Forbidden Love

I've been having some untoward feelings lately. Feelings of a lustful, forbidden nature.

Sometimes I lie awake at night thinking about our future together, even though we have only known each other a short while. There are times when I even lose sleep considering the possibility that you could be what I've been looking for my whole life. Perhaps you will make me come alive in a way that I simply haven't done on my own.

I'm getting bolder by the day. Now I whisper your name to myself all the time - a little secret that only I know. I mutter it in line at the post office. While driving down the Thruway. In the bathroom:

"Smoked Gouda."

I've loved a lot of other cheeses, but there is just something about you that I'm drawn to - maybe the fact that you're smoked makes you seem rebellious, like kind of a bad ass.

I don't know. But I imagine some very unladylike scenarios, starring the two of us. You sandwiched between two pieces of buttery, golden bread, melted...Maybe with some apples or even caramelized onions in there.

Or an omelet, with spinach, pepper and you, drenched in a deluge of Hollandaise sauce.

 Oh, the things I would do to you!

But I'm getting carried away, here; let me just cut to the chase.

Gouda, I really think that we could make this work...Like just the two of us, you know? In a romantic capacity.

I promise I won't make fun of you when you start to sprout mold after a couple of weeks, and I won't lock you in the basement this time if I find cigarettes or autographed Katy Perry pics in your backpack.

I guess what I'm trying to say here is that there's just no one else that tastes quite as good as you do.

So....Will you be mine?

xo,
Jess.

Six Commandments of Domestic Dirt Baggery

If you're anything like me, the prospect of moving into your own apartment without another person who can split the costs may have you crapping yourself with fear.

After all, this is an expensive proposition: there's heating oil or gas, electricity, food and of course, soap.

Well, I'm here to tell you that there's no need to spend money on most of this bullcrap. Sometimes, you've really got to pick and choose, and there are ways you can get your basic needs (and more) met without paying up the bum for all of these "necessary" implements.

Here are my Six Commandments for Maintaining the Illusion of Responsibility Without Actually Earning/Spending Much Money.

1) Ye Shall Not Shower at Your House.

I learned the hard way that you need heating oil or propane to make your water a hospitable temperature. This really isn't something you want to fuck with. Therefore, use other people's facilities to clean yourself!

How, you might wonder? Well, there's always the first (boring) option: you can just ask. However, I find that this option gets old after one, maybe two uses. So you need to start getting creative with it: Start having random "accidents" whenever you are at the homes of friends and family.

Example: When a friend passes the bubbler your way, accidentally slosh some bong water onto your shirt and/or pants. Be like, "Oh MAN! I got stank-ass bong water all over me, and I have to go play bingo with my grandma later. Can I hop in your shower for a quick sec?"

The thing about accidents is that they happen all the time. You can think of a number of inventive scenarios in which you just have to bathe at someone else's abode twice or even thrice weekly.

Your friends will probably be talking behind your back about how clumsy you've become, but all the while you will definitely be smiling to yourself while lathering up with their expensive brand name body washes, and shaving your nads with their Mach 5 razors.

2) Ye Shan't Work From/ Loaf at Home

Look, I'm not saying you have to get a job. And I like loafing around just as much as the next guy. But think about it: just about any activity (save for sleeping) requires that you use electricity, heat and/or other resources that you must pay for. You can't play Call of Duty all day at your house without using electricity. You can't sit around in your underwear and watch porn unless you have electricity, Internet access, and possibly even heat.

I'm not saying you SHOULDN'T do these things. In fact, it is your constitutional right to play Call of Duty, watch porn, and/or eat Easy Mac while shopping online for chicken-themed kitchen decor.

I'm just saying you shouldn't do this stuff at your house. You can do some or a combination of all of these things in other places.

You can probably play Call of Duty at Walmart for a good long while. You can most definitely watch porn on your computer at Starbucks. If you feel exposed doing this (or don't want to pay for a cup of coffee...I don't blame you) you can always sit in the McDonald's parking lot and watch in the privacy of your own car, or behind a discreet shrub.

If you have gainful employment that is located outside of your living space - and you'd actually like to keep that position - you've pretty much got all of these bases covered, because you can typically do many of these things and even get paid at the same time.

3) Go Forth and Be Slutty.

Alright, this may be going a little bit too far for some people, but hear me out: I'm not promoting that you change into (or continue being) a dime store hooker for the physical pleasure it brings.

The point of this isn't fun, it's a FREE PLACE TO CRASH.

Even the biggest pieces of shit usually feel obligated to let a chick or dude sleep in their bed for a while after they've bumped uglies. Don't count on kisses or cuddling, but you will get something far better: a warm bed - at least for the night.

