These linen shirts and fantastic, and on sale!

Uniqlo

Something Fishy

I just loved this little widget. Click anywhere to feed the fish and watch the fun!!

A Wild Hair

I don't know... Lately it seems I have been encountering a lot of people with a little too much power - or at least the notion of it.

A celebrity friend telling me to "get right on that" was the tipping point. Naturally, the only thing I "got right on" was my computer to send a "don't think so" email. Have you heard back? Nope, me neither. And frankly, I don't give a rat's ass.

Just prior to that I was stopped by the Putinist TSA (Transportation Security Agency) power midget who determined that my tweezers (no shit, tweezers) were too sharp and re appropriated them for herself.

Apparently, I couldn't be trusted with a fucking pair of tweezers. What did they think I was going to do, threaten the flight attendant? Something like, "get away from that door or I'm gonna tweeze those eyebrows one tree trunk at a time"? Don't think so. And if you believe that, you might also believe they throw $300 bottles of La Mer in those bins and don't dig them out later. Exactly! And now this little fucker has a pair of tweezers that cost more than her DSW pleather pumps.

Oh well, I got even with them. The following week I fedexed all the good shit directly to the hotel. So there.

Yeah, I'll get right on that.

Celebrity: A celebrity is a widely-recognized or famous person who commands a high degree of public and media attention.

The operative word here is "demands".

As someone who has worked with celebrities for many years I can tell you for the most part - it sucks. Sure, I have met some really fantastic and genuine people. But most celebrities are simply a huge pain in the ass. All of the studio coddling and all of the media and fan frenzy have contributed to many celebrities twisted view of reality. They are demanding. They believe they are entitled to everything and anything, including being catered to - at every whim. I recently got friendly with a celebrity who in a social setting seemed incredibly sweet and generous. It wasn't long before I got a phone call in which I was told to "get on that".

No, I don't work for these people. It was exclusively social until I threw an idea out. Before I knew it I was being treated like their maid. I hung up the phone and thought, FUCK YOU. I quickly sent an email setting them straight. Have you heard from them? Nope, me neither. But after a day or so I started to recall other similar situations with celebrities: Come out and play with me (at 2AM). Pick that up for me. Can you get me drugs? This is why people like Perez Hilton are making millions. Because even though he's a horrible, nasty little shit-talker, he's telling a lot of ugly truths about a lot of pretty celebrities.

Why do we give a fuck? Because the media says so? Because they have 50 million bucks? Believe me, most celebrities are social retards and have less class than Jed Clampet. I was recently with a celebrity who was poo-pooing over a bottle of Moet Chandon rose champagne, yet looked at me cross-eyed when I asked if they were referring to the Imperial Brut or Vintage '98. And what the hell is a frittata they ask? Get you head out of your Hollywood asshole and get a fucking life. Then, stop spending all of your money on bling, cars and designer bullshit, before you end up on "Where are they now?"

The Dead Mothers Club


One Way Bitch

The art of being absurdly selfish.

Here is a prime example. Non-Actress Denise Richards, ex-wife of Charlie Sheen has made a deal to drag her children through an ill-plotted reality based show as she "comes to terms with the recent loss of her mother and divorce". What the fuck is this? And is her plan is withhold her grief until they can put a crew together and put her on camera? And what will her kids think when they watch this 20 years from now and see mommy trying to squeeze out a boo-hoo tear?

Of course Denise isn't the only One Way Bitch. I'm sure you know a few. They get for themselves and "forget" you. It's all about them. Know a One Way? Post your favorite One way here so we cal all hate her together :)

Cheeter, cheeter...

Oh alright. So I've been cheating a little. It's not that I don't love blogger, I've just been itching for a change. I'm not going away, just taking a break and playing on Squidoo. it's fun, a really interesting business model (brain child of Seth Godin) where people can make money by blogging - kind of an affiliate deal. Check out my page if you like:
How Fabulous Is That?

Pay it Forward

It's true - I'm not all mean all the time.

No, ye ole piker is not flip flopping. Just taking a break... a reflective period of sorts for the new year.

True story. I collect belt buckles for fun, some fancy sterling silver, some just funky bronze. All depends on my mood. SO, a month or so ago I was shopping on ebay for belt buckles and found a kitchy bronze buckle from the Chili Club for best chili. I don't even make chili really, but I thought it was fun and my brother does have a bunch of restaurants. I left a maximum bid of $6. and when I woke up in the morning I got my winning email from ebay. It was a whopping $5.65. plus shipping.

