Saturday, May 31, 2014

Reruns Are OK If They're Awesome: My Blog, My Rules

Just about a year ago, I ran a post featuring Neil Patrick Harris' opening number from the Tony Awards show.

NPH is so amazing that I forgive him
for what he wore to Met Gala.
I don't understand it. But I can forgive it.

Today has been a busy day, and now I'm about to introduce Precocious Daughter to Pulp Fiction.  Woo-hoo! So no "real" post tonight. But I will embed NPH's Tonys opening number. Again.

Just because I love it. And because being a blogger means being megalomaniacal and drunk with power. Seriously, we're all like that. It's nuts.

Anyway, tomorrow I'll put together an entire post with all-new material about the stupid crap you've come to expect and even tolerate from this blog. (Spoiler alert: It may feature Muppets.)

But for now...take it away, NPH. 'Night, Drunkards. And remember, "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men.," etc. 


Friday, May 30, 2014

You Want Me to Do WHAT?

I saw this on the Internet.


Imagine life if we did half the things we tell others to do.

So I imagined it. 'Cause I got mad imagining skills.

Pure imagination, bitches.
Me and Willy Wonka. Yo.

What if I did half the things I've told other people to do? Well...

I'd go halfway to hell.

Where the heck do I go from here?

I'd either shut up OR leave myself alone (not sure which half I should actually do).

I'd eat shit OR die (ditto).

It's tempting, but...

I'd take a short walk on a short pier. And then enjoy the view, I guess.

I'd give myself deadlines that are half as much time as I usually tell other people I need...which means they'd actually be realistic and on-target for once.

I'd be 50% honest and upfront with people about how I feel. That would be real progress for me.

I'd get halfway over myself. Sounds a bit physically awkward, but I'm willing to try.

Oooooh, halfway there...

I'd hit the road, Jack, and only come back sometimes, sometimes, sometimes, sometimes.

I'd listen to half of the new albums by Old 97s, Jake Bugg, and Ray LaMontagne. Not sure why I would do that, as they're all really good. But hey, I'm imagining it.

Imaaaaaaagining.

And I guess I'd get to second base with myself.

Think about it.

P.S. The Jeneral has promised me a guest post. So stand by, because without having seen it I can say it's going to be awesome.

Woooo!

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

RHYME TIME

Ready?

I find this picture humorous.

(beatbox sounds)

I'm a wordwright...
That's a word, right?
I do my word rite
Every night
I wish that were right.

Sometimes the words write
Themselves
Flying off of the shelves.

Sometimes I can't get the words right.
The word "right"
Can't begin to describe
All the words I inscribe,
All the wrong words I write
All the wrongs words can right.

When I'm wrong, words are right there,
The words that I write here,
It's my nightly rite here,
Go in through your right ear
And out through your left ear
'Til all that is left here
Are words that are left here.




When I write for you
Is it my right for you
To believe in my words?
You're believing my words
I'll be living my words
I'm believing my words
Are the right words.

When I write words,
Any right words,
Every night words
Just appear,
Disappear,
It's up here.

I'm pointing to my head.
Disappointing to have read?
I never said I was any damn good at this.


Peace out, girl scout.

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Tabitha Takes on Being Thrown Under the Bus

tabby here.

she thinks i will go away.
i will not. lol.
chuck can't post tonight because she's all, like, distraught and whatnot.

why?

well, at work she got totally thrown under the bus by a co-worker. like, marginalized in front of a new senior employee. it hurt like fuck.

it was hilarious.
then her ex told her he wouldn't rescue her from a burning building because she's too fucking fat.

pictured: not chuck.
also, her precocious daughter told her something about one of the other middle school moms that made her feel really, really small and bad about herself.

this turtle is ginormous. just sayin.
i had an awesome day. chuck felt bad, bad, bad. the entire world picked up her sorry ass and chunked it under the proverbial bus. awesome.

so you see, i will live forever. because i thrive on her negative energy. and if she's gonna continue to produce it, i'm gonna continue to slurp that shit up.

icees for the goddamn soul, y'all.
and all chuck can do is smile as her loved ones experience success and happiness. because she's a total fucking loser, y'all.

and she gets to do it all again tomorrow.

because that bus...it runs the same schedule every damn day. and there's no one to snatch her from the jaws of defeat.

pharrell ain't got nothing on how happy i am.

