Ciao

Lately, this is all I've wanted to do. Which means I'm not funny nor do I have anything interesting to say. So I'm taking a little break (again), tucking my brain into bed and letting it rest until it's ready to get up and face the world. Goodnight for now.

{Photo found here.}

Obamiconned

Fact: I'm the 12433546876132 person to do this.

Fact: I'm late to the game.

Fact: It's still funny.

Me. In Action.

Party peopllllllllllle!

Yea, tag team music comin' straight atcha. That's me DC, the brain supreme and my man Steve Roll'nnnnnn...

I digress.

Already.

There has been lots of talk of vlogs in blogland lately and I, myself, have never created a vlog. Why? I don't know. Maybe because I'm self conscious? Maybe because I had no idea what I'd vlog about? Maybe because I despise the word vlog? If it's even a real word. (It's not.)

Anywho, a number of people have been vlogitty vlogging lately and I love (and I do mean LOVE) watching them. This one is my favorite.

I thought it was time for me to do one. Except it's probably not even a vlog. I feel like I'm too old to be using these terms. It's me playing guitar and singing an old Bobby Darin song. You know, just a homemade video I made of myself. Sounds sexy, right? It's not. Trust me.

Before you watch, keep these few things in mind:
1. I mess up a lot
2. This is because I suck.
3. For those of you out there who play guitar, you may notice I have trouble with the Dm7 chord. Just wanted to point that out so that you know that I know. This somehow makes me feel better.
4. I have no idea why I chose this song.
5. Oh yea, because it rules.
6. RS? This one's for your dad.
7. I'm wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt in this video. This is not the same thing as a sweat suit. I did not buy them together and, therefore; it cannot be considered a sweat suit.
8. I wore this sweat "outfit" because, you know, I wanted to look my best for my big video premiere. And, you know, I'm single.
9. My sweatsuit brings all the boys to the yard....
10. It took a few of these to convince me to actually post this:

Mmm. Homemade martini.

So, without further ado...

I Play Guitar... Poorly from Regardez Moi on Vimeo.

(Oh God, I'm so embarrassed.)

Brain Dead.. Help Me Out YouTube

Love these guys...

Love them so much.

He's Just Not That Into Me

So last night my friend Em and I went to see He's Just Not That Into You. If you haven't seen this movie yet and you do want to see it, then you probably shouldn't read this because I'm going to give everything away. I'm a dirty whore like that. In other words:

***SPOILER ALERT ***

I spoil everything. Also, I love the word spoil. It could be my favorite word.

Moving on.

This movie taught me a few things:
# 1. I'm in love with Scarlett Johansson.
Her character in the movie was pretty much me. Except, she's, you know, way hotter. And she's ends up alone. Which brings me to...

# 2. I'm going to end up alone.
At the insistent coaxing of friends I completed a profile quizzy thingamabob on eHarmony. I cringe just telling you this story b/c I'm not really the online dating kind of gal. But whatever, it was free. After spending what felt like 45 minutes of my time filling this stupid profile quiz out, eHarmony told me that I was one of the 20% of people who is not compatible with anyone. Hey, eHarmony? Let's play a little game called 'hide and go fuck yourself'.

Anywhosits, Scarlett plays this smoking hot lady who falls in love with a smoking hot guy who is married. He's all: 'I don't do this' and she's all: 'I want to dry hump you'. You can probably guess the rest but I'm going to tell you anyway. He's got some contact with some dude who can help her singing career and after they successfully meet with said dude they go back to his office and start to eff on his desk when:

Knock knock.

It's his smokin hot wife. Scarlett hides in the closet (because we ALL have closets in our offices... how convenient). Smokin hot wife proceeds to lock the door and tries to seduce husband because, as the wife mentioned in an earlier scene, they never have sex anymore. He finds a way to get her to leave after promising he loves her but just doesn't wanna bang in his office at this moment (read: my smokin hot mistress is half naked in the closet listening to our entire conversation). Wife feels rejected and generally bad about herself but leaves. Scarlett storms out of closet half naked and tells smokin hot married dude that he'll never touch her again.

Flash to the end of the movie... wife decides she's had it and leaves husband. Husband and Scarlett do not get together, they both end up alone.

# 3. If your husband refuses to have sex with you in his office, it's either because a) his smoking hot mistress is in the closet or b) she's somewhere else. There's also a c) he's gay.

Why didn't anyone tell me this 3 years ago!?!?!?!?

Anecdote: It was a sunny fall Saturday about a year or two ago and my husband (at the time) and I decided to stroll around downtown Philadelphia. He needed to pick something up from his office and so we went in. I'd never been in his office before (as I was never invited). He was showing me around and then, I don't know, fiddling with something in his desk when I had an idea.