A day later I get this crazy email from some guy and his wife. He is distraught that they didn't win the buckle. Their friend was the second place winner... it was going to be a gift, and if I ever consider selling it please let them know. Strange. If it was so important why didn't the guy leave a bid for ten bucks? I send a nice reply stating that I didn't even get it yet and I bought it because I though it would be cool for my brother. They reply with a nice but disappointing note.

A few days later I get the buckle in the mail. It's cool. But did I really HAVE to have it? Would my brother like it or even care that much? I don't know why, but I sent an email back to the guy and asked him to send me his mailing address, I am shipping the buckle off to him. Dumbfounded the guy writes back "please, let us pay, anything, how much do you want?"

I replied, "I don't want any money, thank you". It's simply my way of paying it forward. Don't know why, just felt like it was the right thing to do. They promised to pay it forward when they have the opportunity, and I believe they will. A random act of kindness? Don't know. Just felt good. Try it, I promise, you will feel good too.

Happy New Year.

PS. I really am working on my next post (yeah, I know, I've been lazy). It's entitled "One Way Bitch". Hehehe... I'm baaaaccckkk.

Are you okay? You look tired...

Yeah I'm tired, tired of people telling me I look like shit, thank you.

Geez.

Oh yes, I want spam…

NOT.

Of course I don't WANT spam. But it’s practically unavoidable these days. For example, last night I was trying to order something on the Internet, and there it was – the dreaded "negative option".

In other words, rather than allowing you to check a button that says "yes. I want to be on your mailing list", it is already checked and it's up to you to uncheck it. If you don't uncheck it, or miss it, you're on the list by default (that's why they call it negative option).

Back to last night. The checkout page was a mess and every time I hit the submit button (three times), it gave me a new message, first, "please mark the required field", okay, did that. Then "please re-enter a password", okay pretty sure I already did that. THEN, "please verify your email address" DOH. By the third try, I realized that some of the fields did not automatically re-populate after I got the error message. Hmm. What rocket scientist built this prehistoric site I wonder.

So now I am checking really hard, and notice the "yes I want to be on your mailing list " box also defaults to a checked box each and every time you come back to that page. That really pissed me off because there is no reason to make the default checked every time. And you know if they get you on the list – you are NEVER getting off. You can send 100 replies, tell them to “take me off your fucking list”. Nope. And then, you run out of time. You get tired, and resolve yourself to forwarding the shit right to your trash.

But you know what? It still feels like they fucking won.

To sir, with love.

Okay, I’m not a kid anymore, that part I get...

But I keep myself in shape and I’m told, I don’t look bad – for my age. So at the ripe old age of 48, I find myself standing in front of the Adriana Goldschmied store, otherwise known as “AG Jeans”. The store is a little too bright, but otherwise quirky-cool sporting a table made of shrink-wrapped jeans.

Neither of the two young sales girls looked like they gave a shit about, well, anything. But, as much of an imposition as it appeared to be, we were there to shop. I pulled a few pairs of jeans in both size 31 and 32 since I was not familiar with the fit. I don’t know if AG embraces vanity sizing or what, but to my surprise the 31’s seemed a little loose.

I peak my head out of the dressing room “these 31’s are actually a bit loose, how about a 30?” I ask. A few moments later I hear a young girl outside my dressing room. “Excuse me, SIR?” I go about trying on the second pair of jeans. “Sir, SIR”. SIR? Who the fuck is she talking to? I open the door and there she sands with a pair of jeans in hand. “They run really big, these are 29’s try these” she says. Dumbfounded I look at the jeans and then back at her. “That is very sweet, but at 48 years old, I don’t think I’m getting into a size 29”.

“I don’t know, my father is 38 and he wears a size 29, maybe they’ll fit”, she says. BLECH! The reality sinks in - the kid’s father is practically a kid!

Well, I don’t feel old, so who cares right? Wrong. Call me 48, call me sensitive, just please - don’t call me SIR.

Lovely Rita, meter maid...

Kick her in the ass.

Okay, we all know that when you park on the street, you feed the meter or risk getting a ticket. Personally, I think if you take a gamble you deserve a ticket. Generally speaking, it’s not a good idea to break the law.

Having said all of the above, laws can be very subjective, except when it comes to parking tickets. Every day I pass this knobby kneed, black sock wearing Nazi standing around with her pad, waiting for the meters to expire. Today I saw her giggle the thing as if she was going to shake off the last minute. Fucking bitch. Luckily, I had a quarter and slipped it into the meter right in front of her. “Is this your car” she asks. “Nope, it’s my friend’s car" I replied. “Well, you’re not supposed to do that” she screamed. “Yeah, neither are you, shit head”.

