Aliens Among Us

There's a new dancer working during my shift at The Boobie Barn and she's freaking me out. There is something a little bit off about her, something not quite right. Don't laugh, but I'm kind of thinking that she might be an alien in a human body. Okay, okay, I know that statement sounds pretty crazy, but I have my reasons. Plus I know a thing or two about invaders from outer space. Remember that time I was abducted by Scientologists?

First of all, here's a picture of her.





Creepy looking, huh? And get this, she calls herself Paris and that's not just her stripper name, it's her real name too. I could almost dismiss her as just another Marilyn Manson lookalike, but for the fact that I have just finished reading an article in The Weekly World News about a reptilian-type race of aliens who have recently infiltrated Earth. Apparently they want to learn our ways so they can conquer and enslave us. People, we can't let this happen! The article helpfully listed eight surefire ways to spot an alien. It's uncanny how this Paris chick fits all of them. Check it out:


1. Aliens often wear huge sunglasses to hide their freakish eyes. Paris wears sunglasses so big you could confuse her with a dragonfly. It almost looks like the plastic is attacking her head. If she isn't wearing her sunglasses, then she wears these strange blue colored contacts. She's definitely hiding something.



2. Aliens are obsessed with technology. They spend hours chatting on cell phones and sending e-mails. But they're not conversing with people -- they're actually transmitting data they've accumulated back to their home worlds. Yep, this bitch lives on the phone, but she never says much besides, "That's hawt." No one would actually have a conversation that boring for hours and hours, would they? Although I do often wonder what the hell people are jabbering on their phones about when they should be driving.



3. Aliens dress in oddly revealing clothes. Aliens find clothing irritates their flesh, so the less of it they wear, the more comfortable they are. They also like to keep their fake human skin exposed to air, to allow it to breathe. Well, this one is harder to prove since none of us at The Boobie Barn wear much clothing, but at least the rest of us wear panties once in a while. Paris never does.




See what I mean?



4. Constant questioning about customs of co-workers. Space aliens who are trying to learn about earth culture might ask questions that seem stupid, Easton said. "For example, a co-worker may ask why so many Americans picnic on the Fourth of July," noted Steiger. Just the other day she asked me if Wal-Mart sold walls. I mean, come on, who is that stupid? It really made me suspicious.



5. Aliens have strange bodily proportions. The newest breeds of aliens attempt to imitate human appearance -- but they never quite get it right. They are like exaggerated ideas of human perfection. Their stomachs are too flat, their chests too big, their faces wrinkle-free. You should see her amazingly big hands and feet! Almost like they should belong to a man. I bet those aliens got their body parts mixed up when designed her human suit.


6. They smell. Aliens use all manner of deodorants, perfumes, or lotions to disguise their natural scent, which is offensive to humans. Well she doesn't smell bad, mostly like cheap cologne, but I've noticed that after she gives a lap dance the customers are covered in a sticky alien goo. They don't seem to mind too much, though. They are even happy to hand over sperm samples to her, but then again Boobie Barn customers are always trying to give away their semen, so I guess that's not overly questionable.


7. Aliens do not understand Earth's sense of humor. Forget what you saw on Mork and Mindy. Aliens find it difficult to understand laughter -- even a simple knock-knock joke can throw them completely off. They might laugh at inappropriate times -- like during a funeral -- or stare blankly at the funniest jokes. She never, ever laughs at my jokes!......Well, okay, no one else does either. Scratch that one.



8. Aliens practice mind control. This one has got to be true. This chick cannot dance, or sing, or do anything the slightest bit entertaining, yet she makes more money than all of us girls combined and has a ton of fans. Alien mind control is the only thing that can possibly explain her popularity. I mean, can you explain it?





This paper tells the truth! You can learn a lot from it. I can't wait to vote for Hillary and Bigfoot. If anyone can save Earth from these evil, soul-sucking extraterrestrials, it's going to be them!


HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Visible

So, I guess I haven't posted very much lately. I don't really have any good reason for not posting. It's certainly not because I've been too busy with my fabulous and fascinating life. Don't I wish! No, I've actually been behaving myself pretty well lately, doing my yoga, following my raw vegan diet without too much cheating, reading a lot of books, and trying not to spend money.