Monday, May 26, 2014

Six AMAZING True Facts

I like facts. Sometimes facts freak me out. Here are a few of those. Add your own, if you're so inclined.

An ostrich's eye is the same size as its brain.

Also, ostriches are bat-guano crazy.

Tom Hiddleston is a natural blonde.

Loki?

Jim Nabors first sang "Back Home Again in Indiana" at the 1972 Indianapolis 500. Since my earliest memories include listening to the Indy 500 on the radio, I most likely heard his first performance of the song.

I'm old. Shut up.

Every time you sing the "Happy Birthday" song, you owe a royalty to Warner/Chappell music. Which means you could probably be arrested for copyright infringement RIGHT NOW.

Pay up, asshole.

Wilfred Brimley once served as Howard Hughes' bodyguard.

Lay a hand on Mr. Huges, or don't eat your oatmeal.
Either way, I will fucking kill you.

When Meat Loaf recorded the classic "Rock and Roll Dreams Come Through" in 1993, the video starred a very young Angelina Jolie.



It's not nearly as good as songwriter Jim Steinman's original version, though.

There are lots more amazing things. These are just the six I decided to present tonight. Know any others? Comment below or email me a cbaudelaire at alwaysdrunk.com.

Saturday, May 24, 2014

Playing God

By way of introduction, I think Precocious Daughter's dad is super-pissed because her religious beliefs are much closer to mine than to his. Namely, she's willing to believe in Christian stories and their morals without buying into the bullshit of the institutions. I'm more than fine with that, but my formerly Beloved Spouse has a problem with free thinking, apparently.

This is my image of God. That Bible shit wears me out.
Anyway, that's neither here nor there, except by way of introduction. I've decided to share with you my version of the Ten Commandments. The best thing about my version is that it's not carved in stone, as it were. It can change, but hey, life can change. It's not that I don't believe in moral absolutes; it's just that I don't agree in the ones written in the so-called Holy Bible. So here are my Ten Commandments of the Moment. They may change, although they'll never go out of style. Unless they do.

God, I love relativism.

Ten Commandments for Today

I. Thou shalt listen to the Old 97s' new album, Most Messed Up. Especially the first single, "Let's Get Drunk and Get It On."

II. Thou shalt obey the title of the Old 97s' latest single.

III. Thou shalt see the new Godzilla movie. Because Godzilla. And Ken Watanabe.

Bless the shit out of
Ken Watanabe.

IV. Thou shalt not care about Kim and Kanye's wedding more than the mass shooting in California.

V. Thou shalt support local music in your town.

VI. Thou shalt introduce a young person in your life to classic cinema. Like Spaceballs. And The Graduate. Because they will be alive much longer than you will.

VII. Thou shalt be kind to animals.

VIII. Thou shalt not judge other people. You have no idea what they have going on in their lives.

IX. Thou shalt learn to spell and use proper grammar. Life is too short to present yourself like a dumb shit.

X. Thou shalt say "I love you" as often as possible. It's impossible to say it too often, or to too many people.


Hey...I love you.

Amen.

Friday, May 23, 2014

Ghosts? Rollercoasters? Nothing. This? SCARY.

This post is a little different from my usual fare.

Here's a picture of a squirrel hitting the bottle
so you'll know it's still me.

It's just that I had a bit of a revelation, and rather than quietly contemplate it, I thought I'd broadcast my inner thoughts to the Internet. Because that's what exhibitionists bloggers do.

I've realized that I'm afraid of anger. I actively fear that emotion. Oh, I'm not afraid of being angry - there's an actual term  for that, by the way (it's called angrophobia), and that's not what I'm talking about. I may not enjoy getting angry, and I frequently regret it when I do. But a long time ago I accepted, if not embraced, that I have a temper and often fail to keep it. Also, I have a hard time expressing anger appropriately, because I'm a chick with issues.

But afraid of my own anger? Nah. I own that shit.

I'm just scared witless of other people's anger. As an abstract emotion, it makes me quiver like a flavored gelatin dessert.

You know the one.