Me: "We should totally do it in here."
Him: "Uh..."
Me: "It's Saturday, no one is here! We'll just close the door."
Him: "Errrr...."
Me: "Okay, fine, we'll even lock it just in case."
Him: "Nahhh, I don't think so..."
Me {thinking to myself}: But we haven't had sex in... this decade.
Me: "No? You sure? It would be hot!"
Him: "No, I don't want to"
Me: *Bang*

If your husband won't have sex with you...

Now my husband didn't have a closet in his office so that rules choice A out of the scenario. Whether or not C is a viable option is still up for debate. So that really leaves B.

The beauty of this whole scene is that I've been on both sides of that proverbial closet door. And they both suck. What also sucked was the lady sitting next to me in the movie theater. She screamed things like 'Bitch!' and 'Whore!' to the screen whenever Scarlett was flauting her sexy self all over Bradley Cooper. Umm.. Lady? I'm identifiying over here. Get off your moral high horse. It's a fucking movie. A movie that happens to be my life. In order to shut her up, I did what any self respecting girl would do... I flirted with her husband.

I kid.

He was ugly.

In other news, a guy friend of mine (hi, EP) thinks I'm a totally pathetic loser and has decided to fix me up with a friend of his. I've never been on a blind date before. I'm scared. More on that developing story later...

For now, here's a gratuitous photo of my lady lover, Scarlett Johansson.

Scarlett - I'm not a lesbian or anything? But um... call me.

Hot pockets

Free credit report dot commm, tell your friends blahdeblah tell your mommm...

That effing song has been stuck in my head since Tuesday. Last Tuesday. I want to crawl into that commercial and hurt that stupid pirate guy. I'll show you a free credit report. ON MY ASS.

That's right.

So I clearly have no blogging material today. I felt as though I should write something since my last post was on Friday and contained latex balloon animals engaged in a 3-way and no actual words. (I thought I'd get more comments on that one... that's seriously the funniest thing I think I've ever seen. Apparently, I'm the only one with such a highly evolved sense of humor. Shrug.)

I thought if I started typing something would come to me. I'm on my 5th paragraph and nothing. Not even a hot pocket.

Dead pockets.

I'll just leave it at that for now. There's a whole lotta nothing up in my brain today. I'll try again tomorrow. Thank you, come again.

Happy V-Day Eve

Cutie Patooty

I was nominated for this Cutie Patooty Blogger Award by Hiking in Stilettos, a little lady who is probably one of THE cutie-ist patooty-ists out there! Thank you!

In order to accept this award, you have to play by the rules. (There are rules! God, I'm such a nerd.) Here they are:

Rules:
1. Put the logo on your blog or post.
2. Nominate at least 10 blogs which you think are fabulous.
3. Be sure to link your nominees within your post.
4. Let them know that they have received this award by commenting on their blog.
5. Share the love and link to this post and to the person from whom you received your award.

Boy I hate rules. That's why I'm not playing by them. Not because I don't value the award but because I don't like leaving people out. If you are on my blog roll or I'm a follower of your blog? Then you get the award. Because you are the bomb dot com.

I know that phrase is so overused, but I still love it. Suck it.

In other news, did anyone watch Lost last night? I was thinking about writing a recap-ish post. What do you think? Should I? Or should I not bother because there are approximately 4,815,162,342 other blogs out there that write about it.

See what I did there?

No?

Regardez Moi: Avoiding chances to get laid since 1978.

I totally stole that from this guy. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery right? Right??

I hate myself.

Man Must Dance

What up fuckers?

Let me tell you a little bit about my morning. My alarm went off approximately 3 times before I decided to untangle myself from the pillow stuffed between my legs (don't be dirty) and stumble out to the living room to see if anything exciting happened in my Gmail inbox overnight. (Nothing.)

Then I decided to take a shower. Good move because I didn't take one yesterday. It was a pretty good shower despite the fact that I had to use old hotel mini soaps and shampoos because I'm too lazy to go shopping (and also, I hate any grocery type shopping more than I hate Celine Dion. That's a lot.)

Then I got dressed and decided that since it's SIXTY FIVE DE-FUCKING-GREES outside, I'd walk to work. I strapped on my iPod (strapped on? really?) and started my joy stroll through the filth that is my neighborhood.

I have some new songs on my iPod that a friend so generously shared with me so I turned those bitches on and started cruisin down the street in my six-four... it's like that and it's like this, I took her to the pad and we started to kiss...

Oops.

