Proving once again we are all related to fish, take a look at a human ovary spitting out caviar.
But I mean, its kinda cool, I guess. I think I could have gone through the rest of my life not knowing what it looked like. It just makes my nipples feel really sore, and my hip region. I'm such a baby sometimes.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Today was an eventful day for no reason whatsoever. I got out of my work assessment so quick, I took a three hour lunch and headed down to the lake, where I watched birds and dogs, old people with small children (hopefully their grandchildren). I pondered the idea that the problem with modern relationships is the lack of natural feeling, since we're all so obsessed with money and all, which leads us to be obsessed with our jobs, which naturally leads us to drink to much and numb ourselves to the excess of natural feeling available. Like swimming, and looking at the lake, and hearing the lake, and sunsets, and running too hard and being exhausted, or fucking too hard and being exhausted. I think I'm starting to feel what's been referred to as the "modern disconnect".
I also learned today that I love golf. I was at this sports bar today for two hours waiting for the outlanders to come (they stopped at the hotel, bastardes), and I got really really drunk and watched the 108th US Open. According to Uncle Tony, this means I've moved up to the "next level", loving golf. Cause honestly, I was perfectly content drinking and earnestly watching golf. It's fucking hypnotic. For two hours I watched men walking around greens, and it was FASCINATING. I wonder if the "level" after this includes ripping out my eyes and watching Wolf Blitzer eat them. Modern Disconnect indeed.
(edit: it's tomorrow morning, and I swear, blogs should have breathalyzers. The stuff I just erased was just like tripe, only people like to make soup out of tripe, and this stuff wouldn't even make a good sandwich.)
I also learned today that I love golf. I was at this sports bar today for two hours waiting for the outlanders to come (they stopped at the hotel, bastardes), and I got really really drunk and watched the 108th US Open. According to Uncle Tony, this means I've moved up to the "next level", loving golf. Cause honestly, I was perfectly content drinking and earnestly watching golf. It's fucking hypnotic. For two hours I watched men walking around greens, and it was FASCINATING. I wonder if the "level" after this includes ripping out my eyes and watching Wolf Blitzer eat them. Modern Disconnect indeed.
(edit: it's tomorrow morning, and I swear, blogs should have breathalyzers. The stuff I just erased was just like tripe, only people like to make soup out of tripe, and this stuff wouldn't even make a good sandwich.)
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
It's Hard to Be a Monster in the Summertime
I don't know what it is about 100% humidity and glaring torturous sun, but it makes the Vanquishers antsy. The sun burnt bottom-feeders come from all over, dragging their mules and bottles of whiskey from god knows what evil corner of Nebraska, with the dream to hunt us down, stuff us full of lead, then cram our mouths with styrofoam, and hang our mutilated corpses on a VFW wall. It's hard enough being a monster with this heat. Contrary to popular opinion, monsters prefer temperate climates, with fresh running water and newly mown grass. Summer is awful if you're covered in cartilage plates, and I won't even begin to talk about the armpit sores. The last thing you need is some Spaniard saying Catholic dogma over your head while he's butchering your kneecaps with a stiletto.
The best way to avoid Vanquishers is to blend in with the general population, but with the unfortunate publication of the Ex Boyfriend's Guide To Monsters, and the revelation that Anthony Bourdain feeds on the blood of injured Mexicans, it's becoming more difficult to evade the motherfuckers.
My advice? If you meet someone you suspect might be a Vanquisher, agree with them about everything. Yes, even border control. Vanquishers like to be around items that compliment their naturally obscene egos, and they are more inclined to want to shoot something that isn't serving that purpose. The best thing you can do is make a Vanquisher laugh at another Vanquisher's expense, then they'll waste all their time venting to you about how that Vanquisher really doesn't know his rod from his reel, and the only reason they even got this job was their mustard factory in Beloit went belly up and their wife played WoW with the manager's cousin. All Vanquisher wives are Warcraft FREAKS.
The only thing we ask is that you not throw another Monster under the bus, just to save your own scaly ass. Real Monsters don't do that kind of evil knievel sort of shit. Stay true to our Monster Values! Integrity! Excellence! Golden Rule! Objectives! Profit!
You nonMonsters might be wondering what the hell "Objectives" is doing there, seeing as it's not really a standard, or even a adjective. That's on a need to know basis, so let it go y'all.
The best way to avoid Vanquishers is to blend in with the general population, but with the unfortunate publication of the Ex Boyfriend's Guide To Monsters, and the revelation that Anthony Bourdain feeds on the blood of injured Mexicans, it's becoming more difficult to evade the motherfuckers.