God, I'm dull!

See why I haven't posted? I'm even boring Tucksworth. That monkey no longer bothers to scream and fling poo like he used to whenever I would turn on my Wilco CDs and assume the Lotus position. Instead he just shrugs and goes back to terrorizing the cat.

But now it's 4:30 A.M. on a Saturday night (technically Sunday morning I suppose) and I feel like posting something, dammit! But what?

I was considering writing about the time I met Fabio, but that's kind of a dull story. He just shook my hand, and couldn't have been nicer. (He is, however, even more amazingly cheesy looking up close than you'd imagine.)



You can't believe it's not butter, can you?


I was just about to give up when I remembered Bottle Blonde's excellent post on blogging 101. If you've never been to her blog, please check it out. She's one funny chick, and gorgeous as well. Anyway, she urges everyone to post pictures of themselves and I agree with her. I don't know about you, but whenever I start reading a person's blog, I find myself wondering what they look like. I've kind of developed a mental picture of each of the bloggers that I read regularly, although I'm sure it's completely wrong.

I've been a bit shy about posting pictures of myself, but what the hell? It's not like I have to worry about being dooced. So without further ado, I present you with some dorky pics.




Take the friggin picture already!



Here I am at a family function, completely sober. I can tell I'm sober because I'm smiling my fake smile and looking oh so enthused. Plus, I remember being uncomfortable because I was wearing an ugly dress and barely any makeup. My mom has a cow about dressing appropriately for these types of things. She seems to think that if I'm dressed like a lady, I'll behave like one. As if! You would think she'd know better by now.




Just add alcohol and weeeee!


What a difference two hours and three glasses of wine make! Whenever I drink, I start getting a Paris Hilton wonk eye. Seriously, one of my eyes (usually the left) will bunch up into a squint like a pirate or something. Argggh, matey! It doesn't take much alcohol to get it started either. Two drinks and the eyelid begins its slide. I can usually feel it happening, but by that point I don't care. So many of my pictures have been ruined by that dopey squint.






My hippie hair, ass, and the hideous lamp that my mom just bought.


I took this pic because I was so happy to finally be able to fit into these jeans again that I had to document it. I've never had a weight problem, but these jeans were definitely getting too tight and I was developing a muffin top, much to my chagrin.

In case you've never heard that term, here's the definition:

Muffin Top- The roll of fat that hangs over the top of too-tight, low rise jeans.


Now thanks to the mostly raw vegan diet and some ADD drugs, not only do the jeans fit again, they are even slightly loose. Yay!

If I had good photoshop skills I would caption that picture like one of the LOLZ Cats. I would make it say I CAN'T HAZ CHEEZBURGER! I'Z VEGAN! If somebody wants to do that for me, it would make me laugh. Those damn cats are hilarious.


And finally, I do have a photo of my rack if you want to see it. I took it when I was trying to get a good shot to send to Ms. Smack's "Guess the Blogger's Breasts" challenge. I think it's a pretty demure picture, but my nipple did pop up so I guess that makes it NSFW. I have thoughtfully hidden it just in case you don't want to see, but why wouldn't you? I know I enjoy looking at boobies. Mine aren't real big or anything, but they are spectacular if I do say so myself. Okay, not really, but by some trick of the light the boob that is visible looks fairly good. I doubt I'll ever get a better pic so I'm just going to go with it.



my rack



Well, that's it. I was trying to take a picture of one of my ears to show you how incredibly simian they are, but I'm not having much luck. Maybe next time.

Monday

So, for all my legions of fans (hi, Mom!) who might be wondering what glamorous, hip, and provocative activities I engaged in this weekend, I will tell you if you promise not to be jealous.

I cleaned out my refrigerator.

See, just when you thought this blog couldn't get any more riveting after that amazing post in which I whined about my back problems, I go and pull this out of my hat. Because I'm always thinking of you guys! Hey, it was either this or some more crappy poetry.





