Adventures of The Yellow Peril

HIBIDY JIBIDY

I really have no idea how to tell you this, so I'm just going to start with a photo:

You're probably thinking, aww, how cute.  Someone gave the Yellow Peril, T, and AE a hot-glue gun, and after they went out and pounded 20 beers and mainlined some heroin, they came back to the house and made me a present. 

But no.  What I want you to take from this photo is the lesson that, wherever you are in life or however bad things get for you, at least you didn't go on a date with the guy who gave you this as a token of his affection. 

Yes, you heard me right.  AE went out on Friday with someone who presented her with this lovely parting gift.  The only mitigating facts you need to know are this:

1.  It's supposed to be a cheerleader/vampire

2.  Because AE's writing a horror movie about a cheerleader/vampire

3.  And it is constructed out of used consumable bathroom and kitchen items.

This structure has left me at such a loss for words that I can only show you more detailed photos of this creepy monstrosity.  Since Friday, we've been hosting tours for people to come by and take a look at it, and we've also been hiding it in places (bathroom counter, tucked into bed, inside the bathtub) to freak the hell out of each other.

This would be the cheerleader face...

...and this would be the vampire face, complete with what I believe is a piano keyboard tie.

This is a closeup of the skirt.  To maintain the structural integrity of the statue, the skirt coquettishly hides two dental-floss boxes.

The q-tip/toothpick arms are holding pom-poms made out of curling ribbon.  Look at the imperfections in the curls.  This leads me to believe that the ribbons were not purchased pre-curled but rather carefully curled with scissors.

And this would be my befuddled and slightly frightened initial reaction to said statue.  Pardon the lack of makeup and the ratty t-shirt.  I was pulled out of bed to observe this wondrous creation, and rightfully so. 

I'm pretty sure that T is petrified at something the statue just said.  Either that, or this photo was taken shortly after the creature unhinged its jaws and spit forth a giant ball of flame.  And by flame, I mean crazy.

Listen, people.  I don't ask for much.  This blog is really mainly just for my own entertainment, but my god, if you people don't comment on this, then I will just have to believe that the rest of the world is crazy, and I'm going to have to move to Mauritius or something to escape you loony bastards.

I REALLY NEED TO START STUDYING

Okay, first of all, if you're reading this post and you haven't seen Capote, stop reading and go.  Immediately.  It's insanely good, and makes me want to have Phillip Seymour Hoffman's creepy-ass babies.  Seriously, they'd be awesome children, what with my stunning good looks and irrepressible personality, but creepy as all hell (honestly, though, I'd probably have a genetic hand in the creepy part, too). 

Kanye came with me to the SBA tailgate this weekend, which reminded me of first year, when D. Ro got us kicked out of a football game for 1) jumping onto the field; and 2) having two flasks in his cargo pants pockets (seriously, D, if you're still wearing them, we have to have a serious conversation about age and time-appropriate apparel) that didn't even belong to him.  By the way, if you're ever wondering to yourself why the SBA doesn't do more tailgates, it's because it inconveniences everyone on the SBA and whoever they tangentially associate with.  Not only did I have to give up my car for a night, but I had to wake up super-early to go pick up barbecue, Kanye had to be at the house at 10, and T and AE had at least 3 car mishaps involving borrowing vehicles and parking (or lack thereof).  In short, it's a cluster fuck of epic proportions.

Also, I realized this weekend that I have a serious illness when it comes to food when Kanye took me to Uchi (no tasting menu, but one of these days, I swear) and we had the sawagani, which are these tiny Japanese crabs that they deep fry and then sprinkle with kosher salt.  You pop the whole crab, no bigger than an inch in diameter, into your mouth, and it tastes like a potato chip with a warm, sweet inside.  As Kanye dramatically passed out on the seat next to him upon eating one of these delectable creatures, I found myself wondering whether you could do the same to the tiny Charleston fiddler crabs that you see all over my parents' dock.  Then I thought about how you'd catch the little buggers, because they move really fast and generally fear humans.  With a net?  A pot?  Could you stun them somehow, in order to slow them down?

I know, I know.  Serious.  Mental. Problems.