Btw - I think I have BO. Something strange is wafting up from my underarm region. Yea, I took a shower, but I pulled the shirt I'm wearing out of the hamper and apparently my body spray couldn't handle the dry cleaning job I'd tasked it with. I'm looking at you Bath & Body Works. There is a letter coming your way.

Where was I? Oh right, iPod/listening to new tunes/walking to work. So I'm listening to these songs and I like them all (way to have awesome taste in music my anonymous music 'lending' friend) and then I get to this one:

[Hit play and continue to read, please.]

Now, I don't know if you know this about me but I love to dance. And, I have an extremely difficult time not dancing if there is a song on that makes me want to dance. This song? Makes me want to rip my clothes off and go running down the street flailing my arms and head about wildly. (I'm sure the mental image is much better than the actual one would be. Jiggle jiggle.)

I listened to it about, oh, 485 times in a row. It took all my will power not to start headbanging while walking. Dudes in suits were walking by me all suave and diddling with their Blackberrys and here I am with my iPod blaring and my face twitching with the effort it took NOT to dance.

Let's do a little experiment. Turn the volume as loud as is appropriate for whereever you are right now and when you get to the following lyrics? Try NOT to explode in violent fits of dancing:

How many times do they have to tell you
that it's perfectly fine for you to
DANCE AROUND NAKED
WHEN YOU'RE ALL BY YOURSELLLLLF

It's nearly impossible I'm telling you. Either that or I'm a total freak. I'm willing to accept both explanations.

So I listened to that over and over, smiling to myself the whole time because I was picturing what people would do if I just started freaking out like I was at a rock concert ('rock concert'? What am I, 84?).

Then I did the sidewalk dance with a very cute boy who was probably a student as he looked rather young. You know the, oops this guy is coming at me, better move to the left, move to the right, to the left, to the right awkward waltz that every body walks away from thinking 'that dude/chick totally wanted me'.

Then I arrived at work sweating because, as I mentioned before, it's suddenly summer in the middle of February. So now my hair is frizzy, I smell like BO and it's only 9:40. I feel as though I should be able to retire for the day. I've done enough.

Dear Idiot CoWorkers,

Love,
Jozette

Brain Dead

Dear Blog,
Please write something funny and/or witty for me as I am brain dead.

Thanks,
Jozette

On The Agenda

I'm home now and happy for it. My head was effed up today from not being at work all week. Is it Monday? No, it's Friday. Sweet, I have a whole weekend ahead of me.

On the agenda for tonight? Drinking. Lots of drinking.

Alone.

I stopped at the liquor store on my way home to buy ingredients to make martinis. Because what sounds better then going home, putting on your pjs, and drinking martinis on the sofa all night long? Well, for one, having a crazy monkey sex marathon with Jack or Sawyer or Desmond or Sayid. But other than that, pajama martini time sounds pretty appealing. That and watching 27 Dresses.

Loser is the new black. Or something.

Which reminds me, ladies. A friend of mine asked me a pretty serious question the other day. One that took lots of thought and soul searching. Which men from Lost would you sleep with and, more importantly, in what order? Men, you can take this one too. You can swap the men for the ladies of Lost. Or not. Whatever floats your boat. If you wanna make it a big ol' Lost orgie that's fine too. I'm not here to judge.

My martini is getting warm. Think about that question and report back. If you don't watch Lost then you can just get the hell out.

(No... I was just kidding! Stay! Please? I made martinis!)

Bored.

Alas, my winter vacation in the sticks is coming to a close. I'm sad but also anxious to get home to civilization. I'll miss lounging around in my sweatpants all day,reading my book and getting up only to stuff my face or let the dogs out and in, out and in. Occasionally I'd switch which room I was lounging in, you know, just to keep things interesting. I talk about how I'd just love to never have anything to do, but really... I'd probably lose my mind. That settled in yesterday afternoon. To keep myself entertained, I decided to torture the dogs by video taping them. Then I thought I'd share them with you. You're welcome.

Before we start, a few things:
1. Yes, I'm wearing a tie dyed shirt. I have had it since college and I love it, so suck it.
2. Yes, I talk to animals like they are babies. Because they are.
3. These videos are pretty boring unless you enjoy motion sickness and dogs walking around and sniffing my crotch. If do enjoy these things, you are in for a treat.

Mexican Americans Don't Like To Get Up Early In The Morning But They Have To So They Do It Real Slow

...too tired to post at the moment.

What I will share with you is the song I've had stuck in my head since I've arrived at my parents. My youngest brother has recently discovered Cheech & Chong and has rented all of their movies. The following song is one that he sings over and over... and over... and over. And OVER.

And it makes me laugh. Every. Single. Time.

Enjoy.