I clearly ruined her day. Good. I hate people that live to create misery for others. She isn’t feeling bad, or waiting five seconds. She is standing there hoping to “catch” someone who waited an extra two minutes for the doctor. That’s bullshit. I don’t ever believe that was the intent of the law. Enforce the law with reason and passion, not sadism.

Come on. Drop in a coin and ruin a meter maid’s day.

Going nowhere, fast.

Where in he world did all of these hostile drivers come from?

Once or twice a month I take a two-hour drive, most of which is on the highway. The speed limit is 65 miles an hour, which seems pretty reasonable to me. Unfortunately, it appears I stand alone.

See, if you drive in the middle lane, monster trucks come up behind you and try to fuck you up the ass, forcing you out of the middle lane. If you move into the left passing lane, some asshole in a black car with gold trim will be trying to fuck you up the ass. Or maybe it will be Paris Hilton, who may just smash into the back of your car for fun, but hey, that’s her manager’s fault, so that doesn’t really count, right?

Of course you could move into the right lane, except you’ll probably end up behind some 3000 year old hag, some ignorant bitch slapping her kids in the back seat while she’s trying to drive, or some jerk off in a hunk of shit hoopdie on the cell phone, trying to make the radio louder all while attempting to drive a car. So it appears the right slow-ass-lane is not much better. Seems either way, you’re fucked.

All of this would not piss me off quite so much if I didn’t find myself at the toll both sitting right next to the same assholes who tried to fuck me up the ass with their car. Of course, they will rudely cut five other people out so they can quick, get through that toll faster and fuck some Jetta up the ass, who in all likelihood will be sitting right behind them at the next toll booth.

Well, they say every dog has its day. So I’ll just keep praying that the next time one of those lunatic drivers tries to fuck a car up the ass, it’s an unmarked cop car.

What did you say?

You would know if you were fucking listening.

I hate when people are so preoccupied that

Lost in translation

I can speak English, a touch or French and even a teeny bit of Italian, but baby talk? Apparently not.

I was asked recently to watch a friend's 4 year old child for a whopping three hours. It was in their home, they were really stuck and three hours didn't seem unreasonable. The moment mommy and daddy walk out the door the kid turns into a whining monster.

"I nee dep duce ina reb oxeeee". What? Okay, the kid wants something, that much I got. "What do you want Robbie?" ""I won dit dep, dooce! Duce inda, wiva saw, NOW". Holy shit. I start to panic walking around the kitchen pointing at everything in sight. "This? This? This?" "NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" "RAHHHHHHHH". It's forty minutes later and I have already touched every fucking thing in the house. Meanwhile the child is beet red and screaming his head off. I need to sit down. I sit on the sofa and land on a toy. "Mineeeeee, mineeeee". Okay, that I understand. I give the brat the toy and he falls asleep. A few LONG hours later mommy and daddy arrive home.

The child wakes up and runs to his mother whining "I nee dep duce ina reb oxeee... witt asa". My friend replies, “I'm sorry sweetheart, it's too late for a juice box”. What? What the fuck was that? How did she get juice box from nee dep duce? The kid continues to whine a bunch of jibberish and yet somehow mommy knows exactly what to say. I quietly slip out the door.

Hmm.Well, I just hope they don't ask me to watch the kid again, because if they do, I'm gonna say "I da wanna fuging dod dat". And yet somehow, I don't think she will understand.

The joys of tipping.

I fucking hate the concept of tipping.

The whole concept sucks. I pay my employees. Shop owners pay their employees. Why do I have to subsidize a restaurant's payroll? That's just wrong.

In fact, many cultures view tipping as an insult. Tipping in Japan for instance, is considered condescending. Right fucking on. You're hired to do a good job - it shouldn't be an option.

Customarily, one would be expected to tip more generously for really good service. But what if the service blows, or if it's practically non existent? I didn't have to ask myself that question until recently...

It all started with this little Italian restaurant that has great food. Unfortunately, half the time I would get stuck with this arrogant snot nose waiter. WTF, I like the place and I really don't want spit in my food, so I deal, and of course he always gets his obligatory tip. Until recently, when dude got my order wrong twice in the same night and pretty much called me a liar in front of three other people. At that moment, I knew the answer to the aforementioned question. I didn't care if this asshole wrapped my dick in an Italian flag and sucked my knob - he wasn't getting a fucking penny. And he didn't.

Note: While tipping is poo-pooed in Japan, you can be sure the guy delivering your sushi will have his palm wide open. Welcome to America, kid.

There's one in every crowd.