My advice? If you meet someone you suspect might be a Vanquisher, agree with them about everything. Yes, even border control. Vanquishers like to be around items that compliment their naturally obscene egos, and they are more inclined to want to shoot something that isn't serving that purpose. The best thing you can do is make a Vanquisher laugh at another Vanquisher's expense, then they'll waste all their time venting to you about how that Vanquisher really doesn't know his rod from his reel, and the only reason they even got this job was their mustard factory in Beloit went belly up and their wife played WoW with the manager's cousin. All Vanquisher wives are Warcraft FREAKS.
The only thing we ask is that you not throw another Monster under the bus, just to save your own scaly ass. Real Monsters don't do that kind of evil knievel sort of shit. Stay true to our Monster Values! Integrity! Excellence! Golden Rule! Objectives! Profit!
You nonMonsters might be wondering what the hell "Objectives" is doing there, seeing as it's not really a standard, or even a adjective. That's on a need to know basis, so let it go y'all.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Cave Du Vin is a Portal to the Netherworlds, and in the Netherworld I am extremely content.
I forgot how great some wine and cheese in a dark cellar can make you feel about yourself, especially while discussing the economic geography of Milwaukee. It can make you forget that you look awful in everything you wear, and that you need to stop staring at your exasperating completely untouchable crush during work, and that you were ever mad at anything in the entire world ever, including the man who loves you most in the world.
Possibly I am the universe's cheapest date.
For instance, let's talk about Iron Man.
I saw it last night. It was AWESOME. It was everything I hoped Transformers would be. Giant metal man crashing against other Giant metal man. Robert Downey Jr. was absolutely perfect playing himself. I was able to completely get into it despite the obviousness. Hurrah for them! I found both substance and sustenance, especially in the glib little fight scene where Jeff Daniels is venting his anger and resentment against the little reformed playboy he helped create. If only corporate warfare could involve steel golems, everyone would be much better off, including the crazy CEOs.
In collaboration with the movie for my Tuesday night mindfuck, I read the part in Lady Chatterly's Lover where Connie expresses her absolute terror at the insanity of society (beginning of Chpt 10?). They should replace Jane Eyre in sophomore reading classes with this book. It's the most modern novel I've read in the last ten years, and I've read it ten times at least in the last two. Where she looks in the mirror at 27 and notices her body withering for lack of sex? Absolutely where I'm at right now folks. Dead on.
Tomorrow night we'll be back to Top Chef commentary, but for now, let's ask this...Is the reason that feminism keeps not winning despite the rise of every other social movement because it's so gigantic of a task? Or because women are so much more sexual than men that we can't stop begging for it, with our clothes, our money, our thoughts? We think we're empowered by having freedom to have more, but in fact we enslave ourselves by wanting to be attractive to everyone? That we gave rise to this movement of spending all our money on shoes and hair and makeup, of being the successful glam girl, deluding ourselves that this was real freedom, but in fact we just want to be loved even more than before, and now we've raised our own standard so high we can't get beyond it? Be powerful and sexy ladies! But god that's hard. That's a full time job. That leaves no room for other considerations. Stop wanting to be fucked so much girls, and we'll someday figure out how to not hate the women who really care about more important things. Like the presidency.
But I know, life is essentially boring if you don't constantly strive to make it otherwise, and constantly striving is hard. But sleeping with people is easy. I'm just saying, if that's what you've got, then keep it easy. Don't make it your full time job.
My full time job these days is magic fairy princess. Only I'm stuck in the body of a bored awkward 20-something. So I don't get benefits.
Also, I fully intend to use the term 20-something while I still can. I like the ambiguousness of 20-something. It can mean any age between 20 and 30...or it can mean how many screwdrivers it takes to convince you I'm enchanting. How many polar bears are left in the world. How many children one woman in Mississippi can produce. How many votes Obama will lose by. How much I spend each day to get to work. How many hours of Project Runway reruns one girl can take in a row. How many days before the world ends because Oprah started to feel neglected and pressed the big red button she has locked up in her secret Reno, NV studio.
Possibly I am the universe's cheapest date.
For instance, let's talk about Iron Man.
I saw it last night. It was AWESOME. It was everything I hoped Transformers would be. Giant metal man crashing against other Giant metal man. Robert Downey Jr. was absolutely perfect playing himself. I was able to completely get into it despite the obviousness. Hurrah for them! I found both substance and sustenance, especially in the glib little fight scene where Jeff Daniels is venting his anger and resentment against the little reformed playboy he helped create. If only corporate warfare could involve steel golems, everyone would be much better off, including the crazy CEOs.
