Thursday, June 26, 2008
BUI (Blogging Under the Influence)
- Stephen Colbert is a poignant blinker.
- iTunes says I played Coldplay's Viva la Vida 17 times. Since I remember looping it while dancing around the apartment, that means it was on for a little over an hour ... straight.
- Misappropriation of Bon Jovi songs as pertains to So You Think You Can Dance. OK, so that's not a sentence. They still misused Bon Jovi for a shitty dance routine. And yes, I AM the Bon Jovi police. I'm from Jersey. He's all we have.
- What is this receipt from Amazon? I bought Under the Tuscan Sun???? Really? Well, it's about time. Man, that movie is awesome.
- I know exactly why Jordan Sparks is a failure: she's like watching an after school special in motion. Don't you make hand gestures at me in the shape of a heart while making horribly written love metaphors. That makes you lamer than the kid i saw on the subway today that had a tattoo of "freaks are born into their own tragedy" on his arm (PS punk: you'll regret that in like three years MAX. I speak from experience. Just a heads up). And also don't underestimate the power of Kelly Clarkson. You can't just win American Idol and BE HER. She is a mystical force of nature.
- Why am I never this sexy when I'm dancing sober? Being sloppy drunk makes me sexified? OK. That sounds about right. Maybe i should start drinking more.
- I'm mad at my landlord for being a douchebag. He told me that I can't have a dog because it would be too loud on the hardwood floors above his apartment... and then he had his friend over for the evening... and his friend's dog... that spent two hours howling. But that's OK. I didn't hear much of the howling after the first half hour because I found the raunchiest gay porn I could on the Internet and blasted it through the open window. I mean during Coldplay breaks.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Or Maybe We Could Just Listen To The Radio
Beau: How’s the jaw?
Dangerous K: It still hurts. Bologna thinks it’s because Grasshoppah has TMJ and my hypochondria demons like the sound of it. Like that time I thought I was having a brain aneurism but it was really just a hangover. But this is real. It still hurts to open my mouth and chew and talk at length…
Beau: Maybe you caught it from Grasshoppah.
Dangerous K: … so I tried to get an appointment with the dentist who took out my wisdom teeth. You remember him? The guy that yelled at me for making him knock me out for the operation?
Beau: I think you caught The TMJ from her.
Dangerous K: It’s not contagious, baby. So I’m like, “I’m in pain! Food won’t go in my mouth” and the receptionist is all, “The next available appointment is September 3.” September 3?! Are you fucking serious? Whatev. I didn’t like him anyway.
Beau: Now I’m going to catch it.
Dangerous K: It’s not an STD, honey. So instead I self-diagnosed on the Interweb and WedMD says it will most likely go away in a few weeks on its own. But maybe I shouldn’t be taking so much Advil when I drink.
Beau: (falsetto) I have The TMJ. (deeper voice) But I don’t.
Dangerous K: WebMD said to sleep on my back and maybe that would help but I really prefer to sleep on my tummy.
Beau: (clearly pleased with himself) Valtrex does not prevent you from giving your partner The TMJ.
Dangerous K: Sweety, it’s not a communicable disease. The website also said I should not eat corn on the cob while the pain is still bad and I should try an icepack. Do we have any ice packs at home?
Beau: You shouldn’t be intimate with your partner when you’re experiencing an outbreak of The TMJ.
Dangerous K: (Sighs. Gives up. Tenderly rests hand on Beau’s arm) It’s OK. We’ll use protection.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Three Common Things That I Don't Have
Also important: I’ve determined the worst thing about dieting. It’s not eating rabbit food for lunch or avoiding my usual four afternoon cookies. It’s not even eating less in general. The worst part is the result of eating less, namely having less pooh. My daily food intake includes tons of vegetables so it’s not, ya know, THAT problem. There’s just no poop in there. Since veggies are like solid water, I think everything I ingest is just evaporating when it hits the sizzling heat of my small intestine. So, I have no poop. I am poopless.
But on to the main purpose of this post which is to explain my actions to a bunch of strangers because it’s easier than telling my father (no, just kidding, I already told him. He’s taking it well. I wouldn’t tell you before I told my own family. What kind of person would that make me?): I deferred grad school until at least the spring of 2009. Dun dun dun! Clap of thunder. Queue that music they played when Bob Saggot had a serious talk with the girls on an episode of Full House.