And it's not that I have a problem with someone being angry at me. Or rather, I do, but maybe not for the reason you'd think.

Anger very often expresses disapproval or censure, and current psychology says that those are the things most of us are really afraid of. Personally, I reject that idea. I mean, disapproval and censure aren't great things. But I can handle them. I totally understand how someone could be pissed off at the things I say or do.

I can be sort of infuriating.

It's the anger itself that gets to me. I can't deal with the dark intensity of that particular emotion. Not even when it's not directed specifically at me. Especially then, in fact. When someone gets mad at me, and either yells at me or gives me the silent treatment, it makes me feel as if I'm falling to my death, but at least there's an outcropping of context for me to hold on to. Whether it's justified or not, the anger has some real or perceived connection to me, and I can look at it and decide how to react.

But when someone is simply angry around me, I lose it. I don't know what to do with someone else's anger. I reflexively believe it's my fault. Therefore, it's my responsibility to fix the problem/and or soothe away the anger. And if I can't do it (how could I?), then I take the blame for that, as well.

It makes me feel terrible, partly because it's an irrational feeling. But it's like burning yourself on the stove: If it hurts enough, you start to be scared of the stove. The stove didn't set out to hurt you, and it's not as if the stove is an inherently scary thing. But you still involuntarily shudder when you think about it.

That face doesn't doesn't help.

And I know that it's a problem with boundaries. I know that people around me have every right to feel angry, and that it doesn't necessarily reflect on me, and their anger is not a burden I have to shoulder every time I see it in front of me. There's a line between empathizing with other people and blindly internalizing their every emotion, no matter how negative.

I don't know where to draw that line. I don't even have the emotional canvas to draw the line on. On which to draw the line. Whatever. I don't even have an easel to hold that canvas.


Or the studio space to house the easel to...
You get the idea.
So I find the idea of anger kind of terrifying. And, as many of us do when we find something terrifying, I tend to avoid it. Which means I end up unable to communicate with, and subsequently withdrawing from, people I care about.

And that makes me angry.

Which at least I can handle. But it's a zero-sum game.

Now I'm angry and scared and sad.

No wonder people get pissed off at me.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

You Do'nt Have to Be Smart to Be Amrecian

Free speech is guaranteed by the U.S Constitution.

Even this complete bullshit.
I would not for the world advocate any restrictions on Americans' right to freely express their opinions. It is that expression that allows us all to characterize our true selves without fear of censure or reprisal.

Here's what free speech says about some of us:

We love Amercia.
And its offical language.
Which you should totally learn. No exce....um, yeah, you.
We love our goverment. (This is the more formal version
of the commonly accepted "gubmint.")
This of course is the contraction for "didunt."
And this is the contraction for "dumbass says not."
There are many locations where France is not,
actually. I guess I'm not hip enough to
get your reference.
Totally not hip enough to grok this one.
The highest descent is patriotic...
See, you have to be smart to be Amrecian.
God bless America. The God who hates fags, Obamacare, and gays, of course. He's the one who guarantees free speech. Don't be fooled by imitation Gods who love the meek and accept the different. Fuck that God. And Democrats. Also, patriotism.

Amen.

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Are You Ready for Mooseageddon?

So I just read where two women in Colorado were attacked by a moose.

Unconfirmed reports suggest the moose
did not act alone.

They're both going to be OK, although they may never enjoy Moose Tracks ice cream the same way again. Once you've had literal moose tracks left on your body, that ribbon of fudge loses some of its sweet delight, I would assume.

In light of this incident, I'm sure many of you have wondered how you would personally react to a moose attack. You have, haven't you? I'm not the only one whose co-workers found her slack-jawed and glassy-eyed, contemplating the horrors of moose abuse over lunch, right?

At least, that's what they found me contemplating slack-jawed
and glassy-eyed this time. It's always something.

No? For Christ's sake, people, wake up. The moose uprising has begun, and you're worried about whether Kim Kardashian is rushing into marriage with Kanye too quickly, or whether the fragile government of Thailand can regroup and resist the imposition of martial law before a military dictatorship takes hold? This is important.

So...What would you do if you found yourself on the receiving end of a moose attack?

Do tell, puny human.