In collaboration with the movie for my Tuesday night mindfuck, I read the part in Lady Chatterly's Lover where Connie expresses her absolute terror at the insanity of society (beginning of Chpt 10?). They should replace Jane Eyre in sophomore reading classes with this book. It's the most modern novel I've read in the last ten years, and I've read it ten times at least in the last two. Where she looks in the mirror at 27 and notices her body withering for lack of sex? Absolutely where I'm at right now folks. Dead on.
Tomorrow night we'll be back to Top Chef commentary, but for now, let's ask this...Is the reason that feminism keeps not winning despite the rise of every other social movement because it's so gigantic of a task? Or because women are so much more sexual than men that we can't stop begging for it, with our clothes, our money, our thoughts? We think we're empowered by having freedom to have more, but in fact we enslave ourselves by wanting to be attractive to everyone? That we gave rise to this movement of spending all our money on shoes and hair and makeup, of being the successful glam girl, deluding ourselves that this was real freedom, but in fact we just want to be loved even more than before, and now we've raised our own standard so high we can't get beyond it? Be powerful and sexy ladies! But god that's hard. That's a full time job. That leaves no room for other considerations. Stop wanting to be fucked so much girls, and we'll someday figure out how to not hate the women who really care about more important things. Like the presidency.
But I know, life is essentially boring if you don't constantly strive to make it otherwise, and constantly striving is hard. But sleeping with people is easy. I'm just saying, if that's what you've got, then keep it easy. Don't make it your full time job.
My full time job these days is magic fairy princess. Only I'm stuck in the body of a bored awkward 20-something. So I don't get benefits.
Also, I fully intend to use the term 20-something while I still can. I like the ambiguousness of 20-something. It can mean any age between 20 and 30...or it can mean how many screwdrivers it takes to convince you I'm enchanting. How many polar bears are left in the world. How many children one woman in Mississippi can produce. How many votes Obama will lose by. How much I spend each day to get to work. How many hours of Project Runway reruns one girl can take in a row. How many days before the world ends because Oprah started to feel neglected and pressed the big red button she has locked up in her secret Reno, NV studio.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Sundays at the Zoo With...
Yesterday, took some of the outtowners (outlanders) to the Cleveland Zoo + Rainforest...
Isn't that a pretty picture? Yeah, except yesterday was over 90 all day, so it was a bit more like this...
The animals were all lounging in their caves, or swimming, or being dead.
You think that's a lollipop, but its in fact his dead brother he's been keeping in the polar bear enclosure, just for a day like this.
I think we were almost dead too, by the end there. We walked most of it, and after Saturday night, I felt like I was finished before we even got started. However, they were real fucking troopers, and we spent about 4 hours there.
The thing about being at the zoo too long is that it makes me all contemplative. I get mad looking at the elephant enclosure (no grass! do you think they CHOOSE to live in a dust cloud! They are smarter than five of you!), and I feel weirdly slave-owner like when watching the monkeys. Really, the fish, birds, and giraffes are my only truly guilt free part of that experience. Cause let's face it, giraffes are probably really dumb.
Then we went to Prosperity for dinner, and it got all thunderstormy. It was nice, being all red and chilly, with beer and food and whatever we wanted on the jukebox, while it ranted and raved dark outside, but broke before we left, with that wonderful green charcoal filter the Lake Erie skies have me addicted to.
Then I slept
for not quite as long as I wanted, considering I'm on my last homestretch of waking up at the ungodly anthill hour of 6am.
And when I got home, Sean had done all my dishes!
So it's been a very long hot, exhausting weekend, and I would really really like someone to take me on a surprise 6 month vacation to Patagonia. I'm looking at you, Mr. Lakshmi Mittal. Wasn't that part of the LTV steel mill package, you would take random white girls and send them to desolate but incredibly interesting places?
By the way, I'm not really the type of girl. to dream about weddings, but if I ever do get married, I'm wearing an Indian dress. Which Mr. Mittal can buy for me too.
In fact, I think I should get something just like that to wear to job interviews. "Yes, I am proficient in Excel, Powerpoint, and Word. I work very well in a mixed dynamic, but especially with goal-oriented creative individuals who can multitask your ass into oblivion. Also I am a goddamn magic fairy princess. No, for realsies."
Isn't that a pretty picture? Yeah, except yesterday was over 90 all day, so it was a bit more like this...
The animals were all lounging in their caves, or swimming, or being dead.
You think that's a lollipop, but its in fact his dead brother he's been keeping in the polar bear enclosure, just for a day like this.
