As a rule I don’t really believe in re-posting emails I get however every now and then one arrives in my inbox that is so charming it demands public airing.
UPDATE: I took the email down. I didn’t feel right about posting an email someone had taken the time to send me, even if had some sparkling backhanded gems in it.
If I drew cartoons for The New Yorker, not only would I do these, but I would draw one of a hunk of chedder telling an obscene joke and the caption would be “Blue Cheese.” I can’t decide whether it should be a very animated wheel of cheese or if it should be a hunk of cheese dressed up like Andrew Dice Clay standing on a stage in front of a brick wall doing dirty standup. As if the cheese is working blue.
I guess I’ll leave that up to the cartoonists.
The Chicken Soup for the Soul series would be considered horror.
Last night I hung out with carbo-loading internet celebrity Mike Boyle, AKA The Donut Reporter, who let me know with, dare I say, a bit of an edge in his voice that his blog “isn’t just about donuts.” Or maybe he said, “my blog isn’t really about donuts.” I forget—since he wasn’t talking about me, I was only pretending to be listening. This was on our way back from the aforementioned meat party which, incidentally, was thrown by a vegetarian and didn’t involve actual meat but did involve someone coming up to me and saying the words I’ve forever longed to hear, words usually reserved for Scott Baio, Bill Maher and Kato Kaelin: “Hey, didn’t I meet you at the Playboy Mansion?” (Yes, he had actually.)
Earlier in the night, Donutz and I were talking about his insane blog traffic after his being mentioned on Blogs of Note. I told him I’m just dying for a taste of that sweet sweet blogs of note pie because I am a blog and I am noteworthy.
But lady blogs of note is a fickle mistress. Still, I will keep wishing and hoping for my moment.
In the meantime, let me tell you about my exciting idea for a business venture. Classypiñatas.com!
A piñata filled with high-end goods like individually wrapped filets, cravats, cigars, healthy orphans ready for adoption, etc. Think about it. Why must your piñata be filled with sweet tarts and plastic spiders and the like? Would the Real Housewives of Orange County bust open a piñata filled with that crap? I don’t think so!
In the post below I mentioned going to a party last night where they had a meat pinata. What was inside it? We never found out.
Greetings my little tomatillos. Tonight I went to a party in the meatpacking district where they had a meat pinata—a pinata that looked like a giant steak. Any joke you can think of involving “meat pinatas,” I already made. Unfortunately they were taking their sweet ass time to beat the meat, as it were, so I never found out what was inside. I spent a lot of time wondering about it though.
Anyway, here’s another vlog where I answer some questions. If I didn’t get to yours don’t worry, this is just the beginning! (I think I miss the written word though.)
I still can’t quite figure out how I feel about vlogging versus blogging but everyone seemed to like the last one so much I figure, what the hell. You know why I figure that? Because I’m a fly by the seat of my pants kinda gal. If my butt had wings… it’d be hard to find pants.
(it’s one of the comedy for stoners bits from TALKSHOW with Spike Feresten)
It concerns sex and moving, two things I rarely engage in, although that’s going to change in a couple months when my landlord screws me.
“Whatever the party is, that’s the party I’m at.”
This is something that Grant Show’s character says to… that other guy. Bruce? I forget his name. The one without a mustache who isn’t Roger. Anyway, it’s kind of poetic in its laid back mellow grooviness.
I could use more of this sentiment. I’m more like “Whatever the party is, I’d like to change it into something else or at least retain that option.”
I mean, not that I’m not the greatest party guest ever, because I am. You’d be lucky to have me at your party. I tell jokes, I mingle, I sample the snacks, I do this funny thing where I dribble water out of my mouth (note: I retired that one because it became rote, but it might be time to put it back in rotation) sometimes I even have so much fun I puke in your bathroom!
But metaphorically speaking, I keep my coat on. And literally I often do too.