Maybe you’ve noticed I’m not really all that career-oriented. I’ve tried, Interweb! But for all my trying, I can’t make myself get interested in any legitimate industry. I’m even LESS interested in spending $35,000 breaking into a field that I’m not interested in. Before you start in on me, I’ve already had the “You’re too smart of a girl to be a receptionist” talk and heard the “If you put off grad school any longer, you’ll never end up going” argument. And hey, thanks for the advice. Seriously. I took it in and gave it a lot of solid thought while I was sitting on the can back when I had some pooh. But guys, you can’t force something like this. NOTHING GIVES YOU THAT RIGHT.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Then I'll Slash Your Tires With Bacon
So, for the first time in my entire life, I have put myself on a diet. A real adult diet. In the past, I’ve tried the unrealistically restrictive Atkins/South Beach type regime (which lasted about a month before I saw a loaf of bread, blacked out from excitement and woke to find myself covered in crumbs. Now I’m not allowed back in Stop & Shop). Then there was the frightening Xenadrine/iceberg lettuce/vodka diet which lasted approximately 2 weeks before the dining hall ran out of vinegar one day and I started uncontrollably sobbing at the salad bar.
In a new venture that I like to call “When the Fuck Did I Gain 1/3 of a Person?” I’ll be doing things the right way. Since Monday, this has included making healthier food choices, starting a food journal, and buying a scale for last night’s big reveal which was such a shocker for Beau, he’s joined the band wagon. Tonight we’re getting gym memberships so that I don’t have to sheepishly write in the exercise portion of my little log, “Walked to train station; did lap around office; held door for old lady.”
You are welcome to place your wagers on how long I’ll last on this one, but to be fair you should know that I once quit a serious drug-habit overnight and that doubters tend to motivate me to work harder in order to prove them wrong. It also motivates me to find out where they live and egg their house. With low-fat liquid egg-substitute.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Bermuda, Land of My People
Instead, I will regale you with one of my usual stories of foolishness, since my magnetism for trouble operates just as well in Bermuda as it does here at home. After our first day of sightseeing, we returned to port and decided to have a snack at the Tavern by the Sea in St. George’s before boarding the ship. Ordering went something like this:
Waiter: And madam what can I get for you?
Dangerous K: Could we get the nachos? And also a rumndietcoke?
Beau: Beer.
Waiter: Black rum, madam?
Dangerous K: Yes, please.
Beau: BEEEEEERRRRRR.
Waiter: Anything else, madam?
Dangerous K: No, thank you.
Beau: BEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRR!!!!!
Black rum is the uber-rum. It’s aged longer, tastes stronger, and is essentially as lethal as Schwarzenegger circa the first Terminator would be if we dropped him in the Iraq. Pretty much, it is anti-terrorism in a jar. So, I wasn’t terribly surprised that it didn’t go down as easy as my first love, Bacardi. I was only halfway through my drink when Beau finished the last of his beer – an unprecedented occurrence. I am not one to hold up the next round. As I began to take bigger swigs, I noticed that the drink was going straight to my head, though, to the best of my knowledge, the Bermudian variety is not a higher proof than Ol’ Faithful. As the reigning Queen of Rum Consumption, the idea of a single cocktail taking me down is downright embarrassing. Beau gave me a funny look when I voiced this out loud. Then he felt my forehead. Then he took a sip. Then he said, “Honey, I think that’s straight rum.” Phew. Chug chug chug giggle.
Sure enough, the bill corroborated his opinion. My drink was listed only as black rum. No -ndietcoke. Which I believe officially makes me a pirate. Give me your booty.
Heh heh heh. Booty.
Monday, June 16, 2008
I'm Backkkkk
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Dangerous K Unplugged
Til then, enjoy the heat wave, Boston. I'm out!
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Your Boss Knows You Too Well When...
In anticipation of the event, my manager, Bell, sent the following message this morning:
To which I naturally responded:

More updates as events warrant. Meanwhile, I will continue to flinch and dive under my desk whenever the elevator opens.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Karma
Karma didn’t catch up with me until Sunday morning, when, presented with the house to myself, a pot of coffee, and an ANTM marathon, I got up to do some laundry and along the way caught my little toe on the leg of the coffee table and apparently broke it. Again. I did this in December 2006 when I was chasing my roommate’s dog and caught the same little toe on the leg of the futon [Tangent: this was the same evening of the Aftershock incident at Copperfield’s. I figured I’d just stubbed it really, really bad, so I went out to the bar hopping on one foot and drank myself retarded to deal with the pain. Then I did the Running Man with a man dressed as Santa].
So, in order to save my remaining nine toes from a similar fate, I will now formally apologize to people who don’t recycle for antagonizing them and the girl that puked at my subway stop for shaking my head at her. I’m very, very sorry for judging you harshly. I promise not to rant about environmental issues instead of confessing my horribly embarrassing and moderately amusing shenanigans ever again. Now that I’ve restored balance to the karmic universe, I will proceed to hobble around in flip-flops as penance instead of my adorable black peep toe pumps.