I think we were almost dead too, by the end there. We walked most of it, and after Saturday night, I felt like I was finished before we even got started. However, they were real fucking troopers, and we spent about 4 hours there.
The thing about being at the zoo too long is that it makes me all contemplative. I get mad looking at the elephant enclosure (no grass! do you think they CHOOSE to live in a dust cloud! They are smarter than five of you!), and I feel weirdly slave-owner like when watching the monkeys. Really, the fish, birds, and giraffes are my only truly guilt free part of that experience. Cause let's face it, giraffes are probably really dumb.
Then we went to Prosperity for dinner, and it got all thunderstormy. It was nice, being all red and chilly, with beer and food and whatever we wanted on the jukebox, while it ranted and raved dark outside, but broke before we left, with that wonderful green charcoal filter the Lake Erie skies have me addicted to.
Then I slept
for not quite as long as I wanted, considering I'm on my last homestretch of waking up at the ungodly anthill hour of 6am.
And when I got home, Sean had done all my dishes!
So it's been a very long hot, exhausting weekend, and I would really really like someone to take me on a surprise 6 month vacation to Patagonia. I'm looking at you, Mr. Lakshmi Mittal. Wasn't that part of the LTV steel mill package, you would take random white girls and send them to desolate but incredibly interesting places?
By the way, I'm not really the type of girl. to dream about weddings, but if I ever do get married, I'm wearing an Indian dress. Which Mr. Mittal can buy for me too.
In fact, I think I should get something just like that to wear to job interviews. "Yes, I am proficient in Excel, Powerpoint, and Word. I work very well in a mixed dynamic, but especially with goal-oriented creative individuals who can multitask your ass into oblivion. Also I am a goddamn magic fairy princess. No, for realsies."
Sunday, June 8, 2008
First, the track. Took some girls there yesterday to watch a race or two. We placed our bets for Belmont, and then took off for the hotel bar, where the only other patrons were a wedding party that gave us curious looks, our t-shirts and betting slips strewn across the table not making necessarily the best first impression. BIG BROWN LOST, and really El Paso Redhead and I were heartbroken, crushed, demolished, deflated, it sucked like a three dollar whore in Mexico he ends up LAST? Can't bear to watch the news to find out why, but maybe now never again a Triple Crown Winner?
Drank at the bar, then went out and fuddled around Chagrin Blvd looking for alcohol, the liquor store goes through several linguistic variations, and people tell me to go Walgreens, but fuck, Walgreens doesn't have alcohol! But it does when it's not in Cleveland? Meaning outside city limits, meaning I guess when they are less worried they will get robbed?
Drank the rest of the night once again, suck the pink out, replace my blood with dirty dishwater. I am feeling particularly dishwater right now, but possibly that comes from sleeping with my clothes, guaranteed to make you look worse than you feel. The rest of the evening shall remain shrouded, cause quite frankly I shouldn't have ever told any of them of the existence of this blog, and then I could write whatever I wanted about that whole cast of characters. All Type A they tell me, they insist I am too, guess I'm just too old school on the personality types, or maybe I never got along well with the letter A, and its true I don't like names like Allen or Alicia, or proper nouns like Angstrom or adjectives like avuncular, which surprisingly would have felt very at home last night being applied liberally. In the last sentence I wrote, I used A 17 times. I have to learn to accept ALL the letters of the alphabet, not just the round ones. But round little girls like round little things. That's a meaningless little sentence. Not enough A's.
Okay, so now I'm off tangent. This has been a weird week. No Sean around, no more Hillary, no Big Brown, the things on which the spring was built are withering in this heat. I need cooler climates, or to shed the protective layers of undercoat around me. I need to brush the loose furry stuff out of my brain, get it sleek and smooth and wet again.
Unfortunately, that's probably not happening this weekend, so we'll just have to wait till next weekend. Again. Next weekend, I'm drinking tea.
Drank at the bar, then went out and fuddled around Chagrin Blvd looking for alcohol, the liquor store goes through several linguistic variations, and people tell me to go Walgreens, but fuck, Walgreens doesn't have alcohol! But it does when it's not in Cleveland? Meaning outside city limits, meaning I guess when they are less worried they will get robbed?