Right now, I'm holed up in my room because people are filming a movie at our house.  I thought it would be wicked cool and that I would get to be an extra, but after I accidentally ate some of their props (how was I supposed to know that donuts and juice weren't for breakfast), I felt the production would have benefited from my absence.  I'm fairly certain that feeling was mutual.

Also, never ever watch "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" in the same day as "Capote."  I had nightmares about oompa-loompas trying to kill me last night.

CHAMPAGNE CAMPAIGN

This past weekend, Megs threw J a bachelorette party, and I learned a couple of things:

1) Not everyone gets as excited about me about the prospect of getting whacked in the face with a gay man's wahoo.

2) If you think you're being adventurous and daring by ordering the "pig" entree at Two Urban Licks, what you're really getting is a glorified version of pork 'n' beans.  With the apostrophes and the blue-collar "n". 

3) When at a club, if a man who is shorter than you approaches you for a bump-and-grind session on the dance floor and you would rather eat churd than engage in that kind of sado-masochism, gently (i.e., patronizingly) pat him on the head, in beat to the music.

4) Lump crab meat?  Yum.  With avocado?  YUM.  And goat cheese?  I'm pretty much cashed.

Also, I have discovered that, when it comes to playing golf, I live by the philosophy of less is more.  Like a samurai, I play with only two clubs, a 5-iron and a pitching wedge. 

Anyway, that's it for me, for now.  If you're in Atlanta, do you want to go to dim sum on Sunday?

SINUS AND MUCUS

Have you met my new friends?  They've been chilling out in my nose, chest, and throat area for going on 3 weeks.   This annoys me, for several reasons.

So I have a sinus infection for basically one week less than the total amount of time I've been in Atlanta.  I haven't lived here for two years, and now everyone, including the people I work with, probably think I've got some naturally nasal voice with a constant mucus drip coming out of my nose.   

I'd also heard that washing down your antibiotic with a glass of infused pomegranate vodka really cures up that infection, but I just don't get that same kind of warm fuzzy feeling that everyone raves about.  It tastes like burning.

Also, you know what isn't cool about a bachelorette party?  Being that girl at the club who, whenever some dude approaches to talk to one of your girlfriends, you cough.  In their face.  Works well for warding off the creepy ones. 

WHERE THE HEART IS

Okay, you know who you are, and you know why I'm posting this.  I can't change where I'm supposed to be.

American Cities That Best Fit You:

70% Atlanta

65% Austin

60% Honolulu

60% Las Vegas

50% Chicago

Which American Cities Best Fit You?

But look, if I change the area of the country that I'd most like to be in to "Northeast," look which city gets added:

American Cities That Best Fit You:

65% Atlanta

60% Austin

60% Honolulu

60% Las Vegas

55% Philadelphia

Which American Cities Best Fit You?

SICKY

I'm going on Day 5 of being sick. 

On Monday, I had a sore throat, so I bought all kinds of cough drops and drank tea with honey and lemon in it all day at work.  By Wednesday, the sore throat was gone, but I had the worst stuffy nose, so much so that I thought I was allergic to work.  Maybe I am, but I think that's a different issue.

Yesterday, I came home feeling the worst I've felt yet, so I stopped by CVS and bought my trusty old childhood remedy: Dimetapp.  You people may laugh, but that stuff works on my 26-year-old body like it's the magic wand of healing.  I wanted to go to bed early, but Megs came over all stressed out because she's just started this technology certification class to get her specialist degree.  The question everyone is asking that knows her is, how does someone who didn't have even have a web-based e-mail account until The Peril gave her the gift of G-mail like, 2 weeks ago, all of a sudden end up a specialist in technology?

So I sat up with her, propped up on pillows, to show her how to make a presentation in Power Point.  Around 10 PM I took another shot of Dimetapp, which felt like taking a shot of happy, and I went to bed.

This morning, I woke up with no stuffy nose, but the sore throat is back.  Damn. It.

Anyway, I know this post isn't that interesting, but you could try calling me to entertain me this weekend while I'm laid up in bed.  That would be a lot better than stalking me via my blog, you psycho.