No one would ever mistake me for a good housekeeper or anything, but even I have some standards. When I opened up the fridge door early Saturday morning, looking for butter for my toast, I was greeted by the sight of about thirty bowls covered in Saran Wrap. Each little bowl had about a teaspoonful of something that most people wouldn't think to save, like a spoonful of corn, or a dab of macaroni and cheese. No wonder I can never find a clean bowl or a coffee cup. My mom is insane.

Honestly, I can't imagine what she is envisioning when she carefully wraps these little treasures and stores them away. I mean, what hungry person would open up the refrigerator and think to themselves, "Oh goodie, there's a morsel of peas, a bite of chicken flavored Rice-A-Roni, and three rubbery spears of asparagus. Lunch is served!"

Once I tossed all that stuff in the trash, I figured I might as well keep going. Here are some of the more interesting things I found:

Five jars of pickles (all garlic flavored)

Three jars of mustard (one sweet-hot, two Gulden's)

One jar of key lime jelly. Who has ever heard of lime jelly? I don't remember buying that.

One mini bottle of Hypnotiq. I'm not sure how that ended up in my fridge, but I had never tasted it before so I opened it and slugged some down. Blech, it was like drinking expired fruit juice. Really awful. Why do all the rap stars love it?

One jar of Tennessee Chow Chow. It's kind of like relish. Pretty good stuff.

One half empty bottle of Newman's Own ranch dressing, expiration date 11/05.

A mixture of one dried up egg, almond oil, and something I assume might have been milk. It puzzled me until I remembered it was a facial mask recipe that I made up last month and forgot to apply. It was stuck to the bowl like cement. I'm sure it would have tightened my pores.


So to summarize, yes, my weekend was fantastic! And yes, I am a slob who enjoys garlicky pickled products. How was your weekend?

Baby Got Back Troubles

Have you ever thrown your back out? It seems like everyone has at one time or another. I just read that 85% of Americans will experience back pain before the age of 50. How depressing is that? I used to roll my eyes every time my dad started griping about his aches and pains, but now I understand what he was bitching about. I managed to hurt my back pretty good this weekend and it really sucks.

I was messing around on the pole, trying to work up a routine where I do a running back flip, slowly spin around in a circle, then finish by sliding to the floor in the splits (all the while holding a flaming baton in my mouth. Pretty cool, huh?) I'm not sure what happened exactly, but suddenly I felt a kind of ripping sensation in my lower back. And then when I tried to stand up, I couldn't. I've been hobbling around like Quasimodo ever since.




It's not as easy as it looks, people."



Whenever I stand up or sit down, I feel these weird, awful spams in my lower back. I've been laying on a heating pad and trying to do a bit of gentle yoga and it's helped a bit. I went to a chiropractor which also helped a little, but hasn't cured me. I was so desperate for relief that I let Cousin Balki smear my back with some secret Myposian remedy that smells like a mixture of garlic, goat cheese, and mud. It stinks, and he was getting too happy about rubbing it on so I put a stop to that, but if it had worked I'd let him rub away.

If I were a praying sort of person, I'd probably pray about this; but I'm more of a cussing type, so my language has been even more foul than usual. Everything is pissing me off. Like this morning when I gimped into the grocery store and all these people were smiling in my face and saying, "good morning, how are you?" I swear after the seventh time I felt like growling, "Fine, I just can't wait to disembowel you and spread your entrails all over the store. How are you doing?" I wish I had fangs to bare, or claws that I could unleash to warn others away from me. How are southerners so shiny and happy at eight o'clock in the freaking morning?

If anyone knows of any good voodoo spells to cure lower back pain I'd certainly be happy to hear about them.

Five Stupid Poems

Skin
I've tried and tried to pamper my skin
with pricy lotions and sunblocks and organic oils
you'd think it would be soft and creamy as a magnolia
but no, it looks like crap!
Fuck you, Skin!



It's True
You mean you can't believe
everything you read
on the internet????



Jobs
I need
a job.



Thanks Dad
I was all dressed up
smiling, radiant, ready to dazzle
my father took my hand tenderly
"You look beautiful, honey," he said.
"You look like Ann Coulter."



Writers Block
I really hate writers block
it stinks worse than a sweaty gym sock
I can't think of thing and it's eleven o'clock
my mood is blacker than volcanic rock
as I sit at my desk and try to take stock
I feel like punching someone in the penis.