Drank the rest of the night once again, suck the pink out, replace my blood with dirty dishwater. I am feeling particularly dishwater right now, but possibly that comes from sleeping with my clothes, guaranteed to make you look worse than you feel. The rest of the evening shall remain shrouded, cause quite frankly I shouldn't have ever told any of them of the existence of this blog, and then I could write whatever I wanted about that whole cast of characters. All Type A they tell me, they insist I am too, guess I'm just too old school on the personality types, or maybe I never got along well with the letter A, and its true I don't like names like Allen or Alicia, or proper nouns like Angstrom or adjectives like avuncular, which surprisingly would have felt very at home last night being applied liberally. In the last sentence I wrote, I used A 17 times. I have to learn to accept ALL the letters of the alphabet, not just the round ones. But round little girls like round little things. That's a meaningless little sentence. Not enough A's.
Okay, so now I'm off tangent. This has been a weird week. No Sean around, no more Hillary, no Big Brown, the things on which the spring was built are withering in this heat. I need cooler climates, or to shed the protective layers of undercoat around me. I need to brush the loose furry stuff out of my brain, get it sleek and smooth and wet again.
Unfortunately, that's probably not happening this weekend, so we'll just have to wait till next weekend. Again. Next weekend, I'm drinking tea.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Last night, went and hung out with the darling out-of-towners in the darling Down of Town. Definitely drank too much. Walked with my head mostly looking up, since skyscrapers exist solely for that reason, to make great views for drunk girls stumbling back to their cars in silent parking garages, heels in hand. Driving home was like skating thru black ice water, totally empty, still, smooth. None of the anxiety that other drivers bring to the mix. Maybe if I do that enough times, it will cure me of the rush hour blues. Between getting there and leaving, there was a minor blur of dancing and bullriding and the young amateur wrestling version of the lounge singer from Lost In Translation. Everybody looked familiar, even though I knew none of them. The terms pretty and ugly entered no ones vernacular last night, Cleveland providing the reality plane thats miles away from qualifying for either. Everyone's Equally Ether.
Now of course it's Thunderstorm gathering on a Saturday afternoon time, and my head is a blowup doll being fucked thru the nose. There is a planned trip to the track (Big Brown! We yell at random times last night), but my damned ankle seems disconnected from the lower leg, it's floating around in painful fleshy freespace down there. I'm surprised to see I'm not covered in bruises, but no, pale discolored white all around. Sucked out all the pink from me, he did. Of course M. isn't making it any better by showing me this first thing in the morning. Seriously dude, this is the kind of thing best saved for Wednesdays. I'll never forgive you.
Like, seriously, what?
Now of course it's Thunderstorm gathering on a Saturday afternoon time, and my head is a blowup doll being fucked thru the nose. There is a planned trip to the track (Big Brown! We yell at random times last night), but my damned ankle seems disconnected from the lower leg, it's floating around in painful fleshy freespace down there. I'm surprised to see I'm not covered in bruises, but no, pale discolored white all around. Sucked out all the pink from me, he did. Of course M. isn't making it any better by showing me this first thing in the morning. Seriously dude, this is the kind of thing best saved for Wednesdays. I'll never forgive you.
Like, seriously, what?
Friday, June 6, 2008
The big question on my mind these days is, if we have microbe computers, string theory, and the ability to manufacture life, why the hell do I still have to drive to work? Not the working part mind you, the "not having a public transportation system" part. I bet it would do a hell of a lot more for the environment if the city think tanks stopped worrying about GreenSpace, and started wrapping their neurons around magnetic trains.
I'm a bit sore about it, is all.
I'm a bit sore about it, is all.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Top Chef Live Blog
It's the last two episodes of Top Chef, and since I'm not doing anything else tonight, let's Live Blog!
Everyone was surprised last week when Lisa, angry can't-cook-shrimp Lisa, made it into the Top Three. It was the peanut butter mashed potatoes that put her through. And I think everyone is betting money that she goes home tonight. It's almost not worth watching the episode tonight. I personally can't believe she made it this far. But regardless, this is going to be a contest between Stephanie and Richard. Richard is probably more talented, but Stephanie is consistent and sincere. I don't know why sincerity is so important to these judges, since I don't recall sincerity having any sort of taste. She's definitely won way more challenges than Richard, but his dishes have always been so much more interesting. Oh and I forgot Antonia is in this too. I forget about her a lot. Just thank god I don't have to see Spike's stupid hats anymore. Douche.
10:00pm Everyone's going to Puerto Rico. It's not a state, but hey, Bravo loves ya. This is the best part of the show because everyone went home for six months and got to get their shit together, as well as get haircuts, which was pretty crucial for some of them. So the dishes usually get a lot more complex and awesome here. Stephanie went to Thailand. Antonia opened a restaurant. Richard's faux hawk got even weirder. Wow, even Richard said that no one expected Lisa to be here. Lisa cut her hair and gained a bunch of weight, so I bet she moved in with her girlfriend.