At some point, we all get annoyed or down right pissed off with people. We're only human, it's natural. But some people can't or won't communicate honestly, instead using a physical gesture to express their discontent. This is not only disturbing, it's also idiotic.

Why is this idiotic? Take this simple test:

You are at a bar with other people trying to have a conversation. But you can't get a word in edgewise because some asshole won't shut up for two fucking seconds. This continues for an hour. You are pissed, but you really don't want to leave yet. Do you:

A. Continue to grin like a fool and pretend not to be bothered.

B. Pray silently that they choke on an olive.

C. Roll your eyes so others can tell you are annoyed.

If you answered "C", you are indeed an idiot. Because if others can see you roll your eyes there's a good chance the asshole might see you too. And even if the asshole doesn't see you, they will see others react to you and most likely figure it out. This could be problematic because the asshole at hand may also be your spouse, boss, an IRS agent or someone who was planning to pick up the tab.

Eye rolling is a tricky habit. It's a passive aggressive way of saying "die bitch", and if you do roll your eyes, you do it because you want people to know that's how you feel. This is a similar trait to shaking your head, a deep exhale or rubbing your temples as if you have a headache. You think you are being subtle? Well you're not.

Note to self: You will always get caught. And when you do - you will end up looking like the asshole. Save yourself the humiliation and just don't do it,

Oh, yes. If you answered "A", you are probably too nice to be reading my blog. If you answered "B", you're mean - but at least your not an idiot. And yes, of course I answered "B".

Can I spit in your food?

I grew up in a fmily where sharing food was was a totally acceptable

Look me in the eye and say that.

Okay listen. I know we aren't all perfect. But one abnormality, well, makes me fucking dizzy.

Most people don't give a shit what you have to say. They shake their heads and grin while you are talking, impatiently waiting for any break or pause so they can jump in and monopolize the conversation. But there actually some people that care more about being interested, than being interesting. These are people that actually look you in the eye when you speak.

I like to think I am one of those people who look you in the eye. Herein lies the problem. There are some people that have one eyeball that appears to be looking in a different direction than the other eyeball. This is deeply problematic for me, because I never really know which eyeball to look at. I find myself splitting my attention between eyeballs, almost like playing pong. Makes me dizzy as hell.

Innately, what I really want to say is "hey, you stray eyeball, over here". To make matters worse, I recently discovered that this is an easily correctable condition - yet I know someone who can have this simple procedure, but is "afraid" to have it done. Afraid? You're fucking scaring the shit out of everyone else with that thing.

Please, if you have a naughty eyeball that won't stay put, do us all a favor and yank that puppy into place, will you?

How to really piss off a woman.

If a woman is nasty to you, and you really want to piss her off, here are my top 10 suggestions:

#1. Do you have your period?

#2. When are you due?

#3. Haven't had sex in while, eh?

#4. Here, let a man do that.

#5. Nevermind, you won't understand.

Hairy and scary. Part 2.

You can’t have too much money, but you can have too much hair.

Although the hair I am talking about is not on your head. Perhaps it doesn’t bother most people, but hair in all the wrong places just weirds me out. Of course women tend to be better about hair management in general.

Women have figured out that a single pair of tweezers can go a long way. It still doesn’t mean you won’t see a woman that has a mustache like Hitler, but it’s a lot less common then men’s hairy orifices.

As men get older, they tend to get hair, and I mean an abundance of hair, in the most undesirable places. There's is a man that works in our office building, a very well educated professional who has a fucking bush growing out of his nose. I want to say something… but what? “Hey, what are you, fucking Rapunzel? I can't even look at him.

Worse yet is one of my doctors, this dude has trees growing out of his ears. Like he's gonna get a pick and fucking style it or something. Ears and noses shouldn't look like a Chia pet. It’s gross.

Hint: it's called trimmer.

Snot funny.

Everybody has at least one nasty habit.

Picking your teeth, ear, ass or nose all qualify as nasty habits. Of course, having a nasty little habit isn’t embarrassing – it’s getting caught that makes it hideous.

Most intriguing though, are people who do not even attempt to hide their nasty little habits. I have one associate that scratches her scalp all the time, and then proceeds to sniff her fingernails in clear daylight. If you have to sniff remnants of your scalp to find out if it smells bad – you can bet your ass it does.

But this one is the hum dinger. I can only refer to this individual as “someone I know”, because I really don't want my head bashed in. For reference, let’s simply refer to this individual as “the boogie roller”, an individual who has crafted his exceptionally dirty little habit into a hobby of sorts. First, our boogie roller mines a nasty hunk of snot, and then proceeds to work it between this thumb and index finger, forming a round, sticky ball of snot. He will then proceed to play with it, in front of people, for longer than I would chew a stick of gum.