Three Threes

Three Things I Wish I Had

1. A big pot of leprechuan gold

2. The power to make my eyes bug out of my head at will.

3. A brain. Sometimes I suspect that I only have a brain stem.




Three Possible Causes of the Stains on my Carpet


1. Dog pee

2. Wine

3. Blood, maybe? WTF?




Three Reasons I Can't Go Back to Bed, Even Though I'd Like To


1. My moron neighbor is outside playing with his chainsaw again.

2. I've had three cups of coffee.

3. Sleep is for sissies. The wicked don't need to rest.

Journal Entry

Dear Diary,

Life sucks as usual. I hate my job, but every other job that I've applied for seems worse. One of those damn protesters poured diet Mountain Dew on my new distressed metallic-Italian leather heels and now they are a sticky mess. And last night my cousin Balki showed up on my doorstep, looking for a place to live. I guess my other cousin Larry kicked him out of his Chicago apartment. It's not like I can say no, the guy barely speaks English. My dad's people all come from a tiny Greek island called Mypos where everyone herds sheep and marries their relatives. Thank God dad got away! My mom wants me to get Balki a job at The Boobie Barn. Great, like I don't have enough things to do.




Cousin Balki is already getting on my nerves. He's full of stories about the old country, and the time he was abducted by gypsies are something. I try to tune him out.


Anyway diary, like I said, I've been feeling a little blue and in need of some distraction. My friend Lindsay and I decided to head over to the fairgrounds on Saturday night to see what was going on. I was just devouring a deep fried pickle on a stick (yeah I know that's not on my raw diet. Shut up!) when I spotted him up on stage, strumming on a guitar. My new true love. The lead singer for Jordan Catalano and the Emo Boys.




He had the voice of an angel. Or at least, a better than average boy-bander. He looked right at me as he sang these words:


Oh Mary was the type of girl
so nice that she was rude
she liked to wear one red shoe
and maybe do a shot or two
it always got her in the mood
to eat junk food and get tattooed
it may be lewd but I viewed her nude
and later on we totally screwed
it was transcendent ---until she spewed
oh yeah, yeah, yeah,
oh no, no, no


So poetic! I deeply felt that we must be soulmates. I was so mesmerized that I accidentally jabbed Lindsay in the eye with the pickle stick. She barely noticed. Her face was all slack with lust. Drool was beginning to leak from the corners of her mouth. I knew I would have to fight her for this guy.

I figured I had a good chance. I mean, sure, she has blonde hair and big round boobs, but I have intelligence and wit and a slightly better than average ass.

Well, you can guess what happened. He went home with Lindsay. Men always go for the big boob types! I comforted myself by imagining how many STDs they had between the two of them. It was like trying to guess how many jelly beans are in a jar. I'm not very good with math.


But wait till I tell you this, diary. I had the last laugh. When I went to Starbucks last night for my Venti Decaf Pumpkin Latte, I saw him in line. He didn't look all that hawt.




He was wearing Crocs. That's right, Crocs. Shiny silver ones. It was like -- so lame. And he was totally wearing last seasons eye liner. I smiled real big at Lindsay. She scowled at me and gave the finger.



Looks like Linds has been hitting the hair dye again. I wonder what happened to the #26 Bimbo Blonde?


Lindsay doesn't have much of a sense of humor. I much prefer hanging out with Paula. While we were at Starbucks, Mr. Dreamy walked in.




"Hullo girls."


Even though I still think he has a goony voice, I'm starting to crush on Mr. Dreamy myself. He's just so shiny. Plus he smells really good. Like....designer spring water and white truffle shampoo. Paula remarked that he was so beautiful he made her want to cry. And then she did.




That crazy Paula! She's a lovable little nut, she is. She wasn't even that drunk!


Well I gotta go, diary. I need to speak to Captain Peanut about a job for my cousin. Paula said she would pay Balki to rub her feet and warm her cold, cold bed, but I'm sure she was kidding. I don't think even she is that desperate. He's really irritating. Even Tucksworth can't stand him. He keeps smacking Balki upside the head with a stainless steel ice bucket. I really need to get that monkey another bag of weed. He's so irritable lately.