A-HOLES

Have you ever wanted to beat up a few people for somebody else, just because you cared about that person and you hated the fact that they've been wronged by someone?

Well, I tell ya, if I acted on that impulse every time I felt it in the last few weeks, I would've 1) beaten a guy with a cellphone; 2) kicked a girl in the face; and 3) poured hot gravy all over some dude's crotch.

I mean, I'm really upset here.  My best friend has been dumped by a guy with really no explanation (Don't feed me that "He's just not that into you" bullhonky.  After 2 years, he's got to be into you.  He's just a jerk.).  Someone else I know is having both her heart broken and her feelings hurt.  Figure that one out.

Anyway, girls, if you need someone, I'm wearing cleats, polishing my cell phone, and warming up the gravy right now.

I just wish I was built like The Rock.

RUGRATS

"Where is the f***ing Play Doh? I'm so pissed off!!!"

While T & Kel were out of town this weekend, Alison and I decided to make it a productive weekend and do a bunch of things associated with the house: cleaning, grocery shopping, and yard-tidying (if that's what you call it).

Because no good, thorough house-cleaning can happen without a trip to Wal-Mart for the necessary supplies, we headed out there yesterday to pick up a couple of things: plunger, garden rake, paper towels, etc. (How interesting is this post so far, by the way?) But the trip to Wal-Mart combined with a trip earlier in the day to the grocery store (H.E.B., specifically) made for a pretty interesting day.

In order for you to appreciate this story, I have to start with some background information. My friend B and his wife recently had a baby. It's amazing, really. One day, you're sitting next to your friend in Torts and watching him suck down Jolly Ranchers like it's his job, and the next day, he's a father. And, even though I generally don't think that newborns (as in day-old babies) all that cute, I have to admit that B Junior is pretty darn cute. I think mainly it's because he has a full head of hair. That really does a lot to up the attractiveness quotient of a baby.

Anyway, being a fringe part of B and his wife's trip into parenthood has made me think about babies, too. I know I want to have kids one day, and I hate to brag on myself even more, but I'd like to think of myself as pretty good with kids. Perhaps it's because of my low maturity level and frightening ease at which I am entertained, but either way, I like kids, and they generally like me.

Yesterday, however, I was exposed to the other side of parenthood. While I was at HEB, I watched this unattractive, sticky child scream "I WANT THE PURPLE ONE!" repeatedly until her dad, exhausted and defeated, shoved 7 purple yogurt cups into their cart. I mean, it's one thing to be an obnoxious kid, but to be an obnoxious and unattractive? Eek.

Then, as AE and I traversed the aisles of Wal-Mart in search of the Lowest Common Denominator of humanity, we had two experiences that made me rethink procreation. Well, one, really. The first one is just plain funny. In the dinnerware and silverware aisle, we heard this man say to his wife, "Hey, this aisle is where all them fancy things are." Um, excuse me? Since when have the words "fancy" and "Wal-Mart" ever been conjoined?

The second incident involves the first line of this post. As AE and I wandered into the toy aisle (by accident, okay? Sheesh.), we saw this older woman pushing two children in a cart approaching us. AE and I smiled at first as we saw what we thought was a bemused expression on the woman's face, a kind of look that said, "I'm acting like my children annoy me but they really are adorable, aren't they?" Then, as she got closer, we both recoiled, because the expression on her face was not one of irony: it was pure, unadulterated anger.

Then, right as she wheeled past us, leaving angry grooves in the smooth tile surface of the store, we heard her utter the phrase above.

I mean, I guess I don't really know that much about being a parent, but I hope to God I never have to take Play Doh's name in vain.

By the way, if you get a chance, go see I Heart Huckabees. Preferably with a boy. And movie theater seats covered in velour. Trust me.

I HATE SETH

Seth says that my blog makes me seem like I am desperate for a relationship. Is that true?

A NEW DEALBREAKER

Okay, so don't forget to read the other post below, but I just thought of something else. I have a new dealbreaker when it comes to men: excessive use of the words splendid, delightful, and marvelous.

Only gay men can use those words without serious consequences.