For example, would you yell, "Holy shit I'm being stomped by a giant fucking moose!"

As I would.

Or would you perhaps opt to take defensive action by yelling, "Get your big stompy feet off me, you goddamn antlered behemoth!" This approach has the advantage of being less passive and submissive toward the animal, offset by the possible disadvantage of further enraging the moose so that he drops you with the moose version of a pile driver.

Incoming!

Experts say that you should respond to aggressive behavior from a moose by avoiding eye contact and walking away. To which I say, "moose muffins!"

Mostly just because I wanted to use this picture.

That advice doesn't work when the hot cart wrangler at Target catches you looking at his butt, and it won't work with an angry moose, either. Because the moose, much like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, won't be ignored. This is Mooseageddon. It's on.

There's only one way to deal with a vengeful moose: Charge it head-on, leap over its flailing antlers, flip your body to an upright-forward facing position, clamp your legs firmly around its massive torso, wrap your arms around its neck, and ride it like a bucking bronco until finally it collapses, exhausted and ready to accept your dominance. At which point you can gently rub its furry moosejaw until it begins to purr softly, give it a kiss, and lead it home on a leash.

Where it will be your faithful companion and protector.
We must tame and domesticate these rampaging beasts before they enslave us all, or possibly stomp us to death. Follow my step-by-step instructions, and you could be a hero in the Moose Wars.

Scoff, and our post-Mooseageddon fate will be sealed.


It's up to you.

Sunday, May 18, 2014

Groupon Is at It Again

Dear Groupon:

Hi, it's me again.

I appreciate the time and effort you put into bringing me quality local products and services at significantly discounted prices, really I do.

It's totally comforting to know that the next time I'm caught
in the crossfire of a rural gang shootout, my windshield
replacement is practically free.
I don't mean to be a complainer, especially so soon after my last letter regarding your unfortunately worded ad for mole removal. And I do appreciate that you refunded my money in that instance, although I still have the problem of burrowing critters in my cucumber patch.

That's neither here nor there, however. It's just that I find I've once again been taken in by a Groupon offering that is...well, I hesitate to use the word "fraudulent," but really, I find it hard to use any other term. Surely I can't be the only consumer who has been taken in by the promises of the local business in question, only to be gravely disappointed.

Let me explain.

I recently found the following advertisement in a Groupon email.


I have to tell you, I was excited by this. The price alone was enticing; I wasn't sure what this type of service should cost, but $99 for a $750 value certainly seemed like an amazing deal. Frankly, I think $750 is a little steep, but no matter. When one needs spider-vein removal done, one needs it done, and any opportunity to save money on it is cause to rejoice.

So I contacted the business (name redacted to save them from public shame) to find out more. I was assured that the procedure was safe, effective, and discreet. I asked if it was all right that I was only making the arrangements for the actual client and was told that was perfectly acceptable. Everything seemed good to me, so I made an appointment.

When the day arrived, I transported the patient to the clinic. We went in and sat down in the waiting room. I handled filling out the required paperwork, of course. After a short while, we were invited into the operating area.

Everything was going well until I introduced the clinic staff to the patient, at which point they flatly refused to perform the procedure. When I asked for an explanation, they responded that they didn't provide service "to her kind."

In this day and age, I was simply astounded to hear such blatant discrimination given voice. The clinic staff assured me there was no prejudice involved, simply "policy." Which seems like hiding behind semantics to me, but who am I to change the mind of a bunch of bigots?

Long story short, we left the business in question without having the spider-vein removal done. And Lulu is very disappointed. She takes great pride in her appearance and really wanted those unsightly veins removed.

You can see why she's a bit vain about her appearance.
She's a beauty.
So once again, Groupon, I must ask for a refund because I was unable - through no fault of my own - to redeem the offer I purchased in good faith. I also request that you alter future appearances of this advertisement to specify that spiders are not eligible for spider-vein removal. Which, I must say, seems a bit crazy to me. But whatevs.

I'll end this here. Lulu still needs cosmetic surgery, and it falls to me to find a reputable practitioner. Do let me know if you decide to offer this service. You know, on spiders.

Thanks,

Chuck Baudelaire
(still not the 19th century French poet)