10:03 Puerto Rican cuisine huh? Padma is wearing a parachute as a shirt. Let's make fritters out of plantains! I love plantains. Raw, they're like working with damp cardboard. How much you wanna bet someone fucks up and uses raw plantains?
10:06 Quick fire. Stephanie makes a pork and shrimp fritter, and does it well. Antonio does crispy oysters with no plantains. Oops. Lisa makes duck, with mango papaya salsa, and chorizo fritters. Hard to tell by their faces how that went over. Richard makes pork meatballs with plantain sauce. He made a raw plantain salsa? Oh Richard, not you.That sounds nasty. Antonia loses and oh, surprise, Stephanie wins. I think the editing is starting to hint that she's the one, but you never know. The Bravo editors are the best in the world at fucking with you, better even than E!
10:11pm Padma shows off her skills at whirling her skirts around, while old wrinkled guys shuffle their feet in some approximation of a street party. Lisa is wearing a t-shirt that says “Kosher”. God do I need to put my air conditioner in here. I miss Andrew.
10:15pm So the challenge today is a garden party where they have to make two dishes using a whole pig. And Andrew's back! They bring back four guys to be sous chefs. Stephanie assigns them all and she picks Dale. Lisa gets Andrew (bitch). Richard gets Spike (poor guy), and Antonia get Nikki (crack whore face). It's butchering time! Someone should bury it and cook it in a pit.
10:19pm Richard thinks its a bad idea to do Puerto Rican food in Puerto Rico. Is he right? Antonia is so screwed. The pigs have no eyes. What if someone wanted to make eye pudding?
10:22 Andrew is so awesome. Pigeon Wars!
10:23 Lisa is “a gray cloud in the kitchen”. I'd say she's an Indigo Girls Thunderstorm.
10:24 Dale left the pork belly out over night! Wow, that sucks. Hopefully Steph's good enough to make up for it. I think she'll be fine, since Dale is easily one of the best cooks on the whole show, and also they've already slated her to win.
10:26 Nikki fucked up the rice, and she's blaming Antonia for it. She's like evil incarnate.
10:33 I can't believe Stephanie made a blini again. She almost got sent home for the last one, like 7 shows ago. What was she thinking?
There's a First Lady of Puerto Rico?
10:35 Well the pancakes seemed to go well. I think she's safe. They look like charred bits of play-doh, but whatever.
Richard talks to much. Everything is an homage. Each dish is part of a “painting”. He's one of those people who seems kinda cool but just is so LAME sometimes. He's like, 35 lame.
Lisa and Antonia get nothing except Antonia's peas seem dry.
I just realized the new Toyota Corolla commercials feature a royal crest with the inscription “Corolla the Tenth”. But it's a commercial for the 2009?
10:43 Judgment! Lisa and Antonia are totally on the chopping block here. They're not even bothering to hide it like they normally do. Lisa makes a face like she swallowed some sour cum.
That, by the way, is what comes up when I search for "sour cum" images with my filter on.
They call in Richard and Steph as the favorites, love all around, blah blah blah.
Yay Richard wins the challenge! He gets a car! He's all like “what? What?” He wins a Corolla. Gee whiz.
Antonia and Lisa go in. Lisa needs to learn to not fold her arms constantly. But at least she's learned to smile. Maybe she saw some earlier episodes where she was glaring like an oversexed ogre.
Antonia's peas fucked it all up. If Lisa makes it to the top three, I will fucking throw my cellphone against the TV. There is no such thing as al dente peas. I bet it's Nikki's fault.
10:55 Decision?
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Someone needs to buy me a new cellphone.
Lisa is all like “I know you guys think the wrong person went home, but a congratulations would be nice.” and Richard is all like “Yay, congratulations, you won a bronze medal, what do you want?”
Everyone was surprised last week when Lisa, angry can't-cook-shrimp Lisa, made it into the Top Three. It was the peanut butter mashed potatoes that put her through. And I think everyone is betting money that she goes home tonight. It's almost not worth watching the episode tonight. I personally can't believe she made it this far. But regardless, this is going to be a contest between Stephanie and Richard. Richard is probably more talented, but Stephanie is consistent and sincere. I don't know why sincerity is so important to these judges, since I don't recall sincerity having any sort of taste. She's definitely won way more challenges than Richard, but his dishes have always been so much more interesting. Oh and I forgot Antonia is in this too. I forget about her a lot. Just thank god I don't have to see Spike's stupid hats anymore. Douche.
