t know. Let this be a lesson–do not get fat around me. I will only clown you and make innumerable jokes about Richard Simmons and Star Jones. Fitness rules.

So, I really haven’t had anything to write about, but I’m really looking forward to kickball tomorrow, so I’m gonna write a damn haiku. I’m so poetic.

My kickball game’s tomorrow

We go balls deep on that ass

Fucking do work, kid.

**Beatnik snaps all around**

Hey guys, so something happened to my friend today that I found so utterly ridiculous I just had to write something pertaining to it. We can call this my 7 year update on the Friend Zone. Who knows, maybe in another 7 years I’ll be writing the marriage zone. Umm…gross, I just threw up in my mouth a little.

Anyway, here is goes, 8 tips for the Hook-Up Zone. Unlike the Friend Zone, these are mostly for women, but I guess they apply to both.

1. This one should totally go without saying, but play “Full Life.” Yes, we all know games are for children, but with this one, you’re really playing for keeps. If you already have plans with friends on Saturday and the guy you’re dating calls you on Friday night to go out on Saturday, DO NOT CANCEL WITH YOUR FRIENDS TO HANG OUT WITH HIM. Do not! First of all, you’ll look like an ass in front of your friends. Sure, they might support you dating this dude, but don’t you have a life too? I’ll bet you $100 he’s not canceling guys’ night out to go see The Notebook with you. If he really likes you, he’ll get over it and learn to ask you out with reasonable notice. Or, he’ll accept that you’ll get up with him later that night (i.e. booty call, if you’re into that).

2. Unless he is your “already had the exclusive talk” boyfriend, do NOT get pissed at him, freak out, or turn into a MySpace stalker if you see that other girls are calling/talking to/IMing him. DO NOT. I know, it’s hard, but this is one you really have to leave to venting with the girls. Wanna know why? Well, first of all, you have no idea where this girl comes from or what their status is. She could be his cousin for all you know. Also, you just look plum crazy and possessive, and he’ll probably let his girl friend in on your little tirade. What if that’s his BFF from 2nd grade who he goes to for advice about everything? Congrats, shitface, she now hates you. Oh, and she’s probably laughing at you right now and calling you a psycho chickenhead bi-atch. Niiice.

3. Do NOT drunk dial with this message or conversation starter: “Oh my god! Hey _____. So me and my friends were at this club and all these guys were trying to talk to me but all I could think about was how much I wanted you and ohmigod I miss you and I think you should come over tonight because I really can’t sleep if you’re not in bed with me and you smell so good and I think I love you you’re so hot!!!” So we’ve all drunk dialed before, and we’ve all looked crazy. I don’t know about you, but looking crazy pisses me off more than anything, especially when it comes to men. And I don’t mean cute goofy crazy, I mean “wow that girl needs someone to talk to” crazy. Save yourself the trouble.

4. Date other guys. Why? Why not, ho-bag?! If you’re as spankin’ hot as you say you are, you should have guys lining up at your door to date you. Why would you put all your eggs in one basket? If he’s so great, I’m sure there are at least 3 other girls who dig him…so do your thing. It’ll keep your mind off of all that loving crap. And no, I’m not telling you to sleep with the entire Ravens’ offensive line. I said date; told you that you were a ho-bag. :oP

5. Don’t call him your boyfriend unless he calls you his girlfriend first. I know, they shouldn’t get to call all the shots, but for some reason, this label freaks out guys waaay more than girls. If a guy calls you his girlfriend, and you’re not, what do you say? “Oh, that’s cute…I didn’t know that’s what you call me when I’m not around…haha” Guys are like, “Oh naw hell no I’m not her boyfriend…what’s her name again? I forget. Oooh that girl over there is hot. Ciao.” Alright, guys don’t say ‘ciao.’ I don’t know, guys are crazy. Everything freaks them out. I’d much rather be freaked out than freak someone out. But that’s just me. By the way, do you like the movie Single White Female?

6. If you are MARRIED, do not try to “hang out” with a single, attractive person of the opposite sex. Don’t tell them that your marriage isn’t going so well (does she know that?), that you just want “have some laughs” and think they are cool (don’t you have friends for that?) or that you aren’t the kind of person to get drunk and hit on someone—but they are super cute (okay so clearly you can hit on them while sober). You just wanted to let them know that. OH, and if they don’t want to hang out anymore once they find out that you had a wedding and took vows and ate cake and shit, don’t act like it’s their fault. What kind of retard are you? You shouldn’t even be TRYING to be in the hook-up zone. Get back in the marriage zone! What is wrong with you?!

7. Don’t expect a guy to call you. Isn’t that sad? I know, I know, it’s extremely pessimistic. But, at least if he doesn’t call you, you won’t be at home listening to Avril Lavigne and singing “So Much for My Happy Ending” or walking around with your cell phone in your hand so you will for sure pick up his call. AND, if he does call you, surprise! What a nice pick me up. Aren’t I just a ray of sunshine?

8. My new philosophy: Don’t waste the pretty. Yes, I totally stole this from a book, but it’s true. Which book? That’s a secret. Or you could just be a huge Sex and the City fan like I am and know about it already. What does it mean? Figure it out. That’s all.

So, beyond my better judgment, I decide to login to my MySpace page to see what’s going on.  Oh look–I have a message.  Here’s the little, short and sweet gem right here:

Whatup gangsta. How u doin? cute pic. Holla at me sometime.  Im Corey……. yur name is?