This is a major score, because it means that you don't have to have your heat or a/c cranked up in your apartment if you're not sleeping there! That's a solid 4-12 hours (depending on how you play your cards) of utility savings.

Plus, the great thing about this is that you can do it again EVERY NIGHT. Even if the chick you slept with last night pulled a knife, or the guy you boinked kept trying to show you his hairball collection while you were nodding off in his lap, you can just find another bed to sleep with tonight.

4) Refrain From Buying That Which is Naturally Abundant.

Now, this is mainly addressing the need for nourishment. Of both the physical and mental varieties. You definitely know by now that you can peruse Dunkin Donuts dumpsters, trash cans outside pizza parlors, and straight up sidewalks for food. You also know that you can get books, movies and music at libraries, right? Well, more often than not, you can also get that last crucial element you need for maximum comfort right outside in the Great Outdoors.

Let's Try Out a Few Equations to Familiarize Ourselves With the Concept:

Trashcan pizza scraps + lofty library novel+ 1970s side of the road Lay-Z Boy = Many afternoons of cost-effective bliss.

Also:

Expired health food store fruit leather + your mom's Dell laptop + library Ren & Stimpy DVD + metal TV dinner tray found in woods =
A solid week of al fresco nirvana.

Just make sure you are near an unlocked vehicle so you can plug your computer into the adapter for uninterrupted "Powdered Toast Man".

5) In Times of Need, Use-ith Only Crock Pot & Coffee Maker.

I don't really think you should buy these things. Perhaps, instead, ask for them for Christmas, Hanukkah, or Festivus. However, you should really have them on hand - at your own apartment - in case of emergencies.

An emergency is when it's precipitating outside and no one will come pick you up. Or, when you know for a fact that your car won't start because it's just a matter of time until the dampness seeps into your spark plugs and renders your vehicle into an asphalt-beached whale.

An emergency also might entail someone coming to visit. You know, that relative or "friend" that decides to "pop in" unannounced to see your new place. Let me first acknowledge that this is bullshit. Next, let's prepare you to use your Crock pot and coffee maker to service all of this intruder's needs.

OK, so basically you can make anything in a crock pot: meat, vegetables, dessert, breakfast, etc. You will have to suck it up and use a bit of electricity for this, but you're still good to go in terms of heating oil/gas. You can eat a meal made in this puppy for days, too, because it makes huge batches of grub. It's a god send.

Now, you may be a little bit more puzzled when it comes to the coffee maker.

"I don't drink coffee," you might say. (And I might ask: what is wrong with you?!)
Or, "I really prefer my cup of Joe squeezed from a french press." Well, you're a fucking snob. But also, the french press doesn't do the same magical things as a coffee maker does. After all, you have to boil water to get the damn thing to function, otherwise it's worthless.

A coffee maker will make coffee, but it will also boil water for tea and other stuff. Which brings me to the final commandment...

6) Your Quesadilla Runneth Over: Eat Mexican All Day, Every Day.

Alright, so that other amazing thing that a coffee maker does besides create delicious java and boil water for a myriad of needs? It makes QUESA-FUCKING-DILLAS.

Let me just sing the praises of Mexican cuisine for a bit, here: It's amazing.

Usually, tacos/burritos/quesadillas/enchiladas whathaveyou are a nutritionally complete meal when you include veggies (if you actually care about that), they're delicious, and most importantly - they're cheap as shit to make.

So basically, I learned from experience that when your stove doesn't work, when you have no microwave and no toaster oven, the coffee maker serves as a cooking surface.

Simply remove the glass carafe from the device, and then turn the appliance on. Next, you're going to want to grab a soft taco shell and shred some cheese up on that mofo, ese.

Just leave the taco on the coffee burner for like five to ten minutes and I promise you: the cheese will melt.

BAM! Instant hot plate.

Finally, add whatever else you want to put in there: chicken (cooked in crock pot beforehand, or from KFC bucket, whatever), beans, veggies, sour patch kids, tincture of bat toenail, etc.

A couple of minutes on that bad boy and you've got yourself some serious gourmet shit.

And demanded Moses of his Disciples,  

What Say You?!

**************

Singer/Songwriters & Their Respective Neuroses

There are a lot of great songs that we hear every day on the radio, our iPods or even in the grocery store.

However, even though we hum along and fumble through the lyrics, we don't always, well...think about exactly what these musicians are trying to say.

In fact, I hardly ever fucking know what song lyrics are trying to express - although I do have my suspicious. And my suspicions confirm that most, if not all songwriters, are absolutely looney tunes. (Which of course, doesn't mean we love them any less).