10:00pm Everyone's going to Puerto Rico. It's not a state, but hey, Bravo loves ya. This is the best part of the show because everyone went home for six months and got to get their shit together, as well as get haircuts, which was pretty crucial for some of them. So the dishes usually get a lot more complex and awesome here. Stephanie went to Thailand. Antonia opened a restaurant. Richard's faux hawk got even weirder. Wow, even Richard said that no one expected Lisa to be here. Lisa cut her hair and gained a bunch of weight, so I bet she moved in with her girlfriend.
10:03 Puerto Rican cuisine huh? Padma is wearing a parachute as a shirt. Let's make fritters out of plantains! I love plantains. Raw, they're like working with damp cardboard. How much you wanna bet someone fucks up and uses raw plantains?
10:06 Quick fire. Stephanie makes a pork and shrimp fritter, and does it well. Antonio does crispy oysters with no plantains. Oops. Lisa makes duck, with mango papaya salsa, and chorizo fritters. Hard to tell by their faces how that went over. Richard makes pork meatballs with plantain sauce. He made a raw plantain salsa? Oh Richard, not you.That sounds nasty. Antonia loses and oh, surprise, Stephanie wins. I think the editing is starting to hint that she's the one, but you never know. The Bravo editors are the best in the world at fucking with you, better even than E!
10:11pm Padma shows off her skills at whirling her skirts around, while old wrinkled guys shuffle their feet in some approximation of a street party. Lisa is wearing a t-shirt that says “Kosher”. God do I need to put my air conditioner in here. I miss Andrew.
10:15pm So the challenge today is a garden party where they have to make two dishes using a whole pig. And Andrew's back! They bring back four guys to be sous chefs. Stephanie assigns them all and she picks Dale. Lisa gets Andrew (bitch). Richard gets Spike (poor guy), and Antonia get Nikki (crack whore face). It's butchering time! Someone should bury it and cook it in a pit.
10:19pm Richard thinks its a bad idea to do Puerto Rican food in Puerto Rico. Is he right? Antonia is so screwed. The pigs have no eyes. What if someone wanted to make eye pudding?
10:22 Andrew is so awesome. Pigeon Wars!
10:23 Lisa is “a gray cloud in the kitchen”. I'd say she's an Indigo Girls Thunderstorm.
10:24 Dale left the pork belly out over night! Wow, that sucks. Hopefully Steph's good enough to make up for it. I think she'll be fine, since Dale is easily one of the best cooks on the whole show, and also they've already slated her to win.
10:26 Nikki fucked up the rice, and she's blaming Antonia for it. She's like evil incarnate.
10:33 I can't believe Stephanie made a blini again. She almost got sent home for the last one, like 7 shows ago. What was she thinking?
There's a First Lady of Puerto Rico?
10:35 Well the pancakes seemed to go well. I think she's safe. They look like charred bits of play-doh, but whatever.
Richard talks to much. Everything is an homage. Each dish is part of a “painting”. He's one of those people who seems kinda cool but just is so LAME sometimes. He's like, 35 lame.
Lisa and Antonia get nothing except Antonia's peas seem dry.
I just realized the new Toyota Corolla commercials feature a royal crest with the inscription “Corolla the Tenth”. But it's a commercial for the 2009?
10:43 Judgment! Lisa and Antonia are totally on the chopping block here. They're not even bothering to hide it like they normally do. Lisa makes a face like she swallowed some sour cum.
That, by the way, is what comes up when I search for "sour cum" images with my filter on.
They call in Richard and Steph as the favorites, love all around, blah blah blah.
Yay Richard wins the challenge! He gets a car! He's all like “what? What?” He wins a Corolla. Gee whiz.
Antonia and Lisa go in. Lisa needs to learn to not fold her arms constantly. But at least she's learned to smile. Maybe she saw some earlier episodes where she was glaring like an oversexed ogre.
Antonia's peas fucked it all up. If Lisa makes it to the top three, I will fucking throw my cellphone against the TV. There is no such thing as al dente peas. I bet it's Nikki's fault.
10:55 Decision?
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Someone needs to buy me a new cellphone.
Lisa is all like “I know you guys think the wrong person went home, but a congratulations would be nice.” and Richard is all like “Yay, congratulations, you won a bronze medal, what do you want?”
Somebody said "lists are good for you"...if they didn't, well I'm saying it now.
So here is a list of everything in my fridge. I'm recording this moment so that years from now I can look back and say "eww, what kind of heathen was I?" or "Oh my god, I'm exactly the same as I was at 28."
- week old 1/2 gallon of milk
- two half full bottles of green olives with pimentos (I'm afraid one went bad, so I bought another. Do olives go bad?)