Riiiiight.  First of all…the “Whatup gangsta” greeting kind of concerns me.  Is this Fiddy messaging me under a top secret name?  Perhaps…but I am also no where NEAR gangsta.  So, strike 1.  Next, we have the “cute pic” fragment, which totally disregards capitalization and any meaning whatsoever.  Cute?  No shit.  Strike 2.  The last and most offensive sentence closes out the “email,” if you can call it that:  “Im Corey…..yur name is?”  Wow dude, I really hadn’t figured out that your name is Corey or that’s what you call yourself, being that it’s the name on your profile.  Thanks for that, because I would have never known, and now I am a better person for knowing the essence that is Corey.  Hoo-fucking-ray.  And here’s the part that made me cringe: YUR.  What. The. Hell. Is. Yur?  Who spells it like that, even on email?!?!  This makes me believe that he actually can’t spell the word “your.”  I’m concerned and am considering buying this guy Hooked on Phonics.  Oh well, at least it wasn’t “you’re.”  Strike 3–Corey, get the fuck out.  Jesus, I hate MySpace.

Have any of you seen MTV’s new pseudo dating show, The X Effect? I decided to be a loser this Saturday night, so I stayed home and fell upon this little gold star of a show. Basically, MTV tricks people in new relationships to spend the weekend alone at a romantic resort with their ex-significant other, all while their new boyfriend or girlfriend is spying on them. I was pretty shocked to see a show like this, begging these people to cheat on their bfs/gfs by liquoring them up and treating them to sexy activities, like pole dancing. The whole time I’m watching this shit I’m just like, “Is MTV for real?” Do people really want to be on TV this bad? Just try to put me in a hotel room with an ex-boyfriend; I’m probably either going to kick the shit out of him or walk out. I’ll tell you what I won’t be doing with him though, ESPECIALLY if I have a new boyfriend–sipping mojitos and drinking champagne in a jacuzzi like a grade-A whore.

However, this show HAS to be fake. It fucking has to be. There is no way anyone can sit and watch their boo make out like crazy with another person and STILL decide to stay with them at the end. Either that, or only crazy desperate freaks are on this show and won’t leave their cheating mate for fear of being alone. Just watch this clip and know you’ll know what I’m talking about. And on this particular show the cheatees decide to become the cheaters, yet both couples decide to stay together!!! What the fuck? The most ridiculous quote at the end was when the girlfriend of the cheating guy was just like, “This is your one ‘get out of jail free’ card.” Since when did people get ‘get out of jail free’ cards for cheating? This isn’t Monopoly, you silly bitch! Have some respect for yourself, jesus. Your boyfriend just cheated on you on national television, you could at least push him in the pool. Coward. Worst show ever. Shame on you MTV! FOR SHAME.

Before I begin this post, I’d like to thank my friend for introducing me to the term LCD. You know who you are–Batman and Robin forever, bitch! Moving on…

Now, what is LCD? Usually when we think of LCD, we think in terms of technology–like a LCD screen on a computer or TV. However, this time, we are using LCD like the old school math term, the Lowest Common Denominator. Don’t get lost yet, I’m just getting started. You’re sitting there thinking, “What the fuck is this bitch talking about math for? She ain’t in school.” Or maybe you think more intelligently in your head than I do, I dunno.

Today, the Lowest Common Denominator is that girl in the bar who all the guys try to take home. And no, it’s not because she’s really really good looking or has a sparkling personality. We all know her, it’s the girl who is a little below average or a bit chubby, so we know her self esteem is kinda low and she is always, ALWAYS the sloppiest bitch in the bar. I’m not talking about the striking girl at the bar pounding vodka sodas and patron shots while clearly keeping it together (i.e. me). I mean the chick who can barely stand, who’s talking to people but her head keeps drooping. Usually, if she starts making out with a guy at the bar, he literally has to hold this ho up so she doesn’t slump down into the back booth. (P.s. These scenarios constantly make me think all guys are undercover rapists–sorry.) She might be really loud and giggly between almost passing out, but there is one thing she never is–sexy.

Case in point: My friend and I were at the bar after that horrendous Duke game on Saturday. And lo and behold–there was actually a cute guy. I know, right? There must have been an eclipse or something. Anyways, he comes over to my friend and talks to her, but wait–he wasn’t really talking to her, he was trying to get a pen for his friend to take the number of this chick at the bar. And who could it be? The LCD. We observed this little sitcom carry on for a bit and then realized–it literally looked like there was a line of guys waiting to talk to this girl and her equally wasted friend. And TRUST ME, I would rate these chicks around….5s? I mean, if you like beer guts and child bearing hips, more power to you, but I wasn’t amused. One of the girls actually dropped her phone and started crawling around the floor for like 5 minutes. The funniest part about this was that all the guys trying to talk to her kind of just looked on and snickered as she crawled around looking like she was completely ready to get a train run on her from the back.

We continue to look at the shitshow that is unfolding in front of us and I think we got mad (it could have been the vodka). I was like, “Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me? That sloppy bitch has like 8 guys trying to talk to her, and we’re sitting here smashing limes into vodka?” I mean, not that I wanted to talk to any of these DC tools, but what the fuck?! How low are your standards, really? I asked some of my guy friends about this and they were all like, “I mean, he was just trying to bone.” WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO BONE AN INCREDIBLY DRUNK NOT VERY ATTRACTIVE GIRL?! This phenomenon is absolutely BEYOND me. And further proves my opinion that all guys are either stupid or rapists. Seek help!!!

P.S. I think the LCD left the bar with the guy who was trying to get her number, who was a West Virginia fan. She was probably his cousin.

I need something to cheer me up after that horrendous Duke loss, so here is one of my fave scenes from the BEST CARTOON EVER. It’s the realest! I mean it’s like, really really real! If you haven’t seen this episode, you’re deprived in life. Homies over hoes?