Once bored with his snot ball, he proceeds to flick it haphazardly into the air. This garners a reaction similar to sitting at a hockey game when the puck looks like it’s coming in your direction. Everyone talks about this gross out - except to him. He is simply known as "the boogie roller".

So contain your nasty little habits to the bathroom, and if you really feel the need to share, flick them over to post secret.

Hairy and scary. Part I

Why do so many men insist on wearing one long hairy hedge over their eyes? The dreaded "unibrow" appears to be the result of men’s unwillingness to learn how to properly groom their often massive brows. Gentleman, get with it. Unless you want to look like Bert here, a unibrow is simply not appealing to anyone.

Good grooming isn’t an affront to your masculinity. Really. Any woman, wife, girlfriend (or gay guy if you are secure enough) can help. Or, you could actually go to a salon where they can offer you options from plucking to waxing.

However, please DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME before getting some assistance. Because the only thing worse than a unibrow, is the perfectly clean dissection of a unibrow, resulting in an un-naturally hard edged, wide space which just happens to be exactly the width of a Gillette razor. This leaves you with eyebrows that look as if they were cut out and pasted on your head – again, not a good look.

Think about it. If people aren't getting real close to you, maybe it’s because they fear one of your wild unibrow hairs will poke their fucking eye out.

The envelope please...

"Just Don't" Contest Winners.

You people rock, this was really hard. So I asked a group of my piker friends to help me choose, and we decided to also give two second place prizes as well. It was really tough, but the winners are:

First Prize: $50 Gift Certificate to FabulousStationery.com

KK said...

"Just don't... Buy a bluetooth wireless headset. You're really not that important, no one wants to hear any of your personal and/or business related conversations, you look like a freaking alien & you appear totally stupid talking to yourself everywhere you go".


Second Prize (tie): $25 Gift Certificate to FabulousStationery.com

Skwerly said...

"Just don't: Regale a newly pregnant woman with tales of your friend who just had a miscarriage".


Second Prize (tie): $25 Gift Certificate to FabulousStationery.com

Divine Bird said...

"Just Don't... Offer advice about something I've researched very thoroughly, of which you have little to no understanding. No, PublishAmerica is NOT a good idea if I want to sell my novel. No, I can NOT make my money back by making that garment/piece of furniture/etc and selling it. No, I do NOT have the skills or desire to turn X hobby into a moneymaking venture."

This was fun and I will positively do it again. Winners, to claim your prize submit you email address in a post, I will NOT publish it, and I will email you a gift code.

Thanks for all the great entries and for reading. Suggestions for the next contest welcome :)

Oh doctor, may I kiss your ring?

This post is a quickie but I had to get this off my chest.

Listen, I'm not stupid. We all need doctors. But I don't understand why people in this profession are anointed with a title as if they were royalty. Why are you Mr. Smith and a doctor is Dr. Smith? And how come when I call a busy restaurant and can’t get a reservation my “doctor” friends always seem to get one?

When I am sitting in the bar waiting for a table, it’s “follow me please”. But when my friend the doctor is waiting it’s, “Oh, DOCTOR SMITH! Right this way”. Fuck you. I already know you’re a proctologist, so why does an asshole expert get to be treated any differently than me?

If the President of the United States is referred to as “Mr. President”, an asshole specialist (or any other doctor for that matter) should be Mr. or Mrs. or Ms. just like the rest of us.

And no, even though you’re my friend, I really don’t want to shake your hand, "doctor". So there.

The orange people.

Nope. This post is not about oranges, or people who eat oranges, or even Anita Bryant.

This post is about the increasing number of people who appear to look orange. Why? Why would someone want to look orange? And how much crap would one have to slather on to get this zesty color?

Someone enlighten me, please. Are these overly made up, orange-faced women buying the wrong color, or too much color, or putting it on wrong? They must look in the mirror. Can’t they tell they look like fucking Ernie?

But the quest for orange doesn't stop at make-up. There's always a little fake bake, fellas. Where you climb into a giant easy bake oven and pop out looking, ta-da, orange. And can someone tell me what the fuck “Hollywood Tan” is all about? Aside from George Hamilton, I don't think the rest of Hollywood thinks being orange is a good thing.

Still, the most insane orange-ization technique of all, has you standing in a fake bake booth where they, no shit, spray paint you from head to toe, with, you guessed it, orange die. And you think you've got problems.

Hey, all you orange people, you look awful.