- three half empty bottles of wine, two cheap reds and one decent white
- a pound of red potatoes
- three sticks of butter
- one thing of garlic that has sprouted
- mustard
- a 1/4 of shaved turkey (probably gone bad)
- one very stale quarter of a loaf of Italian bread
- 1 1/2 pounds of kielbasa
- a bag of parsley
- three jars of hemp oil
- an empty 2 liter of Coke
- relish
- maple syrup
- mayonnaise
- parmesan cheese
- a jar of pesto
- a container of chocolate frosting
- mango viniagrette
- organic beef stock
Freezer?
- a whole duckling
- three pounds of frozen mixed berries
- a quarter of a bottle of Paramount vodka
Cupboards?
- Cheerios
- flour
- brown sugar
- assorted spices
- sea salt
- cornstarch
- 2 jugs of vinegar
- olive oil
- red wine vinegar
- cupcake foils
- three different kinds of Lipton sides which are really all variations of macaroni and cheese (did you know it's not called Lipton anymore? It's Knorr. Fucked.)
- a half a bottle of Cafe Patron (coffee flavored tequila, highly recommended)
- bag of sugar
- plastic silverware
- assorted air fresheners.
So what does this say about me as a person? I don't buy real meals, but I cook a lot for other people. Buying lunchmeat is a waste of time. I put too much stock in condiments. I won't cook a whole duck just for myself. I waited four months before someone bought me silverware for my apartment. I take short cuts when it comes to odor control. I would obviously not survive very long if I was snowed in or confined by mercenary rebels laying siege to my house. However, the vodka would come in handy for any medical emergencies should that occur.
Mostly what it says is I live here. This is probably the first time my fridge has said that. Usually my fridge says stuff like "I don't know how to throw out takeout food" and "I believe I can survive successfully on only ice cream".
There's not much else going on. Someday I will post the very cool pictures from my trip to Plum Brook Station. In training right now, there's a guy who looks exactly like an ex-boyfriend from a long time ago, only skinnier and more groomed. He has the EXACT same voice though, which is really throwing me off in class. It's like every time he talks, I get flashbacks.
So here is a list of everything in my fridge. I'm recording this moment so that years from now I can look back and say "eww, what kind of heathen was I?" or "Oh my god, I'm exactly the same as I was at 28."
- week old 1/2 gallon of milk
- two half full bottles of green olives with pimentos (I'm afraid one went bad, so I bought another. Do olives go bad?)
- three half empty bottles of wine, two cheap reds and one decent white
- a pound of red potatoes
- three sticks of butter
- one thing of garlic that has sprouted
- mustard
- a 1/4 of shaved turkey (probably gone bad)
- one very stale quarter of a loaf of Italian bread
- 1 1/2 pounds of kielbasa
- a bag of parsley
- three jars of hemp oil
- an empty 2 liter of Coke
- relish
- maple syrup
- mayonnaise
- parmesan cheese
- a jar of pesto
- a container of chocolate frosting
- mango viniagrette
- organic beef stock
Freezer?
- a whole duckling
- three pounds of frozen mixed berries
- a quarter of a bottle of Paramount vodka
Cupboards?
- Cheerios
- flour
- brown sugar
- assorted spices
- sea salt
- cornstarch
- 2 jugs of vinegar
- olive oil
- red wine vinegar
- cupcake foils
- three different kinds of Lipton sides which are really all variations of macaroni and cheese (did you know it's not called Lipton anymore? It's Knorr. Fucked.)
- a half a bottle of Cafe Patron (coffee flavored tequila, highly recommended)
- bag of sugar
- plastic silverware
- assorted air fresheners.
So what does this say about me as a person? I don't buy real meals, but I cook a lot for other people. Buying lunchmeat is a waste of time. I put too much stock in condiments. I won't cook a whole duck just for myself. I waited four months before someone bought me silverware for my apartment. I take short cuts when it comes to odor control. I would obviously not survive very long if I was snowed in or confined by mercenary rebels laying siege to my house. However, the vodka would come in handy for any medical emergencies should that occur.
Mostly what it says is I live here. This is probably the first time my fridge has said that. Usually my fridge says stuff like "I don't know how to throw out takeout food" and "I believe I can survive successfully on only ice cream".
There's not much else going on. Someday I will post the very cool pictures from my trip to Plum Brook Station. In training right now, there's a guy who looks exactly like an ex-boyfriend from a long time ago, only skinnier and more groomed. He has the EXACT same voice though, which is really throwing me off in class. It's like every time he talks, I get flashbacks.
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