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I am a Los Angeles-based twentysomething. I have a profession, and I have a secret life in music, and this blog isn't about any of that. I like Blogger because I can't read what you're thinking.

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Monday, May 11   >>


I just finished watching the three hour season finale to The Celebrity Apprentice.

That merits a Gatorade.

And it was DVR'd! Oh my god, programs should really not be allowed to run that long.


I haven't seen the new Star Trek film (yet), but I have a feeling the leading actors were total jocks who, in their high school days, did nothing but jerk each other off whilst making fun of the guys in the A/V club. Their targets must be so upset! I bet they even blogged about it.


I can't shake it. I promised myself I wouldn't brag about this, but I just can't shake it. For The Bert's birthday this past weekend, I bought him a Japanese sword.



This is why you want me around. That, and my relentless aura of sex.


The guy at the sword store (not joking) was a complete dick to me. I told him my budget and he kind of scoffed. When he showed me several swords in my price range, I was distracted by another sword that I could have sworn had a price tag within my budget.

"Uh, no," Swordfuck said. "...That has an extra nine on it. It's Dojo."

I, in no way apologetic for what I was going to say, was, all, like, "DUDE. I'm not a fuckin' sword connoisseur."

He didn't like that.

He probably doesn't like a lot of things. Like his life.


I'd also never been to the mall during a Macy's sale. If you've never been, imagine a category 5 tornado, mixed with AIDS and newborn infants being split in half in mid air, all while a really shitty DJ tries to plug department store products with a hastily thrown together iTunes playlist.

[during Andrea True Connection's "More, More, More"]
DJ: ...How do you like it? How do you like it? Why don't you ask your mom and, on your way out, pick her up the latest Ralph Lauren fragrance "Romance?" Have a Happy Mother's Day!
[song fades up]

He was seriously the worst DJ you could ever imagine. I'm not a shopper snob, but isn't Macy's supposed to have, like, I dunno, class or something?


My favorite part of the Macy's experience was looking at all the suited-up guys who work there who (probably out of obligation, or uniform, or coinciding douchebaggery) take their job in retail so seriously.

Sure, take pride in your job. It's honorable. But, man, seriously, you're pushing cologne. You're not in the fucking Secret Service. Cheer up! It's smelly water.


Don't you love how "fashion" is so completely synonymous to "acting like a fucking dickhole?"

I don't.


People far more annoying than fashionistas: poseur fashionistas.

Your dress really cost that much? Wow! And it was designed by HER!? No way! Well, guess what? I can afford my groceries and I have zero debt.