Here are a few songs I personally love, along with a rather judgmental assessment of what the lyrics of each are attempting to express...As well as a (kind of) clinical sum-up of what they're ultimately telling me about the singer/songwriter's personality.

Name: Iggy Pop

Diagnosis: Deranged, Perverted Stalker.

Evidence:

lyrics to "Search and Destroy":

"Look out honey, 'cause I'm using technology..."

This motherfucker is so into you, he's discreetly using his iPad (and, of course, the Interwebz) to discover your address, home phone number, the names of all living relatives, and their respective ages.

Once Iggy has your address, he will Google map your house and drive, walk or bicycle past it daily.

 "Baby penetrate my mind...
And I'm the world's forgotten boy
The one who's searchin' - searchin' to destroy."

Chances are, this twisted character pleasures himself to your Facebook default pic and eventually breaks into your home to steal all of your dirty undies.

Name: Smokey Robinson.

Diagnosis: Anxious Attachment Style (AKA: Overly Needy Cry Baby)

Evidence:

lyrics to "I Second That Emotion":

"Oh, but if you feel like loving me / if you got the notion -
I second that emotion. 
Said, if you feel like giving me a lifetime of devotion,
I second that emotion..."

Whoaaa there, Smokes! There's a huge difference between "feeling like loving you" and "a lifetime of devotion". A BIG fucking difference, dude. I think you're taking things a bit too fast here. Let's slow it down a bit.


"Maybe you want to give me kisses sweet,
But only for one night with no repeat.
Maybe you'd go away and never call -
And a taste of honey's worse than none at all..." 

Seriously, Smokey?! Can't we just enjoy a movie for once in our fucking lives? Do we have to have this conversation about FEELINGS every single time we see each other?

Yeah, well, I guess if you think that "a taste of honey's worse than none at all," I'm going to think long and hard before giving you a taste of honey in the first place, if you get my drift...

Backup Evidence: lyrics to "Tears of a Clown" (self explanatory). You need to learn how to keep your shit together in public, man.

 Name: Gordon Lightfoot

Diagnosis: Avoidant Attachment Style/Pathological Narcissist 
(AKA: Category 5, Grade A Dickhead)


Evidence:

lyrics to "For Loving Me/Did She Mention My Name?":

"So don't you shed a tear for me,
'cause I ain't the love you thought I'd be...
I've got a hundred more like you
(So don't be blue)
I'll have a thousand 'fore I'm through."

OK, so let me get this straight. You're dumping me, and trying to comfort me...With the fact that there are shit tons of other chicks identical to me, and you're going to bang them all?

WOW, thanks! I feel like a million fucking bucks now - Good as new.

But wait--

"Now there you go you're cryin' again,
Now there you go you're cryin' again.
But then someday when your poor heart, is on the mend--
I just might pass this way again..."
That's what you get for lovin' me."

Holy shit. This is cold blooded.

He's disdainful of the fact that I'm (understandably) blubbering like a lovelorn war widow after the breakup. To make matters worse, the second scrap of "comfort" offered up is basically saying: once I start to feel strong again, when getting out of bed becomes less of a challenge each morning, he'll probably just come back around and fuck my shit up all over again.

OH, and it's not even over with him after that, either--

Most people only know this song as "For Lovin' Me". However, there's another version that gives us even more insight into the mind of this sadistic fuck. It's called "For Lovin' Me/Did She Mention My Name?"

After that whole dreadful first bit, the song segues into a pleasant folk lilt and he throws this little monkey wrench at us:

"Did she mention my name, just in passing
And when the talk ran high
Did the look in her eye seem far away?
Won't you say hello from someone, they'll be no need to explain -
And by the way, did she mention my name?"

Wow. Just, wow.

So now, this insufferable Cockasaurus Rex is hundreds of miles away, I'm finally getting back to a semblance of my former self, and I have this conversation with a neighbor:

"Oh, hiiii! Dude, you'll never guess who I bumped into the other day...Yeah, it was Gordon Lightfoot! He wanted me to tell you that he said 'hi'.

...

"Well actually, he said to tell you that he's screwed like 43 girls since you guys broke up, and all of them were much hotter than you...he like -- well, he just said, 'tell her someone she used to know says hi, and banged a chick that looked like you last week, only more attractive.'"

...

"Uhhhm....Well, I don't know why I didn't keep that to myself. I guess I just, like, thought I should let you know or something. Uh cool, yeah I'll see ya later, too. Yep, bye."

AWESOME.

More Bullshit Commercials

I laughed, covered my mouth in embarrassment (for the girl starring in this rubbish),  gasped in disbelief, and then laughed again.